“Fuck jellyfish, man.”
Tycho rolled his eyes at his companion. “I told you to restrain yourself. Did you even try?”
Gabe shot him a glare from the passenger's seat. “Of course I did. I can't help it that they float by like... like angelic vaginas from on-high.”
Tycho glanced at him. “Vaginae. The plural of vagina is vaginae, not vaginas.”
Gabe let out a long, annoyed groan at that. “Idon'tcaaaaaareaboutyourfacts.”
There was a shrug from his pilot. “I am just saying--” He was interrupted by an even louder groan of displeasure. He waited until his companion's guttural annoyance came to a close. “Are you quite done?”
“Are you sure?”
Gabe's brow furrowed in serious contemplation, before he responded with a firm but discomforting for now.
The ride back to Seattle was rudely interrupted by a loud pop from Tycho's engine. The two glanced at each other, brows knotted with horrified concern.
“Cars make sounds,” Gabe offered hopefully. There was a louder, angrier popping sound now, followed by a low growl. “I think your car's mad at you.”
“Yes, I can hear that,” Tycho muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. He came to a stop just as the engine followed up its growling with a long, wet sounding hiss.
The two sat in silence for a moment.
“I guess we should pop the hood?” Gabe asked.
“I dunno. To check and see if anything's wrong.”
Tycho glared at him. “Would we even know what 'wrong' looks like? I'm not a fucking mechanic. I don't know what it's supposed to look like in there. You might as well ask me to perform open heart surgery.”
He pulled out his cellphone. “I'm going to call for help. Kara has your car, she can come over here and pick us up.”
Gabe squirmed. “Um. Kara's at her mom's this weekend.”
Tycho stared at him incredulously. “Her mom lives in Spokane.”
“She wanted to see the kids! Just... just call Robert,” Gabe ordered sharply.
“I can't. Robert's meeting some ass-wipes in San Diego to fix our con table issue,” Tycho retorted irritably.
“He has that bachelor party this weekend.”
Gabe sank back in his seat, frowning at the setting sun. “Guess we could call roadside services. Don't you have that?”
Tycho ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah but I got it when I lived in Spokane. It'll take hours. We might as well call Kara.”
“No don't,” Gabe whined. “I don't want her to yell at me for ruining her weekend with her mom. Then she's gotta drag the kids out here... Just call the dudes. The car dudes. Them.”
He contemplated it, ignoring Gabe's big blue puppy dog eyes. It wasn't Kara's fault his car was being a fucking up piece of shit. And it certainly wasn't her mother's fault.
Though he made a point to never, ever give Gabriel what he wanted, he knew this time he had little choice. “Fine.”
Gabe busied himself with his phone while Tycho made the call, detailing their exact location. Not that you could really be 'exact', since they were in middle of literally no where. They had been the only car on the road for hours before the engine's mishap.
Tycho leaned forward, eyeing his phone. The battery was dangerously low. That ruled out the multitude of games he had on there to keep him occupied. And if Gabe's shouting was an indication, his phone, too, was giving up.
“You bring your phone charger?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
Tycho tried not to smirk. “Now what?”
“I dunno. Punch buggy?”
Tycho pushed himself off his steering wheel. “We haven't seen another car for hours.”
Gabe punched his arm anyway. “I have a great imagination.”
Tycho rubbed his shoulder, scowling a bit at the hood of his car. He stole a glance at Gabriel as he tried playing Angry Birds on his dying cellphone, perfectly wicked idea nagging at the back of his mind.
It had been months since the two of them had taken their friendly rivalry a bit too far over a game of Kinect Sutra. Gabe made him promise never to mention it, and until today Tycho had kept his word.
“You bored?” he inquired innocently-- well, as innocently as Tycho could possibly manage.
It only made Gabriel suspicious and he gave his friend a mild glare. “...why.”
“Because I'm bored.”
Tycho undid his seatbelt and leaned over. “I'm just going to break the vow of silence and put it out there... we could f--”
Gabe covered his ears and tried singing to tune him out. This went on for a stubborn minute or two until Gabe braved pulling his hands away. Tycho just smirked. “Fuck.”
“Gods, you're such a fucking prude.”
“No, I'm not,” Gabe grumbled. “I just don't... want to. That was a one time thing.”
“That was your idea,” he reminded him.
Gabe stammered awkwardly. “Y-you made it a game.”
Tycho considered that. “If that's the case, I'm asking if you want to play again. I'm two for two, currently. Don't you want a chance to catch up? Not that... well.”
His friend's expression shifted instantly from apprehensive and embarrassed to frustrated and determined. Now it was just a matter of using his insecurities against him. “Are you saying I can't?”
“I'm saying it will be difficult, considering the lead I have currently.”
Gabe undid his seatbelt and grumbled. “Oh fuck you,” he hissed, crawling over to position himself on Tycho's lap. “You don't have any kind of lead so just shut your stupid mo--” He squeaked awkwardly when Tycho trailed his hand up his leg. “...mouth.”
“Gladly,” Tycho mused, leaning forward to connect his lips to Gabe's neck. The gasp it provoked amused him-- Gabe really was such a goddamn child about all of this. He squirmed awkwardly at Tycho's every touch, at the very threat of every touch.
He nipped at his neck and snaked his hands along Gabe's inner thighs. With an urgent whine Gabe began to roll his hips against Tycho's, face flushing when Tycho trailed slow, firm kisses up his jawline. “Fuckfuckfuck--” Another awkward squeak as his pilot began undoing his jeans. “Fuck.”
