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End of July 2026, Philadelphia, PA
Airdrop found Joey’s Mac even before Bert touched the studio door.
It was easier to back up everything at once, before he forgot: all his notes and voice memos with the ideas and scores they were going to be tinkering with over the next few weeks. He didn’t know exactly where Joey was, so he followed the gradually intensifying, irritating beep of dozens of files being received, like a sea robin following a mating call during spawning season. It was freezing inside the building, and after the heat outside in Philadelphia, he felt an unpleasant chill. He’d carelessly left his sweatshirt in his rental, but he couldn’t be bothered to go back. Surely Joey would be happy to share with him.
“Polo,” a soft, sleepy voice replied to his unspoken “Marco” — a voice he needed so much, free from the distortion of the phone’s speakers and the stifling haze of people’s attention. He adored that attention, but not in those moments when his own focus narrowed to just one specific person.
Right now, this person was lounging casually on one of the huge sofas. In Bert’s vast experience, these had never contributed to productivity, which was why he always sat either on the table or on the floor. Bert noted with displeasure that Joey had tied his hair in a ponytail. However, the pack of Red Bull on the table made up for it a little.
“I’m lonely and depressed,” Bert complained, tossing his phone and a chewed-up vape next to it.
There's no point in saying hello when you're already connected 24/7 — through little black boxes as well as through your hearts and minds.
“So you came early on purpose just to suffer?”
He didn’t have to answer the question. He’d dragged himself over and, with his whining — his unmatched leadership, actually — had forced Joey to come a day early just so he could be alone with him. It had only been two days since they’d seen each other (and he’d slept straight through both of them), but no one could stop him from agonizing and grieving.
“Remember not the sins of my youth or my transgressions. Or something like that.”
He spotted a “Diezel” amp on the shelf and wouldn’t rest until he found a sharpie and a piece of tape nearby, which he used to turn the angular logo into “Diez Nuts.” Now that was more like it.
“I never do,” Joey shrugged and spread his arms in an inviting gesture.
His embrace was as strong and warm as ever, and Bert let himself linger for a few seconds in silence, pressing his whole body against Joey, breathing him in, and sliding his freezing palms under his clothes. Tucking T-shirts into pants was definitely the evil work of some villains, and he was here to restore goodwill and balance to the universe. And to pinch Joey’s skin under his ribs (where every worthy son of God ought to have a spear scar) just to ensure that this wasn’t a dream.
Joey’s hoodie proudly displayed “The band has a foursome” — no one will ever know if it’s a joke, a lie, or Bert’s own wishful thinking, as he stared wide-eyed at the print. He thought this hoodie would have been left to rot in the basement a year ago.
The white letters crept upward and vanished — Joey was undressing right in front of him, as if he might get hot in the creepingly cold studio.
“Put it on. Five more seconds, and you'll start coughing and bitching like crazy.”
“Aren’t you going to get cold? And where’s the AC remote here?” He tossed and turned on the spot and, not waiting for an answer, slipped on the hoodie that had been warmed by Joey’s body. He wrapped himself in it and exhaled, shivering at the thought that the only thing more pleasant would be to slip into Joey’s own skin, but that could wait a little longer.
He stood on his tiptoes to nuzzle against Joey’s neck and ran his palms over his forearms, still just as delightfully smooth. He still hadn’t figured out yet whether Joey had removed all his body hair this time, but he’d spent a week and a half drooling over his tanned legs, trying in vain not to get lost in thoughts of how much he’d love to lick his thighs and… And now here he was, lost in them again.
“So what? I'll just hold you tighter, you'll warm up, and then you won't be able to keep your hands off me.”
A quiet voice, snapping him out of his daydreams, sounded right inside his head — and to emphasize his words, Joey immediately wrapped his arms around him. Bert beamed — the plan he’d come up with was simply brilliant. Truly, the Lord did guide the meek toward the truth, and that truth was that he enjoyed all of this. With every new act of compliance, Bert found himself growing more and more at peace with himself.
