fic: The Best Policy
THE BEST POLICY
by thesamefire
Pairing: Andy/Joe
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3,800
Summary: "See, Andy has this policy. As policies go, it's pretty straight-forward. Brilliant in its simplicity, really."
Notes: This was written for blows_to_come! BEST CHALLENGE PREMISE EVER. As always, ignazwisdom did the beta, again on short notice. Many thanks! I would also like to thank all the wine I drank to get large chunks of this written.
Joe Trohman has always admired Andy Hurley, and the list of reasons why is almost embarrassingly long.
First, the guy is one hell of a drummer, and has been for as long as Joe has known him. And while these days their musicianship is pretty much even--Joe's guitar skills have certainly caught up over the last few years--there's a little part of Joe that always feels like a star-struck sixteen-year-old looking up to a local god every time he lays eyes on Andy. And sure, that feeling waxes (whenever Andy busts out some spectacular drum fill during soundcheck like it isn't anything) and wanes (usually after Joe finishes kicking Andy's ass at something on the Xbox) as time passes, but it's always there, just a teeny tiny bit.
Second, there's the way that he's managed to hold on to his beliefs for longer than Joe's known him. When Joe caved at Wendy's and started eating meat again, Andy still wouldn't touch the stuff. When Joe fell in love the first time he smoked pot, Andy was still edge. In some ways it's utterly infuriating, really; Joe eventually pussies out on everything he thought he'd believe forever, but Andy keeps going, standing strong in the face of temptation, and somehow manages to never be a dick about it. (Or too much of one, anyway. Most of the time.)
Third, well, third could be summed up in three words: those goddamn tattoos. Joe doesn't know anybody who has such nice tattoos, with the colours so bright after so long, with the shapes that cling to the curves of biceps and triceps and forearm flexors so flatteringly, with the sheer mass of coverage that still somehow looks natural, like he was just born with enormous, detailed, multi-colour birthmarks over half his body instead of actually having invested unspeakable amounts of time and money in having them painstakingly and painfully inscribed. Joe is only just now finally getting around to admitting to himself that Andy had been the primary inspiration for the ink now working its way up his own right arm.
There's more on the list than that, but Joe doesn't like to think about it. It's really kind of just a little gay. And don't get him wrong, Joe really has no problem with gay people, it's just, you know. He isn't. Gay. He has a girlfriend who he loves a lot and who he really likes having sex with, thank you very much. And anyone could tell you, nothing turns his head quite like a really fantastic pair of tits.
Except sometimes, late at night, when he's lying in his bunk and listening to Andy's voice drifting through the curtain from the front lounge, he thinks that he could maybe, possibly, given exactly just the right circumstances, make an exception. Maybe.
* * *
Exactly the right circumstances align sooner than Joe maybe would have liked.
He arrives back at the hotel room he's sharing with Andy around three in the morning, tipsy but not terribly drunk. He takes great care to let himself in as quietly as possible, for fear of waking Andy, only to discover his efforts were unnecessary. Andy is sitting on the far bed, his back to the door, hunched over and completely absorbed in his Ninentdo DS. Also, he appears to be naked.
Joe watches the way Andy's shoulderblades shift under tattooed skin, muscles flexing slightly as he jabs away at the game. It's almost like the giant tattooed face is staring at him. He's not sure if that's creepy or hot or both.
Joe takes a deep breath, his mouth suddenly dry, and lets the door swing shut behind him with a noisy bang.
Andy startles slightly and looks up, turning to face Joe. Joe is disappoin--no, relieved, definitely relieved--to see that Andy in fact has a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Oh, hey, Trohman, how's it going?" Andy hits the pause button as he breaks into a smile.
"It's good, man, you know, just out with Dirty and Korean Tom Cruise, wacky hijinx, you know how it goes."
Andy nods and sets the DS aside. "Any video cameras tonight? Should I be watching for something incriminating on Buzznet tomorrow?"
Joe laughs. "No, dude, nothing like that this time. Just some beers and relaxing, you know? We're saving the crazy for when we get home in a few days."
Andy murmurs a sound that could be vaguely construed as approval--of the behaving-themselves part, if not the drinking-beers part--when it happens: a moan, heard through the wall, breaks into their conversation.
As far as sex noises go, the moan is pretty innocuous. It's low, not too long, and choked off at the end. If it had been a little longer, a little more expressive, it could have been pretty hot.
Unfortunately, Joe and Andy both know who's in the room on the other side of that particular wall, and it's not the first time they've heard that particular moan.
"Jesus, Stump, keep it down!" Andy yells towards the wall.
There comes another moan, louder than the first, higher-pitched and longer.
"That goes for you, too, Wentz!"
