#circa 2001

Car Jacking

Featuring Spike Jonze, nsfw, smut, and a good time.

Word Count: 1775

A/N: Okay, so, I haven’t written in a longgg while, cut me some slack. I put some effort in and I kinda sorta rushed the end! My bad! But I hope y’all enjoy some Spike, I swear there’s no fanfiction of him. This won’t be the last!!

He liked sex, well everyone liked sex. Unlike his peers he wasn’t fucking every groupie he met, or really at all. Guess he was the only one with complete sense. Though, if anyone else had the opportunity to fuck hot shit babes who don’t care about size just your title, they’d take it in a heartbeat. He wasn’t the star or anything. Just a director, producer. Whatever the fuck you’d wanna call it. His job consists of watching everyone ruin his shit, have sex with everything that walks, being a personal driver, drug testing everyone, covering up their mistakes so Jeff isn’t ripping em a new one. The list goes on, it always does.

He can’t catch a break, and that’s that. Groupies though, they don’t really give what he is, all they know is he’s in the beginning credits for Jackass, yet he wasn’t as significant as Tremaine, but he really didn’t care for all that glory. He was less significant, and outside of filming he could just be a shadow, cause he really didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Pretty average otherwise, but average wasn’t trying to coax Steve-O to shove a car up his ass. Or getting Bam to hold a snake for .5 seconds, just hold one! A damn garden snake.

And he’d just get a fuck you, and maybe when he’s sleeping they’d dump a huge jug of horse semen on him as payback. For doing his job, so, yeah. Maybe he was a bit pissed off, and maybe he shouldn’t bother, but it was his job. His job to fucking find areas to film, and deny groupies who slither around his arm at the end of the night at the bar. And he’d be sober, cause he’s the designated driver.

He’s not Tremaine. Tremaine doesn’t have to spend four hours begging Bam to hold a snake, Bam just does it. He also doesn’t have to wake up at four am to get Steve-O cause the fucker is stranded somewhere. Tremaine also has sex with groupies, and if he doesn’t? He has a wife. Tremaine also makes more money than him, not that Spike really cared. He wasn’t ever in this for the money, and as more and more time goes on he wonders what he’s truly in all of this for.

Maybe he wanted groupie sex.

There was two issues right about now, one being he was working. In a damn car, and for once he wasn’t the one behind the wheel, but what was worse is he was stuck in the back. At least when he’s driving he’s left alone for the most part, but now he’s stuck in the third row, wedged between Knoxville and Pontius. And he wasn’t sure how he ever got in that situation. Guess it was his fault he didn’t wanna drive for once, or couldn’t. He didn’t know why he couldn’t, could be the throbbing cut going down from the web of his middle finger down to palm. Or maybe because it’s been 48 hours without sleeping. He hasn’t slept well all week, but right now he was so mentally exhausted that he just might explode. Maybe thats why he was let loose from driving.

Dunn, or maybe it was Weeman who said he’d rather have a dog drive than Spike right about now. And if he could recall he might’ve even laughed about it. Muttering how good of a joke it was with a very agitated look on his face. He might’ve been cooler any other time, but he was absolutely exhausted. Taking a break. Cause remember?Spike wasn’t gonna drive today. instead he was wedged between two dead asleep assholes, both seemingly had a bad snoring problem.

He wondered if they knew that.

Oh! But a charmer, a doll like Johnny Knoxville could never snore. He’d bat his lashes maybe, or look at Spike deadpanned thinking he’s joking, and Spike would say sure. Chris would laugh, and giggle. Cause it’s funny. The whole world could die and Chris could find something funny outta that, that’s admirable. Something Spike was really starting to consider he lacked.

Perhaps one day he’d be unironically funny, or have a charm that even works on guys. Even if it meant he had a two incher, people other than groupies would still like it. Who knows, but instead he’d be thinking about having sex with one, maybe that would fix whatever crunch he’s stuck in. Instead of another beer. Did he mention he wasn’t much a fan of beer?

He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to sit and think about having a groupie, because the more he thought, the more worked up he felt and shifted around between Knoxville and Chris. Fucking Chris kept sleep kicking him, and had one arm wrapped around him like he was some chick ‘cause Chris was a weirdo, and Chris was a cuddler. Knoxville was just about in that exact same situation too. He had no room to himself. Part of him wished he was driving instead, listening to some old country music or something, cause even when Knoxville's sleeping he has to be in control of the music. He’s the star, and once again; Spike Jones is not, and that’s okay. He didn’t wanna fuck groupies and be worth zillions anyways. He had a hand, and that should be enough. Who cares if Chris is trying to cuddle him; and Knoxville could very well be drooling on his shoulder. It didn’t matter. Not right now anyways with his head so cloudy.

