fic: where thoughts can bloom (freddie/jj/cook)
so i was just clicking around the skins anonymous kink meme, trying to distract myself from my hangover and the essays i should be writing, like you do, but then one of the prompts caught my attention! and i fail at keeping stuff comment-length just about as much as i fail at anon, so:
where thoughts can bloom
freddie/jj/cook
R
for this prompt: cook/jj/freddie- we're following the leader; innocent experimentation between cook and jj turns hot and dirty when cook convinces appropriately cranky freddie to join in. oh, in the shed, which actually serves as a pretty accurate summary.
~3800 words.
"What the fuck do you mean," Cook demands. "You mean that you'd never fucking kissed anyone before that party?"
Freddie looks at Cook automatically when he says it, but he glances across at JJ to see his reaction. JJ's mouth opens and then shuts again, and there's a pink flush to his cheeks, but he flips Cook off anyway. Freddie looks down again to concentrate on rolling the next blunt, tidying it up as JJ says, indignantly, "I'd kissed someone before then, stop turning everything into a hyperbole, Cook."
"Mate." Cook grins lazily; Freddie watches, spliff in his mouth, fumbling to get it lit. It's not the first one of the evening, but the lighter's not feeling too small in his hands yet. He's not feeling it too much. It's not as though they're trying to hotbox the shed again, which never works no matter how much Cook insists it will, at least not since it got decked out as a well ventilated practice space. "It doesn't count if you're fucking related to them."
"I'm not -- shut up, I have. Just because I'm not King of the Overshare."
"You fucking love it," Cook says, still grinning. "No, but JJ, man, I know you might be behind on the shagging front but you've only snogged one person? You need more notches on your fucking bedpost, you'll never get to stick it in if you're that inexperienced."
"Wow, you make it sound so classy," JJ mutters. "You should write adverts, really, that's just great." Freddie recognises the evasion there, and feels a faint spark of sympathy. He reaches forward, a little precariously, and hands him the joint like an offering. He's not sure what kind of offering it's meant to be, exactly, but whatever.
Cook snatches it off JJ before JJ can even take a toke, which Freddie thinks is sort of rude and fucking typical. JJ just blinks, as though the joint just did a disappearing trick and he's trying to work out how he might be able to recreate it. "You don't want it to be me that you've had the most action with, do you? Tell me you've done more than this with more people, right, at fucking least," Cook says, and then inhales deeply before lurching across the shed, a sudden movement that breaks up the calm buzz Freddie had going on, planting his hands either side of JJ's face. JJ opens his mouth, probably to ask what Cook's doing, and Cook takes the opportunity to exhale, a long, steady stream of smoke straight into JJ's mouth. Freddie watches. JJ's chest rises and then falls as though he can't help but breathe it in.
"That wasn't even anything," Freddie points out. They both turn to look at him, and he feels a faint spark of annoyance out of nowhere. It happens a lot lately, ever since he and Cook had that screwed up sort of a showdown; they've both simmered down to a low-key sort of peace, but he can't be fucked with him sometimes. He sort of wants the two of them to shut up. He's sort of sleepy, as well, so maybe he is feeling the weed a little bit more than he originally thought.
"Sorry we're not giving you the show you want to see," Cook snorts.
JJ laughs as well, and Freddie tilts his head back, resting it against the shed wall and letting his eyes close for a moment or two. He just. He can't be fucked. He opens them again when he hears JJ say, "What," as though it's the start of a sentence that got cut off, and he's just in time to see Cook making a tunnel out of his hands between his mouth and JJ's, exhaling again. A few curls of smoke escape, and Cook is holding the joint probably dangerously close to JJ's hair. Freddie doesn't say anything about it, out of a weird sense of -- it's like spite, almost, like if they're going to fuck around and leave him here feeling bored then he's not going to warn them about the imminent danger of setting JJ's hair on fire. It happened once before, for fuck's sake; they probably should have learnt to be careful by now anyway.
He closes his eyes again.
Freddie loses his sense of time, sometimes, when he's stoned, and he tunes out a bit as well, so he's not sure how long has passed or what they've been doing. When he looks again though, JJ has that loose grin he gets when he's high, like he's not so wound up and worried about everything, and Cook grins widely at Freddie when their eyes meet. There's kind of a haze in the shed now. Cook says, "Make out with Freddie as well, JJ, then your tally can go up to three."
"You. What," JJ says, the words slowed down, and then Cook laughs and rocks forward and presses his lips against JJ's. It lasts about as long as it did when Cook kissed Freddie, back in his house, a while ago now, but it's in good spirits here. It doesn't look as painful.
