WARNING: Slash. Underage. Dubcon.
Smoke on the Water
They were there because Yani and Robert were dry fucking in the car. Colt didn't want to wait around for their clothes to come off. Naked flesh and sticky sweat, the smell of Pena Coladas and Sex on the Beach clinging to Yani's hair. Her moans pitched high over his breathless grunts. He'd seen enough of their infatuation to be sick of it. Sick and tired of the heterosexual fuck fest they played out for him every night.
He gave them half an hour, and stumbled from the car, a little drunk, a little miserable, and a little turned on. It was raining, a cold, fine mist against his heated skin that pebbled Goosebumps on his arms and made his clothes damp heavy. The air was cold, car park bled yellow by dingy streetlights that simmered and flashed in his bleary vision. He'd never been here before. Some truck stop, gas station and a dark and nameless bar that was twenty minutes from anything, and he didn't really care.
Colt just wanted out. Wanted away from those two. Their glowing wristbands and neon jewelry. Stamp covered hands and pill blown pupils. Much as they were his friends, much as he loved them, he needed a break. A half hour respite…not that he expected much from a shoddy, rundown bar.
It was warm inside, smoky and dark. The crack of pool balls on a blue table, low talking, and a radio playing static sticky songs from behind the bar. It was small enough that every eye turned to him when he walked in, and for a moment he was nervous. No one under thirty five, road hard, scarred. Their attention on him, assessing. But the moment passed, and they turned away. He felt himself fade into the smoky darkness, and join their anonymous ranks.
It was surprisingly easy to slip in amongst them, seat himself on a stool with his elbows braced against the bar, looking from corner to corner, and breathing in the smoke and leather and sweat of the place. It sunk into his skin and warmed his insides. Nothing like the clubs, their pounding music, the spit and grind and pulse of people, the mindless drive of it. This place was deep, dulled by honesty. Jaded. It felt right.
The barmaid looked him up and down. Her hair was mousy brown, peppered grey, her mouth a little lined, but the look behind her dark, dark eyes was as tired as it was fierce. He saw no hostility in her, just a flickering of sadness. She had to know he wasn't twenty one. Wasn't even seventeen. There was a fake ID tucked away in his pocket, one he flashed the club bouncers who didn't actually care about his age, but she didn't ask for it. "What'll it be, Sugar?'
"Smirnoff." Colt found his wallet while she found the bottle. It chilled his fingers through, but burnt against his lips while she lingered, watching him in the brief silence. "What you doing here, kid?" She said, her voice soft and low, brown eyes questioning.
He didn't know how to answer the question, besides saying 'my best friends are fucking in the car, and this is the only place for miles'. So he shrugged, and turned his eyes to the floor. "Same as everyone else, I guess."
"You shouldn't be here.." She said, and from her he didn't mind it. There was no scolding in her voice. She was just stating facts. Telling the truth. He shouldn't be here. He should be home, studying, sleeping. Not sticky with the smell of club life and sugar sweet cocktails. Not swigging from a bottle, already more than halfway to drunk, with the room wobbly at the edges.
"I know." He sighed, feeling vodka burn down to his middle.
"Ain't your Daddy gonne be worried for you?"
And now he wished she'd go away. Leave him be, because she had no place asking that kind of question. He shook his head, a little too avidly. His vision sticking and sliding and taking a second too long to catch up with his head. He didn't have a daddy. Just a mommy who didn't mind he was out with his friends. He didn't have a daddy to be worried. "He's not worried."
She left him to nurse his drink, sinking into the atmosphere of the place. Forgetting himself, forgetting the car and his friends. Forgetting all but what was right before him. And the more he forgot, the more aware he became of the place around him. Of the fact that people were watching him, in lazy glances and sidelong looks. He could feel it on his skin. A trucker by the pool table, glancing over before he sunk a ball with a crack and rattle. A thin, whip like woman looking up from the rim of her glass as she chugged back her choice of poison.
And maybe he was drunker than he'd thought, because the feeling of being watched made him hot under his skin. Made him unable to care about public indecency when scratched his nails over the crotch of his jeans. Teasing himself, riling himself up rather than trying to ease off. Head hung low, eyes heavy, with the want to get off singing through his veins.
He caught a glimpse of leather and denim, before eyes on his neck made him itch, like warm water over his chilled skin, and he turned to look back at a man by the bar, with his fingers wrapped around a bottle. His eyes were dark, mouth lined, curved up into a smirk that smoldered confidence, fixed on him. He looked Colt up and down once. A slide from head to toe like he could see through clothes, and his smile stretched a little wider. Pleased with what he saw. Wanting.
