Punk 1st person PoV Warnings for slash, swearing and mild insanity.
I'm at his front door before I remember that Colt is in Mexico and won't be back for days, which probably means I should go hide out someplace else really. It has got to be weird basically stealing his house for my own, entirely non-nefarious, purposes but other places will come with people, which come with questions and I've fucking had it with people and their fucking questions. So Cabana can deal with me eating his food and using his water whilst he isn't there. It's not like I'll use his bed, that would be rude, the sofa is plenty comfy. He just better have ice cream.
Day 3 of my apartment occupation has been pleasantly spent watching Mexican soaps when I hear the key in the door and the sound of bags hitting the floor. I'm sort of interested to see what he's ganked from his trip south of the border but I'm also perfectly comfy so fuck that. It occurs to me that I'm sitting dressed in my 3 day old pants, his boxers and favourite shirt which I probably shouldn't have borrowed but it's warm and soft from being through the wash so often, I strip the shirt off and stuff it behind the sofa I'm sprawled on, what Colt doesn't know won't hurt him.
"How was Mexico?" I try for nonchalant and pull it off well. After all why the fuck shouldn't I be in his house, he gave me a key; one has to expect me to take advantage of every opportunity that is presented to me.
"Hot. What happened to you?" I glance at him, he looks like me, like shit; bags under his eyes, his hair unwashed, clothes slightly dishevelled, a general air of exhaustion hanging around like flies at a trashcan.
"I didn't duck. Sit down." I answer his question as accurately as possible. I didn't duck, I probably should have but who knew that missing your girlfriend's brother's wedding would result in her throwing a punch at you. Honestly, with the rate of divorce in America, it's not as if it's going to be a once in a lifetime event, I possibly shouldn't have used that as my defence, in hindsight. People get so fucking bent out of shape when you imply that their happy ever after is more likely to be a happy till something better comes along. Colt sort of collapses on to the sofa, in the spot where my feet were, poor fucker, he needs to go to sleep. I put my feet in his lap, he stole their spot, it seems justifiable and get distracted by the tangled love lives of Juan and Juanita.
His thumb rubbing over my ankle is kind of nice, it's not something I'm used to, not from him, not from anyone really, I don't usually inspire nice in people. I'm possibly part cat given how I enjoy this being stroked thing. It's only when he stops that I notice he's dozing.
"You falling asleep on me?" He jolts like he got caught napping in class and blinks at me stupidly. "I'm just tired." Is a fucking cop-out and I tell his stupid ass to go to bed, even move my feet, aren't I nice? But does he listen, does he hell, he just goes right back to treating me like a fucking kitty. Bout 10 minutes later he lets out a snore. See, I told him he should go to bed; no one ever listens to me. I put my feet on the table and yank him over to me; head in my lap, we'll see how you like being a cat, Cabana. When he finally wakes up, I offer to feed him, hell I even give him the whole sofa so he can have another nap before the pizza guy gets here. Pizza arrives and he seems starving so I palm more than his half off on him, I'm not that hungry and with my fucking lip swollen it's hard to eat pizza without cutting it up into little pieces and I am not cutting pizza up like some fucking fussy little kid.
Once he's done, I send him off to the shower, he fucking stinks and I need to think. He needs something from me; all I have to do is look at him to know he does. He still looks tired despite his nap, he still looks too much like me for my liking, I'm the one rocking the unwashed scruffy homeless look, he's my "nice Jewish boy" friend. I guess Life does get to everyone sometimes. Well, fuck Life and its pinfall attempts. TAG! Motherfucker, you can totally have tag-team Iron Man matches, although does Life have a partner, maybe this is a handicap match. Either way, my partner needs a rest that much is clear and I am the king of the side headlock, the rear chinlock and the sleeper. Life, you better fear me and my fucking rest-holds!
