"Whenever Anyone Accuses Me Of Being Quiet I Scream In Their Fucking Ear!"

♥Cause Nothing's Better Than Some Smut To Start Your Saturday Morning♥

I OWN NONE OF THESE JUST A FEW OF MY FAVOURITE WHOFICS (;

John And Keith Make A Porno
Rated: E
Pairing: Moonwistle/Jeith

One painfully slow morning at the tax office, Keith sent John a stream of dirty texts that sent him nearly insane. He begged Keith for mercy so he could get through the work day alive, and Keith responded with a rather suggestive picture that made John break out into a sweat.

He kept texting Keith with his phone under his desk, saying how much he wanted him. John ended up leaving the office a few minutes early. The woman at the desk beside him was the only one who noticed. He flashed her an apologetic smile that begged for understanding. You know how life gets sometimes!

It might have just been him, but John swore the bus was taking fucking ages to go through it’s route. He ended up getting off a stop early and walking home the rest of the way, his brain veering straight for the gutter. He fumbled with his keys and let himself in. Keith had been waiting for him, and had him pushed up against the door in an instant, the cool outside air still on John’s coat.

They barely made it upstairs into John’s room, since John was ready to shag him in the front hallway. Keith had already set up the camera and tripod and adjusted the lighting and everything. Keith hit record and they had at each other in a pure moment of passion. Keith pulled off John’s jacket, then pushed him back onto the bed. He fumbled with untying John’s double-knotted bootlaces and they laughed, still utterly wound up. Keith climbed onto John’s lap and straddled him, arranging themselves to be filmed from the side. Keith calmed himself down enough to languidly kiss John and untie his tie, slowly pulling it off from around his neck.

“God, you look so good,” Keith moaned into John’s mouth as he unbuttoned his shirt tantalizingly slow. “You’re, like, my sexy secretary.”

“Fuck off,” John laughed, pulling away from the kiss to slip Keith’s t-shirt up over his head.

“And I’m just the sultry housewife, waiting all day for my husband to come home from work and ravish me,” Keith giggled, and John felt his cheeks go hot. Keith finished opening John’s shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. They both started working at each other’s belts, and once they were fully stripped down, John pinned Keith to the mattress and teased him with his fingers until Keith was squealing just like a sultry housewife would.

After that, John sat up on the bed with his back against the wall, facing the camera. Keith sat on his lap with his back against John’s front, also facing the camera. He fucked himself on John’s cock nice and slow. John used one hand to guide Keith’s hip, and slung the other arm around Keith’s waist and stroked his cock lazily.

John had given Keith a few days on purpose to relax his muscles and let him heal a little, although Keith never complained. He certainly wasn’t complaining now. He fucked himself with shallow little thrusts, making gooey bedroom eyes at the camera, letting his lips part as he moaned softly. “Ah – ah – ah – oh god…”

John had a difficult time staying patient, especially after Keith had teased him all morning. He bit into Keith’s shoulder, drawing a hiss out of him. It was the only way John could distract himself from thinking of the picture Keith had sent him a few hours ago.

At one point, John couldn’t hold back any longer, and he started moving his hips under Keith and fucking him quicker. Between the mattress creaking and Keith’s groaning, neither of them heard the door open downstairs.

“You dirty thing,” John murmured into Keith’s ear lovingly. His hand travelled from Keith’s cock, up his belly and his chest, then his neck and up to his lips. Keith stuck out his tongue and John slipped two fingers into his mouth. Keith sucked them obediently, and John buried his face into Keith’s back, unable to suppress his moan.

From the bottom of the stairs, Pete shouted up to them. “John? Keith? You guys home?”

John and Keith froze, icy panic setting in the both of them. Keith gripped John’s arm, terrified. They stayed absolutely still. John cleared his throat, calling back. “Uh, yeah, I’m home. What’s up?”

“Oh, great. My last class got cancelled today, thank fuck,” Pete shouted back. Downstairs, they heard him unzip his coat, then take his shoes off. “Where’s Keith?”

John slowly drew his fingers out of Keith’s mouth, then covered Keith’s mouth with his palm. He tightened his arm around Keith’s waist, and slowly started thrusting into Keith again. He called back down to Pete. “He’s taking a nap, I think.”

They heard Pete coming upstairs. Keith squirmed, unsure of whether or not he should flee. John stroked his thumb against Keith’s bruised hip to reassure him. Pete came up behind John’s door, knocking quickly. “Can I come in?”

“Not yet,” John struggled to keep his voice steady. Keith started fucking himself again, achingly slow, but quieter than if John did all the moving. “I just got out of the shower.”

“Oh, no problem,” Pete hummed. “Yeah, Keith’s bedroom door is shut, too. He must be sleeping. Let me know when he wakes up later. I was thinking we could see a movie later or something.”

John unwound his arm enough to start stroking Keith’s cock again, as fast as he could without making any wet skin noises. Keith whimpered into his palm, and John clamped his hand down even tighter over Keith’s mouth. Keith responded enthusiastically. “Ah – yeah, a movie sounds great.”

Pete thankfully stayed oblivious. “There’s that weird looking German movie that just came out, it’s all artsy and in black and white and shit. We talked about it in my cinema class and I think it’d really impress my prof if I wrote my final paper on it, y’know?”

“Actually, I’ve never heard of it,” John improvised quickly before he lost his breath. “Can you tell me about it?”

He could hear the smile in Pete’s voice behind the door. “Oh my god, so get this, so there’s this woman, right? And she’s fleeing the country after WWII I think, and she’s a journalist or whatever and she’s got PTSD so her memories are all fucked up? And the use of the non-linear narrative also gives us flash forwards to her daughter’s life after she goes on trial for a war crime and…”

After successfully setting Pete off on a tangent and distracting him for another five minutes or so, the two of them made the conscious, stupid, daring decision to sneakily finish right then and there. Keith’s hip movements had gone too erratic so John just kept him pinned tightly against him, stroking him with a tight grip until he felt a slick layer of sweat form on his back and smear onto John’s chest and stomach. The adrenaline rushing through both of them kept them electrified. Keith wriggled in John’s arms and his back arched suddenly. John held onto him tightly as Keith came in long spurts all over his thighs and the bed sheets.

“And then, like, in the trailer it’s not really clear if the woman holding the gun is her or her daughter, but it wouldn’t make sense if it were her daughter but a lot of forums online are making predictions that she follows in her mother’s footsteps to kill Nazis or whatever after they murdered her dad, and I swear I always cry at these types of films but I’m so excited to see it because it’s getting a lot of Oscar buzz too…”

John took his hand off of Keith’s mouth and let him catch his breath. He eased Keith off of him, and silently motioned to him to get on his hands and knees in front of him. John peeled the nasty condom off and stroked himself to his finish, biting on his knuckle to keep himself quiet. Keith arched his back and wiggled his ass in the air. John struggled to keep his breathing steady, and he had to cover his own mouth as he came all over Keith’s ass and watched it dribble down his back.

Outside, Pete wouldn’t shut up, and for once they were grateful. John and Keith both gave a goofy thumbs-up to the camera, joking with their future audience with the pride of pulling off such a risky stunt. Keith stood up and waddled over to stop the recording. Naked and sticky, he crawled back into John’s arms and kissed him, suddenly desperate and needy. John held him close and stroked his hair. He wrapped his arms around him to keep Keith warm.

The first moment Pete stopped talking enough to fit a sentence in, John called out to him. “That sounds great, Pete. I’m really excited to see the movie with you. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Oh, okay,” Pete said simply. “See you in a bit.”

John and Keith waited until he heard Pete go all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a snack before they both burst into laughter of triumph and relief.

Don't Save Me Cause I Don't Need It
Rated: M
Pairing: Townswistle

“What would I look like if I grew a massive beard?” Pete thought aloud. He searched through his knapsack and pulled out a joint and a box of matches.

“Right now? You would look like an infant with a ferret on his face,” I teased.

“No, but like, what about when I’m older and I’m a rugged rock star?” he asked me seriously.

I thought about it for a bit, trying to picture how he might look. “It might balance out your face a bit? Maybe draw some attention away from your nose?”

Pete held the joint between his lips and punched me in the side. “Fuck off.”

I laughed. “Come on, I’ll be there at your side every day anyways, I’ll shave it off in your sleep if it looks that bad.”

Pete gave me a tender look. “Are you saying you’ll be my loyal, slutty groupie when I’m big and famous?”

“What? No! I’m going to play guitar and sing in a band and you’ll just be in the background playing a supporting instrument, wishing you were me.”

“’Slutty groupie John misbehaves during a gig and gets punished’,” Pete announced. “I can see it already.”

“You wish!” I took the unlit joint from his lips and held it in my mouth. “Gimme a light.”

“You’re awfully bossy for my most loyal fan,” Pete struck a match and leaned in, lighting the tip of the joint. He watched me closely as I took in as much smoke as I could. I held it in for a few seconds like he told me, and blew it out slowly with more coughing. I handed it back over to Pete.

“I think I’ll try for a nice, manly mustache,” I pondered, leaning back against the pillows. I noticed Pete kept looking, especially where my shirt rose up and showed a bit of my belly.

“You’ll have to see what the style is like in a few years,” Pete noted, blowing out smoke with a long sigh. “It would be my civic duty to make sure you’re as fashionable as possible.”

I took the joint and another drag, feeling something already once I exhaled. “Ah yes, a fashionable mustache. A fashion ‘stache, if you will.”

“You’ll thank me for it one day,” Pete grabbed the joint and took a pull. “And when they’re taking all those crazy promotional photos of you on a worldwide tour, you’ll owe all your handsomeness to my expertise.”

He handed the joint back to me. After my next drag I felt a good kind of dizzy. “You’ll be right there with me the whole time, luckily.”

Pete lay down next to me and finished the joint before extinguishing it on my headboard again. “I sure hope so.”

God, being high felt so good. I enjoyed the familiar rolls of relief pass through me, and stretched again with a sigh. I rolled up next to Pete again, and he wrapped his arm around me to bring me closer like yesterday. Time passed by slowly, but in a good way for once. The record looped and went on and on drowsily, and I felt like I was melting into Pete. With my head on his chest, I could feel his ribcage and his collarbones and even hear his heartbeat brag on lazily. I reached out and put a hand on his stomach, moving around to feel the dip of the drop off of his ribs, and where his hip bones poked out under his pale skin. I became aware of Pete’s hand on me, and the way he slowly rubbed my shoulder blades and upper back felt so good. I felt his other arm, tracing my fingers along his pointy wristbone, and down his long hand and five thin calloused fingers. I traced my way back up his thin forearm, and then thicker bicep, and up along his shoulder to connect to his collarbones. He shivered under my touch.

I moved my head off his chest so I could properly look at Pete. He watched me carefully. I traced from one collarbone to the other, then down his other arm. I went back to his chest and traced the bones I could feel under his t-shirt.

I eventually lay back on my side facing Pete, and I swear he didn’t take his eyes off me the whole time. I felt my way down his side and around to his lower back. Pete’s hand landed hot and heavy on the outside of my thigh, and up to my hip, and around my stomach. I felt along Pete’s skinny, feminine hips, and I swallowed quickly. My hand travelled down to his legs, which were warm under his thin pyjamas.

We moved in closer to each other and got a bit bolder. I felt really damn good. I had an idea of where this was heading, and it seemed that my lazy drugged out brain didn’t care to think of anything except for Pete’s hands on me. He surprised me by slipping a hand under my shirt, feeling my belly. I wanted to move in even closer, and I tangled our legs together. I clutched at his hipbone. I moved my face in up to his so our noses brushed against each other. Pete tilted his head and closed the space between us with a kiss.

