Archive of Our Own

It was sometime in the mid-1960s, on an evening too hot and humid to do much but lie around. The members of the Who were in their shared hotel room, locked in like tigers in a cage. They were watching TV. Roger was flopped over on the couch, with his shirt and shoes off. Pete was standing with his face stuck in the freezer, trying to get colder. John lay on the bed with a glass of something cold in his hand, his hair chaotic and frizzy from the humidity. Keith had just got out of a cold shower.

Upon seeing Keith enter the room, Roger rushed off to take a shower. Keith stared at his bandmates and hitched the towel around his waist up a bit higher.

"Anyone down for some hotel-room destruction, chaps?" he said brightly in his fake-posh voice.

"Too hot," Pete grunted.

"John?" Keith said. "What about you?"

"I agree with Pete, for once," John said. "It's a thousand bloody degrees in here."

"Mm, true," Keith said. He glanced around the room, sizing it up. That air conditioner would make a fantastic smashing sound when pushed out their top-story window. That ugly wallpaper would look much better when torn to shreds. And there were some cherry bombs inside his suitcase just begging to see the inside of a U-bend...

Suddenly, the phone rang. Pete groaned, closed the freezer and lifted the phone receiver, since he was the closest. "Hello?...'S for you, Keith," Pete said.

Keith answered the phone, putting it on speaker because he was too lazy to hold it. "Paper residence, Lou speaking," he said.

"Keith!" It was the Who's manager, Kit. "Listen carefully!"

"Yeah, yeah," Keith said, inspecting his nails.

"No destroying the hotel this time! I mean it!" said Kit. Keith rolled his eyes. Usually Kit wasn't too bad about Keith wrecking everything in sight. Although he was cheap and the hotel bills got astronomical when you counted in the cost of the plumbing being fixed, the manager realized that Keith had an image to uphold. Kit could be a bit of a helicopter parent at times, though. "I mean it, Keith," Kit repeated. "There's a reason you're all staying in one room of a hotel that doesn't even have a swimming pool, and it's that we're broke due to your destructive shenanigans! If you so much as leave the bed unmade, you're out of this band, and out of a job!"

Surely that couldn't be more than an empty threat, but if there was one thing Keith loved more than smashing shit up, it was smashing shit up on stage with his pals while thousands of people cheered him on. He sighed. "Kit! That's not fair! You can't do that, it wouldn't be a smart business move, I'm practically the frontman of this bloody band!"

"I beg to differ!" Roger's throaty voice rang out from the shower.

"If anyone's the frontman here, it's me," said Pete. "I write the lyrics."

John rolled his eyes.

"No destruction of any kind on this tour, unless it's on stage!" Kit said. "If we slip up, we're going to have negative funding, and you won't have a record label at all...good luck finding another manager who'll put up with your behavioral issues!"

"Okay, okay!" Keith said. "It's too fucking hot to do anything in here, anyways! I'm just going to lie on the floor and rot!" He lay down on the floor, grunting in discomfort.

"Good," said Kit. "See you tomorrow at the show." He hung up. The phone buzzed, the line dead. The band were all too tired to get up and put it back on the hook.

"Ughhh," Keith groaned. "I'm gonna die! It's so hot in here!"

"If you stopped complaining so much maybe you'd breathe out less hot air and it would be colder in here," said Pete. He got up to return to the fridge for a beer.

"Maybe if you stopped being so stupid, it would be less stupid in here," Keith snarled. "Get me a beer too."

"That doesn't make any sense," Pete said, his voice high and petulant. He chucked a beer can at Keith. It bounced off the drummer's head.

"We could go out pub-crawling," John suggested.

"It's even hotter out there than it is in here," Keith moaned. "At least in here we've got this crappy little fan. I guess I'll just lie here and drink until I fall asleep...another day wasted..." He did this for about four minutes before he got unbearably bored.

Roger came back out of the shower, looking around as he pulled a T-shirt on. "What, haven't you chucked the telly out the window yet?" he asked.

"Too hot," all the other three Who members groaned.

"This is reaching ridiculous levels," Roger agreed. He flopped down on a bed and sighed.

Keith wiggled around on the floor, trying to get comfortable. He downed the rest of his beer, which had already turned lukewarm and nasty. He found a bottle of Courvoiser and they passed it around for a bit, too warm to talk.

