Joey practically throws himself into the first stall in the bathroom, panting for breath as he latches the door closed and lets his head fall forward onto it with a dull thunk. The arcade bathrooms are just as horrendously 70s as the rest of this town, with sage green tiles making up the floor and going halfway up the chartreuse wall, but Joey hardly notices that. He's got a bit of a bigger problem than questionable interior design choices: the relentless heat throbbing steadily between his legs.
He's not sure what originally triggered it. He seems to remember feeling the first embers watching Manny and Matt in the first arm wrestling challenge, staring open-mouthed at the muscles he could see beneath their shirts, Manny's ringed fingers glittering in the light, Matt's whole body twisting as he threw his weight into it.
Of course, watching Matt die afterwards kind of...put a damper on that.
Still, though Joey isn't proud of it, it's back, rekindled at the sight of Matt's vicious anger towards Manny and Nikita. He wants Matt to turn that scorching gaze on him. He wants Matt's hands on him in any way Matt will give them to him, whether hard and angry, raining down blows on Joey until he's begging for mercy, or something softer, digging into his thighs as Joey whimpers and squirms on his cock. Sometimes Manny is there too, in the fantasies, crowding Joey from behind, pulling at his hair and whispering praise into his ear. Sometimes it's him that Joey thinks about instead, wondering what it would feel like to drop to his knees right here in this ugly bathroom and blow Manny, show him just how good he is with his mouth.
Joey groans. This...really isn't helping.
He tries to take in slow breaths, shifting his face to press his flushed cheek against the stall door, and thinks of anything else. Thinks of Matt's death. Thinks of Colleen's sobs. Thinks of Safiya, bleeding out on the floor, thinks of the fact that they could all die at any minute and no one would come to save them. Apparently, though, not even a pile of dead innocents or the high likelihood of his own impending doom can douse the heat in his belly.
And, honestly? If Joey had to pin something to blame, he'd probably put his own impending doom pretty damn high on the list. What else would his idiot, hormone-soaked brain want before he dies for good other than two hot men filling him up? What are their chances of actually saving this place, anyways? What's Joey's chance of actually making it out of here? Why shouldn't he drag Manny or Matt (or both, his brain supplies unhelpfully) into a stall and beg them to take care of him one last time?
Joey grits his teeth and tries again to force his arousal down. This is probably one of the best examples of his body's absolutely terrible timing. As if right now, leaning against a bathroom stall, is a good place to shove his hand down his pants and jerk off.
Then again...it's not the worst. It's quiet in here, isolated, and it wouldn't take him that long. He could be done before anyone comes looking for him.
Joey exhales slowly, carefully leaning against the bathroom door to make sure it'll support his weight. When it doesn't budge, he leans into the corner of the stall, face still pressed against the orange plastic, and allows one hand to carefully press between his legs.
Fuck, even that small touch is enough to send his hips jerking into his hand. He plants his boots solidly against the tile and clumsily pops the buttons on his pants, sliding his hand down to cup himself through the silk of his panties, warmed by body heat and slippery against his palm.
Is he really doing this? Is he really going to get his rocks off right here in a bathroom stall while he and the people he brought here fight for their lives?
The part of his brain dedicated to imagining hot dudes fucking him gives an enthusiastic, Hell, yes!
Here goes the most shameful masturbation session he's ever had in his entire life. Pretty likely that it'll be his last, too. Might as well make it count.
Joey can't stop a quiet moan from escaping him as he slides his hand lower, the fabric between his legs damp with the ceaseless arousal that's overtaken him. He should probably shut up and hurry, but his fingers brush across the oversensitive bud of his clit through the fabric and Joey has to grab the top of the door for support as another moan spills from his mouth.
He's so fucking sensitive. He's denied himself for so long that now he practically aches for it. He wants someone else's hands on him so badly that he nearly keens at it. Manny's fingers, blunt and thick, filling him up as the man turns Joey into a whimpering mess, or Matt's clever hands playing with his clit so that Joey has no choice but to cum over and over, both of them on him at the same time, one of their cocks heavy in his mouth and the other fucking into him from behind.
