8 comments/ 43209 views/ 13 favorites Hot Like Me By: Justin_Tyler "Hot Like Me" The third installment of the The Brothercest Series by Justin Tyler ***************** Harley was pissed. Royally pissed. Things had been great between them since Trey had come home, going on six months now. Until tonight. Harley had been sitting in their bedroom, curled up in his cushy, ugly, harvest gold recliner reading a really stupid, horrible script his agent had sent to him for consideration. He was already in a foul mood because of it, when Trey arrived home and dropped the bomb on him. "Let me get this straight - pardon the pun." Harley could be so damned sarcastic when he was pissed off. "You have a meeting with a potential investor - a meeting you've had planned for over a month now and didn't bother to tell me, your business partner, about until now. And because you presumably can't control yourself around me, and you feel it's important to have something pretty on your arm to impress the hotshots, you have a date? With a girl?" Trey slapped his hand over his face and shook his head. "Why do you always have to over-dramatize everything, Harley?" Harley tossed the crappy script to the floor, the pages fluttering about before they landed on the cornflower blue carpeting. "Oh, let me see," he said, tapping his cheek with his index finger. "'A' - because I'm an actor, and 'B' - because I'm a fucking fairy? Yeah, that's it." He folded his arms prissily across his chest, grinning and waiting for the tirade he knew was coming. Trey was just too goddamn cute, especially when he got bent out of shape whenever Harley behaved a little too faggy for his tastes. Like now. "Look Harley," Trey said, "first off, it's not a date. It's a business meeting. Second, she's working as an intern in our production office - and you'd know that, by the way, if you ever bothered to actually visit your office. So, it's not like I'm actually going out with a girl. It's just business." "Does said intern have tits? A vagina?" Harley asked, way too sweetly. Trey pulled off his V-neck sweater and flung it onto the bed. "Well, the tits I can attest to. As for the vagina, I can only assume." "Then she is indeed a girl, at least by appearances. Therefore, you have a date. With a girl." "Jesus, Harley... it's not a date!" Trey was quickly becoming exasperated with his brother. "Where is the meeting being held?" Oh shit, Trey thought. This is not going to go over well. "The investor and his partner kind of insisted on the venue. They're new in town." "Where, Trey?" Harley stuck the tip his index finger into his mouth, biting at it seductively. He was enjoying every second of his brother's discomfort. All in good fun, of course. Trey began pulling his polo shirt over his head, answering his brother's question while his face was covered up by the orange fabric. "The V....r Roo..." he mumbled through the material. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Harley leered, cupping his hand to his ear. Trey kicked off his shoes, removed his socks, and pulled down his tan cargos. Left wearing only a pair of white, Calvin Klein boxer-briefs, he put his hands on his hips. "The. Viper. Room. Clear enough?" "Ah, so now the truth comes out," Harley grinned evilly. "Not only do you have a date - with a girl - you're taking her to 'Depp's Den of Iniquity'. You go, stud." "It's not a date, Harley." "Right." "And she's not a girl. She's an intern." "With tits." "Oh, for Christ's sake," Trey spat, marching across the bedroom and into the master bath, slamming the door behind him. Harley tossed his pretty, curly hair back and laughed out loud. Trey was just too goddamn cute when he got bent out of shape. --- While Trey was in the bathroom, showering, shaving, and getting himself all primped up for his 'date', Harley wandered downstairs to the kitchen. He opened the cupboard over the sink and grabbed an unopened bottle of Petrone tequila. He'd been good lately; he hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol since Trey had moved back in. He needed it now, though. Harley was making light of the situation, teasing his brother and enjoying it immensely, but deep down he really was pissed off, and rather hurt in a strange sort of way. He tore the black foil wrapper off the neck of the bottle and unscrewed the cap. Fuck looking for a shot glass; he put the bottle to his lips and took a long pull, sputtering and gagging as the Mexican firewater burned his throat on the way down. He recovered quickly, old habits dying hard, and he took another healthy swallow of the potent liquor. "Woo!" Harley giggled. He took one more drink, probably a bigger drink than he should have, and replaced the cap on the bottle. He left the bottle sitting on the counter, not remembering at that point which cabinet he'd retrieved it from. Harley picked up the wall phone, carefully dialing one of the few numbers he'd actually memorized before storing them in his cell phone. "How you doing, Love?" Jake chirped on the other end of the line, the Sheffield brothers' number registering on his phone's caller ID. Harley giggled again. "I'm fucking drunk." "Well, that's overstating the obvious," the British actor chuckled. "Are you alright?" "Oh, I'm good," Harley slurred through a grin. "I need a favor though, honey." Jake knew then for a fact that the boy was plowed. That was the only time that Harley ever called him 'honey'. "What do you need, Love?" Jake smiled. He knew there must be some reason for Harley getting plastered, after having laid off the sauce for nearly half a year. "Trey has a date tonight. It's got tits." Harley reached for the bottle of Petrone on the counter and struggled the cap off, taking another sip. Jake laughed. "And this has what to do with me?" "I need a ride to the Viper. I can't drive. I don't think I can even find the freakin' garage right now." Harley hiccupped loudly into the phone. "You could just ring up a taxi, you know," Jake replied. "A cab driver won't rub my back and hold my hair out of the way when I'm barfing this shit up later." Harley still hadn't gotten his hair cut, the full year's growth now cascading his honey-gold curls just below his shoulders. Jake chuckled. "Point well taken, Love. You do realize that you're going to embarrass yourself, right?" "Oh yeah," Harley snorted. "I'm counting on it, honey." "I'll be there in thirty minutes," Jake sighed. "Go get changed. I know what you wear around the house - dreadfully drab, probably grey, with holes everywhere. If you're going to do the bitchy, scorned, faggot lover thing in public you need to look faaabulous, sweetheart." Harley held the phone away from his face, drunkenly looking down to examine his current attire. An