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A hand snakes up his thigh, unhurried and smooth. It teases at the hem of his shirt, brushing against his waist. Another joins it, rubbing gently up and down his side. Two large hands wrap around him from behind, settling on his hips. Their owner kicks two legs around him and guides Joe to settle back onto his chest. The person in front of him is kneeling, leaning his weight on Joe as his hands wander.
Joe brings the joint back up to his lips, inhaling deep and long before exhaling out a cloud of smoke. It wisps around the three of them for a few seconds before fading into the rest of the air. From behind droopy eyelids, he can see Patrick glare at him. Pete, however, laughs at the sight, making grabby hands at the cigarette until Joe gives it to him.
“You’re no fair,” Patrick mumbles, scooting closer to Joe and burying his head in Joe’s neck. Joe’s hand automatically comes up to rub at the back of his neck, stroking the long strands of hair that nearly reach Patrick’s shoulders. His hat has long fallen off, forgotten in the corner of the van to be found later when they’re not so out of it. Pete lets out another round of giggles, this time accompanied by little puffs of smoke that float around like drugged-out butterflies.
The windows of the van are already so fogged up that he can’t see out of them and Joe can feel a damp spot growing on the back of his neck. If they were still on tour, Andy would kill them for hotboxing the van, but they aren’t so Joe can do whatever the fuck he likes with it. Pete knows that too, which is why he suggested this “date” — if you could call it that — in the first place. That, and Patrick gets super handsy whenever he gets high, which neither of them is inclined to ignore.
“Joe,” Patrick whines, pushing at Joe’s chest, “come onnnn.” Joe and Patrick hadn’t known about shotgunning until Patrick tried singing after smoking and his voice came out sounding like gravel from how irritated his throat was. Luckily, Pete was there to suggest a solution, after spending a few hours laughing his ass off at them, of course. The first time they tried shotgunning, pressed up against each other on Patrick’s bed, it was awkward for approximately five seconds before the warmth kicked in and they realized how much more enjoyable smoking could be. From then on, Patrick’s throat bothered him a lot less, and if Joe never complained about having to kiss Patrick whenever he wanted to get high, neither of them mentioned it.
Pete goes through one last fit of laughter for no real reason before handing Joe the joint again and hooking his chin over the younger’s shoulder to watch the exchange. As soon as Joe puts the joint to his mouth, Patrick is scrambling to sit up straight and lean right into Joe’s face. When he’s ready to exhale, Joe wraps a hand around the back of Patrick’s head and presses his parted lips to Patrick’s. Patrick takes the smoke deeply, hands clenched tightly in Joe’s t-shirt. Every time they do this, Patrick manages to take his breath away, literally. As Patrick lets out a long, steaming breath, Joe gasps for air. But before long, he’s latching back onto Patrick’s lips for a real kiss. From behind Joe, Pete inhales sharply and Joe can hear him shifting around. When Joe moves to wrap his other hand around Patrick’s neck, Pete snatches the cigarette from his hand.
Joe and Patrick continue on, slowly but surely winding around each other as they shift closer. Patrick typically smells sweaty and a few days past needing a shower, but something about being high just makes it hot. The detergent he uses is lemon-scented and clings to his clothes, making its way through the marijuana-clouded air to Joe. Maybe he’s spent too much time surrounded by dirty men, but the combination puts butterflies in his stomach. It reminds him of long stretches of road in rural America, his head piled on a jean-clad lap and metal music blasting over the van’s shitty speakers. Sometimes, Joe wishes he could trap the scent in a jar to have whenever he feels homesick.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Pete inhale deeply before a warm body presses up the length of his back and smoke is blown directly into his face. He flinches, breaking the kiss to scrunch up his nose in disgust.
“Ew, dude, what the fuck?” he asks, but Pete only looks at him in annoyance.
“I want a turn,” he explains, casting his eyes on Patrick, who meets his gaze with a sheepish smile. Joe gives him an exasperated look — doesn’t the bro code say something about not interrupting a good make-out sesh? — but shifts out of the way nonetheless. He’ll get his turn soon enough, he figures. Patrick at least has the courtesy to throw Joe a sympathetic look as he’s being passed around like a toy. Pete, on the other hand, wears a wolf grin as he takes Joe’s place.
As Joe gets settled against the van wall next to them — they’re all on the floor in the back, which has a lot of room when it’s not loaded to the brim with gear — Pete goes straight for the kill. With what looks like a searing grip on Patrick’s waist and a hand already threading its way into Patrick’s shaggy hair, he brings their lips together. It’s not even a full minute before they’ve got each other’s tongues in their mouths and Patrick has turned to jelly in Pete’s embrace. Joe watches from the side and takes a few hits as they make out leisurely, allowing the moment to play out sweet and slow like molasses. It’s always mesmerizing to watch the two of them move together, like lava flowing against water, bubbling to flames when they meet.
