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 MM tg ds piv

   It had started as an agreement more than anything.  An arrangement. 
They'd shaken on it and everything.

   It started a bit after Tony got sick of paying for an extra hotel room,
because Tim always ended up in John's room, or the other way around.  So
they sort of became official roommates, then.  Tim was perfectly fine to
sleep alone, really, but John got needy sometimes.  He'd just want Tim to
come next door and talk to him, or watch his movie with him, which Tim
hadn't minded in the slightest.  And late night talks that usually involve
Tim smoking through an entire pack had ended up with Tim coming out to him.
John flat out didn't believe him at first - said his voice was too low, jaw
too strong.  Which ended with a weird, fake aggressive wrestling match with
Tim trying to put his cigarette out on John and calling him an asshole
between a very angry explanation of hormone therapy and various surgeries.
But he'd laughed the whole time.

   Tim brought it up first.  John had been continuously turning up the
volume of their movie every few minutes due to some weird sex things
happening next door in Pogo's room with Manson and a handful of girls who
looked entirely too young to be as drunk as they were.

   "I can't believe Brian thinks this shit is performance art," Tim says,
eating another room service french fry.  "Like, I'm as much of an art hoe
as any of us, but I'm pretty sure anal isn't performance art." He picks up
a fry, holds it up to John's mouth, and John bites it in half.

   "He's actively keeping me from getting laid, probably," John says. 
"Like.  Not as many girls around lately.  I think the metal teeth are
scaring them off." John clicks his teeth together a few times and goes to
the pay per view menu.

   "I'll have sex with you," Tim says casually, shoving several fries in
his mouth at once.  John looks at him.  "Don't ask a bunch of questions. 
We're on tour and neither of us are getting laid.  It'd just be like, a
casual thing."

   "But I've never," John goes to say, and stops when Tim rolls his eyes.

   "It's a fucking vagina," Tim says.  "It's not going to bite your fingers
off when you put them in it.  The only difference is it's attached to me
and not whatever random with triple D's you dragged back to your hotel
room."

   "I think that's what makes it weird," John says.  "I mean, not that you
have a vagina.  But that I'd be sleeping with you." Tim shrugs.

   "People with dicks like handjobs right?" he asks, and he'd put his fries
aside and reached his hand into John's pants and that was about that.

   It had been a thing at first, always shooting each other glances in
elevators or on the bus, and John had been wondering if Tim knew he was
good at giving him inconvenient boners.  John felt like a teenage boy all
over again, with the dumbest, tiniest, non-sexual shit setting him off. 
Tim flicking the ashes from his cigarette, sitting on the couch in the back
of the bus with his legs spread, the way he'd squint and snap his fingers
when he couldn't think of something.

   And then it wasn't a thing.  It wasn't a thing at all - it was just John
and Tim, perfectly normal, sharing sodas behind the buses in the Ozzfest
parking lot as Tim would smoke half a pack to hype himself up for his T
shot.  It turns out Tim isn't quite as tough as he looks.  He can't even
look at his leg to sink the needle in, makes John eyeball it for him and
just stabs and mashes the plunger down as fast as he can get away with. 
John thinks it's cute that needles make Tim woozy.  Tim just remarks that
that's why he's only got one tattoo and it's on his back.

   When Ozzfest ends, they all fly back to LA together.  Tim asks John if
he wants to join the mile high club, and John is entirely too shy at first,
but after about two hours of in-flight boredom he gives in and crams
himself into the lavatory with him.

   They spend at least five minutes clambering to find a position that
doesn't mean Tim has to lean over the toilet, because that's gross.  They
end up both standing in front of the sink, Tim in front of John, watching
himself in the mirror.  John calls him a narcissist and Tim tells him to
shut his mouth before he fucks it.

   The stewardess gives John a knowing look when he comes out of the
bathroom, but she looks very surprised when Tim follows him out after.  Tim
winks at her.

   "Oh my god," John hisses, dragging him back to their seats.

   There's about a week before it becomes a thing all over again.  John's
up late writing when his phone rings, and John picks up, because it's
either work related or it's Tim, and John doesn't want to miss either of
those.

   "Hello," John says.