old, drab, grey, Adidas sweat suit, with holes in the knees of the pants and in the elbows of the hoodie. He smiled and spoke into the phone. "You're a good friend, Jake." "So everyone keeps telling me. You are aware that Trey is going to be highly irate when he finds out that I was a party to this." "Fuck Trey." "No thank you, Princess, that's your job. He's not my type, anyway." "And your type is...?" Harley inquired naughtily, taking another swig of tequila. "Young, skinny, and painfully pretty." "Sounds vaguely familiar." "No one you know," Jake teased. "Go get dressed, Love. I'll be there in thirty." Part II: Harley climbed the spiral staircase, the swirl of steps making him dizzy for a moment. Once upstairs, he tiptoed back into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, feigning sleep when Trey emerged from the bathroom. Trey got dressed, a black Escada suit with a black shirt and silk tie, splashing a dash of CK2 on his neck before exiting the bedroom and closing the door behind him. After hearing the front door close and Trey's car pull away, Harley tossed off the bedclothes. "Tits," he spat as he got out of bed. The walk-in closet was calling his name. --- "Holy God!" Jake exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. Harley was leaning against the center island, the Petrone bottle again in his hand. "What do you think?" Harley asked with a lascivious grin. Jake shook his head. "I think you're very lucky that I've come to like and respect your brother," he said. "If I didn't, I'd have absolutely no reservations about slamming your cute little ass to the tile and fucking the living daylights out of you right now. Sweet Jesus, Harley! Couldn't you have found something just a tad more provocative in your closet?" Harley licked his lips and grinned. He knew he looked good. Simple, but good. Damn good. Black, skintight, low-rise leather pants. Black, ribbed-knit, wife-beater tank top. Black, leather, chrome-buckled motorcycle boots. Black eyeliner. Just a subtle touch. All that black, contrasting with his pale, soft, alabaster skin. Young, skinny, and painfully pretty. "Holy God," Jake repeated. "Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful," Harley pouted sexily, running his tongue across his bottom lip. Jake cracked up. "Get your ass in the Jeep, Princess, before I lose all sense of decorum here." He opened the back door, and Harley prettily danced his way outside, drunkenly singing his favorite club song, the one by The Pussycat Dolls. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me, don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me... don't you... don't you...." Part III: "The Business Meeting" Jake pulled the Jeep into the underground garage, sliding his pass card back into the visor pocket as he brought the vehicle to a halt. Normally, Harley entered the club through the front door rather than availing himself of the VIP entrance. Jake wasn't going to let him use the public entrance tonight, however. Not looking like that. As soon as they entered the club via the rear entrance, Harley took off at nearly a run to make a beeline for the nearest bar. He'd already ordered and downed another healthy double of Petrone by the time Jake caught up. The Englishman looked around the room, then leaned back against the bar next to Harley as casually as possible. Jake whispered into his ear, "I think you'd better back off the happy water, Love." "Why?" Harley asked, a silly grin on his face. "You think I'm drunk?" "Obviously." "I am not drunk," the boy giggled, "totally not drunk." Jake could only shake his head. Harley began scanning the room, searching for Trey, the investors, and the tits. Although the place was packed to capacity, it didn't take him long to find them. "Here I go," announced Harley, his expression a sexy smirk. He turned to face Jake at the bar. "Do I look okay?" "Sex on a stick," Jake grinned. "Go get 'em, Princess." Harley winked at his friend, then sauntered seductively across the large room. Jake chuckled, and turned to the bartender to have him put on a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night. --- Trey was making a half-hearted attempt at pretending to pay attention to the bullshit the so called investors were trying to feed him. He turned as he caught something out of the corner of his eye, taking an almost cartoonish double-take when he saw that it was Harley. Holy shit, Trey grimaced. What the hell is he doing here? And what the hell is he wearing? Harley smiled broadly at his brother. Trey's eyes widened and he began shaking his head quickly, a definitive 'please don't come over here' motion. Harley, of course, ignored it. He walked up to Trey's table, squeezing himself between his brother and the buxom blonde intern. "Trey, what a surprise running into you here!" Harley gushed. He leaned over and kissed his brother on the cheek. Trey shot him a look that, if looks could kill, Harley would be pushing up daisies. "And who might these lovely people be?" Harley smiled sweetly with a toss of his curls. Trey glared at him before responding. "This is Chuck Morrow," Trey gestured toward the grey-haired, fifty-something gentleman, "and this is his partner, James Harrison. They're interested in investing in the production company." Trey nodded toward the younger, auburn-haired man, then looked again at his brother, his eyes narrowing. "Gentlemen, this is my brother and business partner, Harley Sheffield." Harley extended his hand and shook with both of the men, turning his gaze to the busty blonde woman. "And this gorgeous creature is...?" The blonde grinned and extended a limp hand. "I'm Heather!" she squeaked. Harley took her hand and gallantly kissed the back of it. "But of course you are, my dear. A pleasure." The girl giggled giddily, gawking at the back of her hand after the young actor released it. "Heather Blake is the newest intern at the company, Harley," Trey added, shooting his brother another unfriendly glare. "Perhaps you should stop in from time to time, get to know your staff?" "Oh," Harley smirked, flipping his hands in a prissy, 'get the heck out of town' manner, "I leave all that nasty, boring business stuff to my dear brother here. I'm only on board to lend a famous name for credibility. He's the brains behind the operation. I'm merely the beauty." Harley grinned and batted his eyelashes at his sibling. Trey's mouth dropped open. There was an awkward silence; the investors didn't quite know what to say, Heather was enraptured by finally seeing the famous actor in person and having had her hand kissed by him, and Trey was so pissed off he couldn't have spoken coherently had his life depended on it. Harley just continued to