Crossover: Hard Core Logo/Buffy the Vampire Slayer- Joe Dick/Oz
Rated NC17 for underage sex.
This takes place about a month before the movie in the Hard Core Logo universe, and before the series starts in the Buffy world. Oz is sixteen, so if that bothers you, don't read it.
Notes: When I started this I was at work, and all I had was the first line, didn't even know what fandom it was. Then I took a smoke break and Joe Dick told me this story. Now I have an Oz muse. Like I needed another muse.
Beta and thanks: First, the magnificent Melissa made me realize what the point was. She's great for that, and many other things <g>. Then, I sent it to Barb when she was over-tired and feeling like shit. I told her to be brutal, and she was, and I love her for it. Then, Amy worked her magic and fixed all my tenses and messes. Thanks guys, I love you all.
Story title and lyrics borrowed without permission from Tim Armstrong of Rancid. "Satellite Of Love" lyrics borrowed without permission from Lou Reed.
Black Derby Jacket
His unsure hand wasn't holding me hard enough, but his inexperience was as much of a turn on as the feel of his small hand wrapped around my dick.
"Yeah, but harder." I clasped my fingers around his, showing him what I wanted.
The feel of his calloused fingers on my dick gave not only my brain, but my entire body a flashback of Billy, and that's really why I was with this kid. He was no carbon copy, as if there ever could be, but he had the hair, and that stoic sense of cool that just oozed out of Billy's pores. I always gave Bill so much shit, cut him down so much, because I never wanted anyone to figure out that he was cooler than me. At least that's why I started, way back when we were little fucks who thought we were gonna rule the world.
We were about the age of the kid with Billy's cool. His name was Oz, and man, did it fucking fit. I was beginning to wonder if maybe he was the goddam wizard and I should have been clicking my fucking heels, because that was one weird assed night.
It all started at the acoustic gig I played at a small club earlier that night. I do it as much to give people a chance to see me as to pay the rent. He was standing real close to the stage, his eyes glued to my fingers on the guitar strings. Now, I'm no fuckin' guitar player, never have been, that was Billy's job, but this kid was watching me play like I was Jimi-fucking-Hendrix. Right away I noticed how young he was, and small; really short and wiry. His hair was spiked up just like Billy used to wear it, and that's probably why I noticed him in the first place, even if it wasn't the same color as Bill's. Out of the corner of my eye I saw spikey, kinda red hair, sticking up just the way Billy's does, and my blood went cold. Then I saw how short he was; relief and anger warmed me up again.
Later, after the show, I was sitting at the bar, letting some skanky blond with big tits buy me drinks and tell me how she'd been listening to Hard Core Logo since way back when. I was thinking, not only was I gonna get laid, but I was getting all the free booze I could guzzle down, and that ain't anywhere near bad. Then the bitch had to go and fuck it all up.
"So, like Billy's in L.A. now, eh? Why didn't you go with him?"
I smiled all sugar and pie at her, got right in her face and belched. Then I told her to fuck off. She called me an asshole, and I smiled, and she walked off in a fuckin' tizzy. That's when I turned around and saw the kid sitting on the barstool next to mine, a coke on the bar in front of him. Up close like that, I could see that while he was small, and young, his face was old, in a weird kind of way; like an old soul, or whatever-the-fuck.
"Hey." He nodded at me, blank faced and cool as a cucumber. "So, I'm thinking that topic is pretty much off limits?"
I don't know if it was his deadpan delivery or the hint of a smirk on his face, but I was busting my gut laughing before I knew what hit me.
Then I recovered and smirked back at him, "Pretty much, yeah."
"How 'bout music? Is that off limits?"
"Nah," I told him. "Music is never off limits."
He nodded and smiled, "Cool, I'd like that. I'm Oz."
