for sageness: "Around the World" (Men With Brooms/Hard Core Logo) by cmshaw
Title: Around the World
Author: cmshaw
Recipient: sageness
Fandoms: Men With Brooms/Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Chris Cutter (Men With Brooms)/Joe Dick (Hard Core Logo)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Fucking curling.
Notes: Thanks to merryish for the beta.
Around the World
by cmshaw
The bar was dark and hot and smelled like the bottom of Jimmy Lennox's stationwagon. It made Chris' dick twitch a little in his sweat-stiffened work jeans as he stood to the side, nursing his beer. It was his third, and he couldn't afford many more; he might have to follow the old company to Liverpool after all if he didn't get a new job soon. Beer was cheaper at the old crew's regular bar, but after he'd walked out of there the music had drawn him in off the street here. Punk wasn't his usual thing, but it damn well matched his foul mood tonight.
Maybe it would be better to get out of the country, go somewhere that only played football in the sports bars. At least this bar looked like the kind of place where he might find a guy wasted enough to fuck him, because he really needed something to take his mind off of goddamned sports.
As if in answer, the door next to the now-empty stage slammed open and the band staggered out. The guitarist was in the lead, and Chris' dick stood the fuck up. This guy's blond hair still stood up in mean spikes where it wasn't plastered to his skull with sweat, and he walked and stood and grinned like he owned the whole fucking bar even down here on the floor instead of up on stage.
Fuck, yes. Chris grinned.
The guy caught him staring and started toward him. Chris jumped as someone's arm landed around his shoulders. The guitarist saw him and laughed in a flash of white teeth and stubble, and Chris turned to see the band's singer saying to him, "It is so good to see the working man here with us. Hey, working man, was the hockey bar closed?"
"Curling bar," Chris snapped. "Everyone is watching the damn Brier."
The guitarist laughed. "God, curling is for fucking pansies, ain't it?"
He didn't even think about it. The fucking asshole laughed, and then his fist was swinging. The arm around his shoulders tightened and then clamped down around his throat, yanking him back and off-balance. His fist swung wildly through the air and a foot caught him in the back of one knee and he was falling down onto the sticky floor.
Asshole number two leaned down and offered him a hand. Chris stared at it a moment, and then took it and hauled himself up to his feet. The guy's hand was stronger than he'd thought a singer's would be, and it wasn't as unpleasantly sweaty as the rest of him. He laughed and slung his arm around Chris' shoulders again. "Nobody hits Billy," he said cheerfully. "I'll buy you another beer. Hey!" he yelled into the crowd, "beer over here! We're thirsty."
Billy sneered, more at his bandmate than at Chris. "You're a pig, Joe."
Joe leaned toward him and poked his chest with one finger. "You insulted curling," he said. "That's the great Canadian sport." Chris couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but Billy's eyes rolled and Joe smacked him on the side of the head.
"Fuck you," Billy said. He stalked off.
Chris snorted. "I thought nobody hits Billy?"
"Except me," Joe said. Chris looked over at him and thought for a moment that he'd been watching Billy's ass walk away, too. "Fuck, I've got to piss already. Get the beer, will you?" He peeled himself off of Chris and staggered away again.
Chris stared after him. That guy was definitely wasted -- he stopped that thought. Billy the guitarist was much hotter and reminded him a lot less of Jimmy Lennox. He wasn't here to give a fucking backseat blowjob to a fucking high school buddy, after all. He scuffed his boot irritably through the puddle that had been his beer and glared at the crowd, looking for Billy.
Billy was feeling up some scrawny blond chick next to the bar.
Fuck it, Chris decided, and went looking for the men's room.
When he found it, two wide-eyed punk boys were leaving. The place was less filthy than it could have been, or at least with half the lights busted he couldn't see much filth, and the only guy in it with him was Joe. Joe was standing in front of the urinals and grunting in relief as a stream of piss hit the porcelain. Chris leaned against the one next to him. Yup, Joe's dick was cut.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Joe growled, and shook his dick off in Chris' direction before tucking it back in his pants.
Chris rolled his eyes. "What do you think I'm looking at?" he said.
Now was the time when if rejection was coming, the fist could start swinging. Joe just looked him up and down. "You see something you need, curling man?"
