Title from Justin Timberlake's Rock Your Body. Enjoy. :)
It is too late to be up, especially considering they have to be up at o'dark thirty for an early flight. But Logan's head swims pleasantly from the combination of exhaustion, lack of sleep, and several beers. He idly watches the flashing TV screen, humming to himself and tapping his bare chest with his fingers. Carlos lounges on the couch next to him, eyelids half shut. His eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his tan cheeks.
A laugh rumbles deep in the Latino's chest, startling Logan from his reverie. "You still can't dance, man."
Logan blinks blearily. They've been watching footage from their shows so they can improve. Like with football, performance takes practice, yes, but also careful study after the fact. It'd probably be easier if Logan weren't drunk and sleep deprived. "Whatever, dude. I can dougie."
Carlos flops his head towards him, a sardonic smile on his lips. "That's not dancing, Logan; that's petting your hair." He sits up, eyes bright. "I bet I can dance way, way better than you."
Logan leaps to his feet: a mistake. The world slides away beneath his feet, and only Carlos's steady hands keep him upright. Logan squints at his friend, feeling like Carlos's teeth are blinding him. "You can't," he finally says, petulantly. Carlos withdraws his hands, putting them up in a conciliatory gesture. "Put some music on!"
Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, Carlos turns on his stereo. The bass throbs up through Logan's sock-clad feet, making his chest hum with the force of the beat. Carlos gives him a smile, one with filthy ideas lurking in the corners. "Show me your best, Logie."
Logan eyes the coffee table, clumsily weighing his odds. In high school, Logan had had a reputation for being a table dancer at parties. Moving to LA and starring in a hit TV show hadn't changed his drunken propensities. Swaying his hips stiffly, he decides that maybe hopping on a table isn't the greatest idea. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Carlos cross his arms, expression distinctly unimpressed.
"I don't know this song very well," Logan complains, running a hand through his hair.
Carlos snorts and rolls his eyes, stepping closer to Logan. "You're hopeless, man." He gropes behind him for the remote, turning the volume up further. He sticks it in his back pocket, resting a hand on Logan's hip. The bare skin underneath Carlos's hand seems too hot beneath his touch.
Gyrating his hips, Carlos sings lowly along with the music. "So you pass to the left, and you sail to the right…" Logan follows the movement dumbly. There's a dark and wanting sound to Carlos's voice when he speaks in time with music, saying, "Dance with me."
There's no way Logan could resist.
The beat is catching in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it's the way Carlos is rubbing against him, his hand heavy on Logan's hip. Carlos's fingers rub tantalizingly at the fine hairs at the base of Logan's neck. But it's not until Carlos presses an open-mouthed kiss to a nipple that Logan finally makes a noise.
It's too quiet to register over the thundering music, but the hitch in his chest is enough for Carlos. He feels the smile and before he has time to suck in another breath, those teeth latch around his nipple. Logan fists his hands in Carlos's shirt. His athletic shorts, which usually are quite loose on him, suddenly feel too tight.
Carlos releases his nipple, kissing his way up Logan's chest and neck, stopping when he reaches the junction of Logan's neck and jaw. Through it all, he hasn't stopped his hip movements. Each time his hips swivel, they press teasingly against Logan's dick.
The bass traps the air in this throat, leaving him gasping for breath as Carlos cups Logan through his shorts. "Carlos – " Logan chokes out.
"Better have you naked by the end of this song," Carlos hums against his neck. That hot hand on Logan's dick is too much.
Suddenly the pressure is gone, and Carlos is crouched, at eye level with Logan's crotch. The feel of his shorts easing slowly off his cock is almost more than he can take, and he lurches forward. The head of his dick pokes Carlos's cheek and he feels like apologizing, but Carlos only turns his head to the side and kisses it. His lips are a little chapped, but there are bright stars exploding behind Logan's eyes.
"Are you gonna suck it?" he blurts, and even though he's drunk, he curses his bluntness. Girls have said he's good at dirty talk, but the words always feel contrived.
But Carlos looks at him, eyes dark, lips still touching his hot flesh. "Talk to me, boy," is all he says, and the words tremble through every inch of Logan's too-tight skin.
He slides his boxers off as Carlos leans back slightly, but then his favorite hands wrap around his cock and Logan throws his head back, moan covered up by the music. Those hands know just how hard to pull, just where to twist. His toes curl against the carpet, feeling mashed but the pain feels good.
Carlos finally wraps his mouth around the head of Logan's cock, almost too hot, just like the rest of him. His fingers spasm in Carlos's hair, and he doesn't remember how they got there. "Let me fuck your mouth," Logan hisses, luckily during a lull in the song.
The other boy looks up at him, opening his mouth wider. He slides further into Carlos's mouth, until he can just feel the muscles of Carlos's throat working. But it's too much to stay there for long, and Carlos coughs around him when he finally pulls back. Instead of pushing that deep again, he grasps Carlos's head and holds it still while he thrusts into the Carlos's willing mouth. "Take it, take it," he says, not caring that Carlos can't hear him.
After too short a time for Logan's taste, Carlos is forcing him away, gasping for breath. "I need to breathe, man," he manages, wrapping his fingers around Logan's wet dick. Carlos's pupils are huge, mouth red and so, so wet.
He prods at Carlos's mouth, not wanting back in, but relishing in how slick those lips are. Carlos opens his mouth just enough to let the tip of Logan's cock into his mouth; his grip on the rest of Logan is firm.
"Let me come on your face," Logan breathes.
Carlos releases him with a pop, looking up at Logan through his eyelashes. He strokes Logan a couple times, but Logan swats his hands away, and for once his alcohol-addled brain feels like it's moving at the proper speed. Carlos gently places a hand on Logan's hip, and he loses it, jaw gaping wide as he comes.
Ribbons of cum spurt over Carlos's tan face, into his hair and mouth, on his cheekbones. Logan's breath leaves him in strangled gasps. The last of his cum lands on the bridge of Carlos's nose, and when Carlos opens his eyes and sits up a little, it rolls down his nose.
Carlos smiles at him, and the sight of his cheerful face, streaked with cum, makes Logan's dick twitch again with interest. His red tongue slips out and licks at the liquid on his lips, patting Logan's bare hip.
Gravity betrays him again, though, and he sways dangerously on weak knees. Carlos gets to his feet, holding Logan steady and helping him pull his pants up. "Maybe now you're all loosened up, you can dance better," Carlos suggests cheekily. He swipes at his face, hand coming away white.
"Go clean up," Logan commands him, leaning in to kiss him sloppily on the mouth. It's weird to taste himself on Carlos's tongue. Carlos pulls his shirt off, wiping his face vigorously as it goes. "That's not what I meant," Logan says, wrinkling his nose.
Carlos shrugs. "I'm trying to teach you to dance, stupid." He pulls Logan close, until the air between them is thick with the smell of sex. Carlos's hot breath fans across his cheek. His voice rumbles between them like distant thunder. "And you owe me."
Logan's hands fall to the buckle of Carlos's pants. "I'll pay you back, Carlos." Carlos's teeth flash in a knowing smile.