I only notice he's out of the shower when he sits beside me on the bed, my plan, if you can call it a plan, is to return the many favours he's done for me; I like to repay my debts and if he needs his 10 count, well then I'll do my best to help him out. But the idea of me fucking Colt, no. That's just not something I think I can do, he's my "nice Jewish boy" friend after all, I wouldn't want to defile him? Not defile, I don't think there's a word for exactly what I mean, profane maybe. This isn't important, Colt is and I need to stop stalling for time.
So I straddle his thighs and look at him. He's got a mildly bewildered expression on his face, kind of like that first time we fucked, only without the tomato impression. He looks about ready to say something, based on that look, it'll be something dumb so I shush him and push him onto his back. I guess normally this is where I'd go for a kiss but if pizza caused me problems, kissing would be a whole hell of a lot worse and he seems to be thinking that kissing is where we should be going. "Can't, hurts." I make a vague flail at my face and try to look apologetic because I like kissing Colt, kissing Colt is nice. I can do Eskimo kisses though, he seems content enough with that and I forgot the lube, which is on the dresser, not the bed like where I was going to put it before. Great, Life this is dangerously close to lemons, I also know an array of chokeholds you asshole. I grab the lube, shedding my clothes on my way back to the bed and Colt is looking at me, not just looking but looking, like I'm something so fucking special, he's so fucking wrong about that and this is not a train of thought I wish to be on right now Life, back to sex and making Colt feel good.
I've a couple of fingers in my ass, moving them around trying to make it feel like when he does this to me and my other hand around his cock stroking it the way I like, when he says my name followed by "Lemme see." See what, I want to ask him, I'm not sure there's anything to see here, Cabana, at least nothing you've not seen a dozen times before. "Lemme see you fingering yourself." And now I have no idea what the fuck he'd want to see that for, I'm sure it's not overly interesting or appealing but he seems pretty keen on the idea, scooting away and nudging my legs apart. My fingers do not in any way, shape or form feel as good as his, what the fuck does he do to make this feel good, it's just kind of weird and hurts my wrist. Oh fuck this, his cock always feels good, on your back Colt. "Wait!" Okay, seriously buddy, do you want to fuck me or not? This is getting ridiculous, this plan sounded much easier to accomplish at its inception. His finger slides inside me, sending that jolt of something so fucking good through me and my plan can fuck off. His plan involves his fingers in my ass and I'm now quite sure that it's just his fingers that feel good in me. He says something to me that I don't hear and his finger is gone, an expectant look on his face would imply that he wants his cock in me so I oblige. Moving down his cock feels different to having him press into me; he feels longer, thicker, still good though, horribly, terribly, wondrously good. I can feel his balls against my ass and I can't catch my breath, he feels so fucking deep, so fucking good inside me, I swear I can feel his pulse he's so far in me. Fuck this feels good. He's moving the hair off my face and looking at me again, I'm not sure I can quite deal with this looking, so we'll try moving instead and fuck that feels even better. If moving is good, moving more must feel even better, fuck yes, faster is better. He feels huge inside me, being on top of him, riding his cock feels so fucking good, those delicious little shivers of pleasure dancing up my spine, fuck, this is just fucking perfect.
"Hey," What now Colt, doesn't this feel as good for you as it does for me? I am so fucking close to coming and you decide to hey me. "Hey, easy Punkers, slow down." Slow down, how about a nope? Don't be pulling me down for a kiss, Cabana, no kissing till this fucking lip is better. Eskimo kisses; I guess those are okay and stop fucking looking at me like that. That fucking look on his face again, honestly I'm sure that he's wearing it to piss me off and believe me, I would be if he didn't feel so good inside me.