Chris winced. "My name's Cutter."
"Ooh, cutter!" Joe laughed. He chopped his hands through the air like some kind of movie ninja. "Very dangerous."
"It's my name," Chris said.
"Yeah? And my name's Dick. You want some of Dick's dick, Cutter?" Joe made a kissy-face.
"Yeah," Chris said.
Joe pulled his dick back out of his pants. "Okay. Here you go."
Maybe he wasn't wasted; maybe he was just nuts. "Here?" he said.
"Who's going to care?" Joe said.
"It's--" Chris started, and then stopped. Hell, he was leaving the goddamned country, wasn't he? Who the fuck was going to care? He got down on his knees. "Yeah, all right," he said.
He scrubbed his hands on the thighs of his jeans and wrapped one fist around Joe's dick. It twitched in his hand, and Chris closed his eyes and licked the head of it fast. "Shit, yeah," Joe said. At least he was reasonably clean, Chris thought, and he closed his lips around the head of the dick and started sucking. He smelled good, like sweat and cigarette smoke and dark beer, and Chris shifted his knees around until he didn't need his other hand for balance, and pressed it to the seam of his jeans.
(The locker room at the club smelled less like smoke and more like wet wool, but Jimmy Lennox always had a pack on him somewhere. He was the only kid Chris knew who smoked in junior high, except when Jimmy gave a cigarette to Chris himself, and he was the only kid Chris sucked off after school. And damn it, even when Chris gave it up and announced he was going to marry the coach's daughter, even then Jimmy Lennox was his best buddy, his vice-skip, his partner that he didn't fucking deserve.)
Chris opened his eyes. This guy, this Joe or Dick or whatever he called himself, he was someone new. New taste, new feel, new fuck. Chris was on his way to making something new for himself; he'd left the whole thing behind and wound up --
-- Christ! He pushed back, coughing, and held Joe at arm's length as best he could, with Joe's fingers tangled painfully in his hair.
"Hey, what's the fucking idea?" Joe snarled.
Chris coughed until he could speak. "That's my line, asshole," he rasped. "Let the fuck go of my hair."
"Oh, sorry, did I mess up your curls?" Joe said.
"I said I'd suck you," Chris said. "I didn't say you could fucking fuck the back of my throat."
"Suck faster," Joe said, but he let go of Chris' hair, which was the important thing, so Chris put his hand back on Joe's dick and put his lips around it again. He bobbed his head faster this time, and jerked his hand in time. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Joe's hand coming back at his hair, and he slapped it away with his other hand.
"Okay, okay!" Joe said. "Fuck!" Chris pulled back and licked across the head of Joe's dick again. Now he definitely tasted like sex, and Chris put his hand back on the bulge of his own dick before sucking Joe's in deeper again. Joe's panting grew heavier and heavier until he groaned and grabbed at Chris' head once more.
He didn't grab Chris' hair this time, and Chris, seeing what was coming, let Joe hold his head still while he shook and came in Chris' mouth. Fuck yeah, that was what he wanted. Dick, mouth, climax: nice and honest. Chris pulled back, lifting Joe's wet dick off of his lips, and looked around at the not entirely filthy bathroom, then shrugged and swallowed. Didn't taste half bad, either.
"Oh yeah, baby," Joe gasped. "I like your style." He let go of Chris' head and grinned down at him. With a groan, he dropped onto one knee and then the other, kneeling with Chris on the floor beside the urinals. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Chris' hand, the one that was still frantically rubbing at his dick through his jeans. "Pop the fly on that and let's see you," Joe said.
Chris stared down at their hands and nodded. He leaned back and pulled his belt open, leaving Joe's hand on his crotch, and then unbuttoned the fly and lowered the zipper, he hand sliding back down underneath Joe's again. Joe grinned and pushed their hands inside Chris' jeans, working his dick through one thinly stretched layer of cotton. Chris' hips jerked and he groaned before he knew that he was going to make any noise.
Joe laughed and pulled his hand away. He pushed Chris over backwards; Chris caught himself on his hands, and Joe yanked roughly at his jeans to pull them down onto his thighs. Chris lifted up his hips to help out and sighed happily when Joe bent down and sucked on the side of his dick. "Hang on a sec," he said, and rolled onto his side to get his legs free. When he rolled back he was flat on the linoleum, grinning in anticipation as he looked down the length of his body at Joe's smirk.
