#cod gaz

But you could focus on the heavy accents gracing your ears. Their smooth, deep voices just floating around in your brain for a number of minutes you couldn’t count.

"Ye alright?" A hand waved in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze. You were a tad embarrassed, but the alcohol flowing through your veins buried it.

You responded with a quick, "Yeah, I'm fine," then jumped back into the swing of conversation. Kyle regaled you with tales you've already heard, but they captivated you each time. Midway through his sentence, high heels clacking from behind distracted you.

A high pitched voice rang out, making you wish you had earplugs. By the time you turned around to see what was happening, she had already passed you, fawning over Kyle and Johnny.

"Oh my gosh, I heard y'alls accents, and I love them! Where are y'all from?" She completely ignored you, making your blood start to boil. The audacity to first interrupt your conversation and not even throw a half-assed acknowledgment your way...?

The thing that sent you over the edge was the two of them loving the attention. Johnny pulled all the stops out, calling her all the nicknames he called you. Kyle just showboated like the pretty boy he was, letting her feel him up and boost his ego.

You wanted to walk out screaming.

This continued for a few minutes until you couldn’t deal with her fake attitude anymore. You got up and walked away. They turned their heads, but were immediately pulled back into whatever questions their new fangirl had for them.

You sat at the bar and ordered something strong, taking out the same crumpled cash you always brought every time you went out with your boys "just in case". You never thought you'd truly have to spend it.

You gripped the glass the bartender handed you with such intensity, the glass was ready to shatter under your hand. You drank half the glass in one sip, sighing as you felt your nerves being calmed by the waves of alcohol slowly flooding your system.

You intended to sit there and calm down until a man sat down on the stool beside you, grinning ear to ear. He started talking about his corporate job and how much money he made, but you truly didn't care. All you cared about was the two pairs of eyes you felt drilling into your skull.

You gassed him up, nodding, smiling, and giving him all the signs that you were interested. You played your role well, because soon enough you heard Kyle's voice shouting, "Oi, princess!" from about 20 feet away.

Your smile converted to a smirk, the scene that was about to play out unbeknownst to Mr. "I have three cars".

"What are you doing, love?" Came from behind you, an unsettlingly calm voice sending shivers down your spine. Kyle's arm resting on your shoulder, squeezing. Not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know you stepped out of line.

Johnny snaked a hand around your waist, and his voice came, furiousness contrasting the calmness Kyle held. "What are you doing, hen?"

The man seemed inconvenienced, turning his face up. "Who are you two?" He asked, disregarding you sitting right in front of him.

"You dinnae wanna know. Why are ya talkin' to our girl?" You snapped back, turning around to face them. "I'm not your girl! You just-"

A death glare shut you up.

After that, the two of them practically dragged you into the car and stuffed you into the backseat. You tried to speak, but they just said, "We'll talk about it at home." And there was no room for dissent.

You assumed they meant their home, so you're not getting dropped off at your place. Nothing serious. You crash on their couch all the time.

The car ride was silent. So much so that you weren’t expecting the scene after they locked their door after you.

...

"You're our girl, right?" You could barely process Kyle's voice as he drilled you from behind. A whine bubbled up from your throat instead of the words you were trying to form.

Your head rested in Johnny's lap, his hard on pressing against your cheek. He caressed your chin, periodically sticking his fingers in and out of your mouth to suck. "Answer him, hen." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. He didn't leave that up to your interpretation.

"Yes - I am!" You babbled out, slightly stuttering.

You could practically feel Kyle's smile beaming down on you. "Gooood girl." He praised, leaning down to kiss your shoulder blade. "Fuck, you got so tight. You like that? You like being our good girl?" He knew the answer, but he felt the need to tease.

"Mhm-!" You nodded frantically, eyes rolled back. Kyle sped up, changing his hand placement. Instead of having both hands on your hips, he put one on the back on your neck.

"That's not an answer, love. Talk to me. Use your big girl words, you wanted to act so big when talking to that man, didn't you?" He was rough and calculating, finding the spot where you tensed and whimpered, hitting there. "Answer me."

The reply you had in your head died out when it left your mouth, forming straight back into the moans he was drawing from you. When you couldn't reply, he stopped thrusting into you, holding you down in place so you couldn't fuck back onto him.

"Can't even speak, dirty little slut. If you can't talk, how about you suck Johnny off?" You could barely process being forced down onto his dick, sputtering and spitting. Everytime you pulled up for air, you were forced back down.

By the time you were allowed an air break, you were panting like a dog, spit strung all over your face, leading right back to Johnny.

You looked up at him and he was proudly smiling, not feeling an ounce of regret for suffocating you.

It angered you until Kyle thrusted up into you, making a particularly embarrassing, non-cute sound come out of your mouth. Your hand immediately shot up to cover it, and the air felt off. Something was wrong.

"Don't do that again." Left Kyle's mouth, and you wanted to die, bury your face in the bed and die. Sadly, Johnny wasn't allowing that. He lifted your chin up, moved your hand and stuck his fingers in your mouth, resting.

"We love those bonnie sounds, lass. Make some more." Kyle thrusted up into you again, with more force, and you groaned. Real, raw sounds were pulled from your throat, not just the ones you deemed acceptable.

You could feel yourself tightening around your best friend, and it felt so wrong. You tried to stop it, you truly did, but you couldn't help it starting to wash over you.

"There we go..." His praise teetered you over the edge, and you only let go when he rubbed two of his fingers on your wet clit. Your body shook and gave out, but he held you and kept his pace.

You could feel the restraint in his uncertain thrusts, but you drew his release out of him. He swore and gripped your skin when he came, filling you up even more.

