Popcorn Bucket - DVD Extras Series
Oct. 29th, 2010 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Liam/Bradley/Sharlto
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPS
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Liam/sharlto/Bradley
* hides from the shame of it *
Liam gives Bradley and Sharlto some coaching on how to make their nightly A-Team viewings more fun. With sex. Of course, with sex.
I suppose this comes after Improv. Although I am not getting dragged into a RPS series, I swear...
They don’t even bother turning down the volume on the television.
Liam pauses outside Sharlto’s trailer before he knocks. He brought beer, but this probably isn’t his night. There’s no living around these two on nights like this. They are definitely at it again. It’s become something of a joke for Bradley, who’s got an amazing movie collection brought a selection of it along with him to the shoot. Every night, he’ll take a disc or two over to Sharlto, and the two of them will sit there in the dark, watching, rapt, with popcorn, like a couple of high school girls at a slumber party.
Joe’s asked them to stop. Says it interfers with the movie-making process. Rampage has asked them to stop, but Sharlto only ever replies that the big wrestler is just angry because Mr. T won’t call him. A couple of the workers borrow discs off Bradley on the sly, so at least the crew doesn’t seem to mind.
As for Liam? He just wants this to stop. He’s sick of having to answer all their questions, listening to all their little conversations about it. It’s completely unrealistic, none of that stuff would ever happen in real life, and it’s just downright ridiculous. Only in America, he thinks with a sigh, and bangs on the trailer door.
There’s some quiet fumbling, masked by the sounds eminating from the TV, and then Sharlto jerks the thin door open. His eyes are wild and his hair’s a little messed up, but that’s fairly standard for him. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He was probably doing an impression or something. Right? Right.
“Liam, I’d invite you in, but, ah, I’m not sure if you want to be here for this.”
“It’s okay, Sharlto, I know what you’re up to,” he says and pushes his way in. Bradley’s at the microwave, making popcorn. He waves. Are those pajamas he’s wearing? And a bathrobe. Just like a slumber party. Holy hell. “You girls going to paint each other’s toenails later?”
“Right after our experimental make-out session and vampire movie and nekkid pillow fight,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes.
“Pillow fight?” Sharlto asks.
“Yeah, haven’t you seen Animal House?” The microwave beeps and Bradley upends the bag into a bowl. He’s got a thin cotton shirt on, and Liam can see every one of those hard lines Joe’s beaten into the guy. “Um, bottle opener?”
Sharlto hands it over and settles on the narrow sofa in the trailer. Liam hands him a beer and sits down next to him. The seating area’s not big, cramped, actually, and they’re just a little too close. Thighs touching. It's a nice touch.
“You sure you want to be around for this?” Bradley asks, going for the remote. “I mean, I know you don’t like this stuff...”
It’s a guilty pleasure. Liam knows he’s expected to like it, he really does. But he just can’t bring himself to admit to it. Especially not to interviewers. He's supposed to have some dignity, goddamn it. “It’s okay. There’s nothing on but that awful America’s Got Talent tonight.”
“Didn’t they have one of those in Britain?” Sharlto asks.
“Notice how you just said Britain.”
Bradley snickers, and folds himself out on the other side of the South African. The popcorn’s on the table between them. Extra butter. It's Brad's little rebellion against the diet they've got him on. It's kind of cute. “Liam, come on, this isn’t so bad.”
“Just because you two were ten when you were watching it for the first time, and I was older...”
“I fooking love this stuff, Liam!” Sharlto protests.
“And he’s like, old now,” Brad grins.
“Not as old as Liam here.”
“That’s very true.”
The Irishman groans. “What episode are we watching tonight?”
Bradley doesn’t even make a show of reaching for the box. He knows exactly what he’s put in there. “Pros and Cons, Liam. A classic.”
Somehow, Liam feels like he's being had.
Halfway through the episode, he figures it out. Peppard’s onscreen, whining about the lack of lawnchairs and improper hairdriers. There’s no way...
“Dear lord, is Hannibal pretending to be gay?” Hannibal asks, squinting at the screen.
Bradley’s nursing his second beer and Sharlto’s on his third. The popcorn’s almost all gone, except for the greasy little kernels at the bottom of the bowl. Brad will occasionally stick a finger in there and lick it. Like he’s a five year old. “What,” he replies, “the hairdresser bit wasn’t enough to clue you in?”
“Not every man who cuts hair is gay!”
Sharlto just starts laughing, choking a little on his beer, doubling over. Bradley pounds on his back sympathetically. “You okay there, man?”