"Oh, fuck, please," Joey whimpers, his voice loud in the empty bathroom. He's panting audibly now, using the pads of his fingers to tease at his clit through the silk until he can feel it hard and hot when he flattens his hand against himself. "Matt, please."
He doesn't know why his brain has latched on to Matt. Maybe it's the fact that Matt's the only straight guy left, so Joey doesn't actually have to worry about his affections being reciprocated.
Yeah, okay, that's way too much introspection for Joey to get off with. He'll just settle with the explanation that Matt is, for lack of a better description, eye candy. Those long legs, his broad shoulders, that messy brown hair that Joey just wants to feel beneath his fingers as Matt kisses him or eats him out, and holy shit, did no one else see his dick when he walked out in those little red shorts or was Joey the only one with his eyes open?
Joey grinds down into his hand at the thought, gut clenching pleasurably at the memory. He can so easily imagine Matt pressed into this stall next to him, their bodies practically melding into one with how close they'd be forced, Matt's hand down the front of his pants so he can make sure Joey's ready for Matt to fuck him for real.
"Matt, fuck, fuck—" Joey can sense himself starting to devolve into mindless pleasure, and he whines, finally giving in and forcing his hand down his panties to press his fingers against himself. "Oh!"
Immediately he can feel how wet he is, slick on his fingers and giving him an effortless slide when he rolls his hips against his hand. He wonders if Matt would be happy with how wet he gets. Would he compliment Joey on it? Pleasure blooms hot and desperate in Joey's belly imagining Matt's voice in his ear—
Good boy, getting so wet for me.
Joey groans, nudging his fingers against his clit before angling them down to press at his opening, slick and waiting beneath him. This isn't the time or place to draw something like this out, but…
Beg for it, Joey.
"Please," Joey gasps. All decency is thrown out the window at this point. "Please, Matt, please, I want it so bad."
What do you want me to do?
Joey rubs his middle finger over his entrance, not letting it slip inside even though he knows how easy it would be, and imagines it's Matt's hand in his panties, imagines the warm weight of Matt against his back.
"I want you to finger me," Joey manages, hips jerking against his hand and sending a shuddering whine spilling from his mouth. "I want you to finger me open and— and then I want you to fuck me. I can't stop thinking about it, Matt, please, please—"
"...Joey?"
The inquisitive voice sends Joey's brain screeching to a stop, feeling like he just got a bucket of freezing cold water dumped on his head.
He’s so screwed.
He can't seem to get his mouth to work. Shame and terror are washing over him in icy cold waves, throwing harsh, bright light on his situation. Here he is, moaning Matt's name in the bathroom, while his friends pace and argue and die for him. What the fuck is he thinking? Joey swallows, trying desperately to force Matt's name from his mouth to explain what's going on — not that there's a particularly good explanation for it. What's wrong with him? He was moaning Matt's name so easily just a second ago. Now it feels like a barbed hook caught in the back of his throat.
"...Matt?" The several seconds it takes for Joey to regain his voice seem like several years.
"Um...that…" Matt's obviously floundering. Now that Joey is paying attention, he can see the man's shadow, standing awkwardly near the doorway. Joey must not have heard him come in.
"Matt, I—" Joey can already feel the heat of humiliation threatening to choke him, and he hastily withdraws his hand and buttons his pants again, the slick on his fingers suddenly feeling cold and sticky. "I'm so sorry, that— you weren't supposed to— to hear that."
"Yeah, I-I bet." Matt laughs weakly, like he's unsure of what else to do. "Um...do you…"
Joey waits, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward again, waiting for Matt to tear into him like he deserves. Surely Matt won't be shy about telling Joey how much of a terrible person he is. Joey bites his lip hard, the corners of his eyes burning with flustered tears, his face a deep shade of crimson where he's pressing it against the stall in preparation for Matt to tell Joey just how shitty of a person he's being right now.
"Do you...need a hand?"
For the second time since Matt walked in, Joey's thoughts do the equivalent of a record scratch and freeze frame.