Joey’s meekness, however feigned it might be, time and again compelled him to seek out new ways to test his patience. And each time, any approaching fit of madness or whim would crash against his outward calm like waves against the rocks between Bondi and Manly, seeping into the wrinkles of his soft, smiling face as if into stones weathered by time, and dissolving, only to resurface with a hiss at any moment. He had learned to appreciate this calm — a time when he could once again pester the one who was always glad to see him and would never argue with him.
No one should have argued with him in the first place; he knew better and clearer what he wanted — and what the others expected of him. Joey, for one, was waiting for a kiss; he tilted his head and let his hair down. Bert could allow himself that kind of predictability. He wrapped his arms around Joey’s shoulders and kissed him — gently at first, on the cheek, giving himself a second to rub against Joey’s beard before he started to burst with desire — and felt Joey run his hand along the back of his neck and turn his head slightly so they could finally kiss properly.
Joey’s kisses tasted like sugar-free Red Bull and love. Every person had their own special taste in kisses, and Bert still happily collected them, just as he shared his own. There was no greater joy for him than feeling how, slowly but surely, anyone would come to taste like his own saliva. That meant they were now one and equal.
According to Joey and everyone else, his breath usually stank of whatever sweet vape he was using at the moment, but hey, compared to cigarettes, it was definitely an upgrade, and no one was licking the ashtray anymore. A person should strive, if not for perfection, then at least to become better. A lesser person would have been unworthy of straddling Joseph Bradford’s knees and shoving his tongue down his throat. He would neither have looked down on nor shown mercy to a lesser man, delivering him from his multiplied sorrows.
Joey wouldn’t have run his fingertips over the shoulders of a lesser man, nor would he have held him around his waist like that, clutching him as if he were his most precious treasure. Bert kissed him with rapture, biting his lips, and Joey returned the favor, obediently opening his mouth when needed. He pressed himself against Joey, wrapping his knees around him and pressing into him. He really had no intention of letting go of him, just as Joey had promised. Bert dug his fingers into Joey’s hair — he would never let him go.
Joey’s lips were deceptively soft, just like the whole of him, and Bert shuddered with anticipation, not knowing exactly when the moment of revelation would overtake them both. His heart skipped a beat, as he felt a heavy hand rest approvingly on his back. Joey slowly stroked his lower back in circles, gradually moving lower and lower, and he couldn’t help but mirror his movements with his own thighs. The rustling sound of fabric against fabric began to irritate him. He would have much preferred to hear his balls slapping stickily against Joey’s ass, or at least to hear Joey moaning and laughing while he jerked him off.
“Take these off,” Bert breathed against his lips and impatiently tugged at the belt on his pants. As pleasant as it was to touch his corduroy pants, he was much more interested right now in what was underneath them.
“This fast? Aren't you even going to sneak off to a corner for a smoke first?”
Bert rolled his eyes. There were still some things Joey had to be taught. For instance, he’d set his iPhone and vape down on the table as soon as he walked in, solely to show that his undivided attention belonged entirely to Joey. However, if people could always see right through his plans, life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting for them.
“Besides,” Joey continued, “you haven’t let me look at you in a long time, and I’m not going to do anything until I see Bert in his purest form.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his whole demeanor showing that he was truly ready to stop. Giving him a scorching look, Bert fished condoms and an unopened tube of lube out of his bottomless pockets — it would be harder to find them later in his pants on the floor. His hands hovered over the hems of the hoodie and both T-shirts.
“Are you warmed up yet?” Joey asked cheerfully. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
Bert shook a little, but he hopped down from his lap in a second, still staring at him aggressively. Without taking his eyes off him, Joey spread his legs and draped his arms over the back of the couch, as if he was about to watch a show.