Colt knew that look. From young guys and girls in clubs, the flashing lights dancing off blown pupils and shiny lips, watching him like nothing else in the world.
He knew it, but never before had it turned his blood hot. Fingers of warmth reaching into his stomach and drawing tight as he looked back. Seeing a man, with muscles and callused fingers. Seeing the strength in his movements and danger in the tilt of his head. Seeing the outline of his cock, hard in his jeans. Bold, as the stranger turned further towards him.
Dazed lust hit him low and hard, and Colt smiled back, a flick at the corner of his mouth, wet his lips with ice cold vodka. He couldn't peel his eyes from the strangers jeans. A gleaming silver belt buckle over worn, dark navy denim, the man's big hand as he reached down to adjust himself. And in a moment Colt was imagining. Falling to his knees, pressing his face into the crease of the strangers thigh with fingers knotted brutally in his hair. The sound of a belt buckle, a zippers metal teeth…
Around him, the room tilted. Turned gold at the edges as want hit him so hard it left him bottomless. Staggered, his heart beating one-thousand miles a minute, skin flushed, eyes dark, just looking. He almost moved, almost stood to walk over, offered himself, or maybe just to go back to the car, equal parts of fear and lust and alcohol thrumming through his blood. But before he even twitched, before the thought fully formed, his Stranger was pushing away from the wall, bottle forgotten, walking towards him with unmistakable purpose.
Colt felt suddenly like prey. The Stranger a predator that would tear him apart, ruthlessly. Dangerous, unpredictable. It was incentive to run for the car. To leave, now, go home, and pretend he'd never set foot in the smoke swaddled bar. But instead, the look of hunger obliterated all thought. Rooted Colt to the spot, transfixed, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. Blindingly hard, dizzy with lust.
So much so that he didn't even flinch when his Stanger sidled up behind him, hungry, possessive hands fixing uncompromisingly on his hips, warm, whiskey sharpened breath on the back of his neck, and the man's cock pressed hard into the small of his back, belt buckle, button, zipper, denim. Heat, strength.
Colt felt like he could have thrashed, screamed, howled, and the man would have clamped a hand on his mouth and pinned him down. Fucked him up, or fucked him over, regardless. But the mans hand only dipped down between his thighs, palming once over Colt's own hard-on, and laughed. A low rumbled that echoed through his chest at Colts sharp, surprised intake of breath. "This for me, boy?"
He felt the shudder that rippled up his own spine, the heat of the strangers palm radiating through the denim of his jeans. The barmaid was watching them. Disapproval curving the soft edges of her face and reminding Colt that he shouldn't be here. That he shouldn't have a man, a man more than twice his age feeling him up in a bar. But he didn't want to leave.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it wasn't, but the little trill of fear that shimmied thought his bones only made him harder. Only made him want it more, and with a confidence that surprised him, he tipped his head back against the man's shoulder. "Sure is."
That same confidence pushed him off his stool, out of the man's firm hands and towards the bars bathroom. He threw one look over his shoulder, a smile turning one side of his lips, just to get another taste of that hungry look on his skin, before he disappeared behind the swinging door. Willing his Stranger to follow through.
The bathroom was cold, white turned off yellow by the naked ceiling bulb. Colt didn't spare the grimy stalls, or stained urinals much of a glance. His attention went to the sinks, and mirrors. His face reflected back at him, the room a little unsteady, but his eyes dark and heavy with drink and lust. Anticipation thrumming through his blood as he waited for the door to swing open, and the man to walk in. Do whatever he wanted, however he wanted to.
They'd be alone. In this kind of place, that kind of man could kill him. Leave him naked and bloody on the floor, walk out and no one would bat an eyelid until the joint was crawling with cops. He'd seen it before. Girls, mostly, stripped and ruined in some back alley, truck stop bathroom. Equally dirty, equally wrong. The danger was there, palpable in the grip of his fingers on Colts hips, in the fire behind his eyes.
Colt wanted it. He wanted the possibility. He wanted uninhibited power. To be taken from. He closed his eyes, marooned in the middle of the room with his heart pounding, head swimming. Blood hot then cold then hot again. Skin humming with unadulterated need. So much so that he jumped when the door opened. Shocked yet unsurprised when he was manhandled back against the wall.