Eventually, though, Patrick pulls away, his plump lips cherry red and his cheeks on fire. Joe doesn’t ever want to look away. He’s so busy staring at Patrick, in fact, that it takes Pete elbowing him in the side for him to come back to the conversation.
“You two should make out,” Patrick says breathlessly, looking between Pete and Joe with wide eyes. It takes Joe a few seconds to recover. Many seconds.
“Okay,” Pete replies casually, but he’s smirking at Joe — which, they’ve made out before, so he has no right being such a douche about it. The next thing Joe knows, Pete is grabbing him by the wrist to tug him closer until their faces are just centimeters away, and suddenly he’s the one receiving the wolf grin.
“Hey,” Joe says, only a bit out of it, when Pete suddenly grabs a handful of his back thigh and guides it over both of his legs so that Joe’s straddling the older, and. Wow. Patrick’s jaw has dropped as he watches them and Joe can only assume that a similar look has fallen on his own face.
Pete doesn’t reply to either of them though, as he’s already pulling Joe’s face to his and shoving his tongue into Joe’s mouth. Not that Joe’s complaining or anything.
They stay like that for what feels like forever, Joe straddling Pete while they kiss lazily, hands lingering on each other while Patrick watches from the sidelines. By now, the joint is probably long dead, left on the floor where Joe had been sitting — again, Andy would kill him — but there’s enough left in the air anyway.
After who knows how many minutes of just simple kissing, Joe’s about ready to fall over on top of Pete and pass out, all tired out by the weed. Before he can, though, Patrick ruins his plans by pushing himself up against Joe’s back and licking a strip up his neck. Joe instantly melts under his touch, taking a hot gasp right in Pete’s mouth. Pete, in turn, moans, and holy shit this is escalating quickly.
Patrick keeps working at Joe’s neck — he’s probably going to end up with a big hickey if this keeps up — so Joe keeps kissing Pete, but there’s more heat behind it now, a promise of something more. Suddenly, he’s not feeling so exhausted.
Slowly, Pete starts moving, rolling his hips up into Joe and pulling him down with large hands on his ass and it’s too much all at once. He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead on Pete’s shoulder, taking deep breaths. He feels cloudy from the weed, but the pleasure shooting up from his groin is enough for him to keep moving, letting out little gasps as Pete whispers dirty talk in his ear. He must be gasping pretty loud, though, because Patrick pauses his sloppy kissing to rub soothing circles into Joe’s shoulders. Pete continues on as Patrick works, pressing his hips up towards Joe again in a fast rhythm that makes Joe’s brain turn to fuzz.
“C’mon, Joe,” Pete urges, settling his hands on Joe’s hips to guide him. Joe matches the pace and, before he knows it, they’re properly grinding against each other in their jeans. Patrick’s breath is like fire on the back of his neck as he watches the two of them move in tandem. He starts mouthing at Joe’s neck again, leaving red marks all the way down to his shirt collar. It’s so damn hot, every cell of Joe's skin has turned molten and thick beads of sweat start to roll down his neck as Pete moves faster, pushing harder into Joe’s hips. At this point, he feels like he’s on a bull ride, constantly on the edge of being completely bucked off onto the floor, but Pete’s hands keep him locked tight and Patrick winds his hands around his stomach to pull them flush together.
“Yeah, fuck, Joe,” Pete mumbles into Joe’s shoulder. Joe can feel the tension build and build between them, thick and heavy in the air. Every time they roll together, Pete becomes more and more erratic in his rhythm, but Joe can’t find it in himself to care. Patrick stays shoved up against him, panting down his shirt. Even through the layers of clothes, shivers run up and down his spine at it.
Pete, having reached a new level of vigor in his thrusts, unexpectedly reaches up and grabs a fistful of Joe’s hair, forcing him down and clashing their teeth together in another burning kiss. Joe lets the older take the lead, moaning when teeth dig into his bottom lip. Soon enough, Pete starts leaning more over Joe, pushing his legs around one of Joe’s thighs and effectively humping it. The new angle gives way to more friction and Joe can finally feel the release building up in his spine. Just as Patrick starts to suck at a particularly sensitive spot of his neck, Pete bucks his hips hard and Joe bumps back against Patrick, causing him to bite down on the hickey he had been working at. Right at that moment, all the build-up crashes into Joe like a brick wall and he comes hard in Pete’s lap, shaking from the tension.