For a split second, a treacherous, nagging thought flashed through his mind: gotta keep his clothes on, or at least to turn off the light, lower the blinds as he pulled his T-shirts down, and curl up in the corner of the couch. But he could have hesitated forever, just like before jumping off a cliff into the lake in his childhood. Bert preferred to jump without thinking — and the very emergence of thoughts had come to hold him back from many things, and he still didn’t understand whether that was a good thing or not. What is good, anyway? Joey’s smiling face — that’s good, and his tongue, briefly licking his lips in anticipation — that’s also good.
Joey had already been kind enough not to comment on the fact that Bert hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to the gym even once since December. He only had enough energy to hog the Playstation on the bus at night. However, there was a certain compromise here as well, and it didn’t directly affect Bert personally.
“Ha,” he snatched the glasses off Joey's nose and raised his hand as high as he possibly could.
He himself wore only contact lenses so he wouldn’t make such a foolish mistake. Of course, Joey could have snatched the glasses back at any moment, no matter how much Bert jumped around, but Bert pleaded silently for mercy toward the vain outlaws, and it worked — Joey simply sighed. Pushing the glasses aside, Bert immediately yanked the hoodie off and flung it at Joey’s head. In those few moments while Joey, blinded twice, hesitated, he stripped off all his clothes. Even his bracelets — they sometimes got caught in Joey’s hair. Only he himself could pull Joey’s hair like that.
“Come on,” Joey said, sounding genuinely disappointed. “Come on,” Joey sounded genuinely disappointed. “I was hoping we could make it a strip-poker sort of thing.”
“You won’t. Ever.”
Bert gave him a menacing look. Of course, he couldn’t help but feel a fleeting pang of pity (the idea was simply brilliant, and he loved watching Joey getting undressed), but his attention was abruptly drawn to the sound of a fly getting unzipped and the clink of a belt buckle. His head spun for a second. All the blood in his body was already where it should have been long ago. He absentmindedly watched Joey’s hands as he folded his clothes. Just as Joey finished, Bert ordered:
“Lie down. I want to take a good look at everything.”
Joey laughed and obediently stretched out on the couch. Kneeling down in front of him, Bert held out his hands demandingly. He was torn between the desire to look into Joey’s eyes, catching every flutter of his eyelashes, and to watch what he was touching. The way Joey’s arms and the rest of his body felt delightfully smooth under his fingers was even better up close. Digging his fingers into Joey’s hairless chest, Bert grinned.
“Is this a mutiny or something?”
“Well, you know, that was the only part of our deal.” Joey rolled his eyes dramatically. He twirled the tangled strand that had fallen over his shoulder between his fingers. “Do you like it?”
Joey bent one knee to give Bert a better view. His voice was calm as always, and he might have been smiling, but Bert couldn’t tell. He could only gaze with eager curiosity at the clean-shaven thighs, at the pale, sun-deprived skin of the groin, at the soft dark-pink balls, usually barely trimmed. Bert ran his hand downward, tickling the skin on his stomach with his fingertips, and noted with delight how Joey shuddered at the tickling and let out a short exhale.
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I really like it.”
He would have repeated it a thousand times. But his mouth was already filling with saliva, and it was about time it found something else to do.
Chaotic kisses showered Joey's body, and he responded to each one with short approving gasps. When Bert sank his teeth in and rubbed his stubble (oh he was aware of its disgusting prickliness) against him, Joey inhaled sharply instead. But he didn’t resist, just absentmindedly stroked Bert’s body in return. And why else would anyone want to build up their pecs? Of course just so that the great white shark Bert could leave round tooth marks on them.
Coming across an annoying obstacle — a rubber hair tie on Joey’s arm — he pulled it off with his teeth and flicked it somewhere into the corner behind the couch. No ponytails in his presence. There’s probably going to be plenty of trash left behind anyway, including other rubbers, so one more or one less won’t make a difference. Bert clasped his fingers around Joey’s wrists like handcuffs and pressed his face against his neck, unable to hold back a demanding high-pitched moan. Joey obediently tilted his chin up, giving him more room, and Bert dug his teeth into his skin. He could feel the blood pulsing in his neck beneath his tongue, hear Joey’s breath as he bit down on his skin in every comfortable and uncomfortable spot. The more it hurt, the sweeter his voice sounded.
