The Best Laid Plan for Getting Laid
by Mickey M.
© May 2004

Written for the 100 Ways Challenge. # 36 - Hand job. Thanks to Synecdochic and Northernveil for beta-duty.

Chris learned early on that the key to getting what you wanted in life was to know what that was; to plan accordingly, and then to execute the plan. It was a frighteningly simple concept to him, but he was continually amazed by how many people didn't get it. Like most of the bozos he worked with, as case in point. They didn't seem to understand the whole seven-days-in-advance rule for anything but sick time, and then Chris had to listen to them bitch and moan about not getting their weekend night off.

"But you always get your requested days off," they would whine, and he would roll his eyes and explain for the umpteenth time that he understood the concept of scheduling ahead. Sure, some things couldn't be planned for, but mostly they could. That was life. Deal with it and move on.

The concept of planning had worked really well for him so far. It got him down to Florida, and into college; got him a job he loved, no matter how much he did complain, and into a place of his own. Granted, it wasn't like high-class living, but it was his own apartment where a lot of his friends had roommates or were still at home.

This weekend, it was going to get him laid, or else.

Really, it shouldn't be a big deal. He was a fairly attractive guy with a quirky sense of humor, and a willingness to try almost anything at least once. Which, Chris decided, sounded like a good singles ad, if he were so inclined. Which he wasn't. He didn't have the time or energy for an actual relationship, or even the getting-to-know-you-first stuff for casual sex. And therein was the main problem to getting laid, casually or otherwise: he plain didn't have the time. The Plan To Getting Ahead - as he'd dubbed it in his head when he was sixteen - pretty much precluded most things other than school and work. Including sex. Which really sucked, since he was now approaching a level of horniness he hadn't experienced since he first figured out how to jerk himself off.

So, the Plan To Getting Ahead now had a sub-category titled the Plan To Getting Laid. And it started and ended with Joey Fatone, fellow Universal employee and party buddy, and all-around friend.

Joey didn't know about the plan yet, but Chris wasn't going to let a little detail like that stop him. He'd arranged for Saturday off, and told Joey well in advance so he could, too. Set it up so they were gonna go hang out at the beach, then maybe just chill back at Chris' place and play video games or something. A couple of buds, spending some time together. And after the beach and food and some booze, they'd both score. It was a good plan. It was foolproof. He was gonna get laid.

"I had no clue you surfed, man. I'm pretty damn impressed over here." Joey joined Chris on the balcony to knock the sand out of their shoes then leave them there to finish drying.

"I used to be a lot better. Can't hold my balance for shit any more." Through careful aim, Chris got almost all of the sand from his shoes sprinkled over Mrs. Martinez' cat, who stared up at him now with an expression that clearly said, "If I could get to you, you would be so dead."

"Not enough practice?"

Chris slid the screen door closed and turned to grin at Joey. "More like I've probably banged my head too many times and I'm hopelessly incapacitated." He headed toward the kitchen and his stash of beer - MGD all the way for this weekend. None of that Pabst Blue Ribbon shit he drank when he just wanted to get wasted for as little cost as possible. "You hungry? Thirsty?"

"I'd have said you were hopelessly incapacitated even without the head-banging bit. And yeah, I could eat. And drink." Joey prowled around Chris' living room, poking at the pictures scattered around, and inspecting the various textbooks and game cartridges laying about. "Dude, you're taking college-level algebra?"

"Took. That's last semester; I never got around to selling the books back." Chris tossed a beer to Joey. "Here. Cheers!" He'd tried not to be too obvious about checking Joey out while they were at the beach, but now, damn. The kid had fantastic arms, and they were nicely displayed here for his viewing pleasure since Joey hadn't bothered to put his t-shirt back on for the drive home. Nice arms, nice chest, flat stomach-fuck. Throwing a boner now wasn't part of the Plan. He wanted to convince Joey, not send him running away, screaming.

Joey cracked his beer open and guzzled noisily for a moment, then paused and squinted at Chris. "Dude. You checkin' me out?"