The kiss was even better than the sloppy drunken one he gave me all those nights ago, and I felt a thrill. His mouth was warm and not too wet, not too dry. He kissed slowly and I kissed deeply, wanting to enjoy every moment. I moved my hand down the side of his hip to his thigh. Pete moved his hand up further under my shirt to my chest, grazing a nipple. I felt a familiar spark ignite inside that I hadn’t expected to feel from Pete’s touch, but it was there and very real. I wrapped my arm around Pete’s tiny, tiny waist and pulled him against me. I thought about Heather the schoolgirl getting punished. I thought of the handsome American man. I thought of those two friends on the beach in their bikinis, holding each other close. I thought of—

I reluctantly broke the kiss. “Pete. Put the lipstick on.”

Pete looked at me for a few seconds with a sort of hopeful look on his face. He pulled away from my arms to dig around for the small tube of red lipstick in his knapsack. He fumbled with it nervously, and I was far too impatient. I took it from him, taking off the lid and rolling it up. I held Pete’s face and carefully spread the waxy red all over his lips. It was sexier than any cheap porn magazine ever could be. The cap was put on quickly and the tube was tossed carelessly to the side. I grabbed Pete’s hips and pulled him on top of me, kissing him again roughly. My legs spread instinctively and he cozied right in. There was a sense of urgency now, and thinking about the lipstick on him was twice as exciting and scandalous now.

I grabbed at Pete’s hair, which was long enough to get a nice fistful of. I moved my hands down the front of his chest where breasts could have been. I pulled those narrow, girly hips against mine. I was surprised to feel his hard cock against mine through our pyjamas, a sensation I never expected to experience. But there were fireworks going off in my brain and I couldn’t think of much else at the moment.

I moaned his name over and over again. Pete kissed down my jaw and neck which made me even more turned on. I could feel the waxy lipstick marks on my skin. His sighs were soft and feminine sounding. I couldn't comprehend it at all but I definitely loved it. I tried to catch my breath between kisses. “Pete, you’re such a pretty girl…”

“I’m your girl,” he moaned in my ear, rewarding me with a love bite on the side of my neck.

My breath caught in my throat. “You’re mine, you're mine...”

Pete slowly rolled his hips against me, both of our cocks grinding against each other. The warm friction between two pairs of pyjamas and two pairs of boxers made me dizzy. I wrapped my arms tightly around Pete’s waist, trying to get as much of that delightful friction as possible now that my senses were heightened.

Pete started rocking against me, keeping a slow, teasing pace. I grabbed his face and kissed him roughly again, begging for more speed. My mind swirled with thoughts of Pete in the lipstick, and how his skinny narrow shoulders and hips made him look girlish. I imagined what Pete would look like in a little bra stretched against his flat chest. Or better yet, a short little skirt pulling tightly across those small hips of his, or how he would look bent over in that skirt over my desk…

Something more primal took over in my head. I grabbed Pete and moved my hips faster under him, the feeling making both of us groan. I wanted nothing more than to sink myself inside of him and fuck him roughly until he was crying and begging. I couldn’t think of any way to fuck him like that unless he had all the necessary girl parts, which made me more frustrated. I think Pete felt something like that too. He pinned me down and was rutting erratically against me. His hot breath in my ear, the quick coiling tension in my belly and the thrill of the first time wound me right up. I tipped over the edge too fast and with a surprised cry, my hips jerked and I came suddenly, right in my pyjama pants.

The waves of pleasure were still rolling through me as I watched Pete slip a hand down his trousers. A few extra strokes brought him over the edge with me, moaning loudly, and he rolled over with a sigh.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck

Pearls Before Swines
Rated: E
Pairing: Entrey

Roger was feeling so thirsty that he could barely wait to have at least one beer all for himself.

He did not ask John for one, wondering if the other had forgotten — or reconsidered — his invitation. The bassist didn't look at Roger or said a word, he merely got into the elevator and walked down the hallway to his room, occasionally looking back to see if Roger was following him. When they got there, John unlocked the door and gallantly held it open for the blond man to enter.

The room was a bit spartan and impersonal as John didn't keep much of his stuff around. A fancy jacket perched on the back of a chair, a small pile of what Roger assumed to be dirty laundry on one corner, some brass instrument cases here and there, a large, half-closed suitcase on the opposite wall beneath the window. With a relieved grunt, John let the plastic bag and his bass case fall by the side of the bed, and threw the remnants of the chips in a rubbish bin placed in front of the bed. Then he threw himself heavily onto the mattress, that creaked and dipped under his weight.

There was an awkward, silent pause, before John turned on his side and propped his head on his left hand, giving Roger a wry stare.

"You know," he said, dryly, " it'd be easier if you closed the door and came closer. The beer is right o'er here."

"Oh—," Roger throat jammed, as he realised he had been standing there like a good twonk, watching his band mate. He quickly turned around and closed the door behind him, and then walked stiffly towards the chair, manoeuvring it closer to the foot of the bed. When he finally sat before John, the other grinned and and pulled two cans from the bag, handing Roger one.

"Cheers!" John said, before taking a large gulp from his own beer.

They drank quietly, Roger secretly finding the whole situation absurd as there weren't two people more unlikely to be drinking together in a hotel room than John and him. On the other hand, John was his band mate, so he there was no reason for him to be feeling all fluttery and fidgety as he was.

It had something to do with the way John looked at him, too silent and too focused, as if trying to imprint Roger's figure on his mind. The singer felt like a fly under a microscope, every tiny movement, every blink, being registered by John's attentive eyes. He tried to calm himself by looking around, but there was nothing to pay attention to in that room, so eventually his eyes met John's silver-blue ones, and now Roger was a like a butterfly pinned to a cork-board.

"So, uh, where d'you buy the chips?" Roger asked, trying break the uncomfortable silence.

"From that diner just 'round the corner."

"Jesus John," Roger muttered, relaxing after moving to a safe subject, "all they cook there is grotty! If you wanted to ruin your stomach you could've just joined Pete back at the studio."

"Oh, he's at it again?"

"Yeah. Getting emotional support straight from the bottle."

Roger couldn't help but sound a tad spiteful in his answer. For the first time since he left Record Plant, his thoughts went back to Pete. He felt the beer lurch in his stomach, because he was still angry at the guitarist. He quaffed the rest of the drink, hoping to erase the feeling.

"Well, now your stomach's ruined too," John commented, casually.

Roger smiled, getting gradually calmer as he realised the other seemed to be genuinely enjoying their conversation. John reached for the bag to retrieve yet another pair of cans.

"As long as I don't look bloated in the next gig..."

"I hope not! The birds won't come if you lose yer sex appeal. And Pete will hang me."

Pete, again. Roger's face immediately closed in a scowl.

"Y'know," John said softly, noting the singer's guarded expression, "being a crabby arse is part of Pete's charm. He's pretty much made an art of being all gloom and doom, but it never lasts. No need to torture yourself over it."

"I know but—"

"He's gonna moan and whine and get on our wick 'till we feel like throttling 'im and then, one day, he'll wake up normal and everything's fine again. Then you'll see, he'll come crawling back to you."

Roger, who had been paying attention to every work John said, nearly spat his beer through his nose when he heard the last part. In his mind, no one knew about his and Pete's short-lived affair, but apparently the bass player was more observant than he had imagined.

"Uh, how d'you— uh—"

"Pete forsaking the bar and scurrying back to the hotel after the gigs? You forsaking the groupies to stay alone in yer room? Might've just as well hung a neon sign out saying 'Tommy's gettin' shagged'."

Roger hid his face in his hand, burning in shame, and prayed ardently for the floor to swallow him whole. He heard John guffaw at his embarrassment, and felt himself become even smaller. His frenzied mind searched for ways of leaving the room inconspicuously, but part of him also wanted to bludgeon John with the chair until he forgot everything he knew. After a few seconds, he decided it would damage his pride less if he simply skipped the subject altogether, put on a confident mask and hoped that John would buy it.

"Yeah, Pete can really grate on my nerves sometimes. It makes me go through the bloody roof! I wish I could be calmer like you."

"Actually," John said, finishing his second beer and reaching for the third one, "I ain't calm all the time. I just don't waste my cartridge on Pete, 'cos it never works."

"No, it doesn't," Roger chuckled, and threw his now empty can in the bin before getting another beer for himself, "but you did give that poor Pappalardi bloke a good fright the other day! Thought you're goin' to murder 'im".

"Well, he came in all ready with his bass amps and whatnot! What the fuck was he thinking? The Who has one bassist, and that's me."

"Oh, that was Kit's cock-up, he mistook the bloke for another person. Anyway, lotsa bands record with session bassists..."

"Why would'ya want a session bassist when you got John Entwistle in the fucking studio!?"

"...good point, mate."

The two laughed, finishing their drinks in ever quickening gulps. The fourth and fifth beer went down easily and fast, as they talked about the many tragicomic moments of the Lifehouse recording sessions. By the time Roger had finished the sixth can, he was sitting on the bed beside John, feeling more than a bit tipsy.

"Jolly good!" Roger groaned, letting his body slide back and fall on the bed, while the ceiling spun like a merry-go-round before his eyes. "I think I had more than my fair share of beer tonight!"

"Six cans, that's nothing!" John scoffed.

Roger turned his head towards his band mate, shooting him a look from beneath his eyelashes. "Nothing for you, Ox."

John just grinned before sitting up to throw his empty can in the rubbish bin, like a basketball player. Then he shrugged off his brown suede jacket and tossed it on the chair Roger had previously occupied.

The singer watched the other man if he was in slow-motion, wondering how someone so big could make such graceful and precise movements. Due to the slowness in his own perception, it took him a while to notice that John was leaning back placidly on his arms, his hungry eyes resting on Roger's still form.

"'M dizzy," Roger whispered, as if trying to answer an unsaid question.

"I know," John replied, just as softly, "keep practising and soon you'll be strong enough to join Pete in his drinking sprees."

For the first time, talking about Pete didn't make Roger angry, just melancholic. He tsked, and shook his head.

"Don't think I will. I never really understood what's so good 'bout getting as pissed as a newt."

"Well..." John trailed off, as if looking for the proper words, "it does make certain things easier..."

A tense heartbeat stretched between them.

"Like what?" the singer murmured, half guessing the answer, half doubting his own sanity because what crossed his mind was a ludicrous idea at best.

Roger turned once more towards his band mate, his face warm and his heart pumping deep and slow inside his chest, as if all his blood had curdled in his veins, making it hard to breath, hard to move. He was nervous, but not the usual agitated anxiety that often took hold of him. It was as if he had been carrying something heavy, and he had, because John's eyes felt heavy on him, filled with a pure something Roger couldn't decipher, but had seen before in Pete's face when the guitarist undressed him mentally on the stage while he danced and prowled and swung his mic around.

He had been expecting it all along, a manifestation of the emotion that had been lingering in the air since they arrived, as thick as molasses, but he was nevertheless surprised when John leant over him and narrowed the gap between them, capturing his lips in a strange mix of kiss and bite. It was violent compared to Pete's deliberate pace, but Roger's instincts rose to the challenge, and he grabbed John's head and pulled him closer still, causing their noses to bump and their teeth to clack awkwardly until they found a comfortable rhythm.

Roger felt John groan into his mouth and the vibration went straight to his loins, making his trousers too tight for him. The bassist broke their kiss for a moment, hoisting himself up to pull off his jumper, and motioning Roger to do the same. The singer wriggled, kicking his shoes and struggling to undress from his supine position until John helped him, nearly tearing the clothes from his body and tossing them on the floor.

When Roger was finally naked, he saw John get up and step back to take a good look at his handiwork.

"Bloody hell, Roger... "

Roger was no fool, he knew he was handsome and he enjoyed being looked at, but the intensity of John's stare made him feel rather self-conscious. John, ever observant, must have noticed Roger's discomfort because he promptly removed his own shoes and trousers, and now it was Roger who couldn't tear his eyes from the body before him.