   "John," Tim says, voice all needy and thin, and John tenses up a little.
Oh.

   "What's...  uh, how are you?" John asks, sounding dumb.  He makes a face
at himself.  Jesus.  Why is he the worst.

   "I did my shot yesterday," Tim says, breath catching and sighing and
John's a hundred percent positive what he's doing.  Tim was fucking
insatiable for the two or three days after his T shot - the hormones were a
lot for his small body to handle.  John smears his face, hearing blood rush
in his ears as it reroutes itself down.

   "Yeah?" John asks, and Tim moans, loud and unashamed.  John pulls the
receiver away from his ear for a moment.  He is so not having phone sex. 
He's way too awkward for this.  "You okay?" He winces at his own choice of
words.

   "No," Tim whines.  "You need to fucking come over here." John spares a
glance at the clock.

   "It's twelve thirty," he says, automatically.  Well done, he thinks,
telling your friend with benefits the time is totally sexy.  "Wait.  We're
off tour." Just dig your hole deeper and deeper, Lowery.

   "When have I ever been someone who cared about the time and occasion
when I'm a hormonal wreck and need dick like, yesterday," Tim says,
sounding very matter of fact.  "Are you really gonna say no to me calling
you while I'm three fingers deep?  C'mon." John sucks in a breath, trying
very hard not to think too hard about that.

   "I just, uh," John says, and any blood that was in his brain when he
picked up the phone is no longer there.  "I gotta get gas.  I might be a
bit."

   "Is this why we've never had phone sex before?" Tim asks.

   "I have a dick and I can't be responsible for how stupid I get when it's
hard," John says.

   "Are you implying that you're stupid for fucking me?" Tim asks.

   "No - criminy, stop making me sound even dumber than I actually am,"
John huffs, shutting his laptop and digging around his bedroom mess for his
shoes, or at least as much as he can with the phone cord connecting him to
the wall.  "And I'd still wanna bang you even if I didn't have a boner. 
I'll come over.  Jeez Louise."

   "You know where the spare key is, right?" Tim asks.  John starts to
answer that it's under the planter with the dahlias in it but Tim cuts him
off and tells him he's gotta go find his harness and he'll be waiting for
him and then he hangs up.

   Well.  Tim definitely knows how to wind a guy up.

   John is extra careful not to speed, and he spends his time at stoplights
thinking of aggressively unsexy things to keep his boner under control.  He
stops to fill up his tank and stands there next to his car with his face in
his hands, trying not to think about Tim waiting for him with his dick on
and just...  waiting for him.  Ah, man.  John squeezes his eyes closed and
thinks about tarantulas until the gas pump unlatches itself.

   By some miracle, John doesn't crash his car.  He also only has to look
under three planters till he finds the spare key, and he only drops the key
once while fumbling with it at Tim's doorway.  John does, however, trip up
the stairs, and by the time he actually gets to Tim's bedroom he's out of
breath.  John drops his overnight bag on the floor, not even looking at the
figure on the bed.

   "Did you fall?" Tim asks.

   "No," John lies.  "Just.  Dropped my bag." He feels Tim narrow his eyes
at him and John turns, looks at him, laying on the bed wearing nothing but
the dick strapped onto him, and John swallows dryly.  "I tripped going up
the stairs.  Over my own foot.  Or maybe the stair above the one I was on
at the moment."

   "Figured," Tim says.  He sits up on the bed, gathering a couple of toys
on the sheets and putting them on the table adjacent, and John looks at
him.

   "How long have you been jerking off?" John asks, taking his jacket off.

   "I don't know, like, an hour," Tim says casually.  "Nothing was doing it
for me, y'know?"

   "Can't relate," John says, unzipping a boot and chucking it at the
growing pile of clothes.  "I could probably cum from someone breathing on
my dick."

   "Ugh," Tim says pointedly.  "That must be convenient." He flops back on
the bed as John undresses, watching him lazily.  "Dude.  You're gonna hate
me but I have a favor to ask."

   John looks up, halfway out of his jeans.  He throws his arms down. 
"Dude."

   "Please?" Tim asks.