It's sort of an open secret among the four of them that Pete and Patrick just, you know, have sex sometimes. They aren't dating or anything, and they certainly aren't exclusive. It's just one more facet of their weird relationship, and just like every other facet, it defies explanation. Joe hadn't been sure what he thought the first time he'd overheard them, but he's definitely getting used to it and now it doesn't really bother him.
Except this time he's standing pretty close to Andy, who's barely even decent, and all Joe can see are those fucking tattoos, curling around strong shoulders and a narrow waist. So yeah, this time, Joe is kind of bothered. Except not for the reasons he maybe should be.
A low laugh comes through the wall, followed by a gasp, a slapping noise, and then more moaning from the both of them, harmonizing in between heavy breaths and clipped grunts.
For his part, Andy doesn't seem to be taking it well this time, either. "Do you think the walls are especially thin in this place?" he wonders nervously, the question not addressed to Joe so much as the world at large.
Joe is glad the question was mostly rhetorical, because his attention is kind of, um, elsewhere. Not on Andy's question, but actually on Andy's lap, not that Joe would admit it. Because Joe is getting the impression that he isn't the only person finding tonight's Adventures in Overheard Sex Noises to be a little... sexier than usual.
When Joe realizes where his line of sight is actually pointed, he flushes a little and forces himself to look up. He meets Andy's gaze, briefly, and giggles awkwardly.
A sharp keening noise cuts the air between them, louder than the previous noises. Louder than the usual noises.
"Are they... are they against our wall?" Joe bursts out, incredulously.
"I think they are," Andy agrees. "Oh, my god."
There's a moment of very thick silence before the next moan comes. Joe feels his cheeks cool, which is weird because that was the kind of lusty moan that usually makes him really embarrassed to be overhearing and thus makes him blush like crazy, but the problem is that all the blood in his body is too busy for his face because it's commuting to his dick.
Shit.
It's another thirty seconds of too-loud Sex Noise before he can peel his gaze off the carpet at his feet. As his gaze works its way towards the ceiling, Joe can't help but notice that the noises are really affecting Andy, too. Because if the faint flush and nervous drumming of fingers against thigh aren't enough of a giveaway, the unmistakable shape of a boner beneath the towel is.
Also, Joe isn't entirely sure when he last saw so much of Andy's thighs. The guy drums in shorts, sure, and they would ride up sometimes, but this... this is different. The towel really doesn't come down very far. The skin that Andy is drumming on is kind of hairier than the skin further down his leg. Not that Andy is a particularly hairy dude. And not that Joe is looking.
The moaning, gasping, groaning, panting, and grunting continue.
Joe sort of can't believe this is happening. He's pretty sure he isn't dreaming, and he knows he isn't especially stoned (he'd only smoked a little, and it had been hours ago), and there's no reason for him to be hallucinating. So, by process of elimination, he is awake and this is real.
He's standing pretty close to Andy, listening to Pete and Patrick have sex, and yes, it's awkward as hell, but it's hot. And the noises coming through the wall make him want to make Andy make the noises he'd made the few times Joe'd accidentally-on-purpose listened to him jerking off in his bunk since this tour started.
Joe notes, a little belatedly, that his jeans are feeling really tight in the crotchal area. Really tight. His brain, making a bizarre half-drunk connection between two half-drunk synapses, imagines that Andy is probably a lot more comfortable than he is at the moment, given that a towel isn't tight in the first place, and probably doesn't particularly get tighter at inopportune moments.
But the problem right now is not that his pants are suddenly too tight. The problem is that Andy is wearing only a freaking towel, and does not seem to be aware of or bothered by the fact that it leaves nothing to the imagination. The problem is that Joe cannot stop looking, cannot stop his imagination from coming up with new and exciting ways to entertain itself.
The problem is that Joe clearly remembers something Andy told him once, a while back--remembers a little too clearly, considering the amount of time passed and number of beers recently imbibed.
See, Andy has this policy. As policies go, it's pretty straight-forward. Brilliant in its simplicity, really. The policy is this: Andy never says no to a blowjob. He makes exceptions, though, he had added quickly when he was explaining it to Joe that one time; he'll say no if the person offering has, like, visible weeping sores.
Joe knows for a fact that he doesn't have any sores, visible, weeping, or otherwise.
Joe also knows for a fact that Andy did not phrase it, "if the chick offering has, like, visible weeping sores."
Joe is pretty sure he's in a good position right now, actually, as far as not getting turned down goes. What he isn't sure of is when he decided that he wanted to suck Andy's dick. Like, really wants.
Before his brain can catch up, his body is taking the plan and running with it.
He sits down heavily on the bed, next to Andy. Their elbows bump together. Joe tries to look anywhere but Andy's lap. He ends up looking at Andy's abandoned DS, which is lying on the bed just between them. He picks it up, turns it around in his hands, and then gives it back to Andy, who turns it off and throws it onto a nearby chair.