“I’ve missed this so much,” he breathed, wet lips pressed against his spit-damp neck.
He had to let go of his wrists — he wasn’t just missing the physical contact with Joey, but having enough hands as well. He wanted to be everywhere at once: to grip Joey’s hair tightly, squeeze his neck, scratch his back and chest, poke his armpits with his fingers with a warning giggle, count all his tattoos for the hundredth time (he’d definitely find a new one now) hold him by the arms and legs so he couldn’t escape while he stretched him out, as if he wanted to crawl inside him.
Two hands and a tongue were woefully insufficient when Bert wanted to possess someone else’s body, but he had to put up with this awful injustice of the human race.
Handcuffs and other devices would be of no use to him here, just as they were of no use to anyone who could only feel things through their own skin. Joey had once suggested to restrain himself so that Bert could focus on just one thing, but he found it boring, and it actually had the opposite effect. In the end, it was Bert who was lying there handcuffed, glancing around nervously, drenched in sweat and with his nerves on edge, while Joey humiliatingly slowly fucked him into the bed and wouldn’t even let him wrap his hair around his fist. Bert almost found faith when Joey helped him out of the restraints. He’d even like to do it again sometime, but definitely not today. He’s here for something completely different.
He’s here for Joey cradling every inch of his body; he’s here for kissing every knuckle in response, every tiny tattoo etched into the skin of Joey’s fingers. He’s here finally opening the lube, which had been pressing its sharp edge against his knee for quite some time, reminding Bert of its presence.
Bert loomed over him, looking at him as if for the first time and unable to believe that this grace had been bestowed upon him of all people, though who else could it be? For whom else, and for whose sake, could eyebrows be furrowed with such pain? Who else could be looked at so intently? Whose face could these huge rough hands touch so gently, if not his? He was losing himself in these fleeting glimpses of the body beneath him.
His greatest passion was getting under people's skin: to understand them, to comfort them, and to watch, mesmerized, as they opened up.
Joey opened up with moans, long stifled sighs, and attempts to push himself down onto his fingers so hard that it seemed they were about to break if he pushed a bit harder. The movements of first two, and soon three, fingers inside were inviting. Bert beckoned him like a huge obedient dog.
The butterfly on Joey’s left palm flew off Bert’s shoulder and glided smoothly, first landing on his chest; his fingers ran across his stomach, and then it moved to Joey’s. Slowly, as if that might help him go unnoticed, he lowered his hand further and further toward his dick. Bert yanked his hand sharply, pulling it aside. TThe message was clear even without words, and Joey obediently withdrew his hand with an indistinct groan of protest. He clenched his fist against the back of the sofa, and the leather groaned even more plaintively than he did.
This willingness to obey always disarmed Bert and caught him off guard. He’d taken advantage of it a thousand times, yet it never ceased to amaze him. Even now, his heart sank — what if it didn’t work out this time? He carefully pulled his fingers out.
“Roll over now”, Bert whispered.
It worked — Joey just nodded and instantly did as he was told. A tall body stretched out in front of Bert. Joey let his head fall onto his arms, which were crossed on the armrest, and arched his back, wiggling his pale, pale ass from side to side. In the sunlight, not even a single fuzz was showing, and Bert just grinned even wider.
He gazed at and kissed each of the tattoos on the back of his thighs, and with every kiss, Joey pressed himself against his face more and more eagerly. Judging by how crooked those tats were, Bert must have done some of them himself. It was no wonder Joey always kept the ink hidden beneath his shorts, covering the ugly things.