   "I drive over here and have to get gas at one in the morning and think
about tarantulas so I can drive without getting a boner and have to let
myself in and I trip up the stairs," John says, "and now you're gonna ask
me to get you a Gatorade because you're dehydrated from jerking off?" Tim
gives an optimistic grin and John sighs.  "God, you're so hard to say no
to."

   "I'll repay you by sitting on your face later," Tim says, and John wads
his shirt up and chucks it at him as hard as physically possible.  "Ow,
fucker.  You beaned me where I did my shot yesterday you asshole." John's
already out the bedroom door.

   "That's what you get for being a menace to society and my personal
wellbeing," John yells as he's going down the stairs.

   When he gets back, somehow managing to not fall all over himself again,
he thunks Tim's bottle of Gatorade down on the side table.

   "There," John says.  "I expect at least one blowjob in exchange for that
enormous favor in the near future." Tim takes the bottle and cracks it
open, downing a few large gulps.

   "Ah, fuck," he sighs.  "That's better.  Okay, now I'm hydrated and have
the energy to murder you with my dick." Tim grabs John and pulls him down
on top of him on the bed.

   "Frickin' - ow," John mumbles, shifting so there isn't an elbow in his
ribs.  "I'd prefer if you didn't murder me, but if it's gotta be by dick,
then I guess it's how I go."

   "There are worse ways," Tim says, pressing their mouths together.  He
tastes like artificial sweetener and John hums, content to finally be where
he's meant to.

   "Yeah," John says, pressing himself up against Tim's hip.  "Did I ever
tell you about the time Manson almost killed me by chucking a microphone at
my face?  Lost a tooth and everything."

   "Don't talk about Manson when your boner is touching me," Tim mumbles,
reaching down to grab it.  "We talked about this."

   "Sorry," John says.  "Forgot."

   Mercifully, Tim kisses John before he can say anything else stupid.  Tim
is good at things like that.  Tim is also a good kisser, but his hand is
currently very distracting.  John fumbles to grab Tim's, already wrapped in
a condom and lubed.  He jerks it a couple times out of habit, feeling Tim
press up into the contact.

   "How come you always put condoms on your dick and not mine?" John asks,
the question hitting him from somewhere.  Tim huffs, breath hot on John's
lips.

   "Because then if I wanna use it on myself I can just take it off and put
a clean one on," Tim says.  "Cross contamination or whatever." John hums
thoughtfully.

   "Remind me to tell you to go fuck yourself sometime when we're like, at
soundcheck or something," he says.

   "Dude," Tim says.  "What did I just say about mentioning Manson during
-"

   "It doesn't count because I was talking about everyone," John counters.

   "God, I am so gonna murder you with my dick," Tim says.  He pushes John
over and John lays front down, arching up a little as Tim grabs for the
lube bottle again.

   "As long as you revive me with it again afterwards," John says.  He
hisses as cold lube pours onto him, tensing, then relaxing a bit when Tim's
fingers start rubbing at him.  "That's fucking cold, jeez Louise."

   "Consider it revenge for mentioning Manson twice while touching dicks,"
Tim says.  He presses an easy finger into John, curling it.

   "Ah," John gasps, turning to glare at Tim over his shoulder.  "You
mentioned him yourself this time so don't -"

   "Shut up," Tim says, pushing John's head back down and working his
finger into him deeper, and it feels too good for John to coherently
protest any technicalities any further.

   "Not fair," John mumbles.  "You always win arguments when you've got
fingers in me." Tim laughs once, lifting his hand from John's head.  "Wait,
can you - can you keep holding my head down?" John glances back, sees Tim
grinning.

   "Yeah, of course," he says, spreading his fingers and letting his hand
push John's head down into the pillow, palm over his ear.  John nods him on
and Tim goes back to working his finger into him.  "You want another
finger?"

   "Yes, please, daddy," John says, smiling, and Tim hums, the second digit
sliding in easily alongside the first.

   "You want it like that, then?" Tim asks.  John pushes himself back on
Tim's fingers, knuckle deep, curled in the best way.

   "Mhmm," John purrs, and Tim just adds a third finger.  John moans
sharply.  "You said you were gonna murder me with your dick, and I expect
you to live up to that promise now, to be honest."

