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DISCLAIMER:
This story originally appeared in HOMOture, #1.
Do not read this story if you object to sexually explicit fiction, articularly if it's gay. Do not read this story if you are under the legal age in your state/province to buy such material. All characters are fictional and the creation of the author's imagination. Any resemblence to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
GNIC
Shards of guitar and drum noise hit Gnic in the face as he pushed his way into The Club With No Name, a revolving night spot with no specific locale. The music was strictly hardcore, unadorned punk that thrilled Gnic to his balls, and it came in ear-busting surges of pounding noise topped by the ranting vocals of a bare chested lead singer. The singer's parents, devout Irish Catholics, had christened him Steven Patrick Keneally, but among the Los Angeles punk crowd he was known by his preferred nickname "Fuckface," usually shortened to "F-Face" or simply "Face." The Los Angeles Times referred to him as "Mr. Face" in its review of the extended-play disc he had just released, recorded with his band, the Eviscerators. LA Weekly had described the new EP, "Poor White Trash," as "the most exciting expression of unalloyed punk rage and despair since the Sex Pistols."
Gnic knew that fame, fortune and the erosion of the punk integrity that inevitably accompanied success were just around the corner for Fuckface and The Eviscerators, so he was eager to catch the band before the decline. They were about to begin a national tour, and tonight's show was their farewell to The Club With No Name, tonight being held in an empty warehouse on La Brea, next to an empty construction sight. Gnic showed up in his "combat rock" clothes: black T-shirt with an "A" for anarchy emblazoned in pink on the back; tight, black jeans with frayed cuffs; and decrepit sneakers. His black hair, cropped short on the sides, was full and bristly on top, like the shiny ruby-colored studs in his left earlobe. Gnic scorned the emaciated and burned- out look affected by the Bohemian, art-fag punks. Gnic was "straight-edge," a punk faction whose members prided them- selves on being drug-free, mentally sharp and physically fit, ready to dance, fight or fuck at a moments notice. As far as Gnic and his crowd were concerned, the artsy-druggy punks were basically useless, a species worthy of pity, at best. Whenever Gnic's older brother, Marc, a 34 year old portrait photographer who owned no records made after 1970, laughed at Gnic's hair or clothes, Gnic would sneer, "Eat me!" Poor Marc, Gnic would sometimes think. Still wearing his thinning hair too long and carrying a flabby belly that hung over his belt. Still saddle with a big mortgage, a neurotic wife, and two squalling brats. Gnic was glad to be 23, with a trim, hard body. And since he only got it on with dudes, there was little chance he'd end up a middle-class breeder living a lame, suburban existence.
Gnic shouldered his way through the bobbing throng, trying to get as close to the stage as possible. Although the Unwitting Hip were playing hard and fast, the night hadn't yet reached its manic, scream-till-your-lungs-burst peak. Gnic checked out the crowd. It was almost entirely male, with most of the women, as few as there were, clustered around the periphery of the dance floor. Gnic made it to the edge of the stage just as Fuckface and the band tore into "You Make Me Sick," their new single. Gnic stood directly in front of the singer and peered up at him. Fuckface was really into it now; the cords in his neck bulged, sweat rained down his face and bare, muscular torso, and he had a hard-on. Fucked rubbed his inner thigh against the mike stand as he rasped the words in his abrasive whine.
"You make me sick--with your nuclear wars!/You make me sick- -with your fucking TV!/You make me sick--with your designer jeans/You make me sick, sick, sick!"
When Face screamed the last line, he doubled over in mock- revulsion and grimaced as if about to puke. Gnic could clearly see the hard-on now; it jutted out at an angle, the big, uncut cock head making a clearly defined impression on the soft worn fabric of the singer's jeans. A dark blob of boy lube stained the jeans where the fat dickhead rested. Gnic licked his lips as he admired the sight, imagining the taste of the cock juice sucked through the worn, dirty jeans. Gnic licked his lips as he admired the sight, and his dick began to stir. He tugged at his crotch to give the swelling tool some breathing room. Then Fuckface stood up straight, threw his arms up in the air and began a wild, lurching dance. The crowd that wasn't already doing so, started to slam-dance. Boys, who had been bobbing up and down in place on the dance floor, suddenly went wild, heedlessly hurling their taut bodies against one another, grooving with dangerous abandon. Limbs became tangled, short-haired heads knocked together, groins fused in a rubbing, pushing motion that was both anonymous and thrillingly intimate. The Eviscerators fed and were nourished by the frenzy; the flailing bodies, screams and hollers were answered with an adrenaline rush of guitar feedback. Fuckface was dancing around the cramped stage, bumping into amplifiers and monitors and not giving a fuck.