Oops. Busted. "Um. Maybe?"

"Maybe you are, or maybe, you don't know?" Joey stared at him while Chris thought frantically.

"Yeah, um." Distraction. Needed a distraction. He gestured toward the phone. "Hey, I'm gonna call for some Chinese-place down the street delivers and they do a kick-ass Kung Pao Chicken. Whatcha want?"

"That sounds fine." Joey watched him suspiciously. "Um, extra eggroll, please?" He reached behind him, presumably for his wallet, and Chris shook his head.

"My treat, dude. And sure, I'll get an order of them. They make killer eggrolls, too. And Crab Rangoon. Fuck, I'm hungry."

Joey laughed. "You're making me hungry, talking about it."

He knew the number by heart; it was the only place he ever ordered from any more. Ten bucks could get him enough Chinese to eat leftovers for a couple of days after the main meal. "You're gonna love it. You need another beer?"

"You tryin' to get me drunk, Kirkpatrick?"

"Do I look like the sort who'd contribute to the delinquency of a minor?"

"In a heartbeat."

"I'm wounded, dude. I only have your best interests at heart."

"Uh-huh." Joey peered over the rim of his can and damn. If he didn't think it would look awfully suspicious, Chris would've gone to the bathroom to jack off real quick. He thought about ice storms and roadkill and car accidents with no luck, then remembered the time he walked in on his mom and stepdad having sex, and yeah. That successfully killed that erection.

Chris ordered the Chinese food and then he and Joey sat down for a good-natured argument on who was the greater superhero, Superman or Batman.

Dinner over, and another couple of beers each put away, and Chris was pleasantly buzzed and ready for the third and final step; the execution of the plan.

They settled on the couch to watch a movie - Chris prayed his dilapidated VCR could hold together a while longer, or at least for tonight - and then Chris slapped his forehead and said, "Beer!". He got up to get them each another, ignoring Joey's raised eyebrow. When he sat back down, he scooted closer to Joey than he'd been before; close enough to smell the tang of salt from sweat and the ocean. He handed Joey one of the cans and let their fingers touch longer than necessary before pulling back.

"Uh, Chris."

"Yeah?"

There was a long pause while Joey stared at Chris and Chris stared back. He was pretty sure he could see Joey working through things in his head, so he decided to give him something else to work with, and leaned over and kissed him; long and wet and sweet, just a little tongue, mostly just tasting. When he pulled away Joey licked his lips once, then frowned at him.

"Dude. What the fuck?"

Chris paused. Had he read the signs wrong all these months? Joey didn't exactly flame, but he made Chris' spidey-sense tingle. Among other things. "Well, y'know. I thought-y'know. I'm flat-assed busted for any spare time and chicks want a lot of that, and I know you're busy, and so I figured we could help each other out."

"What makes you think I'm that easy?" Joey crossed his arms and gave Chris a look, though he didn't actually move away. Chris took that as an encouraging sign. "You think you can just-lay one on me, and I'm gonna put out?"

Chris frowned. "Dude, you are that easy! At least according to half the park staff."

"I am?" The look on Joey's face was priceless and Chris wished briefly for a camera to record it. "Well. Huh. Okay, but I don't go all the way on the first date."

"We're on a date? What date? There was no date!" This wasn't according to the Plan. Joey wasn't following along like he was supposed to, and if he didn't, Chris wouldn't get laid. Neither of them would get laid. And that just wouldn't do.

Didn't Joey understand Chris was trying to help him, too?

Joey scowled. "There was wining and dining-" He gestured toward the remains of Chinese take-out and four empty beer cans scattered on top of Chris' battered kitchen table, "-and we had a planned activity - the beach, you moron - so how can you say it wasn't a date?"

"Two dudes, hanging out for the day, Fatone."

"A date, Kirkpatrick."

"If I say it was a date, is it gonna get me into your pants?"

"Depends."

