Date: Tue, 19 Aug 2003 15:03:27 +0100 (BST)
From: Hmm Hmm <monging_ming@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Boys get Busted: Interlude

INTRODUCTION: This is an interlude, which does not fit
in with the previous stories of our Busted lads. I
wanted to do another "First time" story with them, cos
I find them more interesting, and also this is a
commiseration story for all those bitterly
disappointed at "Sleeping With The Light On" only
charting at number three. See the bottom of the story
for ways on how you can influence what comes next.

DISCLAIMER: I still don't know Busted personally, so
cannot reflect upon their true sexualities. None of
this happened to the best of my knowledge in real life
and I'm SURE Busted don't drink to excess or use
illegal substances. Too often.
Don't read if it's illegal where you live, if you're
disgusted by manlove or if you really shouldn't be. If
you enjoyed the story, email me and let me know!

"Fucking CUNT minge-ing shit jesus suffering FUCK,"
shouted Matt, kicking a bottle of Southern Comfort
over in his frustration. "Number CUNTING three? After
we killed ourselves for about two months in a row
promoting it?" He took another swig of the new bottle
he had just started in his hand before continuing. As
he fumed, he put a CD on instead of the cheesy Top 40
show that they had so earlier been glued to. The
chilled sounds of Morcheeba filled the room.

James looked up, slowly, his heavy eyes trailing a
little behind Matt as he watched him pace the room.
The lads had all been drinking since early afternoon
while listening to the official charts, but while
Matt's inebriation had left him aggressive and
pro-active, James was feeling certainly more
philosophical about the situation. Translation? James
was too pissed to care, while Matt was just beered up
enough to get lairy. Sleeping With The Light On was
the fourth song from the album, who cared if it hadn't
charted as high as "You Said No"?

"We sold our FUCKING souls on every tween TV show in
the country and for what? Number three? Fuckers." Matt
looked down to see a red stain forming on his white
sock, a small shard of glass fell out of the cotton
and he kicked it to the side of the carpet.

Charlie looked up from his joint. He found that pot
helped him relax far more than alcohol. He chuckled to
himself, thinking that if he had been drinking
tonight, he'd be the one with a slightly bleeding toe,
equally beered up, with no outlet for his frustration.
He was also thinking that pot had an unfortunate
side-effect; frustration of a different sort. Still
chuckling slightly, he tried to subtly re-adjust his
growing lump (not quite hard enough yet to be a bulge)
without the others noticing. He needn't have bothered
-- James was practically asleep, his head dropping down
onto his chest, a thin line of spittle leaking onto
his blue Bench shirt from his lips. Matt was so
absorbed in his rage and pain that he wasn't going to
notice a hard-on through a pair of heavy denim jeans,
no matter how impressive for Charlie's age.

Dejectedly, Matt sat down, ripping off his sock to
inspect for further shards of glass. Happy that he was
clean, he reached over and plucked the joint from
Charlie's hand (still over his crotch from
readjusting) and took a long, quick drag before
holding it in. As his eyes watered and he resisted the
urge to cough, Matt thought about how often he had
tried to get reacquainted with weed, never to much
success. There was no denying it -- he was a booze guy,
it was his weapon of choice (after music and girls)
whereas Charlie's comfortable upbringing had meant
there was always plenty of puff in his life. James was
altogether different; he was not averse to the bong
now and then, but lately he'd been happy with a few
vodkas.

Matt passed the joint back to Charlie, trying to
ignore the oh-so-familiar growing hard-on in his pants
as much as he tried to ignore the urge to giggle for
no reason. He resisted neither. Charlie took a last
pull on the joint before flicking the roach onto the
carpet -- fuck it, the hotel would let them back no
matter what -- and then leant back into the softness of
the leather couch before exhaling straight up, and
then directing the smoke all over James's sleeping
face to his left. Unconsciously, Charlie rubbed his
crotch a little and an idea formed in his stoned head.
Giggling slightly he gestured to Matt to stay quiet.
Matt was confused but went along with it, up for
anything now that the cannabis was flowing through his
head and his veins.

Charlie stood and leant towards James while undoing
his fly. He reached inside his pants and pulled out
his semi-hard cock, long and sleek, circumcised and as
tanned as the rest of him. To himself, Matt wondered
just how Charlie got so evenly tanned all over. Before
he had time to dwell on it, he was astounded to see
Charlie rub his cock all over James's lips! Already
moist from James's loss of drool control, Charlie's
cock was soon lubed up and dripping, and much harder
than it had been. For his part, James did not notice
at all, he was so far gone. In fact, he did not even
notice when Charlie tipped his head back and opened
his jaw, slipping his teen meat between James's lips.
He slowly pumped into James's mouth, with shallow but
quick pumps.

