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GNIC (m/m punks) by PunkStud
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This story originally appeared in HOMOture, #1.
Do not read this story if you object to sexually explicit
fiction, articularly if it's gay. Do not read this story
if you are under the legal age in your state/province to buy
such material. All characters are fictional and the creation
of the author's imagination. Any resemblence to any person,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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GNIC
Shards of guitar and drum noise hit Gnic in the face as he
pushed his way into The Club With No Name, a revolving night
spot with no specific locale. The music was strictly hardcore,
unadorned punk that thrilled Gnic to his balls, and it came
in ear-busting surges of pounding noise topped by the ranting
vocals of a bare chested lead singer. The singer's parents,
devout Irish Catholics, had christened him Steven Patrick
Keneally, but among the Los Angeles punk crowd he was known
by his preferred nickname "Fuckface," usually shortened to
"F-Face" or simply "Face." The Los Angeles Times referred to
him as "Mr. Face" in its review of the extended-play disc he
had just released, recorded with his band, the Eviscerators.
LA Weekly had described the new EP, "Poor White Trash," as
"the most exciting expression of unalloyed punk rage and
despair since the Sex Pistols."
Gnic knew that fame, fortune and the erosion of the punk
integrity that inevitably accompanied success were just
around the corner for Fuckface and The Eviscerators, so he
was eager to catch the band before the decline. They were
about to begin a national tour, and tonight's show was their
farewell to The Club With No Name, tonight being held in an
empty warehouse on La Brea, next to an empty construction
sight. Gnic showed up in his "combat rock" clothes: black
T-shirt with an "A" for anarchy emblazoned in pink on the
back; tight, black jeans with frayed cuffs; and decrepit
sneakers. His black hair, cropped short on the sides, was
full and bristly on top, like the shiny ruby-colored studs
in his left earlobe. Gnic scorned the emaciated and burned-
out look affected by the Bohemian, art-fag punks. Gnic was
"straight-edge," a punk faction whose members prided them-
selves on being drug-free, mentally sharp and physically fit,
ready to dance, fight or fuck at a moments notice. As far as
Gnic and his crowd were concerned, the artsy-druggy punks
were basically useless, a species worthy of pity, at best.
Whenever Gnic's older brother, Marc, a 34 year old portrait
photographer who owned no records made after 1970, laughed
at Gnic's hair or clothes, Gnic would sneer, "Eat me!"
Poor Marc, Gnic would sometimes think. Still wearing his
thinning hair too long and carrying a flabby belly that hung
over his belt. Still saddle with a big mortgage, a neurotic
wife, and two squalling brats. Gnic was glad to be 23, with
a trim, hard body. And since he only got it on with dudes,
there was little chance he'd end up a middle-class breeder
living a lame, suburban existence.
Gnic shouldered his way through the bobbing throng, trying
to get as close to the stage as possible. Although the
Unwitting Hip were playing hard and fast, the night hadn't
yet reached its manic, scream-till-your-lungs-burst peak.
Gnic checked out the crowd. It was almost entirely male,
with most of the women, as few as there were, clustered
around the periphery of the dance floor. Gnic made it to
the edge of the stage just as Fuckface and the band tore
into "You Make Me Sick," their new single. Gnic stood
directly in front of the singer and peered up at him.
Fuckface was really into it now; the cords in his neck
bulged, sweat rained down his face and bare, muscular torso,
and he had a hard-on. Fucked rubbed his inner thigh against
the mike stand as he rasped the words in his abrasive whine.
"You make me sick--with your nuclear wars!/You make me sick-
-with your fucking TV!/You make me sick--with your designer
jeans/You make me sick, sick, sick!"
When Face screamed the last line, he doubled over in mock-
revulsion and grimaced as if about to puke. Gnic could
clearly see the hard-on now; it jutted out at an angle, the
big, uncut cock head making a clearly defined impression on
the soft worn fabric of the singer's jeans. A dark blob of
boy lube stained the jeans where the fat dickhead rested.
Gnic licked his lips as he admired the sight, imagining the
taste of the cock juice sucked through the worn, dirty jeans.
