(no subject)
So, I was looking through one of my old notebooks when I found some random Julian/Nick porn. Of sorts.
It's kind of bizarre? And it starts COMPLETELY RANDOMLY; I leave the first part intact because it makes so damn little sense. What happened to Nick's other shoe? I have no idea. I am typing what was there, that's all!!
(Eventually, Nick takes off his other shoe, after he's already limped over to sit. Fab, who was maybe asleep, grumbles "Shut up.")
Probably the only reason for any of it is that they're the last two awake. As they cling together, like magnets, Nick gets the feeling that he could be anyone. He's got hands, a dick, a pulse. And he doesn't mind. He presses his tongue against the inner shield of his teeth before opening his mouth + letting Julian kiss him.
He could just as easily be a teenage girl, a roadie, could be Fab or Nikolai for that matter. He lets it happen, gives in to this strange pseudo-anonymity every times.
It's quick, and there's not much room -- Julian's all clumsy elbows and knees and chewed-back laughter. Julian keeps snickering at nothing, making Nick wonder if he's maybe stoned as well as drunk. Julian's pants, now they're undone, have slipped down way low on his hips. The boxers he has on are old, a dingy-looking yellow, stiff and stained. Julian's bordering on the horrific, tonight. He smells like sweat and beer, any more endearing scent buried under dirt and grime.
Nick, he sighs, mumbles "slow down," pressing the words hard against Julian's neck, right above his pulse, letting the words sink into his bloodstream. "slow down, jules, seriously."
"Aah, I'm so fucking drunk!" Julian laughs. Right now, he's trying to get Nick's pants off but seems to have forgotten what zippers are for and is trying to shimmy the soft denim down over Nick's hips while they're still fastened. Nick undoes his belt on his own. "Oh, man, oh man, seriously, seriously. Come on, okay?" He runs his tongue over his lips and -- even though Nick's sitting back on the sofa -- manages to get Nick's jeans far enough down that he can take the other guy's dick in hand. He keeps giggling. "Oh, shit, you like that, don't you?"
"You need a fucking shower," Nick says, faintly. This is about the least-sexiest handjob he's ever gotten in his life. "Jesus christ, Jules, stop that. I'll take care of myself."
It's kind of bizarre? And it starts COMPLETELY RANDOMLY; I leave the first part intact because it makes so damn little sense. What happened to Nick's other shoe? I have no idea. I am typing what was there, that's all!!
(Eventually, Nick takes off his other shoe, after he's already limped over to sit. Fab, who was maybe asleep, grumbles "Shut up.")
Probably the only reason for any of it is that they're the last two awake. As they cling together, like magnets, Nick gets the feeling that he could be anyone. He's got hands, a dick, a pulse. And he doesn't mind. He presses his tongue against the inner shield of his teeth before opening his mouth + letting Julian kiss him.
He could just as easily be a teenage girl, a roadie, could be Fab or Nikolai for that matter. He lets it happen, gives in to this strange pseudo-anonymity every times.
It's quick, and there's not much room -- Julian's all clumsy elbows and knees and chewed-back laughter. Julian keeps snickering at nothing, making Nick wonder if he's maybe stoned as well as drunk. Julian's pants, now they're undone, have slipped down way low on his hips. The boxers he has on are old, a dingy-looking yellow, stiff and stained. Julian's bordering on the horrific, tonight. He smells like sweat and beer, any more endearing scent buried under dirt and grime.
Nick, he sighs, mumbles "slow down," pressing the words hard against Julian's neck, right above his pulse, letting the words sink into his bloodstream. "slow down, jules, seriously."
"Aah, I'm so fucking drunk!" Julian laughs. Right now, he's trying to get Nick's pants off but seems to have forgotten what zippers are for and is trying to shimmy the soft denim down over Nick's hips while they're still fastened. Nick undoes his belt on his own. "Oh, man, oh man, seriously, seriously. Come on, okay?" He runs his tongue over his lips and -- even though Nick's sitting back on the sofa -- manages to get Nick's jeans far enough down that he can take the other guy's dick in hand. He keeps giggling. "Oh, shit, you like that, don't you?"
"You need a fucking shower," Nick says, faintly. This is about the least-sexiest handjob he's ever gotten in his life. "Jesus christ, Jules, stop that. I'll take care of myself."