HCL fic
Story Title: Same old, same old
Author: slidellra
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Joe/Billy
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Thanks to omphale23 for a truly fabulous quick and helpful beta. Written for superpornsunday. A little over a thousand words. Now available as podfic.
Joe wore lipstick on stage. Billy didn't know where he got it, this one half-used tube of red, but he knew it was a stupid idea, Joe screaming his fucking heart out with these bright clown lips.
After the show, slumped in this half-broken piece of shit La-Z-Boy in their room at some fucking band house, Billy nursed a bottle while Joe paced and jittered and talked up his big plans for the future, for the band. In his chest and in his fingers, Billy could feel the vibration from the music the others were playing, wherever they were.
"Go wipe that shit off your face," he said.
He'd said it soft, but Joe cut off mid-syllable. "What, it bother you?"
"Yeah, it bothers me. It looks retarded."
"Nah," Joe said, pursing his lips. "I'm a sexy fucker."
"You're a fucking faggot," Billy laughed, throwing the last of his cigarette at him.
Joe ground the butt into the carpet with his boot, glancing up at Billy under his eyelashes. "I think you like it. I think it gets you going."
Billy took another drink. "You're high."
"Yeah?" Joe came closer and dropped to his knees in front of the chair. "So?"
The lipstick looked worse up close, half worn off and smeared outside his lip. Billy couldn't look away.
"I think you like it a lot." Joe palmed Billy's dick through his jeans. Billy was half-hard and getting harder as Joe rubbed, more so when he started on the buttons.
He let Joe work his pants open, sipping from the bottle and watching Joe the whole time. He lifted his hips a little, and then Joe was licking up the side of Billy's dick, his eyes holding Billy's, daring Billy to say yes, to say no. Finally, Joe closed his eyes and pushed his mouth over Billy's dick, sliding down.
Joe was right. It did get him going; that ugly-ass fucked up lipsticked mouth looked incredible on his dick. He spread his legs and let Joe slobber all over him, let him lick and suck and stroke him with one spit-slick hand.
Concentrating, Billy lifted the bottle and took another sip, the burn good in his throat. Joe saw him do it and took it as a challenge, the way Joe took fucking everything, and sucked him in deeper.
Billy set the bottle down before he dropped it, then gripped the arms of the chair as he watched Joe work. He fought the urge to touch Joe's hair, to run a finger along those stretched out red lips. Instead, he just let the feeling roll over him, let Joe pull him closer to the edge.
When he lost it and swore and came in Joe's mouth, Joe pulled off, coughing, then spat on the carpet and dragged the back of his hand across his lips, leaving a smear of color across his cheek.
"See? You like it," Joe said, his voice tight and scratchy.
Billy just mumbled at him, too come-drunk and drunk-drunk to bitch properly. Joe pulled on his hips, yanking him off the chair and onto the floor with a thud, then shoving him around to face the chair. Billy whined but helped Joe push his jeans down more, leaning his overheated forehead against the ratty seat cushion.
When Joe pushed his own pants down and rubbed himself against Billy's ass, Billy snorted and slurred, "You're not even hard, you pussy motherfucker."
"Shut up," Joe muttered, trying to push in. "Hard enough."
"Hey!" Billy jabbed Joe with an elbow. "Stuff. You asshole."
Joe snickered as he reached over to snag the duffel bag and rummaged around inside. In a minute he was back, his hand bumping Billy's ass as he jerked himself hard. When he tried again, he was slick and mostly stiff enough. Billy bit down on his lip and pushed down on Joe's cock and then he was getting fucked.
Joe could do it for hours when he was like this. Billy zoned out on the rub and thrust, on Joe's hand heavy on his hip and Joe's breath heavy in his ear. He was so fucking heavy, was Joe, holding Billy down. He was muttering again, about love and hate and the music business and Billy's ass and who the fuck knew what.
Billy told him to shut up, but it didn't break the flow of words. He told Joe to hurry the fuck up, but it just made him chuckle, made him lick Billy's ear. Joe kept it up, like some fucking machine, after Billy got bored and still kept it up after Billy got into it again.
By the time Billy was working himself back on Joe's cock, begging for it, jerking off with one hand and bracing himself up with the other, Joe was finally close. His hips lost the rhythm, started this staccato snapping, pushing both them and the crappy armchair across the carpet.
Joe groaned with each thrust, words like "yeah" "fuck" "mine," and then bit Billy's ear hard, hard enough to make Billy yell and try to hit him and come in a sudden twist of pleasure and splatter on the chair, before coming in Billy's ass with a drawn-out sigh.
Billy slumped down against the chair, wondering how loud they'd been, wondering if the bottle had spilled. Joe rubbed his hand in circles on Billy's back before suddenly jerking away, pulling out too fast. Then he was up, tucking himself back in and pacing, the flow of words starting again.
Twisting around, Billy dragged his pants back up and himself back into the chair. Fishing around with one hand, he discovered that the bottle was good, intact, and he drank, watching Joe again.
Joe said, "Gonna go wash this shit off my face," and then he was gone, the music loud for a moment before he slammed the door. Billy fished his cigarettes out from his pocket, shaking one out and inspecting it for damage. When he lit it, his hand shook a little. He wondered if his hands were going, if he was going to have the shakes, and then he turned his brain off. He practiced thinking nothing at all, sitting there in the empty room, waiting for Joe.