I'm not sure if I stuck around because he was really talking to me, asking intelligent questions and sharing some pretty cool theories, or maybe I was just digging his voice, and the strange, mellow rhythms of his speech, but as I sat there talking to Oz, it was like falling into another reality. A place where I felt things and gave a shit, a place back when it all mattered. Turns out my first impression was right, the kid's got to have a seriously fucking old soul to be as smart as he was, that young. We talked music, bands, trends, the industry bullshit, riffs, lyrics... while we were talking, it was like I could almost see the music flowing through his veins. Yes, I did a lot of coke, and yes, I was pretty fucking drunk by that time, but I swear I could feel it pouring off of him.
Then I found myself asking him personal shit, like where he came from, what was he doing here, that kinda shit, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I just wanted to listen to his strange voice some more, I don't know. I had him pegged for a runaway, but he said his parents don't really notice much when he takes off, and he'd just got his driver's license, so he took a road trip up the coast and turned right. When he told me he was from California it pissed me off, but then he said he was from a town called Sunnydale, and I just felt sorry for him. I think I would have killed myself, or a shitload of other people, if I had to grow up somewhere called Sunnydale.
The whole time I was talking to him, having the first intelligent conversation I'd had in a long fucking time, I kept seeing glimpses of Billy in him. Stupid fucker wants to fly out to L.A. and be a fucking rock star, fuck him. But, sitting there talking to Oz, talking music all night with someone who knew what the fuck they were talking about... it hit home what I'd been missing.
I knew I was turning into an old fucker and that if I didn't get my shit together soon I may as well just blow my fucking brains out. I knew the only reason I started talking to that kid was because he reminded me of Bill. I didn't give a shit, because Oz reminded me about what was important- The Music. I hadn't written anything in months, and I just kept singing the old songs over and over again at acoustic gigs. Every day a step closer to death, cause what I was doing sure as hell wasn't living.
Maybe I was over thinking shit, maybe I just did a little too much coke and my brain wouldn't stop, whatever, who fucking cares. It felt good. I liked listening to him talk, his voice, the way he used it... even kind of sounded like Bill, a little. By the time the bartender started cleaning up, giving last call, I panicked inside, because I didn't want to lose that connection, didn't want Oz to disappear. I needed to get him to come home with me, needed to get closer to this weird little fucker, get a good taste of him.
I could feel the music running around inside this kid, and I hadn't felt it that close to me since Billy got on a fucking plane. I wasn't ready to let it go yet; it felt like that first taste you get when you fall off the wagon, you always need more. I tried getting him drunk, offered to buy him some beers, but he refused. Said he wasn't into drinking. Too bad, it's always a hell of a lot easier if they're stumbling drunk.
"You got a place to stay tonight?" I asked him as they started tossing people out of the club.
"Got my van." He shrugged. I picked up my guitar case and we headed for the door.
"Yeah, well you can crash at my place if you want." I told him as we walked out onto the street.
He stopped and looked up at me, he couldn't have been more than 5' 5", and he squinted his eyes at me, "Don't think you fool me, Joe Dick. I know you're a nasty man with a dirty mind."
I laughed, "You got that right. So are you chicken, or are you chicken?"
"Neither," I wasn't surprised that he got my meaning. "But I'm curious. Will that work?"
I tossed an arm over his shoulder, "Yeah, kid, that'll work."
As Oz drove us to my crappy apartment in his van, the smell brought back a rush of memories, of being on the road in the early days, when we couldn't afford a bus or a driver. One very cool thing I learned about Oz, he's not talking if he doesn't have something to say. So we drove with the radio on, not talking, and I let myself get lost in what used to be. Nights of speed and endless driving, Billy talking to me so I didn't fall asleep at the wheel. Or times when Pipe and John were up front and Billy and I were huddled under some filthy blankets, trying to get warm enough to sleep in the back of the van.
