Summary: Stephen attends a barbeque at Amy's, to, you know, unwind.
Author's Note: Loosely based on a barabeque I went to not so long ago, hahaha. Enjoy :).
“Fuck.” Stephen’s eyes briefly fluttered open, but shut almost instantly with the pain from the morning (afternoon?) sun. His head was pounding and his stomach was churning. He ran a hand through his hair blindly, still unable to face the light. He froze,
What had he done the night before?
He remembered where he had gone, Amy threw a barbeque. He had asked Evie if he could have just this one night without her and the kids, you know, to unwind. Reluctantly, she agreed, knowing that it meant he would get too drunk to drive home. He left work early and headed to the beer store. Hastily, he grabbed a two-four and sped over to Amy’s.
There weren’t that many people there, ten, fifteen tops, close friends and their spouses. Amy fired up the barbeque and everyone ate, but mostly, they drank. An hour and a half in, Stephen and Paul had finished off the beer and began getting nostalgic. This was where his memory got foggy. He could recall them singing along (terribly) to The Beatles. And if he wasn’t mistaken, there had been a moment of drunk dialing to a very sleepy Jon (“No seriously Jon, you don’t know how much I love you man, I appreciate you so much!”). After that, everything was unclear. He turned over onto his stomach and sighed.
Okay, maybe he remembered a little more. Maybe he remembered Paul half carrying him up the stairs to the washroom where he puked for a good ten minutes. It was also quite probable that Stephen had then begun babbling. Not that he could remember or anything, but perhaps he uttered such nonsense as “You’re more than my best friend you know,” and “I really, really love you” whilst nuzzling into Paul’s neck. Paul laughed (maybe, these memories were iffy) and leaned up against the bathtub. At that point, Stephen could remember possibly kissing Paul’s collarbone and also possibly his neck. Paul had leaned his head back, exposing more of his neck for Stephen to lick, and suck, placing sloppy kisses on his jaw line every so often. Paul then moved his face very close to Stephen’s, and for a second, he felt like he might vomit again, this time from anticipation.
That moment seemed to go on forever, but Stephen’s eyes never left Paul’s. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore; he grabbed the neck of his shirt and pressed their lips together. Stephen opened his mouth immediately, easing open Paul’s with his tongue. Paul lifted himself from his place against the tub and began straddling Stephen, their kiss intensifying. Stephen was aware that he was moaning embarrassingly against the other man’s mouth, but he didn’t care. Both men were painfully hard, their erections brushing as they rolled their hips together. Stephen’s hands explored Paul’s chest and stomach, still so toned long after he had developed his own beer gut. He recalled hissing something along the lines of,
“God, you still look like your twenty,” into Paul’s ear, to which Paul replied,
“I still fuck like I’m twenty, too.”
That had probably done it for Stephen, that and the 12 beers running through his system. He began ripping open Paul’s shirt, buttons popping off in the process.
“Bathtub.” Paul mumbled, as he pulled Stephen in with him.
He couldn’t remember much after that (well…), everything was simply a blur (wellllll…) except maybe the part where he tugged Paul’s belt from its loops, and in one swift movement, pulled down his pants. Also, maybe the part where Paul did the same for him. He could vaguely remember slipping a hand into Paul boxers, as Paul shuddered and sighed at the contact. He may possibly have grazed a thumb over the tip of Paul’s cock, while Paul’s eyes rolled back into his head and he moaned Stephen’s name, along with a chorus of “fuckfuckfucksogood”. Stephen began to pump, slowly at first, watching Paul’s head lull from side to side, his breaths short and frantic. He picked up the pace, bringing his lips to the older man’s, their tongues entangled as Paul’s chest heaved against Stephen’s. Paul’s throaty sentences had stopped making sense, he could only moan uncontrollably as he fucked his best friend’s hand. He managed to get out a “so…so close” before spilling himself onto Stephen’s stomach.
The rest of the night came only in pieces, in Stephen’s memory. He remembered Paul’s lips on his mouth, his chest, his cock. He could still feel his teeth in Paul’s shoulder biting down hard to keep from screaming and waking Amy up…
Amy. They had been at Amy’s. He dared to open his eyes again, finding it not much easier than before. He groped around the bed (Amy’s bed?), for something, anything that would piece his evening together. His hand brushed soft, warm skin, and his eyes shot open, despite the burn. To his left lay a sleeping Paul, hair messy, skin sticky with sweat and, apparently, cum. On the floor to his right lay a very used condom. He sighed, turned over, and wrapped an arm around Paul’s waist. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of his neck and decided to unwind more often.