"What are you talking about?" Joey asks after a moment, glad he doesn't have to see Matt's face. "A-A hand, like—"
That's...not what he expected. Not even in the same ballpark. On the list of reactions that Joey expected Matt to have to hearing Joey jerking off, offering his help didn't even make the top 50. Maybe Joey's hallucinating. Is he sure he isn't dreaming or something? Did he slip and crack his head and this is some sort of concussion dream?
"I figure my chances of not making it out of here alive are skyrocketing the smaller this group gets, so I might as well go the whole nine yards." Matt takes a step towards the stall door. "Besides, I could...use the distraction."
Okay, so Joey isn't hallucinating. Matt really did just say that. Out loud. With his mouth.
Joey doesn't stand a chance against an offer like that.
"I…yeah," Joey says, and he sees Matt take another step forward until his feet are inches from Joey's. The stall door shifts. "If...if you're willing."
When Matt speaks, Joey can tell he's leaning against the door just like he is. "I...I want to know what you were thinking about. When— when I walked in, I mean."
"I thought it would be obvious." Joey's unbuttoning his pants again, wanting to make the most of this opportunity. He wonders desperately if Matt is doing the same.
"It was." There's a definite strain to Matt's voice, a tenseness that isn't there normally, and Joey swallows hard. "But I want to hear you say it to me."
"I—" Joey takes a deep breath. "I was imagining you, um...making me...beg."
There's an intake of breath from the other side of the door. "Beg for what?"
"For you to finger me," Joey whispers. He's dipped his hand back into his panties, the arousal that was so quickly put out flaring right back to life with renewed heat as Joey allows his mind to wander again. "Finger me, and then fuck me."
"Joey…" Matt says his name like it's a sigh, and Joey can't help a whimper as he rubs long, slow circles into his clit. "You really want that? You want me to spread you open on my fingers before I fuck you?"
It should be illegal for Matt to talk like that. Not really, though, because Joey doesn't ever want to stop hearing it. Matt's voice has gone low, and his words are confident and smooth, years of practice delivering lines in front of a crowd giving him way too much control over his voice to be at all fair.
"Yes, yes, please—" Joey knows that if he was in Matt's arms right now he'd be melting into a very horny puddle. As it is, he's back to grabbing the top of the stall door, leaning into it for support. "I— I want it so badly."
"I'd do it for you." There's an assurance in Matt's voice, like this is a promise instead of empty dirty talk to get Joey off. "Where do you want it, huh, Joey? In your bed, on your back so I can work you open nice and slow?"
Joey's mouth falls open into a low moan, and he hurriedly reaches down to press one of his fingers into himself, choking back a whimper as his hand finds no resistance and slips inside. At this point he's got his forehead pressed against the door, panting open-mouthed, bearing his hips down on his hand as his knees tremble. There's a part of him that can't believe this is happening, the same part that's begging him to stop this before it goes any further, but it's drowned out by Matt's voice.
He wants that. Maybe it's because he knows he probably won't get it that he wants it so badly: there's no guarantee that Matt won't die again before tonight is over, and they all may fail anyways, fall victim to the Carnival Master and die writhing in pain at his hands. But Joey wants to survive now more than ever, if only to be able to let Matt do what he's saying to him. The desperation and arousal is hot and heavy in his chest, twisting together to form something that makes Joey whimper, pressing against his sweet spot before dragging his hand back to slide his fingers across his clit before thrusting one right back inside.
"I'd take my time with you…" Matt's breath catches as Joey whines his name, and Joey can practically feel himself getting wetter at the thought of Matt getting off to the sounds he's making. "I'd string you out and let you get more and more sensitive until you couldn't do anything except beg."
Joey can't even form words in response to that, just a shaky groan, rolling his hips down against himself and starting to thrust his finger in and out until he feels relaxed enough to slide a second one in next to it. It's not the best angle, and his pants, now bunched around his thighs, prevent some movement, but it's enough, especially with Matt's heavy breaths on the other side of the door.
