Title: Bella Pacifica
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Prompt #50 - Young!Greg/young!Ryan. Sex on the beach. Could be a frat party, lots of drinking, fire, music with a heavy beat.
Word count: ~3,000


Ryan drew his legs up to his chest and buried his toes in the sand, using a bit of drift wood to prod the fire and send up a flare of sparks and ash. A rush of heat washed over him, chasing away the night's chill. An owl sounded in the woods behind him, hooting mournfully, its long and eerie call a stark contrast to the tinny, upbeat staccato of disco music down the beach.

A hundred yards south of Ryan's camp were about a dozen American teenagers—fires burning and music blaring out of the back of Chevys and 4x4s—come to experience all the Great White North had to offer. He smirked and lifted his bottle of Blue to his lips, shaking his head. Namely, that was a lowered drinking age and a lack of parents. Deep laughter of the boys resonated with the high pitched squeals of the girls, and Ryan turned to watch them, huddled alone against his fire. He envied them and pitied them in turns.

A figure had departed from the rest of the group and had been slowly making its way toward him for some time. The shadow of a man weaved back and forth across the beach, like the push and pull of the waves. It was low tide, and the rush of the ocean was a muted backdrop of white noise, the heavy clouds obscuring the moon and casting the whole area in a blanket of dark. It was barely beaten back by the few campfires along the sand or deeper in the woods, where families crowded in RVs, away from the rowdy, younger crowd along the water's edge.

But that night the crowd seemed to only be the Americans, Ryan, and the lone figure who dared to brave the gap between them.

He finally sauntered up to Ryan, the firelight glinting off his overly large glasses and obscuring his eyes. He had a veritable afro of curly brown hair and a hand rolled cigarette tucked behind one ear. Ryan looked him over, taking in the wide collared button down and flared pants, a far cry from Ryan's own flannel and denim combo. He definitely looked like someone out of the disco crowd, but there was something likable about him anyway, Ryan found, as the guy made himself at home, flopping down in the sand and plucking the cigarette from behind his ear.

“Hey, what's up?” he said. He lit the cigarette—or, as Ryan quickly ascertained from the smell, the joint—and puffed on it languidly, drawing the smoke in deep and holding it there for a moment before breathing it out on the tail of a nearly orgasmic moan. A slight smile played about his lips, and he looked over Ryan in return, his eyebrows raised curiously, before extending a limp hand in greeting. “I'm Greg. Saw your fire, and I thought I'd come say hi.” He grinned a little wider, but his voice stayed low and mellow. “So hi.”

Ryan nodded slowly. He shoved his beer into the sand and wiped his condensation-damp palm on his jeans before he took the proffered hand, squeezing it briefly. Acrid smoke wafted his way, and he breathed it in deeply. His mouth watered for a taste. “Ryan,” he said. “Hey.”

Greg took another drag on the joint. He was sizing Ryan up, the fire still dancing across the lenses of his glasses. He breathed out the white smoke lazily, then smiled, and Ryan could tell the weed was starting to work its magic. He licked his lips.

“Did you want a hit?” Greg said suddenly. He offered up the joint, and Ryan tried hard not to eagerly snatch it from his outstretched fingers.

It had been some time since he'd last smoked—since he'd last had someone to smoke with. His brother had narced on him, so he couldn't risk it at his house, and Jimmy's mom wouldn't let them smoke at his place anymore, either. Patty had tried it, though she'd never really gotten into it the way he and his friends had, and within a few months it was like none of them had ever smoked at all.

A wave of nostalgia hit him as he put the joint to his lips and breathed in deeply. He recognized the strain right away; it was a familiar crossbreed, one that had given him both a healthy dose of couch lock and stimulated the best conversations of his life. Nearly a year without had turned him into a light weight, and he was already feeling the effects by his second hit. He breathed in the smoke and held it until he felt his lungs would burst, passing back the joint with a nod of thanks.

Ryan pushed back from the fire to stretch his legs, laying back in the night-cooled sand with a groan of contentment. The sand was oddly soft. It was dry, sifting through his fingers with ease. The night was bearing down on him, and he opened his eyes to stare at the darkened sky. He couldn't make out any stars behind the clouds.

“This is some good shit, right?” Greg asked. Ryan felt the sand shift as Greg lay down beside him. He turned his head; everything felt heavy and warm.