There are more noises through the wall, followed by Patrick's slightly muffled voice, low and breathy, saying, "What is that?"
Joe can't decide if he wants to know.
"Oh my god," Andy says under his breath for maybe the fourth or fifth time since this whole bizarre thing started.
"Have you ever heard them like this?" Joe asks. "I haven't. This is... uh, it's, uh..." he trails off. Weird, he wants to say. Freaky. Inconsiderate. Really damn hot.
Andy just shakes his head. Which Joe does not see, because he's busy memorizing the pattern on the bedspread. So after a few moments of not getting an answer to what was only mostly not a rhetorical question, he looks up sort of in Andy's general direction. "Have you? Heard this before?"
"No," Andy says, shaking his head again.
"Me neither," Joe says.
"You already said that."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
As Joe closes his mouth, Andy stands up, gesturing towards the bathroom. "I'm just going to go, ah, you know..." He half coughs and half clears his throat as he made a jerking-off motion with his fist.
Joe jumps forward, body and mouth moving outside the purview of his better sense. "Let me, just, like... I want, uh... Let me blow you." Joe puts his hands on Andy's thighs, settles onto his knees on the floor between Andy's legs. His right hand moves up and runs along bare skin, venturing under the thin towel to skirt fingertips along the edge of where Andy's thigh and hip meet.
Andy lets out a deep breath. "Trohman..."
"Please, man, come on, I know you have this policy. Just let me." One hand moves to trace light lines at the the edges of Andy's balls. Joe looks up at Andy, meets his eyes.
Andy caves. Not a hard choice, after all. He nods and sits back down onto the bed.
Joe pulls the towel away from Andy's hips and breathes in as he sees Andy's dick--not that he'd never seen it before, but he'd never seen it like this, all hard and glistening at the tip--and then he licks his lips and leans in. His breath is hot, whispering against thigh and stomach before closing in. Joe hovers for a moment, looking up at Andy, their laboured breaths almost lost beneath the noises coming through the wall.
The noises... Pete and Patrick are definitely fucking now, Joe figures. There's no other way to explain the kinds of noises they're hearing loud and clear.
Andy's eyes flicker shut as Joe touches his tongue to the head of Andy's cock, licking away the pre-come already starting to build up. Joe pulls back a little, licks hs lips, eyes trained on Andy's crotch, and considers the task in front of him.
He's very well acquainted with blowjobs as a concept; he's intimately familiar with them, even, having been on the receiving end of a very great many in his time. It's just that he's never actually been the one with a dick in his mouth before. He leans back in and decides to just go with what he knows he likes himself--and whatever, it's a blowjob, like Andy is going to complain. He runs his tongue along the length, tracing ridges and veins and lines.
Andy breathes out sharply as Joe licks along the slit at the head of his cock, bites his lip as he runs a hand through Joe's unruly hair. His thumb trails lightly along Joe's jaw, the stubble rough even against his calluses.
Joe leans back in, lips finally closing all the way around Andy's cock, tongue tracing circles around the head as fingertips trace light circles at the top of Andy's leg. It's mostly like he was expecting, taste-wise, texture-wise, feel-wise. And it's not too weird, either, which he's glad for. It doesn't feel quite right, not yet, but it feels like it will feel right, once he gets used to it. So he keeps going, a little more confident with each press of his mouth, each swipe of his tongue.
Andy can't help himself, then: hit by a sudden wave of over-stimulation in his dick and ears and thighs all at once, he bucks his hips up towards Joe's mouth, trying to get in deeper. Joe lifts his other hand, then--where had it been before?, Andy wonders--to press against Andy's hips, push them back down against the bed.
Andy groans as Joe's lips wrap tighter around his cock, his mouth hot and tight, pressing against every single nerve ending, setting them alight. Joe's tongue swirls around the shaft of Andy's dick as he finds a rhythm and settles into it, licking up and down the length, pressing his tongue against the head and tracing unknown designs against any skin he can reach. Fingertips slide up Andy's thigh to cup his balls, shifting them from left to right, weighing them, rolling them, and then pulling, gripping, tugging.
Joe's beard scratches roughly against Andy's thighs as he bobs up and down, mouth sliding down until his lips touch the sides of the fingers he's just wrapped around the base of Andy's cock, squeezing and tugging steadily. Joe's tongue works slowly while his hands move, and soft slurping noises spill out from the wet edges of his mouth.