He sits back up, still laughing a little, and throws his head back. “TRAASSSHHHBAAAAGGGS!” he yells, and Bradley gives him a high five. Liam has to give him credit. It’s a pretty good impression.
The American actor hasn’t moved his hand. “I like Murdock in this episode.”
“i always thought I’d try my hand at the escape scene, with the bags, but my da...” Sharlto’s words are cut off as Bradley slides into him and captures his mouth. It’s Liam’s turn to roll his eyes. He goes for the abandoned remote, but Brad reaches way over and slaps it out of his hands.
“Leave it there, Liam,” he gasps, breaking the kiss.
“Brad, you have serious issues.”
Sharlto runs his tongue around swelling lips. “But they taste lovely.”
“You taste lovely.”
They’re not talking again. Liam tries to concentrate on the television. The wall. The congealing butter in the bottom of the plastic bowl. Anything by the two men next to him, going at it like it’s going out of style.
They’re never very graceful when it comes to their make-out sessions, Liam’s noticed. It bugs him a little. They’re like a couple of kids - they’re like a couple of kids most of the time, to be completely honest - and that exactly how they kiss. No finesse or ease or anything like that. The Irishman’s sure they’re capable of it; both of the younger men have a kind of crazy grace about them. He sees it on the set daily. He’s just never seen it in action here.
Finally, Murdock and Hannibal are escaping over the wall in that hot-air-trash-bag-lawn-chair contraption (and Liam hears an uncomfortable little voice asking him if a falling tank is really any better, like he keeps trying to tell himself), and Sharlto knees him in the chest and he just can’t take it any more.
“Stop it, you two,” he says tiredly.
Bradley shuts his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth. “What’s wrong, Liam?”
“We can wait until you’re gone, if you like,” Sharlto offers generously.
“No, I’m okay with it.” He’s actually more than okay with it, but he’s not ready to admit that just yet. “You’re both just being very clumsy, aren’t you? Brad, come here.”
The South African man plops off his friend’s lap with a little bit of a manly pout, and Brad just inches closer. “What is it, Liam?”
“You always act like you’re trying to suck his face off.”
Sharlto emits a noise suspiciously similar to a giggle, and clears his throat to pass it off. “Sucking face,” he explains, and Bradley nods. “I like it!”
“Brad!”
“Yes, Liam?”
“You have to be a little slower, a little more considerate. Here, like this,” Liam says, and lets his fingers wander back into the American’s thick, silky hair. He pulls him in for a long, slow kiss, drawing the other man’s tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it a little, letting his own tongue slide in, pulling back completely before diving in a little harder. Pretty soon he’s got Brad reduced to shakes and moans, and then he pushes away.
“Okay,” Bradley says, a bit unsteadily. “I’m going with that. Sharlto, you gotta try that.”
The other man actually blushes from the other side of the sofa. “I don’t know, Brad...”
“No time to be shy, Sharlto,” Liam tells him, and moves in to give him the same treatment.
When he finishes, the younger man’s eyes are wide. “Why don’t you ever kiss me like that, Brad?”
It’s hard to give a convincing shrug with one’s hand down one’s pants, but somehow, Bradley’s managing to make it work for him. “I’m an impatient man, Sharlto.”
Liam doesn’t think the bulge down there is all his fist, and there’s an uncomfortable hardness between his own legs, scraping against the cheap upholstery as he pulls himself back against the back of the couch. “I can see that, Brad. We’re going to have to work on that.”
And the brat just smiles.
Liam’s still fixated on Bradley’s hand. The American hasn’t stopped, and it looks cramped in there, even for pajamas.
“What are you doing, Cooper?” Sharlto asks.
“I call it jerking off,” Brad smiles. “I’m not sure what the South African slang is...”
“You always have to go ethnic. It’s not fair,” Sharlto complains, and completely bypasses Liam, crawling over his lap and shoving the low table away just a little bit. Enough for him to get down on his knees and run a slow hand across Bradley’s thighs, towards the straining flannel. “And what do you call this?”
“Blowjob,” Bradley gasps. His sleep pants are jerked roughly down to his ankles and Sharlto sits on his feet, pulling the thin cotton shirt over his head. The American actor’s cock is painfully engorged, red and swollen, the vein on the underside bulging. “Definitely a blowjob.”
“See, I understand your dialect,” Sharlto says and reaches back into the popcorn bowl, and then forward again, his hand dripping with golden, salty, microwaved imitation butter. He grabs hold of Bradley’s cock softly, coating it in the warm semi-congealed liquid. Once it’s completely coated, he smiles and starts licking. Long, low licks, curling his tongue over the leaking slit and back down to just behind his balls.