He nodded his agreement as Greg passed the joint back to him. He took two slow hits, half listening as Greg prattled on.

“So what're you doin' out here by your lonesome, anyway?” Ryan indicated the camping and fishing gear, his mouth otherwise occupied, and Greg nodded. He stretched, fingers and toes reaching to their limits, and Ryan would swear he heard a contented purr. “Yeah, I get that,” Greg said. He rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes, pillowing his head on his arms. “Gettin' away from it all? Good times. Yeah, I'm here with some guys from school.”

Ryan looked past him to where the college kids were still partying hard. The music seemed to have gotten louder. He could just make out the lyrics. Relax, baby, now we're all alone. “They your friends?”

Greg snorted. He cracked an eye open and watched Ryan for a second. “They're all right,” he came back.

Ryan nodded and passed the joint back. “They're loud.”

“They're fucking obnoxious. Why do you think I'm down here smoking with a stranger?”

Ryan laughed, and with a groan, Greg sat back up to look over to the group as well. He took another hit, a small smirk playing about his lips. “Two total strangers...”

Ryan frowned. The sand seemed to shift beneath him. “What?”

“The song,” Greg said, turning back. “I was...” He paused, watching Ryan, then grinned wider, his tongue poking out between his teeth. “Hey, you want a shotgun?” He lifted the joint and raised his eyebrows.

Ryan's eyes flicked from Greg to the orange, burning tip of the joint, then back again. He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Cool, man, cool.” Greg put the joint to his lips, and Ryan hurriedly went to sit up, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

He lay back down slowly, the light touch of Greg's fingertips against his chest pressing him back. Pillowed back against the sand, he watched Greg's cheeks hollow as he drew as much smoke into his mouth as possible. When Greg looked like he was just this side of passing out, he quickly pulled the joint away, scooted close and bent down low over Ryan.

Ryan's stomach gave an odd little turn. He'd done this with Patty once or twice, but never with another man. Greg was an inch, maybe two from his mouth, nudging him, getting him to open up, and Ryan licked his lips, parting them just so. He sucked in a breath just as Greg breathed out, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. Greg shifted; his lips, soft and dry, barely brushed Ryan's, and Ryan fisted one hand in the material at Greg's back, the fluttering in his stomach moving lower.

Greg's hand was still on his chest. Rod Stewart was crooning in the background, the airy keyboard strains getting lost in the rush of the ocean. If you really need me, just reach out and touch me. He shook his head, letting Greg know he couldn't take anymore, but Greg didn't move away. Instead he blew out the rest of the smoke, then turned his head, taking one last deep drag on the joint before chucking it into the fire. Then he turned back. He wasn't smiling now.

Ryan let the smoke out of his lungs slowly. It hit Greg's chin and dissipated, disappearing into the night. The trees behind them were crowding in, bending low and watching them. He could feel their weight on his head and body, and he sank lower in the sand.

“You like that?” Greg said. It was almost a whisper. He moved in closer, and Ryan nodded. He could feel the heat of the fire on his toes. It struck him as funny for some reason, and he smiled and closed his eyes just as Greg kissed him.

Greg tasted like pot, smokey and sour. Ryan didn't even think twice about kissing him back. The touch of Greg's tongue made his cock twitch, and he let out a breath through his nose, pulling Greg in closer, but Greg didn't stay long. He pulled back after a moment to rip off his glasses and toss them aside. He came back a second later, pressing his forehead to Ryan's and straddling his hips.

Greg's cock was hard, jutting out the polyester of his pants. He pushed his hips down, poking his erection into Ryan's stomach and grunting quietly. With a hitching breath, Ryan shifted his hips up. His own erection had bloomed alarmingly quickly, the feel of another man's arousal almost ashamedly enticing. His cock pressed into his pants and underwear, precum dampening them until the friction against the head of his cock was almost painful.

Greg was overly warm, covering his body, his hands planted to either side of Ryan's head as he started a slow slide up and down, cock against cock. With a shuddering breath, Ryan slid his hands over Greg's back—his shirt was shiny and smooth. He opened his eyes.

Greg was right there, not an inch away, his own eyes dark, fathomless points in his shadowed face. He watched Ryan, a slight flush to his cheeks and breathing loudly through his mouth. Distant lightning lit up the sky behind Greg, and then they were left in the dark once more.