"Please…" Joey whimpers, scissoring his fingers inside himself, unable to think about anything but Matt over him, one hand buried between Joey's thighs while he kisses him, slow and sweet even while Joey begs Matt to let him cum. "Matt, oh…"
"I'd only fuck you when I decided you could have it," Matt says raggedly. "Only when you begged pretty enough for me. And then I'd fill your…" There's a pause, and then, "Um, what word do you want me to use?"
If it was anyone else, anyone else, Joey might have rolled his eyes, moment ruined. But it's not anyone else. It's Matt, soft and dorky, and Joey just laughs softly, taking the chance to grind the heel of his palm into his clit.
"Call it what it is," Joey replies. "Cunt. Pussy. Whatever. I don't care what you call it, I just want you to fuck it."
"Fuck, Joey." There's a thud like Matt has let his head fall back. "You're gonna end me."
"Hope not." Joey's stopped the movements of his hands, just grinding his hips into his palm to draw it out, slowly drag the tightness he can feel deep in his hips closer and closer until it snaps. "I want your cock in me before you go."
"You're a bit demanding, you know that?" Judging by Matt's tone, he's not that upset about it. "Would you be this demanding if I had you laid out on my bed with a toy on your clit?"
Joey moans again, hips jerking down hard at the sudden, electric heat he feels all through his body at Matt's words. He can see it, practically feel it, Matt sitting over him holding a vibrator against him until Joey is fucking pleading for Matt to take pity on him. Until he can't cum again, at least not until Matt pulls Joey's thighs around his waist and fucks into him slow and deep. Joey's arms tied above his head so he's at Matt's mercy, Matt showing him none, just wringing him out and then fucking Joey only to get himself off.
The sound that Joey makes at the thought is one of the most pathetic whimpers he's ever heard from his own mouth.
"Or— fuck, I've thought about eating you out before." Matt gives a low groan, and Joey imagines his hand on his cock, imagines Matt's hands guiding it into him. "I've thought about your legs wrapped around my head. Wondered...what you'd taste like. The noises you'd make."
The electrified feeling is stronger now, running through Joey's veins like his blood has turned to liquid fire. He's so wet that he can hear it when he presses his fingers into himself, sloppy and obscene between his legs. Can Matt hear it too? Can he hear how aroused Joey is at the sound of his voice, the things he's saying? Is Matt fucking his hand right now and imagining it's Joey around him? Is he just as desperate as Joey is, just as hopeful that they'll make it out of here so they can have this for real?
"Don't stop," Joey whimpers, voice broken. He can feel the tightness getting stronger, curling low in his gut. "Don't stop, please."
"I won't, Joey," Matt pants. Joey nearly cums right then and there hearing his name in Matt's voice like that. "I like hearing the way you whine too much for that. I bet you've got your fingers inside yourself right now, don't you?"
Joey gives a noise of affirmation, finding it suddenly difficult to form words. All he can think of is Matt. Those hands on his hips or holding his arms down, the solid warmth of Matt's body laid over his back as Joey bends over his bed for him, the ache as Matt fucks him so deep and hard that Joey will feel it for days. The tight heat flares white-hot between his thighs, a familiar sensation that Joey leans into, only focused now on finally getting the release he needs.
Oh, God, he's so close. He just needs one more little push, one last little nudge and he'll be able to get what he so badly craves—
"Thinking of my fingers in you instead?" Matt asks, his words starting to lose the clean, controlled edges. "Or my cock? You can tell me, baby. I don't mind."
"Matt, Matt, please—" The words rush out of Joey all at once at the nickname, hips jerking and twitching into his hand as the tightness suddenly gets unbearable, hot and heavy as he forces his fingers in as deep as they can go and presses his palm hard against his clit. "Please, need to cum, Matt—"
Matt groans, low and quiet, the only thing separating him and Joey the thin plastic of a public bathroom stall. "Go ahead and cum, I'm right here, Joey. I'm right here."
Joey lets go.