“Mmm, Brad, you taste like a cinema,” he moans in a voice that goes straight to Liam’s own cock, which is current lodging a protest against confining, form-fitting modern fashion. He restrains himself, though. Why hasn’t he stuck around for this before?
“Kissed a lot of girls in movie theaters,” Bradley gasps, and kneads his hands into Sharlto’s hair. “Ahh, god, just like that.”
“Or like this?”
And Bradley’s cock disappears into Sharlto’s mouth with one long, long groan of approval from Liam. The TV’s blaring a new episode. The A-Team theme song plays quietly in the background. Sharlto hums along with it as he works Bradley’s shaft in his mouth. He must be doing something fantastically clever, Liam thinks. The sight of the South African’s cheeks hollowing, his lips sliding back down to expose red, saliva-coated flesh, the expression of pure abandon on Bradley’s face are almost too much to take, his mouth forming a little “o” as he watches his fellow star bring him to the brink of orgasm.
Liam can’t take it anymore. He grunts and leans over, shoves Sharlto back a little and clamps his hand firmly down around the base of Bradley’s cock. Both men groan at the loss of contact, and Liam just smirks.
“Hands back, Bradley.”
“Liam, what the fuck?”
“Hands,” and he moves in front of Brad and grabs his hands, positioning them where he wants them, against the top of the coach cushions, “back.”
He pauses for a moment, admiring the glaring, naked man in front of him, and then steps back, pulling Sharlto up off the floor and against his chest in one smooth movement. The South African presses into him a little, turning his head up so he can look the taller man in the eyes.
“You trust me, Sharlto?”
“Of course I do.” His face is completely open.
“Good,” he smiles, and leans his head on the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re going to make Bradley sit there and watch.”
Sharlto goes from serious to amused, and he makes that giggling noise again. Bradley makes a little whine of protest, and Liam can’t help himself, can't stop right now. This is just too much fun.
Liam starts with the shirt. It’s his favorite place to begin, like peeling back the layers of a present. He moves down Sharlto’s front with both hands, trapping the man back against his chest, nibbling on his collarbone, his neck, his ear, his jaw, as he undoes the buttons of the plain, plaid shirt and lets it fall down around the man’s wrists, and then off. One hand continues to stray across that flat chest, working soft nipples into hard nubs.
Sharlto’s a little tense. “What’s wrong, Padawan?” Liam asks and the man in his arms shivers as one hand starts undoing the buttons on his pants.
“I don’t like...”
“He doesn’t like the way he looks. He’s got a complex about it,” Bradley interjects, and Liam’s realy going to get him for the way Sharlto almost pulls away.
“Look at him! He’s fooking beautiful!” the South African protests.
Liam’s not hearing any of it, and gives his jeans the push they need to hit the ground. Bradley groans. “That’s all Joe’s doing,” Liam tells him. “Normally Brad looks like a slightly active video game tester.”
“Thanks, Liam.”
“Don’t you dare touch your dick, Brad! Arms back up there!”
With a whining little noise, Brad complies.
“You’re scrumptious,” Liam assures Sharlto, and allows himself to enjoy all that newly exposed skin, warming it with every light pass of palms or lips. Sharlto’s head drops to his chest, panting, as Liam wraps sure and steady around his erection. “And this is a handjob,” he murmurs, stroking down with a force that tears a cry from the actor’s throat.
Bradley’s squirming on the sofa, and Liam’s going to kill him if he moves one more time. “Where’s the slick?” he asks, and Brad stares. “Bradley, slick. Now.”
A tube appears, as if by magic, and Brad tosses it to Liam. The Irishman catches the somewhat erratic throw easily and drizzles a fair quantity into his hand. He’s still fully clothed, and he’s fairly certain this is going to stain if he gets it on his slacks.
Liam gets a firm hold on Sharlto’s belly. “I’m going to push in now. Is that alright?”
He nods, once, tight, and shuts his eyes. Liam tosses the lttle tube back to Brad. “Get yourself ready,” he says, and smirks a little. “And not your cock.”
“You still can’t touch that,” Sharlto adds with a little intake of breath, as Liam’s first finger presses in.
The look on Bradley’s face is priceless, and Liam wishes he could somehow capture the moment, witohut worrying about it ending up all over the evening news. The American swallows hard. “Uh...”
And that makes him stop for a minute. “Brad,” he asks gently.
The American sighs a little, and empties the rest of the bottle into his hand. He scoots forward a little bit, the very top of his ass resting on the end of the cushion. “It’s going to be Sharlto, right?”
