Hot Like Me

"Oh, dear God in heaven," Jake said with shake of his head, his hand semi-covering his eyes. He turned quickly on his heels and headed back to the bar, realizing that although Trey was pretty well plastered, the man wasn'tnearly trashed enough for this.

Trey just stood there staring with his mouth hanging open like a dead codfish. He hadn't moved a muscle when Jake returned moments later with a rather large glass of Scotch-on-the-rocks. Jake waved the glass in front of Trey's face to get his attention, and Trey slowly took the glass from the man's hand rather like he was in a trance. He took a long gulp of the burning liquor, not even making a face.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Jake," Trey said, not taking his eyes off his little brother and the raven-haired boy that was glued to him. "Does he do this all the time?"

"Do what all the time?" Jake replied.

"Fuck in public with his pants still on?"

"Umm... yep."

Trey sighed. "Please don't tell me it still gets worse."

"I'm afraid it does, Trey."

"I told you not to tell me that."

"So sorry, mate."

~~~

Part VI: "Tic-Tic-Toc, It's A Quarter To Two"

Damn, thought Trey,just... damn.

Another song bled into the end of the Backstreet Boys tune, Madonna's new dance hitHung Up. Trey took another long pull on the glass of Scotch, still not registering that he was drinking something that tasted like someone had already chucked it up.

It got worse.

Keeping time to the slightly quicker beat with his feet and hips, Harley de-tangled himself from the younger boy and placed his hands on the guy's hips, gently prodding him to turn around. The black-haired guy followed the lead, turning around to press his smooth, sweat-drenched back firmly against Harley's equally smooth and perspiring chest. Harley slid his hands around the boy's waist and wrapped his arms around his chest, palms rubbing sensually and fingers exploring. He leaned back slightly and the boy in the painted on jeans leaned back with him, his arms reaching over his shoulders to hold onto Harley's neck.

Fog suddenly flooded the dance floor from jets in the ceiling, and Trey momentarily lost sight of the dancers.

When the haze cleared, the raven-haired boy had his back to the dance floor and was bent over at the waist, leaning over to hold onto the low brass railing. Harley was behind him, pumping his hips back and forth into the other boy's rear end; it looked for all the world like Harley was ass-fucking the kid through their pants, right there on the speaker.

"Every little thing that you say and do, hung up... I'm hung up on you," Harley crooned into the young guy's ear. He snaked out his tongue and lasciviously licked the kid's neck from shoulder to ear.

"Holy shit." Trey put the glass to his lips and polished off the remaining Scotch in one long draught. His hand dropped to his side as he stared at his brother. Jake reacted quickly to grab the ice-filled glass before it hit the floor.

"Any worse?" Trey looked like he was going to be ill.

Jake smiled and shook his head. "Nope, that would be about it, mate. Anything more and I think they'd get kicked out. Or arrested."

"Holy shit," Trey repeated mindlessly as he watched Harley tilt the other boy's head to plant a hot, wet, tongue-filled kiss on the kid's mouth. "That does it," he hissed.

Trey walked purposefully onto the dance floor, pausing for a moment when a new song suddenly blended in and broke the subconscious rhythm of his stride. Wedging his way through the frenzied crowd of dancing gay men, Trey came to a stop directly in front of Harley, glaring up at his brother on the speaker.

Harley noticed Trey immediately. Without missing a beat he excised himself from his dance/dry fuck partner, turning to face his obviously flustered sibling and smiling down at him. He swung his hips and shimmied his shoulders, reaching his arms out to Trey in a seductive, beckoning motion.

"Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" Harley serenaded Trey with definite emphasis on the wordhot. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don't you? Don't you?"

"God, I hate that fucking song..." Trey muttered under his breath.

Harley shook his ass and started doing those goddamn sexy body rolls again, not taking his smoldering eyes off of his brother. The black-haired boy had already jumped off of the speaker and onto the dance floor, dancing and vanishing into the worked-up crowd.

The actor with the pretty golden curls and no shirt spread out, taking advantage of the extra space on the speaker afforded by the other guy's departure. He strutted and twisted his body, dancing in time to the tribal beat while gazing lustfully at his brother. Suddenly, Harley dropped to his knees, rocking in rhythm to the pulsating music, and began caressing his own chest, his hands roving on his naked, wet skin, over his nipples and down his ribcage, rubbing lewdly at his stomach, his fingertips sliding suggestively under the waistline of his tight, leather pants.

Trey lost it. He reached up and grabbed Harley by the upper arm, dragging the boy unceremoniously off of the speaker. His mind was foggy and spinning from the combination of too much Scotch, shock, rage, and lust. Grasping Harley by the forearm, Trey tugged at at him rudely, escorting him off the dance floor like a child who'd stayed part curfew at the playground.

"Tre-e-yyy!" Harley whined shrilly, still awfully drunk. "I don'twannaleave yet. Come on, dance with me! That's my favorite sonnng!"

As the boy staggered behind him, Trey wondered through his own inebriated funk how in the hell his younger brother had been able to dance so incredibly well, when at the moment he could barely walk. Unsteady himself, Trey yanked harder on Harley's arm and fairly dragged him out of the club.