"Go on," Cook says, and shoves JJ in Freddie's direction. JJ sort of half slides across the new floor, awkward and clumsy, and doesn't get any closer to Freddie than Cook's momentum makes him land. Freddie would find it funny, the way JJ's expression turns surprised as though he wasn't expecting the movement at all, were it not for the weird spike of anger he feels again. He rolls his eyes at the same moment Cook grins, "Don't be a fucking pussy, Freds, help a friend out," and Freddie can't be fucked, he's stoned and stupid and annoyed now, and the easiest solution to get Cook to shut the fuck up has always been to just do what he wants and get it the fuck over with, and so shuffles closer and fists his hand into JJ's hair and pulls him into a kiss without really thinking about it.
JJ makes a startled noise, but Freddie mostly just hears Cook's surprised, mocking laugh, as he flicks his tongue out to touch JJ's bottom lip and then bites down until JJ makes another noise, this one less startled and more interested, maybe, and opens his mouth. He tastes of smoke and something sweeter and whether he's as lacking in experience as Cook's accusing him of being or not, it's pretty good. Freddie likes making out when he's stoned anyway, likes the lazy way he can stroke his tongue over whoever he's kissing's and get soft, pliant responses, and it might be JJ and a bloke but it's not a totally different thing now. JJ's lips are more chapped than most girls Freddie's kissed, maybe, but not really.
JJ's body is more solid, when Freddie pushes towards him and curls his fingers into the front of his shirt to tug him closer. He keeps his eyes shut, doesn't know if JJ's are open or if Cook is still looking. He feels the vibrations through his lips when JJ moans, soft and quiet and cut off quickly as though he's embarrassed.
Cook says, "Get the fuck in there JJ," and Freddie chances a glance at him, then, opens his eyes as he sucks on JJ's tongue, and Cook isn't just looking. He's staring, eyes dark and wide, and he looks caught when he notices that Freddie's seen him. His grin is a second or two too late, and it's that that makes Freddie let go, sit back on his feet to leave a gap between him and JJ once more.
His breathing sounds too loud in his ears. Freddie doesn't know if he really is that loud, or if it's just the pot making everything amplified. "What," JJ says again, and Cook cuts over him and says, "Do it again."
His voice is lower than usual, just a little bit, and he's got that dark look in his eyes still, and he doesn't sound as mocking as he usually does. "Fuck off," Freddie tells him. He feels weird, a little bit shaky; that went further than he meant it to. He likes stoned make outs in general, but he liked that more than he would have expected even keeping that in mind.
"Freds," Cook says. JJ is looking between them like he's watching a tennis match or something, and Freddie ignores him. He tries to ignore them both, reaching around behind him to find his bag, the paper, to start rolling another joint. He doesn't know how the fuck Cook does it, manages to make it all about him even when he wasn't touching either of them, but it's his reaction that's shaking Freddie more than JJ's. JJ's not even reacting, as such. He's just taking it for what it was, not trying to make it more. "Freddie."
"What?" Freddie snaps. He doesn't mean to snap, exactly, it just comes out like that, irritated and tired. It's how he feels right now. A little rough as well, inappropriate. "What do you want, Cook?"
"Fucking do it again," Cook repeats, like swearing at the beginning is suddenly going to convince the two of them or something, but he moves closer when he says it as well. He takes the paper and the small plastic bag right out of Freddie's hands, and stays where he is. He's too close. Freddie can feel his breath, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and they all joke about Cook only being able to think with his dick a lot, but Freddie never expected it to translate over here. They're in the shed, for fuck's sake, he thinks, and then he has to pause for a second, because it's not like being in the shed is the most inappropriate part of what Cook is suggesting, exactly.
"Fucking fuck off," Freddie repeats. He should just get up, move away, but -- the weed. Smoking up makes his limbs feel too heavy, sometimes, and he can hardly think about moving. He's still kneeling, they all are, and he's not sure he'd stay steady if he stood up.
"Fucking fine," Cook mutters, and Freddie thinks that might be it, that he's finally learnt when to let some things go, but then Cook reaches around him and grabs hold of the front of JJ's shirt and tugs, hard, until JJ doesn't have much of a choice but to move in closer to him. He has to move to the side a little, so Freddie won't be squashed between them, but Freddie still feels trapped anyway.
"You're both going to ruin my shirt, you know," JJ says, and Freddie knows JJ, knows he's probably trying to make a joke to break the sudden tension, but it falls down flat in the small space between the three of them.
Cook says, "Take it off then," and this time he's sneering, laughing at himself, and Freddie's stupid enough to think that JJ's joke worked for a few seconds, until Cook tugs JJ closer regardless and then kisses him.
