Author's Note
I DO NOT OWN THE WWE, AND I KNOW NOTHING OF THE PERSONAL LIVES OF ITS EMPLOYEES.
Please only read this if you are mature enough to understand that drugs are NOT good for you.
Well, after getting Jack Swagger a little air-time on this site, my mind wandered to another less popular wrestler who has been around for awhile and still has been credited little to show for it; Tyson Kidd. Since I love my John Cena and Jack Swagger pairing too much to part with it (Its a little sick, ain't it?) I've decided to use them as a stem for my story to grow into a flower.
WARNING BEFORE YOUR WARNING: I will include drugs & alcohol, male-on-male sexual content, cross-dressing and a high dosage of Swagger.
HERE'S WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
-I do NOT own the WWE, I only dream about it.
-I have a very limited knowledge of narcotics, so please, bear with me how ridiculous some of the drugs mentioned here will seem : BY THE WAY, I'm a real softie, so I'm just going to go on and pretend that if these drugs were real, they wouldn't kill the people consuming them. (BUT IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW, IN THE REAL WORLD DRUGS ARE BAD FOR YOU AND YOU AND YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE THEM! I IN NO WAY IMPLY THAT YOU SHOULD TAKE THEM! IN FACT, IF YOU READ THIS AND THEN DECIDE TO DO DRUGS AFTERWARDS, I WILL POSSIBLY COMMIT SUICIDE.)
-Since this is MY world now, John Cena is 6'3 and Jack Swagger is 6' (Tyson is his regular height..., Sorry!)
-I know NOTHING of any of the personal lives of these people
-I DO know the real names of the people in my fiction, but I prefer their ring-names
-I AM NOT WRITING OUT OF ANGER TOWARDS ANYONE, AND I NEVER WILL
-The pairings here include:
Tyson Kidd x Jack Swagger x John Cena
Tyson Kidd x Jack Swagger
John Cena x Jack Swagger
John Cena x Cody Rhodes
Jeff Hardy x Matt Hardy
Randy Orton x Jack Swagger
Randy Orton x Beth Phoenix
Randy Orton x Cody Rhodes
Stephanie McMahon x Mike "The Miz" Mizanin
-There is a VERY good reason why this is Rated "M", the themes included here are: drug & alcohol abuse, cross-dressing, male-on-male sexual content and (how could I ever forget?) language.
READ AT YOUR OWN WILL AS I HAVE WARNED YOU OF WHAT THIS CONTAINS (twice!). Seriously, if you don't like this kind of thing, close the page now while you can escape!
Well dearest Reader, I hope you like this.
Tyson let a low moan escape his lips as he bathed himself under streams of heat from the shower. God, he needed this so badly, after his recent lover's spat with Natalya it was all he could think about.
At first, she'd promised him that it would be a one night thing, they'd never do it again, she just wanted to try it; whatever. Always wanting to conciliate, he agreed, and so they marched out onto the stage, dressed as if ready for a rave.
Their arms were coated with neon beaded plastic bracelets, their outfits had changed substantially:
He entered the ring wearing a pair of industrial black pants with fluorescent high-lighter yellow stitches and more chains and straps than he could count. The pants held a similarly colored golden skull on the right back pocket; she wore a pink metallic bikini with similar jewelry but a pink sheer latex skirt (barely covering what it should).
Once they'd gotten backstage she wouldn't stop ranting about how perfect their new gimmick was and how the crowd had loved them (as far as Tyson had remembered, they still lost and the crowd still wasn't on their side).
He snorted out a sarcastic "humph, sure whatever" instantly setting off that temper of hers.
The brat had gone off again, carrying on about how he was always refusing her everything she desired. She wanted them to go off looking like "Kandi Kids" with those plastic bracelets and colorful outfits! He had to draw the line somewhere!
But in his dissension he had forgotten, that nobody says "no" to Natalya Hart; something that in all truth, he should have remembered even if he were drunk as a monkey.
She enervated him right there in front of everyone "you shrimp-dick bastard!" was the first ear-splitting scream she released from that uncivil little mouth of hers. As soon as she took it to that level, he knew he'd crossed the line.
He held his hands out waving them frantically struggling to find the words to tell her that he was recanting, that he was sorry and he'd never speak against her again, and that she was right, he'd been stupid; but she just kept going.
"How dare you oppose me, you fucking midget?! You're lucky enough to get a woman, let alone a woman like me!" she raved, frothing at the mouth in her exasperation. Then he'd really done it, he'd murmured "here we go…" under his breath, though not as discretely as he would've liked.
"Excuse me? Do you think this is some kind of joke?" she scoffed invectively. He once againtried to apologize, as it seemed she was preparing to raise her voice again.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that! I--!" he began, floundering about something, anything that would make her calm down. Thankfully he still had the floor, and so he acted quickly;
"You know what? You're right, you're right; you're one hundred percent right! We should become a tag team of 'Kandi Kids'! It'll be fun, it'll be new, and it'll help us grab attention! Let's do it!" her anger imploded into herself, re-birthing in the form of satisfaction.
She beamed confidently as once again she emerged victorious "I'm glad you see things my way"
"You know, me too, I mean, why didn't I see this before, you know?" Tyson chuckled nervously, he was happy as a pig in shit to be back in her good graces.
She nodded appreciatively.
"Now… Go take a shower because you stink. Then get yourself a hotel room. We'll talk tomorrow morning at breakfast. That is all" with that she sashayed off, behaving stupidly remiss in flouncing her figure as she swayed her hips with each stride.
