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The TV was on, but nothing good was playing. Some old rerun with a laugh track pumped in, a canned cackle pasted over dead pauses. The living room was dark, save for the bluish glow seeping across the carpet. The low hum of the VCR vibrated the stale, unmoving air that reeked faintly of ash and oil and mildew.
Beavis slouched against the couch cushions, his chin jutting forward, eyes half-lidded. The cushions were greasy from years of sweat and skin, the fabric worn thin where their asses had rubbed against it. He could feel crumbs under his thigh from their dinner of BBQ Lays. One sharp edge dug into his skin.
He let out a little laugh at nothing, just to fill the silence. Butthead didn’t laugh back. He was on his knees a few feet in front of the couch, digging through a pile of tapes stacked crookedly in the drawer of the TV stand. The back of his shirt clung damp with sweat, the collar yellowed, long strands of greasy hair sticking to his neck. The rattling of the plastic cases clattered over the noise of the TV.
“Uhhh… this sucks,” Butthead muttered. His voice had that flat, irritated tone he used whenever he thought Beavis was wasting his time.
Beavis shrugged. “Heh, yeah. Totally sucks.”
Butthead didn’t bother replying. He pulled a tape free from the middle of the stack, holding it up so the label caught the light. Beavis squinted. No title, just a strip of masking tape with something scrawled in black marker, the letters smeared like it had been shoved into grimy hands and VCRs a hundred times before.
Butthead didn’t know what it was exactly, or how it had ended up in that drawer, but he smirked anyway and slid it into the VCR. “Huh huh… what do we have here?”
The screen went fuzzy with static, then cut to a skeevy looking motel room. Beavis leaned forward, curious now, eyes roaming around the space. The walls were covered in peeling floral wallpaper, the bedspread a shiny satin with roses stitched across it. Someone had thought this was classy, about 15 years ago. The sheets were wrinkled and stained at the edges, catching the glare of a single lamp in the corner.
On the bed, a woman knelt with her hair teased to the ceiling, piles of extensions making it look more like a wig than anything human. Her tits were fake and lopsided, nipples pointy and straining against a cheap lace bra. Her eyes glowed too-bright blue from a pair of creepy contact lenses. Black eyeliner caked around them, smudged so heavy her face looked tired even when she tried to smile. Her lipstick only highlighted the faint yellow of her teeth.
A man with a thick mustache and chest hair climbed out of his open shirt and crawled across the mattress to meet her, the springs squealing under him like an animal. The camera wobbled and zoomed too close just as the guy leaned in and growled the opening line. “Damn, this bitch Barbie is bad to the bone…”
Then the title card flashed. Bad Barbie IV, in neon letters so warped by the tape, they shook across the screen.
Beavis blinked, then snorted. It barely registered over the moans of the girl on the screen, crying like she was hurt even though the male actor had only tweaked her nipples over her bra. “Heh heh… this rules.”
Butthead snickered in agreement, low and rough, climbing back onto his side of the couch. “Uh huh huh… yeah. Way better than that dumb shit you put on.”
“Yeah…” Beavis answered, now preoccupied. Beavis shifted, hugging one bony knee to his chest, then the other. His eyes were glued on the screen, even though the tape was scratchy and the colors were all weird.
He watched as the man’s hairy hand traveled down the girl’s stomach and landed between her legs, rubbing back and forth over her panties. She was making this high-pitched noise, dragging it out like a siren. Beavis cracked up immediately, doubling over. “Heh heh! She sounds like a cat screaming!”
Butthead wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Uhhh huh huh… yeah, yeah. Do it again, lady! Huh huh huh.”
The guy finally hooked his thick fingers under the panties and yanked them down. The elastic snapped against her thigh, leaving a red welt. The camera tilted, and there it was. His cock, big and sweaty-looking under the bad lighting, jutting out of a tangle of wiry hair.
Beavis’ laughter sputtered and died in his throat. His body jolted like something had shocked him. He stared, eyes wide, unable to turn them away. The air in the room felt thicker suddenly, heavier, like it was pressing down on him. His stomach twisted hot and weird, a pulse low in his gut that made his skin feel too tight. The smell of fast food wrappers and sweat from the couch cushions felt suddenly suffocating, clogging his nose as his chest fluttered.