The weird thing was, I wasn't getting mad this time; I was missing it like you miss an amputated limb. Felt like I'd been gutted, but I was still walking around bleeding everywhere and no one noticed the gaping hole in my middle. Never felt so lost in my whole fucking life. I thought, "Fucking Billy, he's gonna pay for this shit he's pulled." The only thing I could think was that I should take Oz home with me, fuck him till I passed out, soak up whatever I could of the bizarre little genius, and then figure out how the fuck I was going to get Billy back. I decided there, in Oz's stinky van, that I was going to get Billy back. Up until that point I'd been too angry to admit that I wanted him back.
"Want some?" Oz's voice pulled out from my little epiphany, and I took the joint he was offering me.
I realized we were almost at my street. "Turn here," I passed the joint back to him, and he made the turn and took a hit at the same time.
"You don't drive like you just got your license. Here, park here."
He shrugged, "I don't really think about it. I just let it happen."
As we walked up the three flights of stairs, we finished smoking the joint. Once we were in my apartment, which doesn't smell all that much better than Oz's van, I saw him tense up. It's just one room, with a kitchenette and a bathroom. It's all I need. I set my guitar down on the bed and took off my coat, tossing it on a chair. I was surprised when he tossed his coat on the pile, because I could tell he was getting more and more nervous every second. His eyes were darting around the place, his left hand tapping out a nervous rhythm on his leg as he wandered around the oversized box I called home.
This was gonna be fun. Had to get it just right. I don't make a habit out of fucking teenage boys, but when the opportunity falls in my lap I'm sure as shit gonna take advantage of it. This was way more fun than some bimbo who'd had too much beer; that was almost too easy. There was a challenge here, and there was a hell of a lot more life running around inside this kid than in any barroom slut, and I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into it. This was good games.
Oz paused in his wandering to run his fingers over the guitar case that I'd set on the bed when we walked in. "Can I?" He asked me.
"Sure, help yourself."
I went and chugged some orange juice out of the carton, standing in front of the fridge, giving the chemicals in my system a faster ride through my bloodstream. I figured that Oz could probably get higher, and the pot was putting a soft edge to the coke I'd been doing all night, like riding a roller coaster while surrounded by pillows. I pulled a joint out of my dresser drawer and went to sit next to Oz.
My bed was up against the wall, as far away from the window as I could get it in an attempt to avoid the morning sun. Oz was sitting against the wall, one leg tucked under him, one stretched out across the bed. He had his head back and he was quietly strumming something that I thought I'd heard before, but couldn't place. I sat down next to him, kicking off my boots and letting them fall on the floor. After I lit the joint, I couldn't take it anymore.
"What is that?" I offered him the joint and he stopped playing to take it from me.
"Lou Reed. Recognize it?" He shot me a sly smile.
"No, what the fuck is it? Play it some more. Can you sing?"
"Not really, but neither can Lou." He started playing the song again, and doing something that was somewhere between talking and singing.
"Satellite's gone, up to the skies. Things like that drive me out of my mind. I watched it for a little while, I like to watch things on tv. Satellite of love, satellite of love, sat-el-lite of love. "
Yeah, I knew the song, enough to know that I'd heard it before, but what got to me was Oz. I had only turned on the kitchen light when we came in, and I saw him in the dim light, clouded by the smoke from the joint we were smoking, and I swear the kid was glowing. He was grinning around the words, then raising his head up to sing the last bits to the ceiling. When he stopped, he closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh. I wish I could remember when just music made me feel that good.
Then he turned to me, "Your turn."
Oz gave me the guitar, and I didn't even think about it, I just started playing. He scooted closer to me, holding the joint to my mouth so I could take a hit and keep playing. I wasn't really playing anything, just fuckin' around. We finished the joint like that, Oz being my roach clip, and as I exhaled the last hit, I started playing Blue Tattoo. Now that's a fucking classic.
I sang it for him, and I don't mean Oz. I sat there and played and sang my fucking heart out, never once feeling in control of anything; not my fingers, not my voice, not my emotions, not any minute aspect of my existence. The weird part was, it wasn't a bad feeling. It was a rush. Music is the closest thing to religion that I have. I wonder if Oz was smart enough to figure out that he was my father confessor? By the time the song was over, I felt like I might be glowing.