“Why?”
“I’ve heard stories...”
“What stories?”
“You’ve heard ‘em,” Brad says evasively. "About, uh, not so little Liam."
"Your cricket bat," Sharlto suggests.
"Third leg."
"Plesiosaur in your pants."
"Crotch monster"
"Fucking Nalgene bottle."
Liam rolls his eyes at Brad, who actually looks worried. “Yes, it’s Sharlto.”
“Oh, good.”
He’s got three fingers in Sharlto right now. The man's not exactly loose, but he’s not tight, either. It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s probably a good thing. But he's not exactly carrying Nessie around with him. “Now turn around, ass in the air, knees on the cushion and hands on the top.”
Sharlto leans back into his arms, spine stiffening into a curve as the Irishman finds the prostate. “Come on, Liam. Unleash the Kraken!” he says with an evil grin and a wanton groan.
iam’s not immune to the effects of either naked man wriggling under his orders right now, and his dick is screaming for attention. He slips out of his pants but leaves his shirt on. He’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but the sight of Bradley’s toned, tanned, gleaming body is enough to make anyone catch their breath. Even from this angle, it’s an impressive sight.
Brad’s moving a second finger into his own ass, knees spread wide, gasping. Sharlto jerks forward a little, and Liam lets him close. The younger man jerkw the American’s asscheeks wide, watching as his lover scissors open his own hole. Condoms appear from the same black hole as the lube, and Sharlto ruins two before he finally gets his excitement under control and the rubber firmly on and adds a little more slick.
Liam positions his hands at Sharlto’s hips. “You ever fucked Brad before?”
“Once or twice,” comes the distracted reply.
“This will be better,” Liam promises. “You ready?”
The only answer is a strangled little sound, and Liam grins. He tugs Brad’s hand free, and slides his own finger in, taking just a moment to tease at that little button, and Sharlto, who’s still pressed back to chest against Liam, has to hold him down. “That’s a yes.” He moves Sharlto to where he wants him. “Go ahead.”
Sharlto’s expression is blissful after the initial push, and Brad is literally crying now, in a very adult and manly way, of course, begging for it, nearly nonsensical. Liam watches for a few thrusts as they get their rhythm down. He’s curious to see how they do
“I must say, boys, you’re much better at this than some of the other things I’ve seen tonight,” he says, very generously.
Bradley lets out a hard, gutteral protest, his head low and hanging.
“Liam, I swear... is that your fucking dick?” The South African turned a little, and almost missed a stroke. “That is not going in me!”
“Pay attention to what you’re doing, Sharlto. I’ve got this,” Liam says in a tone meant to be soothing, and lets a finger slide between the cheeks before grabbing his cock firmly in one hand and waiting for just the right backswing. His erection is throbbing. It really isn’t that big, is it? He doesn’t bother with a condom, though. It’s not going to be big enough.
And Sharlto could take more than he though, because Liam’s gliding right into him, into a searing heat that constricts and loosens, tightens and opens around him in perfect time as the Irishman takes control.
There’s no sense of time passing, just the noise of flesh on flesh, wet urgency as sweat beads and runs off to the floor, little grunts from Liam and louder ones from Sharlto, a scream from Bradley as his friend takes a chance with Liam and draws his orgasm from him, and then follows himself, collapsing to the sofa, completely spent.
Liam can't hold them both up and finish, so he gently pulls out and lays the man down. Brad's watching, and the second Liam's hand moves to his cock, Brad pounces, knocking him backwards onto the sofa and capturing Liam in his mouth.
Liam can't help himself, He loves teasing this lad. "Too big?"
"Like a fucking unicorn pop. Mmhph..."
Sharlto’s obviously been teaching him a thing or two, or else Liam’s really close, because he’s spilling up into Bradley’s eager, talented mouth in no time, hips rocking and legs twitching from the force of it, the American seemingly not bothered at all by the bruises he’s raising along his shoulders and chest.
He lets a limp hand play with Bradley’s hair as the man snuggles in. Sharlto’s lying down, facing up, his head in Liam’s lap, incoherent. Bradley leans over to kiss him. It’s almost perfect.
Almost.
“Brad?”
“WhatsisitLiam?”
“Where’s the remote?” The television was still on.
“Justleavesit,” Brad mutters, and a hand wanders across his shoulders. “Lovethizshow.”
Sitting there, two completely sated young men in his lap, watching the team do some damn fool stunt in the van, Liam had to admit, at the very least, it was giving him ideas.