The build-up of sensation hits Andy hard, and his fingers clench and spasm in Joe's hair and he pushes his head down, barely aware that he's doing it. Joe lifts his head, pulling back slowly, drawing out a glimmering line of spit and pre-come connecting lips to cock. Andy stares at it, only half-hearing Joe as he says, "Dude, seriously, don't do that." The words eventually register as the cool air in the room hits his wet cock and the resulting shiver brings the room back into focus.
"Huh?" he asks.
"I said, don't push my head." Joe's lips twist into a sort of smile as he feels a rush of empathy for every girl he'd inadvertently done the same thing to in the past.
"Oh," Andy says, his eyebrows knitting together briefly in consternation. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
Joe nods, accepting the apology. He spits in his hand and then rubs it along Andy's cock, then licks his lips and leans in, wrapping them loosely around the head. He lets more spit drip from his mouth, the gleaming wet lines running down the length of Andy's cock to pool around his balls. He slides his hand up from where it was settled at the base of Andy's dick, slicking his palm with the spit he'd just left behind, and then he clenches his fingers as he slides his hand back down, pumping hard with his newly slippery grip.
Andy groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before deciding he'd really much rather be watching Joe's lips, which are pink and a little swollen and gleaming wetly in the low light of the room.
Joe settles back into the task at hand (and mouth), falling easily into his previous rhythm. Andy makes a very big effort not to push on his head again, despite the fact he very much wants to feel Joe's lips sink right to the bottom of his cock, feel Joe's throat around the head of his dick. He instead settles for twisting Joe's curls around his fingers, pulling on them rather than pushing.
That's when the noises coming through the wall stop abruptly, leaving the room suddenly silent. Andy can now hear the wet noises of Joe's mouth and hand as they move on his dick. Joe looks up, startled by the quiet. Their eyes meet and Andy watches as Joe pulls back somewhat, his tongue sliding a broad line up the length of his dick, leaving more slick spit behind.
The fact of the blowjob takes on a more immediate reality in the new silence. It's as if the absence of the former soundtrack has drawn them sharply out of their previous enchantment and dropped them unceremoniously back into reality. And reality is good. It's strange, in the first moments, when the catalyst for this whole thing disappears, leaving the reaction to finish under its own momentum; but just like before, Joe thinks, it's only strange at first and gets better. He keeps going, working with the rhythms he's built, his eyes flicking up to steal glances at Andy's face, at the way his eyes are squeezing closed and then flickering back open, the way he has one hand pressed over his own mouth.
Andy warns Joe that he's close, or at least he tries; but really, he figures, there are only so many things a dude tries to say at this point in a blowjob that Joe should probably figure it out. Joe seems to get the message, and does something interesting with his tongue while gripping Andy's balls just tightly enough, and then he makes a noise that sends vibrations straight down Andy's dick and into his stomach.
That's enough for Andy, who comes with a gasp, fingers clenching one last time in Joe's hair before they drop away as Andy falls onto his back on the bedspread. His dick slides free of Joe's lips, his last spurt of come catching Joe on the lip and cheek.
Joe swallows tentatively and decides it's not so bad. He won't have to get up to go spit in the sink if he swallows the rest, so he does just that. He wipes his mouth with the back of his fingers and then tries to wipe the streak of come from his beard, but doesn't have much luck. He figures he'll get it the next time he washes his face.
Andy finally sits up again, some minutes later, and realizes that Joe is still sitting on the floor between his feet. "Dude, why are you still on the floor?"
Joe shrugs.
"Come up here," Andy says, leaning in to grab his hand, hauling him up to lie next to him on the bed. "Much better," he pronounces as he rolls onto his side to face Joe.
Joe smiles at Andy, a little nervously.
"Hey, so, don't freak out about this," Andy says gently, looking at the lines creasing in Joe's forehead. "We're cool, okay? If you want to talk about it, we can, but if you want to just leave it? That's cool, too."
Joe looks moderately reassured, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
Andy decides it might be prudent to change the subject, and runs a hand along Joe's right arm. "Hey, so don't these tattoos make you a bad Jew?"
"Didn't we already have this conversation? No, wait, that was with my parents."
"So what did you tell them, then?"
"I said that the fact that I don't keep kosher or go to synagogue makes me a bad Jew. The tats just make me a badass."
Andy just laughs, then pushes himself up onto his forearms and tugs Joe's shirt up his chest to bunch under his armpits. "Hey, so, do you mind?" he asks, and without waiting for an answer he starts licking and biting his way down Joe's chest.
Joe makes an inarticulate noise of not-minding and watches Andy as he moves, watches the muscles flexing under green- and blue- and red-inked skin, watches as a flash of pink tongue dips into his navel and feels the cold flash of Andy's tongue stud against his skin, watches as a curtain of curly hair blocks his view of the good stuff, and then finally, finally, stops watching when a hot mouth closes around his dick and his eyes roll back in his head.
by thesamefire
Pairing: Andy/Joe
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3,800
Summary: "See, Andy has this policy. As policies go, it's pretty straight-forward. Brilliant in its simplicity, really."
