Hot Like Me

Part VII: "Solo"

Harley stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, digging in his heels to halt Trey's progress. "Where are we going?"

Before Trey could answer, Jake exited the club. He had Harley's wife-beater in his hands. He laughed as he watched the Sheffield brothers just standing there staring at him, both of them swaying like they were in a boat on rough seas.

"You're both pickled," Jake chortled. He tossed the black tank shirt to Harley and the boy missed it, bending slowly and carefully to pick it up from the sidewalk but nearly toppling over anyway.

"I am not drunk!" Harley retorted with a hiccup. "Totally not drunk!" He struggled into his shirt, somehow managing to put it on both backwards and inside out.

"Well, I'm hammered," Trey offered, continuing to sway and snickering like a simpleton.

Jake cracked up and smiled at the brothers. "Come on, lightweights... I'll drive you home. Trey, I'll bring you back to pick up your car on Sunday."

"Why not tomorrow?" Trey slurred, his eyes swimming drunkenly in his head.

"You drank an obscene amount of single-malt Scotch, Trey," Jake grinned. "Trust me: you won't be going anywhere tomorrow."

---

Jake knew better than anyone what liquor, dancing, and rubbing all over other pretty, half-naked gay boys did to Harley's libido. That being the case, there was just no way he was going to let the brothers sit next to each other in his Jeep. He had insisted that Trey sit in front, and Harley slumped over on his side the instant his butt hit the back seat. Jake wasted no time in pulling the vehicle out of the Viper's private garage, into the back alley, then onto Sunset Boulevard.

"Oh my God!" Harley groaned.

"S'matter, baby?" Trey asked, trying to turn around to look at his brother but having little success, having gotten himself all twisted up in the seat belt.

"God!" Harley groaned again. "I am so fucking horny!"

Jake and Trey snapped their necks around to look at each other. They heard Harley wrestling around like he was struggling with something. A moment later, the black wife-beater came flying from the back of his seat to land on Jake's head. Trey snorted a laugh, and both front seat passengers heard a zipping sound.

"Oh yeah..," moaned the drunken voice from the back seat, the sound deep and breathy.

"Oh no," Jake said with annoyance, adjusting his rear view mirror. "No fucking way you're going to wank in the back seat of my car."

"Oh yes I am," Harley retorted.

"Oh no you're not!" reiterated the driver.

"And just w-w-what are you going to … ah… going to….to…umm….do about it? Oh god, that feels so good…"

Jake was in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sunset Boulevard; he sighed resignedly when he realized there was actually very little he could do about the situation himself. "Trey!" he shrieked, looking over at Harley's thoroughly inebriated brother, "do something!"

Trey snorted. "I could blow him."

"Trey!" Jake looked horrified. "That's not helping!"

"Well, it'd be over with a lot faster, I can tell you that," Trey replied with a giggle. "Man, you ever seen how fucking long it takes him to jack off? Jesus. Kind of impressive, now that I think about it."

"Ooooh," Harley moaned, sucking in his breath. "Mmm…"

"Good God," Jake hissed. The traffic finally broke loose, and Jake sped down Sunset. The house that Trey and Harley shared was only ten minutes further away, so the Jake decided to just drive the short distance as fast as possible, and to simply ignore the solo love-fest taking place in the back seat of his vehicle. If what Trey had said was true - and Jake honestly hadn't ever had the pleasure of watching Harley masturbate - they'd be pulling up to the Hollywood Hills house long before Harley could muss up the back seat.

Hopefully.

~~~~

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© Copyright 2006 Justin Tyler. All rights reserved. Publication or distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Justin Tyler.
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