John was big. An inch or so shorter than Pete, but far bulkier than the lanky guitarist, with broader shoulders and a wider chest. Roger felt his body react to the vision of the other man, his breath getting caught in throat seeing the other's cock at half-mast, making his own harden without even being touched.

And the singer had no idea what entity possessed him at that moment, because all other considerations flew from his mind as he sensually slithered up towards the headboard, tucking a pillow behind his back and letting his body relax completely against it.

"C'mere, John."

The bassist was on him in a blink of eye, pushing his strong thighs between Roger's legs and kissing Roger with such a passion it was almost vicious. At some point the image of Pete flashed behind the blond man's eyelids, but it dissolved when John began to grind his hips into Roger's, making him cry out as their arousals touched.

John's fingers slid into the singer's blond curls and pulled them, forcefully enough to give Roger that edge of pain, yanking his head back and exposing his slender neck to John's onslaught. Roger wrapped his legs around his band mate's waist, bringing their bodies as close as they could be without being within each other, and he felt desperate, desperate to be fucked into the mattress, to be banged until he could no longer walk, to be given what Pete had been denying him, to feel wanted instead of rejected.

So he started to nip John's chin, feeling his grown beard tickle against his lips, letting his fingers roam down the sides of the bassist's body, then racking his nails up and causing the other to shiver and groan into Roger's neck.

"Still think I'm fat, uh?" John asked, laughing breathlessly.

"I think I fancy you more the bigger you get!" Roger panted, pushing at John's chest to be able to to look into his eyes. "I wanna taste you, Johnny."

He licked his lips and kept them slightly open so the other would have no doubt what he was talking about. Lust gleamed in John's grayish eyes and Roger basked under its light. John moved up to kneel over his chest, holding his cock up and gently pushing it between Roger's wet lips.

The singer closed his eyes and began to suck, breathing in John's heady, masculine scent and feeling the weight of his cock on his tongue. He lifted one of his hands to massage the base, while sucking on the head, licking the glans and lapping at the clear liquid that had begun to drip from the opening.

"U-uhhnnnn... Roger, your mouth feels so fucking good! I knew it would, oh—!"

John grabbed the headboard and began to leisurely thrust in and out of Roger mouth, going gradually deeper to give Roger time to relax his throat. The bassist urged him to take it all, and he did, feeling his jaw ache a bit but wanting to hear more of John's pleasure. One hand moved to John's backside, kneading the hard mounds of flesh, and the other fondled John's testicles, feeling their weight in his hand and causing the bassist cry out and buck into his mouth, nearly choking him.

The taller man pulled out in out swift movement, and Roger took in a strangled breath, watching the other prop a pillow against the headboard and recline on it. John threw Roger a dirty look, and then patted his thigh.

"C'mere, sweet thing, gonna take you for a ride."

Roger felt his mind go blank as all his blood rush downwards, his legs trembling at the sight of John's glistening tip, imagining how it would feel inside his body, how it would stretch him. He scampered towards John and sat on his hips, feeling his erection rubbing against the cleft of his arse.

"I think..." Roger said, looking around, "I think we may need some lube. I haven't done it in a while..."

John reached towards the bedside table and retrieved a small tin of Vaseline, whose original purpose was to heal chapped lips. But it would have to do it. John rubbed the tin, letting the content warm a bit before burying two fingers into the slick substance.

"Spread yer legs."

Roger did, bracing himself on John chest when he felt one finger caress his puckered opening gently, before thrusting into his body, quickly followed by a second.

"Oh, Pete really hasn't been giving you that now, has he? You're quite snug!"

The singer moaned at the words and at the sensation, slowly moving his hips up and down to fuck himself on John's fingers. He looked down at his and John's arousals, that almost touched in this position, but his attention was diverted when the bassist grabbed him by his golden curls and crushed their lips together, swallowing Roger's groans as his fingertips grazed against his prostate.

Roger felt his legs turn to jelly but, before he could get too close to completion John pulled his fingers out.

"Alright, your turn Roger."

John's smile was smug and Roger heard himself laugh joyously at the words as he positioned himself over John's tip, steadying it with one hand before allowing himself to sink onto it.

"God, you’re big..."

Now it was Roger's time to grab the headboard, going down slowly, ever so slowly, giving himself all the time in the world to adjust and relishing in the grunts that tore from his partner's throat. Roger had almost forgotten how it felt, that sensation of being filled, nearly torn in the middle, that exquisite pain. He felt John grab his hips, but he did not thrust upwards.

And the minutes stretched into what seemed like hours until Roger was comfortably seated on John's hips, panting, and then he wasted no time and began to move up and down, feeling the smooth rasp of John's cock inside him. He heard a string of curses and groans coming from the bassist and that spurred him on, making him forget the discomfort and focus on the pleasure instead.

Roger's rhythm increased and he steadied himself on John's chest with his hands, to rut down hard and fast. He felt his cock harden almost unbearably at the sight of John, who had opened his eyes and seemed spellbound watching his prick going in and out of the singer's body. At some point Roger felt John's cock hit his prostate, and then again, and again, the intense tingle running up his spine as he threw his head back.

"Fuck, John! Ahhh—!"

They kept like this for a few minutes but soon Roger's arms were shaking and his thighs were beginning to cramp, and their rhythm began to falter.

"John... please..?"

The bassist didn't need to be asked twice and, without leaving Roger's body, grabbed his hips and rolled them over, carefully as to not fall off the the bed. Once on top, John hooked his right hand under Roger's knees, forcing him to lift his leg, and began to fuck the singer with enough force to rock the bed.

"So Tommy, can you feel me now?" John grunted, in a mocking voice.

"Oh God, yes!"

"Then lets see if Pete can hear ya from Record Plant!"

John closed his eyes, panting hard as his hips snapped brutally against Roger's. The singer threw his head back and freely let his moans grow into shouts, too far gone to care if anyone was listening. Whenever he looked at John all he saw was an expression of animal lust, the man pounding into him like a beast, grunting and growling and saying how much he loved Roger's tight arse. And Roger felt feverish just at having that big, handsome man in his thrall, fucking him without holding anything back and making his toes curl with delight.

"Ohh, yeah you sweet thing," John cried out, throwing his head back, "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll think of me ev'ry time you sit down!"

"Ahh— I'm so fuckin' close John!"

John let go of his leg to palm the head of Roger’s cock, letting the wetness there make his movement easy and sensual.

"Such a nice prick on you, Tommy. Remind me to give it a good gobble next time."

The dirty words pushed Roger over the edge and he came, spurting into John's hand. He screamed and sobbed his pleasure in high notes he seldom reached, even in his best performances. His whole body shook, convulsing deliciously around John's cock, coaxing passionate growls from the bassist and bringing him to the brink too.

Just as Roger's orgasm began to subside, he felt John grab his hips tight and explode into him, muffling his shout against his neck. Roger shut his eyes in vicarious pleasure, clenching his arse around John and milking him until his cock grew soft inside him. The bassist pulled out gently and fell by the blond man's side, swallowing thickly as he tried to catch his breath.

The two lay there for a while, waiting until they regained full control over their bodies. Roger's mind felt blank, for which he was grateful, since all the things he had to think about were subjects he'd rather forget instead. In spite of his exhaustion, he managed to get up and stagger towards the bathroom. After minding his post-sex ablutions, he returned to the room tensely, imagining what John's reaction would be like.

When he got nearer the bed, he found his bandmate already under the covers, leaning back against one of the pillows, eyes closed, with his hands behind his head. He had left room for Roger to lie beside him, but the shorter man didn't want to overstay his welcome.

"D'you want me to leave?"

"If you want," was the terse answer.

For a second Roger considered picking up his clothes and simply leaving, but he could not deny that right at that moment he would trade his kingdom for some cuddling.

"What if I don't?"

John opened his eyes and whispered, softly:

"Then stay."

And Roger stayed, until the first rays of the morning sun awoke him and forced him back to his own room.

The Thing About Brown Eyes Is
Rated: M
Pairing: Moonshend

Once he got to the sanctuary that was the bathroom, Pete turned the faucet on and splashed water onto his face to rid himself of bad gingerbread vibes. Pete was muttering to himself under his breath, saying things like "cocky ponce" and "Beach Boy wannabe" as he lets droplets of water run down his cheeks, gripping the sides of the sink tightly.

How dare some little wanker come up and upstage him! Pete was fuming and he was so furious that he could just take his guitar and smash all the mirrors. He gripped the porcelain tighter, making his knuckles go white with anger. But out of all the things that could be on Pete's nerves he just couldn't get those big brown eyes out of his mind.

They had been on Pete when that kid destroyed the drum kit, making silly faces as he drummed away with reckless abandon. He was like an energetic puppy caught in a biscuit shop and Pete was the disgruntled baker who was calling animal control. There was no other way Pete could put it into words.

When he raised his head up to look in the mirror Pete noticed the second pair of eyes staring back at him. They were big brown puppy eyes framed by neatly trimmed bangs and slightly mussed hair, still messy from his little performance on stage. Christ... not even able to get privacy in the bathroom.

"Alright then, mate?" The Beach Boy asked with a smile on his face, trying for a conversation.

Pete sighs and turns around.

"I'm Keith but my friends call me John," Keith jokes, sticking out a hand that goes unacknowledged. Pete just stares at his hand until Keith retracts it confidently. "So you're the one who plays the noisy guitar, ay? Pete, right?"

"Better to play a noisy guitar than to play sloppy drums," Pete remarks mirthlessly, arms crossing over his chest and thin lips in a hard line.

"Ain't nothin' sloppy 'bout me drums, mate. It's just everyone else doesn't know how to play 'em right," Keith smirks. It's cocky and arrogant and full of mischief that is climbing the walls to come out.

"Yeah, well, we're not interested in your... technique," Pete says flatly, mocking Keith like a snob.

"S'not wot the lads say, innit? From wot they tell me, I'm in. So we can either be mates or you can continue to be a stick in the mud," Keith finalizes in an ultimatum, getting a little more serious than he was before.

Pete stares at him with an incomprehensible look, reeling from the way Keith talked as if he has been in this band for years. Pete lets out a short huff of a chuckle, grinning widely like it was the funniest fucking joke on the face of the Earth because, quite honestly, Keith talking to Pete in that tone was absurd.

"Who died and made you king of the mods?" Pete laughs hysterically. He can see Keith's face go from serious to unamused in the blink of an eye.

"Wot's your problem? Why do ya not like me?" Keith asks, not one to be insecure about what other people think.

"I don't like the way ya look," Pete tells him honestly, making Keith scrunch his thick eyebrows and tilt his head like an inquisitive dog.

"Wot's wrong with me gear?" Keith inquires, taking a moment to look down at his clothes.

"Why you tryna look like one of them Beach Boy fairies?"

"Oi, wot you got against the Beach Boys?! Their music is great!" Keith protests skeptically getting a little defensive of Pete's assumptions and trying to defend his favorite band.

"Oh yeah, they're a riot," Pete agrees sarcastically, nodding his head. "For the deaf maybe..."

"Look, I didn't come here to argue..." Keith sighs heavily.

"Then wot do ya want?"

Keith lowers his head a little and turns away slightly, feigning bashfulness as he looks up at Pete from under his bangs. There's that mischievous little grin of his again and those big eyes almost pleading for innocence, but Pete is onto him. He's been onto him since the beginning. Pete narrows his icy gaze and gauges everything Keith does.

"Well, I was sorta hopin' I could maybe persuade ya to think differently 'bout me," Keith mumbles out as if he's shy, like he's been caught putting his hand in the cookie jar.