Gnic licked his lips as he admired the sight, and his dick
began to stir. He tugged at his crotch to give the swelling
tool some breathing room. Then Fuckface stood up straight,
threw his arms up in the air and began a wild, lurching
dance. The crowd that wasn't already doing so, started to
slam-dance. Boys, who had been bobbing up and down in place
on the dance floor, suddenly went wild, heedlessly hurling
their taut bodies against one another, grooving with
dangerous abandon. Limbs became tangled, short-haired heads
knocked together, groins fused in a rubbing, pushing motion
that was both anonymous and thrillingly intimate. The
Eviscerators fed and were nourished by the frenzy; the
flailing bodies, screams and hollers were answered with an
adrenaline rush of guitar feedback. Fuckface was dancing
around the cramped stage, bumping into amplifiers and
monitors and not giving a fuck.
Gnic noticed that Face's dick was still trying to escape from his
pants, and was marveling at the singer's easy arousability when
Face took a running leap off the stage and dived into the
twisting, shrieking crowd. The slam dancers passes the wriggling
vocalist along like a baton in a marathon race. Face's sneakered
foot slashed upward and caught one boy in the face, leaving a
dirty grid mark on his cheek. The kid didn't flinch, he simply
continued heaving Fuckface along the crowd; several hands reached
up and groped him, squeezing his dick and ass hard. Whenever he
received one of those anonymous gropes, Face let out a load moan.
He was being passed back towards the stage now, and as he came
by, Gnic reached up and caught a handful of crotch. More than a
handful. The singer had a big stick, all right, and a heavy ball
sack. With his free hand, Gnic pinched the singer's tits,
twisting the nipples hard. Face's eyes rolled back and a trail of
spittle seeped out of the corner of his mouth. A pair of hands
rose up from the crowd and pushed Face forward. He landed on the
edge of the stage with his pants undone. His hard, lightly
furred, little butt was half exposed, and Gnic wanted to get at
it real bad. His dick pulsed and leaked when he thought of
scouring the ribbon on light brown ass fur lining Face's ass
crack - tongue, fingers, dick - he didn't really care what he
used, but he needed to work that ass.
Face scrambled to his feet and stood wobbly to survey the happy
chaos erupting before him. His sexy torso was a maze of scrapes
and scratches bathed in a sheen of sweat. He suddenly got all
ugly in the face, like people do when they're about to come, and
then he dived back into the crowd. The band broke into a fast,
syncopatic beat with metallic punk fury. Gnic danced about
wildly, flinging his arms and torso. He was stopped short by the
tumble of bone and flesh that landed on top of him. It was Face!
He wrapped his body around Gnic's and with scrambling hands tore
at Gnic's T-shirt. He humped Gnic as he ripped the shirt to
shreds. When he saw Gnic's hard pecs, with their succulent little
nipples surrounded by black hair, Fuckface smiled into Gnic's
eyes, jerkily bent forward at the waist and snagged one of Gnic's
tits with his teeth. Gnic let out a pained howl, and the singer
switched from chomping on the titty to a forceful but painless
sucking. Gnic responded by slamming his crotch against Face's,
and the two humped together wildly while the singer worked the
boytit he held in his mouth. Meshed together like that, with
their almost identical haircuts and slim, athletic builds, they
looked like brothers. Some boys paid them no attention and
continued slamming, while others stood and ogled. Both Gnic and
Fuckface had roaring hard-ons and they ground them together in a
test of wills. Who was going to go down on his knees first?
Gnic figured that the singer, being a hot-shot punk star, would
expect him, a fan, to do the honors. Fuck that, Gnic thought. He
pushed Face off his tit--the sucking was making him feel like a
lactating cow--and he took hold of the singers open pants. With
one quick tug, he pushed the pants down past Face's hips. He
wasn't wearing any underwear, and his unencumbered prong popped
out tall and stiff. Bodies were hurtling around him, but Gnic
focused his attention on the hot hard-on he held in his hand.
"Work it!" the singer hissed into his ear. Gnic squeezed and
pumped the punk-prick a few times, pumping out a handful of slimy
dick lube before yelling at Face, "Work this!" He forced Face to
his knees, and using both hands jammed the singer's head onto his
crotch. Face sucked the fly of Gnic's jeans, worshipping the
hidden dick. Then with his teeth, he caught the tab of the zipper
and pulled it down. Gnic's boner and big, pendulous furry balls
fell out of his open pants, the long dong laying across the
narrow bridge of the Fuckface's nose. He angled his hips so that
his cock dropped neatly into Face's open mouth. The singer's lips
closed around the veiny pole, forming a tight "O." He began to
work his suck muscles, pulling the dick deep into his throat
while laying feathery tongue-strokes along the length of the
shaft. Gnic moaned loud, but the sound was consumed in the din of
the crowd and the furious playing of the Eviscerators. The band
kept hammering away at their instruments while their vocalist,
bare chested and with his pants down, squatted on the dance floor
and sucked cock.