grin. Well," Harley finally offered, "you all continue your important meeting here. It was very nice to have met all of you. Trey, I'm going across the street to the dance club for a while. Please feel free to join me after your meeting has adjourned." He leaned down and rested his head on his brother's shoulder, pressing his mouth close to Trey's ear. "How much do you think she paid for that rack?" Harley whispered. "Five, six grand?" Trey gouged his elbow into Harley's ribs, the boy emitting a soft 'oof' from the impact. Trey whispered back to his brother. "Do not go to that club." Harley, drunk as he was, somehow managed to run his tongue around his brother's ear without a soul noticing. Trey sucked in his breath and held it as Harley walked away. It was going to be a long night. ~~ Part IV: "The Fag Palace" Having rid himself of the investors and the agonizingly giddy intern, Trey decided to hit the men's room at the Viper before leaving to retrieve Harley. As he approached the rear bar, he caught sight of a familiar figure hunched over it, sipping a mug of coffee and smoking a cigarette. "Jake, what a surprise," Trey said with a healthy dose of sarcasm . "I should have known you had something to do with this. And here I thought we had come to an understanding." Jake set his mug down on the bar top, blowing a stream of smoke politely out of Trey's way. "Trey, I know this looks bad, but I really didn't have any choice. In case you didn't notice, the boy is more than a few sails past three sheets to the wind. He was determined to come down here, even if he had to drive." "He could have called a taxi," Trey shot back. "Well, I did suggest that, actually," Jake smiled. "Harley said something about needing me around later when he pukes up the liter of Petrone he's had tonight - so far." "Ah," Trey replied with a look of recognition. "He knows I don't handle throwing up very well." Trey sighed resignedly. Even now, he still hated it when Jake was right. "Okay, you did the right thing. Are you going to stay here to wait, or are you coming with me to drag him out of the Fag Palace?" Jake chuckled, thoroughly amused. He was the only person in the known universe that was aware that the Sheffield brothers had been fucking each other's brains out for several years now. It still tickled the Brit how Trey managed to go well out of his way to appear homophobic. "I'll go with you," Jake sighed. "You've never actually seen him in action over there. It's quite likely it'll take the both of us to extricate him." "He's that bad?" Trey asked, but not really wanting to know the answer. "You have no idea." Jake nodded toward the front door. Trey shook his resignedly head and led the way. --- 'Bad' wasn't even remotely the right word. As they walked through the entrance of The Palace, Trey put his hands to his ears to protect them from the deafening, pulse-pounding thud-thud-thud of the bass-laden dance music. He vaguely recognized the Rob Thomas song, but it didn't sound anything like the version played on the radio. Jake had already paid the cover charge for himself and Trey, and they both held out a fist to get the backs of their hands stamped. Unfamiliar with the layout of the club, Trey allowed Jake to enter first. The place was packed wall-to-wall with men, most of them quite young, all of them gay. Jake went straight to the closest bar. There was no way he was going to allow Trey to witness this without getting the man at least a little bit liquored up first. Three shots of single-malt Scotch later, Jake figured Trey was as ready as he was ever going to be, and led him to the brass rail surrounding the sunken dance floor. Trey looked around the crowded room and the even more crowded dance floor, squinting as the colored lights swirled, artificial fog wafted, and the occasional strobe flashed. The Scotch had landed pretty quickly, his vision blurry from the alcohol and the light show. "I don't see him!" Trey shouted to Jake. The Englishman pointed across the room. Trey's eyes followed the other man's arm as if it were a rifle sight. "He's right there!" Jake shouted back over the loud music. The dance mix of The Backstreet Boys' Get Another Boyfriend was practically deafening, with the bass riff so pronounced you could feel your bones rattling. Holy shit, Trey thought, will you look at that... ~~~ Part V: "You've Got To Be Kidding Me" Harley was dancing bare-chested on a speaker, his black wife-beater hanging sloppily over the rail behind him. His skin was flushed and glistening with sweat, the curls at his shoulders even curlier from the dampness. There was another young man dancing beside him on the speaker; perhaps eighteen or nineteen, with green eyes, longish black hair, fair skin, and a slim build just like Harley's. The other boy was in a similar state of undress, with impossibly snug jeans on his lower half. There was a major tease going on in their dancing, Trey's younger brother staring and licking his lips sexily at his dance partner. Harley ran his hands down his own chest and perched his fingers on his hips. He then proceeded to execute some damn fine body rolls, his back arching and his torso undulating from his shoulders to his ass. Trey blinked and shook his head, leaning over to shout into Jake's ear. "When the fuck did he learn to do that?" Trey asked, incredulous. Jake smiled wanly and shrugged. "It gets worse." "Worse than that?" Jake nodded, focusing his attention again on the sexy action taking place on the speaker. "Oh yeah..." The dark-haired boy grinned and replied to the motions in kind, the muscles of his tight stomach rippling as he rolled his supple upper body. Harley moved closer to him with measured steps, putting one hand on the other boy's shoulder; his other hand slid down the guy's sweaty chest and came to rest on the sharp hip jutting over a pair of impossibly snug low-rider jeans. The black-haired young man grabbed Harley by the ass with one hand, his other running up the actor's tummy and chest, slick with perspiration. A delicate, slim-fingered hand slid around the back of Harley's neck, grasping at the sinewy muscle and twining the golden blond curls through his fingers. The other boy pulled Harley into him, hand still on his ass, pressing their chests together, their skin hot and slick. They both bent their legs slightly, dipping down a little, and Harley moved one leg between the boy's knees, pressing his thigh firmly up into the kid's crotch. They began an overtly sexual humping in time to the bass thud of the song. Hot Like Me "Oh, dear God in heaven," Jake said with shake of his head, his hand semi-covering his eyes. He turned quickly on his heels and headed back to the bar, realizing that although Trey was pretty