Disclaimer: The Hangover was not my doing, nor are the characters mine. *pout*
Tag: The Hangover Part III.

Summary: Alan takes advantage of Phil's bound state.
Pairing: Alan/Phil.

The — Hangover

The Mounting:

"Oh, and a little parting gift. Help y'all out a bit." Just-Doug-that-didn't-want-to-be-called-Black-Doug said with a wink.

Phil watched him warily as the other pig-masks shoved Alan and Stu to the ground and grabbed their-Doug, dragging him away. "What the fuck?!" Phil tried to struggled from still-going-to-refer-to-him-as-Black-Doug-anyway-so-fuck-you grabbed him by the waist of his pants and jerked down them and his boxers to tangle at his ankles, before checking him to the ground and skipping merrily away. Their truck and car pulled from the desert leaving a trail of dust and them bound in a field of windmills.

Phil yelped and cursed, twisting on his side to get his junk off the hot sand and attempted to pull his pants back up his waist. But his hands were zip-tied behind his back and he just didn't bend that way.

"Fuck!" he muttered. "Alan!" he called finally, "roll over here and chew these ties off!"

"On it, Phil!" Alan called, and then the larger man was crashing into him.

"Jeez, Alan. Easy!"

"Sorry!" Alan managed to caterpillar himself up and then he paused. "Phil. Your butt."

"Black Doug pants'd me, the jackass!" Phil grumbled. "Please, just hurry up, this is embarrassing enough."

"It's cute."

"Wha—Oof!" Phil was cut off with a gush of air as the weight of Alan enveloped his body. "Alan, what the hell?"

"Sorry!" Alan gasped into his ear and Phil shivered at the sensation. "Just let me shimmy down."

"Oh, God." Phil groaned in utter humiliation as Alan attempted to wiggle down his body, but it wasn't exactly working out. Something else was happening instead. Alan's body was perfectly lined with his, all his pieces settled just right at Phil's places...

It was the adrenaline, Phil tried to reason. Alan had mounted him like a lion, and that devilish hardness right at the seam of his ass... as he tried to shift down so his were where his bellybutton was, but he seemed to be thrusting instead. Thrusting and thrusting and—

"Ahh." The gasp escaped him before he could stop it with a bitten lip, but Alan heard it.

He stopped, his nose buried in Phil's nape, his breath warm and moist at his collar, his beard scruffy. "Phil, you—" he paused and ground his hips into Phil's bare ass purposefully and got a breathy note in response.

"A-Alan, what're you doing?" he attempted to protest, but it was weak.

"Shhh." Alan hushed the taller man gently, brushing the tip of his nose along his sweaty nape, before his lips latched onto the small nub at the top his spine—and started a deliberate rhythm with his hips.

Driving Phil's slowly hardening cock uncomfortably into the sand beneath his body. Stu shrieking for help and running around like a headless chicken was a background hush in the rushing blood in Phil's ears, Alan's panting and his own breathless gasps. It didn't matter the ache in his shoulders and arms, the sting in his wrists and numbness in his fingers trapped between their bodies—as Alan rode him like a desperate dog in heat, and he the pleading bitch in the hot desert sand.

Alan's clothed bulge was large and pressed deep between his desperate cheeks. Phil tried to thrust his hips back, but couldn't quite manage and ground his cock into the ground instead. Alan's zipper rubbed against his puckered hole; it was cold and it stung—and he purred in response.

And then Alan bit into the juncture between his shoulder and his neck—and he was coming. Cum spurted from his hitched erection; exploding hot and sticky into the sand beneath him. Phil's cheeks clenched around him, and Alan pressed into the man beneath him hard, shuddering as he came. Shooting his load in his underwear against Phil's ass.

And then Alan collapsed onto Phil, panting and gasping in the eclipse of their domino orgasm. Alan gently kissed the bite mark he'd left, tracing the marks of his own teeth with the tip of his tongue.

"Alan!" Phil gasped. "What-what the fuck?!" now that the pleasure wasn't riding him, rising, consuming his thoughts, and now he just felt dirty and sweaty—and shit, Stu was still running around, shrieking and oblivious and he and Alan just had a humping session. What the fuck?

"Ugh." Alan heaved and finally rolled himself off Phil. He managed to get onto his knees and bent over Phil's bound hands at the small of his back. But the angle was awkward and straining, so he laid his bearded cheek against Phil bare round orb and started to chew the thin strip of plastic.

Phil grumbled at the action and then grimaced as his wrists were slathered with saliva. But then he soon groaned in relief as there was a snap and his wrists were released. His arms fell to his sides, dead as they tingled and blood pulsed through his limbs unhindered once again.

He grunted as he dragged his arms up and got them under him. Pulling his pants up, despite the mess, would be a relief. But he froze, on his hands and knees as he felt his crack being nuzzled and then something warm and wet brush against his tight ring of muscle. He moaned.

He looked behind him to see Alan's face pressed against his crack. "Alan!" he spun and shoved the other man away, scrambling to pull his pants and boxers around his hips, doing up the zipper. Alan toppled backwards and turtled, stuck on his back, his pelvis thrust into the air, his hands trapped beneath him. Phil stared at him, his gaze drawn to the damp patch at his khakis crotch.

"Jesus Christ." He cursed and crawled over to the other man. "Roll over."

"I can't." He pouted, looking up at him. "I'm stuck, Phil."

"Serves you right," he muttered, but hip-checked the other man onto his side. Not really wanting to gnaw on the zip-tie like Alan had done, he patted down his pockets and to his relief, discovered a loose key. He used the teeth to saw at the plastic.

"I'm FREE!" Stu shouted in the distance, running around, his arms raised in the air.

Phil only spared the dentist a glance before the tie broke and Alan was freed as well. Phil leaned over him. "Next time," he whispered in the man's ears, breathy, "I'm going to hump you into the ground."

Alan giggled at the promise. "Okay."

Phil glowered and then bit the other man through the seat of his dusty pants with enough pressure to make the man squeak in surprise. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

["toodooloo, motherfuckers!"]
end

The — Hangover

End Note: Yum!

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