He let it happen, pushed into the thigh that spread his legs and let his head fall back. The strangers hands shoved up under his shirt, spread wide over his ribs and pinning him in place, Breathing against the line of Colts throat with a smile against his lips. "Been awhile since I seen such a pretty face, kid." He said, voice a low rumble that went straight though Colts skin and made him breathless.
"What, no truck-stop blow-boys?" he laughed, that alien confidence talking, begging to be shut up.
"Such a mouth on ya." The Strangers muttered, fingers bit into his skin, as he ground his hips forward, pushing Colt up the wall and driving the air from his lungs. Putting perfectly painful friction right where it was needed, and blowing stars up behind his eyes. It shut him up. Eyes flashing to find the man focused every bit on him. On his mouth. Lips, teeth.
One hand left its bruising grip to touch colts face. Cup his jaw and press his thumb against the plush curve of Colts lower lip. Fixed as the boy tipped his head, opened up and took the thumb between his teeth. Warm, wet tongue licking over the whorls of his fingerprint. Showing just what that mouth could do. "You just gonna stand here, or you gonna suck my dick?"
A smirk stretched Colt's lips as he let the Strangers thumb go, trailing shiny wetness over his chin. "You gonna make me?"
In a second the man's hand was tangled in his hair. Tight and burning, bringing tears to Colts eyes as he was forced to the floor, trapped between the wall and denim clad legs. He gripped the man's thighs for balance, his face shoved against the thick, hard bulge burning through material. "Fuckin' little bitch. I don't like backtalk." The man rumbled, unclasping his belt with his free hand, snapping the button and yanking Colt's head back only to pull the zipper. Metal grind of teeth sending hot bolts of heat to Colt's stomach. "Suck my fuckin' dick."
The man gripped his jaw, tight and hard enough to leave bruises, and Colt obeyed. Fingers shaking in the rush, he pulled the man's underwear and released his cock, listening to the hiss of relief from above. His breathing was off, shot with anticipation, and the air smelt like sweat and musk. Filling his lungs and making him dizzy, hungry, and with ease that only came with practice, he sucked him down. Thick, heavy, hot. Muscles jumping beneath his hands.
The fingers in his hair, and on his jaw, got tighter, painfully so, and as the stranger moaned he fucked forward into Colts mouth. Didn't slow down either, didn't stop to give Colt room to breathe. Pushing down his throat into hot heat, feeling every swallow, watching close. "This what you want, slut?"
Colt couldn't speak, couldn't make a noise beyond a choked hum. His spine grinding painfully into the wall, knees sore, lips sore, jaw aching, scalp burning. Every thrust threatened to choke him, his vision becoming blurred at the edges as his lungs began to burn for air. He'd never been more turned on in his life. Painfully aching inside his jeans, both hands needed to hold himself upright, and on the verge of coming in his pants like a little kid. God, he wanted to touch. He wanted those big, scarred hands wrapped around him, so much he could almost feel it.
The man shoved down into his throat, brutally hard, and Colt did his best to suck, move his tongue, swallow. Everything he could to bring his Stranger off, wanting to know what he tasted like.
It didn't take long, thrusts becoming faster, less controlled, the man's grunts echoing off the bathroom wall. Colt felt the cock in his mouth swell, pulling back and hollowing cheeks. The stranger shoot his load with a growl and his fist clenched in Colts dark hair.
He pulled out quickly, jerking Colts head to the side with the hand on his jaw. "Spit." He said, watching as Colt gasped, ragged, and let the pearly white liquid drip from his fucked out lips. Obscene and gorgeous.
He tucked his spent cock away, hauled Colt to his feet, the kid a shaking dead weight, and pinned him to the wall. He made quick work of button and zipper, the rough handling sending a shudder that rippled through Colt. Calloused fingers gripping his sex just the right side of painful.
Colt fisted his hands in a leather jacket, and pushed into the contact, moan muffled where his face rested on the man's shoulder. He closed his eyes against the yellow light, heat and need gripping him and dragging him down until he was fucking into his Strangers hand. Breathing leather, tasting come, his jaw, his back, his head still aching, the world scrunched up into a tiny ball that consisted of him and the solid wall of muscle, meat and bone that he leant into. The man had his entire weight, kicked his feet apart and yanked his jeans a little lower, words obscene in his ear. "-kid like you shouldn't be out here. Fuckin' slut. You want this so bad, don't you. Need a little foul play, that right? You gonna come for me, slut?"