He sobs as he cums, honest to God sobs out a cry of Matt's name that turns into a wordless, pathetic whine while his hips grind into his hand and his vision almost goes white, head filled with thoughts of Matt between his legs, his cock inside Joey. His body feels like a rubber band breaking, fraying at the edges as he pants desperately for breath, each gasp ending in a ragged whine, and it takes all of his willpower to grab tighter onto the top of the stall to avoid crashing to the floor when his knees buckle.
By the time Joey slumps, boneless, against the door, he feels...better. The throbbing in his belly has lessened, settling instead into a warm, satisfied feeling that Joey leans in to, savoring it. Who knows how much longer he has to enjoy it? He takes a couple deep breaths, sliding his free hand down to rest it flat against the plastic stall as a way to ground himself, his palm hot and sweaty. Everything feels so much more real now, every sound of Matt shifting his weight or the squeak of shoes on tile magnified as Joey slowly comes down from the rush.
"Did you, um…?" Matt asks after a couple moments of nothing but Joey's heavy breathing.
Joey nods, then remembers that Matt can't see him. "Yeah. What...what about you?"
"Doesn't matter. I wasn't the one who started this." Matt's voice isn't as harsh as Joey expected it to be. "You want some paper towels?"
Joey's tempted to say yes to the offer, wincing as he pulls his underwear and pants back up and feels how damp they are, but something in Matt's voice stops him.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Joey asks, trying to refasten his belt one-handed as he fumbles for some toilet paper with his other one, wanting to wipe his hand off. "You can't just walk out there with a raging boner. People will notice."
"It's fine, Joey," Matt snaps, and now there is a bit of harshness in his tone. "Don't worry about it. You can just clean up and go."
"You're mean when you're hard." Joey probably shouldn't be goading the man he's stuck in the bathroom with, but here he is anyway. "Come on, you helped me, I'll help you. I give great blowjobs."
He successfully manages to get his hand to some form of cleanliness and unlocks the door, shuffling back to open it and then carefully walking out so he doesn't have to feel the warm stickiness in his pants. Hm. Post-orgasm regret is a real thing, and boy, is it hitting Joey hard.
Matt's leaning over the sink, his hands on the edge of the counter while he glares down at the avocado colored enamel. When Joey comes to stand next to him, he sighs, and runs a hand over his hair.
"I don't want you to feel like you have to help me out."
"Oh, this isn't out of the good of my heart," Joey says drily. He's a little ashamed to say he doesn't care much about Matt's angst, too focused on the clear bulge straining against the plaid fabric of Matt's dumb pants. "I just want to take all the chances I'm given just in case I don't get out of here."
Matt quirks an eyebrow. "So...giving MatPat a blowjob is on your bucket list?"
"Me, and half the internet." Joey flashes a grin. "I just know how to make the most of my opportunities."
There's a blush on Matt's face, staining his cheeks pink like he's flustered by Joey's teasing, even with all his flirty comments and the way he literally just let Joey get off to his voice. Is he actually embarrassed now? Joey supposes that being face to face with someone is a bit different than talking them through getting off from the other side of a door. Whatever the reason for Matt's sudden shyness, it's...cute, in a very nerdy way. Much like the rest of Matt's appeal.
Joey moves to stand closer to Matt, grabbing his arm and guiding him so his back is against the counter and Joey is standing in front of him. Matt goes willingly. "Here. I just...I want to do this. Just in case."
Matt hesitates, and for a moment, Joey thinks he should back off before he ends up pressuring Matt into something he doesn't want. But then Matt nods quickly, his posture relaxing, and Joey sinks to his knees, needing no further convincing. Everything feels so much more important now that he and Matt are face to face, now that Matt can touch him and see him. The realization that this might be the last thing he might ever do with Matt is sinking in, and Joey takes a shaky breath, trying to slow his racing thoughts down enough to focus. The hard tile is cold underneath him, the fabric of his pants doing little to protect himself from it, and Joey can't help the pleasure that runs through him at the thought of his dead body still bruised at the knees from blowing Matt in an arcade bathroom.
Well, it's official: Joey's fucked in the head.