Fuckface was working on Gnic's boycock as if it were the last one
on earth. If he were a critic, Gnic might have said that the
singer "brings to cocksucking the same total commitment that
distinguishes his on-stage performances." But since he was just a
fan, he simply stood rocking on his heels, enjoying the show Face
was giving him. Face wasn't rushing to bring Gnic off. He was the
type of cocksucker who relishes the taste and feel of a stiff
dick in his mouth; the cum-shoot was the finale, no the whole
show. Face would suck hard on Gnic's cock, and then just as Gnic
felt his load begin to rise, he'd pull back, gently licking the
warm pre-cum off the plump head, lick Gnic's fat hairy boyballs,
and slide his tongue between his thighs and slather his hot wet
tongue over Gnic's hair-ringed musky asshole. Each time Gnic felt
the singer's tongue working his hole, he'd reach back to spread
his hard ass open for Fuckface, squat and watch the long string
of cock drool swing from the end of his prong. Then Face would
plunge back down on the meat, letting it invade his gullet. And
as he sucked Gnic off, he pulled on his own hard-on.
The Eviscerators were still churning out a high-decibel noise
storm, but there were fewer guys slamming. He and Fuckface were
now enclosed by a half circle of semi-dressed boys who either had
their dicks out and were openly whacking off or were rubbing
their hard-ons through their jeans. One of the meatbeaters got
carried away by the sight of his favorite punkrocker blowing the
hunky kid in the shredded T-shirt. He pumped his dick in rapid
strokes, gasped, and let fly a gusher of cum that splattered on
Fuckface's bare back. He then sank to the floor, exhausted by his
violent orgasm. Three bare chested guys with shaved heads stood
over him and jerked off. He received their creamy loads with a
smiling, upturned face.
A half-dozen guys, some stripped to the waist, the other wearing
nothing but frayed undershorts, climbed on stage and stood in a
line before the footlights. They dove and landed on the floor in
a heap. There they stayed, a twisting, groping mass of flesh.
Underpants clung loosely to the ankles of one boy as he sucked
on the cock of another, while a third finger-fucked his butthole.
A naked guy at the edge of the pile slurped greedily on two dicks
crammed into his mouth. Gnic shook his head in amazement and
began to howl. Fuckface, still slurping on Gnic's meat, looked up.
When he saw that Gnic was totally gone, he knew it was time to
go for the load. He alternated heavy duty vacuum sucking with
deft tongue work. Gnic's balls rose up in their tight fuzzy sack.
"Unnnn-uh!" he grunted, shuddering as he gushed his jizz into
Fuckface's mouth. As the singer gulped Gnic's load, he jerked
himself off, shooting his cum onto the floor. The Eviscerators
slammed out a succession of hard, staccato chords as their vocalist
and Gnic popped their rocks. Masturbating onlookers shouted and
applauded. Someone bolted onto the stage and backed the blonde,
chunkily-built bass player into the corner, and then tackled him.
After a brief struggle, the kid got the musician's pants off and
swooped down on his dick to suck it. This caught the eye of the
lead guitarist, a tall and lean guy with an orange-tinted mohawk.
He unhooked his guitar and set the instrument down. He
unfastened his pants as he walked to where the bass player and the
fan were tussling on the floor. Yanking out his plump hard-on, he
squatted down beside them and slowly slipped his steely rod into
the bassist's mouth. The drummer laid down a relentless, rock-solid
backbeat, while thrashing the hell out of his cymbals.
Gnic yanked Face up to his feet and hugged him. The singer pulled
up his pants and buttoned them. Gnic did the same. "Man" Gnic
panted, "that was unbelievable!"
"That's why they call me Fuckface," the vocalist beamed. He took
Gnic's hand and the two of them stood poised for flight, laughing
and shouting encouragement to the young revelers.
"Unfucking real!" Gnic hollered at Face.
"Can't wait to read the reviews in the morning, the singer dead-
panned as he led Gnic out an exit and into the warm night air.
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