At the very least, they needed to do more of these movie nights.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: RPS
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Liam/sharlto/Bradley
* hides from the shame of it *
Liam gives Bradley and Sharlto some coaching on how to make their nightly A-Team viewings more fun. With sex. Of course, with sex.
I suppose this comes after Improv. Although I am not getting dragged into a RPS series, I swear...
They don’t even bother turning down the volume on the television.
Liam pauses outside Sharlto’s trailer before he knocks. He brought beer, but this probably isn’t his night. There’s no living around these two on nights like this. They are definitely at it again. It’s become something of a joke for Bradley, who’s got an amazing movie collection brought a selection of it along with him to the shoot. Every night, he’ll take a disc or two over to Sharlto, and the two of them will sit there in the dark, watching, rapt, with popcorn, like a couple of high school girls at a slumber party.
Joe’s asked them to stop. Says it interfers with the movie-making process. Rampage has asked them to stop, but Sharlto only ever replies that the big wrestler is just angry because Mr. T won’t call him. A couple of the workers borrow discs off Bradley on the sly, so at least the crew doesn’t seem to mind.
As for Liam? He just wants this to stop. He’s sick of having to answer all their questions, listening to all their little conversations about it. It’s completely unrealistic, none of that stuff would ever happen in real life, and it’s just downright ridiculous. Only in America, he thinks with a sigh, and bangs on the trailer door.
There’s some quiet fumbling, masked by the sounds eminating from the TV, and then Sharlto jerks the thin door open. His eyes are wild and his hair’s a little messed up, but that’s fairly standard for him. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He was probably doing an impression or something. Right? Right.
“Liam, I’d invite you in, but, ah, I’m not sure if you want to be here for this.”
“It’s okay, Sharlto, I know what you’re up to,” he says and pushes his way in. Bradley’s at the microwave, making popcorn. He waves. Are those pajamas he’s wearing? And a bathrobe. Just like a slumber party. Holy hell. “You girls going to paint each other’s toenails later?”
“Right after our experimental make-out session and vampire movie and nekkid pillow fight,” Bradley says, rolling his eyes.
“Pillow fight?” Sharlto asks.
“Yeah, haven’t you seen Animal House?” The microwave beeps and Bradley upends the bag into a bowl. He’s got a thin cotton shirt on, and Liam can see every one of those hard lines Joe’s beaten into the guy. “Um, bottle opener?”
Sharlto hands it over and settles on the narrow sofa in the trailer. Liam hands him a beer and sits down next to him. The seating area’s not big, cramped, actually, and they’re just a little too close. Thighs touching. It's a nice touch.
“You sure you want to be around for this?” Bradley asks, going for the remote. “I mean, I know you don’t like this stuff...”
It’s a guilty pleasure. Liam knows he’s expected to like it, he really does. But he just can’t bring himself to admit to it. Especially not to interviewers. He's supposed to have some dignity, goddamn it. “It’s okay. There’s nothing on but that awful America’s Got Talent tonight.”
“Didn’t they have one of those in Britain?” Sharlto asks.
“Notice how you just said Britain.”
Bradley snickers, and folds himself out on the other side of the South African. The popcorn’s on the table between them. Extra butter. It's Brad's little rebellion against the diet they've got him on. It's kind of cute. “Liam, come on, this isn’t so bad.”
“Just because you two were ten when you were watching it for the first time, and I was older...”
“I fooking love this stuff, Liam!” Sharlto protests.
“And he’s like, old now,” Brad grins.
“Not as old as Liam here.”
“That’s very true.”
The Irishman groans. “What episode are we watching tonight?”
Bradley doesn’t even make a show of reaching for the box. He knows exactly what he’s put in there. “Pros and Cons, Liam. A classic.”
Somehow, Liam feels like he's being had.
Halfway through the episode, he figures it out. Peppard’s onscreen, whining about the lack of lawnchairs and improper hairdriers. There’s no way...
“Dear lord, is Hannibal pretending to be gay?” Hannibal asks, squinting at the screen.
Bradley’s nursing his second beer and Sharlto’s on his third. The popcorn’s almost all gone, except for the greasy little kernels at the bottom of the bowl. Brad will occasionally stick a finger in there and lick it. Like he’s a five year old. “What,” he replies, “the hairdresser bit wasn’t enough to clue you in?”
“Not every man who cuts hair is gay!”
Sharlto just starts laughing, choking a little on his beer, doubling over. Bradley pounds on his back sympathetically. “You okay there, man?”
