Thrust (Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle)(Neil Patrick Harris/The Backseat of Harold's Car)
Title: Thrust
Fandom: Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neil Patrick Harris/The Backseat of Harold’s Car
Warning: Crack and autofellatio and seat humpery and overall abuse of a car and drug use and Harold and Kumar!Neil Patrick Harris being the bastard that he is and real NPH isn’t.
Disclaimer: Neil Patrick Harris is the property of David Burtka
Summary: "What was that, car… you love me? You want a sweet taste of Neil Patrick Harris… well I suppose I am being greedy… and you are such a sweet little piece of foreign import." The tale of a man with a foul mouth and mind plus the car he defiled.
Word Count: 1,600+
Author's Notes: You know what? I'm going to hell for this. Toasty.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to give me any more hookers?” Neil Patrick Harris raged as he pointed to two whores of the night he had already fucked the brains out of, lolling about in the backseat of the car he had stolen.
Not that there was anything much to fuck out in that case, but he was NPH, boy doctor, awesome-er than thou, blessed with an incredible cock, and with amazing cheekbones. He could fuck a genius down to short bus status. He, Neil, was that good. “Well… you left them covered in cocaine for one thing and I’m pretty sure both of them are crying.” The pimp was peering into the car and looking at both of them.
“Pfft… that’s because they can’t get enough of my Harris,” Neil said, inspecting his eyes in the mirror. Yep, still high and still riding the wave of cocaine and booze, plus he had popped another tab of X a while back, so his prick was strained at his jeans. Awesome. “I mean one oral exam with Dr. Douglas Howser is enough to make any girl wild. And by which I mean they sucked my dick.”
“You knocked out one of my girls’s front teeth,” the pimp said. He popped open the door and pulled them out, inspecting the whore Neil had named Puffy McPufferface. “And broke a good portion of them.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Seriously, when a guy says no teeth when she’s sucking his testicles, he means no teeth.” He held up a hand with his index finger extended. “Also, I don’t think her teeth were fully in place when a light backhand could just knock them out like that.”
“He kneed her in the face,” the other whore complained. Neil rolled his eyes. What the hell were they complaining about? He had paid enough to cover the dental bill. “Just kneed her over and over with his horrible bony knees.”
“Pfft… I paid for any and all damages in advance,” he complained, foot on the accelerator, ready to floor it at any time. “Seriously… gimme more hookers. I’ve got a hard on like you wouldn’t believe.”
The pimp was already reaching for his cell. “I’m calling the police. No… you aren’t getting more hookers. You’re going to jail, where you’ll be someone’s blond little bitch.”
Neil, high as a kite, tilted back his head and laughed. “Dude, I’m Neil “Poon Handler” Patrick Harris… you think the cops are going to believe that cute widdle Doogie beat up some hookers… NO!" And with that he floored it… pushing his stolen car to its limits.
There had to be some more hookers out there.
Thirty minutes later, he was obsessively jacking off with both hands, one on his cock, the other giving homage to his tight anus. Neil still kept an eye out for possible hookers, using one knee to steer the car. “Damnit, show up… why don’t you?”
He couldn’t find a strip club and apparently hookers really did keep hours or that little rat bastard pimp had decided to deny him, Neil Patrick Harris, all the pussy he could ever want. No, not like he was overcompensating for the fact that more than anything he wanted to suck cock, fuck and be fucked by other men. No… it was his duty to play lip service to every pussy on Earth as was his mission given to him by God. Or maybe it was the crazy preacher at the Seven Eleven who saw Christ in his bagel and didn’t let Neil eat it even though he had the munchies like whoa. He didn’t really remember since he was high at the time. Which was like all of the time really. Wow, being high was fun.
“Seriously, how hard is it to find anyone who can give good head,” he grumbled to himself.
“Neil… Neil…” someone whispered from the passenger seat. Either someone had snuck into the car when he last stopped it or he was hearing things. “Look over here.”
Neil carefully looked over to the side. He saw himself sitting there, grinning and holding a plushie unicorn. Its horn was so shiny. “Um, hi Hallucinated Me.”
“You know what you should do?” Hallucinated NPH said casually, “You should follow the old saying. You know…. Do it yourself.”