Sometimes Bert had an overwhelming urge to ink something right on Joey's buttocks, just so that… Bert pushed those possessive thoughts aside. A bite will suffice for him — who knows how many that makes, but who even keeps track when they’re that close? He sank his teeth into the wonderfully smooth and soft skin. It seemed as though Joey let out a short cry, but Bert wasn't sure anymore — the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears. Tic-tic-tic-tic-tic, tac-tac-tac-tac-tac— gotta remember this BPM; it'll definitely come in handy and will always remind them both of this.
The teeth slid across the skin, releasing its prey. He quickly licked the bite mark, as always using this gentle gesture to apologize for the bruise that would follow. Bert wrapped his arms around Joey's thighs, pulling him closer to his face, and licked his cock and balls several times, broadly and thoroughly, working his way upwards. Squeezing them with his lips, trying to leave even more bruises, was fun — the sounds Joey was making turned into downright pleading ones. It didn’t take much pleading for Bert, and he spread his buttocks with great excitement, smoothing out the skin, already slippery with saliva and lube, with his fingers. He could finally plunge his tongue into a place where even the Devil himself wouldn’t dare to venture. Bert always liked being cooler than the Devil, even though their equality didn't imply any kind of competition. There was no need to rush, as he would hear everything Joey was about to pray for. No one else was supposed to hear it.
He couldn't tell whose moan was louder when he slipped his sharp tongue into that tight, yet so yielding hole Even if he sometimes had trouble concentrating on certain things, he always took this art extremely seriously. Bert relaxed into repetitive movements, reassuring himself of the catharsis that awaited him once he had thoroughly prepared Joey.
Without even looking away, Bert fumbled for the pack of condoms. These seem to have been the chocolate-mint ones that he picked up once as part of a set with some similar Christmas-themed vape. He didn't know what he was hoping for back in December. By the end of last year, he was so drained and exhausted that he had completely forgotten about any limited-editions. Still, anything could wait until he was ready, since even Joey had managed to do so. Everyone should follow his example.
Bert bit his numb tongue lightly with his front teeth before letting more saliva into Joey’s ass.
With a long exhale, he straightened up, proudly admiring the fruits of his labor. Joey, with his wet ass beneath him, was, in his arousal, taut as a guitar string plucked with a rest stroke, yet relaxed as if his bones had turned to jelly — his knees were visibly trembling. He was more than ready, but Bert went ahead and applied even more of the warmed-up lube anyway.
Without wasting any time on talking, Bert scratched Joey with the corner of the foil and immediately smacked his butt. It didn't sound particularly loud, but that didn't matter at all. The bottom line is that he got understood. Joey turned his head around and looked at him questioningly. Bert held up the condom, raising an eyebrow. Joey hesitated for a second, and, much to Bert's delight, shook his head with a shy smile. That’s more like it.
Bert spread the lube over his cock in a single motion, without pausing for even a moment. He had no need for his own hand with his most loyal and trusting friend lying before him, trembling with impatience and always ready to accept him.
Bert pressed his palm against Joey’s lower back and gently nudged his knee with his own, and Joey complacently spread his knees wider, lowering himself slightly to a height that was comfortable for Bert. He used his hands to help himself—not that he needed to aim every time, but he loved watching magic tricks where things disappeared. In contrast to the cold in the studio, it was even hotter inside Joey. Bert involuntarily rolled his eyes — it was just too good.
He gave Joey a few seconds to get used to it, waited for him to nod, and began to move through the delightful initial resistance of his muscles. In the silence that followed, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the soft slapping of the balls against the skin. Slowly, Joey went limp beneath him; there was no resistance whatsoever. The silence and the steady slaps were punctuated by Joey’s short, irregular moans. Among those, a pleading “Get closer” rang out clearly.
Now he could cover Joey’s body with his own, lie on top of him, reach over and wrap loose hair onto his hand. Bert instinctively sucked in his stomach to get more comfortable. He wanted to move as quickly and aggressively as possible, but he was trying to cultivate patience for a reason.