"Wow," he whispered. "Now that's an aphrodisiac."
I leaned forward and set the guitar on the floor as gently as I could, but it still hit the floor kinda hard, the sound ringing on and on. The musical foreplay was over, and I was so fuckin' hungry for this kid, wanted to eat him alive. It was good to know that Oz wasn't having any second thoughts, that he wasn't about to bolt on me. I sat back against the wall, and as soon as I did, Oz started moving. He grabbed my hand, his fingers running over my callouses, then turning it over, looking at the scars on the back. I reached up to brush my hand over Oz's crunchy, spiky hair, and for a second, I was somewhere else. These flashes of memory the kid had been giving me all night made my blood boil. Oz raised his head, pushing up into my palm, his eyes half open. The pot had mellowed me out a little, and the coke would give me a rush every now and then, and I got the idea in my head that Oz moved like chord progressions. He let go of my hand and grabbed my shoulder, pulling himself closer, almost in my lap.
His hands stroked across the shaved sides of my head, sending shivers down my spine. "Not sure what I'm doing here." His voice was thick and hushed. "I like it, though. Like you, how you understand what it does. The music, how it gets inside, in your blood, in your soul."
As he was talking, his face was getting closer and closer to mine. I wanted it, needed to taste Oz. I nodded, letting him know that I totally fucking understood. I didn't tell him how it can also eat away at you, eat you up.
He didn't kiss me as as much as he tasted my bottom lip, slowly, again, and again. His chapped lips scraped across mine, and combined with his fingers that were skimming across the sides of my skull, I was hot and dizzy and aching for more. I slid my hand down his back, able to feel the bones in his spine, as my other hand wrapped around his ribcage, pulling him closer. The kid was practically skin and bones, like Bill used to be... always so fuckin' hungry.
"Wait." He pulled back, but instead of getting up, like I thought he was going to do, he pulled his legs around and straddled my lap.
"That's better." Oz settled himself carefully, his hands on my shoulders to steady himself, putting his weight on my thighs instead of crushing my dick, which was waking up and taking notice.
"Much." I reached my hands under the back of his T-shirt and slid up his spine, warm flesh gliding under my fingers, feeling so motherfucking good. I pulled his shirt up and over his head and tossed it on the floor.
Before I could get my hands on all that fresh flesh stretched across his teenage bones, Oz was pulling my sweater off, licking and sucking across my neck and down my shoulder before he'd even finished getting the sweater over my head. I tossed the sweater to the floor as Oz's mouth made it's way back across my shoulder and up my neck. He traced my ear with his tongue, mumbling, "Taste good". Then he licked my head, from back to front across my shaved skull, and it was like a shower of sparks were falling through my bloodstream. I moaned and he did it again, and I wondered if Oz would gnaw through my skull to eat my brains if he could. Being the twisted fucker I am, that got me even hotter.
"Why me, Joe? Why didn't you just go find the next blond...?" Oz's voice trailed off.
"With big tits?" I finished the sentence for him.
"Yeah." His mouth twitched into a smile for a flash.
"The music." The smile came back and stayed when I told him that.
"You taste like it." He purred at me, then got a good long taste of me, his tongue sliding across mine, over and over.
As soon as he pulled away for air, I leaned in to his neck, pulling his body closer to me, sliding him up my lap as I bit and licked my way down Oz's neck. It was easy, the way he fit into me, the way he kind of melted in my arms when I sank my teeth into his skin just a little too hard, the way he moaned when I licked at his jugular. It killed me the way he reacted; it was all real. Nothing for show, no calculated response, just pure, honest, authentic emotions. I hadn't had anything real in a long, long time, and I kinda slowed down to enjoy it. Oz had his arms around my neck and his head back, baring his neck to me, my arms wrapped around his bony back, holding him up.