well plastered, the man wasn't nearly trashed enough for this. Trey just stood there staring with his mouth hanging open like a dead codfish. He hadn't moved a muscle when Jake returned moments later with a rather large glass of Scotch-on-the-rocks. Jake waved the glass in front of Trey's face to get his attention, and Trey slowly took the glass from the man's hand rather like he was in a trance. He took a long gulp of the burning liquor, not even making a face. "Jesus Fucking Christ, Jake," Trey said, not taking his eyes off his little brother and the raven-haired boy that was glued to him. "Does he do this all the time?" "Do what all the time?" Jake replied. "Fuck in public with his pants still on?" "Umm... yep." Trey sighed. "Please don't tell me it still gets worse." "I'm afraid it does, Trey." "I told you not to tell me that." "So sorry, mate." ~~~ 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. ~~~ 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. ~~~ Part VIII: "You Did What???" It had taken a little less than ten minutes, but Jake felt like it had taken hours, having had to listen to all that moaning, and grunting, and heavy breathing coming from the back seat of his car. He had tried turning up the volume on the radio to drown it out, but each time he did it seemed like Harley just got louder. Jake pulled the Jeep hurriedly into the circular drive in front of the Sheffields' place, slamming on the brakes when he reached the front door. The sudden lurch of the vehicle prompted a loud yelp from the back seat passenger. "Shit!" Harley yelped. "Fuck, that hurt!" "Y'okay, baby?" Trey inquired. "Damn," Harley cursed. "My fuckin' hair's caught in my zipper!" Jake blanched. "What the hell are you doing back there?" Trey looked over at Jake and exploded with laughter. "Well, he is pretty flexible. Must be from all those body rolls." Trey began laughing hysterically at his own wit. Jake covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. "Not my head hair, assholes. My other hair. Fuck..." The men in the front seat could hear Harley shifting and scooting around on the seat. His leather pants squeaked noisily as he carefully attempted to detach the zipper from his neatly trimmed triangle of honey-blond pubic hair. Opening the door, Jake hopped out of his Jeep. Trey opened the passenger side door as well, struggling with the tangled seat belt holding him prisoner. "A little help here..." Jake rolled his eyes, wondering what heinous crime he'd committed in a past life to deserve this evening. He walked around the Jeep and leaned over Trey, straightening out the seat belt and helping the man out of the car. Trey, still wildly intoxicated, threw his arms around Jake's neck and hugged him, swaying back and forth. "You know I love ya, man. You're such a good guy..." Trey ruffled Jake's hair and kissed him on the cheek, a messy kind of wet slobbering thing. Jake pushed Trey away, wiping off his soggy cheek with his shirt sleeve. "Ick," he spat distastefully. "For God's sake, Trey, get a grip on yourself!" "I had a really good grip on myself until you stopped the goddamn Jeep!" Harley slurred loudly from the back seat. Trey looked like he was going to fall down, so Jake leaned him against the hood of the Jeep before going to help the man's shit-faced brother out of the vehicle. Once he'd pulled Harley ungracefully from the rear seat, the younger Sheffield brother flung himself at his rescuer. "This man," Harley stated, addressing Trey and pointing to Jake, his voice unusually high-pitched from the alcohol, "took my virginity. I just wanted you to know that." Trey snickered, his body beginning to slide down the front bumper of the Jeep. "Tell me something I don't already know, jerk." Harley, his knees buckling under him, began to giggle uncontrollably. "He's got a scar on his dick where I bit him once. Bet ya didn't know that." Trey began laughing so hard that he could no longer hold himself up. His butt hit the asphalt of the driveway with a loud smack. "Sweet Jesus," Jake hissed under his breath. "Get your asses inside before your neighbors file a report." He wrapped one of Harley's arms around his neck and propped the boy up, then reached down to help Trey off of the pavement. Jake, not being a tremendously big guy, grunted and breathed heavily as he supported both men and pulled them into the house. Trey and Harley tumbled to the hardwood floor of the foyer the instant Jake released his grip, the pair of them landing with a thud and laughing uproariously. The older brother looked over at his sibling. "You bit him? On the dick? And it left a scar?" Trey asked him, still snorting and laughing helplessly. Harley nodded, smiling sheepishly and giggling. "It was a accident. My first blow job. Got carried away. Nobody had warned me about the teeth thing." "Your technique has improved." Trey began to laugh so hard that tears were streaming down his face. Harley wiggled his eyebrows and leered sexily at his brother, running his tongue across his full, lower lip. Jake, his hands on his hips, glared down at the brothers like a stern schoolmaster chastising recalcitrant students. "That's it. I'm leaving," the Brit said. "You're both sick. Trey, call me when your hangover goes away so we can fetch your car. Harley, keep your fucking mouth shut about us or I'll tell your brother the popsicle story." Harley's gasped and his mouth flew open. "You wouldn't dare!" "Oh wouldn't I, Princess?" Jake grinned mischievously. He leaned down and pecked Harley on the cheek, then did the same with Trey. "If you fellas need anything, call me. I'm going home. It's been... interesting." Harley looked at Trey, a silly grin breaking out on his face. "He's gonna go home now and bang the bottom out of the little woman. I know that me jacking off in the back seat of his car got him hot." Trey sputtered a laugh. Jake sighed, rolled his eyes, and left. ~~~ Part IX: "Collarbone Logic" The front door slammed closed behind Jake. Harley and Trey were alone, the pair of them still lolling around on the foyer floor in a drunken, laughing stupor. Harley was the first to gain a modicum of composure. He rolled onto his back, stretched out his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbows. "You want something to drink?" Trey giggled. "Sure, why not. Race you to the liquor cabinet." They scrambled from the floor, sliding awkwardly on the polished hardwood, elbowing each other as they made a frantic break for the kitchen. Trey, the bigger, faster, and more athletic, reached the cupboard over the sink first. He pulled out the half-empty bottle of Petrone and a bottle of Scotch. As drunk as they were already, he figured they'd better stick with what they were