He realized that he hadn’t said anything in reply to Butthead’s comment. He’d barely even registered it. The silence stretched, awkward, broken only by the squeaks of the bed and the girl crooning out the TV’s shitty speakers. He needed to say something.
“Yeah, yeah!” He said, turning an eager face to Butthead. “Heh heh… boioioioing!”
Butthead cracked up immediately. “Uh huh huh… that’s fucking nasty.”
“Boioioioing!” Beavis chirped again, enjoying Butthead’s approving look. He’d said the right thing.
Butthead chuckled again and sighed. “Okay, settle down, Beavis…”
Beavis’ laugh petered out. His legs spasmed once, then stilled, his hands fidgeting against his knees. He didn’t know where to put his eyes anymore. The porno rolled on, the guy’s cock bobbing grotesquely as he pressed himself against the girl, but every time Beavis looked straight at it, his stomach clenched.
Looking at the girl didn’t help, either, with her face covered in makeup. She really was moaning like a dying animal, her eyelashes sticking together in a mix of mascara and tears.
His gaze skittered to the carpet instead, where the TV glow lit up old stains. Some looked dark and tacky, others pale and dried up. A crumpled napkin lay forgotten under the coffee table, stiff with god knows what. He stared at it for a second, chewing the inside of his cheek, then risked a glance sideways at Butthead.
Butthead was still grinning at the screen, his eyes droopy and relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world. His jaw was slack, and a thin line of spit connected the top and bottom corners of his mouth, highlighted in the TV’s glow. Beavis’ stomach clenched again, traitorously. He felt a jittery little prickle in his chest he couldn’t place. His shorts pressed tight across his lap, and he shifted, hoping Butthead didn’t notice.
“Heh… uh,” Beavis tried, forcing a nervous chuckle. “Oh boy…”
Butthead didn’t even look over this time. He just smirked. “...Dumbass.”
Beavis settled back, arms hugging his knees tighter to his chest.
When the guy’s cock finally pushed into the girl, she let out a shrill whine that hurt Beavis’ ears. The heel of her hand came up to her face, scrubbing at her eyes and streaking the mascara across her temple. The camera zoomed in as the man pressed his glistening mouth and sweaty stache against her neck, grunting like an old lawnmower.
Butthead wheezed. “Uh huh huh huh… that’s, like, totally how chicks sound when I score. Huh huh huh.”
Beavis snorted. “Heh! Yeah right, Butthead. You don’t score. Heh heh… you totally don’t.”
Butthead turned, his smile sharp and carnivorous in the TV glow. “Shut up. I score all the time, asswipe.” His hand scratched under his t-shirt, dragging up the fabric to expose a pale strip of stomach beneath, a few dark hairs trailing down from his belly button and curling out of the waistband of his shorts. Sweat glistened in the crease of his stomach, and the fabric of his shorts was sticking damp where they strained tight over his crotch.
Beavis giggled again, but it came out thin and shaky. “Nuh-huh…” He opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn’t like what was bubbling up in his throat. It startled him, unfamiliar. His face burned all the way up to his ears.
He jammed his fist against his mouth, trying to choke it back, a muffled giggle slipping through his knuckles. His teeth ground into his skin.
Butthead didn’t notice, still staring at the tape. Beavis’ breath hitched and his skin burned hotter by the second. He told himself it was just the TV. The porno was on too loud, that’s all. The noise was crawling inside his head and making him weird.
The tape clicked a little as it rolled, colors flickering pinkish for a second before settling back. On the screen, the guy had pulled his cock out and the girl was slobbering all over it. Strings of spit dribbled down his shaft and clung thick and shiny on her chin. He’d told her to taste herself on it. She balanced herself on her hands and knees, tits swinging under her like udders.
“Huh huh, look at those! They’re, like… they’re, like, balloons or something,” Butthead grinned. His hands floated in front of him, and he made a grabbing motion in the air, slow and lazy, eyes hazed over like he was hypnotized by the screen. “I’d, like, totally squeeze those.”