"And how do you plan on goin' 'bout that?" Pete inquires, unmoved by Keith's statement.

He's leaning against the sink now waiting for Keith to prove himself, looking him up and down with a judging eye. There is a moment in which Keith bites his lip as if he's thinking of whether he should go through with it or not, making Pete smile triumphantly like he's called Keith out on his bluff. But this is just to throw Pete off.

Keith is far from being taken seriously but Keith came in here on a mission and he'd be damned if Pete gave him the cold shoulder constantly. Keith gave him a wide grin and approached Pete with single mind determination. Pete didn't move but he did flinch a little when Keith placed a hand against his chest and smoothed out a wrinkle in his shirt.

Pete looked at Keith, watching every move and slide of hand he did, and Keith stared back with his big brown eyes. He looked so young and so innocent from his puppy eyes to his cheekbones and Pete couldn't stand the fact that he both hated and wanted Keith. Pete knew he should be swatting this little git's hand away but he figured he'd let it linger, just to see what Keith would do.

The hand on Pete's chest reached up to clasp behind his neck and pulled him forward slightly until Keith had his lips pressed firmly against Pete's. Pete went wide eyed and at first he thought it was a joke so he tried to push Keith away but the drummer only deepened the kiss by sticking his tongue in Pete's mouth. The breath was taken from his and Pete was reeling, leaving him momentarily light-headed.

Pete's never kissed a guy before, especially someone he's not particularly fond of, but Keith's mouth is warm and bitter from alcohol and it tastes amazing on Pete's tongue. He keeps his hands at his sides as he let's Keith control the kiss, swirling and nipping every so often. The kiss is soft and rough all at once, something that's impossible to get with a girl and Pete melts under Keith's lips as they searched out his jaw and neck.

Keith breaks away and pulls Pete to a stall, turning them around so he can push Pete backwards into the stall. Pete stumbles a little, heart pounding in his chest as he falls back onto a toilet seat. He strikes it roughly with his bony backside and winces slightly when something jabs in his spine. Pete rubs his back, trying to soothe it but failing.

"Oi! Wot you think you're doin'?" Pete begins to protest but his anger and words fall short when he raises his head up.

Keith closes the stall door and latches it before he drops down to his knees on the filthy floor. Pete stares dumbfounded down at Keith on the floor hoping that this was a joke after all. He's waiting for John and Roger to pop up and say "gotcha!" just so Pete can be put out of his misery, but that doesn't happen.

"Changin' your mind," Keith grins wickedly as he goes for the front of Pete's trousers.

Keith pops off the button and yanks down his fly eagerly, like he's been waiting for this all night. Keith finally gets the front of Pete's trousers open and sticks his hand inside, wrapping it around Pete's half hard cock to pull it out. Keith grins again, mischievous and wicked like everything about him, and chuckles a little.

"Someone's 'appy to see me," Keith remarks.

Before Pete is able to make any snarky reply Keith leans forward and takes Pete in his mouth in one go. Pete's breath is taken from him once again and he has to fight the urge to thrust into the warm inviting heat. He refrains from looking down as well. Pete doesn't know what he'd do if he saw a guy sucking him off.

Keith pulled off a little and sucked just on the tip to ease the way for his lips better. His tongue danced circles around the head of Pete's cock and it made Pete squirm. Pete's hands clutched at his pants, fighting to reach out and tangle his fingers in Keith's ridiculous hair. Keith smirked and leaned down further, taking more of Pete when the guitarist was fully hard.

Keith wrapped a hand around the base of Pete's cock went down as far as he could manage before he was stopped by his hand. He pulled off and went back down, starting off slowly before building up the pace and stroking in time with his hand. It was about as reckless as his drumming but it was so perfect.

It had Pete moaning despite him wanting to, he was trying to keep quiet, but Keith's mouth was hot and wet and he knew exactly what to do. Pete mused for a moment that Keith has done this before and it got him to thinking a little too much for his own good. Pete still had his eyes closed and his head turned away from Keith but it didn't stop him from acknowledging him.

"Seem to know wot you're doin'," Pete comments in between moans. "This how you get everyone on your side?"

Keith pulls off with a wet slide of lips and gasps for air.

"Oh, yeah. Sucked off John and Rog underneath the table earlier," Keith tells him sarcastically, almost straight-faced.

Pete's eyes shoot open and he looks down between his legs in shock, disbelieving of Keith's words. When he locks gazes with Keith he can see that the other man is merely joking, going by the giant grin on his face, and it was a ploy to get Pete to look at him finally.

"You're too easy, so tightly wound. Even on stage." Keith licks a line up the underside of Pete's cock and nuzzles just below the tip. "I can 'elp with that."

He's got Pete's full attention now and makes sure that he puts on a good show for the guitarist. Keith abandons the use of his hand altogether and sets to taking all of Pete in his throat without shortcuts or cutting any corners. It's all tongue and mouth as Keith bobs his head along the length of Pete, only gagging when he absolutely needs to, but other than that it's a walk in the park for Keith.

Pete adjusts himself on the seat of the toilet and decides it's time to give into his urges. He reaches down to tangle his hands in Keith's hair and looks down to watch all the things Keith is doing to him with that amazing mouth. Pete half expects Keith to have his eyes closed in concentration with a sort've blissed out expression but he doesn't.

When Pete looks down he notices that Keith is already staring at him with those big brown puppy eyes and it sends an impulse straight to Pete's cock. Pete lets out a deep groan, seeing the victorious smile in Keith's eyes, and thrusts lightly up into Keith's mouth to make him gag a little. Instead of gagging, Keith moans around his mouthful like sucking off some bloke in a dirty bathroom stall is the hottest thing in the world. Who knows, maybe for Keith it is? It's certainly doing a lot for Pete.

Keith's lips ripple along Pete's hard flesh on each up and down stroke of his mouth and it takes everything inside of Pete to not come from that sight alone. He still can't believe how far he let this go. He went from disliking this Beach Boy wannabe to letting him suck his cock in a public bathroom, knowing full well that John and Roger were just outside the door. Christ, what was he fucking doing? Pete needed to stop this now, but even he could no longer put up a fight against the inevitable.

Keith is working overtime now that he knows what Pete is trying to do. He can be very perceptive when he knows someone is holding back and he'll be damned if he doesn't make Pete come. He can feel Pete clench and pull his hair tighter as Pete's thumbs trace along his sharp cheekbones, rubbing the soft skin there delicately like Keith could shatter at any given moment.

There is an interval in which Keith pulls off entirely for a breather, licking and kissing along Pete's cock to make up for lack of sensation. Keith wraps a hand around Pete and jerks him for a few seconds to spread the wetness of his saliva all over Pete's cock before going back down. This time he gets all of Pete in his throat on one thrust down.

Feeling accomplished, Keith pulled off and did it again, this time staying there to convulse his throat muscles all around Pete's hard on. The suction was hard and tight and Pete let out a sequence of moans and half gasps that made his body lift off of the toilet seat, plunging himself deeper into Keith's throat. It was an accident but this time it made Keith gag. Pete stroked Keith's silly hair and rubbed his thumbs across his cheekbones, all the while looking directly into Keith's dark eyes.

It could be that what Keith was doing was amazing. It could be the hot, wet suction. It could also be all of Pete's pent up tension being released. But when Pete comes harder than he ever has he is caught up in Keith's big brown puppy eyes as his cock twitches and convulses into Keith's mouth. Those damn eyes roping him in at the last second and Pete realizes in that moment that those sad puppy eyes are going to be the source of all his problems.

Keith doesn't pull away as Pete comes either, something that any girl he's been with has never done before, and swallows around Pete's still pulsing cock. Pete is is still panting as Keith gives him one last suck before pulling off. Keith staggers up to his feet and it isn't until now that he notices how much his knees ache from being on a cold tile ground. But he doesn't particularly mind since he got what he wanted.

He dusts off his pants as Pete stands up on shaking legs to button up the fly on his trousers with lazy fingers. Keith grabs some tissue to wipe off his saliva and come stained lips before he pulls Pete to him for one last kiss. Pete is yanked forward by his tie and is kissed with the same intensity as before, instead this time he can taste himself on Keith's tongue. It isn't very unpleasant but it could take some getting used to, Pete figures. What is he saying? He doesn't want to get to this.

"Well then, everything seems to be in order now," Keith says after he pulls away to straighten Pete's tie out. "I gotta jet but seeya next week at practice ya?"

Keith winks, clicking his teeth at Pete before casually unlatching the stall door and walking out of the bathroom as if he hadn't just sucked off some random bloke. The door swung shut with a heavy thud and Pete is left standing there with the murmuring sensation of Keith still around him. Still kissing him and touching him. Pete definitely didn't want to get used to this.

Pete knew those brown eyes were going to be trouble in the long run.

Three Times I've Loved You
Rated: T
Pairing: Townstrey/Poger

“Fuck this song,” Roger grabbed the papers with the half-finished lyrics and crumpled them up.

“Fuck you,” Pete growled from across the table. “Quit being such a diva and pull your fucking weight.”

“Girls, not now,” John sighed. “We can’t keep wasting time.”

“I’m so fucking tired, can you lot just finish already so everyone can go home?” Roger tossed the crumpled papers over to the other band members in resignation.

“Hey, you’re part of this, too,” Pete threw the balls of paper back, aiming for his face.

“Stop saying that, we all know you’re going to disappear for hours to work on your own, and we’re only going to use your ideas, just like always.”

“We’re all sitting at a table together to collaborate, are you fucking blind?” Pete shouted at him. “Maybe if you weren’t an egotistical nightmare to work with, you could contribute more.”

“For fuck’s sakes, Pete—“ John groaned.

“Then you should stop taking over and controlling everything like a fucking maniac,” Roger shouted back.

“I would if you’d take our music seriously. You only show up to record your parts, and then sing them onstage half naked and twirling your hair like a little bitch.”

“You are so fucking immature,” Roger stood up to leave. “I’m fucking sick of you, Townshend.”

“You’re not leaving!” Pete ordered as he sprang up from his chair. He grabbed Roger’s shoulder roughly because the two of them were just dying for a proper fight to clear the air. And Roger, always reliable, responded with a swinging right hook, cracking his knuckles against the bottom of Pete’s jaw. God, he adored that man. The blow filled Pete with a surge of adrenaline, turning into anger and even inspired a perverted arousal. He had been dreaming of nothing but getting his hands on the insufferable bastard and beating him into submission, in one way or another.

“Don’t you fucking start this again!” John shouted at them, but it was too late. Pete had already answered with a punch to Roger’s (muscular and defined) stomach. Roger kneed him in the crotch. Pete, with the advantage of being taller, folded over Roger and caught him in a headlock and the smaller man squirmed under him.

Poor John was tasked with pulling the two apart and holding them by the back of their shirt collars like a scorned mother. Keith didn’t even stir from his sleep. This wasn’t out of the ordinary in the middle of a demanding tour. “Jesus Christ, you two are the worst. Go into the green room and don’t come back until you’re mature enough to work again.”

And with that, they were shoved outside and the door was locked behind them. The two didn’t waste any time getting to the green room next door to continue beating the shit out of each other. They closed the door to the green room, which was cramped with dingy old couches and arm chairs.

“You are so fucking pretentious,” Pete landed a punch, carefully avoiding Roger’s nose and eye. “And intolerable.”

“You’re so fucking bitter all the time,” Roger swung again, missing his target and clipping Pete’s nose, not that it was hard to miss. Blood started trickling out a split second later. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Fuck you!” Pete wiped the stream of blood away but it kept flowing steadily. He grabbed a fistful of Roger’s (beautiful, soft) blond hair and yanked it down, eliciting a delightful cry from the other man. “We’re supposed to be friends. Friends are more civil than this.”