drinking and not mix. The Scotch in their cupboard wasn't a single malt, nor was it anywhere near as expensive as the potion Jake had been feeding him all night, but it was good enough to make due. He opened another cupboard door and pulled out two tall, crystal iced tea glasses, pouring himself a full glass of Scotch and Harley a glass of tequila. Harley picked up his tumbler and toasted his brother. Trey clinked his glass against Harley's, both of them taking a long, thirsty drink of their strong alcoholic beverages. "I dunno about this," Trey said with a crooked grin. "I'm already kind of fucked up." His younger brother smiled. "Me too. Let's get fucked upper." Trey burst out laughing at his brother's terribly cute mangling of the English language, spitting a spray of Scotch onto his brother's black wife-beater. "'Fucked upper'? You shoulda gone to college, little brother." Harley shook his head, the golden curls falling about his shoulders. "Nope. I had over a million bucks in the bank by the time I was twenty. Pretty beats smart, any day of the week." Trey considered his brother. "You are pretty, you know," he said quietly, awfully drunk but suddenly sounding awfully sober. "I know how much you hate it when people say that about you, but you really are." He reached over and gently brushed a long, wayward tangle of curls behind Harley's ear with his fingertips. "I don't hate it when you say it." Harley shivered and blushed, and turned around to face the cabinets. Setting his glass down, he gripped the edge of the Italian marble countertop with both hands, steadying himself against the alcohol and the sudden infusion of emotion. Trey reached around Harley, setting his glass of Scotch on the counter next to his brother's tequila. He stood behind the younger man for minutes, just looking at him - watching the way his back rose and fell with each breath, admiring the way his waist curved in so beautifully between his ribcage and his hips, the way those leather pants hugged his ass and thighs, the way the gold-dusted, light-brown curls swept over the lovely, soft, pale skin at the base of his neck, falling nearly to his shoulder blades now. Harley had that feeling, the one where you know someone is staring at you even though you can't see them. "Trey?" he whispered. "Harley," his older brother replied softly. "What are you doing?" "Just looking at you." "How come?" Trey swallowed hard. "'Cause I'm afraid to touch you." Harley's eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes tickling his cheeks. "Don't be afraid." "I'm really drunk, Harley." "Me too. So?" "I thought we agreed we weren't gonna do this anymore." Trey was glad that his brother's back was to him, so that he couldn't see the pained look on his face. Harley sighed, nodding his head sadly. "Yes, we did." Less than a week earlier they'd had 'The Talk' - the discussion where Trey had told his brother he simply couldn't continue with this, that the guilt it produced in him was just too much to deal with any longer. Harley had indeed agreed, reluctantly so, only because he thought that's what Trey had wanted - had needed - to hear. He hadn't meant it, not a single word of it, but as he'd do anything to make his brother happy, he'd agreed anyway. No more sex, no more touching like that, no more intimacy. Neither of them had been ready to move out, not even out of the bedroom they shared - a complete separation would have been too much for either of them to bear - so they'd agreed to go back to just being brothers again. Perhaps closer than most, and with a tinge of jealously remaining at the thought of the other being involved with different people, but merely brothers nonetheless. "I'm really drunk, Harley," Trey repeated, his voice catching around the lump in his throat. Harley smiled; a warm, hopeful smile. "Me too." He felt warm hands on his shoulders, sliding over his skin, fingers reaching over to trace the curves of his collarbones. Trey had always loved Harley's collarbones, nearly to the point of worship. The younger man had thought it rather weird at first, his older brother's fascination with a part of his anatomy that he'd never himself considered even remotely noticeable, much less sexy or sensuous. That was, however, until their third or fourth time in bed together, when Trey had dedicated the better part of an hour to that part of him; touching and tracing the sharp, delicate bones with his fingers, sucking on them, dipping his tongue and licking into the deep hollows above them. Hot Like Me It had been - by far - the most sensual, erotic thing that had ever happened to Harley. At the time, he'd thought that he'd never again experience that sensation, that overwhelming feeling of having such an inconsequential part of himself being so catered to, so loved, so adored and desired. Harley was wrong. Dead wrong. He felt it again right now, just as strong and heady, just as erotic and as overpowering as it had felt that very first time. He whimpered, a bleating heartbreak of a sound, as Trey's fingertips lightly caressed his collarbones. ~~~ Part X: "Smarter Than He Looks" "I didn't mean it, Trey," the younger man whispered. He felt lips touching his ear, warm and moist, the smell of stale Scotch wafting to his nose. "I want you," Trey breathed into Harley's ear. "I am so drunk Harley, and I'm so sorry that's the only thing giving me the courage to tell you how I feel. I want you, baby brother. I love you, I want you, and I need you, so badly. I can't breathe without you..." Tears stung at Harley's bloodshot eyes. He had never stopped loving Trey, wanting him and needing him, and he'd not been the one paralyzed by guilt in the first place. For reasons even he wasn't sure of, Harley had been able to easily dispense with the guilt and the fear very early on, shockingly soon after their relationship had changed into something decidedly un-brotherly. Harley tilted his head, brushing his cheek against the strong hand still softly stroking his collarbone. A tear ran down his face and dripped onto the back of his brother's hand, warm and wet. "I want you too," Harley spoke softly. "I love you, big brother." Trey's chin came to rest heavily on Harley's shoulder. "And therein lies the problem," he said with a shuddering, shaky breath. "You're my brother. I just can't get past how wrong that is, to feel this way about you." Harley turned to face his brother, taking the older man's face in his hands. Tears streaked his face, and he tried his hardest to smile through them. "How many times am I going to have to explain this to you?" he asked rhetorically. "I don't give a shit how wrong anybody thinks this is. I want you. I need you. I love you. So what if I just happen to be