[lil author's note: another more repressed-jules type of one shot. kinda sad but also hopefully kinda funny and kinda hot too]
Julian liked to watch.
It was easier that way.
No real questions to answer to anyone, not even himself; no Pandora's boxes opened. He was just kind of a perv, whatever. So was everyone in the business, and this was a helluva lot less pervy than SOME guys. So what if it was easiest for him to get off watching guys fuck girls? --In the flesh, that is. Not mediated by screen. And not just any guys. Guys he knew and worked with, and their girls. --Or groupies. Whatever. Whoever was around.
They’d usually forget he was there after awhile of fucking. He’d always been good at being invisible. He didn’t bother anyone and the only person he touched was himself. Vigorously. He didn’t allow himself to think too much until he was close. Let himself enjoy whatever sound, smell, and sight he wanted. Nate’s balls were close enough to his girlfriend’s ass; Greg’s ass was close enough to his girlfriend’s thighs. He allowed his eyes to linger along Nate’s muscles, didn’t question the sudden swell of arousal that followed-- simply redirected it. Nice tits.
He came like that, too. Getting almost too close to the edge of needing to ask himself a certain question, then switching focus at the very last second. He came to the sound of Greg’s girlfriend moaning in ecstasy, not Greg’s powerful, steady thrusting. He didn’t imagine himself there, in her place. Of course not. What’re you trying to say, anyway??
It was easier to pretend with Greg. He was a good looking guy, older, experienced, wise in various ways. He made his girl happy and he clearly got turned on by making her that kind of happy.
Nate could be more difficult. He was a good looking guy himself-- strong, muscular, huge cock (yet somehow still not big enough to be happy with himself)-- the problem was, he fully allowed himself to know it in bed, and not in a way that was entertaining. Or, maybe it was more like he didn't really know it, but wanted to know it. It didn’t seem like he fucked to make girls happy-- it seemed like he fucked to try and reassure himself of something. Probably a lot of things.
Greg would completely ignore Jules. He thought it was a funny quirk of his, and they were good enough buds, and he’d been around enough rock n’ roll orgies at that point that some guy jerking off in the corner wasn’t going to bother him. The girls were rarely bothered by it, either-- if anything, the groupies were disappointed Jules wasn't joining in more directly.
Nate could never ignore him the entire time, and not only that, he seemed to like to choose positions and angles where he could make direct eye contact with him. It unnerved Jules. Like, what the hell was his problem? Was he some kind of fag or something? He liked watching other guys jack off to him??
Well. If Nathan felt the need to wordlessly ask the worst question ever to Jules every time he watched Nate fuck, why not bother Nate a little back? So, every time Nate looked over at him, he started showing off a little. Just a little-- but a little more each time. He wanted, and then needed, for some reason, to know when Nate would dare to look away.
One night, he knew he tipped a line of some kind. --Then again, he would’ve been shocked if he didn’t. He jacked off like he knew Nate noticed even when he didn’t look up at him. He wasn’t quiet. And when he and Nate did lock eyes, he held his cock, stroked precum across the head of it with his thumb, bit his lip.
Nate hastily looked away at that point-- and came.
HA, so he WAS a fag.
--Jules came at the thought, but then again, he also could’ve came to Nate licking his girl’s tits. The tits themselves, of course. Not the licking. Or at least, not the fact that it was NATE doing the licking. Of course not. And just what’re you trying to say, anyway??
“I wanna watch you jack off.”
--Jules was drunk when he said it, obviously. Or at least, he had a couple drinks. He had enough to feel a buzz and be stupid. Nate opened his mouth to answer, but Jules was sure he wouldn’t like whatever would come out of his mouth. “—UGH, don’t make it weird, Nate. You know me. Right?”
Nate shrugged. “What? I know it doesn’t mean nothin’. --Right?”
Jules nodded emphatically. “Right.” Why would it?
The deal was made, the accord was struck, and both of them agreed, from the onset, that there was nothing homo about this whatsoever, and if there was, they wouldn’t tell a word of it to each other. They were drunk. Or at least, they had a couple drinks. And Jules was a good looking guy, too-- not like THAT, obviously. But still pretty enough that if Nate unfocused his eyes just right he could pretend he was a girl. Somehow, that pretend girl was always hotter than the one he was with. He could put up with the occasional reminder Jules had a dick for all that. And he WAS putting up with it. And ONLY putting up with it. OBVIOUSLY.
In either case, they made their way to Nate’s room. Jules pulled up and sat in the chair all hotels seem to provide, as if they knew people liked watching (Jules felt comfortable with that thought; of course he wasn’t the only one, of course this is just what everybody would do if they could). Nate sat at the edge of the bed facing him.
Jules was closer than he’d ever been before, but still far enough away that he couldn’t reach out and touch Nate even if he wanted to, and of course he didn’t want to. He wanted to watch.
“...You sure it’ll be this easy for ya if I’m right here like this?”, Jules asked.
