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Murderface was eager, much too eager for a man who insisted upon his heterosexuality daily as if on schedule. And chalking it up to pent up frustration just couldnt cut it. Toki, on the other hand, was pretty unpredicable in his sexual interests, and Murderface did have his theories. Both situations, which, were entirely forgotten in the muggy laundry room of the Dethsub, Murderface perched on top of the dryer, one hand tugging on the ponytail of the man kneeling between his spread legs, and the other creeping up his chest, rubbing over his pert nipples that strained against his shirt.
He couldn't control the onslaught of petty whines that escaped him— he didn't quite expect that Toki would give such a good blow job. The rhythm guitarist made up for what he lacked in technique with enthusiasm, his lips suctioning around the wide head of the bassist's cock with wet slurping sounds. Toki didn't even attempt to take him all in his mouth, but instead just used his right hand, damp with sweat, to work whatever of his length he couldn't comfortably reach.
Murderface tried to ignore the tickle of Toki's mustache whenever it brushed the pudgy underside of his belly or the skin between his thighs, rough with cords of self-inflicted scars. What he couldn't ignore however, was the devious scrape of teeth applied just right, or the left hand that worked itself, limp and clumsy but with intent, down the front of pink-stained briefs. Toki gagged, and then hummed contentedly, a high, nasally noise, around Murderface's throbbing length, eliciting a shudder from the latter man.
He leaned his head back against the wall.“T-the fuck Toki...ngh...why are you sch-scho good-d at this?”
The rhythm guitarist pulled himself off Murderface's cock, and sighed, exasperated. “Please don'ts talks,” he complained, pulling his own dick out and rutting against the cold metal face of the dryer. “Ungh...you'll ruin de moments.”
He shut up, anything to get that warm wet mouth back on him. Warm and wet. Just then, it dawned on him why the sensation was familiar. “Hey Toki.”
Blue eyes, obscured by blown pupils stared up at him. “Whats is it nows?”
“Your mouth...is like a good pusschy.”
“That's it, I'm fuckings leaving. Finishes yourself off.”
“No wait Toki!”
“...What?”
Murderface blushed.“...Can you call me daddy?”
Toki stood up and tossed his hair. His boner was glaringly obvious in those little panties, but the dwellers of the Dethsub were well-used to public hard-ons these days. “Goodbye Moidaface,” he replied, and skated away.
Then laundry room was empty, and the bassist was left only with his wilting erection, wet with spit, and the low thrum of the dryer underneath his ass. As the drum turned, the entire machine was wracked with vibrations that shook it where it stood. Gripping his cock and smiling, Murderface turned around to face the dryer and cracked open it's door.
He had an idea.