The three of you ended up going until you collapsed on top of each other.

AN: Yall can't tell I have a favorite...

He's normally polite. Gentlemanly, the composure of a dreamy prince when he meets a pretty woman; yearning with a tasteful and respectful gaze on a normal day. Always one to hold the door open and back off when a girl looks even vaguely uncomfortable. He’s practiced and civil, the very definition of charmingly sweet..

But then he's on a night out.

Drinks clinking, the pint glass just barely hanging on in his grip as he's revving up a crowd of his lads with "Oi Oi Oi!"s. Gaz gets into his head more often than not about doing the right thing but when the bender has him several shots down and near wasted he's as flirty and mouthy as an 18yr old hooligan at his first freshers night wanting to get his dick sucked. It’s as if his own want overthrows his self-control, much to the chagrin of his friends who’ve unfortunately tagged along. Drunk Gaz is loud and cheekier than ever- smart wit coupled with a confidence he usually only reserves for inner thoughts or very good kills of enemies in the field. It’s frustrating for those around him, how easily condescendingly cocky the man gets when he’s loose-lipped and grabby. And when he spots a bird worth peacocking over he’s one more shot down and a slurred voice ready to find his hands all over their thighs. That’s what happens when he meets you, your nervous gait, pushed on the edge of the bar as you wait for a bartender to serve. Before you can inch a word out to order, he’s slapping down a 10 quid note (cash only serving to show off his drunken idiocy, who even uses cash these days?) in front of you and with a finger calling over the waiter to ‘Get the shy doll whatever she asks for.’

Drunk but not sloppy. He hovers round you, can’t stop his eyes from flicking up and down your dressed up form- eyes, mouth, tits, eyes mouth tits-tits….fuck your tits. You thank him and he can’t help but mouth ‘whatever you wish darling’ as if already deciding how he plans on taking you back to his. His jeans feel awfully tight and the air feels so heavy and tense as he can feel the bass of the club's music vibrating his body yet the only thing he can think about is you. It riles him up even more when you shoot him a look of unimpressed but not uninterested: bingo. He likes a good chase, and with the alcohol in his system, he reckons a lost chase is still a fun game to play. You shoot back at him with a comment about the shitty chain he’s wearing, and he presses his mouth into your neck when you giggle at a joke he flicks out as he crawls an arm onto your lower back. His London accent drips prominently in every dirty sentence he whispers into your ear as he presses up against you in the crowded nightclub; His crotch grinding up against your ass as if he’s too impatient, wanting to bend you over on the bartop. He’s simultaneously too lax and too keyed up and he recalls flashes of you dancing with him in the crowded room, the trailing of his feet as you hold his hand walking through 1am streets and a cold London night. The pushing, pulling and grabbing of bodies as he remembers distinctly having you right in his grasp against some building wall.

It’s reckless. Stupid. The kind of memory that Gaz tries hard to forget about every time he wakes up alone and hungover, headache blaring and body regretting. He’s embarrassed by his own lack of impulse and has had too many nights of being led on and rejected in the last few moments of his lingering drunken lust. Far too many nights, far too many times his wallet emptied and body exhausted and unsatisfied, taken for a chump by bloody club girls. He can’t even be mad at their audacity to drink his desperate drunken persona dry; he would do it too but fuck it if he didn’t wish to have a warm body for more than a few minutes after a night where he can barely remember what his 2nd location was.

Which is why his eyes shoot open when he feels a body twitch beside him and feels smooth skin against his palm. Almost breathless when he hears a light feminine murmur as you tell him to stop hoarding the sheets. Beside him, laying in just your panties and crop top sans bra- nipple bud pressing against the cotton in a way that makes his mouth run dry. Your ass pressing against his side, the contact not jarring you ever so slightly when you also finally wake up.

“You-uh, you alright there?” he asks almost shyly, voice near warbling as he cautiously smooths his rough palms onto the plump of your ass.

“Mm ye you?” You ask with a yawn as turn over allowing him to inspect your beautiful face sober; fuck drunk Gaz picked up a fit one, he thanks past him for the unbridled confidence. Then, his panic sets in- did you fuck while you were drunk? Did he go too far- did he-

“Ey boss, no panic ye? We did nothin’ don’t worry.” You mutter as if being able to tell from the sudden jerk of his touch his uncertainty. You even snort when you see his shoulder visibly relax. “...Wanna give it a go now though?”

Sober Gaz think he owes his drunken persona a fucking mountain wad of notes and a pat on the fucking back when he has you climbing into his lap ready to pick up from before you drunkenly passed out together in his apartment. A good morning fuck making the hangover feel tolerable. His dick’s already impossibly hard as he gets to peel the top off, hands ready to play and pinch those nipples just as they are ready to squeeze your ass to keep you on him. Fingers pull at the lacy edges of your panties, and he tries not to let out his huff of amusement when he sees your blush rising up your neck. You’re wet and so gorgeous as he’s curling his fingers into your cun, stretching you out just to hear your little moans before he can slip it in. He groans a prayer when he feels your sweet cunt envelop him in the late mid-morning sunlight that creeps in through his blinds.  You ride on top, his strong arms helping you bounce up and down on his shaft as he tries hard to keep a steady and full pace. It’s slow and viciously delirious as he gets to thrust into you, memories of the previous night of your requited attraction popping up in crystal clear snapshots as he feels your slick mess on top of him. When you both inevitably collapse into a heap of naughty smiles, cum covered and sweaty with a satisfied fervor beside him, he can’t help but swear out of contentedness when you ask if he would like to do this sometime again.