Nate shrugged, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. “I can close my eyes an’ think of Farrah Fawcett, don’t worry, man.”, He replied with a laugh. Tossed his pot baggie out of the crotch; pulled his dick out. Mostly limp, still, but nice. Jules crossed his legs. Tight. Clasped his hands around his knees.
Nate smiled awkwardly, closed his eyes, spread his legs wider, started stroking himself. Sighed after a few seconds. Started simply getting off on the feelings themselves. That was easy.
Jules felt his own dick throb, once, through his legs. Panicked, for a moment. Panicked even more when the throbbing became less intermittent, as Nate got increasingly into his own touching, bending back a little, one hand around his balls, the other stroking his cock-- half-erect by now and getting harder-- with more and more insistence.
Jules's hand was around his own dick, now, which was out of his own jeans. If he was going to get that hard through even that much anxiety, what could he do about it? Nate's eyes were closed anyway. It made it a lot less awkward to admire what he had. Like, GOD, imagine that cock ACTUALLY fucking Farrah Fawcett. What about the rest of him, though? What would the rest of Nate look like fucking her?
“D’you wanna take your shirt off, man?”, Jules blurted out.
“Gonna have to do that eventually anyway, huh?”
“Ha! Right. --Maybe your pants, too. I mean, they’re already half-way off anyway. It's not really comfortable jackin' off like that. --Or it isn't for ME, anyway.”
"No, no, I feel you, dude!"
And Nate stripped. Jules didn’t follow the bobbing of his cock directly while he did so. He saw it out of the corner of his eye. That’s all. It was funny. A little hypnotizing, which was funny, too. Did girls think that was funny, or just sexy? HE didn’t think it was sexy, of course.
GOD, he knew Farrah would kill to have Nathan up against her and inside her, though. Jules just knew it. Farrah would love it even if Nate wasn't always good at what he did with it. Farrah could just ride him, right? Straddle the idiot and ride that thick fucking cock of his, feel it completely fill her up, use him how she needed, god it'd feel like heaven-- FOR HER. A moan escaped his throat as he thought about it, as he felt himself up to the thought of it; he hastily imagined Farrah moaning alongside him.
--And Jules did sound kind of like a girl, when Nate thought about it enough. His voice was high pitched enough, anyway. --It’d be kind of a deep voiced girl, but still a GIRL. He wondered if he sounded like that when HE fucked. And who did he even fuck, anyway? So Jules could watch him but he couldn’t watch Jules? The fuck??
Nate opened his eyes just a crack, saw Jules lean his head back with his own eyes closed, pumping away. He had a nice dick, too. Not as big as his own, thankfully, but nice enough that chicks would dig it. Good for him, you know? --Yeah, they’d probably love to jack him off like that. Suck it, too. What would he sound like getting his dick sucked? That pretty? Even prettier? And what kind of girl would be pretty enough to get to hear a guy that pretty, anyway? Jules must’ve had some pretty high standards for himself-- maybe that’s why he wanted to watch Nate jack off. Even why he wanted to jack off to Nate jacking off. He set his standards too high and he broke himself. Poor guy. Not Nate’s problem, though. --He saw how close Jules was, how deep a pink the head of his cock was, and he remembered that night Jules rubbed his precum all over it while looking him dead in the eye. What a crazy dude. And the lip biting? Fuck--
“FUCK!”
Nate came and he didn’t have anything to hide it behind, this time, so he chose not to think at all. Closed his eyes again, leaned back, came across his chest--
Jules barely had time to throw his own shirt off before he was cumming, too. Same pose, same aim. Like they were jacking off by themselves, in front of a mirror. Would that be weirder than this? Probably. So really, Jules was doing Nate more of a favor than he probably knew. --He couldn’t hide behind much either, though. Thoughts were beginning to flood him that he’d been able to suppress for years. He didn’t want to be this far away from Nate. He didn't want to simply act like his mirror, or see him as though he was behind a pane of imaginary glass. He wanted to be Farrah fucking Fawcett god-fucking-dammit. --Well, not LITERALLY. He wanted to be where she hypothetically was. Even worse: he wanted to be where Nate’s girl was.
A new panic flitted across his mind, then: could he keep watching? Would it just hurt, now? Would he only be able to focus on the wrong things? Did he truly break himself for good, after so long a time meticulously maintaining himself right at the edge of that deniability? Maybe he could just watch Greg? Would that be different now, too? Could he only see it one way, now? ...Even worse… did he WANT to see it that way?
I’m just going to drink myself into oblivion after this.
--That was what both of them thought, independently of one another. And they had already been drunk anyway. Right? Or at least, they’d had a couple drinks. A couple drinks too many? Ha ha! And Nate laughed along, put his clothes back on, Jules zipped his jeans up. They took turns washing up; Nate clapped a hand on Jules’s back on his way out the door.
You really do think up the craziest shit with a little booze in ya.