Chris matched Joey's scowl and tried to remember why he thought Joey was a good pick for the Plan To Get Laid. Oh, yeah. He was easy. Supposedly. And they were friends. He honestly liked the guy - he was fun to hang with. "On what?"

There was something that looked sort of like a teasing grin on Joey's face and he leaned closer, mouth hovering just over Chris'. "On what you're offering."

Embarrassingly, Chris squeaked. Just a little sound, but still. He wasn't supposed to be taken by surprise-this was his plan. Joey didn't seem to mind though; just pressed his mouth more firmly against Chris' and breathed for a moment.

It became a real kiss around the time Chris figured out Joey's body felt as good to touch as it was to look at. He leaned into Joey, letting him take the lead with the kiss, shivering when Joey tasted him thoroughly, tongue slicking around the inside of Chris' mouth. Joey was easy, as it turned out, with the right persuasion. Chris running the fingers of one hand down his chest and then down in between his legs seemed to be all it took; his legs fell open loosely, a nice hard length rising up to tent the running shorts out.

"Nice handful," Chris laughed, squeezing gently. Joey moaned so he did it again, more firmly, feeling the hot throb through the thin fabric. He squeezed again and Joey reached for him, pulling them closer together, laying back at an impossibly weird angle that probably would hurt like hell on Joey's back later. Warm fingers closed around him through his shorts and Chris shuddered and pushed forward into the touch. "Oh, god, yes. Harder, man."

He had the half-formed idea they could go into his bedroom, stretch out and get comfortable-but then Joey did...something...and Chris wasn't sure he'd get his shorts down before he came, never mind move. Moving required coordination and muscles working together with his brain, and everything was offline right now except his nerve endings and his dick.

"Wanna touch you," Joey mumbled, nipping at Chris' throat. "Shorts, dude. Take 'em off. Or down. Something." He thrust his other hand up under Chris' t-shirt and rubbed his fingers over Chris' nipples. More explosions in his head, in his body; fire replacing his blood now. Fuck.

Oh, no. That required more than just jacking Joey off. "Can't move." Joey tugged on Chris' balls, and he squeaked again and shifted. "Fine. Yours too. Hurry, Joe. God."

"In a hurry? Got a date?" His eyes gleamed in the early evening light, and Chris fought the urge to stick his tongue out, figuring that could only hinder the getting-laid plan.

"Only my hand and your dick, you ass. Or your hand my dick. Whatever, just-god, more. Please." He had to let go to get his shorts down; they both did. They stared at each other for a minute, panting, then it was like someone counted down, three...two...one-because they let go at the same moment. Chris shoved at his shorts and hauled his t-shirt up over his head. Joey kicked his shorts and briefs off entirely.

Everything slowed down to stop-start frames. Joey's mouth on his; Joey's fingers curling around Chris' dick, and Chris taking Joey in hand. Warm, smooth skin pulsing with heat and need. Joey made a little high-pitched whimper when Chris rubbed his thumb across the wet tip; Chris growled low in his throat when Joey sped up his strokes. They were noisy; all grunts and moans and sharp gasps for air mixed with the wet sounds of kissing, and the slap of skin-against-skin. Chris shuddered as the heat built inside him then spiraled outward; he closed his eyes and drove himself hard into Joey's hand, felt each pulse throb through him as he came. He heard Joey through the roaring in his ears, a low, hoarse cry, and then thick, wet heat spattered his hand.

Chris sagged backward against the couch, huffing and puffing. Hell, they were both panting like they'd just run a 10K race. But holy fuck, that felt good. Sure, just a hand job, but it wasn't his hand, for a change. And that made all the difference. He brought his hand up to his mouth-the hand he'd jacked Joey with-and licked at the sticky mess there. Not his favorite flavor, but he wasn't one of those guys who spit instead of swallowing. And he kinda thought he might like to swallow Joey at some point in the very, extremely, really near future. He wondered how many Saturdays in a row Scheduling would give him off.

"Dude." Joey snickered. "You look...gah. Not even satisfied. You look fucking smug."

Chris laughed. "Just making some plans in my head."