Greg kissed him again, just a bare brush of lips against his, then shifted lower. He moved his weight to his elbows, covering Ryan's body in warmth and a comfortable weight. With a grunt, he reached between them, undoing his pants to free his cock, and then, after a look at Ryan's face that left a bemused smile on his lips, did the same for him. Ryan felt the kiss of cool night air over his cock and balls for just a moment before Greg was covering him again. The smooth material of his shirt quickly warmed against Ryan's dick, and he moaned breathily, clutching at Greg's back once again as he pressed his cock into his stomach. Greg pressed into him in turn; Ryan could feel his erection against his inner thigh, hot and throbbing, just as eager as his own.

Meanwhile, Greg had taken to kissing along Ryan's jaw line, just lips and a hint of teeth. Greg moved lower yet, mouthing the hollow of his throat. There, clothing became an obstacle, and they spent a minute fumbling with shirts and undershirts, smiling and laughing when one got caught with his arms twisted over his head or the other flung his shirt too close to the fire, prompting a frantic rescue.

Greg kneeled over him for a minute, just swaying slightly in his inebriated state. Lightning flashed in the sky again, and this time it was followed by the low murmur of thunder. Greg was in shadow, haloed from behind by the now dying fire, outlined in reds and oranges, shirtless, his pants around his thighs and a thick, hard cock jutting out from his narrow hips. He looked like the devil come to life.

Feeling a tingle in his balls, Ryan reached up, cupping a hand around the back of Greg's neck before dragging him back down into a kiss. He nipped at Greg's lips, earning a mewling moan in response, then flipped them over, shoving Greg down on his back. He shimmied out of his jeans, then went after Greg, pulling off his boots and pants and tossing them into a pile with the rest. He lay there before Ryan, nude save for a pair of striped purple socks, and Ryan palmed his own erection, suddenly desperate for release.

He lay overtop of Greg. This time, when their bare erections touched, both impossibly hot, silken skin wet with precum, sliding against one another and eliciting obscene groans from each of them, it was the most amazing thing Ryan had ever felt. He pressed his hips down as hard as he dared, fucking his cock against Greg's stomach in a slow, steady rhythm.

He threaded his fingers with Greg's, holding his hands above their heads, pressed into the sand. He kissed Greg intermittently in soft, brief kisses. But more than that, he just breathed, warm over Greg's cheeks, temple and neck, too focused on the thrust of his hips, on the slick slide of Greg's cock against his or the dry brush of peaked nipples against his chest.

Soon the warmth in his belly flared up, tightening his balls and jerking his cock up, and he thrust harder, faster, listening to Greg moan and curse softly beneath him. Greg was already coming, grunting and clutching at Ryan's hands, hot spurts of cum spattering their cocks and stomachs, and then Ryan was there, too. He pressed down hard, going still as he orgasmed against Greg, holding his breath as wave after wave of pleasure assaulted his senses. At last, he let it out in a breath, dropping his head down to Greg's shoulder, where he panted, breathing hard, his spent cock warm and sated, heavy against Greg's stomach.

Lighting flashed behind him, illuminating the beach and the trees at the edge of the forest. Thunder cracked the sky, and the clouds finally broke.

A large, ice cold drop of rain hit Ryan's back, then another, and suddenly he was being pelted, soaked through. He shivered involuntarily, slowly lifting his head. Greg was laughing beneath him; down the beach, the girls were squealing. The music was lost in the sounds of the storm.

Ryan stretched his back, then pulled back, squatting on his knees over Greg for a second before climbing back to his feet. He gave Greg a hand up. The fire was all but out behind him, sputtering and hissing as the rain claimed the last of the embers; their clothes were wet, flattened messes in the sand, and Ryan leaned his head back and let the rain fall over his face.

Still laughing, Greg shoved up close, pressing their stomachs together and winding his arms around Ryan's back. The heat of his skin was almost feverish compared to the freezing rain on Ryan's back, butt and thighs, flattening his hair and running over his cheeks, down his neck and arms. He shivered again, and opened his eyes against the rain just as a jagged blue snap of lightning arced above him.