Tycho silenced him by catching his lips with his own, only to be forced back against the seat when Gabe began kissing him fervently. Though Gabe had been carefully keeping his hands to himself-- one planted firmly on the window beside him, the other gripping the stickshift-- that thought was abandoned now. He gripped Tycho's hips, pulling him up to meet his own selfish pacing.
Tycho pulled away only briefly, heaping a wad of spit in place of proper lubrication into his hand. He took his slicked palm to Gabe's erection, pulling at the half-flacid organ expertly. Gabe whined slightly, clearly displeased with the too-slow pace. In a rare act of boldness he placed his hand on Tycho's, forcing his grip tighter and leading him to a faster, more acceptable pacing.
Gabe pushed himself on his knees in an attempt to wriggle is jeans down as Tycho stroked him with renewed gusto. The hand stopped momentarily, leading Gabe to practically glare daggers at his pilot. “Don't stop, asshole.”
“Relax, you needy son of a bitch,” Tycho hissed, undoing his own pants. He shimmied them down his hips before he removed his sweater and undershirt. He tossed them into the passenger's seat. As soon as he was disrobed, Gabe shoved him against the seat again, overtaking his mouth in another eager, impatient kiss. His hand snaked between them, pausing at his own erection before he decided to throw Tycho a proverbial bone.
Tycho gripped Gabe's cock in his hand as the other man began stroking him. It was dry, save for some sweat, and rough. Rough and wonderful and talented as hell. Gabe often boasted about his masturbation technique, and now that Tycho was on the receiving end of his hand he knew why. His fingers encircled his length, tugging, pulling, stroking him dextrously. All those years spent drawing, he assumed, had made him a veritable masturbation master.
A Master Masturbater, as it were.
He tried not to smile at the alliteration, but he couldn't help it. “Jesus christ.”
“Eh eh, he doesn't--” Gabe sucked in his breath and squirmed against his hand. “He doesn't have anything to do with this, asshole. Leave JC out of this.”
A smirk tugged at Tycho's lips. “Of course.” He stopped stroking his partner, redirecting his hands to his hips. With some effort he lifted them and pushed his partner back against the driving wheel. Gabe was cramped against the car's ceiling, wincing in confusion. “What are you--”
He was silenced when Tycho run his tongue over his now accessible cock's head. Gabe inadvertently thrust against the action, biting back a moan as he tried to steady himself. Tycho placed a hand on his hip to steady him, allowing him to get to work without being jabbed in the eye by one of Gabe's impatient thrusts forward. He swirled his tongue around the head, eyes flicking up towards Gabe's face in order to gauge his performance.
It had been years since he had done anything like this. He made a point never to tell Gabe of his experimental high school flings with the senior in their shared journalism class. Knowing Gabriel as he did, he'd wrongfully assume Tycho was gay, gay and in someway using their friendship as a jumping off point to get into his pants. Gabe saw things in black and white like that, and he didn't want to fill his friend's mind with doubts of his true motive.
He stopped the teasing licks in favor of taking his length into his mouth. Again, Gabe attempted to thrust, nearly gagging Tycho in the process. He pulled away and growled. “Knock that off or I'll bite you,” he threatened.
The legitimate fear on Gabe's face gave him pause. “Sorry,” he muttered through panting. He swallowed for air. “It's just you... you're good. You're really good.” His brow furrowed suspiciously. “You do this before?”
“No,” Tycho responded coolly, still absently stroking Gabe's length. A bold faced lie, but it seemed to calm Gabe's fears down. He took Gabe's cock back into his mouth, removing his hand in favor of stroking himself.
Gabe arched his back with a low moan, hand slipping against the fogged up glass. He lacked a place to position it now, so he chose to ball it up in Tycho's hair. He gently urged him to take his length deeper, and in an angry response Tycho rake his teeth against the organ gently. The message was clear-- don't do that.
He obliged, but not without whining urgently. “Fuck fuck fuck just--” He squeaked when Tycho tilted his rapidly bobbing head, tongue massaging the flesh with renewed gusto. He gripped his hair and shook his head.
Tycho's eyes met his and again Gabe shook his head-- a warning of Gabe's waning self-control. He continued his pace, with no intention of pulling away come Gabriel's imminent release.
Gabe's pleasure peeked after another skilled roll of Tycho's tongue against the underside of his shaft. He gasped an gripped his friend's hair tight, pulling at it sharply as he came into his mouth. Tycho pulled away with an audible gulp that made Gabe blush.
He wiped his mouth and wrinkled his nose. “Blech.”
“I tried to warn you,” Gabe snapped defensively.
“And let you cum on my face? Yes, I'm the sure the Auto Association representative would appreciate your cum on my hair,” he said flatly. He patted Gabe's hip and motioned for him to get off. “Go.”
“But what about...?” Gabe motioned to him vaguely.
“I came already, doofus.”
Gabe's eyebrows shot up and he glanced below. The evidence of Tycho's orgasm was clear.
His brow furrowed. “When?”
Tycho smacked his lips, still trying to get the taste from his mouth. “A few minutes ago, I guess. Do I look like I was watching the goddamn clock?”
“Hah!” Gabe punched his shoulder triumphantly, ignoring Tycho's confused expression. “I win, motherfucker! You came before I did so I fucking win.”
Tycho smirked wryly. “Yes, I suppose you did. Now my lead isn't half as impressive as it was before.”
Gabe scowled, reminder of their score dampening his victory. He glanced at the window as the two regained their breath. He was still losing, and the thought was nagging at him.
He playfully shoved Tycho's shoulder. “Best two out of three?”