A/N: I love writing Hollywood. I got the idea for this from a TFLN, if anyone can tell. How tawdry of me...
"Shit," Wolfman drawled as he tripped over Hollywood's Xbox, "what's going on here?"
"Shhh," Hollywood said, waving his hand at Wolfman distractedly. "Iceman's frag tagging the shit out of everyone and I need my concentration. Hey, Iceman!" he yelled into his headset.
No one answered. Wolfman blinked at Hollywood and stole a handful of his popcorn.
"He's hiding somewhere," Slider responded, his voice crackling out of the television. "He just fucking sniped me."
Hollywood cracked up. "Way to go."
"Who's playing?" Wolfman said, leaning against the arm of the couch and closing his eyes. It was a hot day, with a lazy California breeze coming in through the curtains.
"Iceman, Slider, Sundown, Chipper, and this dick named Burt that everyone hates," Hollywood replied, as he navigated the roof of a building.
"Thanks a bunch," someone else said. Wolfman guessed it was Burt.
Wolfman observed Hollywood. He wasn't sure why, but he thought it was hotter than anything else when Hollywood was completely absorbed in something, taken over by frenetic, intense passion. He looked that way when he was flying, too.
But he didn't want to make a sudden move. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Underneath his boisterous confidence, Hollywood was really sort of skittish.
He came up with all kinds of crazy shit, though, late at night, when it was just the two of them. Like, "What d'you think it would feel like if you went down on me with a mouthful of Pop Rocks?" and "Ever fucked in a tent?"
The Pop Rocks were fun, even though they left Wolf with a funny taste in his mouth for ages afterward, and the tent didn't work out so well. Hollywood got bitten on the ass by a spider, became convinced said spider was a brown recluse, and insisted they drive to the emergency room. By the time they got there you could barely see the bite anymore, just a tiny pink mark, and Wolfman wasn't exactly pleased.
Hollywood made it up to him later. He always did.
"Ice, Ice, baby, where you at?" Hollywood yelled into his headset.
"He's not gonna answer," Slider said.
Wolfman knelt down next to Hollywood's feet and ran his fingers up and down his fly. Hollywood looked at him. Wolfman just shot him a crooked grin and started sliding his jeans off his hips. Hollywood fell back against the couch cushion. "I already jerked it earlier," he said casually, but he bit his lip when Wolfman touched him.
"Nice to know, Wood," said Sundown.
"Get off my balls, Sundown."
"Hey, piss off, Neven," Chipper said.
Wolfman licked a strip from Hollywood's treasure trail down to the strip of flesh where thigh met crotch. Hollywood let out a grunt of pleasure and seized a fistful of Wolfman's blonde hair, rocking his hips forward. Wolfman's mouth wrapped around his cock, taking him whole, and Hollywood -- who screamed loud enough during sex to shatter glass -- started in with his routine, going from low-pitched to high, crooning whimpers, like a poor man's imitation of George Michael. Wolfman's tongue slipped over him, gentle but urgent, one hand underneath his thigh so that any minute he could pull him off the couch and pin him on the floor, sweaty and gasping for breath. He slid two fingers inside of him and rocked him backwards. Hollywood moaned deep in his throat, and Wolfman had only just mumbled "turn your mic off" when he heard Iceman.
"What the hell are you doing over there, Hollywood?" He sounded mildly irritated and also a tiny bit hot and bothered, like how he got when Maverick was undressing.
Hollywood couldn't answer, of course, just flipped his mic off and gritted his teeth. Wolfman sucked a little harder, fingers still deep, egged on by the whines coming from Hollywood, who sounded like a dog begging for table scraps.
"Wood, you just got sniped," Slider said, helpfully. "By Kazansky."
"We know it was Kazansky, who the hell else --" ice rattled in a cup "-- who the hell else is sitting up there, picking us off. I swear to God I'm gonna frag you," said Chipper.
"Good luck with that."
There was distant gunfire.
"Aw, fuck!"
Hollywood's hand clenched around Wolfman's collar and he let out a final moan as orgasm spread through his body. Wolfman tugged Hollywood's hand down to his own crotch, and Hollywood barely had to light his fingers on Wolfman's dick before he came too, chest heaving, curling up on the couch next to him with his head on Hollywood's lap.
The screen proclaimed boldly, "Respawn in five... four... three..." Hollywood turned his mic back on.
"Back," he said, voice cracking a little. Wolf felt a tingle of arousal in his gut.
"Uh, okay, Wood," Slider said. "Done jerking off?"
"Suck my dick, okay?"
Wolfman chuckled. "Too late for that," he drawled.
"Don't know if you noticed, Neven, considering how subtle I was, but I just sniped you eight times in three minutes."
"You're about as subtle as a tap-dancing bear in the goddamn Russian traveling circus, Kazansky."
Wolfman grinned.