P-A-R-T-Y!

With a few sniffles, Jon nodded as he finally processed what Vince had said- it always took him at least a few beats to come back to reality whenever Vince fucked his throat.

Sluggish as it may have been, it was easy enough to strip down, especially given that Vince had undone his shirt and pants already. All that remained was actually pulling the clothing off. His shirt fell off of his shoulders and down his arms onto the floor, his pants and boxers quick to follow.

He'd kick himself for not setting them neatly over the back of a chair later, but right then, he couldn't give a fuck.

Nothing really mattered outside of Vince, to the point he hadn't even bothered to wipe off his face. He simply moved onto the bed, tummy down, with his long limbs as far apart as the bed would allow.

"It's perfect, Jon," Vince sighed, squeezing the base of his own dick. "You're perfect."

But Jon was always so gorgeous when he was honest. If only he told the truth about how badly he missed Vince, too... nevertheless, Vince decided he could continue to be patient, especially since they always ended up like this, anyway.

Kneeling in the space between Jon's legs, Vince bent down to kiss the middle of his spine, one hand gripping his ass and pulling the meat of his cheek aside to expose his hole. His thumb, still dry, rubbed up and down a familiar pink pucker, pressing enough for it to open for him so he could spit into it.

"Shit." Vince's tone was awed, thumb rubbing circles around Jon's rim. "You got real tight without me around, didn't you, baby?"

His kisses trailed lower, and after giving a soft dig of teeth into Jon's ass, his breath trailed hot into that sweet, sweet pussy.

Then, shameless, Vince dragged his tongue over it.

"Hmmm." His voice lilted sweetly, lovingly. "I missed you down here too, Jon. Can't believe I was gone so long." Both hands gripping his ass now, Vince spread his cheeks apart, sighing in pleasure as he sucked and swirled and flicked his tongue into Jon's hole.

The hand jerking him off fell, but moved to cusp his balls that were still covered by his boxers and pants.

As much as he loathed it, Vince is right. The asshole is always fucking right when it comes to Jon. He's as hungry as Vince is- made for this kind of shit- and it infuriates him beyond belief. His wife is the hottest piece of ass he'd ever seen and she worshipped Jon. Sweet and submissive, she was perfect.

And for some fucking reason, she never got him as hard as he got when Vince forced him into this shit.

Well, Jon would say forced, but this is truly the only time he's free- with Vince fucking him however he wants, calling him pretty. He's only free when he's Vince's to use however he so chooses.

He was proud when he spoke next, lips parted around an affectionate, "There you are."

Vince shoved himself in all the way and stayed, hands pressing Jon's face mercilessly to himself. The sloppy wet heat mouth and throat made him shudder; he could feel Jon's drool slipping from the corner of his mouth, and his balls twitched with the same clear desire the fat length of his dick throbbed with inside him.

He could come like this, definitely. God knows Jon's belly's been empty too long.

"There's my pretty baby."

But Vince pulled back, allowed Jon enough time to take in a breath through his nose, and then slid back into him. Over, and over, and over again he moved, and with his hands holding Jon in place he used him until his throat became soft and pliant for his thrusts.

"You loose fucking whore." He was grinning though, pulling strings of spit out as he withdrew before fucking all that wetness back into Jon's mouth in one last, long stroke. "So good like this, Jon.

"Fucking look at you."

In sweet admiration, Vince held himself steady for a few beats, eyes memorising the look of Jon's mouth and cheek so hungrily full of cock. Then he pulled out, and after pressing a lazy smear of pre-cum on Jon's lips, he took hold of himself to give a soft smack to Jon's cheek with his spit-slick dick.

She wasn't a bad person, just a little air-headed and huge dreams with very little talent. Jon knew full well the only thing that was going to get her far in life was her pretty face and huge tits- it's what got Jon interested in the first place, too. But she worshipped the ground Jon walked on and was easy arm candy, how could he pass up such a great deal?

If anything, the only reason Jon gets bitter about him discussing his wife is because he doesn't want to think about her when Vince is inside of him in any capacity.

