(RPS, Nick/Aaron, with a side of (implied) Jesse McCartney, NC-17)
You're constantly amazed how similar you are: same coloring, same haircut, same height, although you do have different noses (unfortunately). Then there's the acne issue. However, as you watch Jesse shimmer on TV, you must admit inquiring about facial care is the furthest thing from your mind. You let your thoughts wander to a month from now, when you�ll be sharing the same stage in Bumfuck, Kansas. Your hands wander, as well, slowly sliding down to the seam of your jeans. You feel yourself harden even more; push the heel of your hand against the heat, teasing yourself with the friction. You're panting slightly, head thrown back, spine arched as you rub furiously, Jesse's voice rolling over you like waves, dulled by the pounding in your ears and the pulsing of your cock. You're just about to pull the zipper down when you feel a tickle of breath by your ear.
"Cute boy, huh?� You nearly jump off the couch.
When your eyes refocus, Nick is sitting beside you, looking smugly satisfied. You groan and shift lower.
"Reminds me of myself at that age."
You snicker. "Fuck you."
"You just did," Nick purrs, his tongue snaking out to lick your ear. You groan again, but for a different reason, eyes fluttering shut. You turn blindly to him and he does all the work, lines up your mouths, kissing you till you're panting just as hard as before, straining against him.
He pulls away, laughing, but he's just as breathless and when you look in his eyes, dark and filled with heat, you shiver. "Seriously, he's cute. And around your age. You should go for it, baby."
His voice is so low and husky you barely hear the words, focused on his lips, how you want them around your cock again already. You manage to decipher his words and snuggle into his neck. "Don't need 'em. Got you."
He strokes your hair, the touch so full of affection and you're glad the common discussion has gone unspoken this time.
You'll always have me, baby. But you don't, not really. We'll never be like everyone else.
You're relieved, that is, until you hear his next words. "I think we should stop all this."
Your heart stops, your body tenses and of course he notices cause he pulls you closer. "Hey, what? Mom. I mean the shit with Mom."
You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding. Mom. The exhausting fucking game of ping-pong that consists of �she was a terrible Mother,� �they were ungrateful sons, I sacrificed everything,� blah blah blah. And yeah, maybe all the 20/20 thing did was re-open the wounds; but you're sick of her bullshit and her motherfucking books.
"Thought you meant us, dickhead. Don't jump subjects like that."
He's quiet for way too long, and you start tensing again until he slowly lifts your head. His eyes are serious now; intense gaze that always feels like it will burn a hole through you. "I can't stop this.� He sounds helpless, frustrated, and lost all at once. You know those feelings well.
You climb on top of him, kissing him hard, desperate. He clutches your shoulders hard enough to bruise but you don't care. He lifts you off the couch until you're standing, then he's fumbling for your jeans and you're doing the same. When you sit down again, you're both naked and you're straddling his lap, head thrown back again with desperate moans as he works your cocks together in his large, callous hands.
"Baby. Fuck I love you."
You shiver under his hands, the one on the small of your back feels like a kiss. "Nicky...� You shift closer, needing more.
He senses your frustration and starts mouthing your collarbone, alternating between sucks and bites. "Don't have the lube."
"Fuck." You groan loudly as you climb off his lap, mumbling something about how you wish you were a fucking girl. His laughter, warm and hearty, carries you out of the room. You make it back in record time, notice a trace of smile still on his lips, but at least he has the good grace to look frustrated beneath it. You reclaim your position, hips raised this time, watching as he coats his fingers, eyes never off your face.
You moan helplessly and buck against him when he slips one inside. The arm around your waist pulls you closer, his mouth licking a slow, torturous line up your throat while he adds another. "You want him to do this, baby?"
You're so far gone you have no idea who he means. Until -- oh. Him.
"Want to fuck yourself on his fingers, show him how much you love it?" You'd protest, except that's exactly what you're doing. You push yourself further down, gasping as his fingers curve, sweat gathering all along your body. "You'd look so fucking hot, you know that? Blond twinks, so young, fucking like animals... god, Aaron...�
"Nicky... please.� Before you finish your words, his fingers are gone and he's lowering you onto his cock. You cry out, always amazed how big he is, how great he feels.
You find a rhythm as he raises you up and down, cock slamming into you, your hands trying to hold onto his sweat-slicked hair, his mouth still licking up your throat in slow, long swipes, every so often claiming your mouth before returning to its path. "Do you want that, want him inside you? Tell me, Aaron.� He emphasizes your name with a hard, short thrust.
"Fuck! Yes, god, yes!"
Images flood your brain -- Jesse, fucking you, spreading you out in a hotel room while you lay there like the slut you are, taking it all, begging him for it. Nick, watching you -- jerking off at the sight -- the three of you� Your brain overloads there. You feel his smile against your throat and he licks up to your mouth, kissing you almost chastely. "But not as much as me, right, baby?"
The tone in his voice makes you even hotter and your cock jumps beneath his firm grip. "Never.. oh. never.� He kisses you again -- this time possessively -- attacking your lips as his hand speeds up, thrusts become erratic. Your head is dizzy, your eyes watering and you come so hard you'd probably fall off the couch if his hand weren�t there to keep you in check. He cries out your name, crushing you to his chest as he comes inside you, and you cling to him like the child you have to remind yourself you no longer are.
You're both sweaty and sticky, breaths coming in uneven puffs as you stay there for long minutes. You don't ever want to move.
"You're mine," he whispers softly.
You bury your head in the crook of his neck, nodding against it, knowing no matter what happens in Kansas, it will always be true.
[end]