Roger grabbed the arm and tugged himself free, before twisting Pete’s wrist violently. “You just make me so goddamn angry sometimes.”

Pete cursed and tore his arm away. He pushed Roger against the wall, pinning both of his wrists up beside his head to restrain him. For added security, he pinned Roger’s torso against the wall by pressing his hips against him, one leg between his crotch threateningly, and brought his face in uncomfortably close. For once, the two of them had nothing to say to each other.

He was close enough to feel Roger’s chest rise and fall quickly as they both regained their breath. Pete let the blood trickle down from his nose freely. He still had anger coursing through him that he needed to expel, but they were too caught up in the moment, glaring at each other.

“Go ahead, hit me again,” Roger taunted. “You called me a little bitch. Treat me like one.”

Pete pressed closer against him, now chest to chest. “You called me a maniac. I might just act like one.”

Roger was looking up at him in a way that made him feel uneasy, but not necessarily in a bad way. Pete figured it was now or never. He was out of his wits. His mind was buzzing. He was over tired. There were many ways he could make excuses after the fact, so he decided to go through with his plan he had been fantasizing about all week. Pete slowly let go of one wrist, wiped the sticky blood from his nose, and his right hand travelled to wrap around the base of Roger’s throat, smearing some red on the other man’s shirt. There was plenty of time for Roger to object, to say no, to fight back and leave. But there was something in the way he kept his eyes locked on Pete’s, arching his neck to expose more skin as if inviting him in.

He didn’t choke him with the intent to asphyxiate him, which was established between the two of them when Pete applied a slight pressure to his throat. Just enough to send the message clear, to show who was dominating. Something in the way Roger’s tongue darted out quickly to lick his bottom lip made Pete want to bite that place on his soft skin, so he leaned in and did exactly that.

Roger made a noise that heavily implied enjoyment, not torture; something between a sexual moan and a gasp of surprise.

Pete bit down on Roger’s bottom lip and scraped his teeth along the skin, drawing blood so the two of them matched. Pete licked the cherry coloured drop before placing his mouth on Roger’s. Then they were kissing each other deeply, which quickly turned as intense as their fight before. It didn’t make sense, and Pete couldn’t believe it was finally happening again, and it all happened too fast before they knew what they were doing but it was all so fucking worth it, even if that meant getting in trouble later. Pete moved his left hand to grab more of Roger’s hair, and now that the other man had both arms free again, he wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist to pull him even closer.

Pete really, really couldn’t believe they were finally doing it.

Kissing got rough, but they couldn’t get rough enough, so Roger broke the kiss to land a hard bite on Pete’s neck. Pete threw his head back with a low groan. It was almost as if Roger knew exactly what made him wild; the bastard always knew how to wind him up. As a reward, Pete shoved his thigh up against Roger’s crotch to give him something to grind against. He was surprised to feel that the other man was hard already. That was when Pete absolutely lost it.

The whole process wasn’t unfamiliar to Pete; he had been in this position many times before. It was one of his favourite situations to be in. He knew he was be well versed enough to make it good for Roger, give him something to remember for their first time. Pete kissed viciously down Roger’s neck, then his chest, then his stomach, until he was on his knees in front of the other man, like he’d always dreamed of.

Pete had barely undone Roger’s belt and trousers before Roger was already angling his hips to Pete’s face. Pete wasted no time pulling down his boxers and grabbing hold of Roger’s rather impressive endowment. He started with a long lick from bottom to top, eliciting a moan from up above. Pete went to work on sucking the tip and then swallowing him inch by inch. In response to how quickly he was working, Roger grabbed the hair at the back of Pete’s head and pushed him down farther until he gagged.

His knees ached, his jaw was sore and his eyes were watering, but it was simultaneously the best feeling in the world. Being face fucked, especially by Roger, was absolutely extraordinary. They were finally doing this. Pete thought about what it would be like afterwards, when Roger touched him back, and how they’d kiss again and hold each other and finally things would be right.

“Oh, fuck, Pete…” Roger choked out. Pete looked up to catch Roger wiping the blood from off his lip and chin, which shouldn’t have been sexy but definitely was. With his mouth full, Pete moaned and quickened the pace of his mouth and hands, until Roger’s knees were shaking and he covered his own mouth to keep from screaming.
With one last rough thrust into Pete’s mouth, Roger came with a low guttural moan, spilling onto Pete’s lips and chin, mingling with the dried bloody nose he had given him only minutes before.

Pete stood up, smiling with pride as he swiped his thumb across his chin and licked up Roger’s remnants. He was aching for his turn now, watching as Roger quickly stuffed himself back into his trousers. Pete leaned forward to kiss him again, but caught an expression on Roger’s face that he couldn’t decipher. Guilt? Embarrassment? Regret? Shame? Roger paused, then looked away quickly, cleared his throat and left the green room quietly, shutting the door softly behind him.

Truth Or Dare
Rated: M
Pairing: Whosome!

"Ughhh," Keith groaned. "I'm gonna die! It's so hot in here!"

"If you stopped complaining so much maybe you'd breathe out less hot air and it would be colder in here," said Pete. He got up to return to the fridge for a beer.

"Maybe if you stopped being so stupid, it would be less stupid in here," Keith snarled. "Get me a beer too."

"That doesn't make any sense," Pete said, his voice high and petulant. He chucked a beer can at Keith. It bounced off the drummer's head.

"We could go out pub-crawling," John suggested.

"It's even hotter out there than it is in here," Keith moaned. "At least in here we've got this crappy little fan. I guess I'll just lie here and drink until I fall asleep...another day wasted..." He did this for about four minutes before he got unbearably bored.

Roger came back out of the shower, looking around as he pulled a T-shirt on. "What, haven't you chucked the telly out the window yet?" he asked.

"Too hot," all the other three Who members groaned.

"This is reaching ridiculous levels," Roger agreed. He flopped down on a bed and sighed.

Keith wiggled around on the floor, trying to get comfortable. He downed the rest of his beer, which had already turned lukewarm and nasty. He found a bottle of Courvoiser and they passed it around for a bit, too warm to talk.

"Well, we can't just sit here," Pete said. "What are we going to do?"

"Practice?" John said.

Everyone stared at him. At once, everyone started guffawing. "Practice!" Pete laughed, wiping a tear away. "Oh, God, that's a good one."

"No, really, what can we do?" Roger said. "There's nothing good on TV. We don't get any channels in this shitty hotel."

Keith's forehead wrinkled. "Truth or dare!"

"What are we, 14-year-old girls at a sleepover party?" Roger said.

"Basically," said Keith.

"Truth or dare," John muttered. "More like 'tell everyone who you'd fuck or perform a strange sexual task.'"

"It'll be fun!" Keith pleaded. "Come on. It's better than dying of boredom."

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Roger said. Keith chucked a bottle of wine at him. It hit him in the crotch. He groaned in pain and started chugging from the bottle. Usually Roger didn't really drink to excess, but these were extenuating circumstances.

"I'll ask first," Keith said, "since it was my idea. And...I pick Roger to do the truth or dare." He grinned evilly.

"No!" Roger said.

"Do it!" Pete yelled. He had the booze and he was drinking as much as possible to escape the heat. "Do it!" he yelled sloppily.

"NO!"

"Do it," John said.

"Ugh! I hate you guys!" Roger said. "Fine."

"Okay," Keith said giddily, "Roger, truth or dare?"

He winced. "Uh...truth. I don't wanna see your dares."

"Damn," Keith said. "Okay. Ah...truth...if you had to pick one of us, me or Pete or John, to sleep with, which one would it be?"

"FUCK!" Roger yelled. "These games always turn out gay! I knew it! You're all a bunch of repressed faggots!"

"Answer the bleedin' question!" Keith said.

"I can't! There's no way to win! I'd rather die than shag any of you lot, no lie," Roger said.

"Roger, you think Pattie Boyd's a looker, don't you?" Keith said.

"What, George Harrison's wife, the model?...I suppose so. But I don't see what bearing this has on the question."

"Well, you can fuck Pattie Boyd, but you have to sleep with one of us first, hypothetically," Keith said.

"Still no deal!"

"It's not a question of whether it's a deal, just give us an answer!" Keith snapped. "You don't have to make a bloody big deal of it!"

"It's ridiculous!"

"You hypothetically get anything you want," Keith said, "if you fuck one of us."

"Can I fuck myself?"

"No!"

"Fine! But I want to be on top!"

"Okay!"

"And I hypothetically would want ten billion pounds, and amnesia so I don't remember any of it!"

"You're gonna ruin the economy," John said.

"It's hypothetical, Enty, you're overthinking it," Keith said. "And okay, you get all the imaginary money and brain diseases you want."

"Just answer the question!" Pete said. "Can we get on with this?"

"Fine!" Roger said. He covered his face in his hands and moaned in embarrassment. "You're gross..." He mumbled something very quietly under his breath.

"What's that?" Keith said with a grin.

"I said PETE!" Roger sobbed. "I pick Pete! Can we stop talking about this now?!"

"Oh, gross, why me?" Pete said.

"Keith is a fucking twat!" Roger said. "And John is...well, John is John. No offense."

"None taken, midget," John said dryly.

"I told you there was no way this was gonna end well," Roger said. He removed his hands from his face. He was blushing furiously.

"Anyway," Keith said, "it's your turn, Roger. You pick who gets dared or truth'd."

"I pick Keith," Roger snapped. "Truth or fuckin' dare."

"Dare," Keith said, grinning. He always picked dare.

"Fine," Roger said. He plotted his revenge. "I dare you...I dare you to play gay chicken with John."

"No!" Keith yelled. "I won't do that!"

"What's gay chicken?" John said.

"Something I will not do!" Keith said.

"You have to do it!" Roger said.

"You do have to do it," Pete said. "This was your idea."

"No!" Keith wept.

"Someone tell me what this is..." John said.

"Gay chicken is when two guys have to, y'know, kiss and stuff, progressing naturally from the kissing, and whichever one stops first loses," Pete explained.

"Boy, you sure seem to be well versed in kissing men," Keith said. "And naturally progressing."

Pete took a drink. "I've been around," he said with a disgusting grin. Roger elbowed him.

John frowned ever so slightly. "And what does the winner get?"

"The winner gets to slap Duchess across the face," Keith snarled.

"Deal," John said.

"Wait, I didn't agree to that!" Roger said.

"It's the only way I'll do it," Keith said. "And you can't fight back!"

"No!" Roger said.

"It is fair," Pete said.

"Either get slapped or withdraw your dare," John said.

"Fine!" Roger said.

"You must really wanna watch two guys make out," Keith said.

"I just wanna make you suffer!" Roger said.

Keith blew a raspberry.

"Go now," Pete said. "Go. Do it. Get the gay on."

"I don't know how," Keith mumbled.

"Just pretend you're a girl," John said.

"Can't I pretend you're a girl instead?"

"Do I look like a girl to you?"

"Well, do *I* look like a girl to *you*?" Keith snapped.

"A bit," John said. "Long eyelashes. Small, effeminate build. Mincing posture."

Pete snorted.

"I hate you," Keith said.

"You lived with him for like a year," Pete said. "Hell, I've seen you kiss him! It shouldn't be that difficult for you to take things further."

Keith snatched his bottle from Pete and downed quite a bit of it. He winced at the taste and set the bottle down, swaying a bit. "Fine, I'm ready," he said. He sat next to John and put his arms around him. "I'm going to win this," he said.

"Keep telling yourself that," John said with a smirk.

"You fuckin' bugger..." Keith leaned forward and mashed his lips roughly into John's. John grunted in pain and attempted to gain control of the kiss. Keith was fidgety.

"Who taught you how to kiss?" John said, looking disgruntled.

"No one!" Keith said.