Notes: This was written for blows_to_come! BEST CHALLENGE PREMISE EVER. As always, ignazwisdom did the beta, again on short notice. Many thanks! I would also like to thank all the wine I drank to get large chunks of this written.
Joe Trohman has always admired Andy Hurley, and the list of reasons why is almost embarrassingly long.
First, the guy is one hell of a drummer, and has been for as long as Joe has known him. And while these days their musicianship is pretty much even--Joe's guitar skills have certainly caught up over the last few years--there's a little part of Joe that always feels like a star-struck sixteen-year-old looking up to a local god every time he lays eyes on Andy. And sure, that feeling waxes (whenever Andy busts out some spectacular drum fill during soundcheck like it isn't anything) and wanes (usually after Joe finishes kicking Andy's ass at something on the Xbox) as time passes, but it's always there, just a teeny tiny bit.
Second, there's the way that he's managed to hold on to his beliefs for longer than Joe's known him. When Joe caved at Wendy's and started eating meat again, Andy still wouldn't touch the stuff. When Joe fell in love the first time he smoked pot, Andy was still edge. In some ways it's utterly infuriating, really; Joe eventually pussies out on everything he thought he'd believe forever, but Andy keeps going, standing strong in the face of temptation, and somehow manages to never be a dick about it. (Or too much of one, anyway. Most of the time.)
Third, well, third could be summed up in three words: those goddamn tattoos. Joe doesn't know anybody who has such nice tattoos, with the colours so bright after so long, with the shapes that cling to the curves of biceps and triceps and forearm flexors so flatteringly, with the sheer mass of coverage that still somehow looks natural, like he was just born with enormous, detailed, multi-colour birthmarks over half his body instead of actually having invested unspeakable amounts of time and money in having them painstakingly and painfully inscribed. Joe is only just now finally getting around to admitting to himself that Andy had been the primary inspiration for the ink now working its way up his own right arm.
There's more on the list than that, but Joe doesn't like to think about it. It's really kind of just a little gay. And don't get him wrong, Joe really has no problem with gay people, it's just, you know. He isn't. Gay. He has a girlfriend who he loves a lot and who he really likes having sex with, thank you very much. And anyone could tell you, nothing turns his head quite like a really fantastic pair of tits.
Except sometimes, late at night, when he's lying in his bunk and listening to Andy's voice drifting through the curtain from the front lounge, he thinks that he could maybe, possibly, given exactly just the right circumstances, make an exception. Maybe.
* * *
Exactly the right circumstances align sooner than Joe maybe would have liked.
He arrives back at the hotel room he's sharing with Andy around three in the morning, tipsy but not terribly drunk. He takes great care to let himself in as quietly as possible, for fear of waking Andy, only to discover his efforts were unnecessary. Andy is sitting on the far bed, his back to the door, hunched over and completely absorbed in his Ninentdo DS. Also, he appears to be naked.
Joe watches the way Andy's shoulderblades shift under tattooed skin, muscles flexing slightly as he jabs away at the game. It's almost like the giant tattooed face is staring at him. He's not sure if that's creepy or hot or both.
Joe takes a deep breath, his mouth suddenly dry, and lets the door swing shut behind him with a noisy bang.
Andy startles slightly and looks up, turning to face Joe. Joe is disappoin--no, relieved, definitely relieved--to see that Andy in fact has a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Oh, hey, Trohman, how's it going?" Andy hits the pause button as he breaks into a smile.
"It's good, man, you know, just out with Dirty and Korean Tom Cruise, wacky hijinx, you know how it goes."
Andy nods and sets the DS aside. "Any video cameras tonight? Should I be watching for something incriminating on Buzznet tomorrow?"
Joe laughs. "No, dude, nothing like that this time. Just some beers and relaxing, you know? We're saving the crazy for when we get home in a few days."
Andy murmurs a sound that could be vaguely construed as approval--of the behaving-themselves part, if not the drinking-beers part--when it happens: a moan, heard through the wall, breaks into their conversation.
As far as sex noises go, the moan is pretty innocuous. It's low, not too long, and choked off at the end. If it had been a little longer, a little more expressive, it could have been pretty hot.
Unfortunately, Joe and Andy both know who's in the room on the other side of that particular wall, and it's not the first time they've heard that particular moan.
"Jesus, Stump, keep it down!" Andy yells towards the wall.
There comes another moan, louder than the first, higher-pitched and longer.
"That goes for you, too, Wentz!"