So, he simply continued to suck and stroke, humming softly around the hardening weight in his mouth as Vince began to role his hips.

"I get it," Vince breathed, hips rocking in a decidedly kind rhythm (but anything was kind, really, in comparison to shoving his cock down Jon's throat). He pumped into Jon's mouth, over and over and over again, and relished the wet friction of Jon's soft tongue against the hardness of his own dick.

"You really are as hungry as I am, Jon."

And honestly, if it wasn't for how much he missed his pussy, he might've opted to come down his throat. His fingers tangled in Jon's hair, head dipping to watch him, and the sight of that clean face with its cheek bulging in indecency sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

Long fingers reached up to unbutton tug down the zipper of Vince's pants.

He so desperately tried to keep his wits, but as he pulled the pants and boxers down and smelled Vince's natural musk- Vince so clearly washed himself, and yet, he smelled so natural each and every time Jon found himself in that position- his head began to fog up.

One hand reached up to start jerking Vince off while the other grabbed his hip as if to keep any potentially violent thrusts at bay. Though, he knew fucking his throat was next to inevitable.

There was little to keep him from disrespecting the hand curved around his hip, but call Vince sentimental. It was cute seeing Jon jerk him off-- once upon a time Vince used to have to do that himself, deluded as Jon was into thinking he was straight-- and he shivered pleasantly at the feel of Jon's tongue pressing into his slit.

His feet spaced apart on the floor, holding himself steady. Vince's other hand met its partner, and both sets of fingers carded through Jon's soft, soft hair.

"Poor, hungry baby." His cock thickened in Jon's grip, getting heavier on his tongue. "I knew your bitch wife didn't feed you."

Vince's fingers curled in loosely, hips rolling lightly to rub the underside of his uncut dick over his drooling tongue.

He knew, rationally that he could just lay there and take whatever Vince gives to him, that if he's boring enough, maybe Vince would eventually back off because he wasn't enjoying it. Hell, he knew that even if the latter didn't happen, it'd be easier to justify the fact that he hadn't wanted this shit arrangement in the first place.

And yet, as he sucked gently at the fingers pushing in and out of his mouth, bobbing his head ever so slightly as if he were trying to get them hard and wet like he would Vince's cock, the thought of just laying there like a fish stuck on land wasn't even an option.

It was always so easy to pretend that this was his only option when Vince put on the recorder, but fuck did he love it.

One hand gingerly curled around Vince's wrist as he moved his head up and down in time with the other's movements and he arched up towards the hand on the front of his pants.

"Maaaaaan..." Now that he thought of it, the image wouldn't leave his head. Vince undid the front of Jon's pants, tugging it and his underwear low enough to expose his sad little cock, and then gave him a quick slap to the thigh. "O-kay, Jon, that's enough of that."

His fingers withdrew from him with a pop, and those same spit-slick digits touched his jaw as he gripped it and pulled him to sit up.

"Let's get you back up, huh? I'm sure you've been real hungry."

Only when Jon was upright did Vince's hand move around to cradle the back of his head, coaxing him forward until his nose was pressed to the shape of Vince's own dick in his pants.

But in the mean time, what was he to do but press his lips against the finger pressed up against the petals of his lips?

Jon would stick by the thought that he's only doing any of this because Vince has him literally and figuratively pinned down. Though, some sick, dark part of him that doesn't care about who he hurts or what he does finds this the most liberating experience.

In an attempt to get Vince to shut up, he gently licked at the pad of his thumb with the tip of his tongue before pressing another kiss against it.

Vince wasn't entirely stupid, mind. The moment the record button was hit, Jon always became surprisingly agreeable. It did go straight to his dick, though, watching him suck on his thumb-- it always turned him the hell on seeing Jon want anything for real.

"You were just waiting for an excuse, weren't you?" Vince's free hand sought the buttons of Jon's shirt, and in a way far more deft than he should be, each one of them was removed one by one. "Je-sus. Brings me back to 'why do you always make this so difficult', but I guess that's part of your freak routine, huh?"