"Obviously. I feel sorry for your girlfriend."

"John, if you don't start kissing him you're gonna have to forfeit," said Pete.

"I'll teach you how to kiss," John said. "Come here..." He cradled Keith's face in his hands, leaned in and closed the space between them.

Roger laughed. "Gross! Fuck, you can't pay for entertainment like this."

Pete smirked blearily and leaned back a bit in his chair. "I'd pay quite a bit, actually."

John bit down slightly on Keith's lower lip, then moved to dart his tongue into the drummer's mouth, steadily pressing his lips against him. Keith went mostly still, his mouth slack and open, leaving John in control, letting him crush his lips with rough, enfolding kisses. John finally backed away a bit. Keith was unresponsive.

"Moonie?" John said.

Keith moaned. "Ugh...you win...I'm not sure how I feel about this..."

"Quitter," John scoffed. "Hey, I get to slap Roger now."

Roger had been betting on Keith winning. John looked much worse to be slapped by. He had hands like bunches of bananas.

"I'll go easy on you," John said before smacking Roger across the face. Blond curls whirled. Roger groaned and fell back into Pete's lap. He rubbed his face and winced. Then he felt Pete's fingers dancing down his thigh, and batted his hand away, turning red.

"Pete!" he said.

"How much was that you said you'd need to be paid to sleep with me, again?" Pete said.

"It was hypothetical!" Roger said.

"Keith," John said, "it's your turn to ask people again."

Keith sat up and tried to fix his hair. "Okay..." he said.

"I haven't been picked yet," Pete said.

"You just want to have homosexual experiences," John said.

"No!" Pete said. "I just...nobody's picked me and it's taking forever!"

"Okay, Pete," Keith said. "Truth or dare?"

Pete got up and hunted in the fridge for more booze. He poured himself a gin and tonic over ice while he decided. "Er...dare," he said, bringing the clinking glass to his mouth.

"Dare..." Keith said. "Hm. Can't really think of anything. Anyone know anything?"

"Just don't involve me in it," Roger said. He sullenly drank more wine out of the bottle.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Keith shot back. "Hm...I know. I dare you to make out with Roger."

"Why are all these questions so gay?!" Roger wailed. "I'm not making out with anyone!"

"Chicken!" Keith said.

"I'm not a chicken! I'm not even supposed to be brought up in this!"

"Fine," Keith said. "Pete, I dare you to suck Roger's dick."

"WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?" Roger said.

"Hey, no guy can turn down getting his dick sucked," Keith said. "You might even say, if a guy were to turn down a blowjob, that would make him gay."

"That—I—your logic doesn't make any sense!" Roger stammered.

"I don't wanna suck his dick, I bet it's riddled with STD's," Pete said.

"It is not! I just got tested," said Roger.

"Prove it," Pete said. "Lemme see your dick."

"I shouldn't have dared him to do this," Keith realized. "It probably would've been better to dare him not to do it."

"Look!" Roger stood up and unzipped his fly. "It's perfectly fine. No warts in sight."

Pete shoved Roger down onto the couch. The singer squeaked and tried to crawl away, but Pete pinned him down and ripped his jeans further down.

"Tell me you don't want this," Pete said. His voice was suddenly husky. "Tell me you don't want me sucking your cock."

"Uh..." Roger said.

"You always tell me how bloody arrogant I am," Pete said. "Well, now it's time to put me in my place." He smirked, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"Uh..." Roger stammered. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Keith and John were casually watching, sharing a bottle. "I..."

"Tell me if you object," Pete said, smiling predatorily. He placed a kiss upon the bulge in the singer's boxers, making him squirm. "Lover."

Roger moaned. "Ah! Fine! Do it! I hate you all, I'm not gay, I'm not..."

He closed his eyes and he felt Pete pulling his underwear down, working his cock with callused, knowing fingers, stroking him just right, slowly, deeply rubbing the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. Roger couldn't help twitching a bit as he felt the blood rush to his member. He looked down to see Pete's intoxicated blue gaze piercing him as Pete's lips closed around the tip of his cock. He couldn't help but thrust forward into the slick heat...God, his wife never did this for him, and it had been so long that he'd nearly forgotten how good it was. Pete's tongue lapped up his shaft, tracing the veins, until the guitarist reached the pink, pearly head of the singer's cock, whereupon it dipped to slide over the slit, over and over, slightly penetrating it.

Roger leaned back into the seat, his heels digging into the carpet. John and Keith were watching with a mixture of horror, amusement, and what could've possibly been arousal. Roger tried to ignore them, but he'd always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak. The thought of them watching made him even harder. Pete was bringing him such impossible bliss, and he reached down to knot his short fingers in Pete's hair. He moaned uncontrollably, his voice deep and gritty and melodic.

"Pete," he whispered. "Peter, oh, slower, please."

Every time Pete touched him it made sparks shoot through him, though. The slower pace only intensified the feeling inside him, made Pete's every movement more noticeable. Soft, plush lips sliding against eager flesh...Pete was clever with his tongue, working it in ways Roger could never have thought of. Desperately, Roger keened and pushed his hips up, wanting to be deeper inside Pete. He felt Pete's throat swallow his cock, Pete's fingertips gently teasing around the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls, and he let out a cry of unbearable pleasure. "Fuck! Pete! You're so fucking...oh!"

It only took a couple more minutes of this for Roger to come. Pete seemed to enjoy it almost as much, although he wasn't even touching himself. His eyes were tightly shut and he occasionally moaned around Roger's cock, sending vibrations though him. Roger came in spurts, his cock twitching into Pete's mouth. When he'd finished he looked down at Pete. The guitarist's lips were dripping with cum, and it was spilled down his neck, soaking bits of his collar. He had a hazy look, and his Adam's apple jumped as he struggled to swallow the warm fluid. Roger fell back on the couch, not sure what he was feeling. He was panting, and even more sweaty, and he felt the way Pete looked, exhausted and satisfied and used up.

Pete got onto the couch and paused to catch his breath. "It's my turn," was the only thing he said.

Keith's eyes were wide. "I think that was the gayest thing I've ever seen in my entire life," he said. "I don't know how to feel about that."

"I'm not gay!" Roger and Pete chorused.

"This is the gayest game of truth or dare I've ever played," said John. "Keith, you're making everyone gay. This is your fault."

"Yeah, thanks," Pete said with a lazy smile.

"You're gross and I'm not making anyone gay, they're doing it of their own accord," said Keith.

"Shut up and let me pick," Pete said. "I think Roger's down for the count." The singer was softly snoring on the couch. "So I have to pick John or Keith."

"Pick him!" Keith said.

"No, pick Keith," John said quickly.

"John hasn't been picked yet."

"Why don't either of you want to be picked?" Pete said.

"All the truth or dares have been really gay," Keith said, "and you're unequivocally the gayest member of the Who, so I don't want you to pick me because your truths and dares are probably even more gay."

"Half of that gayness was your fault, I remind you," Pete reminded him.

"I was just doing it to be funny! I didn't know it would really be gay!" Keith said.

"You're being annoying so I'm picking you," Pete said.

"Ha," John said.

"No!" Keith moaned. "Why, God, why—"

"Because you're annoying and gay!"

"You're annoying and gay!" Keith shot back.

"You're both annoying and gay, now just get on with it," John said.

"Keith," Pete said with an evil smile. "Truth or dare?"

"Uh, truth," Keith said for once.

"Mm, I've got to think of something really good," Pete murmured. "Okay. Truth. Have you ever, you know, fooled around with John?"

"What!" Keith yelled. "Fuck no! Gross!"

"Are you sure? You're blushing," Pete said.

"Uh..."

"One time," John said.

"Oh, how the gay tables have turned," Pete said.

"He jacked me off once," John said.

"JOHN!" Keith wailed, humiliated. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face with it. "You promised you'd never tell!"

"He doesn't want me to tell you because it was his idea," said John.

"Ooh," Pete said. "Repressed homosexual urges!"

"I'm not a homosexual!!" Keith yelled. "John, you're a jerk and I hate you."

"If this is going to be a game of gay truth or dare, then it's gonna be a game of gay truth or dare," John said ineffably.

"That's the spirit," Pete said.

"Oh, you're teaming up on me," Keith said. "Anyways, this is over, and I get to pick who's truth'd and dared now."

"Go on," Pete said.

"John, truth or dare," Keith said.

A look that Keith didn't quite catch flickered across John's stony features. "Dare," he said.

"Fine. Fuck you. I dare you to make out with Pete, and then we'll see how fuckin' gay you are, you fucking—bloody—anklebiting tattletale!" Keith spat wrathfully.

"There's no tattletales in war," John said. He looked over at Pete, who shrugged. John shrugged back. He sat down on the couch beside the guitarist.

"Kiss me like you kissed him," Pete directed John.

Without any further words, John kissed Pete. His lips were soft, but he fought back. John could taste what he thought was traces of Roger's cum on Pete's mouth. For some reason it just made the entire thing that much hotter.

Pete's skinny arms wrapped around John's shoulders, but not before he paused to grope John's arm muscles appraisingly. John's hands came up to rest on Pete's slim waist. His fingers gently swirled over the soft skin.

"Mm, that's good," Pete panted. He kissed John's neck and let out a little drunk laugh. "I want you to get in my lap now."

"I'm not getting in your lap," John said. "I'd squish you. You get in my lap."

"Fuck," Pete said. "Fine. You weirdo." He straddled John's hips. It felt weird to be sitting on top of someone else; usually when he was with girls they'd be on top of him.

"That's good," John said, looking up at Pete with what could've been admiration. He pulled the guitarist forward and planted a little kiss on his mouth. He felt Pete smile; they moved to kiss again, this time more slowly, feeling each other's breath on their faces and necks, until their teeth clacked together a bit too much. Pete leaned down to kiss John's neck again; he appeared to be somewhat fixated on it. His kisses landed on John's Adam's apple and on the tendons that stretched down from his jaw to his collarbone. John petted Pete's hair.

"That's good," John repeated, "but harder. More like this." He brushed Pete's shaggy hair out of the way and sunk his crooked teeth into the side of his neck, bruising the soft flesh. The effect was immediate. Pete let out a loud moan and his hips bucked forward, rubbing his erection in his tight white trousers against John's stomach.

"Again," he panted, "do it again," and John held him still while biting deeply into his neck, making him squirm and moan. "Harder, harder," he panted quietly. "Bite me harder—oh, fuck—" John's teeth broke the skin and Pete felt his wet tongue rasping across the wound, licking up the blood. Pete tugged on John's hair. "Don't stop—"

A pillow came sailing through the air and whacked Pete on the head. He cursed and looked up. The culprit was Keith. "Stop this gayness right now!"

"Don't tell me what to do," John said.

"He's just jealous 'cos he's not in it," Pete said with a grin.

"I am not!" Keith crossed his arms stubbornly. "Stop this gay shit. I don't wanna play this game any more."

"You have to play, it was your idea," Pete said. John squeezed his butt and he let out a ridiculous little giggle and whacked John's hand away.

Keith groaned. "I hate all of you...I just wanted to have a laugh, I didn't know this would happen."

"Well, it's happening," said John. "And Keith, I pick you for truth or dare."

Keith sat on the bed and let out a huge sigh. "Fine! Truth!"

"Hmm." John's hands crept up and down Pete's sides under his shirt while he was thinking. Pete squirmed under the steady touch; he was ticklish there. "Keith, you like to pretend I'm your boyfriend, don't you?" John said.

"What! No!" Keith moaned disconsolately.

"I heard you talking about it in your sleep last night," John said.

Keith turned pink. "I didn't...I mean, I don't dream that you're my boyfriend. That's stupid. You'd be an awful boyfriend!"

"Give it up," Pete said.