Beavis giggled again, high-pitched and nervous. He tried to copy the gesture with one hand, just for the joke of it, but it made him feel funny, like he’d tipped forward on a rollercoaster. He dropped his hand quick and tucked it under his arm, hoping Butthead didn’t see.
The sounds on the tape got wetter, grosser, as the girl sucked off her co-star. Her gagging echoed through the speakers, sick and harsh, every retch bouncing off the walls of their tiny living room. Beavis couldn’t help but squirm in his seat, and finally he tore his eyes away to chance another look at his friend.
At some point, Butthead’s smile had slipped into something different. Less sharp, more fixed. He leaned back deeper into the couch, spreading out. His knee brushed against Beavis’ leg.
Beavis felt the touch like a little jolt. He pretended not to notice, but his skin burned where their legs brushed and stuck against each other, damp with shared sweat. He shifted, but there wasn’t much room on the couch to move away. The cushions dipped with Butthead’s weight, forcing them closer.
His cock throbbed hot in his shorts, stiffening harder with every second. Panic fizzed in his chest. He hugged his arms tighter around his knees, trying to fold in on himself, but the cheap nylon fabric stretched taut across his lap, tenting in a way that was impossible to disguise. He jammed his arm down on it awkwardly, like maybe the pressure would flatten it. It didn’t. It just made him throb harder.
But next to him, Butthead wasn’t trying to hide anything. His shorts were hiked up a bit, cock straining openly, the shape of his erection outlined in the thin fabric. A small damp patch darkened the front, obvious and obscene. His smirk twitched, slackening into something heavier. He didn’t look over at Beavis at all. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen.
“This rules,” Butthead muttered, almost to himself. His voice came out thick and syrupy.
Beavis’ stomach lurched. He laughed, high and panicky, but it cracked halfway out his throat and squeaked sharp like a hiccup. “Heh… y-yeah…”
Butthead swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed, catching in his throat. Beavis watched it move out of the corner of his eye, his own skin buzzing, heat crawling up his spine.
His cock lurched painfully against the waistband of his boxers. The elastic dug into his skin, raw and itchy with sweat. He squeezed his thighs together, rocking in place without meaning to. His ears rang.
He dared another glance sideways. Butthead had slouched even lower, his head tipped back, lips parted slightly. A bead of sweat slid from his temple, catching in the hair of his sideburns. Beavis looked away again, eyes darting all over, heart thundering. His mouth opened, but no words came.
“Uh huh huh huh…” Butthead’s stupid snicker pealed out. “She’s like, totally doing it for me.”
Beavis pressed his palms hard against his knees, trying not to fidget. Every twitch made his own shorts rub tighter. He curled forward a little, and kept noticing Butthead. He couldn’t help it. Every time the light from the TV flashed, it lit up the bulge between Butthead’s legs, clear as anything.
Beavis’ face felt warm, almost feverish. His lips stuck together with dryness when he swallowed, his tongue gummy. He giggled again. “Heh heh… yeah, uh… me too.” The words slipped out before he realized, and his stomach flipped as he said them. He wanted to take it back, make a dumb joke and change the subject, but his mouth just hung open.
Butthead shifted again, knee brushing against Beavis’ thigh. He didn’t move away. “Uh huh huh… you’re like, finally turning into a man, Beavis.” His voice was low, lazy, like the insult barely even interested him.
“Heh heh… shut up, Butthead.”
Beavis kept telling himself not to look. He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, where the girl was bouncing so hard the camera wobbled, but his gaze slid sideways. Every time the TV light flashed, it lit up the thick, pulsing strain in Butthead’s shorts.
And his chest kept fluttering. That’s what was disturbing him the most. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, just to keep himself from making a noise. His whole body felt jittery, like he’d chugged soda too fast. He shifted again, but that only made his cock rub harder into his leg. The friction was unbearable, and the pressure lit his nerves up his back and down his legs.
Butthead didn’t say anything for a while. He just kept his eyes locked on the porno, his smirk fixed in place. Then without warning, he moved. His hands drifted down until his fingers splayed over his thigh, then slid higher again. He pressed his palm against the bulge of his shorts, slow and lazy, like he was scratching an itch. The dark spot spread where his fingers rubbed in.