He wanted to scream at her tell her that he would do whatever the fuck he damn well pleased! Tell her that she wasn't the only piece of ass on the RAW roster. Tell her to go and shove her ridiculous gimmick 'where the sun don't shine'.
Alas, all he could bring himself to do was gape in devastation at the bloody can of worms he'd opened all over his lap.
"Should have done something…" he slurred underneath the heavy nozzle of the shower, the rush of water around him acting as a veil that protected him from the outside world "anything… Shouldn't have been such a fucking pussy…!"
"Ugh!" he griped, running a hand through his artificially spray-painted pink hair. His hair. Even that didn't belong to him anymore! Natalya was choosing everything these days now wasn't she?
"You know… That whole scene back in the hallway… She sure cut your balls off back there, didn't she?" came a nasty remark from behind.
He paused, grinding his teeth in vexation. Tyson recognized that voice, oh God, how could he ever forget it? Much less, it's owner? The blonde ass-hole he'd dealt with while working in under ECW.
The same ass-hole who'd been brandishing their lame spandex gear and vainglorious million-dollar smile since day one! The same ass-hole who moved to RAW right along with him. The same ass-hole for the life of him, he couldn't ever find a way to escape.
"Bite me, homo! This ain't your business!" Tyson quipped, spinning on his heel to face the pest.
Jack Swagger leaned against the other side of the wall, arms crossed over his chest, reclining pleasantly with that Cheshire cat grin still in place.
He sported a pair of faded gray jeans accompanied with a plaid neon blue and black button-up shirt and black Bape shoes. Around his neck he wore a black twine necklace with a shark tooth charm. His blonde hair was gelled up and he also had a little wallet chain, protruding from the front of his jeans. Not to mention he was wearing his presumptuous attitude on his sleeve.
"Sorry, sorry!" he countered; although he didn't exactly say the word as much as he sloshed it around in his mouth, struggling with the predicament of his little speech impediment, as usual.
"…I just feel bad for you man" at this Tyson's facial expression went blank. His eyes, however, were wide with befuddlement and one brow was lifted slightly.
"… What do you mean you 'feel bad for me'?" he implored in a punch-drunk daze. Why would Jack ever feel sorry for him? He had it all, money, a place to live, someone to screw around with (although that depended entirely on how she was feeling).
As far as he knew, Jack spent most of his money on booze, 'feel-good' drugs or other miscellany that in truth he didn't need. As far as he knew, Jack was currently living off of John Cena. And as far as he knew, Jack was unattached (unless the rumors about him and John were true).
"I've known you for awhile Ty, and let me tell ya' you're not the kind of guy who's all too keen on having his woman crush his cubes on a regular basis if ya' get my drift" Jack drawled, this time not even bothering with hiding his lisp.
"Don't call me 'Ty', Jack, my name is Tyson. Also, who the fuck do you think you are sticking your nose in my problems? How do you know how to fix my life, huh? You don't! You're not a relationships expert Jack, so don't go-!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hang on a sec! Before you go off on a tangent here; first of all, you're the one who doesn't know me! I've been to your situation and back Tyson, and for the record; I happen to be getting a lot more ass than you are. And second… I'll call you whatever I want; I'm bigger than you"
With that he took a step forward, coming off the wall and standing before Tyson, hands on his hips and chest puffed out so that he was rearing up to his full height.
"Just try me, tiny" he beleaguered, that haughty smirk threatening to split his know-it-all face in two.
Tyson glowered, staring up at him through deep honey brown orbs of pure hell. He hated Jack. In fact, the sole reason Jack was still alive as that he was more afraid of the harassment he'd receive in jail than spiteful of a person.
"You suck" Tyson seethed, reaching behind himself to turn the water off. Much to his demise, he'd turned the knob for hot water further and caused a jet of scorching water to spray into his back.
He cried out in pain before turning around and correcting his mistake, now shutting the water off completely. He swiped his towel from the rack and wrapped it around his waist, the uproar of Jack's ear-splitting laughter bouncing off the walls and figuratively smacking him in the face.
"You're a card, Ty! You really are!" he chortled, a hand reaching out to pat Tyson on the shoulder.
Normally a sign of respect, presently Jack's form of further mockery. He shrugged away from the touch as if it were coming from some creepy mugger on a subway.
"Fucking retard!" Tyson barked, making a beeline for the door.
"Take it easy Parcheesi! I didn't come here to start shit; I came here to help you out!" Jack seized him by the wrist, pulling him backward. It was an unnecessary gesture as once Tyson had heard the words 'help you' he was frozen on the spot.
'Help you out'? What the fuck did that even mean?! Jack couldn't help himself! He was falling apart at the seams! He could barely keep the money he earned; how in the world was he supposed to 'help' him?
"Just trust me"
Tyson tittered skeptically; this was so farcical "trust you? You? Trust you? Are you serious? Pfft. Trust you…"
"Yes, trust me, I know what I'm talking about, I'm your co-worker and right now you need my help" Jack reiterated with an aura of genuineness.
This entire charade was just bizarre; what was Jack hoping to gain from this? He certainly wasn't going to offer Jack the opportunity of sharing his apartment if that's what he was after.
"Plus… I'm bigger than you!" the churlishness had returned, catching Tyson slightly off-guard. Jack's sincere and softening gaze vanished, its replacement being a wise-cracking sneer.
"Everything is a fucking joke to you isn't it?" Tyson rebutted with a surly purse of his lips and a disinterested look in the eye.