“That’s a great idea,” Neil said, waving his hand in the air and smearing spunk on the inside roof of the car. He had already come three times by his own hand, making that one now liberally coated in his come, which tended to fizz from the Red Bulls he tossed down by the truckload daily. “That’s the most legen… wait for it and this will be the fucking greastest night of my life… dary. Legendary! Maybe you can join me, Hallucinated Me?”
Hallucinated NPH shook his head. “I’m sorry, Neil Patrick Harris, but it’s just not possible. I have to get over to put a down payment on a unicorn.”
“Will its horn be shiny?” Neil had to ask.
“The shiniest,” said Hallucinated NPH, thinking it over. “So… see you in a week?”
“A week,” Neil whined, tugging at his leather jacket. “That’s like forever when you’re high.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait,” said his Hallucinated Self awesomely… that was only way you could be when you were Neil Patrick Harris, Former Fake Doctor.
He vanished as Neil found a suitable forest to park in. Funny how those things always turned out. “Bye… I love you oh so much.”
Okay, first thing’s first… time to take care of this wood. Neil slithered into the backseat, the perfect location if you were trying to get in the perfect suck myself off position. His pants were already unzipped, so one less step there. With skill learned magic training and flexibility from years of yoga, Neil walked his feet in their shoes up what’s his name’s (Harold, Gary, Larry?) car’s window, leaving a trail of dirt in their wake. He felt his grin widen as his torso curled and he was soon left kissing the head of his own penis. How many guys could say they got this far? Obviously few, because they weren’t him. Neil opened his mouth and eased his own prick in, licking the head just the way he liked but none of the hookers that blown him known.
There had been that one the did it just right, but that turned out to be a guy in a dress, but that didn’t mean he was gay even if he had let the male hooker fuck him up the ass afterward and it had been mindblowing… he wasn’t gay damnit. His shrink always said that his beating up of women and branding them like cattle during sex stemmed from being so deep in the closet that he had one foot in Narnia. Mmm… I bet Aslan’s hot and sounds like Liam Neemson, he thought and then angrily added, no … bad think about tits and cunts and anuses.
His erection started to falter around tits and cunts making him think maybe he wasn’t sucking hard enough so he bent his head up and sucked in more of his cock, licking and teasing. And then it picked up at the mention of anuses. No… it didn’t mean he was gay… it just meant he dug doing girls up their asses. And dudes that looked a little too feminine for their own good.
Neil’s hips jerked in his face a few minutes later and he was left with a flooding mouthful of his own spunk. Wow, he tasted like Red Bull, but the amount surprised him that he coughed out cords of mucus and semen onto the backseat of the car. Mmmm… sexy little car… looked so complete with semen… his semen spread out on the backseat. And if Neil listened, he swore he could hear the car speak and he liked what it said… his prick stiffening back up… he was that good. Neil smirked and pulled himself up to a proper sitting position. He leaned in and let the backseat feel everything that he could offer it. “What was that, car… you love me? You want a sweet taste of Neil Patrick Harris… well I suppose I am being greedy… and you are such a sweet little piece of foreign import.” He brushed the seat with his cock, teasing it, wishing cars could orgasm too. “Yeah… you like that… don’t you?”
His hips picked up speed, driving his erection into the seat over and over. “Yeah, you’re my little foreign import, bitch. Yeah you’re NPH’s bitch… when anybody drives you… you’ll remember that it was my erection that ground against your backseat… my anus that clenched your vaguely penile shaped thing that I’m too high to remember that name of but it was amazing… oh fuck…” he rolled his hips once trying to stave off orgasm.
It didn’t work.
Neil passed out sometime after that, coming to at ten thirty in the morning, his stomach growling for sliders (those damned stoners, he had to find a White Castle), and the seat was liberally covered in semen. Mmm… love stains. “Marked you, didn’t I, bitch,” he said. “You were good, bitch… worth the two hundred it would take to get you cleaned up.”
He straightened his clothes after using the moist wipes that for some reason or other were stored in the back seat with half a gallon of hand lotion. He climbed into the driver’s seat… found his shades in his coat pocket and shoved them on. What a night this had been. He found how much he loved himself… but he certainly wasn’t gay… no sir… mmmm… Hugh Laurie.
No… not gay… the man just had girlish legs… still safe.
