Hot Like Me
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,900
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,900
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. 6: "Tic-Tic-Toc, It's A Quarter To Two"
Part VI: "Tic-Tic-Toc, It's A Quarter To Two"
Damn, thought Trey, just... damn.
Another song bled into the end of the Backstreet Boys tune, Madonna's new dance hit Hung Up. Trey took another long pull on the glass of Scotch, still not registering that he was drinking something that tasted like someone had already chucked it up.
It got worse.
Keeping time to the slightly quicker beat with his feet and hips, Harley de-tangled himself from the younger boy and placed his hands on the guy's hips, gently prodding him to turn around. The black-haired guy followed the lead, turning around to press his smooth, sweat-drenched back firmly against Harley's equally smooth and perspiring chest. Harley slid his hands around the boy's waist and wrapped his arms around his chest, palms rubbing sensually and fingers exploring. He leaned back slightly and the boy in the painted on jeans leaned back with him, his arms reaching over his shoulders to hold onto Harley's neck.
Fog suddenly flooded the dance floor from jets in the ceiling, and Trey momentarily lost sight of the dancers.
When the haze cleared, the raven-haired boy had his back to the dance floor and was bent over at the waist, leaning over to hold onto the low brass railing. Harley was behind him, pumping his hips back and forth into the other boy's rear end; it looked for all the world like Harley was ass-fucking the kid through their pants, right there on the speaker.
"Every little thing that you say and do, hung up... I'm hung up on you," Harley crooned into the young guy's ear. He snaked out his tongue and lasciviously licked the kid's neck from shoulder to ear.
"Holy shit." Trey put the glass to his lips and polished off the remaining Scotch in one long draught. His hand dropped to his side as he stared at his brother. Jake reacted quickly to grab the ice-filled glass before it hit the floor.
"Any worse?" Trey looked like he was going to be ill.
Jake smiled and shook his head. "Nope, that would be about it, mate. Anything more and I think they'd get kicked out. Or arrested."
"Holy shit," Trey repeated mindlessly as he watched Harley tilt the other boy's head to plant a hot, wet, tongue-filled kiss on the kid's mouth. "That does it," he hissed.
Trey walked purposefully onto the dance floor, pausing for a moment when a new song suddenly blended in and broke the subconscious rhythm of his stride. Wedging his way through the frenzied crowd of dancing gay men, Trey came to a stop directly in front of Harley, glaring up at his brother on the speaker.
Harley noticed Trey immediately. Without missing a beat he excised himself from his dance/dry fuck partner, turning to face his obviously flustered sibling and smiling down at him. He swung his hips and shimmied his shoulders, reaching his arms out to Trey in a seductive, beckoning motion.
"Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Harley serenaded Trey with definite emphasis on the word hot. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don't you? Don't you?"
"God, I hate that fucking song…" Trey muttered under his breath.
Harley shook his ass and started doing those goddamn sexy body rolls again, not taking his smoldering eyes off of his brother. The black-haired boy had already jumped off of the speaker and onto the dance floor, dancing and vanishing into the worked-up crowd.
The actor with the pretty golden curls and no shirt spread out, taking advantage of the extra space on the speaker afforded by the other guy's departure. He strutted and twisted his body, dancing in time to the tribal beat while gazing lustfully at his brother. Suddenly, Harley dropped to his knees, rocking in rhythm to the pulsating music, and began caressing his own chest, his hands roving on his naked, wet skin, over his nipples and down his ribcage, rubbing lewdly at his stomach, his fingertips sliding suggestively under the waistline of his tight, leather pants.
Trey lost it. He reached up and grabbed Harley by the upper arm, dragging the boy unceremoniously off of the speaker. His mind was foggy and spinning from the combination of too much Scotch, shock, rage, and lust. Grasping Harley by the forearm, Trey tugged at at him rudely, escorting him off the dance floor like a child who'd stayed part curfew at the playground.
"Tre-e-yyy!" Harley whined shrilly, still awfully drunk. "I don't wanna leave yet. Come on, dance with me! That's my favorite sonnng!"
As the boy staggered behind him, Trey wondered through his own inebriated funk how in the hell his younger brother had been able to dance so incredibly well, when at the moment he could barely walk. Unsteady himself, Trey yanked harder on Harley's arm and fairly dragged him out of the club.