"No, you just have your panties in a knot!" Jack guffawed "now, will you let me take you out?"
"Where exactly is it you're going to take me?" Tyson inquired, feeling half of him had already given in.
He was interested, if not down-right enticed about Jack's proposal after all; it wasn't like he was going to be getting any action back in his room; aside from his right hand of course. Besides, it had been awhile since he'd had any real fun (Natalya put an end to 'Boy's Night Out' the first second it popped up). He deserved a vacation.
"John's place! We're just gonna watch some movies, eat some junk-food, you know; chill" Jack answered innocently, though his eyes were shining with an almost demonic glint.
"… Swear? Swear you guys aren't going to slip me a Ruthie and then take some naked pictures of me to show Natalya?" Tyson joked, slightly sarcastic. Although it had dawned on him that in the event he should become inebriated this was a route that Jack would take.
"Nah, I'm no tool man" Jack gave him another toothy smile "although that would be a pretty sweet prank"
"Yeah, sure. Anyway, give me like five minutes to change, we'll meet up outside the locker-rooms and then head over to John's place" Tyson suggested, taking comfort in the nod he received in response.
"Alright man, five it is"
With that, Jack took his leave, allowing Tyson to get into some real clothes (besides a sopping wet white towel that was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second).
He strode over to his locker and opened it, instead of his duffel bag as he had foreknown to be there, he found a small post-it note written in the hideous scrawl he identified as Natalya's, and it read:
Hi Baby!
Both of our clothes were in your bag, so I took the bag with me! You'll be going to the hotel in your ring gear instead of your street clothes. Sorry! But hey, it'll give you some time to get into character (besides, I thought you looked really sexy tonight!!!)
Love ya'
Nat.
Tyson almost had a stroke. He'd despised his ring clothes more than a snake would despise a mongoose, and now he was being forced to wear them all day? In front of Jack no less?
At least she'd had the decency to leave him a jacket.
He gathered up his pride and went back to his outfit which lay in a heap by the showers.
The worst part of this entire ordeal was that the pockets couldn't even fit one bracelet! In truth they were actually just seams sewn into the pants to make them look cooler (which they didn't).
Great. Spectacular. Fucking beautiful. Now he would look like a flaming fag in front of Jack and John. He covered his eyes with his hands and threw his head back in anguish, letting a low grouse escape his lips.
God damn that bitch to a fiery grave…
"Yo, Tyson! Fall into the toilet in there or something?"came Jack's goading from behind the door.
"Be there in a second!" Tyson called back, finally settling to 'go-with-the-flow', despite how totally fucked-up 'the flow' was.
He re-dressed in his old underwear, abhorring the fact that it was worn and filthy. He slipped the pants back onto his legs even though they made him feel exposed and itchy along the knees. He even put those absurd bracelets back on, even though they made him feel like an infant.
Oh well. He would just have to learn to accept the hand he was dealt with. Just as he had learned to cope while his counter-part continued to cackle like a jackal, all the way to the John's apartment.
The room was almost bleak, compared to what he should have been able to afford, but that was how he liked it.
The couch was a hand-me-down navy blue sofa gotten from a garage sale; the cushions were actually two pillows meant for sleeping on (hey, they were more comfortable!). The walls were painted an eggshell white with yellow stripes and the floor was covered with a luscious cream colored carpet.
The T.V. (which wasn't even a flat-screen), was about forty-seven inches when cut across in a diagonal, sat atop a wooden stand, pitted up against the wall with two drawers containing various DVDs.
Currently the lights were dimmed low as a horror movie blared on the screen, illuminating the room a blue-ish tone.
The movie was reflected in his glazed-over, glassy sapphire blue eyes. Michael Meyers was in the attic of his old house, unearthing the floorboards to find something.
He let out a low grunt in mild apathy; though this was most likely a key point in the movie, he had no idea what the fuck was going on.
Generally Jack was the one who paid attention to plot and development in movies, and he was always there by John's side so that he could explain what was happening or provide commentary about it.
More often than not, John would have to tell him to shut his yap just so he could watch the scene!
But tonight things were different; Jack (who always left work before him) wasn't sitting in their den like he should have been. He wasn't even in the apartment! Which brought perplexing questions to John's overwrought mind:
Where was he? Why didn't he want to be here? Was it because of John? What had John done to upset him? Did he find somebody else? Somebody, dare he even think; better? Did something happen to him on the way?
John didn't like to mollycoddle him, being that Jack was twenty-seven and could take care of his own messes, but this disturbed him. Jack hadn't even called to tell him he was going to be late!
Left to his own devices, he entertained the suspicion that Jack was having an affair.
"It would probably be with Randy Orton…" John mused acrimoniously "yeah… Yeah… He always did look at him in the shower…I bet they're at Randy's hotel room right now… Doing it…"
"…And then afterwards… They are going to steal canaries from all the pet shops in the city, get hopped up on crank and commit a mass murder!" his irritability broke as he realized how melodramatic the entire concept was.
"Come on John; fucking pull yourself together! He's a grown man, he's smarter than that!" he assured himself "… Isn't he?" he attempted to hearten himself, though there was no concrete evidence to either faction.
He fiddled with his navy blue sweatshirt that said "Ohio Valley Wrestling" in white block letters. When this ceased to fill the void, he smoothed down his gray and black plaid pajama pants, then after scratching one of his bare feet; finding that none of these occupancies could ease his racing mentality.
"Maybe I should give him a call on his cell phone?"
