InsaneJournal

His lips glide over yours, barely touching, just teasing. Your hands find his hair and pull him roughly down on top of you, crushing your lips against his in a real kiss. He doesn't fight it, instead shoving his tongue in your mouth and leaving you breathless. You arch against him, seeking friction, and he reaches between your legs to take your cock in his fist.

“Hic!”

His head jerks up so fast you're sure you heard something tear. And for once, it's not a condom wrapper.

He's staring at you with a mixture of wonder and incredulity on his face. “Um...what the fuck do you call that?” he asks in disbelief. “Did you just...hiccup?”

He looks partially insulted, and partially amused at the idea that someone would have the nerve to actually have the hiccups while he's trying to fuck them.

“Um...hic...no,” you lie pointlessly.

“You did!” he exclaims, and sits up, letting go of your dick.

“Don't stop!” you tell him irritably. “It's just...hic...the fucking hiccups, Brian!”

He peers at you, as if unsure if he should get too close. Last you checked, hiccups weren't contagious, and you tell him so.

“It's just...fucking weird,” he says, squinting at you. “Who hiccups while they're being fucked?”

“Me, obviously,” you snap, a bit impatient now. “Come on. Hurry...hic...the fuck up.”

“I can't,” he decides, shaking his head. “It's too weird.”

“Out of...hic...all the things we've...hic...done together, this is what...hic...weirds you out?”

He scowls at you as you hiccup uncontrollably. “Somehow, hearing 'oh hic Brian, fuck hic me harder,' just doesn't sound as sexy.”

“Fuck...hic...you,” you say angrily, and flop backward on the bed. “Come on. Just...hic...fuck me already. I promise I'll try to...hic...control them, all right?”

He rolls his eyes. “You're doing a fabulous job.”

You glare at him. “Fine....hic...don't fuck me. How about I...hic...blow you?”

“No fucking way,” he says firmly, actually scooting a few inches away from you. “You'll end up biting my dick off or something.”

“Well, then...hic...blow me.”

“No. You'll hiccup and choke me with your dick.”

You glare at him and seriously consider kicking him off the bed. “Well, I'm...hic...horny, so you'd better...hic...do something.”

“Okay, I'll hic get right on hic that,” he says sarcastically, and this time you really do kick him.

“Ow! Jesus, Justin. What the fuck?” he curses, rubbing his knee where your foot “slipped.”

“I told you to do something.”

“Christ. There was no need to get abusive about it,” he said, trying to appear dignified but merely coming off as whiny. You hide a smirk. And then you hiccup.

“Oh, I'm...hic...sorry, Brian. I've been a...hic...really bad boy. I think you...hic...need to punish me now,” you say seriously. Or as seriously as you can, with hiccups popping out every other word.

“Forget it. I'm not in the mood now,” he says, sounding like an even bigger baby. You snicker through your hiccups. He glares at you. “It's not funny. You could have seriously damaged my knee.”

You roll your eyes. He really can be such a drama queen sometimes. “Do you have to...hic...get so fucking...hic...dramatic about everything? What about...hic...that time you kicked me...hic...off the bed?”

“I was sleeping!” he says defensively. “That was a fucking accident.”

“I hit my...hic...head on the nightstand!” you remind him, still a little bitter about that one. Given the way he was about your head anyway, plus that fact that it was his fault in the first place, you'd pretty much gotten him to do anything and everything you wanted—well, even more than usual—for several days by complaining of a splitting headache any time he uttered the slightest protest.

“Oh, and you're such a sweet, innocent little sleeper,” he snaps, and you wonder when a conversation about hiccups turned into one about which one of you was worse to share a bed with. “Remember that time you broke my lip open? Or what about that time you gave me a black eye?”

You snort. Fucking unbelievable. Sometimes you seriously wonder what the hell goes on inside his head. “A black eye? Brian, it was red for like, two minutes. And I was dreaming I was being attacked. I was trying to defend myself and your lip happened to be in the way.”

“You told me you were dreaming that you adopted a turtle named Fred.”

You flush. “It was an evil turtle. It locked me in the closet and was trying to take over the loft.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “That's insane.”

“Not as insane as dreaming about pickle campaigns in your sleep. I mean I understand dreaming about work occasionally, but a pickle campaign? I mean, what the fuck is that, anyway?”

“It could have happened. There've got to be good pickle slogans out there somewhere,” he defends himself.

“Yeah. You were muttering them all night long. Just suck it was my favorite.”

“Of course it was.”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, I was trying to, until someone went and got the fucking hiccups, and...”

“Wait...Brian!”

“What?”

“My hiccups! They're gone!”

“So we can fuck now?”

“We could have fucked before, but someone apparently gets all weirded out by—mph!”

“Enough talking. Just suck it.”