It's sort of an open secret among the four of them that Pete and Patrick just, you know, have sex sometimes. They aren't dating or anything, and they certainly aren't exclusive. It's just one more facet of their weird relationship, and just like every other facet, it defies explanation. Joe hadn't been sure what he thought the first time he'd overheard them, but he's definitely getting used to it and now it doesn't really bother him.
Except this time he's standing pretty close to Andy, who's barely even decent, and all Joe can see are those fucking tattoos, curling around strong shoulders and a narrow waist. So yeah, this time, Joe is kind of bothered. Except not for the reasons he maybe should be.
A low laugh comes through the wall, followed by a gasp, a slapping noise, and then more moaning from the both of them, harmonizing in between heavy breaths and clipped grunts.
For his part, Andy doesn't seem to be taking it well this time, either. "Do you think the walls are especially thin in this place?" he wonders nervously, the question not addressed to Joe so much as the world at large.
Joe is glad the question was mostly rhetorical, because his attention is kind of, um, elsewhere. Not on Andy's question, but actually on Andy's lap, not that Joe would admit it. Because Joe is getting the impression that he isn't the only person finding tonight's Adventures in Overheard Sex Noises to be a little... sexier than usual.
When Joe realizes where his line of sight is actually pointed, he flushes a little and forces himself to look up. He meets Andy's gaze, briefly, and giggles awkwardly.
A sharp keening noise cuts the air between them, louder than the previous noises. Louder than the usual noises.
"Are they... are they against our wall?" Joe bursts out, incredulously.
"I think they are," Andy agrees. "Oh, my god."
There's a moment of very thick silence before the next moan comes. Joe feels his cheeks cool, which is weird because that was the kind of lusty moan that usually makes him really embarrassed to be overhearing and thus makes him blush like crazy, but the problem is that all the blood in his body is too busy for his face because it's commuting to his dick.
Shit.
It's another thirty seconds of too-loud Sex Noise before he can peel his gaze off the carpet at his feet. As his gaze works its way towards the ceiling, Joe can't help but notice that the noises are really affecting Andy, too. Because if the faint flush and nervous drumming of fingers against thigh aren't enough of a giveaway, the unmistakable shape of a boner beneath the towel is.
Also, Joe isn't entirely sure when he last saw so much of Andy's thighs. The guy drums in shorts, sure, and they would ride up sometimes, but this... this is different. The towel really doesn't come down very far. The skin that Andy is drumming on is kind of hairier than the skin further down his leg. Not that Andy is a particularly hairy dude. And not that Joe is looking.
The moaning, gasping, groaning, panting, and grunting continue.
Joe sort of can't believe this is happening. He's pretty sure he isn't dreaming, and he knows he isn't especially stoned (he'd only smoked a little, and it had been hours ago), and there's no reason for him to be hallucinating. So, by process of elimination, he is awake and this is real.
He's standing pretty close to Andy, listening to Pete and Patrick have sex, and yes, it's awkward as hell, but it's hot. And the noises coming through the wall make him want to make Andy make the noises he'd made the few times Joe'd accidentally-on-purpose listened to him jerking off in his bunk since this tour started.
Joe notes, a little belatedly, that his jeans are feeling really tight in the crotchal area. Really tight. His brain, making a bizarre half-drunk connection between two half-drunk synapses, imagines that Andy is probably a lot more comfortable than he is at the moment, given that a towel isn't tight in the first place, and probably doesn't particularly get tighter at inopportune moments.
But the problem right now is not that his pants are suddenly too tight. The problem is that Andy is wearing only a freaking towel, and does not seem to be aware of or bothered by the fact that it leaves nothing to the imagination. The problem is that Joe cannot stop looking, cannot stop his imagination from coming up with new and exciting ways to entertain itself.
The problem is that Joe clearly remembers something Andy told him once, a while back--remembers a little too clearly, considering the amount of time passed and number of beers recently imbibed.
See, Andy has this policy. As policies go, it's pretty straight-forward. Brilliant in its simplicity, really. The policy is this: Andy never says no to a blowjob. He makes exceptions, though, he had added quickly when he was explaining it to Joe that one time; he'll say no if the person offering has, like, visible weeping sores.
Joe knows for a fact that he doesn't have any sores, visible, weeping, or otherwise.
Joe also knows for a fact that Andy did not phrase it, "if the chick offering has, like, visible weeping sores."
Joe is pretty sure he's in a good position right now, actually, as far as not getting turned down goes. What he isn't sure of is when he decided that he wanted to suck Andy's dick. Like, really wants.
Before his brain can catch up, his body is taking the plan and running with it.
He sits down heavily on the bed, next to Andy. Their elbows bump together. Joe tries to look anywhere but Andy's lap. He ends up looking at Andy's abandoned DS, which is lying on the bed just between them. He picks it up, turns it around in his hands, and then gives it back to Andy, who turns it off and throws it onto a nearby chair.
