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“Ay, Chrissie,” Robert slurred, watching the girl’s red waves cascade down her back as she stood up, swaying a bit.
“Hmm?” she batted her long eyelashes, corner of her mouth twisting up into a smile that was a little too precious to be sincere. She was an interesting bird, Chrissie—they’d met her down at the Rainbow and instantly both fallen in love with her petite yet curvy figure, her mess of deep red hair, her startling sky-blue eyes. It was really her eyes that had intrigued Jimmy; underneath the flirtatious winks and innocent twinkle was a very keen shrewdness. A mathematics student, she only hung out with rock musicians on weekends, and never used drugs. Or that’s what she had told Jimmy and Robert back at the bar. Two hours later the three of them were piled in Jimmy’s hotel bed, stoned and drunk out of their minds, four empty wine bottles littering the floor nearby.
“Chrissie, be a doll and fetch us the bag of Quaaludes and another bottle, if you don’t mind,” Jimmy piped up, stretching his legs out on the bed and enjoying the view of her shapely buttocks as she winked and sauntered over to the vanity where Jimmy had laid out all of his “treats” that he kept to entertain his lady visitors. Jimmy and Robert exchanged a glance when she bent over, the singer biting his lower lip in approval.
“I like your shirt, Jimmy,” Chrissie purred as she stumbled back to the bed, bottle in one hand and pills in the other, “it brings out your eyes.” She stepped irreverently up onto the mattress, walking back to her spot between the two men and plopping down, handing off the booze with a coy smile. “But I really think it would look better on Robert. “ Jimmy turned to her, mock indignantly.
“Would it, now?” he said, running a hand through her hair. “And why is that?”
“I think I’d have to see it to be able to tell you,” she insisted, eyes theatrically huge. She popped a few pills and smiled widely, letting a leg fall over the guitarist.
“Well come on, James, we can’t leave the lady waiting.” Robert grinned and began unbuttoning his shirt, while Jimmy huffed melodramatically.
“I suppose you’re right,” the brunette said, pulling the flowery blouse over his head, exposing his thin, wiry torso, ribs just visible under porcelain skin. He playfully chucked it at Robert, who caught it with one hand, just having removed his own.
“Here, Pagey,” he said, tossing it across Chrissie, who was watching the exchange gleefully like it was a tennis match, “don’t want to catch a cold.” Jimmy shimmied into the shirt, not quite as tight on him as it was on the singer, taking a large gulp of Shiraz as he went. The thin fabric reeked—if he had to guess, Robert hadn’t washed it since, well, ever—and Jimmy breathed deeply, pheromones going straight to his head and making his heart race. An idea.
“Hand your trousers over,” he said, holding up the bottle as though toasting. “We’ll give her the full effect.” Robert raised an eyebrow as their guest cheered (“go on, do it,” Jimmy wheedled) standing up on the bed and turning away, looking back over his shoulder.
“Not here to ruin any surprises,” he said, making a show of unzipping his jeans. “Jimmy, you too.”
“You read my mind,” Jimmy grinned, swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet, sliding his pants over his hips and putting all his concentration toward not becoming visually aroused when Robert did the same. God, how did he manage to get that skin-tight fabric over that tight, toned—no, not yet. Not in their present company. They made a show of swapping garments with their backs turned, Chrissie giggling madly between them.
“Ta-da!” Robert whirled around and bowed with a flourish, nearly losing his balance in doing so and causing Jimmy to snort loudly. “The latest ‘n London fashion,” he announced, nodding down at his new wardrobe. The clothing was even tighter on him that was his own, and Jimmy forced himself not to stare at the clear outline of his large cock in the light colored jeans. “And now James will be modelling our pieces from the English Midlands!” He gestured to the brunette, who turned around with decidedly less panache. Chrissie clapped enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on the bed.
“You’re both so gorgeous,” she swooned, throwing a hand to her forehead dramatically, “how could I ever choose between such beautiful men?” There was Jimmy’s segue; his demeanor flipped like a switch.
“Oh, darling,” he said silkily, ever the devastatingly charming rock star of teenage fantasy, “we would never make you choose just one of us. Would we, Robert?”
“Of course not,” the blonde replied, sinking back down to the bed where Chrissie was now sitting up straighter, interest peaked. “We’re both very serious about keeping a woman happy, you see—“
“—don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out on anything—“
“—and Jimmy and I,” he shot a maniacal grin at the guitarist, “we’re quite used to sharing on tour—“
“—if you know what we mean.” By now they were on either side of her, Jimmy’s hand resting on her thigh and Robert slowly twirling a strand of her hair. An eyebrow went up, corners of her mouth curling up into a smile.
“Well,” she sighed, “if you absolutely insist, I suppose it would be rude to say no.” She slid her arms around Jimmy’s neck, letting her head fall back to gaze at Robert, arched back pushing her full breasts outward. “I just don’t want to…impose on anything.” Jimmy glanced at Robert, alarmed: What the hell is she implying? The singer just shrugged: You’re paranoid.