Lowering his head back down, Ryan found Greg grinning manically at him. There was no light from the fire, barely any moon to speak of, and his night adjusted vision left Greg a nearly indistinguishable blur of grays, save the stark contrast of his eyes and teeth.

“I have a tent!” Ryan called over the rush of the rain. “Stay with me!”

Laughing again, Greg pulled him closer. He was wet and warm and alive, his limp dick and balls squashed against Ryan's thigh in a way that made him want to explore this boy's body until the sun rose. “No fucking way!”

“Stay with me,” Ryan pressed, quieter now, low and close to Greg's ear. Greg looked about to protest again, so Ryan kissed him. Their lips were cold and wet, and he wrapped his arms around Greg in return and hugged him close. “Please,” he whispered against Greg's mouth, the night stealing the soft word before it ever reached Greg's ear.

Greg watched him for a moment, then grinned, and Ryan knew he had won.

* * *


In the morning, long after the rain had fled, and dawn's sun cast the remains of the clouds in oranges, yellows and pale pinks, Greg wandered back to his camp.

He strode back across the beach, still nude, carrying his sopping clothes and recently found, sand-encrusted glasses. He turned, walking backwards, and grinned at Ryan, waving, his dick swinging gently between his legs as though it were saying goodbye, too.

Ryan lit a cigarette, seated in the sand before his defunct fire. He raised a hand in goodbye, too. “See you around,” Ryan called to him.

Greg laughed. “No you won't!” He shook his head, seemingly amused at Ryan's sentimentality, and turned, jogging down the beach. His friends were starting to stir, and they met his naked state with cat calls and hollers.

Ryan watched him, a small smile playing about his lips. “Yes, I will,” he said quietly. He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette and turned to look out over the ocean.

End.



Title: Wahrheit
Author: Clay
Pairings: Mostly Chip/Drew/Brad, with eeny, teeny mentions of Chip/Brad, Drew/Jeff, Ryan/Colin/Greg and Wayne/Jonathan
Rating: PG
Prompt #110: Brad decides to dress in drag in order to seduce Drew.
Word Count: ~3,100
A/N: I'd like to thank Lyndsey for the beta. Thank you for reading this twice, despite how creepy you found it. ^_^


Chip stared at him through the mirror's reflection.

Frowning, Brad fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, then, clearing his throat distinctly, he tossed a long lock of brunette hair over one shoulder and straightened his back. “What?”

Chip blinked slowly. “You're serious?”

“Wha—you don't—” Fumbling, Brad looked down at himself, at the royal blue tunic dress draped down his torso. Its generous pleats, he felt, hid the more male aspects of his features while at the same time, the mid thigh hemline accentuated his long legs. The low cut v-neck (and a little creative padding) helped draw the eye away from his square shoulders, and the long, flowing sleeves hid well his muscled biceps. In his eyes, it was the perfect choice. He looked back up at Chip, trying hard not to pout. “You don't like it?”

Chip twisted his head around to watch Brad over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, opening his mouth as he looked Brad up and down one more time. After a moment, however, he snapped his mouth shut, blowing out a consternated breath through his nose before finally coming out with, “You know it's a dress, right?”

Now it was Brad's turn to stare. “What, do you think I'm stupid?”

Tilting his head to one side and once more looking Brad over curiously, Chip opened his mouth to answer, but Brad cut across him quickly, holding up his hands placatingly.

“All right, all right. Don't answer that. But what's with the weird looks? What did you expect me to do?” He gave a decidedly unfeminine flop onto the couch opposite Chip's dressing table, where Chip had been sitting, removing the stage makeup from the night's show before Brad had barged in uninvited.

On the other side of the door, they could hear the muted bustle of backstage and the guys heading out for the night—Greg asking Colin downstairs for a drink while Drew went over some last minute details with Lynn, and Jeff and Kathy wandered past, laughing about something or other. In comparison, the mood inside Chip's dressing room was oddly somber and uncomfortably quiet as Brad waited for an answer.

Chip finished wiping his face clean, then finally turned in his chair to study Brad properly. “What did I expect you to do about what, exactly?” he asked, following up with, “Whatever it was, I can pretty much guarantee you putting on a dress and a wig was the last thing on my mind.”

