Not So Secret
Part Two (or the continuation...
Standard Disclaimer: I don't own the Murderdolls and this never happened.
A/N: It's very hard to update a story that has no plot. I really don't know where this *thing* is going. Any suggestions would be taken into consideration. Sorry it's so short. Thanks for everyone's great reviews!
~*~
Acey stood at the door for a long while, his initial shock waning as he observed his friends, both of whom had frozen in horror. It did not take a shrewd eye to discern what activities had been occurring, and Acey was not fool enough to mistake Wednesday and Joey’s position to be a friendly fight-turned-wrestling match. What made the scene blatantly obvious was the apparent bulge in Joey’s sweatpants, and Wednesday hovering between the guitarist’s spread legs.
“I’ll just, uh, go wait for Eric and Ghoul -er- outside.” Acey stumbled backwards through the open door, slamming it shut as he receded into the frosty air.
Wednesday collapsed on Joey with a laugh. “Shit.”
“What do you mean shit? FUCK!”
Wednesday rolled on to his side, relieving the guitarist of his scant weight. He laughed again, this time ruffling Joey’s hair and kissing his cheek. “You’re cute.”
“Fuck you man; now Acey is going to tell Eric and Ghoul! The band will be fucking finished.”
“Like they’ll give a shit. Acey’ll get over it, trust me. And it’s not like Eric and Ghoul could object.”
Joey sat up and glowered at Wednesday, who gave him a patronizing grin. “Why?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t picked up on it?”
Joey shook his head and near growled as his almost-lover roared in laughter.
“They’re together!”
“As in, a bit more than friends?”
“Fuck yeh, a fuck of a lot more.” Observing Joey’s overly shocked expression, Wednesday again collapsed into giggles, clutching his sides and nuzzling Joey’s hair. “You’re too much.” The vocalist rose from the couch and proceeded to the bus’s less than adequate kin, an, and all the while a soft chuckle emitted from his painted lips.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Joey propped himself up hastily on his elbows, eyes following Wednesday’s fluctuating hips and ass that were squeezed delightfully into his tight vinyl pants. Although the guitarist’s erection had somewhat diminished, his body was still in the irritating state of arousal that could only be mitigated by his climax. Nearly growling in discomfort laced delicately with disgust, he rose swiftly from the couch, and stalked behind Wednesday into the kitchenette.