Neil pulled back onto the highway. It was time to do God’s Work once again.
Fandom: Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neil Patrick Harris/The Backseat of Harold’s Car
Warning: Crack and autofellatio and seat humpery and overall abuse of a car and drug use and Harold and Kumar!Neil Patrick Harris being the bastard that he is and real NPH isn’t.
Disclaimer: Neil Patrick Harris is the property of David Burtka
Summary: "What was that, car… you love me? You want a sweet taste of Neil Patrick Harris… well I suppose I am being greedy… and you are such a sweet little piece of foreign import." The tale of a man with a foul mouth and mind plus the car he defiled.
Word Count: 1,600+
Author's Notes: You know what? I'm going to hell for this. Toasty.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to give me any more hookers?” Neil Patrick Harris raged as he pointed to two whores of the night he had already fucked the brains out of, lolling about in the backseat of the car he had stolen.
Not that there was anything much to fuck out in that case, but he was NPH, boy doctor, awesome-er than thou, blessed with an incredible cock, and with amazing cheekbones. He could fuck a genius down to short bus status. He, Neil, was that good. “Well… you left them covered in cocaine for one thing and I’m pretty sure both of them are crying.” The pimp was peering into the car and looking at both of them.
“Pfft… that’s because they can’t get enough of my Harris,” Neil said, inspecting his eyes in the mirror. Yep, still high and still riding the wave of cocaine and booze, plus he had popped another tab of X a while back, so his prick was strained at his jeans. Awesome. “I mean one oral exam with Dr. Douglas Howser is enough to make any girl wild. And by which I mean they sucked my dick.”
“You knocked out one of my girls’s front teeth,” the pimp said. He popped open the door and pulled them out, inspecting the whore Neil had named Puffy McPufferface. “And broke a good portion of them.”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Seriously, when a guy says no teeth when she’s sucking his testicles, he means no teeth.” He held up a hand with his index finger extended. “Also, I don’t think her teeth were fully in place when a light backhand could just knock them out like that.”
“He kneed her in the face,” the other whore complained. Neil rolled his eyes. What the hell were they complaining about? He had paid enough to cover the dental bill. “Just kneed her over and over with his horrible bony knees.”
“Pfft… I paid for any and all damages in advance,” he complained, foot on the accelerator, ready to floor it at any time. “Seriously… gimme more hookers. I’ve got a hard on like you wouldn’t believe.”
The pimp was already reaching for his cell. “I’m calling the police. No… you aren’t getting more hookers. You’re going to jail, where you’ll be someone’s blond little bitch.”
Neil, high as a kite, tilted back his head and laughed. “Dude, I’m Neil “Poon Handler” Patrick Harris… you think the cops are going to believe that cute widdle Doogie beat up some hookers… NO!" And with that he floored it… pushing his stolen car to its limits.
There had to be some more hookers out there.
Thirty minutes later, he was obsessively jacking off with both hands, one on his cock, the other giving homage to his tight anus. Neil still kept an eye out for possible hookers, using one knee to steer the car. “Damnit, show up… why don’t you?”
He couldn’t find a strip club and apparently hookers really did keep hours or that little rat bastard pimp had decided to deny him, Neil Patrick Harris, all the pussy he could ever want. No, not like he was overcompensating for the fact that more than anything he wanted to suck cock, fuck and be fucked by other men. No… it was his duty to play lip service to every pussy on Earth as was his mission given to him by God. Or maybe it was the crazy preacher at the Seven Eleven who saw Christ in his bagel and didn’t let Neil eat it even though he had the munchies like whoa. He didn’t really remember since he was high at the time. Which was like all of the time really. Wow, being high was fun.
“Seriously, how hard is it to find anyone who can give good head,” he grumbled to himself.
“Neil… Neil…” someone whispered from the passenger seat. Either someone had snuck into the car when he last stopped it or he was hearing things. “Look over here.”
Neil carefully looked over to the side. He saw himself sitting there, grinning and holding a plushie unicorn. Its horn was so shiny. “Um, hi Hallucinated Me.”
“You know what you should do?” Hallucinated NPH said casually, “You should follow the old saying. You know…. Do it yourself.”