There are more noises through the wall, followed by Patrick's slightly muffled voice, low and breathy, saying, "What is that?"
Joe can't decide if he wants to know.
"Oh my god," Andy says under his breath for maybe the fourth or fifth time since this whole bizarre thing started.
"Have you ever heard them like this?" Joe asks. "I haven't. This is... uh, it's, uh..." he trails off. Weird, he wants to say. Freaky. Inconsiderate. Really damn hot.
Andy just shakes his head. Which Joe does not see, because he's busy memorizing the pattern on the bedspread. So after a few moments of not getting an answer to what was only mostly not a rhetorical question, he looks up sort of in Andy's general direction. "Have you? Heard this before?"
"No," Andy says, shaking his head again.
"Me neither," Joe says.
"You already said that."
"Yeah, I guess I did."
As Joe closes his mouth, Andy stands up, gesturing towards the bathroom. "I'm just going to go, ah, you know..." He half coughs and half clears his throat as he made a jerking-off motion with his fist.
Joe jumps forward, body and mouth moving outside the purview of his better sense. "Let me, just, like... I want, uh... Let me blow you." Joe puts his hands on Andy's thighs, settles onto his knees on the floor between Andy's legs. His right hand moves up and runs along bare skin, venturing under the thin towel to skirt fingertips along the edge of where Andy's thigh and hip meet.
Andy lets out a deep breath. "Trohman..."
"Please, man, come on, I know you have this policy. Just let me." One hand moves to trace light lines at the the edges of Andy's balls. Joe looks up at Andy, meets his eyes.
Andy caves. Not a hard choice, after all. He nods and sits back down onto the bed.
Joe pulls the towel away from Andy's hips and breathes in as he sees Andy's dick--not that he'd never seen it before, but he'd never seen it like this, all hard and glistening at the tip--and then he licks his lips and leans in. His breath is hot, whispering against thigh and stomach before closing in. Joe hovers for a moment, looking up at Andy, their laboured breaths almost lost beneath the noises coming through the wall.
The noises... Pete and Patrick are definitely fucking now, Joe figures. There's no other way to explain the kinds of noises they're hearing loud and clear.
Andy's eyes flicker shut as Joe touches his tongue to the head of Andy's cock, licking away the pre-come already starting to build up. Joe pulls back a little, licks hs lips, eyes trained on Andy's crotch, and considers the task in front of him.
He's very well acquainted with blowjobs as a concept; he's intimately familiar with them, even, having been on the receiving end of a very great many in his time. It's just that he's never actually been the one with a dick in his mouth before. He leans back in and decides to just go with what he knows he likes himself--and whatever, it's a blowjob, like Andy is going to complain. He runs his tongue along the length, tracing ridges and veins and lines.
Andy breathes out sharply as Joe licks along the slit at the head of his cock, bites his lip as he runs a hand through Joe's unruly hair. His thumb trails lightly along Joe's jaw, the stubble rough even against his calluses.
Joe leans back in, lips finally closing all the way around Andy's cock, tongue tracing circles around the head as fingertips trace light circles at the top of Andy's leg. It's mostly like he was expecting, taste-wise, texture-wise, feel-wise. And it's not too weird, either, which he's glad for. It doesn't feel quite right, not yet, but it feels like it will feel right, once he gets used to it. So he keeps going, a little more confident with each press of his mouth, each swipe of his tongue.
Andy can't help himself, then: hit by a sudden wave of over-stimulation in his dick and ears and thighs all at once, he bucks his hips up towards Joe's mouth, trying to get in deeper. Joe lifts his other hand, then--where had it been before?, Andy wonders--to press against Andy's hips, push them back down against the bed.
Andy groans as Joe's lips wrap tighter around his cock, his mouth hot and tight, pressing against every single nerve ending, setting them alight. Joe's tongue swirls around the shaft of Andy's dick as he finds a rhythm and settles into it, licking up and down the length, pressing his tongue against the head and tracing unknown designs against any skin he can reach. Fingertips slide up Andy's thigh to cup his balls, shifting them from left to right, weighing them, rolling them, and then pulling, gripping, tugging.
Joe's beard scratches roughly against Andy's thighs as he bobs up and down, mouth sliding down until his lips touch the sides of the fingers he's just wrapped around the base of Andy's cock, squeezing and tugging steadily. Joe's tongue works slowly while his hands move, and soft slurping noises spill out from the wet edges of his mouth.
The build-up of sensation hits Andy hard, and his fingers clench and spasm in Joe's hair and he pushes his head down, barely aware that he's doing it. Joe lifts his head, pulling back slowly, drawing out a glimmering line of spit and pre-come connecting lips to cock. Andy stares at it, only half-hearing Joe as he says, "Dude, seriously, don't do that." The words eventually register as the cool air in the room hits his wet cock and the resulting shiver brings the room back into focus.