Just as John had picked up the phone from the receiver and entered in the area-code for Jack's cell-phone, he heard the door squeaking open as Jack finally came ambling home.
"John! Smells like urine in this joint! Good job!" Jack ribbed from the hallway as he kicked off his shoes, John couldn't help but beam elatedly in reply. God, he loved living with this man.
"Speak for yourself! You smell like Santino's gym bag!" he gibed as Jack turned the light's up and came into view, smiling dopily.
"Hey, there's no need to insult a guy… Huh… What'cha watching there?"
His azure eyes darted to the T.V. monitor where a commercial for one of the "Nightmare on Elm Street" movies played. On the screen a teenage girl was howling something awful as Freddy continued to feed her more and more food from a plate held in his hand. His face expanded to hold the now wider grin.
"Ooh John, I didn't know horror was one of your kinks!" he snickered, plopping down next to John on the couch, but before John could react with any further witty banter, Tyson Kidd walked into the room "by the way, sorry, last minute and all, but Tyson's gonna be hanging with us for the night, 'kay?"
John's face fell.
No this was not 'kay! This was the farthest from 'kay that Jack could have gone! Tyson, of all people?! As far as John knew, he was a snooty pig-fucker (that pig being Natalya) with no assets or promise of a future. What the fuck had possessed Jack to invite him over?
John made this clear with his "I-really-don't-want-to-do-this" signals: he bit the left side of his lower lip, he sat upright with his knees close together and his feet pressed firmly against the ground, his eyes lost their intoxicating hue and became impassive to the naked eye.
"Oh."
"… John that's not cool" Jack admonished, his visage becoming stern and in a way almost bitter "it's just for tonight, plus…"
He trapped John in a bear-hug shaking him with a suddenly bubbly persona "you might like it, Sam I am!"
John laughed in response, authentic booming laughter; maybe the reason that their relationship was so perfect was because in the real-world, Jack was like a younger (and almost impossibly), peppier version of John.
Tyson looked on smugly; so they were an item after all.
"Alright then. Let's get this party started!" John remarked while breaking free of Jack's hold and stepping up from the couch towards Tyson; the interrogation began, actually requiring more effort from Tyson than he would have anticipated necessary.
"So, Tyson, just some quick flash questioning for starters, here's how it goes: I ask you something and you answer as quick as you can, got it?"
"Yeah" Tyson answered, wondering what it was exactly that John was looking for.
"Good. You drink?"
"Yeah"
"How much?"
"Not a lot"
"Coke or Pepsi?"
"Coke"
"Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhees"
"Both!"
"Me or Triple H?"
"What?"
"Just joshing you there, pizza with pepperoni or anchovies?"
"Anchovies… N-no! Wait! I meant pepperoni!"
"Close enough, you smoke?"
"No, Natalya doesn't like it"
"… You fuck?"
"Y-yeah!"
"Jennifer Aniston or Julia Roberts?"
"Roberts!"
"Milk or cream?"
"Milk!"
"Vanilla or chocolate?"
"Chocolate!"
"Yeah! Okay, Natalya or Jack?"
"Jack!"
At this both John and Jack burst into twin fits of giggles, although it took Tyson at least five minutes to figure out what was so hilarious.
"Th-that's not what I meant! I meant Natalya! I meant Natalya!" he demurred, his argument forgotten underneath their clamor.
"Now, now, Tyson, there's no reason to be self-conscious! I would wanna fuck Jack too if I were dating her" John declared in between breaths "it's a natural urge to want some heat around your Johnson every once in awhile. You can't blame her for having a frozen pussy!"
"Oh my God! Sto-stop! I have the hiccups!" Jack wheezed, slowing himself as he panted for breathing space. He was presently doubled over himself, hands clutching his sides together as he laughed red-faced.
"O -hic- Kay, we're –hic- sorry Ty, don't be a bad sport -hic- anyway, John, let's just –hic- order some pizza and get wasted" Jack advised, righting himself and making room for Tyson and John on the couch.
In the time it took John to prepare to order three pizza pies: one with pepperoni and olives, one meat-lover's and one Hawaiian style (for Jack), Jack had fetched from underneath the base of the T.V. a bag of narcotics.
Somehow, Tyson was the only one with the decency to go stark-raving-mad at the sight of it.
"What the fuck are you doing?! Get rid of that shit!" he reviled frantically, his brown eyes bulging in disbelief "I am not going to jail because you guys want to play doctor feel-good! Jack?! Are you even listening to me?!"
"Sh-sh-sh-sh! I'm on the phone" John hushed him, to which the little prude responded by gaping like a goldfish. His mouth flapped open twice as he gasped in air before he gained the resolve to speak again "I… I-I…!"
"Oh take a chill pill! … Literally!" Jack jibed, tossing a pink pill from inside one of the jars in bag at Tyson's face; it narrowly missed left his eye, landing on the edge of his cheekbone before it bounced off of him and onto the carpet.
"You idiot! Don't you realize that this is a felony?! You're looking at three years minimum, and that's only if those are legal!" Tyson blubbered, now craving nothing more than to tattle to the police and never haveto deal with these unsavory characters ever again.
"Phone!" John reproached, once again pushing to silence Tyson's efforts.
Jack came over to Tyson, placing an arm around his shoulder; a gesture that was meant to alleviate the situation, but somehow flustered him more.
"Look, I'm not going to tell you that what we're doing here is right, 'cause it's not. But Ty, let me tell ya'; there are far worse things than being caught with your hand in the pillbox" Jack insinuated eloquently, he held the bag closer so that Tyson could see into it.