It's not like he kissed him before, and not like he kissed Freddie, either, not joking, not violent and angry. It's fucking dirty, is what it is. Freddie can see it as he slides his tongue into JJ's mouth, licking slow and filthy, drawing a low noise from JJ that Freddie wouldn't have really expected him to make. JJ's eyes are shut, which doesn't surprise Freddie too much, actually, but Cook's are open and he cuts his gaze sideways, like he's making sure Freddie's looking. Like it would matter if he wasn't.
Freddie wishes he could look away, because he feels like he's letting Cook win something he shouldn't here, somehow, even though that's stupid. That's probably brought on by the weed, as well, and maybe the whole causing paranoia thing is true and he should cut down or something.
He thinks about rolling another anyway, getting back to what he was doing and fucking leaving them to it, but then Cook's hand flails around and almost hits him in the face before cupping the back of his head, guiding him in. Cook moves back at the very last moment, and he has a hand on the back of JJ's head, as well, and it's not like he's even got a lot of force behind it, but Freddie lets him guide their mouths together anyway.
"Told you you should do it again," Cook says, and Freddie hates to admit it but Cook does have a point. JJ's seriously either a natural or one fucking quick learner, because even though -- well, even though it's JJ, one of his best friends, and even though his other dick of a best friend is right there next to him, Freddie's feeling pretty into it. He thinks it has something to do with the way he can feel Cook's breath on the back of his neck, that he knows he's watching and that he knows the hand in his hair doesn't belong to the person he's kissing; he's not an exhibitionist, he's kind of fond of private things staying private, unlike Cook, but it's turning him on more than he'd like to admit. He shifts a little bit, shifts a little closer.
He doesn't realise that JJ is shifting closer at the same time until they're suddenly pressed up against each other, and he thinks there should have been a point, some sort of line midway between only touching at their mouths and touching everywhere. Freddie's trying to think, even though he's stoned and distracted by JJ's mouth and JJ's tongue and the tiny, twitching movements of JJ's hips; he's trying to work out whether it would be too fucking weird to let himself move as well, in time, increase the friction from something that's barely there to something significant, something worth the mind fuck. He leans back to suck in a sharp breath, and then right back in again.
"Fuckin' hell," Cook says. His voice is the same kind of rough it goes after an all nighter, when his hangover is kicking in and he's still chain smoking and fucked up, which is familiar, but there's an edge to it that Freddie doesn't recognise. Freddie's knees are starting to hurt and he's trying to work out how the fuck this all started, exactly, when Cook speaks, but there's still something about it that makes his hips jerk forward of their own accord. JJ moans, loudly, and then breaks the kiss and looks sort of surprised, as though he wasn't expecting himself to make such a noise.
Cook laughs, low, and Freddie can't help it. He laughs as well, and JJ's cheeks turn pink again and he mutters, "Oh, fuck off." He's still got one hand resting on Freddie's hip, though, and he doesn't let go, not even when Cook tugs on Freddie's hair and makes him twist around awkwardly and then kisses him mid-laugh.
Kissing Cook feels just as fucking dirty as it looked when Cook was kissing JJ. It's obvious how much he's done it before, because he's good at it, whether that's something Freddie wants to think about or not. He licks the roof of Freddie's mouth and then nibbles on his bottom lip, like he's kissing a girl or something and has to be gentle (which is a weird thought, anyway, because Cook's fucking Effy and she's not gentle at all), and the noise Freddie makes is one of fucking protest, tilting his head back and out of the kiss just to go back in and bite Cook's bottom lip, hard.
Cook makes a rough, wordless noise into Freddie's mouth and then, as though he's making up for it or something, trying not to lose face or whatever Cook thinks about so much, he shoves a hand down between JJ and Freddie and rubs his palm over Freddie's crotch. Freddie rubs up against him automatically, gasping at the friction, and JJ makes a noise as well, because Cook's not training all his effort on him but he's obviously getting something out of it as well, Cook's knuckles pressing over his cock through his jeans.
Freddie hates himself just a little bit for feeling disappointed when Cook breaks the kiss, even though it means he can try to catch his breath again, concentrate on trying to stay composed. Cook just drops his head to trail his lips over Freddie's neck, though. He mutters, "You're both gonna fucking rub off on each other 'til you come," and there's nothing commanding about it, it's not something he's telling them to do, for once; it's like a statement, like something he's sure of. Then he adds, "I'm gonna give you a hickey people can see from miles away," because fuck, he's still Cook and he's still a tosser.
He sucks hard on Freddie's neck, letting his teeth scrape over his skin, and he takes his hand away from between them. Freddie can feel how hard JJ is now, and it's jolting, weird, but the friction is sweet as he rocks against him. JJ leans forward and kisses him again, completely off his own initiative this time, and he rocks back, and Freddie would probably lose his balance if it weren't for the way Cook is now pressed up tight behind him. Cook's hips are moving as well, small circles against Freddie's arse like he can't help it, and Freddie's almost embarrassed about how hot he finds that as well. It's somone's dick, Cook's dick, pressed up against his arse. It's as suggestive as hell, and it just makes him rock harder against JJ, screwing up the rhythm a little bit.