He sits back up, still laughing a little, and throws his head back. “TRAASSSHHHBAAAAGGGS!” he yells, and Bradley gives him a high five. Liam has to give him credit. It’s a pretty good impression.
The American actor hasn’t moved his hand. “I like Murdock in this episode.”
“i always thought I’d try my hand at the escape scene, with the bags, but my da...” Sharlto’s words are cut off as Bradley slides into him and captures his mouth. It’s Liam’s turn to roll his eyes. He goes for the abandoned remote, but Brad reaches way over and slaps it out of his hands.
“Leave it there, Liam,” he gasps, breaking the kiss.
“Brad, you have serious issues.”
Sharlto runs his tongue around swelling lips. “But they taste lovely.”
“You taste lovely.”
They’re not talking again. Liam tries to concentrate on the television. The wall. The congealing butter in the bottom of the plastic bowl. Anything by the two men next to him, going at it like it’s going out of style.
They’re never very graceful when it comes to their make-out sessions, Liam’s noticed. It bugs him a little. They’re like a couple of kids - they’re like a couple of kids most of the time, to be completely honest - and that exactly how they kiss. No finesse or ease or anything like that. The Irishman’s sure they’re capable of it; both of the younger men have a kind of crazy grace about them. He sees it on the set daily. He’s just never seen it in action here.
Finally, Murdock and Hannibal are escaping over the wall in that hot-air-trash-bag-lawn-chair contraption (and Liam hears an uncomfortable little voice asking him if a falling tank is really any better, like he keeps trying to tell himself), and Sharlto knees him in the chest and he just can’t take it any more.
“Stop it, you two,” he says tiredly.
Bradley shuts his mouth with an audible snap of his teeth. “What’s wrong, Liam?”
“We can wait until you’re gone, if you like,” Sharlto offers generously.
“No, I’m okay with it.” He’s actually more than okay with it, but he’s not ready to admit that just yet. “You’re both just being very clumsy, aren’t you? Brad, come here.”
The South African man plops off his friend’s lap with a little bit of a manly pout, and Brad just inches closer. “What is it, Liam?”
“You always act like you’re trying to suck his face off.”
Sharlto emits a noise suspiciously similar to a giggle, and clears his throat to pass it off. “Sucking face,” he explains, and Bradley nods. “I like it!”
“Brad!”
“Yes, Liam?”
“You have to be a little slower, a little more considerate. Here, like this,” Liam says, and lets his fingers wander back into the American’s thick, silky hair. He pulls him in for a long, slow kiss, drawing the other man’s tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it a little, letting his own tongue slide in, pulling back completely before diving in a little harder. Pretty soon he’s got Brad reduced to shakes and moans, and then he pushes away.
“Okay,” Bradley says, a bit unsteadily. “I’m going with that. Sharlto, you gotta try that.”
The other man actually blushes from the other side of the sofa. “I don’t know, Brad...”
“No time to be shy, Sharlto,” Liam tells him, and moves in to give him the same treatment.
When he finishes, the younger man’s eyes are wide. “Why don’t you ever kiss me like that, Brad?”
It’s hard to give a convincing shrug with one’s hand down one’s pants, but somehow, Bradley’s managing to make it work for him. “I’m an impatient man, Sharlto.”
Liam doesn’t think the bulge down there is all his fist, and there’s an uncomfortable hardness between his own legs, scraping against the cheap upholstery as he pulls himself back against the back of the couch. “I can see that, Brad. We’re going to have to work on that.”
And the brat just smiles.
Liam’s still fixated on Bradley’s hand. The American hasn’t stopped, and it looks cramped in there, even for pajamas.
“What are you doing, Cooper?” Sharlto asks.
“I call it jerking off,” Brad smiles. “I’m not sure what the South African slang is...”
“You always have to go ethnic. It’s not fair,” Sharlto complains, and completely bypasses Liam, crawling over his lap and shoving the low table away just a little bit. Enough for him to get down on his knees and run a slow hand across Bradley’s thighs, towards the straining flannel. “And what do you call this?”
“Blowjob,” Bradley gasps. His sleep pants are jerked roughly down to his ankles and Sharlto sits on his feet, pulling the thin cotton shirt over his head. The American actor’s cock is painfully engorged, red and swollen, the vein on the underside bulging. “Definitely a blowjob.”
“See, I understand your dialect,” Sharlto says and reaches back into the popcorn bowl, and then forward again, his hand dripping with golden, salty, microwaved imitation butter. He grabs hold of Bradley’s cock softly, coating it in the warm semi-congealed liquid. Once it’s completely coated, he smiles and starts licking. Long, low licks, curling his tongue over the leaking slit and back down to just behind his balls.