"...Fine!" Keith fell down in the bed. "Maybe I do sometimes imagine John's my b-boyfriend! So what? It gets lonely on tour, and John's nice, and I trust him...or at least I did until today!"

"Oooh," Pete went. John rolled his eyes and shoved Pete off. He stumbled and landed on his butt.

"Keith," John said, gently but firmly, "come here."

"Don't wanna..."

"I want you to come here." John was impossible to disobey. Keith pouted and approached him. "In my lap..." Keith sat down the same way Pete had been. He looked extremely wounded. John pulled him closer and stroked his hair. "When you imagine I'm your boyfriend," he said, "what sort of things does that involve?"

Keith blushed again and bit his thumbnail nervously. "You hug me and things," he said. "And you tell me you...you love me," he managed.

"Is that what you want?" John said. "You want me to love you?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you afraid of what the others would say?"

"Maybe. A bit." Keith pretended he didn't care at all what anyone thought of him, but if you really looked deep you could see that even his whole destructive persona was just a mask he wore. Everything he did was because he was afraid of what other people would think of him, or worse, that they'd forget him.

"I'm sure they won't care," John said. "Everyone's been really gay and nasty today so I don't think they have any right to object."

"And you really wouldn't mind?" Keith said.

"I do love you, Keith," John said. "As a friend. As a brother. As something more."

"Wincest," Pete yelled.

"Shut up, Townshend!" John said. "I love you," he said to Keith.

"Oh, John," Keith said, "I love you too...you're my best friend out of this band. Even though you're a jerk."

"It's your turn to ask someone truth or dare," John reminded him.

"John, I pick you," Keith whispered.

"Dare."

"I dare you to kiss me..."

They kissed again, and this time it wasn't awkward like it was earlier. This time it was gentle and slow and perfect.

Pete sighed and lay down on the floor. "I always get left out," he drunkenly muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Roger Daltrey was awakening. He looked around and winced at the disgusting sight of his rhythm section swapping spit. He looked at Pete, who was on the floor and appeared to be dead.

"Pete?" Roger said. He cleared his throat. "Peter!"

"Yes?" Pete said.

"What happened while I was asleep?"

"Oh, lots of things," Pete said, grinning.

"Do I want to know what they are?"

"I'll tell you," Pete said. "John told me that Keith jacked him off, and then I got to make out with John, and now Keith's making out with John and I think they're boyfriends or something."

Roger sighed. "We're all gay," he realized. "Everyone in this band. Gay. We're a band of gays. Gay band."

"It's just experimentation," Pete said. "Young people often experience same-sex romantic or sexual attraction that may not be permanent, and in this enlightened age we can be free to explore our sexualities." He licked his lips.

"Enlightened age! More like engayened age!" Roger said.

"It's my turn to truth or dare someone," John said. "I pick...Roger."

"No!"

"Truth or dare!"

"Truth," Roger said.

"He picks dare," Pete said very loudly.

"I dare you to kiss Keith," John said.

"I didn't pick dare! I never did!" Roger said.

"You have to do it," Pete said. "Kiss him!"

"You're all perverts," Roger said.

"I don't wanna kiss him either," Keith said. "He looks like a potato. I'd much rather kiss John again."

"I don't look like a potato!" Roger yelled.

"Yes you do," said Keith. "You're lumpy like a potato, and short, also like a potato."

"I am none of the above," Roger said. "And at least my eyebrows don't look like caterpillars!"

"At least my eyebrows don't look like potato eyebrows!" Keith yelled.

"Shut up and kiss," John said.

"Peer pressure, peer pressure," Pete said.

"Look, guys, I'm straight," Roger protested. "I swear! I'm as butch and rugged as it gets. All I think about is pussy. Look at these muscles!" He flexed his biceps.

Pete licked one of Roger's arms. "You taste good."

"Ew," Roger said.

"You didn't say ew when I was sucking your dick," Pete said.

"Yeah," Keith said. "You were all, 'Oh, Pete! I love you Pete! Stick your dick in me, Pete!'" He did a fake horrible high-pitched voice to mock Roger.

"Huh, huh," John said, "that's good, he sounds just like you, Dip."

"You're all douchebags!" Roger yelled.

"C'mon," John said, "you'd be a cute couple. You're both short and pissy."

"I am not short!" Roger said. "YOU'RE ALL TOO TALL! Tall people are ineffective! Their hearts have to pump more blood to get through all their stupid tall body parts, so their hearts wear out faster and they die quicker! Tall people take up too much space, they're not ergonomic! Tall people's heads are closer to the sun, so they get sunburn faster and then they get skin cancer and die! You'll all be dead in fifty years and I'll look back and laugh!"

"Alrighty then," Pete said.

"Napoleon complex much," John said.

"Fuck you!" Roger said.

"John, you're an awful boyfriend," Keith said.

"Would you just kiss him already?" John said.

"I'm breaking up with you!" Keith said. "You're not even that good of a kisser. I bet even Roger kisses better than you."

"Why don't you test that hypothesis?" Pete said.

"I will!" Keith said. He rushed up and kissed Roger. Roger made a surprised noise. Keith buried his hands in Roger's fluffy golden hair. If he ignored Roger's potato-like face, this was almost like kissing a girl. And Keith did always have a thing for blondes.

"Look at me!" Keith yelled when Roger finally pushed him away. "John, are you jealous yet?"

"My heart is burning," John said, rolling his eyes.

Keith kissed Roger again angrily. "Ugh," Roger said, "get off me, you smell like vodka and weed."

"And how would you know what that smells like, Mister Straight-Edge My-Body-Is-A-Temple?" Keith said.

"From hanging around with you dildoes all day," Roger snarled.

Keith kissed Roger one more time just to see if he could get a reaction from John. He broke the kiss, and sensually whispered "Kumquat" in Roger's ear.

"What the fuck," Roger said.

Keith laughed weirdly and ran back over to John. John smacked Keith's ass and pulled him closer. "Did I make you jealous?" Keith said eagerly.

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, very jealous."

"Good," said Keith.

"It's my turn to ask people questions now," said Roger. "And last time you guys cheated, so I'm gonna make one you do something extra horrible now!"

"Pick me!" Pete yelled.

"No, you're too gay!"

"Dammit," Pete groused, "I knew I should've pretended not to like it."

Roger had a bit of a dilemma now. He couldn't think of anything that his three bandmates wouldn't do. Apparently everyone was a lot gayer than originally planned. "I quit," said Roger. "I don't wanna see you being all gross and gay."

"No, don't!" Pete said.

"Drink more," said Keith. "C'mon, lower your inhibitions a bit." He found a bottle of champagne to throw at Roger's dick. Roger made a defeated noise and crouched into a ball.

"No," Roger moaned.

"Okay," Keith said, "since Roger's not going I have dibs on his turn."

"Why do you get dibs?" John said.

"Because I said so," said Keith. "Pete, truth or dare?"

"Dare," said Pete with a grin.

"I dare you..." Keith pried the bottle of bubbly from Roger's rigor-mortis-esque grip. "I dare you to pour champagne on Roger's chest and lick it off," he said.

"Yesss," said Pete.

"No!" Roger yelled. He tried to run. John grabbed him and held his arms behind his back. Keith helped John push Roger onto the bed and hold him there. "Quit molesting me," Roger moaned.

"Oh, come off it, we know you like the attention," John said. "You're just as gay as the rest of us."

"I'm not gay! Ugh!" Roger struggled, but John was holding his arms down, and Keith was holding his legs. He was trapped.

He stated up at Pete, biting his lip nervously. Pete grinned and leered and crawled up onto the bed between Roger's legs. Keith let go of Roger, who didn't struggle, just whimpered a bit.

"Hello, again," said Pete. He crouched awkwardly over Roger and ripped the singer's shirt open, revealing his tanned chest. Roger wriggled around a bit, uncomfortable under Pete's stare, which was pinning him down like an entomologist pins down a bug on a card. "My, you look lovely, all disheveled like this," Pete said, trailing one finger down the groove between Roger's pectorals. "Ravishing."

"No I'm not," Roger muttered.

"If you don't want me to do this, I'll stop," Pete said with a smirk. "Just say the word and I'll leave you alone. I won't lay a finger on you."

Roger glared at him, whining a bit. "I hate you."

"I didn't hear a no," Pete said. "Go on. Say 'no.' Say 'don't touch me.'"

Roger's eyes closed. "I can't..."

"Yeah, you know how good it'll feel when I make love to you," Pete murmured hoarsely. "You know how good it'll feel when I'm kissing your body all over."

"Oh, Pete," Roger whispered.

John backed off a bit, and Pete held Roger's arms down himself. "Lover," he said.

"Ah, stop using that word," Roger moaned.

"My lover," Pete whispered very close to Roger's ear. "Doll, you're going to be an absolute mess when I'm done with you. You're going to be begging me for more."

"Oh, Pete," Roger said. "Keep...keep talking."

"Don't worry," Pete said. "Let's see, first I'm going to pour champagne on you—"

"You're gonna be a bloody alcoholic, Townshend," Roger said.

"Shush, don't talk," said Pete. "And I'm going to lick it off your chest, off your stomach..." He traced said body parts with his fingertips as the slow, alcohol-soaked words left his mouth. "And your neck, I won't leave that out. I'm going to bite you like a vampire. And then I'll slowly kiss all the way back down your body, down your hips...I love the V of your hips, it's madly attractive, I love it. By then you'll be begging me to suck your cock again, and you'll be pulling on my hair, and I'll take as long as I possibly can, breathing in your smell, lover, before I pour champagne over your cock and lick it off, and I want to taste your cum as soon as my tongue touches you there, darling. And I'll swallow every last drop of it...Keith! Champagne me!"

Keith tore his eyes away from the spectacle and gave Pete the bottle. Even though he thought Pete was a pretentious git and Roger was an annoying waste of oxygen, he couldn't deny that it was rather fun to watch.

John was yawning. "Get to the good part, Pete," he said. "I wish this was a porn tape so I could fast-forward past all your annoying dirty talk."

Pete stared down at Roger, not really hearing John's complaints. Roger was a panting, squirming mess of arousal. "My," he said, "Daltrey, is that a microphone in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

"Pete," Roger moaned under his breath. "Fuck, touch me."

Pete leaned down to kiss Roger's chest. He poured champagne over Roger's body and chased the bubbles with his tongue, enjoying the taste of wine and Roger Daltrey, a strange but compelling combination. It didn't work out exactly like Pete had imagined; for one thing, the sheets were being soaked with booze, but it was worth it.

"Moan for me," Pete whispered. "I want to hear that lovely voice."

"Fuck, Pete!" Roger cried. "I want you."

"He didn't even get paid ten billion pounds," Keith said, marveling. "Or amnesia."

"What do you want me to do to you?" Pete said.

"I don't know, suck my cock, anything," Roger groaned. "I can't fuckin' take this any more, it's torture..." He keened as Pete ran his fingers over the hard heat in his trousers. "I wish I was a girl," he said suddenly.

"Why's that?"

"I just want to keep coming for you," Roger said, his eyes closed, making a little wincing face of arousal-embarrassment. "Bleedin' refractory period...And I want...I want you, uh..."

"What do you want?" Pete's tongue circled around one of the singer's nipples.

"I want you, um, inside of me," Roger said.

"Yeah?" Pete said, smirking.

"I hate you," Roger said. "This was all your evil plan, wasn't it? You were planning to make me gay!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Pete said. He straddled Roger's legs and slowly bucked his hips against Roger's, rubbing their clothed erections together.

"This is all your fault," Roger panted. "You're mind-controlling me!"

"It's not mind control," said Pete, "it's seduction."

Roger groaned. "That was awful even for you."