That was it. Colt couldn't, wouldn't, hold back anymore. He bit the man's shoulder, his choked off moan muffled but loud in the tiny, cold room. Eyes squeezed shut tight, his throat fucked raw, burning like he was still choking on a mouthful of cock. The bare light bulb burnt though his eyelids and left swimming imprints on his eyes, the man's hand so tight on his hip he could already feel the bruises that would be there in the morning. Shuddering through his orgasm and left feeling shocked and somewhat delirious.
Slumping back against the wall and managing little more than a handful of breathy words. "Fuck me, that was good."
The man laughed, a low, dangerous sound that still sent shiver up his spine. His eyes fixed on Colt in an all consuming way that, had he not just come, would have his blood boiling all over again. "I'd love to, pretty." He said, stroking his thumb over Colt's lower lip before stepping back. "But I aint got time. Go get some of those towels and clean this mess up."
With some effort, Colt pushed away from the wall and wobbled to the paper towel dispenser. The room off kilter, alcohol sloshing inside his head and making him feel a little ill. He scrubbed himself off in a hurry, wiping tacky come from his stomach, zipping up, then heading back to the man, who waited patiently by the wall.
He took the towels Colt held out for him and wiped come from his hand and arm, the other snaking out to wrap around Colts waist and yank him close. The towel was dropped to the floor, the man carding his fingers back through Colt's hair and taking in his dazed, fucked out expression, the brand new smudges of slowly blooming purple on his soft skin. "You be careful about this kid. Don't wanna get into deeper shit than you can handle. Some people ain't kind in possession of gold."
Colt's mouth twisted into confusion, an expression on his face that made the Stranger laugh again. "Wha'd hells that s'posed to mean?"
"Nothin', slut. Just don't be stupid." Then he was gone, the door swinging noisily as Colt wobbled and slumped against the wall. Trying to breathe and catch his balance, get past the swimming in his head.
He stood and waited. Waited for the dizziness to subside. His mind's eye repeating a play-by-play of his dirty little bathroom romp. It wasn't hard, not with the heavy taste of come still lingering at the back of his throat, every little ache pulsing and reminding him of what he'd done.
He reached up to tough his jaw, sore and tender, the skin defiantly going to bruise. The little twinge of hurt his own touch caused had lust stirring in his stomach. Want. Craving. But the more he thought about it, the worse the dizziness got.
He felt sick. And dirty, and he liked it. Which only made everything worse. What in hell was wrong with him? He'd sucked off a guy on a filthy bathroom floor, had his throat stripped raw, his face bruised, hair pulled. He'd been verbally abused, called a slut and bitch, by a man more than twice his age, and he'd loved it. Gotten off harder than he ever had before, from a measly handjob.
A shudder crawled its way up his spine. Revulsion and the same burning heat that told him he'd do it all over again, given the opportunity. Colt was suddenly glad the guy had made him spit the come. Or he'd be sick, for sure. An unclean feeling crawling on his skin.
Eventually, the dizziness won him over. Colt slid down the wall, knees drawn up to his chest as cold radiated from the dirty tiles, burnt his too hot skin. Smirnoff sloshing around in his empty stomach, and the lights garishly bright. Sick and chilled, disgusted but burning for more. He wanted it. He did.
How much time passed, he didn't know, but it was Rob who came and got him, calling his name as he shoved the bathroom door open, an 'I've just been fucked' smile on his face. Colt didn't see it fall, but he did feel Rob's hand on his arm, warm and soft and young. Gentle and stupidly familiar. "Hey, hey. Colt, you alright?"
He forced his head up, bile burning the back of his throat, but managed a nod. "Drank too much." He said, his voice sounding raw and choked. Fucked. He could see it on Rob's face, the worry double, feel his eyes on the marks that had bloomed along his jaw. It was sobering, served as incentive for Colt to shove the sickness back down into his stomach, and let Rob pull him to his feet. "I'm fine…Just feel sick."
"Yeah, okay." Rob nodded, willing to believe. He wrapped and arm around Colt's waist, and took his weight. Colt was sloshed. Knees wobbly, bones loose. Unsteady on his legs. "How much did you drink? I don't want you puking in my car."
Low and bitter, colt laughed, grating with the unnatural sound of a freshly fucked throat He kept his head low while leaving the bar, let Rob guide him, and let Yani wrap herself around him in the backseat of the car. Her cooing a ringing noise in his ear as he finally, finally looked back at the grungy car park and dark building. At an unidentifiable figure standing in the shadows, with a cigarette glowing bright between his hidden lips.
