(Hi OP, I changed things just a little bit from your prompt, hope you don't mind!)
The kid gestured, expression animated, completely lost in the retelling of his story. Larry listened distantly, brain filtering the crucial details, jettisoning the rest. His attention was focused on the jutting angle of his hip, the flat lines of his stomach beneath his tight black shirt, the way his hair fell into his heavy-lidded eyes.
It was like some kind of cruel, cosmic joke. The personification of his deepest, most secret sexual fantasies had traipsed through the front door of the bar about a half an hour earlier and he'd been half-hard since. Everything about the kid; the way he moved, the timbre of his voice, even the way he held his cigarette as he spoke. Larry laughed in all the right places, and tried not to look at him for too long, shifting his attention to Joe or one of the others in their group. He was seasoned at knowing how to hide his attraction to another man.
When the kid got the the part about the LA county sheriffs in the train station bathroom, Larry had just about choked on his beer. He'd seen countless skin flicks that started the same way and almost always ended in a desperate, filthy gang bang. He was on autopilot, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips, eyes glazed over. His vision narrowed down to the kid and the clothes on his back. The bar melted away behind him, replaced with the imagined interior of the bathroom.
Larry didn't put much thought into the details beyond the white-tiled floors and wide, arching walls. His subconscious wanted plenty of room for things to go down. The sheriffs wore the typical garb; long pants, holsters, khaki shirts. He didn't fully form their faces other than nondescript, square-jawed, white. They circled the kid like vultures, their dog barking furiously. One of them had the presence-of-mind to tie the beast up, looping its leash around the leg of a stall.
Then they descended upon their prey; one clasped him from behind, taking his mouth in a searing kiss as the rest began to remove his clothes. First the leather jacket, then the shirt. The kid shivered as his skin hit air, nipples peaking as they assaulted the pale line of his neck. Another sheriff knelt, hooking large fingers in his belt loops and tugging down. He was perfect; the sharp, downward curve of his abdominal obliques sloping to cradle the thatch of ginger pubic hair and an exquisite cock. Long, with a head like a plump red cherry, exactly the type that Larry loved to take his sweet time sucking on. He shifted in his seat to accommodate the pressure against the inner seam of his pant leg as the scene played like a technicolor daguerreotype in his mind's eye.
The kid's head lolled back, eyes fluttering in near-ecstasy as each latched on to a different part of him; the soft, fleshy inner juncture of his elbow, the taut muscle skirting his jugular, the slight swell of his pectoral. They bent him back, his cock rising with the push of his pelvis. A mouth took him, sucking him down the exact way Larry would, head bobbing quick and rough, saliva pooling in his pubic hair. They worked him up until the entire surface of his blush-mottled skin glistened with sweat. He was mewling, panting, barely audible, spittle moistening his bottom lip as it fell open with pleasure.
"Fuck me," he begged, voice rough with need.
They obliged without saying a word, moving like automatons, all of them marionettes held in the grasp of Larry's subconscious. He choreographed quickly. The kid was turned over, placed stomach-down over the thighs of two sheriffs bent on one knee, facing each other. The men still standing ran fingers over his arched back, down the pale striations of his thighs, driving him wild with sensory indulgence as the one who had been sucking his cock dipped a gentle finger between his cheeks. With a choked moan the kid squirmed, undulating his thighs to follow the finger as it pulled away. A pair of hands spread him wide, a wad of spit landed right on top of his perfect, pink hole. The sheriff wasted no time in filling him up, two-knuckles deep, the kid pinned and writhing with each swift push inside him.
FILL: Overactive Imagination (NC-17, group sex) part 1/2
The kid gestured, expression animated, completely lost in the retelling of his story. Larry listened distantly, brain filtering the crucial details, jettisoning the rest. His attention was focused on the jutting angle of his hip, the flat lines of his stomach beneath his tight black shirt, the way his hair fell into his heavy-lidded eyes.
It was like some kind of cruel, cosmic joke. The personification of his deepest, most secret sexual fantasies had traipsed through the front door of the bar about a half an hour earlier and he'd been half-hard since. Everything about the kid; the way he moved, the timbre of his voice, even the way he held his cigarette as he spoke. Larry laughed in all the right places, and tried not to look at him for too long, shifting his attention to Joe or one of the others in their group. He was seasoned at knowing how to hide his attraction to another man.
When the kid got the the part about the LA county sheriffs in the train station bathroom, Larry had just about choked on his beer. He'd seen countless skin flicks that started the same way and almost always ended in a desperate, filthy gang bang. He was on autopilot, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips, eyes glazed over. His vision narrowed down to the kid and the clothes on his back. The bar melted away behind him, replaced with the imagined interior of the bathroom.
Larry didn't put much thought into the details beyond the white-tiled floors and wide, arching walls. His subconscious wanted plenty of room for things to go down. The sheriffs wore the typical garb; long pants, holsters, khaki shirts. He didn't fully form their faces other than nondescript, square-jawed, white. They circled the kid like vultures, their dog barking furiously. One of them had the presence-of-mind to tie the beast up, looping its leash around the leg of a stall.
Then they descended upon their prey; one clasped him from behind, taking his mouth in a searing kiss as the rest began to remove his clothes. First the leather jacket, then the shirt. The kid shivered as his skin hit air, nipples peaking as they assaulted the pale line of his neck. Another sheriff knelt, hooking large fingers in his belt loops and tugging down. He was perfect; the sharp, downward curve of his abdominal obliques sloping to cradle the thatch of ginger pubic hair and an exquisite cock. Long, with a head like a plump red cherry, exactly the type that Larry loved to take his sweet time sucking on. He shifted in his seat to accommodate the pressure against the inner seam of his pant leg as the scene played like a technicolor daguerreotype in his mind's eye.
The kid's head lolled back, eyes fluttering in near-ecstasy as each latched on to a different part of him; the soft, fleshy inner juncture of his elbow, the taut muscle skirting his jugular, the slight swell of his pectoral. They bent him back, his cock rising with the push of his pelvis. A mouth took him, sucking him down the exact way Larry would, head bobbing quick and rough, saliva pooling in his pubic hair. They worked him up until the entire surface of his blush-mottled skin glistened with sweat. He was mewling, panting, barely audible, spittle moistening his bottom lip as it fell open with pleasure.
"Fuck me," he begged, voice rough with need.
They obliged without saying a word, moving like automatons, all of them marionettes held in the grasp of Larry's subconscious. He choreographed quickly. The kid was turned over, placed stomach-down over the thighs of two sheriffs bent on one knee, facing each other. The men still standing ran fingers over his arched back, down the pale striations of his thighs, driving him wild with sensory indulgence as the one who had been sucking his cock dipped a gentle finger between his cheeks. With a choked moan the kid squirmed, undulating his thighs to follow the finger as it pulled away. A pair of hands spread him wide, a wad of spit landed right on top of his perfect, pink hole. The sheriff wasted no time in filling him up, two-knuckles deep, the kid pinned and writhing with each swift push inside him.