Vince's thumb pulled out, but was replaced swiftly by the slide of his index and middle finger over Jon's tongue. This time, he didn't just let him suck on them-- he thrust them back and forth, too. Over and over he rubbed them over the plush flesh of Jon's tongue, even as the nails of his free hand scraped down bare flesh on its way to cup Jon's dick through his pants.

Jon gulped as the fight dwindled and he laid back against the bed, knowing that he was at Vince's mercy.

Once more, his own honesty evaded him, because if he had actually allowed himself to feel what he wanted to feel and want what he wanted, he'd know that this was the only time he ever actually felt free.

Vince was the only one that knew, accepted, and, yes, even loved him for everything he was. Not even his bimbo, actress wife came close to it.

"What do I want from you?" Vince parroted, boot gently lifting from Jon's useless cock. "Aw, Jon. I already told you what I wanted.

"I missed you while I was in Canada." And, like most things that came out of Vince's mouth, this was as unfiltered as it was true. The tape recorder was switched on and set on the bedside table.

"I wanted to see you, right? But then you got mad at me for wanting to have sex, like you don't want it any more."

Vince's knee dug into the edge of the bed, holding his weight up as he bent forward and cupped Jon's face.

"She knows I can get stressed, but I always try and be what she needs," Jon scoffed, though, he wasn't certain if he was trying to convince himself of this more than he was trying to convince Vince. "And everybody knows all of that bureaucratic bullshit about films. You're not special for hearing me bitch about it."

Though, he loathes how right he is about the fact that he doesn't actually talk to his wife about this shit.

Jon despises that Vince is right. Only Vince really accepts Jon for himself. Hell, he knows his wife only ever started talking to him because he's a handsome director and she wants to be a star one day.

They fucking met on a set.

A shaky, angry breath stuttered through his nostrils as Vince mentioned sucking on his fingers.

He was right, after all.

Vince leaned in, head tilting to whisper in Jon's ear. "You only give her what she 'needs' 'cause I let you.

"You had to ask for my permission to knock your bitch wife up, for God's sake."

It was his turn to shove Jon back then, pushing him until the man fell over the bed closest to the door of their motel room. Vince's leg lifted and a booted foot landed between Jon's legs, pressing slowly into his cock-- enough for it to ache, but not enough to crush anything.

But then any pleasure quickly subsided when Vince called him that.

Shoving him off, he bit out, "Fuck you."

He glared daggers at Vince, as if it change the outcome of what he'd done to Amy and what was about to happen to him. Still, he clung to the facade of normalcy like a toddler would their security blankie.

Despite the slight stumble that had come with being pushed off, Vince remained undeterred. One hand curved over Jon's waist, fingers curling into fabric as he tugged lightly. Come closer, come on.

"I'm the only person who listens to you bitch. I'm the one you talk to about your fucking problems. I see you when you're ugliest" -- this time Vince yanked, and his free hand gripped Jon's jaw firmly -- "and I love you anyway.

"Does your 'normal' wife know how much of a dick you are, huh? Does she know how much you hate everyone else in the film business? That you're sick of these actors, and production studios, and having to jump hoops just to get your 'vision' made?

"You could just kill them, right? Does she know that?"

His index finger traced the seam between Jon's lips.

"Nope, 'cause you're only you when you're with me." Vince smiled again, blue eyes twinkling. "And I bet you really want to suck my fingers."

His heartbeat picked up, but he continued to tell himself it was simply because he was angry with his "former" best friend.

"You don't want to be a volunteer firefighter," he answered promptly, "so I don't even know why you're asking me that question."

Then he kissed his own trail of spit on Jon's neck.

"What you should be asking yourself is why you didn't give a real reason. 'A normal life is what I've had'... please.

"Why?"

Both his hands cupped the sides of Jon's neck, thumbs smoothing over either side of his jaw. It was late enough in the evening that Jon's stubble was growing back in, and he liked the texture.

Vince liked it when Jon was messy very much.