I had never been like this with another guy before; it had always been hard and fast, lots of grunting and no talking, except maybe some swearing. Except with Billy, but that's something completely un-fucking-related to anything else, that's me-and-Bill, and there's nothing like that. Still, sitting there on my bed with Oz in my lap, it was different. Oz was different. But see, that's the thing, and maybe it was because of his age, but Oz wasn't behaving like any guy I'd ever fucked, but not really like a chick, either. It wasn't an innocence thing, either. There was too much going on in that kid's head for him to be really innocent. Just, completely fucking different, foreign, and really fucking hot.
I was really getting into gnawing on his bony shoulder, dragging my teeth across his bone and then sucking at the muscle that seemed to be stretched especially tight under Oz's pale skin. He was really getting into it too, grinding his hips against me, fucking growling at me. Then, all of the sudden, he pulled away from me, scooted back so he was sitting between my legs instead of on them.
"More, I gotta see you, man. Gotta touch you. You're too much." He was panting hard, and I had a hard time listening to what he was saying 'cause I couldn't take my eyes off his ribs, his lungs, watching what I'd done to him, how worked up he was. Then I heard what he said.
I laughed, good and dirty. I knew I was way more than this kid could ever handle. Shit, I could break him like an empty bottle, fucking shatter him, if I wanted to. Lucky for Oz I was in a good mood for once in my fucking life. I had every right to be; not only did I have Oz sitting there ready to tear my pants off, but when we woke up and I sent him on his way, I was going to figure out how to get Billy's skinny ass on a plane back here as fast as I could. Things were starting to make sense for a fucking change.
"I'm thinking naked would be good here." I was getting used to Oz's low, not quite monotone voice, the way he said everything like it was extremely profound, but at the same time like he couldn't care less. The kid had style, that's for fucking sure.
"I like the way you think, kid." I told him as we got out of our jeans as fast as possible.
As soon as he tossed his pants, underwear, socks and shoes on the floor, Oz had me by the shoulders and was pushing me sideways, "Lie down?" was all he said, but his body language was a hell of a lot more demanding. Funny, I had no problem with complying. One thing about me and sex- I am always in control, on top, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Guess it was a night of firsts all around, 'cause I scooted over on the bed and lay flat on my back for Oz. Flashed him a "you've got balls" smile and waited to see what he'd do. Like I said, this was a fun game.
His eyes were glued to my cock, and with no hesitation at all he reached out and wrapped his hand around me. Talk about balls, mine were surging, sending shockwaves to my whole body. He started moving his hand up and down, and when I looked at him and he had his head cocked to one side, a sly little smile on his face.
"Yeah, but harder," I clasped my fingers around his, showing him what I wanted. I leaned up on one elbow so I could see him better. He was sitting next to me, cross-legged on the bed, and I couldn't help but think that Oz was even more confident naked than he was with his clothes on.
"Mmm, hot." He kinda purred, and then leaned closer and started to kiss me, his tongue dancing in my mouth to the rhythm of our hands on my dick.
Oh yeah, this kid was definitely fucking hot. Once I showed him how to stroke me, to give a good hard squeeze on the way down, to rub his thumb over the head every now and then... he got it perfect in no time. There were sparks flying through me. They started where Oz's hand was wrapped around my dick and then shot through every part of me.
As Oz stopped kissing, he also stopped stroking me. From the way he was panting I figured he needed to get some actual air into his lungs, instead of just feeding off my breath, the way he had been. His face was kinda red, and his eyes were huge, and I was rushing on his fresh, eager lust. I could see from the look on his face that all of this was new for him, and I wanted to rock his world, blow his teenage mind. I was thinkin', Want some candy, little boy?
"Want more?" I asked him instead.
"Yeah," he answered with no hesitation and that hungry fucking look in his eyes.
