❛ i can't stop thinking about that thing you do with your hips. ❜ — Dylan to Knox c:
I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY | NOT ACCEPTING
The music outside the bathroom still pulses, the night in full swing regardless of the fact it was a Monday night. It tends to be a pinch slower in January, what with everyone making new year's resolutions to quit drinking or to not smoke so much pot or to maybe stop going to the glory hole so often, but it never really stops the party.
Just as it was every other night, the place was full enough to make these little trips to the bathroom necessary—sometimes you just need a quieter place to take a breather and do a little bit more coke before heading back into the fray.
The lights around the mirror flicker slightly with the pounding of the bass, but Knox hardly notices (he'll get Chet to take a look at the electric panel this weekend) as he's far too distracted by Dylan and the sweet, flushed look he was giving him. Now, Knox can't be completely sure, but he thinks Dylan has been eying him all night...although that could be because he's disregarded his top buttons and salt-and-pepper chest hair has been on full display all night, gold chain swinging with every movement, glinting whenever it caught the disco lights.
It's a view that's hard for anyone to look away from, especially not poor Dylan who's seen his boss from nearly every angle by now. "Which thing?" Knox sniffs, nose twitching. "'Cause I know I was hypnotizin' a certain someone with my moves out there," Hands behind his head, pelvis out, hips rolling in some erotic mating dance just for Dylan that eventually leaves Knox shuddering with laughter.
A finger is eventually pointed at Dylan, whose eyes cross trying to look at it. "You watched your Christmas gift, didn't you?" He had given it to him in hopes he would—Knox, retired as he was, still held a lot of pride over his past works. "Bet you saw all the ways my hips can move, huh?" Another harsh sniff, Knox rubbing away remaining residue as he steps a bit closer.
"You like what you saw? Liked seeing me on all-fours like that?" Granted, he had been in a couple of different positions for that one film, but he has a feeling Dylan would have especially enjoyed watching Knox that, as overwhelmed and overstimulated as a man could be.
"Did you get off watching me like that?" He's hovering over him now, eyes glinting with the same sort of hungry look he sports on screen, "Taking it so good." Lips twitch, smile threatening to widen into something more smug. "Or maybe you wanted to be in that position?" On his hands and knees, taking all he was given from either end—Knox could almost picture it. "Y'know, all you have to do is ask."
The bathroom isn’t cramped, which means there’s even less sense to why Dylan is crowding Knox’s space. Sure, he wants a bump too, but the rest of the line will be there in a minute, and Dylan mainly wants to bump something else, namely uglies, and quite badly.
The laughter makes Dylan grin, the teasing never genuinely mean. Even if you asked Knox to be a little mean, he’d still feel warm.
“You know I can’t resist a good show, never.” Oh, Knox was pointing. Head spinning lightly, Dylan blinked away the homemade dissociation as Knox pulled back a breath.
Not the Christmas gift! Don’t remind me!
Aforementioned flush just stains deeper over Dylan’s cheeks as he grins wider. “Of course I did, a handful of times a night, for a few weeks in a row…”
Sympathetically, subliminally, Dill sniffs, too. Gimme, gimme, gimme! “Mostly back,” he uttered. “Your hips…mostly moved back, all…needy for more. Beautiful sound, that…”
Just imagining it, Dill was getting hard in his jeans, clearing his throat and shuffling his legs apart with all the subtlety of a flare gun fired put in the lot as an acting substitute for an indefinitely delayed fireworks show.
Oh, but Knox’s pupils are blown wide open from the blow and Dylan can practically taste the booze on his breath the closer he gets. He’s struck silent, now, nodding his head to agree yes, yes yes, I liked seeing you groan and drool and grunt and come.
Eyes half-lidded, Dill drifts closer and closer to Knox’s mouth but doesn’t bridge the gap. 80/20, that’s the magic ratio for great snogging.
“I barely…thought about me, I was so caught up looking at you…” He gasps softly, hooking pointer fingers into the stretched-out belt loops on Knox’s ridiculously short shorts, pulling him closer, closer, closer and slotting them together, Dill thick and half-hard against Knox’s hip, denim be damned. Knox looked too good, blissed out, content, and confident.