Beavis froze. His breath caught in his throat like he’d swallowed wrong. The sound of Butthead’s palm dragging fabric was faint but there, sticky in spots, and it made his stomach lurch.
Now he really couldn’t look away. The way Butthead’s fingers curled, pressing down, the way his hips shifted just a little with the pressure. Beavis’ heart was racing so fast, it hurt in his chest.
Butthead’s hand didn’t stop. He dragged his palm up and down over the length, the heel of his hand grinding in, his fingers curling to squeeze. His breath slipped out rough, hitching low in his chest.
Beavis’ gut knotted so tight he thought he might puke. A sour taste crawled up the back of his throat. He pulled his knees in closer to his chest and rested his cheek on them, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. His cock ached, pinned awkwardly against his thigh. He felt too hot in his clothes, and as he squirmed, his hips bucked forward to meet the friction of his legs, grinding for just a second.
Some weird kind of jealousy clawed at him, hot, ugly, twisting in his gut. But worse was that sick, desperate arousal that he couldn’t even name. His mind blanked when he tried to think. It wasn’t just at Butthead’s easy smirk or how good it looked like it felt as he watched Butthead touch himself. It was the fact that he was doing it so openly, right next to him. The fact that Butthead was right there, jerking himself off, and Beavis was close enough to feel the dip of the couch with every shift of his body made his own cock throb.
And Beavis wanted to be next to him. Wanted to watch. He really wanted it, and it was freaking him the fuck out, and that alone was making precum dribble hot into his briefs, soaking them dark. He had never wanted to cum this bad in his life.
“Uh huh huh huh…” Butthead chuckled and trailed off into a grunt as his hips shifted up into his hand. His smirk tightened as he pressed into himself harder, his palm moving slow, obscene, the shape beneath jumping with every pass.
Beavis bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron. His thighs squeezed together, rocking subtly into the feeling. Just rubbing a little, enough to ease the throbbing pressure. He told himself it wasn’t on purpose. But the feeling prickled under his skin. It felt so good. Another giggle slipped out of him uninvited, and he pressed his mouth into his bent knee to choke it off.
“This… kicks ass,” Butthead muttered, even though his focus was slipping. His hand moved in a steadier rhythm now, sliding, pressing, dragging along himself. His other hand dug into the couch cushion beneath him, blunt nails scraping against the worn-down fabric.
Beavis felt like it was getting hard to breathe. He curled forward even tighter, shifting his hips in tiny, nervous motions. His cock rubbed against the inside of his leg through the fabric, and he clamped his thighs tight, biting down on his lip, trying not to make a sound.
Soon, Butthead’s fingers were shoving under the elastic waistband, digging right into his shorts, and the sound of the nylon was replaced with the faint, wet sound of skin on skin. His wrist flexed inside the fabric and his breath hitched. His hand moved deliberate and steady, slowly dragging up and down the length of his cock, making the fabric bunch and snap against his wrist.
The muscles of Beavis’ thighs ached from squeezing so hard. Every muscle in his body trembled with the effort of staying still, of pretending this was fine and that his whole body wasn’t shaking with a need to watch, a need to cum.
His cock pulsed harder, dragging heat through his body. He rocked back and forth again, hoping it looked like nothing, his eyes darting from Butthead’s moving hand to the carpet to the wall to the tape, and back on Butthead. The friction between his legs felt too good, and he wasn’t used to restraining himself like this. He sighed and pressed his forehead against his legs.
He was close and he hadn’t even touched himself. He needed to cum so bad, he thought he might scream.
But the rhythm of Butthead’s hand inside his pants went on, steady and unashamed. The sounds were growing louder as Butthead’s palm slicked with precum. It was loud enough to cut above the frantic pulse in Beavis’ ears.
His hips thrust forward, body begging for more friction even as his brain screamed to stop. He couldn’t. Finally, Butthead’s face tilted lazily toward him. His droopy eyes slid sideways, glazed over yet sharp enough to catch the movement of Beavis’ body.
His crooked grin pulled wider, mean and knowing.