JJ comes first. He's hardly kissing Freddie anymore, just panting hot and desperate into his mouth, and his hips keep twitching forward through his orgasm as he shakes and shudders against him. His skin under his shirt hot against Freddie's hands, almost burning. He stops moving after he's come though, kind of slumps forward against Freddie, and Freddie lets out a groan of frustration because he's close, he's almost shamefully close right now, and the friction's practically fucking gone now JJ's not moving in time with him, against him. Cook kisses JJ over Freddie's shoulder, which is hot even though he can hardly see it but still not enough, and when Cook laughs into his neck and says, "Patience, Freddie," Freddie could punch him, he really could, up until the point when Cook reaches around him and cups him through his jeans again.
He thinks Cook will probably give him shit for it later, for coming in his boxers just from Cook's hand moving over him through his jeans, but it's the extra friction he needs to finally come and it's fucking good. He bites his lip so hard he tastes the bitter tang of blood on the tip of his tongue, as Cook mutters, "Come on, fucking come on, come for me, babe, come on," to try and keep all the noises in, because he doesn't want to give Cook or JJ any ammunition to fucking mock the noises he makes when he comes, or anything, but he can't keep silent even though the urge to punch Cook briefly rises again, because babe, what the fuck.
There are still tiny, smothered sounding noises that get caught in the back of his throat that he just can't help, but he doesn't think Cook can mock him for them ever, because he thrusts up against Freddie's arse even more eagerly as he hears them, keeps his hand moving until Freddie leans back against him, all the strength leaving his legs and his knees too numb to keep him up now, and chokes out, "Cook, Cook, fuck," because it's too much and he's too sensitive now, even with his come slowly drying in his boxers.
He's almost surprised they don't topple backwards, with him leaning all his weight back on Cook like this, head tipped back onto his shoulder, but JJ's moved off of him now at least, sprawled awkwardly across the floor with a serious case of sex-hair going on and watching them, again, differently this time even though he's still quiet and wide-eyed as his gaze moves between them. Cook pushes him off of him quickly though, and as Freddie tries to remember how to breathe like a human again he wonders if he's so polite and gentle to all the girls he's with. It's Cook, so probably.
"One of you should suck me off," Cook says, but Freddie think it's just something he's saying, something automatic, like he's still got an edge of front about him even now, because his hands are fumbling with his belt even as he says it. Freddie just raises his middle finger at him, and JJ lets out a nervous, surprised burst of laughter from the floor next to him as though the suggestion is too ludicrious to respond to.
Cook doesn't even get his jeans down past his knees; he shoves them down just far enough to pull his cock out of his boxers, hard and wet and shiny at the tip already. He jacks himself off with firm, steady strokes, licking his palm to keep the movements smooth and getting faster the closer he gets, staring at Freddie and JJ. His eyes dart between them, like he's trying to take everything in because he doesn't know exactly what to focus on, and Cook apparently doesn't have any worries about them ripping the piss out of him later for the way he sounds. He's loud, moaning unashamedly, fucking his fist now, so fast that Freddie can actually hear the wet sound of his hand moving. For someone who brags about sleeping around so much, he doesn't take too long to come, Freddie thinks. Not the stamina he boasts about, although Freddie maybe shouldn't judge him when he can't take his eyes off of the long column of Cook's throat as he throws his head back and comes all over his hand.
He wipes his hand on the nearest piece of material -- one of Karen's jumpers she's left in there, although Freddie can't be arsed to have a go at him for it -- and doesn't bother doing his jeans up again as he tucks himself back into his boxers. Freddie waits for a while, watching him, waiting for the wisecrack, but he doesn't come out with anything. He's staring sort of blankly at JJ's foot, as though he's trying to work out what's going on. It's a feeling that Freddie can empathise with.
Freddie looks across at JJ, and JJ is still looking between the two of them. His cheeks are still flushed, and his lips are slightly parted and he laughs, breathlessly, when he catches Freddie's eye. "Well," he says.
"Well," Freddie repeats. He thinks, fuck it, and reaches around, groping at the floor until he grabs a hold of the weed and the paper again, too lazy to actually move from where he is. His hands aren't exactly shaking, as he rolls, but he's not feeling too steady either.
"Well," Cook says eventually, the lazy grin slowly making its way back onto his face, "at least you're getting some action from somewhere, mate." He claps JJ on the leg, and JJ jumps, and then rolls his eyes.