For a second, it feels like he’s going to pass out right then and there, but Pete continues grinding against him relentlessly. He’s too sensitive now, though, and squirms away, falling back into Patrick’s arms. Luckily, Patrick is kind enough to gently help him lay down before moving back over to Pete. And now, just like before, Joe watches with hooded eyes as they move together. Patrick is already hard and takes Joe’s place seamlessly, threading his hand into Pete’s short hair and pulling him close.
But then, Patrick flips the script. From Pete’s lap, he shoves the older flat on his back and grinds his hips down hard. The moan Pete lets out is loud and breathless. From there, he continues on with a steady pace, nearly bouncing on Pete. Joe, even on the verge of hibernation, can appreciate just how unimaginably amazing of a sight it is.
“Joe, come over here real quick,” Patrick requests in an unaffected voice, barely breathless even as he continues to grind himself down on Pete. Joe complies, still slow from the weed and his orgasm. When he reaches Patrick, the blonde pauses his movements — beneath them, Pete whines loudly — and puts a hand on Joe’s face. “Hey,” he says, all sweet with a little smile, before leaning forward and biting down sharply on Joe’s bottom lip. Joe suddenly doesn’t feel so out of it anymore.
Patrick nibbles at Joe’s mouth, not quite kissing him properly, and even though it’s kind of ridiculous, Joe can’t wait to see how swollen his lips are later. Pete protests again, bucking up at Patrick, but Patrick keeps his attention on Joe.
“That’s really hot and all guys, but I’m still down here,” Pete pouts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pete slide his hands up under Patrick’s shirt to dig his fingernails into his waist. Patrick’s breath hitches against Joe’s mouth, but it’s the only reaction Pete gets out of him.
Eventually, though, Patrick shifts on Pete, but not against him. He scoots back so he’s sitting on Pete’s lower thighs and pulls Joe closer. With one hand still on Joe’s face, he reaches the other out to slowly unzip Pete’s jeans, maneuvering his hand in to rest over Pete’s erection. Like before, Pete moans out, trying to press into Patrick’s touch. Also like before, Patrick ignores him to lick into Joe’s mouth. This time though, he removes his hand from Joe’s face and wraps it around one of Joe’s own. From there, he guides it over to his own hand on Pete’s crotch, where he lets it go.
Pete, at this point, seems to have lost all coherence. He gapes up at the ceiling, letting out tiny moans and mumbles along the lines of “yeah, so good, yeah, c’mon, please,” and so on. It’s just like a cheesy porno, but that doesn’t make it any less hot. Joe and Patrick stroke Pete together over his boxers as his hips come up and up until Patrick twists his wrist and Pete comes with a shout, falling back onto the floor.
With a look of slight disgust on his face — because, honestly, gross — Joe pulls his hand away from the wet spot that has grown on the front of Pete’s boxers and looks back to Patrick. He’s staring right back at Joe, breathing hard, face turned red from sweat and heat.
“Do you want me to help with that?” Joe asks, gesturing to Patrick’s… situation. Patrick, though, is not nearly as shy about it and nods eagerly.
“Yeah, yeah, let me just-” he mumbles, climbing off of Pete and falling back on his hands. Joe crawls over him, between his legs, and looks at Patrick with slight uncertainty. He’s not really going to be good for much right now.
“Just use your hand, dude,” Patrick suggests, looking like he’d rather rub up against a car than wait for Joe to stop being so clueless, but Joe can take a hint — or instructions, rather — and he goes straight for the zipper as Patrick had on Pete. Without much grace, he gets his jeans open and shoves a hand into Patrick’s underwear. He’s not really sure what to do from there, so he kind of pretends it’s just his own dick and goes with it. Fortunately, it only takes a few strokes before Patrick is coming all over his hand — which is a million times grosser than it had been with Pete — and panting hard. Nonetheless, when Patrick puts a hand behind his head and pulls him into a sugary kiss, he returns it with pleasure.
Pete, seeming to have finally collected himself, appears at Joe’s side, but only to grab him by the arm and drag him back down to the ground. He lands on top of the older before rolling off next to him, relaxed and fucked out. Pete presses a kiss to his forehead as Patrick follows him, landing at Joe’s other side, jeans still undone. They’re still covered in cum and the air in the van is hardly even air anymore. It should be disgusting and they should definitely change into clean clothes, but right now Joe is too comfortable to care. Silence surrounds them and he feels more relaxed than he has in weeks.
“That was fun,” Pete says to the ceiling, and Joe can’t do anything but agree with him.