“Uh huh huh…” the laugh came low and grunting. His hands didn’t still as he addressed his friend. “You’re, like… gonna jizz in your pants, Beavis.”
Beavis jolted upright, face burning. “N-no! I’m not! Heh heh… I’m not.” His voice cracked higher than usual, giving him away instantly. He tried to bury himself in the corner of the couch, but the tented front of his shorts strained harder than ever.
Butthead wheezed a wet, heavy sound. “Huh huh huh…” His gaze flicked to Beavis’ lap, lingering just long enough to make Beavis want to crawl out of his own skin. He smiled wolfishly. “You gotta rub one out, dude. You look like you’re gonna cry.”
Beavis swallowed hard, his throat too dry to protest, his body humming like an electrical current. He tried to laugh it off, but all that came out was an awkward grunt.
“What’s up yours, Beavis?” Beavis sneered.
“I’m… I’m not… heh heh heh… I’m not gonna, like, do that,” Beavis attempted, his voice crackly and pathetic. His face was on fire.
Butthead’s teeth flashed. His hand picked up speed again shamelessly, even though his eyes never left Beavis’ reddening face. “Uh huh huh huh… why not?”
“Uhhhh… heh heh…” Beavis shook his head hard, eyes darting to the floor, to the screen, anywhere but at him. His cock leaked another thick string of precum, soaking into his boxers. “Wh-why do you even want me to? Heh heh… like, what’s your problem, Butthead?”
“Just do it. Huh huh huh… I know you want to.” He shifted his hips to meet his fist. “You’re, like, already doing it anyway.”
Beavis’ stomach flipped. Every nerve in his body lit up. The air in the room felt thick, sour with sweat and skin and sex. Every breath he let out felt shaky as his mind stuttered over the same thought. Why does Butthead want me to do it? His stomach twisted in on itself. Did Butthead want to see it because he thought it was funny? Or… did that mean he was, like… a fag? The word scraped through his head like rugburn. He didn’t know what to do with it.
Without thinking, his hand slipped down between his legs. His fingers pressed into the tent of his shorts, squeezing once clumsily.
The shock of it ripped through him like a live wire. A little moan cracked out of his throat before he could stop it. His eyes went wide, panic spiking. He hadn’t meant to make a sound, especially not that sound.
Butthead turned back to look at him, grinning sharp, laughter crackling through his throat, caked in spit. “Uhhh huh huh huh… oh my god, Beavis. You, like, totally moaned. Huh huh huh!”
Beavis’ cheeks burned. He jerked his hand back like he’d touched a stove, wrapping his arms around himself again. “No I didn’t! Heh heh, I didn’t! Shut up, bunghole!”
Cruel amusement glittered in Butthead’s eyes. “Yeah, you did. You sounded just like the chick in the tape. Huh huh huh.”
Beavis hid his face against his knees again, unsure if he wanted to bolt from the room or shove his hand back down and never stop. He watched Butthead’s attention turn back to the screen, staring as the man gripped the girl’s hair, violently fucking into her mouth. “Huh huh… yeah, that’s hot,” Butthead mumbled.
The girl wailed on, but the noise felt far away, muffled. All he could hear were the noises Butthead was making.
Without thinking, his own hand drifted down again. His fingers pressed into his erection, squeezing cautiously. He tried to stroke himself through the fabric the same way he watched Butthead do, but his rhythm faltered unevenly. His chest seized every time he moved, panic crawling up his spine and filling his head.
But fuck, the relief he was already getting made his lips part, gasping for breath.
He tried to look back at the TV to see what Butthead was watching. The girl’s mascara was running down her cheek and snot was smeared on her upper lip. Keeping his eyes on it felt impossible. They kept dragging back to Butthead next to him.
The realization struck him hard and made his head spin. Maybe I’m the one who’s a fag.
It lodged sharp inside him. His hand faltered again, hips jerking, desperate but off-beat. And watching Butthead’s lazy, self-assured movements, the way his hand squeezed at the tip, the way his head tipped back, like he knew exactly what he was doing… It made Beavis feel like his brain was rotting out of his skull.