"Again." He bucked up into me as I came down on him and fuck if that wasn't the best feeling in the World. If nothing else he's accommodating to my requests, every time I go down, he goes up. Sex is never usually this coordinated but I suppose it's just another sign that he gets me, now if he'd only stop looking at me. Finally his hand moves from the back of my neck and I'm free to escape that look, I can feel it on my skin though, his eyes looking at me. His hands take hold of my hips and he manages to be even deeper inside me. Fuck, the deeper he gets the better it feels. "I'm close, Colt." I gasp out, if he won't stop looking, I'll just divert his attention and fuck my hand is covered in cum and his hands are stopping the blood flow to my legs. But who needs legs when I can feel his cum inside me, a little piece of him in me. I've never stopped to analyse why I like that so much, it's something I should probably think of thinking about, that and the look. He's smiling up at me with that satisfied grin he gets after he's come and I'm considering my options for my cum-covered hand, the towel or the bed, there's a lot of it and dried cum is not something I want to take to the laundromat, I swear, this cheap bastard needs to buy a fucking washer so I lick my hand clean. If he's not bought one by the next time I'm here, I'm giving him money.
He looks better, he looks thoroughly fucked out, utterly exhausted and completely Colt. With careful manoeuvring, I manage to get him under the covers and he looks at me, a nice normal look, not that fucking look, I pull him to me and make myself comfortable with his head on my chest. I, as a rule don't hold people when they're asleep, people drool and snore and fidget and I sleep badly enough without adding drooling, snoring, fidgeting people blankets but this is part of the 10 count, one of my favourite parts, the best part if I'm honest. Colt is an excellent pillow, very comfortable, if I'm even quarter as good at being a pillow, he'll have the best night sleep ever. The angle he's lying at isn't quite right for me to stroke his hair though, the hair stroking is good too but I'll settle for rubbing his back. "G'night Colt." He's asleep before I finish speaking. See that Life, Second City Saints - 1, you - 0.
3am is probably a better friend to me than most people are, it's always there when I need it and it even brings infomercials about amazing devices to make your boobs bigger and the incredible magic ladder; click is the sound of safety. I guess, now would be an opportune time to do all that thinking I have to do.
So, I'm awake, I know you're awake, Life, let's talk about these lemons shall we?
Well, Mr Punk, lemon number one: Colt makes you feel good.
Life, that is hardly a lemon, lots of things make me feel good, pizza, running, pancakes, fucking women. Fucking makes people feel good, Life.
Yes but only Colt makes you feel good by being inside you. Just think how good his fingers feel, how much better his cock feels, his tongue -
Now hold on a second Life, his tongue has never -
Well no, but think about it, it would be all warm and wet and so very strong, the amount of talking he does, just think of it squirming and wriggling, working deeper and deeper inside you. Wouldn't that feel good?
Fuck, yes!
So what are you going to do about it?
Uh, ask him to rim me?
Mr Punk, that is hardly the answer to the question I was asking.
Look, lots of things make me feel good, just because Colt makes me feel particularly good, in a particular way doesn't mean anything.
Fine, fine, ignore me. Lemon two: You like making Colt feel good.
He's my friend, next.
Punk.
Next.
Lemon three: He looks at you like he-
Stop it. He looks at me like a friend because I am his friend, his best friend. There is no looking! Fuck you, Life.
Really, Punk?
Really. No, really. Really and truly. We. Are. Friends.
Well there he is and he's looking at you. So tell him that.
Fuck.
We'll be back to 2nd person Colt for the next part; I did say a formula. ;) Next part will be written and posted after I spend my afternoon watching the Night of the Living Dead with 40 Chinese uni students. (I get paid to do this, my job = awesome)
Ms Bitter-Alisa: I'm a little abashed at how flattered I am by your comments; I definitely am beyond happy you think my smut hot! It's what I was aiming for and worried it might be a little... corny, smut I have discovered is hard to write. As for forcing me into to anything, ha, don't worry I'm sure the only living creature who can make me do anything is Cat and possibly Chestnut lady, some unromantic romance was always on the cards. ;)
InYourHonour: Thank you! :)
Anon: I totally agree! There isn't enough Colt/Punk in existence! (I totally did a happy dance that you put this in the same category as Deserving? an embarrassing little happy dance)