Brad didn't look at him. Instead he lay flat on his back, his eyes to the ceiling as though he were a patient spilling his deepest secrets to his psychiatrist, and in a way he was. “It's this Drew thing.”

“Ohh...” Chip drew the word out with dawning realization. “You mean when you told me you wanted him, and I told you he wasn't your type?”

Brad nodded, licking his lips. “I just figured if he doesn't like guys, well, then I could pretend to be a woman... and once he got to know me...”

“You know that's the stupidest plan I've ever heard, right?”

Giving a quiet chuckle, Brad shrugged. He was still studying the drop ceiling. “I never said I expected him to believe that I was a woman. We're comedians. He could see me, think it was a joke, then maybe start to wonder what if I really was a woman, which might make him wonder what it might be like to have sex with me, and...fuck, I don't know. But can you think of a better way to bag a straight guy?”

“Well,” Chip said, standing, “I never meant, um—“ he laughed, shaking his head. “At least I've got to give you points for creativity.”

Brad finally looked up to him. He gave a lopsided smile. “Think it'll work?”

“Not for one second,” Chip said, smoothing out the crushing blow with a sweet smile of his own. “But I think I might know something that will.” He reached down, giving Brad's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Brad blinked, frowning curiously as Chip's hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary. He was still smiling, his gaze soft, fingers brushing the soft material of the dress for a few seconds before he pulled away and continued, “Just go up to Drew's room in about an hour. If all goes according to plan, then you won't be sorry.”

Leaving Brad laying on the couch, Chip started for the door. He stopped, however, when Brad called his name. Looking to him over one shoulder, Chip hummed out a curious, “Hmm?”

Brad was in the process of sitting up. He tugged at the dress, his eyes absolutely earnest. “Should I wear the dress?”

Laughing, Chip nodded emphatically. “Yes! Definitely wear the dress!

“And for the record?” he added, having made his way to the door, his hand on the knob as he readied himself to exit. Brad, having finally regained his feet, watched as Chip gave him a warm, genuine smile. “I always thought you were perfect just the way you are.”

With that, he left, leaving Brad feeling oddly warm and suddenly curious about Chip's own sexual inclinations.

As the hour wore on, however, Chip was quickly filed second in his thoughts. First remained Drew and the anxiety that came with finally putting his plan into action.

Chip was certainly attractive, and a good friend besides, and Brad could easily see himself falling for the other man if so inclined, but then he remembered Drew, and the longing that fell over him was so complete that he knew he'd never be satisfied if he didn't at least make an attempt for his heart, no matter how futile. Drew was a kind, gracious soul, like Chip, and one of the most genuine people he'd had the fortune to befriend. The idea of taking that friendship and adding the pleasure of making love and the complexity of combining their lives was so compelling that he'd do whatever it took to make it a reality.

“...and I'm doing it in a dress,” he said, standing before Drew's door as the realization hit him. “Oh my god, I'm an idiot.” He took a step back, looking himself over as a pair of girls wandered past, twittering behind their upraised hands. “I shaved my legs for this! What was I thinking!?”

Suddenly, the door opened, and Drew's face floated in the crack between the door and jamb, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Brad snapped his head up, blushing furiously.

Drew stared. “Brad?”

Licking his lips, Brad gave a weak chuckle. “Hey, Drew...” His voice betrayed him, coming out pathetically tinny, and he cleared his throat.

“Um...” Drew looked him up and down, shaking his head slightly. “I, uh, heard a voice out here, and I thought...” He was looking Brad over in much the same way Chip had upon first inspection, his eyebrows raised and a bewildered—if somewhat impressed—look plastered across his face. “You weren't kidding!”

Brad, in the middle of filtering his mind through one lame excuse after another, paused, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. “I wasn't—what? I didn't say anything...”

But a moment later it was clear Drew wasn't speaking to him, and, in fact, likely hadn't even heard him, as he pulled back from the door to look over his shoulder, speaking to someone hidden in the depths of the hotel room. “He's actually wearing a dress.”

“I told you!”

The door opened fully, and Brad's entire brain shut down momentarily as he spotted Chip sidling up behind Drew. Chip was smiling as he came forward, looping his arms around Drew's neck from behind in a decidedly more than platonic manner and leaning on the other man as if...

Brad's mouth was dry. He tried twice before coming out with, “What's going on here?”