Joe pumped his dick slowly in one hand. "You're a long way from home, curling man," he said, and, when Chris frowned, he added, "You could have had the fucking Golden Broom, man. What was up with that?"
Ice cold, Chris floundered backward, his naked ass dragging on the floor and his legs trapped in the damn jeans. Behind his head, the bathroom door started to open, the bottom edge of the door scraping against the knuckles of one outflung hand. "No!" he yelled, and lurched far enough to slam the door shut and hold it there with his boots braced on the piping.
"Fuck off!" Joe yelled. "We're closed!"
"Fuck you!" yelled a deep voice through the door, but the pressure eased off. Chris slumped to the side.
"Jeez," Joe said. "I'm only messing with you. Do I look like I care about fucking curling?"
Chris glared up at him. "Do I look like I care about fucking curling?"
Joe showed his teeth. "You look like you care about getting that blowjob."
"Damn right," Chris said. "How about it, then?"
Joe's mouth was incredible. He knew how to give head even if he was an asshole about getting it, and Chris felt like he was getting whiplash from the terrified-to-horny corner he'd just turned. Joe hummed around his dick and spat on it to lube him up and smacked his lips when he came up for air. Chris arched back and stared up at the underside of the sink as Joe's mouth sank down, hot and wet, around what felt like the center of the universe. It was the hardest he'd come in a long time, flopping around there on the floor like a fish out of water, and he was pretty sure that Joe swallowed, too.
He sat up when Joe stood and rinsed his mouth out at the sink. Pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again felt really good. When Joe held out a hand to him, he took it right away and let Joe haul him upright. "So," he said, "you were going to buy me another beer before I ship out of here."
"Where're you headed?" Joe said.
Chris laughed. "Anywhere but here, you know?"
Joe's arm landed on his shoulders again and steered him out the door. The noise and heat hit him all over again. "You and Billiam, huh?" Joe said. "Hell. You'll be back. You always come back. Come on, we'll drink to that," he said.
Author: cmshaw
Recipient: sageness
Fandoms: Men With Brooms/Hard Core Logo
Pairing: Chris Cutter (Men With Brooms)/Joe Dick (Hard Core Logo)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Fucking curling.
Notes: Thanks to merryish for the beta.
Around the World
by cmshaw
The bar was dark and hot and smelled like the bottom of Jimmy Lennox's stationwagon. It made Chris' dick twitch a little in his sweat-stiffened work jeans as he stood to the side, nursing his beer. It was his third, and he couldn't afford many more; he might have to follow the old company to Liverpool after all if he didn't get a new job soon. Beer was cheaper at the old crew's regular bar, but after he'd walked out of there the music had drawn him in off the street here. Punk wasn't his usual thing, but it damn well matched his foul mood tonight.
Maybe it would be better to get out of the country, go somewhere that only played football in the sports bars. At least this bar looked like the kind of place where he might find a guy wasted enough to fuck him, because he really needed something to take his mind off of goddamned sports.
As if in answer, the door next to the now-empty stage slammed open and the band staggered out. The guitarist was in the lead, and Chris' dick stood the fuck up. This guy's blond hair still stood up in mean spikes where it wasn't plastered to his skull with sweat, and he walked and stood and grinned like he owned the whole fucking bar even down here on the floor instead of up on stage.
Fuck, yes. Chris grinned.
The guy caught him staring and started toward him. Chris jumped as someone's arm landed around his shoulders. The guitarist saw him and laughed in a flash of white teeth and stubble, and Chris turned to see the band's singer saying to him, "It is so good to see the working man here with us. Hey, working man, was the hockey bar closed?"
"Curling bar," Chris snapped. "Everyone is watching the damn Brier."
The guitarist laughed. "God, curling is for fucking pansies, ain't it?"
He didn't even think about it. The fucking asshole laughed, and then his fist was swinging. The arm around his shoulders tightened and then clamped down around his throat, yanking him back and off-balance. His fist swung wildly through the air and a foot caught him in the back of one knee and he was falling down onto the sticky floor.