Somehow with that stick lodged up his ass he found a way, or that way sorta found him. In this moment he decided fuck it all, fuck the groupies, the car, and everything else for that matter. He was stressed, agitated, and pent the fuck up.

So, he ignored the dudes pressed against his sides and he tried to sit up straight. Once he somehow managed through that he went fidgeting with his belt. Should’ve worn some sweats, but instead he was rocking dress pants. Not very comfortable.

Agitated with his belt after some trial and error he pulled it through the loops and yanked down his fly, which arguably was tough to do. It got stuck halfway down, but he prevailed. Letting out a sigh of relief as he was only a few steps closer. Somehow managing not to wake a soul, and everyone else? They weren’t paying attention. Probably all knocked out up front. Still, he knew he had to be quick, so he continued on.

Not like right now he cared all that much about getting caught, but the thrill of actually doing so made him slow down his movements. He didn’t have that much patience though, shoving his hand straight into his slacks as he groped himself fully through his boxers, before fishing his dick out through his boxers fly. He was about average, he didn’t really know his size. Good enough though, and certainly bigger than Steve-O. Though he wasn’t staring at his dick or nothing, and no he wasn’t comparing dick sizes either. Half the world was bigger than Steve-O.

Still, he didn’t wanna think about Steve-O jerking off. That was like a boner killer, and he didn’t even have one yet! Somehow he managed to wrap his hand around his length, and he was unbearably dry. Cringing with the friction of his hand meeting his dick. Fucking sucked, but once again he prevailed. His anger would carry him through this.

Going back to thinking about what turned him on he thought of brown haired chicks, totally his type, chicks with lipstick. After sucking him off and getting it all smeared all over their face, big teary eyes, and moaning his name, and boy was it working. As he thought he slowly started to pump his length. Still, he was all tense with anxiety of getting caught.

Thinking deeper about this so-called brown haired girl he imagined her nude, and started to quicken his pace, stopping briefly as he rubbed his thumb against his beading tip. Breathing hitching, and squeezing his eyes shut. And then he thought of Tremaine and what it be like to fuck him, or right about now. He imagined Tremaine sitting next to him and Tremaine’s hand wrapped around his hard on instead.

Tremaine whispering dirty things into his ears, edging him on, and Spike glancing into his pretty blue eyes. Ones he could get lost in, an ocean that could swallow him whole, and that was enough for his pace to get faster.

Spike then heard some shuffling in the row of seats in front of him, Dunn asking Bam for some warm beer, and that spooked Spike, yet he couldn’t seem to care much as his strokes got rougher, eager. His stomach was coiling, yet Tremaine just wasn’t enough, not for him anyways.

He imagined instead, Tremaine getting down on his knees and sucking him off, keeping eye contact with him, and maybe even using a little teeth. That made him let out a low groan as he bucked his hips into his hand. He thought of his fingers intertwining with Jeff’s hair and tugging on it, and Jeff wouldn’t mind. He’d prevail and bob his head even faster. Like clockwork he moved his hand up and down if he could get even faster, using his glistening pre-cum as lube. Letting out a rather staggered moan.

And as he did Chris shuffled, his grip on him tightening, and he opened his eyes. Tightening his fist around his dick as he squeezed ever so lightly, before biting onto his bottom lip. It was almost enough to draw blood, and he might’ve. Aiming his dick at Knoxville's thighs as best as he could, giving himself one last farewell thrust as he climaxed, and he swore he might’ve even caught a glimpse of a few stars as he came. With the help of that imaginary Tremaine. His sweet release splattering onto Knoxville's rather pricey slacks. He almost let out a low laugh, his teeth releasing the grasp he had on his lip as he soon let go of his dick as well.

Once he did he looked at Knoxville's chest that rose and fell with each breath he took, and then went a little higher as he looked at his face. Spike's face went ghostly white, Knoxville's eyes wide open, even though he was wearing those too darkly tinted shades. Something about him he could just tell, he was awake. Well, shit.

Johnny Knoxville was staring straight at him, and then he opened his mouth.

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