Yani's arms became claustrophobic. The car and his clothes a prison, the road his green mile. He didn't want to go back home. He didn't want clubs or dancing. He didn't want school or his friends. He pulled away from her, tucked himself up against the window, with cold burning his cheek. A naked light bulb was burnt into his retinas. The phantom feel of rough fingers on his skin, where he ached. Vivid and powerful against the blurry background of his otherwise everyday living.
And yeah. He felt sick. He felt dirty slutty, just like he'd been told he was, but it was good. He liked it, like the shockwaves that went through his bones when he dug into the bruises on his hip. Cold fingers snaked beneath the hem of his shirt, digging crescent moons into his skin with black lacquered nails. His breath a little shorter where it misted on the glass in front of his face.
He just wanted to go back, and collect bruises from strangers.
Yani smelt like sugar and alcohol. Long, smooth stretches of mocha skin and waves of inky hair, beautiful lips and beautiful eyes, familiar and warm. Colt woke pressed against her. One long, bare leg draped over his, and his face practically buried in her cleavage, breathing in the sweet sugar, spice smell of her body. Soft and supple. Such a contrast to Robert's hard lines and angles. The flat planes of muscles on his chest and stomach, pale skin and pale hair, pressed up behind him with a strong arm flung across him to Yani's hip. Caging Colt between them.
It was far from the first morning Colt had woken up like this, and he'd given up finding it strange a long time ago. Tangled up in the navy sheets of their bed, and sandwiched between their bodies like a well fitted third wheel to their super love, and on most days he enjoyed it. Loved their warmth and their contrast, the smell of their skin and the complete acceptance he felt when he was with them. But…not this morning.
His head, his jaw, his back, his throat, all throbbed with pain. The inside of his mouth was cut and sore, and when he licked his lips he tasted blood, probably a split. But worst was the thick, lethargic weight pressing down on him, the way his skin didn't seem to sit right on his bones. He wanted out, wanted away from the warmth of their touch, and had the burning urge to scrub himself clean. He pretended it wasn't there, that he didn't feel a hollow pit of dread in his stomach, and closed his eyes. The humming inside his head becoming a hollow ring, like tinnitus after a concert. Or a night at a club, where the bass boomed off the walls and throbbed through his bones.
Christ. His head hurt.
Colt swallowed past the rawness in his throat and tried again for sleep. Tried to find his usual comfort in Yani and Rob's arms. And it worked. Kind of. He didn't sleep, not really, but he wasn't awake either. Just drifting uncomfortably between the two, with the poor impression of dreams on the distant horizon of his subconscious.
He knew it when Rob woke, because the rhythm of his breathing changed, he huffed warm air against the back of Colts neck, and moved his hand on Yani's hip. Like always, he half expected Rob to move away when he noticed exactly who he was curled up against, but he didn't. Never did. Instead he moved closer, pressed the lightest of kisses to the back of Colt's neck. It settled him just a little, just enough to push sleep onto his skin in a barley there blanket. Enough that he barley stirred when Yani rolled away with a hung-over moan and crawled out of bed, peeling the blankets back on her way out and leaving only Rob to be his space heater.
They both adjusted to the loss, Rob's arm around his waist, knees tucked against Colt's calves, fingers idly drifting over his skin, tracing hipbones and flat planes of muscle.
Colt looked fast asleep by the time Robert forced his eyes open, the day seeping in from around the edges of the blinds and making him wince. It wasn't raining, but the light was grey and dull. Colt shifted, the tail end of the top sheet sliding from his waist. He made a quiet, unhappy sound in the back of his throat, and Rob reached for the blankets Yani had thrown aside.
Then he stopped. Froze, more like, looking at the bruised on Colt's hips.
Finger shaped. Not dusky purple smudges, but black and blue, livid on Colt's pale skin. Spanning over the ridge of bone around his hips, onto his abdomen, below the hem of his boxer shorts. And now he opened his eyes to see, they spattered his jaw too, Colt's lower lip scabbed over where it had split, marks like inky handcuffs around his wrist and up his arm, speckling his ribs. And high on his shoulder blades the skin looked red, rubbed raw, like carpet burn.
And suddenly he remembered how Colt had been in the bathroom the night before. Distantly, curled and shaking against the wall, white as sheet. He had seen, briefly, the marks on his jaw, the fucked out look to his lips, but it had been dark, and they'd both been a little drunk. He hadn't seen…or he would have….
Shit. What had happened to Colt? He'd been in there a good hour, and those people in the bar looked shady enough to jump for a pretty face.