He reaches up to undo Matt's pants, untucking his shirt and pulling the zipper down and immediately wanting to go again at the sight of the grey fabric of Matt's underwear stretched over the bulge of his cock, exposing the line of his happy trail disappearing into the waistband. Joey feels like one of Pavlov's dogs with the way he nearly salivates at the sight.
He knows he should hurry this up. They're running dangerously short on time, and at any moment, the bathroom door could open, Manny or Mortimer coming to look for them.
Scary thought. Joey ignores the pleased shiver that runs down his spine at the thought of Manny walking in to find Joey on his knees with Matt's cock down his throat and reaches up to pull Matt's underwear aside, that instinctive desperation getting stronger at the sight of Matt's dick, flushed red with arousal and hot beneath Joey's fingers. He takes a moment to turn his gaze back up, one last glance up at Matt's face, trying to solidify this in his mind. Matt's biting his lip, staring down at Joey with his hands gripping the counter behind him, knuckles white.
"We don't have to," Joey points out, shifting back on his knees.
"Now you're just teasing me." Matt reaches out, hesitates, then puts a hand on Joey's shoulder and rubs a thumb across the crook of his neck. The touch sends warmth cascading through Joey's body. "You made a good point. Just in case, right?"
That's all the confirmation Joey needs. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the head of Matt's cock, enjoying the way his breathing goes tight, and then wraps his mouth around the tip and sucks at it lightly. He wasn't kidding when he said he was good at blowjobs. Still, he knows he can't waste his time dicking around (ha, ha), and reaches up to grab Matt's hips, digging his fingers into the meat of them and taking him as deep as he can go without gagging. Matt gasps, his hand going tight on Joey's shoulder.
"Joey…" Matt's already adorably breathless. "Oh…"
Joey can't help the wicked part of him that tells him to go further, push Matt harder, beg him for something more final than a blowjob, because isn't all of this just in case? Just in case one of them doesn't make it out of here alive? Just in case Matt has any number of awful things happen to him before the night is over and Joey has to leave him behind, his body staying in Everlock forever? Just in case Joey doesn't succeed and his body is left in that coffin, cold and lonely in the big entry hall of the mansion?
Joey whimpers at the thought, and forces himself lower until his jaw aches, trying to forget about the high likelihood of his impending death and instead trying to fill his head with these sensations, this realness. It doesn't matter what's going to happen in the future, because right now, he's not in any danger except of choking himself on Matt's cock or getting found and humiliated by one of his friends.
Matt reaches up with one hand to slap it over his mouth, trying to muffle the moan that spills out from behind his fingers as Joey drags himself back, flattening his tongue wide against the vein running along the bottom and then pressing himself right back down, willing his gag reflex back by sheer horniness alone until Matt's seated so deep inside him Joey's jaw aches with it. He can already taste the faint warm sweetness of precum on his tongue and sucks even harder at the sensation.
Fuck, he'd be happy here for the rest of his life. Then again, this might actually be the rest of his life. Matt's skin tastes like the salt of sweat, clean underneath it, his body warm beneath Joey's hands and mouth and his soft, muffled noises quiet above Joey's head. It would be a good use of his final hours, Joey thinks, his eyes going a bit glazed at the thought. He'd be happy with that, his last sensation the weight of Matt in his mouth.
"Fuck, you're— you're good at this," Matt says with a breathless laugh, his voice strained, and Joey would smile if he could. As it is, he just hums in agreement, making Matt's hips jerk as the vibrations run through his cock, Matt giving a surprised moan of Joey's name before he's clamping his hand over his mouth again.
Joey wants to make it last longer. He wants to draw this out, he wants to make it everything he's dreamed of with Matt, but in the end it's still a quickie blowjob done out of a sense of desperation to make the most out of his final few hours. No matter how good Joey gets him off...they still might die afterwards. This might be one of the last things Joey ever does. Well, let no one say he never did anything with his life.
He picks up his pace, hollowing his cheeks out and bobbing his head until he can feel Matt's hips starting to twitch and jerk into his mouth, sending the head of his cock down Joey's throat, tears bright in Joey's eyes at the feeling. He can't help but feel he deserves it. After all, he was the one who got Matt killed. The least he can do is let Matt fuck his face.