Asshole number two leaned down and offered him a hand. Chris stared at it a moment, and then took it and hauled himself up to his feet. The guy's hand was stronger than he'd thought a singer's would be, and it wasn't as unpleasantly sweaty as the rest of him. He laughed and slung his arm around Chris' shoulders again. "Nobody hits Billy," he said cheerfully. "I'll buy you another beer. Hey!" he yelled into the crowd, "beer over here! We're thirsty."
Billy sneered, more at his bandmate than at Chris. "You're a pig, Joe."
Joe leaned toward him and poked his chest with one finger. "You insulted curling," he said. "That's the great Canadian sport." Chris couldn't tell if he was serious or not, but Billy's eyes rolled and Joe smacked him on the side of the head.
"Fuck you," Billy said. He stalked off.
Chris snorted. "I thought nobody hits Billy?"
"Except me," Joe said. Chris looked over at him and thought for a moment that he'd been watching Billy's ass walk away, too. "Fuck, I've got to piss already. Get the beer, will you?" He peeled himself off of Chris and staggered away again.
Chris stared after him. That guy was definitely wasted -- he stopped that thought. Billy the guitarist was much hotter and reminded him a lot less of Jimmy Lennox. He wasn't here to give a fucking backseat blowjob to a fucking high school buddy, after all. He scuffed his boot irritably through the puddle that had been his beer and glared at the crowd, looking for Billy.
Billy was feeling up some scrawny blond chick next to the bar.
Fuck it, Chris decided, and went looking for the men's room.
When he found it, two wide-eyed punk boys were leaving. The place was less filthy than it could have been, or at least with half the lights busted he couldn't see much filth, and the only guy in it with him was Joe. Joe was standing in front of the urinals and grunting in relief as a stream of piss hit the porcelain. Chris leaned against the one next to him. Yup, Joe's dick was cut.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Joe growled, and shook his dick off in Chris' direction before tucking it back in his pants.
Chris rolled his eyes. "What do you think I'm looking at?" he said.
Now was the time when if rejection was coming, the fist could start swinging. Joe just looked him up and down. "You see something you need, curling man?"
Chris winced. "My name's Cutter."
"Ooh, cutter!" Joe laughed. He chopped his hands through the air like some kind of movie ninja. "Very dangerous."
"It's my name," Chris said.
"Yeah? And my name's Dick. You want some of Dick's dick, Cutter?" Joe made a kissy-face.
"Yeah," Chris said.
Joe pulled his dick back out of his pants. "Okay. Here you go."
Maybe he wasn't wasted; maybe he was just nuts. "Here?" he said.
"Who's going to care?" Joe said.
"It's--" Chris started, and then stopped. Hell, he was leaving the goddamned country, wasn't he? Who the fuck was going to care? He got down on his knees. "Yeah, all right," he said.
He scrubbed his hands on the thighs of his jeans and wrapped one fist around Joe's dick. It twitched in his hand, and Chris closed his eyes and licked the head of it fast. "Shit, yeah," Joe said. At least he was reasonably clean, Chris thought, and he closed his lips around the head of the dick and started sucking. He smelled good, like sweat and cigarette smoke and dark beer, and Chris shifted his knees around until he didn't need his other hand for balance, and pressed it to the seam of his jeans.
(The locker room at the club smelled less like smoke and more like wet wool, but Jimmy Lennox always had a pack on him somewhere. He was the only kid Chris knew who smoked in junior high, except when Jimmy gave a cigarette to Chris himself, and he was the only kid Chris sucked off after school. And damn it, even when Chris gave it up and announced he was going to marry the coach's daughter, even then Jimmy Lennox was his best buddy, his vice-skip, his partner that he didn't fucking deserve.)
Chris opened his eyes. This guy, this Joe or Dick or whatever he called himself, he was someone new. New taste, new feel, new fuck. Chris was on his way to making something new for himself; he'd left the whole thing behind and wound up --
-- Christ! He pushed back, coughing, and held Joe at arm's length as best he could, with Joe's fingers tangled painfully in his hair.
"Hey, what's the fucking idea?" Joe snarled.
Chris coughed until he could speak. "That's my line, asshole," he rasped. "Let the fuck go of my hair."