With a heavy sigh he plucked out a light leafy-green oval-shaped pill and held it between his fingers "… Is this… Aspirin?" he whispered, barely audible.
Jack lowered his eyelids seductively, peering at Tyson through hooded orbs of a sea, an intense mixture of blue and jade "nope, it's a five-hour psychedelic trip from Japan, but you've been a little bummed lately… Go ahead, I'll even show you how you do it…"
Out of the bag, Jack produced a similar looking pill and placed it on his tongue, closing his mouth and dry-swallowing. He smiled back at the smaller man "your turn"
Tyson looked down at his hand nervously. How could he do this? It was illegal, it was deadly, and it would certainly jeopardize his career.
And yet somewhere deep inside he didn't give a flying fuck.
He didn't care whether or not he went to jail for it, whether it ended his seemingly insignificant life or whether it caused him to lose the job he secretly had grown to loathe.
"Bottoms up" he mumbled feigning enthusiasm as he positioned the pill on his tongue. Jack gave an influential "yeah!" and jiggling his hand on Tyson's shoulder and by implication causing his whole body to wobble.
He paused before swallowing, this was his one last chance; one last chance to spit it out and get the fuck out of there.
No, he wasn't going to do the right thing; he was going to prove that he wasn't Natalya's "Kandi Kid" lap-dog (even though he was dressed like it).
Tyson swallowed and for the first six minutes felt nothing. He glanced around the room, waiting for any kind of effect to take place but he was still met with the indifference of silence. His stare traveled to meet Jack's eyes whose were glassy and transfixed with their pupils dilated and unable to focus on one target.
Suddenly he felt a rift in his bowls, he felt his intestines clench and the acid in his stomach began to squirm. His vision blurred and he fell to his knees, covering his mouth as his neck continued to lurch forward.
"Shit Jack! What the fuck did you give him? He's going to hurl all over my carpet!" he heard John's voice; apparently he'd finished his phone call.
Two strong hands hooked underneath his armpits and hoisted him to his feet, carrying him into another room (though he couldn't see for shit). Then he was manually forced to sit on his knees and lean over something, directly after he vomited, hearing a contented sigh from John.
"All better?" John inquired in a voice so amiable and dripping with charm that Tyson smiled. He opened his mouth in a wider smile and prepared to reply, but instead belched out more into the toilet. "Awww… Poor baby…" Jack cooed, laughing hysterically.
John began to laugh too, and soon after, Tyson joined in until their laughter was heard even over the booming screams of the horror movie still playing on the television.
When the sound of laughter had died off, he looked backwards and saw that the reason it was so quiet in the room was because John and Jack had begun to kiss. John nibbled gently on Jack's lower lip, evoking a grateful moan from Jack.
Tyson watched on in a languid stupor, letting his neck flop to the side limply as he engaged in an all too open voyeurism.
Their faces were so close, their bodies so warped in his vision that it seemed as though John and Jack had melded into one single entity. And in his fascination, he felt an erotic pull making his pants tighter.
His brows knotting fussily, he began to knead his growing erection, releasing illegible grunts as he went along.
Tyson's need did not go unnoticed and the pair came over to help him up and bring him back to the living room where they settled him down on the couch.
"But I wanna…" Tyson balked drifting off as he began to stare into John's eyes. He hadn't espied this earlier, but John's eyes had a particular sparkle in them. His eyes grew wide as he tried harder to follow the glitter bouncing around in those deep dark blue pools.
He was hypnotized, mesmerized by what he was seeing, so much so that he didn't apprehend his own hand was touching John.
Tyson wet his lips, before parting them slightly as John leaned in for the kill. Their lips collided briefly before John's tongue slithered into his mouth. He closed his eyes slowly as they began to osculate, trading saliva in exchange for a moment of exhilaration.
His tongue swept over the sensitive curves of Tyson's causing him to dither in anticipation (Natalya's kisses were a joke).
Brown eyes slowly fluttered open as Tyson realized that Jack was not participating because he was ingesting more pills into his system. A feeling of esurience came over him as he watched Jack slip a blue pill down his throat. His eyes twinkled enviously and he outstretched a hand as if to stop him.
The back of his mind reprimanded him, told him "no, Tyson, stop while you're ahead", but how in the world could he be expected to obey such a mundane command at a time like this?
He abandoned his kiss with John to crane his head over John's broad left shoulder.
"J-Jack, give m-" he was hushed by a finger pressed firmly to his lips, puffy from their kiss.
"Control yourself… You can't handle that kind of stuff yet Tyson…" John admonished in a breathy husk; the words going straight to Tyson's dick. Tyson exhaled noisily as his desire collided with John's manhood, firm and clothed by his pajama pants.
John chuckled darkly and in one quick glimpse of Tyson's hard-on, he set to work. He kissed the smaller man's forehead while releasing him from his clothing.
His bare dick brushed against the side of John's pants, creating a small, sticky streak a few inches from John's bulge. "You want it?" John breathed, leaning so that their faces were inches from touching.
"God, please…" Tyson rumbled as John curled his fingers around the brunette's pulsing heat.
Their noses brushed and Tyson averted his eyes back to Jack who was currently sprawled out on the floor, twisting his nipples and groaning from the corporeal stimulus it sent to his painfully jilted cock.
"Ahh…!" Jack lilted, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding the back of his head into the rug. He arched his back, coming up off of the floor into a full bridge giggling as his right hand wandered lower to fondle his groin.