Chip smiled apologetically. Drew leaned back against him, his own expression more difficult to read, but they both looked far too content, and Brad felt sick.

“You said he was straight,” Brad tried again, weakly.

“No...” Chip argued, his smile wavering. “I said he wasn't your type, and you just took that to mean...well, see, it's not—we're not public knowledge,” he explained, gesturing between Drew and himself, “so I couldn't really say anything, but at the same time, I didn't want you going after my boyfriend. I never imagined you'd show up in a dress!” He ended that last on a laugh, and Brad frowned, glowering at the two of them as a flush darkened his cheeks once more.

“Oh, I see how it is! Laugh at the fool, right? Well fuck you! And—and—” Brad looked to Drew. His heart gave a sudden lurch, and his voice dropped until he was practically whispering. “I thought...I don't know what I thought, but I guess I was wrong.”

He turned on his heel, intent on stalking off to his own room and getting lost in the mini bar, but he barely got two feet before there was a body to either side of him, grabbing at his arms and hauling him back toward the hotel room.

“No, no, no, you've got it all wrong!” Chip insisted, his own muscles bulging as he fought to practically carry Brad into the room.

“We're not laughing at you, I swear!” Drew chimed in.

Brad looked at him, at the sincerity in those clear blue eyes, and he relented, allowing himself to be dragged backward until they were snug in the hotel room and the door had been firmly shut behind him. He never could say no to Drew.

He managed to shake them both off once inside, however, and they circled around to stand together, a unified front between himself and the only exit. Brad crossed his arms, trying not to blush anew as his arms brushed the bottom fringe of his wig. It suddenly sat heavy on his head, and Brad fought the urge to sink into the floor under its weight.

“Please, Brad,” Chip was saying, however, pulling him out of his misery, “let me explain. I meant what I said back there—”

“About me being stupid?” Brad snapped.

“No,” Chip said. He sighed. All humor had long left his boyish features, and it struck Brad as odd—wrong. In all the years they'd known one another, Brad had never seen him look so somber, and it kept his attention as Chip continued, “That I think you're perfect. Just the way you are.”

Brad frowned. He licked his lips again, processing the situation as best he could. “Then—then why'd you ask me to wear the dress?”

“That was for me,” Drew chimed in, and Brad turned to him, immediately struck by the sorrow in his eyes.

If he'd thought it was wrong for Chip to look so somber, then it was a hundred times worse to see that same look on Drew's face. For a moment he forgot why he was angry, and guilt overwhelmed him at the thought that he had caused Drew to look that way. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, his guard dropping as he listened to Drew's story.

“He just wanted to prove to me how serious you were.” Drew stepped forward, clasping Brad's shoulder much the way Chip had back in the dressing room, then slid his fingertips down Brad's arm in a way that caused delightful shivers to tickle his skin. Drew smiled slightly, saying, “He told me that you seemed to have a little crush on me, and that he tried to put you off, but then he figured out that wasn't fair. He said he wanted me to know, so that, you know, if I wanted you, too...

“But—” Drew shook his head. He looked to Chip, smiling, and Brad felt his heart sink. “I said 'No, I love you,' and he said—”

“I said 'Drew! He's wearing a dress for you!'” Chip finished for him, grinning from ear to ear.

The two men were smiling at each other, and it was absolutely undeniable how they felt about one another. With a lump in his throat, Brad looked past them to the door. If only he could escape this torture.

“And then—” a hand on Brad's other shoulder pulled him out of his reverie, and he turned his head to see Chip looking at him earnestly. “—I told him that I thought you were cute, that I used to think about you a lot, actually.”

“And then I got a little worried,” Drew admitted, the two sharing another small smile before the mood turned serious once more and Chip continued with, “But then I made sure he knew I wasn't going anywhere. I just wanted to know if maybe...” He smiled, that same warm, honest smile he'd given Brad down in the dressing room. “...just maybe, there was room in our bed for a third.”

“And I said yes,” Drew said.

Brad looked to him, eyes slowly widening in wonder. “Wait, what?”

Chip shrugged, smiling gently. “So what do you say, Brad? I know you just wanted Drew, but what do you think about maybe getting both of us?”

Brad looked back and forth between the two men, his hopes rising steadily at the unmistakable honestly reflected in their eyes. “Wait, like, seriously? Like seriously seriously?”