“That’s a great idea,” Neil said, waving his hand in the air and smearing spunk on the inside roof of the car. He had already come three times by his own hand, making that one now liberally coated in his come, which tended to fizz from the Red Bulls he tossed down by the truckload daily. “That’s the most legen… wait for it and this will be the fucking greastest night of my life… dary. Legendary! Maybe you can join me, Hallucinated Me?”
Hallucinated NPH shook his head. “I’m sorry, Neil Patrick Harris, but it’s just not possible. I have to get over to put a down payment on a unicorn.”
“Will its horn be shiny?” Neil had to ask.
“The shiniest,” said Hallucinated NPH, thinking it over. “So… see you in a week?”
“A week,” Neil whined, tugging at his leather jacket. “That’s like forever when you’re high.”
“Well, you’ll just have to wait,” said his Hallucinated Self awesomely… that was only way you could be when you were Neil Patrick Harris, Former Fake Doctor.
He vanished as Neil found a suitable forest to park in. Funny how those things always turned out. “Bye… I love you oh so much.”
Okay, first thing’s first… time to take care of this wood. Neil slithered into the backseat, the perfect location if you were trying to get in the perfect suck myself off position. His pants were already unzipped, so one less step there. With skill learned magic training and flexibility from years of yoga, Neil walked his feet in their shoes up what’s his name’s (Harold, Gary, Larry?) car’s window, leaving a trail of dirt in their wake. He felt his grin widen as his torso curled and he was soon left kissing the head of his own penis. How many guys could say they got this far? Obviously few, because they weren’t him. Neil opened his mouth and eased his own prick in, licking the head just the way he liked but none of the hookers that blown him known.
There had been that one the did it just right, but that turned out to be a guy in a dress, but that didn’t mean he was gay even if he had let the male hooker fuck him up the ass afterward and it had been mindblowing… he wasn’t gay damnit. His shrink always said that his beating up of women and branding them like cattle during sex stemmed from being so deep in the closet that he had one foot in Narnia. Mmm… I bet Aslan’s hot and sounds like Liam Neemson, he thought and then angrily added, no … bad think about tits and cunts and anuses.
His erection started to falter around tits and cunts making him think maybe he wasn’t sucking hard enough so he bent his head up and sucked in more of his cock, licking and teasing. And then it picked up at the mention of anuses. No… it didn’t mean he was gay… it just meant he dug doing girls up their asses. And dudes that looked a little too feminine for their own good.
Neil’s hips jerked in his face a few minutes later and he was left with a flooding mouthful of his own spunk. Wow, he tasted like Red Bull, but the amount surprised him that he coughed out cords of mucus and semen onto the backseat of the car. Mmmm… sexy little car… looked so complete with semen… his semen spread out on the backseat. And if Neil listened, he swore he could hear the car speak and he liked what it said… his prick stiffening back up… he was that good. Neil smirked and pulled himself up to a proper sitting position. He leaned in and let the backseat feel everything that he could offer it. “What was that, car… you love me? You want a sweet taste of Neil Patrick Harris… well I suppose I am being greedy… and you are such a sweet little piece of foreign import.” He brushed the seat with his cock, teasing it, wishing cars could orgasm too. “Yeah… you like that… don’t you?”
His hips picked up speed, driving his erection into the seat over and over. “Yeah, you’re my little foreign import, bitch. Yeah you’re NPH’s bitch… when anybody drives you… you’ll remember that it was my erection that ground against your backseat… my anus that clenched your vaguely penile shaped thing that I’m too high to remember that name of but it was amazing… oh fuck…” he rolled his hips once trying to stave off orgasm.
It didn’t work.
Neil passed out sometime after that, coming to at ten thirty in the morning, his stomach growling for sliders (those damned stoners, he had to find a White Castle), and the seat was liberally covered in semen. Mmm… love stains. “Marked you, didn’t I, bitch,” he said. “You were good, bitch… worth the two hundred it would take to get you cleaned up.”
He straightened his clothes after using the moist wipes that for some reason or other were stored in the back seat with half a gallon of hand lotion. He climbed into the driver’s seat… found his shades in his coat pocket and shoved them on. What a night this had been. He found how much he loved himself… but he certainly wasn’t gay… no sir… mmmm… Hugh Laurie.
No… not gay… the man just had girlish legs… still safe.
Neil pulled back onto the highway. It was time to do God’s Work once again.