He let out another little moan, even though his hand had stilled, and covered it with a forced laugh. Butthead’s words rang in his head. You sounded just like the chick in the tape. It was so embarrassing. It made him feel like he was gonna cum in his pants. He hated that it turned him on. Hated it, but it did.
His fingers squeezed his shaft again, harder this time, and he cried out again helplessly. He shut his mouth, eyes going wide and scared, and Butthead looked… somehow pleased. “You really do sound like her, Beavis. Huh huh huh!”
A trickle of sweat dripped down the back of Beavis’ neck, soaking into the collar of his t-shirt. He shook his head, eyes finding the girl on the screen once more as she choked and gagged on the man’s dripping cock.
What if I did that?
He thought it before he could stop himself, peeking back at Butthead like his friend could read his mind. His thoughts were tangling into knots he couldn’t loosen.
What if I was the one down there? His chest seized, and his cock jumped in his grip. He held his breath, tugging harder at his erection.
What if I was the one with my face in Butthead’s lap, like the chick in the tape?
He was gonna cum like this. He closed his eyes, head spinning while the room filled with the slick, slapping sounds of the porno and their hands on their cocks. But the unbearable thought wouldn’t leave.
Maybe I want to.
Beavis’ hand flexed at his waistband, then shoved past the elastic before he could think better of it. His fingers closed around his cock and the shock made his whole body jolt.
It felt completely different without a barrier between himself and the friction of his hand. The heat of his own skin against his palm was almost too much, and he bit down on his lip to try and keep his voice down. His hips bucked once into the feeling, desperate. He could feel how close he was, how little it would take to spill messily into his own fist.
And his eyes fixed on Butthead and they stayed there.
He was staring. His eyes were hypnotized by the movements of Butthead’s hand, watching as it sped up then slowed down when he got too close to cumming. Beavis sucked in air through his teeth, eyes glued to the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
“Uhhh huh… what the hell, Beavis? You’re, like, totally watching me.” Butthead had caught him.
“I wasn’t! I—”
“Yeah, you were. You’re, like, staring at my junk, dumbass. Huh huh huh. You wanna see my cock that bad? Uhhhh huh huh…”
Before Beavis could stammer another denial, Butthead hooked his thumbs into the waistband and yanked his shorts down to mid-thigh. His cock slapped up heavy against his stomach, flushed and shiny in the TV’s blue light. A pearly bead of precum leaked at the tip. The pubes at the base were greasy and damp, plastered flat with sweat, a dark mat of curls spreading across his pale skin.
Beavis couldn’t look, couldn’t not look. His heart was racing so fast, it hurt.
“Uh huh huh…” Butthead sneered happily, stroking himself openly now, no fabric in the way. “There. Happy now, Beavis? You’re, like, drooling over it.”
“I’m not! Heh heh—I’m not!” Beavis argued uncomfortably, but the way his cock jumped at the sight betrayed him instantly.
Butthead tilted his head, mocking. “Come on, buttmunch. Pull yours out. Don’t be a pussy.” His tone dropped low, words slurred with ugly amusement. “Uh huh huh huh huh.”
Beavis’ fingers twitched, moving up to his waistband then back down again, shame and want mixing together until he couldn’t tell them apart. He thought he really might puke right there on the couch. His hands clenched tight around his knees, nails biting into his own skin. Every part of him screamed not to do it, but he needed to cum so bad… fuck.
Butthead kept pulling at himself slowly, leaning back deeper into the couch, spreading his legs wider. Beavis stared again, and Butthead watched him staring.
He felt sick. He felt hot. His hands moved before he could think better of it, groping at fabric of his shorts. He peeled them down to his thighs, exposing himself to the stale air of the room. His cock was soaked shiny, hard as rocks, desperate for release after all this waiting. And the shame hit him like a slap, but the relief of it—finally, finally out—felt too good to stop.
Butthead barked out a laugh. “Uh huh huh… oh my god. You actually did it. You’re, like, such a slut, Beavis.” His strokes slowed exaggeratedly, clearly for Beavis to watch. His eyes gleamed cruel. “You really are like the slut in the porn, huh huh.”