Freddie can't help it, as Cook meets his eyes. He's got the spliff in his mouth; as he lights it, he grins around it back at Cook, smiling behind the flame.
where thoughts can bloom
freddie/jj/cook
R
for this prompt: cook/jj/freddie- we're following the leader; innocent experimentation between cook and jj turns hot and dirty when cook convinces appropriately cranky freddie to join in. oh, in the shed, which actually serves as a pretty accurate summary.
~3800 words.
"What the fuck do you mean," Cook demands. "You mean that you'd never fucking kissed anyone before that party?"
Freddie looks at Cook automatically when he says it, but he glances across at JJ to see his reaction. JJ's mouth opens and then shuts again, and there's a pink flush to his cheeks, but he flips Cook off anyway. Freddie looks down again to concentrate on rolling the next blunt, tidying it up as JJ says, indignantly, "I'd kissed someone before then, stop turning everything into a hyperbole, Cook."
"Mate." Cook grins lazily; Freddie watches, spliff in his mouth, fumbling to get it lit. It's not the first one of the evening, but the lighter's not feeling too small in his hands yet. He's not feeling it too much. It's not as though they're trying to hotbox the shed again, which never works no matter how much Cook insists it will, at least not since it got decked out as a well ventilated practice space. "It doesn't count if you're fucking related to them."
"I'm not -- shut up, I have. Just because I'm not King of the Overshare."
"You fucking love it," Cook says, still grinning. "No, but JJ, man, I know you might be behind on the shagging front but you've only snogged one person? You need more notches on your fucking bedpost, you'll never get to stick it in if you're that inexperienced."
"Wow, you make it sound so classy," JJ mutters. "You should write adverts, really, that's just great." Freddie recognises the evasion there, and feels a faint spark of sympathy. He reaches forward, a little precariously, and hands him the joint like an offering. He's not sure what kind of offering it's meant to be, exactly, but whatever.
Cook snatches it off JJ before JJ can even take a toke, which Freddie thinks is sort of rude and fucking typical. JJ just blinks, as though the joint just did a disappearing trick and he's trying to work out how he might be able to recreate it. "You don't want it to be me that you've had the most action with, do you? Tell me you've done more than this with more people, right, at fucking least," Cook says, and then inhales deeply before lurching across the shed, a sudden movement that breaks up the calm buzz Freddie had going on, planting his hands either side of JJ's face. JJ opens his mouth, probably to ask what Cook's doing, and Cook takes the opportunity to exhale, a long, steady stream of smoke straight into JJ's mouth. Freddie watches. JJ's chest rises and then falls as though he can't help but breathe it in.
"That wasn't even anything," Freddie points out. They both turn to look at him, and he feels a faint spark of annoyance out of nowhere. It happens a lot lately, ever since he and Cook had that screwed up sort of a showdown; they've both simmered down to a low-key sort of peace, but he can't be fucked with him sometimes. He sort of wants the two of them to shut up. He's sort of sleepy, as well, so maybe he is feeling the weed a little bit more than he originally thought.
"Sorry we're not giving you the show you want to see," Cook snorts.
JJ laughs as well, and Freddie tilts his head back, resting it against the shed wall and letting his eyes close for a moment or two. He just. He can't be fucked. He opens them again when he hears JJ say, "What," as though it's the start of a sentence that got cut off, and he's just in time to see Cook making a tunnel out of his hands between his mouth and JJ's, exhaling again. A few curls of smoke escape, and Cook is holding the joint probably dangerously close to JJ's hair. Freddie doesn't say anything about it, out of a weird sense of -- it's like spite, almost, like if they're going to fuck around and leave him here feeling bored then he's not going to warn them about the imminent danger of setting JJ's hair on fire. It happened once before, for fuck's sake; they probably should have learnt to be careful by now anyway.
He closes his eyes again.
Freddie loses his sense of time, sometimes, when he's stoned, and he tunes out a bit as well, so he's not sure how long has passed or what they've been doing. When he looks again though, JJ has that loose grin he gets when he's high, like he's not so wound up and worried about everything, and Cook grins widely at Freddie when their eyes meet. There's kind of a haze in the shed now. Cook says, "Make out with Freddie as well, JJ, then your tally can go up to three."
"You. What," JJ says, the words slowed down, and then Cook laughs and rocks forward and presses his lips against JJ's. It lasts about as long as it did when Cook kissed Freddie, back in his house, a while ago now, but it's in good spirits here. It doesn't look as painful.