“You did take it really well,” he agrees, comically light and affirming, eyebrows slanting up in a genuine look of praise. “Watching your cock drool like that made me wet for—hours…” His words waver, lilting up, Dylan shivering again with need as he recalled the scenes, boisterous and so thoroughly classic.
Another shiver and Dill’s tongue darted out to wet dry lips, almost nervous blinks as he gathered himself, pondering the idea, the offer.
The request.
His broad hands finally smear over Knox’s body, messily groping his chest and hefting him with a needy whimper, barely audible over the thudding music shaking the wall. He wanted to be louder, he wanted to be heard. He wanted to be in that position.
“I want my… I-I think I should have that—sparkly pink dick…that one bassist liked? If you want something bigger than me, anyway. And I could—have you, and then have me and… a-and, y’know? Have a…” He glanced toward the collected white line on counter, hissing saliva back into his mouth through his teeth before it collected in his unkempt beard. He needed a trim… Too busy watching Knox before work every morning and wanking—
“A train. Tonight. I can be in the middle o-or we can do…that scene, with me, I want to taste you again so badly, please? Please, Knox?” He pushes at Knox’s half-undone button-up, hissing in breath needily again. “Lemme finish the powder, I’ll finish it off. Unless you want it, I do want you to have it…”
He’s eyeing the walls like the blood will coagulate back into something that could harm him. Like Carnage in the comic books. Carnage was sick and a great foil for Eddie and Venom.
This stuff, however, was just genuinely sick.
“Oh…” he murmurs. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that this seems to be an extreme, an outlier. Maybe he’s neutral about it. “I guess it’s good I barely knew them. They liked, uh, pineapple slices in their drinks. To go with the theming…”
The rollercoaster was terrible to fall off of. Dylan did it while slicking the rails, but that wasn’t the same as going fast around a corner while drunk and standing up. A reflexive, subconscious shudder ran up his spine.
But that was more because Chet had bent forward to inspect something, wearing his big fancy clean-up onesie thing. That Dylan wanted to unzip. And crawl into. With Chet still inside.
He leaned against a table nearby that had been overturned. “I should get out of your hair. …Unless I can help? Er… I don’t feel as immediately nauseous, any longer…”
Dylan eyed the bracelet as it flitted from view, catching a few features of it.
“Ah. Sorry, mate, really. Good on you for the…the process, that’s good.” He hummed, eyes shut as his vision blurred. “I was trying to help you too, I guess. The spinning? The room spinning, going to stop at some point?”
He’d hit his head cleaning the amusement park’s spinning tunnel of disaster. Definitely disastrous, going by the way he slammed into the floor and then continued to move in circles… Why was the control panel on the outside?
Dylan finished mixing a rum & coke for a man down at the end of the bar, stepping across the rubbery bar mats in worn sneakers to drop it off with a murmur before turning around and fixing two beers a different group had asked for.
The place was lively no matter what day of the week it was or whatever the hour. To be honest, Dylan liked the pace. He got decent tips and sometimes little baggies of treats he’d pocket for a particularly busy night or a particularly fun party.
“Dill: Code Green in the gazebo.”
He looked over to his boss and let out a low growl, grimacing, before shrugging. “Okay, on it.”
He threw a bar towel over his shoulder and lifted up the wood panel by the back door to exit the bar and go pick up cleaning supplies…when a customer stepped up to him and bashed a beer bottle into the top of his head. Dylan crumpled immediately to the floor.
“F’this wa’n’ empty woulda hurt less!” The man slurred, dropping the neck of the bottle and stumbling back a few steps.
“Was this one of those things I should’ve kept to myself? It’s fine if you want to, moving forward, always continue walking with something stuck on your shoe, eh… Just gotta tell me so, eh mate?”
Dylan looked around the room. At least the urge to throw up had left after he’d left to throw up outside earlier.
“Sorry, mate, sure…” Only, the party was supposed to start in an hour, so Dill would have to go tell Knox they’d need to relocate. “There’s a lot of, um, splatters, huh? Is there usually this much blood in this many places?”
I wish I was a female tiger because then if I was talking to someone and I was getting off topic I could say “but I tigress,” and then kill and eat them because I am a tiger
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