Beavis whined as his hand lurched and he grabbed himself, no longer able to hold back. His fingers wrapped clumsy around his cock, squeezing tight, and the shock of it ripped through him. His hips bucked forward to meet his fist.
“Uh huh huh huh…” Now he was the one staring back at Beavis.
Beavis tried to copy Butthead’s rhythm, stroking himself in earnest now, but his pace stuttered. His hand sped up desperately, whole body shaking. He couldn’t stop, not now, not with Butthead watching him, mocking him, tugging at himself right in front of him. The sick heat in his gut only climbed sharper, threatening to spill over.
His hand pumped fast now, sloppy, hips bucking forward without rhythm. His breath squealed out of him in little bursts. He was too wound up, too jittery, his strokes short and frantic, chasing something he couldn’t quite catch.
“Uh huh huh… you’re doing it wrong.”
Beavis tried to slow his pace, but his hands only shook worse. “Heh heh heh, no I’m not! Fuckin’ asshole.”
Butthead snorted, then shifted, his free hand reaching over. Before Beavis could even flinch away, Butthead’s fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing tight.
Beavis yelped, his whole body jumping. “Hehh—unhhh…” The noise tore out of him. His hand fell away, useless, leaving Butthead to stroke him slow and steady, each pull practiced.
The difference was insane. It was nothing like when he did it himself. Butthead’s grip was firmer, hotter, the angle strange, every stroke dragging a new spark of sensation through his cock. His hips bucked forward again, chasing the feeling. His laugh sputtered into a whine, high and panicky.
“Uhhh huh huh… see? That’s, like, way better. You’re such a freak, Beavis.” His smirk lowered, his other hand still pulling at himself, faster now, messy.
Beavis’ chest rattled, breathing hard. His cock pulsed hard in Butthead’s fist, precum gathering at the tip and wetting his fingers. His legs twitched, shifting and jerking against the couch cushions.
His eyes locked on Butthead’s cock again, the swollen, red head, the fat drops of precum that made his fist glide up and down seamlessly. He didn’t even think about it. His hand moved forward, hovering, then landed clumsy on Butthead’s shaft.
The heat of it shocked him, thick and alive under his palm. His fingers squeezed the same way Butthead’s did, sliding up his length. It felt so foreign, so heavy in his hand. He panted raggedly, tightening his grip, and Butthead’s laugh cracked out. “Uhhh huh huh… you’re, like, touching my cock. Huh huh huh!”
Beavis wasn’t sure which sensation he was feeling now was better, but his eyes fluttered closed. His shaky fingers spread over the head of Butthead’s cock, smearing the mess of precum into the slit and dragging it down in sticky strings, soaking his hand until it dripped between his knuckles. The sounds alone were scrambling his brain, slick and louder than the porno, hypnotizing him as he stared at the thick shaft thrusting in and out of his trembling fist.
His gaze traveled up, at the way Butthead’s head had tipped back against the couch, his throat bobbing, his breath hitching like it really felt good. Beavis gasped, and his stomach flipped as he watched the way the noise made Butthead shiver like he loved it.
“You like touching my cock, Beavis? Huh huh huh… you’re, like, such a perv. You love dick, huh, Beavis?”
Beavis whined, his eyes fluttering closed as Butthead’s hand sped up. He tried to match the rhythm. He listened to Butthead’s voice growing more raw, and when he opened his eyes again, Butthead’s mouth had fallen open, brows furrowed as he continued to egg Beavis on. “Uhh huh… yeah, keep going, fucking slut. Huh huh huh.”
His grip around Butthead’s cock trembled. The humiliation made his stomach burn, but it only turned him on worse. He clung harder, moaning openly, too far gone to stop himself. They were both lost in it now, hands moving fast, sticky and loud over each other. The porno wailed on in the background, but they barely heard it.
Beavis whined again. “Heh—hehhh—I c-can’t—” His voice cracked into a whimper as Butthead’s fist tightened. His hips bucked, frantically chasing something he couldn’t hold onto. His fingers were uneven now on Butthead’s cock, unable to keep up, jerky and barely keeping time.