~~~~
________________________________________________
© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
________________________________________________
Damn, thought Trey, just... damn.
Another song bled into the end of the Backstreet Boys tune, Madonna's new dance hit Hung Up. Trey took another long pull on the glass of Scotch, still not registering that he was drinking something that tasted like someone had already chucked it up.
It got worse.
Keeping time to the slightly quicker beat with his feet and hips, Harley de-tangled himself from the younger boy and placed his hands on the guy's hips, gently prodding him to turn around. The black-haired guy followed the lead, turning around to press his smooth, sweat-drenched back firmly against Harley's equally smooth and perspiring chest. Harley slid his hands around the boy's waist and wrapped his arms around his chest, palms rubbing sensually and fingers exploring. He leaned back slightly and the boy in the painted on jeans leaned back with him, his arms reaching over his shoulders to hold onto Harley's neck.
Fog suddenly flooded the dance floor from jets in the ceiling, and Trey momentarily lost sight of the dancers.
When the haze cleared, the raven-haired boy had his back to the dance floor and was bent over at the waist, leaning over to hold onto the low brass railing. Harley was behind him, pumping his hips back and forth into the other boy's rear end; it looked for all the world like Harley was ass-fucking the kid through their pants, right there on the speaker.
"Every little thing that you say and do, hung up... I'm hung up on you," Harley crooned into the young guy's ear. He snaked out his tongue and lasciviously licked the kid's neck from shoulder to ear.
"Holy shit." Trey put the glass to his lips and polished off the remaining Scotch in one long draught. His hand dropped to his side as he stared at his brother. Jake reacted quickly to grab the ice-filled glass before it hit the floor.
"Any worse?" Trey looked like he was going to be ill.
Jake smiled and shook his head. "Nope, that would be about it, mate. Anything more and I think they'd get kicked out. Or arrested."
"Holy shit," Trey repeated mindlessly as he watched Harley tilt the other boy's head to plant a hot, wet, tongue-filled kiss on the kid's mouth. "That does it," he hissed.
Trey walked purposefully onto the dance floor, pausing for a moment when a new song suddenly blended in and broke the subconscious rhythm of his stride. Wedging his way through the frenzied crowd of dancing gay men, Trey came to a stop directly in front of Harley, glaring up at his brother on the speaker.
Harley noticed Trey immediately. Without missing a beat he excised himself from his dance/dry fuck partner, turning to face his obviously flustered sibling and smiling down at him. He swung his hips and shimmied his shoulders, reaching his arms out to Trey in a seductive, beckoning motion.
"Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Harley serenaded Trey with definite emphasis on the word hot. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don't you? Don't you?"
"God, I hate that fucking song…" Trey muttered under his breath.
Harley shook his ass and started doing those goddamn sexy body rolls again, not taking his smoldering eyes off of his brother. The black-haired boy had already jumped off of the speaker and onto the dance floor, dancing and vanishing into the worked-up crowd.
The actor with the pretty golden curls and no shirt spread out, taking advantage of the extra space on the speaker afforded by the other guy's departure. He strutted and twisted his body, dancing in time to the tribal beat while gazing lustfully at his brother. Suddenly, Harley dropped to his knees, rocking in rhythm to the pulsating music, and began caressing his own chest, his hands roving on his naked, wet skin, over his nipples and down his ribcage, rubbing lewdly at his stomach, his fingertips sliding suggestively under the waistline of his tight, leather pants.
Trey lost it. He reached up and grabbed Harley by the upper arm, dragging the boy unceremoniously off of the speaker. His mind was foggy and spinning from the combination of too much Scotch, shock, rage, and lust. Grasping Harley by the forearm, Trey tugged at at him rudely, escorting him off the dance floor like a child who'd stayed part curfew at the playground.
"Tre-e-yyy!" Harley whined shrilly, still awfully drunk. "I don't wanna leave yet. Come on, dance with me! That's my favorite sonnng!"
As the boy staggered behind him, Trey wondered through his own inebriated funk how in the hell his younger brother had been able to dance so incredibly well, when at the moment he could barely walk. Unsteady himself, Trey yanked harder on Harley's arm and fairly dragged him out of the club.
~~~~
________________________________________________
© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
________________________________________________