"Huh?" he asks.
"I said, don't push my head." Joe's lips twist into a sort of smile as he feels a rush of empathy for every girl he'd inadvertently done the same thing to in the past.
"Oh," Andy says, his eyebrows knitting together briefly in consternation. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
Joe nods, accepting the apology. He spits in his hand and then rubs it along Andy's cock, then licks his lips and leans in, wrapping them loosely around the head. He lets more spit drip from his mouth, the gleaming wet lines running down the length of Andy's cock to pool around his balls. He slides his hand up from where it was settled at the base of Andy's dick, slicking his palm with the spit he'd just left behind, and then he clenches his fingers as he slides his hand back down, pumping hard with his newly slippery grip.
Andy groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before deciding he'd really much rather be watching Joe's lips, which are pink and a little swollen and gleaming wetly in the low light of the room.
Joe settles back into the task at hand (and mouth), falling easily into his previous rhythm. Andy makes a very big effort not to push on his head again, despite the fact he very much wants to feel Joe's lips sink right to the bottom of his cock, feel Joe's throat around the head of his dick. He instead settles for twisting Joe's curls around his fingers, pulling on them rather than pushing.
That's when the noises coming through the wall stop abruptly, leaving the room suddenly silent. Andy can now hear the wet noises of Joe's mouth and hand as they move on his dick. Joe looks up, startled by the quiet. Their eyes meet and Andy watches as Joe pulls back somewhat, his tongue sliding a broad line up the length of his dick, leaving more slick spit behind.
The fact of the blowjob takes on a more immediate reality in the new silence. It's as if the absence of the former soundtrack has drawn them sharply out of their previous enchantment and dropped them unceremoniously back into reality. And reality is good. It's strange, in the first moments, when the catalyst for this whole thing disappears, leaving the reaction to finish under its own momentum; but just like before, Joe thinks, it's only strange at first and gets better. He keeps going, working with the rhythms he's built, his eyes flicking up to steal glances at Andy's face, at the way his eyes are squeezing closed and then flickering back open, the way he has one hand pressed over his own mouth.
Andy warns Joe that he's close, or at least he tries; but really, he figures, there are only so many things a dude tries to say at this point in a blowjob that Joe should probably figure it out. Joe seems to get the message, and does something interesting with his tongue while gripping Andy's balls just tightly enough, and then he makes a noise that sends vibrations straight down Andy's dick and into his stomach.
That's enough for Andy, who comes with a gasp, fingers clenching one last time in Joe's hair before they drop away as Andy falls onto his back on the bedspread. His dick slides free of Joe's lips, his last spurt of come catching Joe on the lip and cheek.
Joe swallows tentatively and decides it's not so bad. He won't have to get up to go spit in the sink if he swallows the rest, so he does just that. He wipes his mouth with the back of his fingers and then tries to wipe the streak of come from his beard, but doesn't have much luck. He figures he'll get it the next time he washes his face.
Andy finally sits up again, some minutes later, and realizes that Joe is still sitting on the floor between his feet. "Dude, why are you still on the floor?"
Joe shrugs.
"Come up here," Andy says, leaning in to grab his hand, hauling him up to lie next to him on the bed. "Much better," he pronounces as he rolls onto his side to face Joe.
Joe smiles at Andy, a little nervously.
"Hey, so, don't freak out about this," Andy says gently, looking at the lines creasing in Joe's forehead. "We're cool, okay? If you want to talk about it, we can, but if you want to just leave it? That's cool, too."
Joe looks moderately reassured, his smile finally reaching his eyes.
Andy decides it might be prudent to change the subject, and runs a hand along Joe's right arm. "Hey, so don't these tattoos make you a bad Jew?"
"Didn't we already have this conversation? No, wait, that was with my parents."
"So what did you tell them, then?"
"I said that the fact that I don't keep kosher or go to synagogue makes me a bad Jew. The tats just make me a badass."
Andy just laughs, then pushes himself up onto his forearms and tugs Joe's shirt up his chest to bunch under his armpits. "Hey, so, do you mind?" he asks, and without waiting for an answer he starts licking and biting his way down Joe's chest.
Joe makes an inarticulate noise of not-minding and watches Andy as he moves, watches the muscles flexing under green- and blue- and red-inked skin, watches as a flash of pink tongue dips into his navel and feels the cold flash of Andy's tongue stud against his skin, watches as a curtain of curly hair blocks his view of the good stuff, and then finally, finally, stops watching when a hot mouth closes around his dick and his eyes roll back in his head.