He couldn't get a clear view of Joey's face or look down at him from above, but he could bite him haphazardly from his neck to his shoulder, all over his angelic wing — after all, he was both the biggest great white shark and the smallest, most agile catfish here.
Joey shook his head, and Bert let go of his ponytail. His hands had plenty to do: he ran them along the sides of Joey’s ribs, tickling and caressing him. Being quite sensitive and responsive, Joey let out an appreciative whimper when Bert dug his fingers roughly over his chest. Scratching him raw was almost as good as leaving bite marks. Bert loosened his grip slightly and, as gently as he could, rubbed his palms over his nipples and teased them with his fingers. Joey slumped down, pressing Bert's arms between himself and the couch, and pushed his ass further back. The angle shifted slightly, and Bert forgot how to breathe for a second. He did end up thrusting harder, but Joey seemed to like that even more, judging by his muffled moans.
“Do you like it?” Bert whispered, mocking him.
Joey didn't give a clear answer, but it never hurt Bert to keep asking over and over again until he finally got the answer he was waiting for.
“Do you like it? Like this? Do you want to come like this, with your face into the couch?”
He listened attentively to Joey, who was feverishly repeating the same thing again and again:
“No, no, no. I told you, I want to look at you.”
A small shark was caught in his own trap. He shouldn't have asked.
“All right,” Bert whispered, tickling between Joey's shoulder blades with his lips and licked away a drop of sweat that had trickled down Joey’s back.
He barely managed to keep his composure, but he had to walk the sinners' path to the very end. After thrusting into Joey a couple more times, Bert reluctantly pulled out of him. Joey didn’t keep him waiting and immediately rolled over. His chest was heaving, and Bert realized they were breathing in unison.
Joey looked at him, laughed cheerfully, and spread his legs wider. He straightened his left leg, pulling Bert toward him. The other leg rested on Bert's shoulder so naturally and smoothly — the way not every puzzle piece would fit. Bert immediately clenched his palm on Joey’s thigh, running his fingers roughly through the muscles from the knee down, as if Joey still needed any proof of his affection. He would express it regardless if Joey wanted him to or not.
Tilting his head to one side, Bert rubbed his nose against his leg. For someone who had stoically endured tattoos on his knees, one more bite was hardly anything. Or two. Or more — good luck keeping track of a skeleton’s ribs when you’re counting them with your tongue and teeth.
Only a hard kick from the other side managed to distract him. Joey didn't call out to him, just stared at him intently and moved his hips from side to side demandingly. They were both shaking with desire, and Bert wasn't going to torture himself any longer. He focused for a second to steady himself and thrust into Joey again. Joey let out an approving gasp as they connected. He moved his left leg back to the side, opening up a better access.
Bert began to move, and no matter how hard he tried to look away, his gaze inevitably returned to the guiding light of those overly bright gray-blue eyes. Joey looked up at him with such trust and openness that Bert could only drown in that mortal love.
When Joey threw his head back with a groan, once again spreading his hair across the couch, Bert was finally able to look down, to where, with each roll of Bert’s hips, Joey’s thighs brushed against his stomach. He was transfixed by the hypnotic sight of those mechanical, rhythmic movements and the sensation of skin that was both sticky and slippery. It felt ticklish and hot to the touch, and every touch produced a soft, sticky sound that was instantly recognizable.
The straining muscles glistened before him in the midday light; the sartorius (he wouldn’t have remembered that word if he hadn’t watched Joey squat down in front of him a million times as he dragged him to the gym after concerts) cast a small shadow on his skin, into which he wanted to plunge as if into a canyon and drown or collapse.
Perhaps, he reluctantly admitted to himself, the Mormon-ish ways of letting off steam after two hours of cardio on stage had some merit after all.