With his eyes on the bruises he reached out to touch, a big, dark stain, one of the worst, that looked like a thumb print pressed into the softer crease of skin just inside Colt's hipbone. The second he touched it, Colt gasped, eyes flying open, and hit Roberts hand away with unexpected force. Almost immediately following, Colt curled over his knee's with his palms against his temples. "Fuck! My head!"
"Colt?" Reaching out, Robert laid a hand on his shoulder, a little surprised when he flinched away. "Colt, what happened?"
"Fuck off, Rob. What the hell are you talking about?" He groused, voice sounding raw and ragged, tongue running over his stinging lower lip to clear away beading drops of blood. His eyes were squeezed closed against the light, Dresden burning in his god-damn skull, but Rob only made a distressed little noise and fell silent, long enough for Colt to crack an eyelid.
Robert was looking at his stomach, at his hips, and following his gaze, Colt felt his insides turn. That sticky, off, sick feeling rising up to haunt him. Like dirty, bad, wrong. His throat was parched as a desert when he swallowed, and now he was thinking about why it made him want to puke.
With a curse, Colt scrambled off the bed, the drive to cover up outweighing the aches and pains of his body. The booming inside his skull.
"Don't you dare say a fuckin' thing to Yani." He growled, yanking on his jeans to the ringing sound a jingling belt buckle and the teeth of a zipper. Making a shudder crawl up his spine.
Again, Rob was quiet long enough for Colt to look up. Catch the wide eyed expression of worry, guilt and fear coloring his face. It made Colt stop, his breathing a little off. Did Rob know something? Had he seen the guy leave the bathroom and put two and two together? Had the barmaid said the wrong thing? They couldn't know. Christ. What the hell would they think? What would Yani think, that he'd sunk so low as to suck some guy off in filthy bar bathroom, some guy twice his age, and get off on it?
But that wasn't what Robert was thinking, and Colt couldn't hide his relief.
"What happened, Colt? Did…did someone hurt you?" Robert said, his tone morphing into anger as he picked himself up from the bed and moved lighting quick to Colt's side, catching his hand before he had a chance to pull the shirt over his head. "If anybody hurt you I'll fuck 'em up, I swear."
With a growl, Colt yanked himself away, desperate to cover up the evidence all over his skin. Couldn't hide his face, but without the clothes he felt as naked as he was. More uncomfortable in Robert's presence than he had been since the first day Yani introduce him."What? No! Fuck off, Rob. I'm fine."
"Bullshit. Those are fuckin' fingerprints. I saw the way you were in that bathroom, your were scared, or something. You don't get scared Colt. Something must have happened or-"
"Shut up!" Colt whirled, his words coming out low, choked and rubbed raw, grating in his throat. "I'm fine, Rob. Okay? Fine."
He watched Robert's shoulders sag, and when he reached out to wrap a gentle arm around his waist, and pulled him in, Colt went. Leant into his chest, let Rob tip his head back with such a gentle hand on his jaw and kiss him. Soft and careful, like Colt was something breakable. Rob's kisses were something so familiar. And it was good, it was nice and warm and loving,.
It made Colt's skin crawl. The scrape of denim over his bruises flashing under his skin, making his fingers twitch with the want to yank Rob close, bite his lips, dig in his nails. The want for Robert to put all the power wrapped up in his awesome body to good use. To pin him down, and fuck him good and proper.
They'd slept together before. Him and Rob and Yani. Colt knew he was, and would always be, their third wheel, but they fit together well. They were his closest friends, with benefits on the side. Normally, it didn't progress past touching. His fingers under Yani's skirt while she moaned into his shoulder, Roberts hand gentle in his hair while Colt sucked him off. But there were those few times. Like when they were all drunk out of their skulls. Robert had yanked him close and rumbled 'I want to fuck you so bad.' with his hard-on grinding into Colts ass. Yani climbing into his lap to kissed him with sticky sweet lips. They'd gone home, Colt sandwiched between the two, and Rob had fucked him deep and hard while Yani wrapped that lovely mouth of hers around his cock.
Colt had felt it for days after. And it had been good. So good, But he'd had still come harder the night before, in a filthy bathroom with just a strangers hand.
Feeling dread like a weight in the pit of his stomach, Colt let Rob kiss him for a minute, kissed back half heartedly, before pulling away. "Just…don't say a fuckin' thing to Yani. Not one word."
Old fic disguised as new fic. Dunno when the next chapter will go up. Some point. Won't be too long a fic either.
Comments always appreciated ;)