your brother? That was an accident, Trey, a biological freak of nature that we ended up being related, some sort of fucking heartless, cosmic soul-mate joke. I can't explain it, and I can't even begin to rationalize it to anyone else's satisfaction, not even yours. All I know is that I love you, I need you, and I want you. Nothing else matters to me, Trey, nothing. Not even the fact that you are my brother." "I don't want to hurt you," Trey said tearfully. "You're not hurting me!" Harley rasped. "Why can't you get that through your fucking thick skull? I'm a grown man Trey, and I'm a hell of a lot brighter than people give me credit for. I don't make decisions lightly. Just ask my agent." Trey smiled, a small chuckle escaping him despite the gravity of the moment. He knew full well the shit that Harley put his agent through, being as particular as he was regarding the roles he accepted. The boy could be starring in four or five films a year if he weren't so goddamn picky. "You're not hurting me, " Harley repeated, his voice calm and soothing. "I know exactly what I'm doing." He sighed, wrapping his arms around his older brother's waist before continuing. "I know you're afraid, Trey. You're afraid of what would happen if anyone found out. The difference between you and me is that I don't fucking care. God, I sound like a fucking broken record..." "Okay," Trey said, suddenly quite sober. "Let's be hypothetical here. What if, suddenly, this all went public? How would you handle that, all the media reports that you're having an incestuous relationship with your brother?" Harley smirked. "Who cares? If I ended up blacklisted it wouldn't matter anyway. I've made enough money already to live very comfortably for the rest of my life. And knowing Hollywood, it would probably get me more offers. You know how those folks love a scandal. Shit... Woody Allen and Roman Polanski would probably be beating down the door to hire me once the word got out." Trey laughed out loud. He paused and smiled at his brother. "Why is that you can always make me laugh when I'm feeling my worst?" Harley didn't hesitate a second before responding. "Because you know, deep in your heart, that I love you. More than anyone ever has, or ever will love you." "What if Mom and Dad and the girls found out?" Trey's question hit Harley hard, blind-siding him like a barroom brawl sucker punch. It reeled him for a moment, but he recovered quickly. Harley responded by asking his own question. "If we had done something awful, Trey, something really, really terrible, like robbing a bank, or stealing a car, or dealing drugs, or even killing somebody - do you think that Mom or Dad or our sisters would turn away from us, not support us, not love us anymore?" If there was one thing that Trey knew in his heart, something that was unbreakable and unshakable, it was their parents' unconditional love for their children, for all of them, no matter what. The same went for their three sisters, and the close bond they had as a family. He'd just never thought of it in those terms before. He hadn't really needed to, until now. "No," Trey shook his head softly, " no, they wouldn't turn away. It might be hard on them, and very disappointing. But they'd still love us, regardless. I know that." "Then why would this be any different?" Trey couldn't think of a good reason why it would. He lowered his eyes, staring at the tile floor as he shook his head, acquiescing to his brother's logic. "It wouldn't. They'd be shocked, probably hurt, but in the end they'd all still love us. They wouldn't abandon us for anything." "Is there anyone else, besides Mom and Dad and the girls, who you care enough about to even give a damn what they think?" Again, Trey couldn't think of an argumentative response. Still staring at the floor, he shook his head again. "No. No one." "I rest my case." Harley reached out his hand, placing his fingers softly under Trey's chin. He tilted his brother's head up, gently, pulling the older man's gaze from the cold, tile floor to his own warm, blue eyes. Trey smiled. "I thought I was supposed to be the brains behind the operation." Harley smiled, that bright, patented movie star smile of his. "That's just movie business. This is real life. And I'm not nearly as stupid as I let people believe." "Pretty beats smart, any day of the week, right?" Trey's little brother grinned with enough wattage to light up the Hollywood sign on a dark, foggy night. "You bet your sweet ass it does." ~~~ 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 Petrone 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 Petrone. "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 Petrone, 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. ~~~ Part XII: "Do It For Me" Trey won the race to the bed. He was, after all, bigger, stronger, and faster than his younger brother. His advantage wasn't dictated by his size, strength, or quickness, however, but by virtue of the fact that there was no fucking way he was going to let Harley brand him as a 'dirty, rotten faggot' if he didn't get there first. No fucking way. So, Trey had played dirty, lying his greater bulk on top of Harley halfway up the twisted staircase, unsnapping his leather pants , pulling down the zipper, and yanking the garment just down to the boy's knees, effectively trapping him with his own trousers. Trey sat on the bed cross-legged, his hands folded in his lap with an angelic expression on his face. Harley stumbled awkwardly through the doorway seconds later, his pants now down around his ankles, looking most undignified. "Problem?" Trey inquired, trying hard to stifle a giggle and not entirely succeeding. "Cheater," Harley hissed, pulling his leather pants back up to his waist. Trey fell over sideways, laughing giddily like the drunk he currently was. "Why you pulling them back up?" he asked, giggling. "You're just gonna have to take 'em off again!" Harley shot his brother a mock stern look, zipping up his pants and closing the snap decisively. "That may be so," he said with a haughty toss of his long, golden curls, "but now you're gonna have to work for it." "Oh, like I've ever had to work to get you out of your drawers." Trey spontaneously curled up into a fetal position, he was laughing so hard. "I don't find this the least bit amusing," Harley retorted, fighting mightily to maintain his prissy attitude and to keep from bursting out into giggles. Trey righted himself and sat up, grinned, and threw down the gauntlet. "If you want me to fuck you, baby, lose the leather." Harley put his hands on his hips and tilted his head, appearing as if he were deep in thought regarding his options. He shrugged, smiled, and dropped his pants. Trey wasn't