“Mmm, Brad, you taste like a cinema,” he moans in a voice that goes straight to Liam’s own cock, which is current lodging a protest against confining, form-fitting modern fashion. He restrains himself, though. Why hasn’t he stuck around for this before?
“Kissed a lot of girls in movie theaters,” Bradley gasps, and kneads his hands into Sharlto’s hair. “Ahh, god, just like that.”
“Or like this?”
And Bradley’s cock disappears into Sharlto’s mouth with one long, long groan of approval from Liam. The TV’s blaring a new episode. The A-Team theme song plays quietly in the background. Sharlto hums along with it as he works Bradley’s shaft in his mouth. He must be doing something fantastically clever, Liam thinks. The sight of the South African’s cheeks hollowing, his lips sliding back down to expose red, saliva-coated flesh, the expression of pure abandon on Bradley’s face are almost too much to take, his mouth forming a little “o” as he watches his fellow star bring him to the brink of orgasm.
Liam can’t take it anymore. He grunts and leans over, shoves Sharlto back a little and clamps his hand firmly down around the base of Bradley’s cock. Both men groan at the loss of contact, and Liam just smirks.
“Hands back, Bradley.”
“Liam, what the fuck?”
“Hands,” and he moves in front of Brad and grabs his hands, positioning them where he wants them, against the top of the coach cushions, “back.”
He pauses for a moment, admiring the glaring, naked man in front of him, and then steps back, pulling Sharlto up off the floor and against his chest in one smooth movement. The South African presses into him a little, turning his head up so he can look the taller man in the eyes.
“You trust me, Sharlto?”
“Of course I do.” His face is completely open.
“Good,” he smiles, and leans his head on the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re going to make Bradley sit there and watch.”
Sharlto goes from serious to amused, and he makes that giggling noise again. Bradley makes a little whine of protest, and Liam can’t help himself, can't stop right now. This is just too much fun.
Liam starts with the shirt. It’s his favorite place to begin, like peeling back the layers of a present. He moves down Sharlto’s front with both hands, trapping the man back against his chest, nibbling on his collarbone, his neck, his ear, his jaw, as he undoes the buttons of the plain, plaid shirt and lets it fall down around the man’s wrists, and then off. One hand continues to stray across that flat chest, working soft nipples into hard nubs.
Sharlto’s a little tense. “What’s wrong, Padawan?” Liam asks and the man in his arms shivers as one hand starts undoing the buttons on his pants.
“I don’t like...”
“He doesn’t like the way he looks. He’s got a complex about it,” Bradley interjects, and Liam’s realy going to get him for the way Sharlto almost pulls away.
“Look at him! He’s fooking beautiful!” the South African protests.
Liam’s not hearing any of it, and gives his jeans the push they need to hit the ground. Bradley groans. “That’s all Joe’s doing,” Liam tells him. “Normally Brad looks like a slightly active video game tester.”
“Thanks, Liam.”
“Don’t you dare touch your dick, Brad! Arms back up there!”
With a whining little noise, Brad complies.
“You’re scrumptious,” Liam assures Sharlto, and allows himself to enjoy all that newly exposed skin, warming it with every light pass of palms or lips. Sharlto’s head drops to his chest, panting, as Liam wraps sure and steady around his erection. “And this is a handjob,” he murmurs, stroking down with a force that tears a cry from the actor’s throat.
Bradley’s squirming on the sofa, and Liam’s going to kill him if he moves one more time. “Where’s the slick?” he asks, and Brad stares. “Bradley, slick. Now.”
A tube appears, as if by magic, and Brad tosses it to Liam. The Irishman catches the somewhat erratic throw easily and drizzles a fair quantity into his hand. He’s still fully clothed, and he’s fairly certain this is going to stain if he gets it on his slacks.
Liam gets a firm hold on Sharlto’s belly. “I’m going to push in now. Is that alright?”
He nods, once, tight, and shuts his eyes. Liam tosses the lttle tube back to Brad. “Get yourself ready,” he says, and smirks a little. “And not your cock.”
“You still can’t touch that,” Sharlto adds with a little intake of breath, as Liam’s first finger presses in.
The look on Bradley’s face is priceless, and Liam wishes he could somehow capture the moment, witohut worrying about it ending up all over the evening news. The American swallows hard. “Uh...”
And that makes him stop for a minute. “Brad,” he asks gently.
The American sighs a little, and empties the rest of the bottle into his hand. He scoots forward a little bit, the very top of his ass resting on the end of the cushion. “It’s going to be Sharlto, right?”