   "Maybe I should've put on the bigger one then," Tim says, and John jerks
forward, a foot kicking up off the bed as Tim's fingers spread him open,
his insides too sensitive from not being touched.

   "Still time, isn't there?" John asks, voice thin.  Tim slides his
fingers out and John whines at the loss, but then there's silicone and
latex up against him, and Tim's wiping his hand on the sheets.  "M'not
washing those sheets, dude."

   "Don't feel like taking the time to change dicks," Tim says, lifting
John's head from the pillow and raking his fingers through his hair,
gathering it at the back of his head till it's enough to grip.  His free
hand reaches down, guiding the head of his cock in, and John bucks back at
it.  "Still, pretty lucky of you that you get to pick everything about your
man's dick.  That'd be cool.  Like, it can be as long as you want.  There
are no rules."

   "Daddy, fuck," John gasps, sinking himself down onto Tim's cock.  It's
not the same as a biological one, but fuck, Tim had gotten good enough with
it he could hardly tell the difference once it warmed to his body.  Tim
pulls John's head back by his hair, making him arch more.

   "That good?" Tim asks, and John nods as best he can, grabbing back at
Tim's hip, trying to pull him in deeper by the strap of his harness. 
"Dude, don't pull my dick off."

   "Shit, sorry," John says quickly, grabbing at Tim's thigh instead.  Tim
adjusts behind him, knuckles brushing John's skin as he pushes the front of
the harness down, back into place.  Tim wears his cock lower than any girl
he's ever met - like an extension of his clit, he'd explained, and also so
he could get off from fucking with it when it'd press back against him. 
He's not even moving yet, just letting John adjust to it, and John whines,
trying not to squirm.  "Daddy."

   "Yeah, babe?" Tim asks casually, just winding his fingers tighter in
John's hair.  John dry sobs, fucking aching for it.

   "Please fuck me," John whimpers.

   "Please fuck me who?" Tim remarks, leaning over him a bit.  John huffs
at him.

   "Please fuck me, daddy," John says, and Tim just smiles and shoves John
back down into the pillows.  John moans as Tim starts fucking him open, and
Tim holds his head down again, the other hand splayed out on his shoulder.
Tim hitches a leg up to get a better angle and just starts going for it. 
John gasps, trying to squirm under him, but Tim doesn't let him move.  John
prefers it that way, likes making Tim have to work to pin him down.  Tim
growls low between his teeth, nails digging into John's shoulder.

   "Stay still, whore," Tim says.  John's mouth falls open a little and Tim
wrenches his legs farther apart, finally hilting himself.  The leather of
the harness presses up against him and John grabs at the headboard.  "There
we go.  Maybe I should grab the bigger one."

   "No, daddy, don't," John chokes out.  He can't bear the thought of Tim
pulling out when he's so fucking full.

   "Where are your manners tonight?" Tim asks, pulling out halfway despite
John's protests.  He puts his knee back down and leans back a bit, letting
go of John's hair.  "I don't know if you really want it." John grumbles to
himself, wanting to point out that Tim was the one who called him, but
doesn't mention it in case he gets flicked in the balls or something.

   "I'm sorry daddy," John says, pushing himself up onto his hands.  Tim,
because he's an asshole, pulls out.  John doesn't even get a chance to
whine about it before Tim's pushing him over onto his back and folding his
legs up, fumbling with his cock to get it back in.  John pulls his legs up
and holds them back as Tim hilts himself again, fucking deep and the angle
is so fucking good John can't keep himself from swearing.  "Fuck, thank you
daddy-" he goes to say, but then Tim's fingers are in his mouth.  John
purrs around them as Tim fucks him, his other hand on his chest.

   "Good boy," Tim pants out, his arousal apparent in his voice.  John's
fingers clench into his thighs, wanting to be inside him, working him
undone.

   "Are you gonna cum?" John asks around Tim's fingers.  Tim, thankfully,
is good at understanding John when things are in his mouth.

   "No," Tim says, even though he sounds like it.  "Wanna cum on your
cock." John whines, and Tim pulls his fingers out, wraps his hand around
John's dick, spit slick.  John bucks up at the contact, too sensitive, too
good.