"Go on," Cook says, and shoves JJ in Freddie's direction. JJ sort of half slides across the new floor, awkward and clumsy, and doesn't get any closer to Freddie than Cook's momentum makes him land. Freddie would find it funny, the way JJ's expression turns surprised as though he wasn't expecting the movement at all, were it not for the weird spike of anger he feels again. He rolls his eyes at the same moment Cook grins, "Don't be a fucking pussy, Freds, help a friend out," and Freddie can't be fucked, he's stoned and stupid and annoyed now, and the easiest solution to get Cook to shut the fuck up has always been to just do what he wants and get it the fuck over with, and so shuffles closer and fists his hand into JJ's hair and pulls him into a kiss without really thinking about it.
JJ makes a startled noise, but Freddie mostly just hears Cook's surprised, mocking laugh, as he flicks his tongue out to touch JJ's bottom lip and then bites down until JJ makes another noise, this one less startled and more interested, maybe, and opens his mouth. He tastes of smoke and something sweeter and whether he's as lacking in experience as Cook's accusing him of being or not, it's pretty good. Freddie likes making out when he's stoned anyway, likes the lazy way he can stroke his tongue over whoever he's kissing's and get soft, pliant responses, and it might be JJ and a bloke but it's not a totally different thing now. JJ's lips are more chapped than most girls Freddie's kissed, maybe, but not really.
JJ's body is more solid, when Freddie pushes towards him and curls his fingers into the front of his shirt to tug him closer. He keeps his eyes shut, doesn't know if JJ's are open or if Cook is still looking. He feels the vibrations through his lips when JJ moans, soft and quiet and cut off quickly as though he's embarrassed.
Cook says, "Get the fuck in there JJ," and Freddie chances a glance at him, then, opens his eyes as he sucks on JJ's tongue, and Cook isn't just looking. He's staring, eyes dark and wide, and he looks caught when he notices that Freddie's seen him. His grin is a second or two too late, and it's that that makes Freddie let go, sit back on his feet to leave a gap between him and JJ once more.
His breathing sounds too loud in his ears. Freddie doesn't know if he really is that loud, or if it's just the pot making everything amplified. "What," JJ says again, and Cook cuts over him and says, "Do it again."
His voice is lower than usual, just a little bit, and he's got that dark look in his eyes still, and he doesn't sound as mocking as he usually does. "Fuck off," Freddie tells him. He feels weird, a little bit shaky; that went further than he meant it to. He likes stoned make outs in general, but he liked that more than he would have expected even keeping that in mind.
"Freds," Cook says. JJ is looking between them like he's watching a tennis match or something, and Freddie ignores him. He tries to ignore them both, reaching around behind him to find his bag, the paper, to start rolling another joint. He doesn't know how the fuck Cook does it, manages to make it all about him even when he wasn't touching either of them, but it's his reaction that's shaking Freddie more than JJ's. JJ's not even reacting, as such. He's just taking it for what it was, not trying to make it more. "Freddie."
"What?" Freddie snaps. He doesn't mean to snap, exactly, it just comes out like that, irritated and tired. It's how he feels right now. A little rough as well, inappropriate. "What do you want, Cook?"
"Fucking do it again," Cook repeats, like swearing at the beginning is suddenly going to convince the two of them or something, but he moves closer when he says it as well. He takes the paper and the small plastic bag right out of Freddie's hands, and stays where he is. He's too close. Freddie can feel his breath, making all the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and they all joke about Cook only being able to think with his dick a lot, but Freddie never expected it to translate over here. They're in the shed, for fuck's sake, he thinks, and then he has to pause for a second, because it's not like being in the shed is the most inappropriate part of what Cook is suggesting, exactly.
"Fucking fuck off," Freddie repeats. He should just get up, move away, but -- the weed. Smoking up makes his limbs feel too heavy, sometimes, and he can hardly think about moving. He's still kneeling, they all are, and he's not sure he'd stay steady if he stood up.
"Fucking fine," Cook mutters, and Freddie thinks that might be it, that he's finally learnt when to let some things go, but then Cook reaches around him and grabs hold of the front of JJ's shirt and tugs, hard, until JJ doesn't have much of a choice but to move in closer to him. He has to move to the side a little, so Freddie won't be squashed between them, but Freddie still feels trapped anyway.
"You're both going to ruin my shirt, you know," JJ says, and Freddie knows JJ, knows he's probably trying to make a joke to break the sudden tension, but it falls down flat in the small space between the three of them.
Cook says, "Take it off then," and this time he's sneering, laughing at himself, and Freddie's stupid enough to think that JJ's joke worked for a few seconds, until Cook tugs JJ closer regardless and then kisses him.
It's not like he kissed him before, and not like he kissed Freddie, either, not joking, not violent and angry. It's fucking dirty, is what it is. Freddie can see it as he slides his tongue into JJ's mouth, licking slow and filthy, drawing a low noise from JJ that Freddie wouldn't have really expected him to make. JJ's eyes are shut, which doesn't surprise Freddie too much, actually, but Cook's are open and he cuts his gaze sideways, like he's making sure Freddie's looking. Like it would matter if he wasn't.