Butthead’s free hand shoved Beavis’ fingers off his own cock, and without pause, wrapped around himself again. Butthead’s hands worked fast in tandem, steadier than Beavis could manage on his own. Beavis cried out and then bit his lip again. “Butthead, hehhhh heh—I can’t—I’m—”
“Uh huh huh huh… yeah, Beavis. Cum like a fucking slut.”
The heat in his gut spilled over all at once. Beavis cried out sharp, grabbing for balance, his hand clutching hard at Butthead’s shoulder. His nails dug into the damp fabric of his shirt as his whole body convulsed.
The orgasm tore out of him raw. He spilled in uneven bursts, dribbling into Butthead’s closed fist. Cum smeared between his fingers and dripped over his knuckles, and Beavis shuddered at the sensation. He couldn’t choke back his moans, face burning, ears ringing.
Butthead’s breath heaved and he wheezed out a laugh, his own strokes never faltering, even as Beavis convulsed against him. “Uhhh huh huh… you totally blew your load in my hand. Gross.”
Beavis’ head tipped forward, his own weak laugh bubbling weak and broken. His chest rose and sank rapidly as he caught his breath, every muscle vibrating, clinging to Butthead’s shoulder just to stay upright as the last pulses shook through his body.
His head was spinning. His cock twitched weakly, oversensitive, jizz cooling on his stomach where it had dripped from Butthead’s hand.
But Butthead’s hand never stopped on himself. It tugged fast, rough, tight. His breath was ragged, wet in his throat. His eyes flicked to the TV just as the guy in the porn groaned and glazed his co-star’s face with thick spurts of cum, mixing into her smeared makeup.
“Uhhh huh huh…” Without warning, he shoved up onto his knees, pumping himself furiously. Beavis blinked up in confusion, dazed, his stomach still fluttering from his own orgasm.
Then Butthead’s body loomed closer, right over his face.
“Heh heh, wh-what are you—?” Beavis started, but he didn’t get a chance to finish.
Butthead groaned low, guttural, his whole body seizing as he came hard. His cock jerked in his fist, spilling in hot ropes that splattered across Beavis’ face. The streaks hit his cheek, his mouth, his forehead, dripping into his hair.
Beavis cried out, but he was too stunned to move. His body locked up, breath rasping as the warmth smeared across his skin. Butthead’s grunts pulled out of him raw, louder than Beavis had ever heard, his frame shaking as he kept stroking through it. The cum kept dripping thick from his tip until his fist finally slowed, milking the last drops out.
He laughed again through his panting. “Uh huh huh huh huh… you look, like… totally nasty. Just like the girl in the tape. Huh huh huh.”
Beavis sat frozen, gasping for breath, face painted and sticky, eyes wide and glassy. His stomach twisted sick and hot all at once, feeling more shame than he’d ever felt in his life. He couldn’t even wipe his face. His hand just hovered, shaking a bit, as Butthead chuckled and leaned back against the couch, smug and spent.
“Uhh huh huh… that was cool.”
And Butthead just pushed himself off the couch. He wiped his messy hand on his t-shirt and pulled his shorts back up, scratching at his stomach with the other as he shuffled toward the kitchen.
Beavis sat slumped in place, ears ringing. The cum was starting to cool on his skin. His eyes stayed wide, locked forward, too dazed to blink.
The porno still droned on, blue light flickering over the room. The male actor on screen was scooping his load off the woman’s face with thick fingers, shoving them between her painted lips as she gagged around the intrusion.
Beavis shivered, his throat tight. Then, without thinking, he raised his own twitchy fingers. Two of them swiped through the gluey mess smeared across his cheek.
He hesitated only a second. Then shoved them into his mouth.
The taste hit him sharp, bitter and salty, coating his tongue. He gagged once, eyes watering, but didn’t pull back. He sucked his fingers clean, lips smacking as he dragged them out. His chest buzzed, and the shame felt almost sweet now.
He sighed. His body slumped deeper into the couch, shaking all over. For the first time since the tape had started, he felt still. Completely exhausted, but somehow content.
The VCR hummed on, and Beavis let his eyes fall shut, sticky fingers resting limp against his bare lap.