finished. "Now, the shirt," he said, his voice low-pitched and somewhat commanding. "I want you completely naked before you get into bed with me." Harley shivered. As much as he hated to admit it, he kind of liked it when Trey talked to him like that, all forceful, his voice velvety deep and utterly sinful. Complying, he pulled the backwards, inside out shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He kicked off his motorcycle boots and black socks, then pushed the legs of the leather pants off of his ankles with his feet. Naked, he took a step toward the bed, only to be halted in his tracks by his brother's voice. "Don't move," Trey said softly, leaning back to rest his head on a pillow, legs stretching out, his hands folded calmly on his stomach. "I want to look at you first. Don't move." Harley didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. He just stood there, letting his brother's gaze wash over him. Long minutes passed. Harley felt more naked, more exposed than he'd ever felt in his life, but there was something about his predicament that he couldn't define, something that made him feel loved, and so very much appreciated. Maybe it was the look in Trey's eyes as he watched him standing there. Maybe it was how he felt just because it was Trey was looking at him like that. "You are so beautiful," Trey said, finally breaking the eerie silence of their bedroom. "So incredibly, exquisitely beautiful." Harley felt suddenly embarrassed. He shifted his feet and began to turn away. "No!" Trey hissed through clenched teeth. Harley halted, turned sideways to his brother now, and stopped dead at Trey's emphatic directive. He turned his head to look at Trey, still reclined on their bed. "You honestly have no idea, do you?" Trey asked seriously, raising himself up on one elbow to consider his younger brother. The older brother swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "You really don't have any fucking idea how amazingly beautiful you are, how... how pretty you are." Harley folded his arms across his chest, wrapping himself up tightly in an effort to hide himself. He shook his head defiantly. Trey reached over and pulled down the bedspread, blanket, and sheet beneath him. He shucked off his dress shirt, pulled off his designer slacks, kicked off his shoes and socks, then skinned down the boxer briefs that remained. Naked as well now, he patted the mattress beside him invitingly. Harley didn't hesitate. He crawled onto the bed, scooting himself up to lay beside his brother. Trey shifted, moving beneath the covers and pulling them over his brother's body as well. They lay side by side, looking at each other but not touching at all for what seemed like forever. Finally, Trey put his hand on his younger brother's face, so soft, smooth, and warm. "I want you to do something for me," Trey said quietly, pressing his face gently against his brother's. Harley sighed, feeling enough pleasure just from his brother's closeness to satisfy any need he'd thought he had. Trey pressed his warm lips against Harley's ear, breathing heavily. "I want you to touch yourself," he whispered. "God, you have no idea how much it turned me on when I realized that's what you were doing in the back of the Jeep." Harley stretched, his body flexing involuntarily in response to Trey's words. "It made me so hard," Trey continued whispering, "so fucking hard, Harley, when I thought about you back there, just a few feet behind me, your hand around your beautiful dick, stroking it, making it get hard, and hoping that you were thinking about me while you were doing it." Harley nodded, his hand reaching out to grasp Trey's. Their fingers laced together, and Trey gently moved his brother's hand downward between them, guiding it to rest on the boy's already stiff erection. His own fingers wrapping around his cock caused Harley to moan, not so much from the actual physical sensation of it but because of the sultry words intoned into his ear that had prompted the action in the first place. Trey pulled the covers down off of his brother and himself; he wanted to watch this, to see everything, and he wanted his little brother to know that he was naked beside him, for him to see the physical reaction it caused him just in the viewing. Harley rolled onto his back, his cock fisted in his hand, swept away by a powerful intoxicant not from a bottle, but from his brother's lips. He slid his hand up and down the length of his cock, reveling in the feeling of the soft, pliable skin moving freely over top of the hard shaft beneath it, noticing how amazing that felt, truly cognizant of the intricate sensation for the first time. Stroking slowly, he established a lazy but regular rhythm, stopping his hand at the top of the shaft occasionally to run his thumb over the soft, spongy head. Trey snuggled up against his brother, running a hand around his neck to grapple at those pretty curls, whispering in his ear again. "My God... you're so pretty," he said, near tears at the primal beauty of watching his brother pleasure himself. "Tell me what you're thinking..." Harley gasped, his breath coming in staccato, panting bursts, He increased the pace of his hand on his cock, squeezing harder, stroking faster. "I'm thinking about you, Trey" he moaned, "thinking about your cock in my ass, fucking me, hitting that spot just inside and then going deep, filling me up... ah... God, I love it when you're fucking me... my ass tight around your dick... umm... the warm... oh God, the warm when you come inside of me... the warm..." Trey flinched, his brother's words touching something inside of him that he'd been previously unaware of, something primitive and achy and altogether wonderful. The younger man was stroking himself harder now, faster. He breathed harshly, licking his dry lips with his soft, supple tongue. "I'm thinking about your cock in my mouth," he offered without being asked this time, "God, I love sucking you off, Trey, feeling your soft dick getting harder in my mouth... ahh... you get so hard when I'm blowing you... God... so hard... mnnh... the way your come feels, hot and syrupy... how it tastes... oh my God, I could keep eating your come all day and never get tired of the taste... ah...Trey, I'm so close..." Trey put his hand on Harley's face, turning the boy's head to face him so he could look into his eyes. "Come for me, baby. Come for me...." That was all it took, for Harley to hear Trey's voice, to hear him say those words. With just a few additional strokes Harley came, gasping for breath, his heart pounding out of control. "God... Trey.... coming... God, I love you..." Harley grunted, and it was over, the hot, sticky fluid spurting forcefully out of his