~~~

Part VII: "Solo"

Harley stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, digging in his heels to halt Trey's progress. "Where are we going?"

Before Trey could answer, Jake exited the club. He had Harley's wife-beater in his hands. He laughed as he watched the Sheffield brothers just standing there staring at him, both of them swaying like they were in a boat on rough seas.

"You're both pickled," Jake chortled. He tossed the black tank shirt to Harley and the boy missed it, bending slowly and carefully to pick it up from the sidewalk but nearly toppling over anyway.

"I amnot drunk!" Harley retorted with a hiccup. "Totally not drunk!" He struggled into his shirt, somehow managing to put it on both backwardsand inside out.

"Well, I'm hammered," Trey offered, continuing to sway and snickering like a simpleton.

Jake cracked up and smiled at the brothers. "Come on, lightweights... I'll drive you home. Trey, I'll bring you back to pick up your car on Sunday."

"Why not tomorrow?" Trey slurred, his eyes swimming drunkenly in his head.

"You drank an obscene amount of single-malt Scotch, Trey," Jake grinned. "Trust me: you won't be goinganywhere tomorrow."

---

Jake knew better than anyone what liquor, dancing, and rubbing all over other pretty, half-naked gay boys did to Harley's libido. That being the case, there was just no way he was going to let the brothers sit next to each other in his Jeep. He had insisted that Trey sit in front, and Harley slumped over on his side the instant his butt hit the back seat. Jake wasted no time in pulling the vehicle out of theViper's private garage, into the back alley, then onto Sunset Boulevard.

"Oh myGod!" Harley groaned.

"S'matter, baby?" Trey asked, trying to turn around to look at his brother but having little success, having gotten himself all twisted up in the seat belt.

"God!" Harley groaned again. "I am so fuckinghorny!"

Jake and Trey snapped their necks around to look at each other. They heard Harley wrestling around like he was struggling with something. A moment later, the black wife-beater came flying from the back of his seat to land on Jake's head. Trey snorted a laugh, and both front seat passengers heard a zipping sound.

"Oh yeah..," moaned the drunken voice from the back seat, the sound deep and breathy.

"Ohno," Jake said with annoyance, adjusting his rear view mirror. "No fucking way you're going to wank in the back seat of my car."

"Oh yes I am," Harley retorted.

"Oh no you'renot!" reiterated the driver.

"And just w-w-what are you going to ... ah... going to....to...umm....do about it? Ohgod, that feels so good..."

Jake was in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Sunset Boulevard; he sighed resignedly when he realized there was actually very little hecould do about the situation himself. "Trey!" he shrieked, looking over at Harley's thoroughly inebriated brother, "do something!"

Trey snorted. "I could blow him."

"Trey!" Jake looked horrified. "That'snot helping!"

"Well, it'd be over with a lot faster, I can tell you that," Trey replied with a giggle. "Man, you ever seen how fucking long it takes him to jack off? Jesus. Kind of impressive, now that I think about it."

"Ooooh," Harley moaned, sucking in his breath. "Mmm..."

"GoodGod," Jake hissed. The traffic finally broke loose, and Jake sped down Sunset. The house that Trey and Harley shared was only ten minutes further away, so the Jake decided to just drive the short distance as fast as possible, and to simply ignore the solo love-fest taking place in the back seat of his vehicle. If what Trey had said was true - and Jake honestlyhadn't ever had the pleasure of watching Harley masturbate - they'd be pulling up to the Hollywood Hills house long before Harley could muss up the back seat.

