It was a dare. And now, Lipton, Carwood Lipton, was giving a lap dance to Ronald Speirs, who looked like he was having the time of his life, watching Car's hips rock slowly just above his. They were all drunk beyond any sort of focus, and catcalls and whistles were shot from the audience of Easy Company. The war was over, so they had decided, fuck it all, get head-over-ass drunk and do whatever. And right now, the effect of that alcohol was making everything fuzzy and warm and Lipton just looked so flushed and prefect above him that Speirs couldn't help himself from grabbing Lip's hips and urging him on.
"Yeah Lip, ride 'im!" Someone hollered.
Lip could feel his knees begin to tremble. His thighs and arms began to quake from the effort of holding himself up. It was so hot and wrong but so right and he really didn't care because his whole world had narrowed down to the man below him.
"Lip—" It was the first word he had uttered since Lipton had climbed onto his lap.
"Yeah?" He growled, knowing his legs were gonna fail him any second.
"I—" Speirs didn't have time to finish before Lip's legs gave out and he dropped onto his lap, immediately feeling the hard and intrusive presence of one huge boner. If it was possible, his face got even redder and his eyes even darker.
Lip moaned. Their audience cheered.
Not wasting any time, Speirs yanked Lip's face down do his and crushed their lips together, attacking the Sergeant's mouth.
When he pulled away, he muttered, "Why not give them a show…"
A/N: Wow where the fuck did that come from…