She can tell.
That’s impossible.
Jimmy stared furiously for another second but he’d already lost: Chrissie was now gasping as Robert slid a hand down to her chest, gently cupping a breast and tracing her nipple with his thumb, lips moving lazily to her throat.
“You were the prettiest at the table tonight,” he explained as she squirmed beside him, “and I couldn’t convince Jimmy here to let me have you all to myself. Why, are you complaining?” Before she could answer he covered her mouth with his, running his hands up the soft curve of her torso under her shirt and removing it, her smooth freckled skin feeling in sharp contrast with his own callouses. Jimmy’s hand was at her crotch, making her shudder with every light up and down stroke of his fingers. Fully aroused, she turned to the guitarist, taking one of his lips between hers and sucking hard, grinding her hips up to meet his hand. Robert sat up, shrugging off the shirt of which he’d made such a production earlier, and watched them for a minute. Room spinning around them, he took in the plump shapeliness of her body offsetting the sharp angles and thin lines of Jimmy’s, the almost delicate way he touched her and his restrained movements even as she thrusted a hand inside his jeans, running it almost reverently over his quickly growing hard-on.
“Your turn, Robert,” she pulled away, making Jimmy’s hips tighten from the sudden loss of contact.
“Come here,” the blonde ordered, looking predatory.
“No, no,” she laughed, leaning clumsily back on her hands, eyes barely focused. “You boys are going to take a turn.” She gestured vaguely between them. They both raised their eyebrows, feigning horror.
“Oh, I could never—“ Robert protested, an affronted hand to his chest.
“And leave you out?” Jimmy camped, sitting on his heels and nearly toppling over in the process.
“I think I’d like to watch for a while,” she smirked, crossing her legs. The two men looked at her, then one another. Robert winked.
“You heard the lady,” he muttered, slipping an arm around the brunette and pulling him close, pressing their mouths together and tasting his wine-soaked lips. Jimmy took his head in both hands, winding his fingers into his golden curls and allowed Robert’s tongue in to trace the line of his teeth.
How’s this working for you?” Jimmy said in a low voice and, deciding to give her the full show, straddled Robert’s hips, much to the singer’s surprise.
“You sure about this?” he breathed, holding back a groan as Jimmy started against him, grinding their hips together in slow, near-choreographed movements.
“No way in hell she’ll remember this tomorrow,” the guitarist whispered, glancing at Chrissie who now had a hand in her jeans, fingers circling her clit in rhythm with their motions, other hand playing with a hardened nipple, “besides, I’m having fun. Chrissie, darling, come join us.” Extending an arm, he guided her in between them, where she took his place in Robert’s lap, and Jimmy snaked his hands over her breasts from behind, squeezing gently while he kissed her neck, picking up the flowery scent of her perfume. Robert yanked his jeans all the way off, struggling slightly, then took a moment to get her out of her pants as well. Jimmy tossed aside his clothing and then they were three naked bodies, damp and hot writhing together on the bed. The singer reached down with two fingers, gently parting her lips and applying gentle pressure to her clit (“oh shit,” she gasped.) Jimmy chuckled into her neck as she rocked back, his erection rubbing between his stomach and her arse, the room filled with breathy moans as Robert fingered her steadily, her wetness dripping down and smearing across the singer’s thighs.
“Come on,” she panted, taking the Robert’s erection in her hand, “fuck me already.” Robert didn’t need telling twice. Jimmy sat back to watch as she slowly lowered herself, chest rising and falling faster and faster the more of him that she took. About halfway down she paused, mouth hanging open, a strand of hair clinging with sweat to her forehead.
“It’s okay,” Robert soothed, massaging her hip with one hand while continuing to stimulate her with the other. “everything stretches, remember? It’s not as big as it looks, just take your time.” Jimmy pulled a face behind her back and the singer cracked a smile at him—the long-practiced words did their job and, swearing steadily, Chrissie raised herself back up to come down even further by several inches. Jimmy caught her whimper in a kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist as she began to roll her hips, drawing a long groan from Robert. Jimmy snuck a glance at his singer, brow slightly furrowed and lips parted with pleasure, and he momentarily saw himself in Chrissie’s place, wincing with the most beautiful pain he had ever felt, hanging onto Robert’s neck as he slammed down on his cock over and over—
His balls tightened at the thought. Fuck, he needed Robert and he needed him now. Making up his mind right then and there, he rotated around so that he was now behind the singer, moving blonde curls hair aside to suck on his earlobe, running a hand down his back.
“Hey,” he murmured, pressing his erection into Robert’s hip, hand and needy, and reached to the bedside table for lube.
“Hmm. Feeling lonely over there?” the blonde turned his head to face Jimmy, staring into his dark, hooded green eyes.