Hopefully.

~~~

Part VIII: "You DidWhat???"

It had taken a little less than ten minutes, but Jake felt like it had taken hours, having had to listen to all that moaning, and grunting, and heavy breathing coming from the back seat of his car. He had tried turning up the volume on the radio to drown it out, but each time he did it seemed like Harley just got louder.

Jake pulled the Jeep hurriedly into the circular drive in front of the Sheffields' place, slamming on the brakes when he reached the front door. The sudden lurch of the vehicle prompted a loud yelp from the back seat passenger.

"Shit!" Harley yelped. "Fuck, that hurt!"

"Y'okay, baby?" Trey inquired.

"Damn," Harley cursed. "My fuckin' hair's caught in my zipper!"

Jake blanched. "What the hell are youdoingback there?"

Trey looked over at Jake and exploded with laughter. "Well, heis pretty flexible. Must be from all those body rolls." Trey began laughing hysterically at his own wit.

Jake covered his face with his hands, shaking his head.

"Not myhead hair, assholes. Myother hair. Fuck..." The men in the front seat could hear Harley shifting and scooting around on the seat. His leather pants squeaked noisily as he carefully attempted to detach the zipper from his neatly trimmed triangle of honey-blond pubic hair.

Opening the door, Jake hopped out of his Jeep. Trey opened the passenger side door as well, struggling with the tangled seat belt holding him prisoner. "A little help here..."

Jake rolled his eyes, wondering what heinous crime he'd committed in a past life to deserve this evening. He walked around the Jeep and leaned over Trey, straightening out the seat belt and helping the man out of the car.

Trey, still wildly intoxicated, threw his arms around Jake's neck and hugged him, swaying back and forth. "You know I love ya, man. You're such a good guy..." Trey ruffled Jake's hair and kissed him on the cheek, a messy kind of wet slobbering thing.

Jake pushed Trey away, wiping off his soggy cheek with his shirt sleeve. "Ick," he spat distastefully. "For God's sake, Trey, get a grip on yourself!"

"I had a really good grip onmyself until you stopped the goddamn Jeep!" Harley slurred loudly from the back seat.

Trey looked like he was going to fall down, so Jake leaned him against the hood of the Jeep before going to help the man's shit-faced brother out of the vehicle. Once he'd pulled Harley ungracefully from the rear seat, the younger Sheffield brother flung himself at his rescuer.

"This man," Harley stated, addressing Trey and pointing to Jake, his voice unusually high-pitched from the alcohol, "took my virginity. I just wanted you to know that."

Trey snickered, his body beginning to slide down the front bumper of the Jeep. "Tell me something I don't already know, jerk."

Harley, his knees buckling under him, began to giggle uncontrollably. "He's got a scar on his dick where I bit him once. Bet ya didn't knowthat."

Trey began laughing so hard that he could no longer hold himself up. His butt hit the asphalt of the driveway with a loud smack.

"Sweet Jesus," Jake hissed under his breath. "Get your asses inside before your neighbors file a report." He wrapped one of Harley's arms around his neck and propped the boy up, then reached down to help Trey off of the pavement. Jake, not being a tremendously big guy, grunted and breathed heavily as he supported both men and pulled them into the house.

Trey and Harley tumbled to the hardwood floor of the foyer the instant Jake released his grip, the pair of them landing with a thud and laughing uproariously. The older brother looked over at his sibling.

"Youbit him? On thedick? And it left ascar?" Trey asked him, still snorting and laughing helplessly.

Harley nodded, smiling sheepishly and giggling. "It was a accident. My first blow job. Got carried away. Nobody had warned me about the teeth thing."

"Your technique has improved." Trey began to laugh so hard that tears were streaming down his face.

Harley wiggled his eyebrows and leered sexily at his brother, running his tongue across his full, lower lip.

Jake, his hands on his hips, glared down at the brothers like a stern schoolmaster chastising recalcitrant students.

"That's it. I'm leaving," the Brit said. "You're both sick. Trey, call me when your hangover goes away so we can fetch your car. Harley, keep your fucking mouth shut about us or I'll tell your brother the popsicle story."

Harley's gasped and his mouth flew open. "You wouldn'tdare!"

"Oh wouldn't I, Princess?" Jake grinned mischievously. He leaned down and pecked Harley on the cheek, then did the same with Trey. "If you fellas need anything, call me. I'm going home. It's been... interesting."

Harley looked at Trey, a silly grin breaking out on his face. "He's gonna go home now and bang the bottom out of the little woman. Iknow that me jacking off in the back seat of his car got him hot."

Trey sputtered a laugh.

Jake sighed, rolled his eyes, and left.

~~~

Part IX: "Collarbone Logic"

The front door slammed closed behind Jake. Harley and Trey were alone, the pair of them still lolling around on the foyer floor in a drunken, laughing stupor.