"Oh, sorry, did I mess up your curls?" Joe said.
"I said I'd suck you," Chris said. "I didn't say you could fucking fuck the back of my throat."
"Suck faster," Joe said, but he let go of Chris' hair, which was the important thing, so Chris put his hand back on Joe's dick and put his lips around it again. He bobbed his head faster this time, and jerked his hand in time. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Joe's hand coming back at his hair, and he slapped it away with his other hand.
"Okay, okay!" Joe said. "Fuck!" Chris pulled back and licked across the head of Joe's dick again. Now he definitely tasted like sex, and Chris put his hand back on the bulge of his own dick before sucking Joe's in deeper again. Joe's panting grew heavier and heavier until he groaned and grabbed at Chris' head once more.
He didn't grab Chris' hair this time, and Chris, seeing what was coming, let Joe hold his head still while he shook and came in Chris' mouth. Fuck yeah, that was what he wanted. Dick, mouth, climax: nice and honest. Chris pulled back, lifting Joe's wet dick off of his lips, and looked around at the not entirely filthy bathroom, then shrugged and swallowed. Didn't taste half bad, either.
"Oh yeah, baby," Joe gasped. "I like your style." He let go of Chris' head and grinned down at him. With a groan, he dropped onto one knee and then the other, kneeling with Chris on the floor beside the urinals. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Chris' hand, the one that was still frantically rubbing at his dick through his jeans. "Pop the fly on that and let's see you," Joe said.
Chris stared down at their hands and nodded. He leaned back and pulled his belt open, leaving Joe's hand on his crotch, and then unbuttoned the fly and lowered the zipper, he hand sliding back down underneath Joe's again. Joe grinned and pushed their hands inside Chris' jeans, working his dick through one thinly stretched layer of cotton. Chris' hips jerked and he groaned before he knew that he was going to make any noise.
Joe laughed and pulled his hand away. He pushed Chris over backwards; Chris caught himself on his hands, and Joe yanked roughly at his jeans to pull them down onto his thighs. Chris lifted up his hips to help out and sighed happily when Joe bent down and sucked on the side of his dick. "Hang on a sec," he said, and rolled onto his side to get his legs free. When he rolled back he was flat on the linoleum, grinning in anticipation as he looked down the length of his body at Joe's smirk.
Joe pumped his dick slowly in one hand. "You're a long way from home, curling man," he said, and, when Chris frowned, he added, "You could have had the fucking Golden Broom, man. What was up with that?"
Ice cold, Chris floundered backward, his naked ass dragging on the floor and his legs trapped in the damn jeans. Behind his head, the bathroom door started to open, the bottom edge of the door scraping against the knuckles of one outflung hand. "No!" he yelled, and lurched far enough to slam the door shut and hold it there with his boots braced on the piping.
"Fuck off!" Joe yelled. "We're closed!"
"Fuck you!" yelled a deep voice through the door, but the pressure eased off. Chris slumped to the side.
"Jeez," Joe said. "I'm only messing with you. Do I look like I care about fucking curling?"
Chris glared up at him. "Do I look like I care about fucking curling?"
Joe showed his teeth. "You look like you care about getting that blowjob."
"Damn right," Chris said. "How about it, then?"
Joe's mouth was incredible. He knew how to give head even if he was an asshole about getting it, and Chris felt like he was getting whiplash from the terrified-to-horny corner he'd just turned. Joe hummed around his dick and spat on it to lube him up and smacked his lips when he came up for air. Chris arched back and stared up at the underside of the sink as Joe's mouth sank down, hot and wet, around what felt like the center of the universe. It was the hardest he'd come in a long time, flopping around there on the floor like a fish out of water, and he was pretty sure that Joe swallowed, too.
He sat up when Joe stood and rinsed his mouth out at the sink. Pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt again felt really good. When Joe held out a hand to him, he took it right away and let Joe haul him upright. "So," he said, "you were going to buy me another beer before I ship out of here."
"Where're you headed?" Joe said.
Chris laughed. "Anywhere but here, you know?"
Joe's arm landed on his shoulders again and steered him out the door. The noise and heat hit him all over again. "You and Billiam, huh?" Joe said. "Hell. You'll be back. You always come back. Come on, we'll drink to that," he said.