*
Author: slidellra
Fandom: Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Joe/Billy
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Thanks to omphale23 for a truly fabulous quick and helpful beta. Written for superpornsunday. A little over a thousand words. Now available as podfic.
Joe wore lipstick on stage. Billy didn't know where he got it, this one half-used tube of red, but he knew it was a stupid idea, Joe screaming his fucking heart out with these bright clown lips.
After the show, slumped in this half-broken piece of shit La-Z-Boy in their room at some fucking band house, Billy nursed a bottle while Joe paced and jittered and talked up his big plans for the future, for the band. In his chest and in his fingers, Billy could feel the vibration from the music the others were playing, wherever they were.
"Go wipe that shit off your face," he said.
He'd said it soft, but Joe cut off mid-syllable. "What, it bother you?"
"Yeah, it bothers me. It looks retarded."
"Nah," Joe said, pursing his lips. "I'm a sexy fucker."
"You're a fucking faggot," Billy laughed, throwing the last of his cigarette at him.
Joe ground the butt into the carpet with his boot, glancing up at Billy under his eyelashes. "I think you like it. I think it gets you going."
Billy took another drink. "You're high."
"Yeah?" Joe came closer and dropped to his knees in front of the chair. "So?"
The lipstick looked worse up close, half worn off and smeared outside his lip. Billy couldn't look away.
"I think you like it a lot." Joe palmed Billy's dick through his jeans. Billy was half-hard and getting harder as Joe rubbed, more so when he started on the buttons.
He let Joe work his pants open, sipping from the bottle and watching Joe the whole time. He lifted his hips a little, and then Joe was licking up the side of Billy's dick, his eyes holding Billy's, daring Billy to say yes, to say no. Finally, Joe closed his eyes and pushed his mouth over Billy's dick, sliding down.
Joe was right. It did get him going; that ugly-ass fucked up lipsticked mouth looked incredible on his dick. He spread his legs and let Joe slobber all over him, let him lick and suck and stroke him with one spit-slick hand.
Concentrating, Billy lifted the bottle and took another sip, the burn good in his throat. Joe saw him do it and took it as a challenge, the way Joe took fucking everything, and sucked him in deeper.
Billy set the bottle down before he dropped it, then gripped the arms of the chair as he watched Joe work. He fought the urge to touch Joe's hair, to run a finger along those stretched out red lips. Instead, he just let the feeling roll over him, let Joe pull him closer to the edge.
When he lost it and swore and came in Joe's mouth, Joe pulled off, coughing, then spat on the carpet and dragged the back of his hand across his lips, leaving a smear of color across his cheek.
"See? You like it," Joe said, his voice tight and scratchy.
Billy just mumbled at him, too come-drunk and drunk-drunk to bitch properly. Joe pulled on his hips, yanking him off the chair and onto the floor with a thud, then shoving him around to face the chair. Billy whined but helped Joe push his jeans down more, leaning his overheated forehead against the ratty seat cushion.
When Joe pushed his own pants down and rubbed himself against Billy's ass, Billy snorted and slurred, "You're not even hard, you pussy motherfucker."
"Shut up," Joe muttered, trying to push in. "Hard enough."
"Hey!" Billy jabbed Joe with an elbow. "Stuff. You asshole."
Joe snickered as he reached over to snag the duffel bag and rummaged around inside. In a minute he was back, his hand bumping Billy's ass as he jerked himself hard. When he tried again, he was slick and mostly stiff enough. Billy bit down on his lip and pushed down on Joe's cock and then he was getting fucked.
Joe could do it for hours when he was like this. Billy zoned out on the rub and thrust, on Joe's hand heavy on his hip and Joe's breath heavy in his ear. He was so fucking heavy, was Joe, holding Billy down. He was muttering again, about love and hate and the music business and Billy's ass and who the fuck knew what.
Billy told him to shut up, but it didn't break the flow of words. He told Joe to hurry the fuck up, but it just made him chuckle, made him lick Billy's ear. Joe kept it up, like some fucking machine, after Billy got bored and still kept it up after Billy got into it again.
By the time Billy was working himself back on Joe's cock, begging for it, jerking off with one hand and bracing himself up with the other, Joe was finally close. His hips lost the rhythm, started this staccato snapping, pushing both them and the crappy armchair across the carpet.
Joe groaned with each thrust, words like "yeah" "fuck" "mine," and then bit Billy's ear hard, hard enough to make Billy yell and try to hit him and come in a sudden twist of pleasure and splatter on the chair, before coming in Billy's ass with a drawn-out sigh.
Billy slumped down against the chair, wondering how loud they'd been, wondering if the bottle had spilled. Joe rubbed his hand in circles on Billy's back before suddenly jerking away, pulling out too fast. Then he was up, tucking himself back in and pacing, the flow of words starting again.
Twisting around, Billy dragged his pants back up and himself back into the chair. Fishing around with one hand, he discovered that the bottle was good, intact, and he drank, watching Joe again.
Joe said, "Gonna go wash this shit off my face," and then he was gone, the music loud for a moment before he slammed the door. Billy fished his cigarettes out from his pocket, shaking one out and inspecting it for damage. When he lit it, his hand shook a little. He wondered if his hands were going, if he was going to have the shakes, and then he turned his brain off. He practiced thinking nothing at all, sitting there in the empty room, waiting for Joe.
*