Harley was the first to gain a modicum of composure. He rolled onto his back, stretched out his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbows. "You want something to drink?"

Trey giggled. "Sure, why not. Race you to the liquor cabinet."

They scrambled from the floor, sliding awkwardly on the polished hardwood, elbowing each other as they made a frantic break for the kitchen.

Trey, the bigger, faster, and more athletic, reached the cupboard over the sink first. He pulled out the half-empty bottle of Petrone and a bottle of Scotch. As drunk as they were already, he figured they'd better stick with what they were drinking and not mix. The Scotch in their cupboard wasn't a single malt, nor was it anywhere near as expensive as the potion Jake had been feeding him all night, but it was good enough to make due. He opened another cupboard door and pulled out two tall, crystal iced tea glasses, pouring himself a full glass of Scotch and Harley a glass of tequila. Harley picked up his tumbler and toasted his brother.

Trey clinked his glass against Harley's, both of them taking a long, thirsty drink of their strong alcoholic beverages. "I dunno about this," Trey said with a crooked grin. "I'm already kind of fucked up."

His younger brother smiled. "Me too. Let's get fucked upper."

Trey burst out laughing at his brother's terribly cute mangling of the English language, spitting a spray of Scotch onto his brother's black wife-beater. "'Fucked upper'? You shoulda gone to college, little brother."

Harley shook his head, the golden curls falling about his shoulders. "Nope. I had over a million bucks in the bank by the time I was twenty. Pretty beats smart, any day of the week."

Trey considered his brother. "Youare pretty, you know," he said quietly, awfully drunk but suddenly sounding awfully sober. "I know how much you hate it when people say that about you, but you really are." He reached over and gently brushed a long, wayward tangle of curls behind Harley's ear with his fingertips.

"I don't hate it whenyou say it." Harley shivered and blushed, and turned around to face the cabinets. Setting his glass down, he gripped the edge of the Italian marble countertop with both hands, steadying himself against the alcohol and the sudden infusion of emotion.

Trey reached around Harley, setting his glass of Scotch on the counter next to his brother's tequila. He stood behind the younger man for minutes, just looking at him - watching the way his back rose and fell with each breath, admiring the way his waist curved in so beautifully between his ribcage and his hips, the way those leather pants hugged his ass and thighs, the way the gold-dusted, light-brown curls swept over the lovely, soft, pale skin at the base of his neck, falling nearly to his shoulder blades now.

Harley had that feeling, the one where you know someone is staring at you even though you can't see them. "Trey?" he whispered.

"Harley," his older brother replied softly.

"What are you doing?"

"Just looking at you."

"How come?"

Trey swallowed hard. "'Cause I'm afraid to touch you."

Harley's eyes fluttered closed, his long lashes tickling his cheeks. "Don't be afraid."

"I'mreally drunk, Harley."

"Me too. So?"

"I thought we agreed we weren't gonna do this anymore." Trey was glad that his brother's back was to him, so that he couldn't see the pained look on his face.

Harley sighed, nodding his head sadly. "Yes, we did."

Less than a week earlier they'd had 'The Talk' - the discussion where Trey had told his brother he simply couldn't continue with this, that the guilt it produced in him was just too much to deal with any longer. Harley had indeed agreed, reluctantly so, only because he thought that's what Trey had wanted - had needed - to hear. He hadn't meant it, not a single word of it, but as he'd do anything to make his brother happy, he'd agreed anyway. No more sex, no more touching like that, no more intimacy. Neither of them had been ready to move out, not even out of the bedroom they shared - a complete separation would have been too much for either of them to bear - so they'd agreed to go back to just being brothers again. Perhaps closer than most, and with a tinge of jealously remaining at the thought of the other being involved with different people, but merely brothers nonetheless.

"I'm really drunk, Harley," Trey repeated, his voice catching around the lump in his throat.

Harley smiled; a warm, hopeful smile. "Me too." He felt warm hands on his shoulders, sliding over his skin, fingers reaching over to trace the curves of his collarbones.

Trey had always loved Harley's collarbones, nearly to the point of worship. The younger man had thought it rather weird at first, his older brother's fascination with a part of his anatomy that he'd never himself considered even remotely noticeable, much less sexy or sensuous. That was, however, until their third or fourth time in bed together, when Trey had dedicated the better part of an hour to that part of him; touching and tracing the sharp, delicate bones with his fingers, sucking on them, dipping his tongue and licking into the deep hollows above them.