Tyson's hands crept up underneath John's sweatshirt, tearing it away from John's body to reveal his bare upper torso.
Tyson scrubbed a hand across John's chest nimbly trailing fingers along each square centimeter of skin, collecting an almost electric tingling sensation that was sent coursing through his veins. He closed his eyes and tossed his head back when he felt the start of John's six-pack.
He peeled back his lids only slightly to see that Jack was tossing and turning on the floor. His chest heaving sharply as he breathed, his entire body had broken into a sweat, making him look a hot mess.
Jack bit his lower lip as he wheezed out a particularly loud groan, finally calling himself to John's attention.
"Shit…" John muttered as he beheld the scene taking place over his shoulder.
He dashed over to his lover's side, unbuttoning his flannel shirt and pulling up his white wife-beater to reveal Jack's chest and rib cage. Afterwards, he undid Jack's pants, dragging them off his sticky and sweat-slicked legs.
"God John… It's so hot…" Jack whimpered faintly, wiping away beads of sweat from his brow with his forearm.
"I know baby, I know" John sympathized, placing a gentle kiss just underneath Jack's navel. Jack hissed approvingly, his hands gravitating to the bristling stubble of John's Marine Corps. styled buzz-cut.
Tyson observed with a spellbound gape. His mouth ajar, eyes large as dinner plates, amazed by the phantasmagorical-colored porno scene going on right there in front of him (it was far more captivating than anything else he had ever seen).
His hand descended down to his ignored cock which stood fully stiff and leaking in excitement. He masturbated, so heatedly though he couldn't manifest the tempo to express his felicity.
John hummed, so close to his impatient lover's throbbing dick that it nearly killed Jack to keep from jostling about. "G'huk!" Jack cried nudging John further down "please… G-God John…. Just touch it. J-j-just… Unh…!"
John mouthed his erection through the vexatious fabric of Jack's pastel pink and white striped boxers, a smirk playing across his lips as he bit down lightly.
"Fuck!" Jack succumbed to his voracity, too jaded to care if it annoyed John. He gripped John's hair with such zeal that he caused a scream to erupt from John's mouth. Driving his hips forward, he essentially tea-bagged John, forcing his clothed genitals to repeatedly brush across his face.
John put a stop to this by firmly slapping his hands down on Jack's thighs, raising himself up and in an exigent voice decree that he stop his behavior instantly.
"S-….Sorry…" Jack whispered with his face flushed into a pathetic blush. He was so close; he was in so much pain. Why was John torturing him like this?
"That's right… We're gonna do it my way Jack. Not yours" he continued, undeterred by the sad puppy-dog look that Jack shot him.
Slowly, purposely as slowly as he could, he undid the two plastic buttons holding Jack's pants in place, clucking his tongue when Jack's dick bounced up and hit the poor man in the stomach. He skimmed Jack's boxers down his femur to hang around his knees, revealing his dick.
He raked his fingers through short cropped blonde pubic hair, then up the length of Jack's eight inch long dick, straight to the head.
Jack gulped, staring at John expectantly as he continued to tease the head of Jack's dick; circling a finger around the slit and then flickering his tongue out to graze the tip, or (when Jack was fortunate enough) he would press his lips to Jack's penis and give it a gentle kiss.
"Dear God… Suck him!" Tyson whisked, the suspense prolonging his delayed orgasm.
John laughed again, and finally engulfed Jack's dick right down to the hilt. He ran his tongue along the underside of Jack's cock, eliciting an effusive wail from the desensitized man.
One hand pressed flatly into Jack's belly-button to keep him from shifting around while the other one began to cup his balls, drawing another deviated rasp to pour from his mouth.
"D-don't stop…!" Jack managed to choke out, his eyes squeezed shut as John's warm mouth continued to drain him "fuck…!"
The doorbell rang and as much as Jack would have preferred to shuck it off as some kind of noise brought on by the drugs; John had heard it loud and clear and, being the loyal customer that he was, he would receive the food and pay the delivery boy for his services.
"Forget…t…" Jack persuaded in protest, but when it rang a second time, John resolved to answer the call.
He came off of Jack with a loud pop, leaving him lying there, completely vulnerable and alone, very much weakened by his need to orgasm and his compelling dipsomania.
Tyson wasn't sure how he'd done it, or even at what time he'd done it. But in the time it took for someone to yawn, Tyson had situated himself between Jack's legs and sat viewing the poor soul.
"J-John?" Jack whimpered weakly, fisting the plush carpet in his suffering "please?"
He was so credulous, so destitute, so completely-out-of-his-fucking-mind doped up. Tyson figured his cognition of the world around him had probably gone the way of a supernova; collapsed into itself from the pressure. His lustrous cinnamon eyes abraded down Jack's brawny anatomy, stopping at his cock.
He wet his lips gingerly, as he coiled a fist around Jack's organ. He manipulated the larger man back down into the carpet, fomenting a chilled "oh…!" to breeze past Jack's lips. Though, Tyson could hardly hear it over the sound of his heartbeat.
Or was that Tyson's heart, thundering in his ears, so obstreperous that he winced as it increased in volume (he could barely hear himself think!).
With some difficulty, he lowered his ear to rest on Jack's perspiring chest, hearing a pounding similar to his own.
Suddenly, a hand landed on the back of his head, fingers spreading through his hair in search of his identity. The fingers groomed his hair, smootheningdown the tip of his magenta tinted bangs before straightening it back up again.
