Title: Unexpected Expectations
By: amazonqueenkate
Rating: PORN.
Pairing: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes/Bobby Dawson
Summary: Greg expected his Friday night to end in sex, but not like this.
Author's Notes: Written originally for the Porn Battle, but it's way too long and I can't bring myself to cut it. There really is no plot, just unabashed raunchy, raunchy sex. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, I just like to make them have sex.

Greg never expected his Friday night to end in sex.

Well, no. That was a complete lie. He absolutely expected his Friday night to end in sex. Copious amounts of sex, in fact; why else would he have gone to Vegas' hottest new boy-on-boy dance club? He certainly wasn't there searching for enlightenment, not with a two-drink minimum hanging over his head.

No. It wasn't that he didn't expect his Friday night to end in sex. He just didn't expect his Friday night to end in sex with Nick Stokes and Bobby Dawson.

The dueling Southerners had been on the dance floor when Greg first arrived, and the mere sight of them, together, in the throng of flailing strangers was enough to spark Greg's cock to life. They moved together as they were the only two men in the room, Nick's groin dangerously close to Bobby's ass, his arms playing down the other man's back and sides. They swung and swayed together to the pulsing beat of the techno music, and Greg – for all his hard work at being tactful – could not pull his eyes away. It felt like a dream, the two men under the colored lights and moving to the surreal music. Or, if not a dream, then a really bad acid trip.

Greg found himself wishing it was a dream, so he could wake up and go jack off in the shower like a grown man, instead of creaming his pants like a fourteen-year-old virgin.

He'd just begun to ponder a one-handed quickie in the club bathroom when, suddenly, Nick pulled his attention from Bobby and glanced around the room. His eyes moved in Greg's direction and settled upon him, and their cases locked. Greg's mouth went dry. Sure, he knew all about Nick and Bobby's hyper-closeted relationship, but he was pretty sure neither they nor anyone else knew that he liked men just as much as women.

Not that it mattered, of course, because the smile Nick gave him – all "the devil went down to Georgia" with Nick cast in the role of devil – simultaneously erased his embarrassment and made his cock twitch violently, demanding some sort of release before it took care of itself.

Oh, this would not end well.

Nick said nothing. His lips didn't even move. But his eyes remained on Greg, catching over and over in the flashing lights, and he trailed his arms down Bobby's sides and to his hips, and then rocked his own pelvis in a way that Elvis himself would have envied. Bobby, oblivious, grinned wolfishly over his shoulder and pressed his ass into Nick's groin. It was indecent, but oh Lord, was it hot.

Ears burning, Greg bowed his head and made a beeline for the bathroom. In his pants, his cock ached, throbbing relentlessly. Luckily, the bathroom was abandoned, and he had no shame in rushing blindly into the handicapped stall. He pushed it shut, only barely aware that the lock was busted, and immediately started in on his belt. Not the kind of sex he'd hoped for, but hey, sex nonetheless.

"Need a hand?"

He'd just gotten his fly open when the voice – low and tantalizing, and touched with a dark Southern accent – echoed in his ears, and even though he recognized it, he looked up. Nick held the door to the stall halfway open, Bobby at his shoulder, and as much as Greg should have been embarrassed, he was instead very, very turned on. "Oh God, yes," he managed to choke out as Nick stepped into the stall and grabbed him roughly. There was no polite Southern comfort in the hands gripping his hips, just desperate need, and Greg was nearly overcome just by the touch.

Nick seized his mouth in a deep, hungry, selfish kiss, one full of salvia, teeth, and tongue, and he gasped into it. His hands gripped Nick's shirt, damp with sweat from dancing, and damned if he couldn't feel an erection pressing into his half-naked thigh. Somewhere nearby – beside him? Behind him? – Bobby tugged at his pants, pushing them down until they pooled around his ankles. And while Greg was not sure whose hand ended up on his cock, it was hard and soft at the same time, and he groaned against Nick's tongue.

"Nicky said you were watching," Bobby whispered into his ear, and a hand squeezed his ass to a point of almost-pain. "You like to watch, Greg?"

Lips moved from his mouth to his cheek, his earlobe, his jaw line, and Greg leaned heavily against Nick, his hands groping desperately for his pants. "Yes," he gasped as Nick bit his neck, his own fingers working on the other man's fly.

"Thought so." Bobby's teeth caught his earlobe. "Would you rather participate?"

Now, the pressure on his ass was Bobby's denim-covered dick, and Greg pushed back against it without thinking. "God, yes."

There was no more from the voice, just a smirk, and then a ragged gasp as Greg finally got Nick's cock free and gripped it desperately. It was already leaking pre-come, but then, so was Greg's own, and he leaned forward just enough to press the erections together. Nick's tongue lapped at his neck and he sighed, needing the touch and the release.

The cool slickness of unwarmed lubricant was suddenly against his ass, and Greg forced himself to glance over his shoulder at Bobby. "Boy Scout in a past life?" he asked, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

Bobby's grin was all flame. "Always prepared," he responded deep in his throat, and then there was a finger causing Greg to forget everything.

The minutes blurred. One finger, two, and then the blunt pressure of Bobby against and inside him, pushing him open and taking all he could offer. Greg leaned against Nick, gripping his shirt for balance as their cocks rubbed together, Nick's hand on and around him, squeezing and pressing in all the right places.

The distant pounding of the music's bass line echoed in his ears, counterpoint to his own pulse as Bobby rode him hard, hands gripping his hips tightly. Nick's free hand came down to his hip, too, and gripped Bobby's hand, holding it there. Greg groaned, leaned his head against Nick's shoulder, tried to remember how to breathe.

And then, suddenly, he couldn't breathe and, with one last hard thrust from Bobby, spilled out onto Nick's hand and cock. His ass clenched – he could feel it around Bobby – and the man behind him gasped and shuddered. Within seconds, Nick joined them in the white-hot nothingness, pressing his chest against Greg's as he splashed against Greg's groin.

For a long moment, there was no sound in the world but their shared, gasping breaths. Then, quietly, Bobby pulled out and stepped away. Nick landed a kiss on his temple – an odd show of affection if ever there was one – and moved away as well.

"Here," Bobby offered, and Greg almost laughed at the handful of toilet paper he was handed. He took it nonetheless, wiping himself before tossing it into the toilet. He straightened his pants, smoothed his shirt, and managed a little smile at the other men. He could only imagine how it'd look once they stepped out of the bathroom and back into the club.

"I... Thanks." His cheeks burned as he looped his thumbs in his belt loops and tried to look less mortified than he felt. "That was... Uhm..."

"Yeah," Nick agreed, and his smile was very much the polite Southern boy Greg was used to. He nudged Greg in the arm when Greg still wouldn't look at him. "C'mon, G. Let's buy you a drink."

Greg snorted. "I think that's a little backwards," he told his friend. They laughed, Bobby smiling at both of them, and then started out of the bathroom and back into the Friday night Greg had expected.