Freddie wishes he could look away, because he feels like he's letting Cook win something he shouldn't here, somehow, even though that's stupid. That's probably brought on by the weed, as well, and maybe the whole causing paranoia thing is true and he should cut down or something.
He thinks about rolling another anyway, getting back to what he was doing and fucking leaving them to it, but then Cook's hand flails around and almost hits him in the face before cupping the back of his head, guiding him in. Cook moves back at the very last moment, and he has a hand on the back of JJ's head, as well, and it's not like he's even got a lot of force behind it, but Freddie lets him guide their mouths together anyway.
"Told you you should do it again," Cook says, and Freddie hates to admit it but Cook does have a point. JJ's seriously either a natural or one fucking quick learner, because even though -- well, even though it's JJ, one of his best friends, and even though his other dick of a best friend is right there next to him, Freddie's feeling pretty into it. He thinks it has something to do with the way he can feel Cook's breath on the back of his neck, that he knows he's watching and that he knows the hand in his hair doesn't belong to the person he's kissing; he's not an exhibitionist, he's kind of fond of private things staying private, unlike Cook, but it's turning him on more than he'd like to admit. He shifts a little bit, shifts a little closer.
He doesn't realise that JJ is shifting closer at the same time until they're suddenly pressed up against each other, and he thinks there should have been a point, some sort of line midway between only touching at their mouths and touching everywhere. Freddie's trying to think, even though he's stoned and distracted by JJ's mouth and JJ's tongue and the tiny, twitching movements of JJ's hips; he's trying to work out whether it would be too fucking weird to let himself move as well, in time, increase the friction from something that's barely there to something significant, something worth the mind fuck. He leans back to suck in a sharp breath, and then right back in again.
"Fuckin' hell," Cook says. His voice is the same kind of rough it goes after an all nighter, when his hangover is kicking in and he's still chain smoking and fucked up, which is familiar, but there's an edge to it that Freddie doesn't recognise. Freddie's knees are starting to hurt and he's trying to work out how the fuck this all started, exactly, when Cook speaks, but there's still something about it that makes his hips jerk forward of their own accord. JJ moans, loudly, and then breaks the kiss and looks sort of surprised, as though he wasn't expecting himself to make such a noise.
Cook laughs, low, and Freddie can't help it. He laughs as well, and JJ's cheeks turn pink again and he mutters, "Oh, fuck off." He's still got one hand resting on Freddie's hip, though, and he doesn't let go, not even when Cook tugs on Freddie's hair and makes him twist around awkwardly and then kisses him mid-laugh.
Kissing Cook feels just as fucking dirty as it looked when Cook was kissing JJ. It's obvious how much he's done it before, because he's good at it, whether that's something Freddie wants to think about or not. He licks the roof of Freddie's mouth and then nibbles on his bottom lip, like he's kissing a girl or something and has to be gentle (which is a weird thought, anyway, because Cook's fucking Effy and she's not gentle at all), and the noise Freddie makes is one of fucking protest, tilting his head back and out of the kiss just to go back in and bite Cook's bottom lip, hard.
Cook makes a rough, wordless noise into Freddie's mouth and then, as though he's making up for it or something, trying not to lose face or whatever Cook thinks about so much, he shoves a hand down between JJ and Freddie and rubs his palm over Freddie's crotch. Freddie rubs up against him automatically, gasping at the friction, and JJ makes a noise as well, because Cook's not training all his effort on him but he's obviously getting something out of it as well, Cook's knuckles pressing over his cock through his jeans.
Freddie hates himself just a little bit for feeling disappointed when Cook breaks the kiss, even though it means he can try to catch his breath again, concentrate on trying to stay composed. Cook just drops his head to trail his lips over Freddie's neck, though. He mutters, "You're both gonna fucking rub off on each other 'til you come," and there's nothing commanding about it, it's not something he's telling them to do, for once; it's like a statement, like something he's sure of. Then he adds, "I'm gonna give you a hickey people can see from miles away," because fuck, he's still Cook and he's still a tosser.
He sucks hard on Freddie's neck, letting his teeth scrape over his skin, and he takes his hand away from between them. Freddie can feel how hard JJ is now, and it's jolting, weird, but the friction is sweet as he rocks against him. JJ leans forward and kisses him again, completely off his own initiative this time, and he rocks back, and Freddie would probably lose his balance if it weren't for the way Cook is now pressed up tight behind him. Cook's hips are moving as well, small circles against Freddie's arse like he can't help it, and Freddie's almost embarrassed about how hot he finds that as well. It's somone's dick, Cook's dick, pressed up against his arse. It's as suggestive as hell, and it just makes him rock harder against JJ, screwing up the rhythm a little bit.