"Tyson…?" a mystified guess asked him; he nodded, returning to sitting upright.
Bewitching crystalline orbs tried to make sense of their surroundings, searching for Tyson with inflated pupils (amplified to the point where Jack's real eye color was a meter millimeter from being forgotten beneath them).
"Yeah..." Tyson answered in a hushed tone, still milking Jack for all he could.
Jack reached for his face, clasping Tyson's cheeks in his hand, numbly running his thumb over Tyson's kiss-swollen lips. His fingers ghosted about Tyson's face, lovingly caressing his profile.
Tyson swallowed hard; sure of his next move, but unsure of how Jack would react.
Cautiously, he lifted himself so that his puckered hole was frisking the tip of the head of Jack's cock. Then, as smoothly as possible, he impaled himself down onto Jack, the only lubricant for him being John's saliva and Jack's sweat.
Jack bit down on his lower lip, groaning out a disjointed plea for more. Tyson bucked upwards, his cock bouncing off of Jack's abdomen.
In a delirious cloud of passion Jack thrust himself into Tyson's entrance again "shit, Ty!" he croaked, arching his head back into the carpet, and looking upwards towards his hair. Tyson nibbled on the brim of his lower lip, gradually applying more pressure to it; though he was at this point unaware of his actions.
The two moved in a sweet cadence with one another's avaricious needs, becoming so engrossed with one another that they both ignored John when he padded into the room announcing that the food had come.
"I guess I'll just have to make you listen to me…" he huffed, marching over to where the pair lie and standing with his crotch in front of Tyson's flushed face so that he was successfully shoving his groin in the shorter man's face.
Regarding at once what John meant by this, Tyson promptly yanked down John's pajama pants, allowing John's erection to spring free and hit him in the face.
After a moment or two of being disconcerted, Tyson set to work sucking John's dick while still trying to keep up with Jack's erratically bucking hips.
His tongue grazed the underside of John's shaft to which he was rewarded with a groan and a jerk of John's hips. Tyson repeated the action and John interlaced his fingers in the brunette's hair, willing him not to stop.
"Fuck!" Tyson moaned around John's dick, his words becoming garbled (yet still completely legible). Angling upward, Jack had collided with Tyson's prostate and caused him to experience the ball-tightening warning sign that he was close.
"Don't stop Jack!" John directed, noting the way Tyson had gone off after that particularly rough slam. Needing no further goading, Jack thrust into that spot again, making fireworks spark in Tyson's eyes.
Jack was the first to orgasm, as he once again hit Tyson's prostate, he wailed out in a language that was recondite and to all appearances apocryphal. His secretion filled Tyson copiously, to the extent where it leaked from him onto the carpet.
Tyson gave out a shrill cry as he too came to his orgasm, spraying his and Jack's abdomen with his semen. Though he couldn't bring himself to get off of Jack or stop sucking off John.
John now fistingTyson's hair in a death grip; drove himself home.
He thrashed into Tyson, hitting the back of his throat, causing him to gag on John's cock. Tyson hollowed out his cheeks, aspiring to appease John in any way he could.
John gnashed his teeth as he felt himself slipping away towards that blissful white light he had grown to love so dearly. With a bestial growl he emptied himself inside of Tyson's mouth, pulling out so tempestuously that both men rocked slightly from the force pushing them apart.
Tyson lifted himself off of Jack, taking a seat on the carpet with his back propped against the couch for support. He was so enervated he could barely hold his head upright. Not to mention, the room wouldn't stop pirouetting around his head like so many horses on a carousel.
He finally acquiesced to letting his head loll backwards to look up at the ceiling, immediately grateful that he'd done so. Now he didn't have to strain to keep his head looking in any direction.
Just as Jack was the first to orgasm, he was the first person in the room to regain their voice.
"So, Ty… On the scale of one to ten… Nine?"
Tyson cachinnated, his shoulders heaving as he slowed to a small giggle "Nope" he paused, as he heard Jack rustling and soon felt a presence beside him. "Eleven" he chimed, joining Jack in sitting upright against the sofa.
Bad idea.
His head sloshed, from one side to the other, ready to roll off of his shoulders and out the door. He also couldn't ignore the splitting headache he'd developed in what seemed like two seconds.
To make matters worse, it throbbed with every direction it swayed.
Tyson focused his gaze down towards his arms and realized he was still wearing all of those bracelets from before.
This only further corroded his ability to concentrate and he began to take them off, tossing them in every which direction.
Nobody stopped him, and he was glad about that, it made him feel empowered. Made him feel as though he could do whatever he wanted and nobody would tell him otherwise.
The rest of the night passed on in a fuliginoushaze as he Jack and John watched horror movies (or whatever else was on at this hour as he was too piss-drunk at the moment to give a fuck what he was looking at).
The next thing he knew he was underneath a white duvet adorned with green leafy embroidery, awaking to sunlight hovering lazily into the room through the curtains.
Tyson lay sandwiched between John and Jack, his ears filled with a symphony composed of John's light snoring and the soft albeit perceptible sighs Jack made when he exhaled.
Jack was facing away from him with his wife-beater adjusted so that he was wearing it as a shirt rather than a shrug; his boxers were still around his knees. John on the other hand, had an arm around him and under the covers was completely naked. Tyson himself was only wearing the jock-strap he'd been allowed to leave the building in.
He spotted his pants a few feet away, lonely as though they'd lost their best friend, he would've gotten up and put them on too, if he wasn't so fucking tired as balls.