"Not the best blowjob I've had, but not the worst
either!" Charlie said cheerfully as he threw his head
back and got to work on James's hot mouth.

Matt stared blankly at the scene in front of him. He
wondered if the weed was fucking with his head,
whether Fletch had spiked their drinks or if, indeed,
Charlie really was fucking James's face. The image
swam infront of him a little and he blinked repeatedly
to clear his vision -- and the view of James slurping
on Charlie's cock hadn't changed.

Charlie had been watching Matt's surprise with
interest. "Come ON," he said. "Don't tell me you've
never fucked around with a pissed mate like this?"
Matt could honestly say he hadn't but silently
wondered to himself if he had ever been the victim of
such a game in some of his worse states. He was shaken
out of his thoughts by Charlie: "Well, Matt?"

"Huh?"

"I said, do you want a go? He could probably fit both
of us..." As he spoke, Charlie reached over from where
he stood, careful not to let his cock out of James's
mouth, and grabbed Mattie by the waistband of his low
dark blue jeans. He pulled slightly to get him to walk
towards the pair, and as he did his flimsy belt gave
way (as it had done so many times before), and his
jeans fell to his knees. He didn't even notice as
Charlie slipped his hands into his boxers to free his
cock from them. He did notice, however, that Charlie
hand lingered a little too long inside the boxer
shorts, jacking his cock slightly before lowering the
completely. Charlie certainly knew his wanking
technique; Matt made a mental note to talk to him once
their various hangovers had worn off. Matt's cock was
shorter than Charlie's, but fatter and uncircumcised.
It stuck straight out, a pale contrast from the nest
of black hairs surrounding it, maybe just under 7
inches.

Still dazed, Matt felt Charlie's hand on his ass,
pushing him forwards into James's hot mouth. As he
entered the right hand side of James's moist mouth he
was amazed that Charlie was also rubbing his butt! The
most amazing part of the whole experience was that
with every small thrust the two's cocks would meet and
touch briefly in the middle of James's mouth. Charlie
had been right, Matt thought; it wasn't the best
blowjob he'd ever had, but it would certainly do, and
part of him felt that it was even hotter for the
bandmates he was sharing it with. This thought had him
very hard and the feelings going through his cock
weren't helping any either. Charlie was obviously
experiencing the same feelings as his breathing was
becoming much heavier and his head was now hanging
back again, his eyes rolling up in their sockets. He
was pumping into James's mouth more forcefully now,
caring much less about waking his sleeping friend than
about getting off himself. Finally, he clenched his
bare feet in the carpet and let out a deep, throaty
grown and stayed thrusted in James's mouth. Matt could
feel Charlie's cock seem to grow for a second next to
his, before his own entire cock was surrounded by warm
jizz in James's mouth.

This got Matt even closer to the edge of his orgasm,
and once Charlie pulled out he began thrusting into
his friend in earnest, desperate to get off. Charlie's
hand still guided Matt in and out of James's mouth by
pushing on his ass, but now as Matt's breathing got
heavier, a change happened. Suddenly it wasn't
Charlie's palm on Matt's cheeks, it was Charlie's
finger at Matt's hole, tickling gently around entrance
and pushing up against it in time with Matt's thrusts.
Matt was very close now, he could feel his balls
contracting up into his body and his cock seemed to
get harder.

Charlie could sense Matt was about to cum, and he knew
exactly what to do next. Matt let out an involuntary,
slurred "Schit!" when Charlie's index finger slipped
inside him, and Matt flew over the edge, knees
buckling and almost supported entirely by Charlie's
hand up his nearly-virgin hole. He pumped into James's
mouth like she was one of the willing groupies outside
their hotel every night, not like he was a respected
best friend and bandmate. Finally, the wave of his cum
subsided, Charlie's finger slipped out and he sat
down, astonished by everything that had happened, out
of breath and suddenly very sleepy.

James slept on, oblivious, slowly swallowing drop by
drop of his mates' cums.

TO BE CONTINUED?

So here's the deal, kids. Should I make this a
two-parter interlude, with James getting some orgasm
fun too during this intoxicated evening? Or should I
just jump back into the previous story with the lads
and the "hotel cleaner", Jamie? You decide, email me
monging_ming@yahoo.co.uk which you'd prefer to see
next. Any other feedback is great too, bring it on!
And if you still haven't heard of Busted, DL a video
or something, see the hot (and talented) band you're
missing out on.