   "Please, daddy," he says, and Tim clearly doesn't need convincing.  He
pulls his cock out and grabs it at the base, hitching the front of the
harness up higher, out of the way.  John lets his legs down and Tim climbs
over them, sits back on John's thighs as he adjusts the harness so it won't
chafe against John.  Tim's thighs are visibly slick and John just kind of
wants him to sit on his face for the rest of his life.  "Do you need lube?"
John asks anyway, because he's fucking polite.

   "Nah, s'okay.  C'mere," Tim says quietly, lifting himself over John's
cock, and John reaches down to steady himself.  He braces a little and Tim
sinks himself down, his mouth falling open obscenely.  John can't move an
inch, thoroughly overwhelmed, even as Tim just sits there, hands on John's
ribs.

   "Holy shit," John says, blinking dumbly at Tim.  He pushes his hair back
out of his face.

   "I know," Tim says, bringing his hands to John's shoulders to brace on.
He starts slow, just back and forth, and John sighs, needing to be eased
into it.  Tim folds himself down and kisses him, holding John's face in his
hands, moaning into his mouth.  John grabs back at him, pushes his hips up
to meet Tim's.  "Shit," Tim hisses against John's lips.  John can feel the
slick silicone dick still between them, moving with Tim.  "Hand.  Please."
John reaches his hand down, fingers slipping as he slots Tim's clit between
them, working him easy.  "Fuck, fuck-"

   "You gonna," John pants out, and Tim nods, dropping his face into John's
neck.  John keeps his pace, steady and quick, and Tim ruts into it, keening
as the orgasm rips through him.  He rides it out on John's cock and John
can't help but fuck back up into him, even as tight as he gets.

   "Fuck," Tim grits out, pushing John's hand away, too sensitive. 
"Fuckin'.  Do it in me."

   "Oh," John says pointedly, barely feeling Tim pin his wrists down.  He
furrows his brows, feeling a weird moment of clarity considering he's so
close to losing it.  "Is that.  Uh, safe?"

   "Yeah, it's fine," Tim says quickly, moving his hips on him, and John
whines, dicks up into him.  "It's fine, just do it, want you to-"

   "I'm gonna, fuckin'," John stutters, wanting to grab at Tim's thighs,
pull him in closer somehow, fuck him deeper, but Tim holds his arms down
tight.  John arches off the bed as he cums, spills into him, a weak moan
slipping out.  He's fucking drained, and Tim stops moving, just sits his
weight down on him, his mouth falling open.  Tim smiles a little, even as
John tries to ride out the aftershocks.

   "I could feel it," Tim says, chewing into his lip.  John's just panting,
trying to get his thoughts back.  He blinks dumbly, looks up at Tim through
his eyelashes.

   "Really?" John asks, breathless.

   "Yeah," Tim says, letting go of his arms.  John reaches up to Tim's jaw,
thumbs over it.

   "That's cool," John says.  Tim gently sits up, pulls off, rolls over to
wrestle the harness off.  John just sort of lays there, feeling like Tim
somehow sucked the energy out of him.  "Dude.  You kinda spooked me."

   "Huh?" Tim asks, standing to pull the condom off the dildo and toss it.
He looks back over at John, who's still laying there.  John gestures
vaguely in the direction of his dick "Oh.  Yeah, I haven't had ovaries
since like, the first Bush administration."

   "Oh," John says, nodding.  He yawns, stretching his arms up and whacking
his hands on the headboard.  "Ow.  Jeez Louise." Tim sputters a laugh,
pulls a pair of boxers on, and flops over onto John in bed.

   "You're an idiot," Tim says fondly.  "Still not sure how you fell up my
stairs, but if anybody can do it, it'd be you."

   "Thanks," John says, wrapping an arm around Tim's middle.  "I pride
myself on having the grace of a newborn baby deer."

   Tim hums contentedly, kisses John's face.  "Do I have permission to wake
you up with head in the morning?" he asks.

   "That implies we're going to wake up before noon, but permission
granted," John says.  Tim kisses his face again, then reaches over him to
turn off the light.