Bert held him by the hips. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel how relentlessly they were slipping from his sweaty palms, and he would grab hold of them again. He heard everything and nothing at the same time — the creak of the couch's leather, the imaginary hot chirping of cicadas far outside the windows and walls — and he heard Joey's pleading sighs. But he could no longer hear, see, or feel himself, even though there he was, dying for the millionth time from someone else’s feelings, multiplied within him by endless reflections.
He wanted to extend this feeling just a little longer, to linger a bit in the blissful sensation of the approaching pleasure. Moreover, his sense of time was particularly acute right now, and the bitter, shameful thought — “Not enough, not enough, too fast, you fucking loser” was mocked by the grins of his little round-headed demons, who had been haunting him since his youth. Controlling himself during sex to make it last longer now turned out to be even harder than it had been at fifteen.
Barely catching his breath, Bert pulled away from the heat of Joey's body. Slowly, afraid of disturbing the calm that had settled in his mind, he lowered himself, reluctantly releasing his fingers from Joey's thighs and mindlessly kissing his skin. He couldn’t speak; all he could do was kiss the tips of his fingers and press them against the slippery, flushed, throbbing hole, sealing it with a promise.
Before he closed his eyes, he managed to notice that Joey was still hard. He probably should have done something about it, since he was prepared to face the consequences of his own demands and prohibitions against touching himself. He frowned; however, no amount of effort could have hidden the satisfied smile on his face — it felt too good. So good that he’d better sit down on solid ground; only that would help steady his trembling knees right now. Bert leaned his head back against the couch.
“I really can’t keep up with you,” Joey’s voice said softly, as if he felt guilty. Whether it was inside Bert's head or right next to him — he was fine with that kind of acoustics, anyway.
Joey shifted behind his head, positioning himself on the couch so he could reach Bert, who was sitting on the floor, and wrap one arm around his shoulders. Bert immediately leaned down to give him a quick kiss on the forearm — right on the lips of Archangel Michael. Time became blurred again; he didn’t know how much time had passed — an awful lot, probably about five seconds — before he felt Michael slip away, and a tall figure, illuminated by the golden rays over Delaware streaming through the window, loomed right in front of him.
Joey was an angel in the most fucked, most biblical sense of the word; an angel who kept him from being ashamed of his weaknesses and sins.
Joey was an angel, and he had chosen to reveal himself to a sinner who was slumped with a silly grin on the floor next to the couch, trying to gather his thoughts after a mind-blowing orgasm.
Bert turned his head up.
Whether on his knees or not, he was used to tilting his head up when Joey was nearby. Nothing could compare to the way people looked down at him, with longing and warmth. And especially in front of Joey… His heart sang louder than his vocal cords when he could crawl on his knees before him, sticking out his tongue and trying to stop him from playing, looking at him as if no one else existed but him, and silently, past the microphone, promising to suck out his soul — in the simplest, most unpretentious way available to someone whose face was already level with his fly.
Everything he did at every concert — making promises and never getting too close — and then, when they were alone, he’d really let loose. Whether in public or in private, Joey would smile shyly and blush, and every time, it made Bert fall head over heels all over again.
Joey put his foot on the couch behind Bert’s shoulder, and Bert straightened up, shifting his knees to move closer. He tried to steady his breathing. He wanted Joey to see in his eyes all the tenderness and madness that Bert was feeling.
Joey’s hair fell over his face as he leaned in closer. He gently traced his fingertips up Bert's neck, precisely and ticklishly tracing the tattooed pattern in the middle, and firmly cupped his chin with his fingers. He said nothing, only breathed raggedly, but Bert knew exactly what to do. He pressed his lips against the thigh next to him, thoroughly licking the spot where the psalm number was tattooed — the verse he always forgot, but which so conveniently pretended to be Joey’s baseball pitcher number. No judgment — after all, his angel number successfully pretended to be Utah’s area code right on his face.
He wrapped one arm around Joey’s thigh and turned to kiss the smooth, ink-stained skin, moving farther and farther up.