“Yes!” Drew said, laughing as he pressed closer to Brad's side, taking his hand from Brad's arm and winding it around his waist, fingers playing over the soft material of the dress as they traveled.

“Seriously,” Chip added, grinning just as wide. He mirrored Drew's gesture until they were both pressed against Brad, and he was half way to playing the meat in a Chip/Drew sandwich.

“So,” he said, looking from one to the other, his hands aching to touch both men before him, but still too unsure to make a move just yet. “Does that mean...are we a thing now? The three of us?”

“Well...” Chip said. They exchanged another look, but this time, Brad wasn't jealous or sorrowful but hopeful—hopeful that one day he'd be right there with them, exchanging unspoken communications and loving every minute of it.

“We'll start with tonight,” Drew expounded, looking back up to Brad.

“And we'll go from there,” Chip finished.

Brad nodded along, meeting Chip's eyes, then Drew's before he let out a laugh and finally put a hand on both their backs, completing the circle. “Count me in!” His gaze softened as he looked at Drew. Drew was smiling back at him in a way he'd only dreamed of before, and that old, familiar longing hit him full force.

To their side, Chip chuckled, then nudged him with a whispered, “Go ahead, silly.”

Laughing a bit sheepishly, two seconds away from yet another blush, Brad nodded. He leaned down slowly, saying, “I've wanted to do this for a long, long time,” then bent his head, capturing Drew's lips in a gentle kiss.

Drew eagerly returned the kiss, then laughed against his mouth, tugging off the wig and tossing it aside. An indignant Brad just kissed Drew harder, pulling him closer as Chip came in from the side, sliding a hand over Brad's smooth thigh, then brushing the hem of his dress as he inched his way upward.

“Maybe it's finally time we get this thing off you,” he said.

He grasped the hem, obviously intent on tugging it off, but just then Drew broke their kiss and put a hand over Chip's, giving him a wicked smile before looking back to Brad. “No.” he met Brad's eyes and gave him a wink. “That, I like. Leave it on.”

Brad met and held Drew's eyes for a moment, seeing the lust stirring within them and feeling an equally enticing stirring in his belly as Chip let out a murmured, “Mmm, kinky,” before nipping at Drew's ear lobe. Together, they fell back on the bed, the dress eventually stripped off Brad in the fervent love making that ensued, thrown into the corner to be forgotten until the light of day.

* * *


“And that is how I would seduce Drew,” Brad finished triumphantly.

“In a dress,” Jonathan ascertained.

Brad nodded and grinned. “In a dress.”

The remainder of the room simply stared at him for a long time. Wayne and Jonathan, leaning against one another on the floor by the air conditioner, Ryan, Colin and Greg draped over the bed in varying positions, Jeff and Drew, lounging twined together on the couch, and even Chip, curled up against his own side, squashed together in the plush armchair of their hotel room—no one seemed to know what to say.

Finally Chip cleared his throat, saying, “Well...at least I got to be there.”

Brad grinned down at him before dropping a kiss to his upturned lips. “I could never forget you, baby.”

“Well,” Jeff said. Eyes half lidded, he studied his nails in a forced show of nonchalance. “That's not how I would have done it.”

“Oh, I know how you would have done it!” Drew laughed, suddenly attacking Jeff's neck in a shower of kisses and love bites. Jeff yelped and squirmed, playfully fighting him off.

“Why don't you do that to me anymore?” Jonathan crooned, batting his eyelashes at Wayne, who, with a laughing snort, shoved him away.

“Because you're a dumb ass, that's why. Who's next?”

“God, yes,” Greg agreed, not looking up from where he was ever so delicately pressing his thumbs into the pad of Colin's foot in a slow, deep massage. “Can we please move on? I'm going to need brain bleach after that last.” Ryan nodded his assent, absently toying with the fringe of hair over Colin's ear, the latter pillowing his head on Ryan's chest, his eyes closed as he slowly succumbed to his lovers' ministrations.

Rolling his eyes, Brad pulled away from Chip and clucked his tongue. “Fine,” he assented. “No one can appreciate a good romance anymore. Colin!”

With a pouty groan, Colin cracked one eye open, and Brad grinned wickedly.

“Truth or dare?”


The end. :)
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