While thoughts began to register in his head, he realized that his arms were bare; what had happened to the bracelets from before? They weren't lying on the floor anymore.
A quick survey of his surrounding showed him that a few were haphazardly piled up on the couch and that Jack was wearing at least five on each wrist.
How feminine could one guy be?
"Milksop son uva' bitch…" he surmised with a mordant smirk and a roll of his eyes. As quietly as he could manage, he scampered over to Jack's pants and obtained Jack's side-kick from his back pocket.
Flipping it open as attentively as possible, so as not to wake John or Jack. He entered the pass-code with ease: the big dope had told him once in a conversation; though he couldn't for the life of him recall under what circumstances this had been.
After shifting over to camera-mode he took a snap-shot of Jack sleeping, careful not to include John in the picture (as he was certain their relationship was strictly professional to all those currently outside of the room).
To conclude his mischief, he texted it to himself, two thirds of the way done by the time Jack started to stir out of an otherwise peaceful sleep.
"Huh…? Hey! What're you doing with my baby?!" Jack exclaimed, reaching for the phone. Tyson dodged and continued to send the message, only a fifth to go.
"Oh, you'll get your 'baby' back… After I've molested it!" he cackled, to which Jack came over and bit his shoulder.
"You're texting?! Ooh, I'm mad now, you wasted my texts!" he sang, once again trying to pry it from Tyson's cold, dead, fingers. "Who were you texting anyway? Natalia? Dude you are so pussy-whipped"
"Eat a dick, Jack!" Tyson bantered, elbowing Jack in the ribs and crawling even further away; there was barely one percent left now.
When it had finished he closed the phone and tossed it at Jack who all but pulverized John trying to catch it. He floundered about on top of John; cradling his phone in his arms "it's okay baby, its okay, daddy's here, daddy's here…" he mollycoddled the phone as if it were capable of returning the affection.
"It's an inanimate object dip-shit!" John grumbled, deflating the overall cheery mood of the room.
Jack, whose mood always seemed to have an indelible shield of mirth, giggled. "He's just grouchy because he didn't get his good-morning kiss" he chimed, latching onto John in a provocative snuggle.
"Morning honey-bunch" he cooed kissing his lover full on the lips. John shut his eyes and for a few moments it seemed that he was returning the kiss, until Jack stopped and smacked him in the face.
"Ass-wipe! Stay awake while I'm kissing you!" Jack quibbled playfully.
John pursed his lips in a sweet smile, dimples surfacing in his tinted cheeks "you're the one who woke me up, and I was having a good dream too, I was just about to get some action…" his hands settled on the curve of Jack's ass, giving him a squeeze.
"Ahem!" Tyson coughed, pulling them out of their amorous palaver.
"Oh, good-morning Tyson. You wanna come over here and give me a fucking good-morning kiss already? Or are you too grown-up for that now?" John implied with a wink.
"Well, since you asked nicely" Tyson laughed, puckering his lips he pressed a hand to his mouth and then extended it towards the pair, blowing John a kiss.
"Uh-uh! That doesn't count!" John admonished wagging a finger at him. Tyson smiled audaciously, wiggling his brows "yeah, don't you worry 'Harty-Farty', 'cause sooner or later I'll get that kiss…"
"Speaking of later…" Jack began, as he checked the time on his phone (it was about fourteen minutes after twelve) "I think we were supposed to get up an hour ago…"
"Oh shit! The brand meeting this morning! And I was supposed to give Beth a ride!" John swore, shooting up to his feet and dashing through the hallway of the apartment, his feet making loud thuds as he ran, though the way he flew over the floor, it seemed he wasn't even touching the surface.
He returned within seconds, a bundle of clothes in his arms.
"Put this stuff on!" John blustered, dropping it all on the floor like a hot potato, then bending over and picking up clothing for himself. All the while muttering little curses of "shit!" or "fuck!" or in the rare occasions in which his brain was too pressed for time to distinguish between the two he would cry out "fuck-shit!"
In their haste to get out of the apartment, they hadn't realized that Jack was still wearing four bracelets and a pair of neon pink socks; Tyson's pants were almost falling off, and John's shoes were untied.
They bolted down the stairs of the apartment building, all of them agreeing that they were currently far too late to wait the six seconds it would take for the elevator to arrive on their floor.
Three times Jack stumbled clumsily over his own feet, on the third time John shouted "Jesus, Mary, Joseph! What do you have; fucking sponges for feet?!" (Though at the time, this probably made perfect sense to everyone, reflecting on it in the car, Tyson would wonder just what the fuck that statement meant).
When they reached the car, John almost tore the door off in his hurry to get inside; clearly he had never been late to anything in his entire life. He would have even left Tyson in the parking lot, had he been five seconds slower.
With the utter chaos controlling their ride to the agreed meeting room at the MGM Grand Hotel, John drove ten levels above the speed limit, putting his self-acclaimed "zero-ticket" reputation as a driver in jeopardy.
It didn't help that Jack was one of the biggest sissies ever, who kept complaining that he was going to be sick if John didn't slow the fuck down.
Needless to say, Tyson hadn't made the call to Natalya that he was sure she had been expecting. In doing so he had probably even caused her to miss a full night's sleep. For once he'd refused to grovel to her, and it felt good.
Even though they were now twenty-eight minutes late to the meeting he could feel himself smiling, as it burned its way through his cheeks and stained his lips.
God, it felt great.
More to come, and I hope you enjoyed it so far. The meeting scene will be long, but who knows what'll happen during and afterwards?