"Heel,” he commanded, slapping the huge fly on the thigh.
The tanned, hairless, smooth skin beneath his tongue grew more and more slippery. He closed his eyes dreamily for a second as his lips touched the tender skin in the groin, at the crease of the thigh. Bert pressed his nose against that spot, sniffing — he adored human smells and tastes, and the only ones better than those were the ones that had already blended with his own, just as they were now. He unceremoniously bit down on the skin, unable to hold back a single impulse. A stifled moan sounded above his head, and Joey shuddered, just as he was supposed to. Bert released his bite and immediately licked the spot where he’d bitten, where a bruise would soon form. He pressed his face against Joey’s erect cock and rubbed his rough cheek against it.
“Go,” Bert exhaled.
He stuck out his tongue and licked it along the whole length. A warm hand rested on his cheek, and Bert immediately rubbed his face against it like a cat — no one could express trust and affection better than cats, he believed. The other hand found him a second later, and he exhaled again, relaxing his throat in advance. From now on, it wouldn’t be him in control. Heaven’s will would guide him; all he had to do was open his mouth wide and let the Lord’s bounty flow into him, from the tip to the base.
Fingers clasped against the back of his head, and he closed his eyes, surrendering to someone else’s will. Joey held his head firmly, covering his ears and preventing him from moving on his own. He could barely hear the heated, encouraging whispers coming from somewhere high above, as if from the heavens, and even though he couldn’t make out the words, he was melting with praise and desire. Bert relaxed his throat and tensed his arms. He dug his fingernails into Joey’s thighs as hard as he could, wanting to leave marks on his skin, even if they’d get lost among the tattoos — Joey would cherish them and think of him every time he moved anyway.
When a slippery, hot drop touched his fingers, he didn’t immediately realize that it was his own cum starting to leak out of Joey. The realization nearly sent him over the edge again, and he blindly moved his hand higher to smear it harder across Joey’s skin, to mark him as his own even more.
All Bert had to do was lower his jaw a little so it would be easier for Joey to move. He drooled all over his own chin. He contracted his throat in time with the thrusts; his mouth was so deliciously full that he couldn’t say a word — only moan uncontrollably and sob from the surging pleasure flooding him with every new, shameless gurgling sound in his throat. Joey pulsed on his tongue as if he was about to explode, and it was incredible; he was here for this, and he existed only at this point at the very top of the world, where there was only him above him, the one and only, and he was ready to stay there forever.
His collarbones and cheeks burned unbearably with anticipation; every bone inside him hummed with a dull tension. The fingers at the nape of his neck suddenly froze, clinging to his hair even tighter — Bert didn’t really like that, and after all, he’d recently cut his hair shorter so that even Joey’s nimble fingers couldn’t grab him, but now he was happy to put up with it. He held his breath and opened his eyes, and all he could see was the vague smooth stomach.
Joey pushed down on the back of his head, and Bert eagerly went even further, deeper, pressing the tip of his nose against the warm skin. With ragged breaths from above, like a sermon cut short, Joey poured himself into his mouth. Bert hollowed his cheeks and tried to lick and suck up everything that had been bestowed upon him today. He didn’t let go of Joey right away, unable to hold back one last pathetic high-pitched moan.
“You’re just incredible,” Joey murmured, dropping to his knees in front of him. He was breathing heavily, petting and hugging him wildly, and Bert could feel himself glowing from within, more and more with every new touch. He tried to smile as innocently as possible and reached out to him for a kiss — more than anything, he wanted to share with Joey the bliss his soul was filled with.
Hot, rough fingers pressed against his mouth, preventing him from getting close to the face. Joey really did know him well, after all.
“Well, no. Swallow it.”
Bright eyes looked at him so serenely that Bert froze. Again and again, not understanding why this was happening to him, why he became so much more compliant around Joey — and swallowed.
But now he could lick his hand, and at the same time show off his empty mouth, poking his cheeks and smiling triumphantly.