cock repeatedly, painting Trey's stomach and chest. Trey pressed his brother's body close to him as the boy came, the orgasm racking his slender body with quivering shudders. Trey himself was breathing heavily and shaking, and he thought his brother was near to passing out when he felt him scooting down. The boy's hands skirted over his chest, his warm lips kissing their way down the taut muscles of his older brother's stomach. Hot Like That! She was hot like that. It seemed quite apparent the way she snaked her way across my body she definitely was going to get what she wanted. Not that I was ever stopping her; for me I looked at it like a dealer catering to the needs of the addicted, and no stint in sex rehab would ever convince her otherwise. She wore something simply easy to get into: a summer dress, patterned in light colors with three mere buttons stitched in. It was all that was separating me from her apparent good that sat so wonderful inside the threads. I quickly adjusted myself with a tug in order to be more comfortable. As on cue, the wet trail of slopping kisses from my neck down to my torso finally made a stop to my crotch, where after much coaxing, she carefully dipped into first my shorts then my boxers like a Scrabble player grabbing a handful of letters; in this case, she paused slightly, caressing my nuts with a gentle massage before starting her oral engagement. With a twitch of its own, the sucker stood attentively for some attention. Of course, my idle hands, not wanting left out of such excitement decided on doing much of the same upon her ample jutting cleavage. The impressive set, carefully stacked in a manner that wasn't overbearing, pushed hard against those weak set of buttons. The fleshy toned skin, packed tight upon her wired bra, peaked above, and this part of her sex called to me; I too sunk my hands through her open collar. Underneath, my fingers ran at a snail's pace as I crept along searching for her pebbled nipples. My hope was to tweak them to a sensual pulse and send that straight jolt like an electrified sensation throughout her body. My fingers made contact, and she stopped for a moment, my dick stuck in the act, and huffed a pant from the corners of her lips. "Damn," I thought. It only made her throat her even deeper into the recess of her mouth when I rolled my index finger in and around it; in her moaning, I twist it upwards a little harder in the guise of balancing it out from fleeting excitement to pleasurable pain, and back again. Her head bobbed with each thrust of her mouth down upon it, and she rhythmically danced upon the shaft; she milked it with her tongue wrapped around both the bloated head and the thickness, as she continued assaulting it with her own version of an oral tug of war. By then, her hands slipped to her wide hips, her fingers pulling up on the sides of her dress till the end sat comfortably upon her rounded ass. The sweet smell of her sex soon drifted up and touched my senses; yes, she had started diddling herself, when I, slit eyed looked straight down and watched her play upon her pussy. She ran her fingers and twirling her silken thong into a circular frenzy upon her clit, and the fleeting action seeped through a damp impression on the pink. The all out blitz of our foreplay clocked so rapidly upon me: up and down, around the shaft she sucked harder, and rubbed her pussy longer. Yet, as we drifted along, I cringed when the burning thrills of my ball sack boiled and churned as she milked the wet shaft into her mouth for the umpteenth time: my cock, giving into her oral whims, continued lurching to the point I felt the inevitable push of cum heading toward its end run. I definitely didn't want to miss out on being inside of her before I blew my load. Apparently, she felt it was time too. I never felt the cool crisp air surround my dick when she pulled off it; I was busy, much too busy figuring out a way to let loose the vixen on my cock so I could slip into the folds of her pussy. Yet, with her ass upturned and her hands planted on the wall, the invitation to the game continued on. And with deliberate slow and slick apprehension, I pushed – the head of my cock, kissed by another set of wet lips, sunk into confines of what I could only describe as "The Grip" – the confines were a tight squeeze yes, but the way the wet heat embraced me left my mouth rounded with no sounds coming out. And underneath me, she scattered her panting as well, signaling her loss of control; she contracted even harder upon me, causing her to arch her back to accommodate the pulsing cock intruding into her womanly channels. I, for one, I pressed onto the soft reaches of her cunt, taking in the way her muscles massaged my cock for all the right reasons. The wickedly fun of our deviant sexual actions up the ante; my piston cock pumping into her snug form fit glove wrapped like a vice around my dick – it tempted me to unload it all. Yet, as my hands handled her hips with a kneading death wish claw into her skin, I tried concentrating on a thousand different things other than my dick in her pussy. It was hard though. The frenetic pace illustrated her mature experience – as if she were to say, "Fuck it! Just fuck me!" She was quick in returning my thrusting dick even faster now; it was as though she wanted the hot blast of young cum to coat the inside of her burning pussy. Ah, such wishes! Oh well, then, fuck it! Sweaty and needing to let it go, I fucked her to her pussy's content, making her face eat wall as I deep ended jabs of my cock into her at an unforgiving pace. "Yes, you motherfucker, I'm coming!" she yelled. "You're such a bad, bad boy!" And with that she flooded my shaft as her pussy muscles tightened and never let go. I got very close to her then, my mouth, whisper hot near her ear, my chest lying upon her back. The euphoria was akin to when I was fucking in a pool; except I think this time, my dick went numb. But not before my cum, which seem to settle at the tip of my cock waiting for the CUE, suddenly broke out and upon her insides, shooting gobs and gobs up and in her soaping cunt. She stiffened a little, while she maintained her balance on weakened legs; all that seemed to hold her up was just me, and her small hands on the wall. Instantly, she went limp, as did my dick (my overworked member left shop, and out of the folds of her sensitive pussy). I saw some twinkle in her eye, as she threw her head back and resting it upon my shoulders. It was as though she was taking it all in: the sex, the young man fucking her, and cum inside her pussy. And when she turned her head placing a kiss upon my parched lips, all was definitely good and well, especially when I know, she is hot like that.