“Why?”
“I’ve heard stories...”
“What stories?”
“You’ve heard ‘em,” Brad says evasively. "About, uh, not so little Liam."
"Your cricket bat," Sharlto suggests.
"Third leg."
"Plesiosaur in your pants."
"Crotch monster"
"Fucking Nalgene bottle."
Liam rolls his eyes at Brad, who actually looks worried. “Yes, it’s Sharlto.”
“Oh, good.”
He’s got three fingers in Sharlto right now. The man's not exactly loose, but he’s not tight, either. It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s probably a good thing. But he's not exactly carrying Nessie around with him. “Now turn around, ass in the air, knees on the cushion and hands on the top.”
Sharlto leans back into his arms, spine stiffening into a curve as the Irishman finds the prostate. “Come on, Liam. Unleash the Kraken!” he says with an evil grin and a wanton groan.
iam’s not immune to the effects of either naked man wriggling under his orders right now, and his dick is screaming for attention. He slips out of his pants but leaves his shirt on. He’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but the sight of Bradley’s toned, tanned, gleaming body is enough to make anyone catch their breath. Even from this angle, it’s an impressive sight.
Brad’s moving a second finger into his own ass, knees spread wide, gasping. Sharlto jerks forward a little, and Liam lets him close. The younger man jerkw the American’s asscheeks wide, watching as his lover scissors open his own hole. Condoms appear from the same black hole as the lube, and Sharlto ruins two before he finally gets his excitement under control and the rubber firmly on and adds a little more slick.
Liam positions his hands at Sharlto’s hips. “You ever fucked Brad before?”
“Once or twice,” comes the distracted reply.
“This will be better,” Liam promises. “You ready?”
The only answer is a strangled little sound, and Liam grins. He tugs Brad’s hand free, and slides his own finger in, taking just a moment to tease at that little button, and Sharlto, who’s still pressed back to chest against Liam, has to hold him down. “That’s a yes.” He moves Sharlto to where he wants him. “Go ahead.”
Sharlto’s expression is blissful after the initial push, and Brad is literally crying now, in a very adult and manly way, of course, begging for it, nearly nonsensical. Liam watches for a few thrusts as they get their rhythm down. He’s curious to see how they do
“I must say, boys, you’re much better at this than some of the other things I’ve seen tonight,” he says, very generously.
Bradley lets out a hard, gutteral protest, his head low and hanging.
“Liam, I swear... is that your fucking dick?” The South African turned a little, and almost missed a stroke. “That is not going in me!”
“Pay attention to what you’re doing, Sharlto. I’ve got this,” Liam says in a tone meant to be soothing, and lets a finger slide between the cheeks before grabbing his cock firmly in one hand and waiting for just the right backswing. His erection is throbbing. It really isn’t that big, is it? He doesn’t bother with a condom, though. It’s not going to be big enough.
And Sharlto could take more than he though, because Liam’s gliding right into him, into a searing heat that constricts and loosens, tightens and opens around him in perfect time as the Irishman takes control.
There’s no sense of time passing, just the noise of flesh on flesh, wet urgency as sweat beads and runs off to the floor, little grunts from Liam and louder ones from Sharlto, a scream from Bradley as his friend takes a chance with Liam and draws his orgasm from him, and then follows himself, collapsing to the sofa, completely spent.
Liam can't hold them both up and finish, so he gently pulls out and lays the man down. Brad's watching, and the second Liam's hand moves to his cock, Brad pounces, knocking him backwards onto the sofa and capturing Liam in his mouth.
Liam can't help himself, He loves teasing this lad. "Too big?"
"Like a fucking unicorn pop. Mmhph..."
Sharlto’s obviously been teaching him a thing or two, or else Liam’s really close, because he’s spilling up into Bradley’s eager, talented mouth in no time, hips rocking and legs twitching from the force of it, the American seemingly not bothered at all by the bruises he’s raising along his shoulders and chest.
He lets a limp hand play with Bradley’s hair as the man snuggles in. Sharlto’s lying down, facing up, his head in Liam’s lap, incoherent. Bradley leans over to kiss him. It’s almost perfect.
Almost.
“Brad?”
“WhatsisitLiam?”
“Where’s the remote?” The television was still on.
“Justleavesit,” Brad mutters, and a hand wanders across his shoulders. “Lovethizshow.”
Sitting there, two completely sated young men in his lap, watching the team do some damn fool stunt in the van, Liam had to admit, at the very least, it was giving him ideas.
At the very least, they needed to do more of these movie nights.