I moved in slow, half because I didn't want to scare him, and half because Oz had my whole body feeling sluggish from the pleasure he sent shooting through my veins. I leaned in and sucked on his neck. His whole body jumped, then melted as I heard his gasp turn into a sigh. His skin was soft and sweet in my mouth, and I decided that I wanted to make a meal of Oz. I was flying on his reactions. He was going back and forth between making these needy, whimpering noises and growling in the back of his throat, and I was totally getting off on it.
As I worked my way down his neck to his shoulder, I started to slowly push him back on the bed, and he went with it, no problem at all. As Oz layed on the bed, the way he sighed and stretched himself out, fucking offering himself up to me, my guts twisted and my hands kinda started to shake. Oz was seriously potent, and I was loving the rushes he kept giving me. He let me sit between his legs, even drew his bony knees up to give me more room. As I spread my fingers across his ribs, and felt his bones so close, I couln't help but wonder if Oz had any idea how ugly things could get for him, how nasty the monster in me really is.
That particular monster didn't seem to be present, though. I was too wrapped up in what was, and what I was fucking determined would be again, and how Oz made me remember what's important, and how the rest is all shit in the background. At sixteen, Oz was cooler than most people could ever hope to be, at least that's the impression that I got. He was staring at me, no expression on his face, but his eyes were fucking intense, hungry. As soon as I started to touch him, they slowly fell shut.
I liked touching him; liked the way he twisted so more of his skin was within my reach, liked the way he was breathing heavy. I got caught up in watching his lungs work for more air, and I really fuckin' liked they way he was moaning. I turned my head and leaned down to suck at Oz's pale skin. I got a mouthful of his inner thigh, his flesh soft and warm in my mouth. I sucked and gnawed on his skin, knowing I'd leave a nice, dark mark on him. Something to remember me by. He liked it, loved it, judging by the sounds he was making. That's one thing that has always turned me on. Sex is supposed to be noisy, as long as you're not fucking faking it. If it isn't loud and messy, you're not doing it right.
I pulled my mouth off of Oz with a loud slurp, leaving a nice purple hickey. My eyes ran up his leg to his groin, and I had to admire the kid's cock. For a small guy, he had a good six or seven inches, and it was just one nice lookin' dick. Good shape, not too thick, and I liked the way it twitched, jumping against his belly as I ran my hand up and down his thigh. He was all worked up, panting, and his moan sounded so needy it was almost a whine. His head was relaxed, kinda leaning to the side, and his arms were at his sides, but he had a fistful of the sheets in each of his hands and he was gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. I was floating and flying, drugs and lust and power pumping through my veins.
The next time my hand trailed up his leg, I kept going until I wrapped my fingers around the base of his dick. His whole body jerked and his eyes flew open... Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. His wiry body was so tense, taught, aching for me to start stroking him. I gave a little squeeze and his eyes got even bigger, and that's what I wanted, to keep him nervous.
I wanted to play his body till he was screaming like like a fucking straticaster. I wanted to eat up all his teenage flesh and blow his genius fucking mind. I started stroking him slowly, up and down, nice and easy. He had his eyes closed again, his head tossing back and forth a little. Oz whimpered a lot. I mean these really needy, feral, almost squeaky noises, and it made my nerves tingle, made my blood hotter. I picked up the pace, knowing he wasn't gonna last long.
He started gasping and thrusting when I doubled the pace. My own cock was twitching, screaming, and I figured if I could get Oz when he was all come dumb and relaxed it wouldn't hurt him too much. I dug the kid, and I didn't want to put him in the hospital or anything, but the bottom line was I had to fuck the boy. I knew he was there when he started growling. Growling and yelling and coming. I caught as much of it as I could with one hand, still squeezing the last of the orgasm out of his dick with the other. A few tremors were still running through him, and I took a second to watch his pale, skinny body twitch with pleasure.