Matt, for his part, is remarkably quiet, his face scrunched up and his hand tight over his mouth. The only thing Joey can hear from him are his quick, shallow breaths, and judging by the way they're starting to stutter and jump, he's close. Joey feels almost panicked at the thought. If Matt finishes, then he has no more reason to stay in here with him, no more reason to stay close to him. Joey whimpers again, pushing closer until the tears overflow and streak down his face, wanting to be close enough to Matt that he never has to leave. He never wants to forget Matt. If Joey has to die again, he wants Matt to be the last thing he remembers.
Before he can talk himself out of it, Joey pulls off just long enough to pant, "I want you to cum down my throat."
Maybe it's those words that send Matt over the edge, or maybe it's the way Joey takes him in deep again and swallows around him, feeling the tightness of his jaw stretched around Matt's dick, or maybe it's the way he groans as Matt's hand tightens again on his shoulder. It doesn't really matter. A moment later, Matt's giving a strangled, high-pitched whimper from behind his hand, hips thrusting deep into Joey's mouth as he cums, hot and sticky on the back of Joey's tongue.
Joey can't help the way he goes limp, still holding on to Matt as he chokes, his eyes fluttering back in his head. There's something so obscenely intimate about it. When he died at the Sorceress' hands, the last thing he tasted was his own blood bubbling up his throat. Maybe if he dies tonight, if he doesn't make it out of here, the last taste in his mouth will be Matt's cum. He manages to swallow without choking, almost desperate for it, pulling back slowly and gasping for breath. For a moment, a string of spit still connects his lips to Matt's dick.
He's vaguely sure, through the haze, that he looks like a mess, lips swollen and red, face flushed, eyes and cheeks wet from tears. Luckily for him, Matt's a good guy, because a moment later a wad of paper towels is pressed into his hand. Joey manages to get his brain working enough to wipe his mouth with them and swallows again to get the strangely bittersweet taste of cum out of the back of his throat. Still better than the taste of blood.
Joey takes a few slow breaths, letting the sensations of his surroundings sink back in gradually. The coldness of the floor beneath him, the ache of his knees from putting all his weight on the tile, the quiet drip of water from one of the faucets.
"You...uh, you okay?" Matt asks a second later, holding a hand out. He's got his pants refastened, and his free hand is tucking his shirt back into his waistband.
Joey nods, taking the offer and pulling himself up from his kneeling position with some effort. "Yeah. I'm good."
He's certainly not as relentlessly aroused as he was before. Some of the panic has left him too, his brain feeling a bit calmer in the face of near-certain death. Besides, it doesn’t feel so certain now. They have six artifacts. Maybe...maybe they could do this.
See? Joey knew there was a good reason to have an orgasm. It’s basically free anti-anxiety medication.
His only problem is that his throat still feels a bit scratchy, his voice with an edge of hoarseness to it that Joey appreciates more than he should. The only people who could hear him sound like this and not make the connection as to why he and Matt took so long in the bathroom are either straight, stupid, or both. Joey knows some of his friends will know what he just did, but he can't bring himself to care. Let them figure it out. It's not like they're gonna blame him; half the people stuck in this town would probably do the exact same thing. Who isn't infatuated with Matt, really?
"Good," Matt says with an awkward nod. "I'm...I should probably head back out. I'll tell them…?"
"I'll just be a bit longer. I need to wash my hands, and maybe...clean up a little." Joey can still feel sticky wetness between his thighs. "I'll be out soon."
Matt nods again. He looks like he might say something else, do something else, but then he just turns around and walks out of the bathroom. The door shuts behind him with a certain sort of finality to it. So no talking about what just happened, then. No discussions about how Matt is apparently not the only straight guy left, or about how they just casually confessed to having fantasies about each other. The prospect of being able to have a conversation about that is more motivation to get himself and Matt out of here alive, Joey supposes, but not exactly the way he'd have gone about it.
Joey sighs, then turns to the sink. He's got a lot to wash off.