“Just want to make sure you know you’re still mine,” Jimmy growled, and then his fingers were at Robert’s arse, wet with lube, circling his entrance, making him shudder. Now Chrissie was riding him hard, all moans and bouncing breasts and jiggling hips every time she fell onto his swollen cock.
“Why, James,” Robert breathed, two nimble fingers now inside of him, “what’s come over you?” He could probably count on one hand the number of times Jimmy had topped him—Jimmy loved being fucked, loved the pain—but he wasn’t complaining now.
“Move,” the guitarist snarled, hand once again on Robert’s back, pushing him forward. Robert followed his direction and, laughing, picked up Chrissie and eased her onto her back, kissing her softly as he crawled over her on all fours. Her eyes widened delightedly as she realized what was happening.
“Seriously?” she giggled, watching Jimmy line himself up. Robert shushed her, running his thumb over a nipple as Jimmy slicked lube over his heavy erection. Too far gone to care about consequences, Jimmy pushed himself into Robert, filling him completely, groaning at the intense pressure. It was all Robert could do not to come right then and there. Positively vibrating, he took a deep breath as Jimmy began moving in and out, picking up on his rhythm as he once more began fucking Chrissie, who stared up at them both from her back in half-disbelief, half-euphoria.
“Fucking hell,” Robert panted, holding himself together by a thread as Jimmy hammered him from behind, arms tight around his chest. It became harder and harder to keep thrusting into Chrissie, though judging by her moans and cries she wasn’t suffering any neglect. She gazed up at them with blurred vision, barely able to make out the way Jimmy dug his nails into Robert’s shoulder, or the way Robert’s expression softened with each gasp and grunt that escaped Jimmy’s lips. Too overwhelmed to sustain use of his hands, the singer removed his fingers from Chrissie’s pussy, unable to do anything beyond hold himself up. Getting close, she replaced the singer’s hand with her own, rubbing herself faster and faster as Robert drove into her erratically.
“Fuck!” she cried, eyes squeezed shut and toes curling. Robert pulled out of her, cock still hard and leaking, and Jimmy sat back, still sheathed inside the singer, pulling him into his lap with surprising strength. Chrissie watched Jimmy thrust up into Robert, fisting his cock hard and fast, until the blonde’s body convulsed, ribbons of ejaculate spurting onto Jimmy’s hand.
“You belong to me,” the guitarist hissed so that only his partner could hear, pulling himself closer to Robert as he came inside of him, and right then Robert was his, only his, because no one else would ever touch him like this…
The spasms ended, the guitarist’s face still pressed into the singer’s shoulder, hand still holding his softening penis possessively, breathing deeply. He would have forgotten about the other person in the room, if not for the faint snoring from the other side of the bed. Whoops.
“Jimmy?” Robert whispered, easing himself off, eying the girl then his bandmate, “Do you think…?”
“Dammit.” It had all seemed fine and safe while in the throes of ecstasy, but as he came down, worry ebbed its way into the guitarist’s mind. She was most certainly black-out drunk. But on the off-chance that she wasn’t….
“Chrissie?” Robert whispered, running a hand over her hair tentatively. Don’t, Jimmy mouthed incredulously, but the singer merely shrugged. “Chrissie, babe, can you wake up for me?” Blearily, she opened her eyes, slurring something incomprehensible. Struggling to keep consciousness himself, Robert stood up, wavering as he extended a hand which she took, dazed.
“Is it time to get up already?” she murmured, rubbing her eyes.
“It’s late, luv,” he explained, helping her back into her clothes, “you’d best be going home.”
“You want me to leave?” a hint of suspicion underneath her intoxicated state. Jimmy felt another jab of anxiety.
“Chrissie,” he said with great deliberation, “what’s the last thing you remember?” She stared hard at him, eyes narrowed slightly, tongue in her cheek.
“Well, luv,” Robert interrupted, stepping between her and the guitarist, who took the cue and let it drop, “it’s been a pleasure.”
“You will come visiting again, won’t you?” Jimmy said, sitting up and pulling a sheet over himself.
“Yeah,” she said, still visibly confused, “just give me a ring if you’re in town.” She almost managed to feign nonchalance pulling on her sweater and smoothing her hair out with one hand, grabbing her purse off the bedside with another. Showering her with the usual array of pet names, poetry, and bad innuendos, Robert ushered her to the door, where he indulged in a long goodbye full of giggles and wandering hands. Jimmy rolled his eyes from the bed. Through the thick haze of drugs, he almost hated himself for his moment of jealousy. But, he thought as the door finally closed and Robert swaggered back into the room, yawning and stretching his arms high above his head (Jimmy stared unapologetically at the sharp lines of muscles in his lower abdomen), who could blame him for not wanting to share?
“The fuck are you looking at?” Robert joked, flopping back onto the bed and rolling so that they were nose to nose.
“Nothing, not you,” Jimmy retorted before kissing him, feeling contented, relieved, pathetic, and almost annoyed that Robert could tell exactly what he was thinking.