"Well, we can't just sit here," Pete said. "What are we going to do?"

"Practice?" John said.

Everyone stared at him. At once, everyone started guffawing. "Practice!" Pete laughed, wiping a tear away. "Oh, God, that's a good one."

"No, really, what can we do?" Roger said. "There's nothing good on TV. We don't get any channels in this shitty hotel."

Keith's forehead wrinkled. "Truth or dare!"

"What are we, 14-year-old girls at a sleepover party?" Roger said.

"Basically," said Keith.

"Truth or dare," John muttered. "More like 'tell everyone who you'd fuck or perform a strange sexual task.'"

"It'll be fun!" Keith pleaded. "Come on. It's better than dying of boredom."

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Roger said. Keith chucked a bottle of wine at him. It hit him in the crotch. He groaned in pain and started chugging from the bottle. Usually Roger didn't really drink to excess, but these were extenuating circumstances.

"I'll ask first," Keith said, "since it was my idea. And...I pick Roger to do the truth or dare." He grinned evilly.

"No!" Roger said.

"Do it!" Pete yelled. He had the booze and he was drinking as much as possible to escape the heat. "Do it!" he yelled sloppily.

"NO!"

"Do it," John said.

"Ugh! I hate you guys!" Roger said. "Fine."

"Okay," Keith said giddily, "Roger, truth or dare?"

He winced. "Uh...truth. I don't wanna see your dares."

"Damn," Keith said. "Okay. Ah...truth...if you had to pick one of us, me or Pete or John, to sleep with, which one would it be?"

"FUCK!" Roger yelled. "These games always turn out gay! I knew it! You're all a bunch of repressed faggots!"

"Answer the bleedin' question!" Keith said.

"I can't! There's no way to win! I'd rather die than shag any of you lot, no lie," Roger said.

"Roger, you think Pattie Boyd's a looker, don't you?" Keith said.

"What, George Harrison's wife, the model?...I suppose so. But I don't see what bearing this has on the question."

"Well, you can fuck Pattie Boyd, but you have to sleep with one of us first, hypothetically," Keith said.

"Still no deal!"

"It's not a question of whether it's a deal, just give us an answer!" Keith snapped. "You don't have to make a bloody big deal of it!"

"It's ridiculous!"

"You hypothetically get anything you want," Keith said, "if you fuck one of us."

"Can I fuck myself?"

"No!"

"Fine! But I want to be on top!"

"Okay!"

"And I hypothetically would want ten billion pounds, and amnesia so I don't remember any of it!"

"You're gonna ruin the economy," John said.

"It's hypothetical, Enty, you're overthinking it," Keith said. "And okay, you get all the imaginary money and brain diseases you want."

"Just answer the question!" Pete said. "Can we get on with this?"

"Fine!" Roger said. He covered his face in his hands and moaned in embarrassment. "You're gross..." He mumbled something very quietly under his breath.

"What's that?" Keith said with a grin.

"I said PETE!" Roger sobbed. "I pick Pete! Can we stop talking about this now?!"

"Oh, gross, why me?" Pete said.

"Keith is a fucking twat!" Roger said. "And John is...well, John is John. No offense."

"None taken, midget," John said dryly.

"I told you there was no way this was gonna end well," Roger said. He removed his hands from his face. He was blushing furiously.

"Anyway," Keith said, "it's your turn, Roger. You pick who gets dared or truth'd."

"I pick Keith," Roger snapped. "Truth or fuckin' dare."

"Dare," Keith said, grinning. He always picked dare.

"Fine," Roger said. He plotted his revenge. "I dare you...I dare you to play gay chicken with John."

"No!" Keith yelled. "I won't do that!"

"What's gay chicken?" John said.

"Something I will not do!" Keith said.

"You have to do it!" Roger said.

"You do have to do it," Pete said. "This was your idea."

"No!" Keith wept.

"Someone tell me what this is..." John said.

"Gay chicken is when two guys have to, y'know, kiss and stuff, progressing naturally from the kissing, and whichever one stops first loses," Pete explained.

"Boy, you sure seem to be well versed in kissing men," Keith said. "And naturally progressing."

Pete took a drink. "I've been around," he said with a disgusting grin. Roger elbowed him.

John frowned ever so slightly. "And what does the winner get?"