JJ comes first. He's hardly kissing Freddie anymore, just panting hot and desperate into his mouth, and his hips keep twitching forward through his orgasm as he shakes and shudders against him. His skin under his shirt hot against Freddie's hands, almost burning. He stops moving after he's come though, kind of slumps forward against Freddie, and Freddie lets out a groan of frustration because he's close, he's almost shamefully close right now, and the friction's practically fucking gone now JJ's not moving in time with him, against him. Cook kisses JJ over Freddie's shoulder, which is hot even though he can hardly see it but still not enough, and when Cook laughs into his neck and says, "Patience, Freddie," Freddie could punch him, he really could, up until the point when Cook reaches around him and cups him through his jeans again.
He thinks Cook will probably give him shit for it later, for coming in his boxers just from Cook's hand moving over him through his jeans, but it's the extra friction he needs to finally come and it's fucking good. He bites his lip so hard he tastes the bitter tang of blood on the tip of his tongue, as Cook mutters, "Come on, fucking come on, come for me, babe, come on," to try and keep all the noises in, because he doesn't want to give Cook or JJ any ammunition to fucking mock the noises he makes when he comes, or anything, but he can't keep silent even though the urge to punch Cook briefly rises again, because babe, what the fuck.
There are still tiny, smothered sounding noises that get caught in the back of his throat that he just can't help, but he doesn't think Cook can mock him for them ever, because he thrusts up against Freddie's arse even more eagerly as he hears them, keeps his hand moving until Freddie leans back against him, all the strength leaving his legs and his knees too numb to keep him up now, and chokes out, "Cook, Cook, fuck," because it's too much and he's too sensitive now, even with his come slowly drying in his boxers.
He's almost surprised they don't topple backwards, with him leaning all his weight back on Cook like this, head tipped back onto his shoulder, but JJ's moved off of him now at least, sprawled awkwardly across the floor with a serious case of sex-hair going on and watching them, again, differently this time even though he's still quiet and wide-eyed as his gaze moves between them. Cook pushes him off of him quickly though, and as Freddie tries to remember how to breathe like a human again he wonders if he's so polite and gentle to all the girls he's with. It's Cook, so probably.
"One of you should suck me off," Cook says, but Freddie think it's just something he's saying, something automatic, like he's still got an edge of front about him even now, because his hands are fumbling with his belt even as he says it. Freddie just raises his middle finger at him, and JJ lets out a nervous, surprised burst of laughter from the floor next to him as though the suggestion is too ludicrious to respond to.
Cook doesn't even get his jeans down past his knees; he shoves them down just far enough to pull his cock out of his boxers, hard and wet and shiny at the tip already. He jacks himself off with firm, steady strokes, licking his palm to keep the movements smooth and getting faster the closer he gets, staring at Freddie and JJ. His eyes dart between them, like he's trying to take everything in because he doesn't know exactly what to focus on, and Cook apparently doesn't have any worries about them ripping the piss out of him later for the way he sounds. He's loud, moaning unashamedly, fucking his fist now, so fast that Freddie can actually hear the wet sound of his hand moving. For someone who brags about sleeping around so much, he doesn't take too long to come, Freddie thinks. Not the stamina he boasts about, although Freddie maybe shouldn't judge him when he can't take his eyes off of the long column of Cook's throat as he throws his head back and comes all over his hand.
He wipes his hand on the nearest piece of material -- one of Karen's jumpers she's left in there, although Freddie can't be arsed to have a go at him for it -- and doesn't bother doing his jeans up again as he tucks himself back into his boxers. Freddie waits for a while, watching him, waiting for the wisecrack, but he doesn't come out with anything. He's staring sort of blankly at JJ's foot, as though he's trying to work out what's going on. It's a feeling that Freddie can empathise with.
Freddie looks across at JJ, and JJ is still looking between the two of them. His cheeks are still flushed, and his lips are slightly parted and he laughs, breathlessly, when he catches Freddie's eye. "Well," he says.
"Well," Freddie repeats. He thinks, fuck it, and reaches around, groping at the floor until he grabs a hold of the weed and the paper again, too lazy to actually move from where he is. His hands aren't exactly shaking, as he rolls, but he's not feeling too steady either.
"Well," Cook says eventually, the lazy grin slowly making its way back onto his face, "at least you're getting some action from somewhere, mate." He claps JJ on the leg, and JJ jumps, and then rolls his eyes.
Freddie can't help it, as Cook meets his eyes. He's got the spliff in his mouth; as he lights it, he grins around it back at Cook, smiling behind the flame.