Gnic noticed that Face's dick was still trying to escape from his pants, and was marveling at the singer's easy arousability when Face took a running leap off the stage and dived into the twisting, shrieking crowd. The slam dancers passes the wriggling vocalist along like a baton in a marathon race. Face's sneakered foot slashed upward and caught one boy in the face, leaving a dirty grid mark on his cheek. The kid didn't flinch, he simply continued heaving Fuckface along the crowd; several hands reached up and groped him, squeezing his dick and ass hard. Whenever he received one of those anonymous gropes, Face let out a load moan. He was being passed back towards the stage now, and as he came by, Gnic reached up and caught a handful of crotch. More than a handful. The singer had a big stick, all right, and a heavy ball sack. With his free hand, Gnic pinched the singer's tits, twisting the nipples hard. Face's eyes rolled back and a trail of spittle seeped out of the corner of his mouth. A pair of hands rose up from the crowd and pushed Face forward. He landed on the edge of the stage with his pants undone. His hard, lightly furred, little butt was half exposed, and Gnic wanted to get at it real bad. His dick pulsed and leaked when he thought of scouring the ribbon on light brown ass fur lining Face's ass crack - tongue, fingers, dick - he didn't really care what he used, but he needed to work that ass.
Face scrambled to his feet and stood wobbly to survey the happy chaos erupting before him. His sexy torso was a maze of scrapes and scratches bathed in a sheen of sweat. He suddenly got all ugly in the face, like people do when they're about to come, and then he dived back into the crowd. The band broke into a fast, syncopatic beat with metallic punk fury. Gnic danced about wildly, flinging his arms and torso. He was stopped short by the tumble of bone and flesh that landed on top of him. It was Face! He wrapped his body around Gnic's and with scrambling hands tore at Gnic's T-shirt. He humped Gnic as he ripped the shirt to shreds. When he saw Gnic's hard pecs, with their succulent little nipples surrounded by black hair, Fuckface smiled into Gnic's eyes, jerkily bent forward at the waist and snagged one of Gnic's tits with his teeth. Gnic let out a pained howl, and the singer switched from chomping on the titty to a forceful but painless sucking. Gnic responded by slamming his crotch against Face's, and the two humped together wildly while the singer worked the boytit he held in his mouth. Meshed together like that, with their almost identical haircuts and slim, athletic builds, they looked like brothers. Some boys paid them no attention and continued slamming, while others stood and ogled. Both Gnic and Fuckface had roaring hard-ons and they ground them together in a test of wills. Who was going to go down on his knees first?
Gnic figured that the singer, being a hot-shot punk star, would expect him, a fan, to do the honors. Fuck that, Gnic thought. He pushed Face off his tit--the sucking was making him feel like a lactating cow--and he took hold of the singers open pants. With one quick tug, he pushed the pants down past Face's hips. He wasn't wearing any underwear, and his unencumbered prong popped out tall and stiff. Bodies were hurtling around him, but Gnic focused his attention on the hot hard-on he held in his hand.
"Work it!" the singer hissed into his ear. Gnic squeezed and pumped the punk-prick a few times, pumping out a handful of slimy dick lube before yelling at Face, "Work this!" He forced Face to his knees, and using both hands jammed the singer's head onto his crotch. Face sucked the fly of Gnic's jeans, worshipping the hidden dick. Then with his teeth, he caught the tab of the zipper and pulled it down. Gnic's boner and big, pendulous furry balls fell out of his open pants, the long dong laying across the narrow bridge of the Fuckface's nose. He angled his hips so that his cock dropped neatly into Face's open mouth. The singer's lips closed around the veiny pole, forming a tight "O." He began to work his suck muscles, pulling the dick deep into his throat while laying feathery tongue-strokes along the length of the shaft. Gnic moaned loud, but the sound was consumed in the din of the crowd and the furious playing of the Eviscerators. The band kept hammering away at their instruments while their vocalist, bare chested and with his pants down, squatted on the dance floor and sucked cock.