"I know. Shut up," said Pete. "I'm gonna fuck you, then." Roger gasped wordlessly. "You won't be able to sit down right for a bleedin' week. I'm gonna fuckin' ravish you, you're gonna be screaming my name..."

"Do it," Roger said. "Please, please, fuck!"

Keith pushed Pete over. "Okay, I've had enough of this! If anybody's gonna be pounding anyone here it's gonna be me!"

"What, you doing the pounding or you getting pounded?" Pete asked.

"Doing the pounding!" Keith said. "What, do I look like I'm gay?"

"You're watching two guys make out and I can see your boner," John said. "And you're on top of Roger. That seems pretty gay."

"I am not gay!" Keith said. "I'm just having a fun time." He stared at Roger, who was completely out of it, practically melting on the sheets. His fingers went to his fly and he unbuttoned it and pulled out his hard cock.

"Gay readings are off the charts," Pete said.

"You're off the charts! Get his clothes off, I don't wanna touch his dick."

Pete pulled Roger's trousers off for the second time, this time all the way. He paused to admire Roger, then crawled onto the bed and kissed the singer's cock, making him moan.

Keith pursed his lips. "Do you think champagne would be good for lube?"

John had been rummaging in his suitcase. He pulled out something and threw it at Keith. It bounced off his head and Pete caught it. "It's lube," Pete said.

"If there's butt stuff going on I damn well better be invited," said John.

"Don't worry, big guy," Pete said, smiling hungrily. He poured out some of the lube into his hand and went to work on Keith's cock. Keith moaned and wrapped both his hands around Pete's, desperate to come.

Roger's eyes snapped open when he felt someone pushing his legs up and poking at his ass, but it was only John, gently circling his fingers around Roger's entrance. The singer made a face as he felt one of John's slicked-up fingers ease into him. "Just relax," John said. "It'll be easier if you relax."

"I'm as relaxed as I can get! You've got big fingers!"

"Count backwards from 100," John advised Roger.

You could practically hear the gears grinding as Roger struggled to remember what went before 99. John focused on the task at hand. He could feel himself getting hard. Roger was so damn tight, it was taking ages to get him to loosen up.

Meanwhile, Keith had pulled Pete's trousers down and was coating the guitarist's cock with lube as well. They were both making little moaning noises as they jerked each other off. Pete's free hand had moved to start sliding up inside Keith's T-shirt.

John crawled off the bed and snuck around to smack Keith's ass. "He's ready for you, *boyfriend*," John said in a really really gay voice.

"Ow, John," Keith whined. He brightened up when he saw Roger, though. Roger's blond curls were spread out over the pillow; his shirt was open, and his trousers had gone somewhere under the bed. His cock was hard, dripping with precum...Keith worked very hard to convince himself that he didn't want to touch it.

Keith crawled forward, pushed Roger's legs up, gripping his thighs, and sheathed himself inside the other man. Roger cried out. Even with John preparing him, it was still so weird to have something inside him. He wiggled around as Keith pulled out and entered him again, building up a steady rhythm which...which felt quite good, actually. Roger moaned as Keith hit something inside of him.

"He's a natural," Pete said, leaning over and winding one of Roger's curls around his finger.

"Ah—that's not what I wanna hear," Roger said. "Fuck..."

Keith dug his fingers into Roger's hips. He was used to girls, used to feeling the supple give of a girl's love handles rather than hard muscle, but he supposed this wasn't bad. He didn't think he'd be able to last much longer, either. He grunted as he felt tight muscle convulsing around his cock. "Fuck," he purred, finally dropping the plummy fake accent and slipping into the rougher Wembley one. "That's fucking...fuck," he said.

"Well said," said John. He'd pulled out an 8mm camera from his suitcase, and was recording them.

"Hey, turn that fuckin' thing off," Roger said hoarsely when he saw the camera.

"'S for my private collection," John said.

"Hnghh, fuck you," Roger moaned as Keith pounded steadily into him.

He closed his eyes, but opened them when he felt someone kiss his cheek. It was Pete. "I couldn't stay away," the guitarist said. "You look too lovely."

"Pete," Roger whispered.

Pete continued kissing Roger's face and neck as Keith neared his climax. John moved in to get a closer angle, then got an idea. He put the camera down carefully on a table and snuck up behind Pete, then slid both his hands down over the guitarist's ass.

"Gah!" Pete said.

"You said I was invited to butt stuff," John said seductively.

"Ohh," said Pete. "Uh, is this the RSVP?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know I'd be coming," John said, slowly rubbing up against Pete's ass.

"Sounds lovely," Pete purred, leaning back so that he could feel John pressing against him.

John pulled his trousers off and, after some consideration, opened his black dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up. He yanked Pete's clothes off, too. Pete nearly sobbed as he felt John's warm hand close around his cock; he'd been hard for ages.

John busied himself admiring Pete's ass, running his fingers over it. He had a surprisingly nice butt for such a skinny guy. John contemplated this.

Keith glanced over. He was close to coming, but he knew he could get Roger there first, and he was determined to do so. He bit down on his lip, face flushed as he buried his cock inside Roger, making him squirm and pant, and started lightly touching the singer's cock.

"Look at that," John murmured to Keith, gently smacking the guitarist's ass. Pete, who was busy making out with Roger again, let out a little cry. "You could bounce a fuckin' quarter off that."

"Ah, I want that," Keith said, in a blissful daze.

"It's mine." John was grabbing Pete's ass again, drawing his fingers down the cleft, rubbing over his opening. "Yeah, you're mine," he said to Pete.

"Hit him again," Keith said.

John grinned sharply and smacked Pete's ass again, harder this time. Pete squirmed around from the stinging feeling.

"Again...fuck..." Keith frowned, trying to concentrate on making Roger come.

John pulled Pete onto his lap so that he was face-down, with his hips on John's lap and his arse up. John cradled Pete's behind with his right hand, then smacked him hard. Pete whined and thrust forward against John's thigh.

"You've been a naughty boy," John said, smirking. Pete made incomprehensible moaning noises. "Yes you have," John said. "And bad boys get punished, don't they?"

"Y-yes, Uncle John," Pete said in a very high-pitched embarrassed voice.

John spanked Pete a couple more times, murmuring little things to him like "you dirty thing, you little slut," until Pete was moaning for him. Then he wet his fingers with lube again and pushed them into Pete, rubbing against his walls, stroking his prostrate.

"John!" Pete cried out. "Fuck!" He bucked his hips, trying to create friction between them, but John kept him still and continued his onslaught. Pete couldn't stop struggling and mouthing John's name.

Meanwhile, Roger was just hitting his second orgasm in half an hour, his fingers clenching the sheets, pushing up to meet Keith's thrusts. He finally came, his seed dripping down Keith's fingers, his voice calling out a stream of swears and hard moans. Keith gritted his teeth as he watched it, forcing himself to think of anything but the man below him—he didn't want to come just yet. He pulled out, precum and lube dripping down his painfully hard cock.

"John," he moaned. "Fuck me."

"I've got to fuck Pete," John said.

"You can fuck him after! Don't you care about me?" Keith demanded.

"I've been waiting for this all evening," Pete complained.

"Yeah, well, I've been waiting for years!" Keith said.

"There's enough of me to go around," John said, smiling. "Okay, Pete, you fuck Roger, and I'll fuck Keith, and I'll fuck you after."

"Why am I always getting fucked?" Roger said.

"You want his dick anyway," John said.

"I did before! Now I'm just embarrassed!"

"Embarrassed!" Pete said. "About me!" He grabbed Roger and propped him up on his hands and knees. "Teach you to be fuckin' embarrassed..."

"Cut it out!" Roger yelled. "I'm not your fuckin' Fleshlight—oh, God, fuck me harder..."

"He stops complaining if you stick your dick in him," Pete said, bemused.

"Harder, Pete, harder, make me come again!"

"Shut up," Keith said. He threaded the fingers of one hand through Roger's hair and yanked his head up. Roger opened his mouth to complain but quickly found his mouth occupied by Keith's dick. He made strangled noises that quickly devolved into moans of ecstasy as he was filled up.

Keith was close to coming, and John approaching him from behind and sliding two slick fingers over his tight hole made him lose all semblance of composure. He moaned out John's name and desperately fucked Roger's throat. John was rubbing against something inside him that made him pant madly. He let out a yell similar to the ones he made while drumming and came deep in Roger's throat, so deep the singer didn't even have to swallow. He went limp in John's arms.

Just at that moment, Pete brought Roger to orgasm again. He couldn't cum again, but he was wracked with dry spasms, until he begged Pete to stop fucking him because he felt so sensitive. Pete pulled out with a grunt and Roger fell face-first onto the bed and immediately started snoring. Pete crawled back over to John in what he probably thought was a sexy manner.

"Look at them sleeping," John said, putting a blanket on the yawning Keith. "Little angels."

"Most perverted bloody angels I've ever seen," Pete snorted.

"You're one to talk," John said. "You're something else."

"Is that a bad thing?" Pete said.

"Not necessarily," said John. "Come here..." He sank his teeth into Pete's neck again. Pete yelped and wrapped his arms around John.

"I wanna ride you," Pete whispered.

"Good." The palm of John's hand collided with Pete's firm ass, making Pete twitch and bite his lip. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

"Fuck..." Pete pushed John down and slowly lowered himself onto his cock. It felt huge inside him, probably because it was huge. He tentatively thrust forward and felt John's thickness shifting inside him, hitting him in all the right places. He threw his head back and started riding John, impaling himself on the bigger man's cock.

He'd been hard for so long that it only took a minute of this to bring him close to the edge, and he was pushed over by something else; Keith's lips wrapped around his cock. He cried out in ecstasy and made a face that was one of the most beautiful things John had ever seen as he came powerfully all over Keith's face and John's stomach.

He swayed dizzily, overcome by it all. John pulled him off and helped him gently onto the bed, where he lay back, wincing because his arse was sore already.

John cradled Keith in his arms and made a point of licking all the cum off his face and chest. Keith snuggled happily in John's arms, until he felt something pressing into his thigh. "Oh, John, you didn't finish," he said.

"I'll finish myself."

"No, don't touch yourself," Keith said. "I...I want you to come in me." He looked down, pouting a bit, at John's dick. John's mouth was watering. He gently massaged Keith's ass, making him giggle a bit and look back up into his eyes.

Ever so slowly, Keith took every inch of John inside himself. The pain was bringing tears to his eyes, but he forced himself to take it. Finally, John was sheathed inside him. He gulped. It felt like he was being split in half.

"You're so big," he said, his voice faint.

"Sorry," said John. He squeezed Keith's hip.

"No," Keith said, "I can take it." He bounced up and down in John's lap a bit.

Keith was so tight it was almost painful. John grabbed Keith's waist and pulled him down, hard, thrusting into him. He managed to find a rhythm in Keith's painful twitches. "Keith, I'm close," he whispered.

"Fuck," Keith said.

"...I love you," John gasped. "I love you—fuck!"

Keith winced as he felt John's cock buck inside him. He was in pain, but he was distracted from it by the fact that he'd just made John come. Just how he'd wanted. He let out a long groan of exhaustion and pleasure.

When he got off of John it felt strange, all hot and sticky inside of him, John's cum dripping down into the sheets. He blushed as John pulled him in close to spoon in the warm blankets.

Roger had awoken. He yawned. "I just wanted to let you all know that I don't think I'll be able to look any of you in the face ever again," he said.

"That's okay, we'll just do it doggy style," Pete said. Roger smacked him.

They all felt very comfortable drunk in bed together, ready to sleep. The heat wasn't so bad now that the sun had gone down, and a cool breeze wafted over them from the window, making each band member sigh in post-orgasmic bliss. "...So, who's up for a game of Spin the Bottle?" Keith said, breaking the brief silence.

"KEITH!!"