Hot Like Me
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,905
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,905
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Ch. 11: "Queer As Them"
Part XI: "Queer As Them"
Harley and Trey sat at the kitchen table attempting to re-create the buzzes they'd had earlier in the evening. They quickly polished off the nearly filled glasses of Scotch and tequila they'd left on the counter. After their very serious conversation and Trey's apparent switch over to 'The Dark Side' as Harley had so humorously put it, they were both in need of a fresh bout of inebriation.
Laughing and giggling, they proceeded to do a damn fine job of it.
"So," Trey asked, refilling his glass with Scotch and offering the bottle of Patrón to his brother, "what the hell was it you were doing with that black-haired kid on the speaker tonight?"
"Pphhhtt," Harley replied with a raspberry sound, drunk again. "You mean Gentry? Shit... that boy's been after my skinny little ass for over a year now. He's like a freakin' puppy dog the minute I walk into the place. Faaabulous dancer, though. Great body."
Trey snorted a laugh, a sure sign that he was already quite snockered again. "You know," he said, his voice thick and slurred, "you really sound like a faggot when you say 'faaaabulous" like that." He giggled again, laughing at the sound of his own voice imitating the word in his brother's rather fey manner.
Harley adopted a look of mock indignation. "Well, how am I supposed to sound? I am a faggot. Honestly, darling..." He rolled his eyes over-dramatically to punctuate his pretend exasperation.
Scrunching up his nose distastefully, Trey took another long swig of his Scotch. "I really wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?" Harley inquired, looking quite the innocent. He took a serious swallow from his glass of Patrón.
"Act all queer like that." Trey took another sip of his Scotch. Well, maybe more than a sip, something more akin to a thirst-driven gulp.
"And this bothers you why?" Harley asked, holding his hand out in a questioning, limp-wristed gesture.
"Because," Trey responded, rolling his eyes also, but not nearly so dramatically as his brother, "if you're a fag, then for all intents and purposes it means that I am also a... a..."
"Can't even say it, can you?" Harley grinned.
"Nope," snorted Trey with a shake of his head.
"Fag. Fag, fag, fag. Cocksucker, butt-licker, ass-fucker..."
"Harley?" Trey rapidly interjected.
"Hmm?"
"You wanna get laid tonight?"
"Well... yeah."
"Then lay off the 'fag' shit, okay?"
"But Trey, by definition..."
"Shut the fuck up, Harley."
"Right." Harley picked up the large, crystal tumbler and polished off the remaining tequila. Trey did the same with his glass of Scotch.
---
They were both shit-faced again.
Harley's libido had never needed any help where Trey was concerned. After their very somber conversation, coupled with the significant amount of cheap Scotch he'd consumed since arriving home piled on top of the good stuff he'd drunk at the club, Trey was also quite ready to throw caution to the wind.
So..." Trey asked slyly. "Wanna fuck?"
Harley smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Top or bottom?"
"Don't press your luck," his older brother scowled.
Harley squinched up his nose. "I guess that means I'm the bottom. Again."
"Right."
"Oh darn," Harley said, feigning disappointment. "I just hate it when that happens."
"So?" Trey inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"Last one in bed's a dirty, rotten faggot," Harley challenged with a grin.
The kitchen was left with two drained glasses, an empty bottle of Patrón, and a nearly empty bottle of cheap Scotch on the table, and two chairs overturned on the tile floor from their occupants' hasty retreat. Giggles, snorts, and squeals echoed through the large house as the brothers made their way up the spiral staircase, hands grappling at shirts and skin and pant legs and waistbands, in an effort to gain an unfair advantage.
~~~~
________________________________________________
© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
________________________________________________
Harley and Trey sat at the kitchen table attempting to re-create the buzzes they'd had earlier in the evening. They quickly polished off the nearly filled glasses of Scotch and tequila they'd left on the counter. After their very serious conversation and Trey's apparent switch over to 'The Dark Side' as Harley had so humorously put it, they were both in need of a fresh bout of inebriation.
Laughing and giggling, they proceeded to do a damn fine job of it.
"So," Trey asked, refilling his glass with Scotch and offering the bottle of Patrón to his brother, "what the hell was it you were doing with that black-haired kid on the speaker tonight?"
"Pphhhtt," Harley replied with a raspberry sound, drunk again. "You mean Gentry? Shit... that boy's been after my skinny little ass for over a year now. He's like a freakin' puppy dog the minute I walk into the place. Faaabulous dancer, though. Great body."
Trey snorted a laugh, a sure sign that he was already quite snockered again. "You know," he said, his voice thick and slurred, "you really sound like a faggot when you say 'faaaabulous" like that." He giggled again, laughing at the sound of his own voice imitating the word in his brother's rather fey manner.
Harley adopted a look of mock indignation. "Well, how am I supposed to sound? I am a faggot. Honestly, darling..." He rolled his eyes over-dramatically to punctuate his pretend exasperation.
Scrunching up his nose distastefully, Trey took another long swig of his Scotch. "I really wish you wouldn't do that."
"Do what?" Harley inquired, looking quite the innocent. He took a serious swallow from his glass of Patrón.
"Act all queer like that." Trey took another sip of his Scotch. Well, maybe more than a sip, something more akin to a thirst-driven gulp.
"And this bothers you why?" Harley asked, holding his hand out in a questioning, limp-wristed gesture.
"Because," Trey responded, rolling his eyes also, but not nearly so dramatically as his brother, "if you're a fag, then for all intents and purposes it means that I am also a... a..."
"Can't even say it, can you?" Harley grinned.
"Nope," snorted Trey with a shake of his head.
"Fag. Fag, fag, fag. Cocksucker, butt-licker, ass-fucker..."
"Harley?" Trey rapidly interjected.
"Hmm?"
"You wanna get laid tonight?"
"Well... yeah."
"Then lay off the 'fag' shit, okay?"
"But Trey, by definition..."
"Shut the fuck up, Harley."
"Right." Harley picked up the large, crystal tumbler and polished off the remaining tequila. Trey did the same with his glass of Scotch.
---
They were both shit-faced again.
Harley's libido had never needed any help where Trey was concerned. After their very somber conversation, coupled with the significant amount of cheap Scotch he'd consumed since arriving home piled on top of the good stuff he'd drunk at the club, Trey was also quite ready to throw caution to the wind.
So..." Trey asked slyly. "Wanna fuck?"
Harley smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Top or bottom?"
"Don't press your luck," his older brother scowled.
Harley squinched up his nose. "I guess that means I'm the bottom. Again."
"Right."
"Oh darn," Harley said, feigning disappointment. "I just hate it when that happens."
"So?" Trey inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"Last one in bed's a dirty, rotten faggot," Harley challenged with a grin.
The kitchen was left with two drained glasses, an empty bottle of Patrón, and a nearly empty bottle of cheap Scotch on the table, and two chairs overturned on the tile floor from their occupants' hasty retreat. Giggles, snorts, and squeals echoed through the large house as the brothers made their way up the spiral staircase, hands grappling at shirts and skin and pant legs and waistbands, in an effort to gain an unfair advantage.
~~~~
________________________________________________
© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
________________________________________________