"Come on, roll over for me," I told him, grabbing his hip with one hand and easily flipping him over. He sprawled, probably still not really aware of what I was about to do, or maybe he did know, I didn't really care. I got between his legs, pushed them apart with my knees and then took a second to admire his small, round, very white ass. I ran my hand over his soft, round flesh, and he actually raised up a little for me, sighing. I scooped up the come I had in my other hand and started working a finger into him. He jumped, kinda yelped, as I pushed in and pulled out, a little at a time. He was fucking tight, and if I didn't get some cooperation from him I would end up hurting myself as much as I hurt him.
"Easy, it's cool. There ya go," I tried to calm him down, get him to relax.
He was moaning and he pulled himself up further on his knees, but his legs were shaking. Either the kid had guts, or he was one horny little fucker. When I got two fingers in, I started reaching with my other hand for the rubbers I had on the floor. After getting the clap one too many times, I realized that I really should be using those fucking things. Oz was pushing back into me, getting into it, grunting into the covers. I got the rubber on quick, thinking the extra lubrication was definitely gonna help, and then I was lining up to his tight, virgin ass. I pushed forward just a little and his whole body went rigid.
I held my dick, working it back and forth, pushing into Oz no matter how much resistance his body gave me. I put my other palm flat on the small of his back, petting him, trying to calm him down. He was panting like crazy and his legs were shaking worse than they were before.
"That's a good boy, easy." As soon as I started talking to him, I saw him take a deep breath, and I slid in a little further. "Lemme in, just relax, it's cool."
I could tell from the strangled sounds he was making that it hurt. Those noises went straight to my dick, and as I pushed past the ring of muscle, a long helpless cry came out of Oz, so I waited for him to relax again. He wasn't freaking out or pulling away, but his body was fighting me every inch of the way. He was so tight it hurt me a little, but not enough to make me stop, just enough to make me want more. I kept pushing my way in, bit by bit. When I was finally sunk deep inside Oz, it was so fucking tight and hot that I had to wait or I would have come before I even got started.
"Naahhh... fuck," Oz wailed, and I grabbed his hips before he could pull away from me.
I pushed in a little deeper and shifted my angle. He jerked, and the noise he made was a much happier one, and I knew I hit the right spot. I pulled back just a little and then shoved in quick, digging how small Oz's hips felt in my grip, the way his sharp bones were digging into my palms. I rocked my hips, pulling back a little further each time and shoving my dick into Oz a little harder with every thrust forward. He was loosening up and I was sliding in and out of the tightest hole I'd ever fucked. The noises he made were like music, moans and grunts and whimpers all flowing into what almost sounded like a song.
I was gone, flying, lost in the feel of Oz's virgin ass and I heard myself growling, sounding like the bass line to his moans and cries. I reached an arm around him and found his dick was hard again. I leaned all my weight forward, letting go of his hips to brace myself, laying myself across Oz's back and pushing all the way in, as far as I could go.
His hips bucked up into me, and he pulled his head up, "Aaahhh, yeah, Joe, mmm, more."
I reached under him and wrapped my hand around his dick. Attaching my mouth to Oz's shoulder I started humping him with short, hard thrusts. I was almost there, and I knew if I could make Oz come, he'd send me over the edge. I bit down, sucking the thin skin covering his shoulder, pulling it in my teeth. He yelled, coming, jerking under me, around me, and I was right there with him. I was falling and flying and coming so hard my teeth ached.
When I came back to earth I managed to pull out of Oz and toss the rubber on the floor. I flopped on the bed next to him, and he turned his head to look at me. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at me.
"So, I can stay the night?" His voice was hoarse and sleepy.
"Yeah." Not what I had expected him to say.
"Thanks. You are one wild ride, Joe Dick," and then he closed his eyes and passed out.
The last things I thought before falling asleep were, "Cool kid" and "So, how am I gonna get Billy's ass back here?"
But I got a new perspective of you
All the good and bad that we went through
I know you better than you know you
Because I've got a new perspective of you