Fuckface was working on Gnic's boycock as if it were the last one on earth. If he were a critic, Gnic might have said that the singer "brings to cocksucking the same total commitment that distinguishes his on-stage performances." But since he was just a fan, he simply stood rocking on his heels, enjoying the show Face was giving him. Face wasn't rushing to bring Gnic off. He was the type of cocksucker who relishes the taste and feel of a stiff dick in his mouth; the cum-shoot was the finale, no the whole show. Face would suck hard on Gnic's cock, and then just as Gnic felt his load begin to rise, he'd pull back, gently licking the warm pre-cum off the plump head, lick Gnic's fat hairy boyballs, and slide his tongue between his thighs and slather his hot wet tongue over Gnic's hair-ringed musky asshole. Each time Gnic felt the singer's tongue working his hole, he'd reach back to spread his hard ass open for Fuckface, squat and watch the long string of cock drool swing from the end of his prong. Then Face would plunge back down on the meat, letting it invade his gullet. And as he sucked Gnic off, he pulled on his own hard-on.
The Eviscerators were still churning out a high-decibel noise storm, but there were fewer guys slamming. He and Fuckface were now enclosed by a half circle of semi-dressed boys who either had their dicks out and were openly whacking off or were rubbing their hard-ons through their jeans. One of the meatbeaters got carried away by the sight of his favorite punkrocker blowing the hunky kid in the shredded T-shirt. He pumped his dick in rapid strokes, gasped, and let fly a gusher of cum that splattered on Fuckface's bare back. He then sank to the floor, exhausted by his violent orgasm. Three bare chested guys with shaved heads stood over him and jerked off. He received their creamy loads with a smiling, upturned face.
A half-dozen guys, some stripped to the waist, the other wearing nothing but frayed undershorts, climbed on stage and stood in a line before the footlights. They dove and landed on the floor in a heap. There they stayed, a twisting, groping mass of flesh. Underpants clung loosely to the ankles of one boy as he sucked on the cock of another, while a third finger-fucked his butthole. A naked guy at the edge of the pile slurped greedily on two dicks crammed into his mouth. Gnic shook his head in amazement and began to howl. Fuckface, still slurping on Gnic's meat, looked up. When he saw that Gnic was totally gone, he knew it was time to go for the load. He alternated heavy duty vacuum sucking with deft tongue work. Gnic's balls rose up in their tight fuzzy sack.
"Unnnn-uh!" he grunted, shuddering as he gushed his jizz into Fuckface's mouth. As the singer gulped Gnic's load, he jerked himself off, shooting his cum onto the floor. The Eviscerators slammed out a succession of hard, staccato chords as their vocalist and Gnic popped their rocks. Masturbating onlookers shouted and applauded. Someone bolted onto the stage and backed the blonde, chunkily-built bass player into the corner, and then tackled him. After a brief struggle, the kid got the musician's pants off and swooped down on his dick to suck it. This caught the eye of the lead guitarist, a tall and lean guy with an orange-tinted mohawk. He unhooked his guitar and set the instrument down. He unfastened his pants as he walked to where the bass player and the fan were tussling on the floor. Yanking out his plump hard-on, he squatted down beside them and slowly slipped his steely rod into the bassist's mouth. The drummer laid down a relentless, rock-solid backbeat, while thrashing the hell out of his cymbals.
Gnic yanked Face up to his feet and hugged him. The singer pulled up his pants and buttoned them. Gnic did the same. "Man" Gnic panted, "that was unbelievable!"
"That's why they call me Fuckface," the vocalist beamed. He took Gnic's hand and the two of them stood poised for flight, laughing and shouting encouragement to the young revelers.
"Unfucking real!" Gnic hollered at Face.
"Can't wait to read the reviews in the morning, the singer dead- panned as he led Gnic out an exit and into the warm night air.