"The winner gets to slap Duchess across the face," Keith snarled.

"Deal," John said.

"Wait, I didn't agree to that!" Roger said.

"It's the only way I'll do it," Keith said. "And you can't fight back!"

"No!" Roger said.

"It is fair," Pete said.

"Either get slapped or withdraw your dare," John said.

"Fine!" Roger said.

"You must really wanna watch two guys make out," Keith said.

"I just wanna make you suffer!" Roger said.

Keith blew a raspberry.

"Go now," Pete said. "Go. Do it. Get the gay on."

"I don't know how," Keith mumbled.

"Just pretend you're a girl," John said.

"Can't I pretend you're a girl instead?"

"Do I look like a girl to you?"

"Well, do *I* look like a girl to *you*?" Keith snapped.

"A bit," John said. "Long eyelashes. Small, effeminate build. Mincing posture."

Pete snorted.

"I hate you," Keith said.

"You lived with him for like a year," Pete said. "Hell, I've seen you kiss him! It shouldn't be that difficult for you to take things further."

Keith snatched his bottle from Pete and downed quite a bit of it. He winced at the taste and set the bottle down, swaying a bit. "Fine, I'm ready," he said. He sat next to John and put his arms around him. "I'm going to win this," he said.

"Keep telling yourself that," John said with a smirk.

"You fuckin' bugger..." Keith leaned forward and mashed his lips roughly into John's. John grunted in pain and attempted to gain control of the kiss. Keith was fidgety.

"Who taught you how to kiss?" John said, looking disgruntled.

"No one!" Keith said.

"Obviously. I feel sorry for your girlfriend."

"John, if you don't start kissing him you're gonna have to forfeit," said Pete.

"I'll teach you how to kiss," John said. "Come here..." He cradled Keith's face in his hands, leaned in and closed the space between them.

Roger laughed. "Gross! Fuck, you can't pay for entertainment like this."

Pete smirked blearily and leaned back a bit in his chair. "I'd pay quite a bit, actually."

John bit down slightly on Keith's lower lip, then moved to dart his tongue into the drummer's mouth, steadily pressing his lips against him. Keith went mostly still, his mouth slack and open, leaving John in control, letting him crush his lips with rough, enfolding kisses. John finally backed away a bit. Keith was unresponsive.

"Moonie?" John said.

Keith moaned. "Ugh...you win...I'm not sure how I feel about this..."

"Quitter," John scoffed. "Hey, I get to slap Roger now."

Roger had been betting on Keith winning. John looked much worse to be slapped by. He had hands like bunches of bananas.

"I'll go easy on you," John said before smacking Roger across the face. Blond curls whirled. Roger groaned and fell back into Pete's lap. He rubbed his face and winced. Then he felt Pete's fingers dancing down his thigh, and batted his hand away, turning red.

"Pete!" he said.

"How much was that you said you'd need to be paid to sleep with me, again?" Pete said.

"It was hypothetical!" Roger said.

"Keith," John said, "it's your turn to ask people again."

Keith sat up and tried to fix his hair. "Okay..." he said.

"I haven't been picked yet," Pete said.

"You just want to have homosexual experiences," John said.

"No!" Pete said. "I just...nobody's picked me and it's taking forever!"

"Okay, Pete," Keith said. "Truth or dare?"

Pete got up and hunted in the fridge for more booze. He poured himself a gin and tonic over ice while he decided. "Er...dare," he said, bringing the clinking glass to his mouth.

"Dare..." Keith said. "Hm. Can't really think of anything. Anyone know anything?"

"Just don't involve me in it," Roger said. He sullenly drank more wine out of the bottle.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Keith shot back. "Hm...I know. I dare you to make out with Roger."

"Why are all these questions so gay?!" Roger wailed. "I'm not making out with anyone!"

"Chicken!" Keith said.

"I'm not a chicken! I'm not even supposed to be brought up in this!"

"Fine," Keith said. "Pete, I dare you to suck Roger's dick."

"WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?" Roger said.

"Hey, no guy can turn down getting his dick sucked," Keith said. "You might even say, if a guy were to turn down a blowjob, that would make him gay."

"That—I—your logic doesn't make any sense!" Roger stammered.

"I don't wanna suck his dick, I bet it's riddled with STD's," Pete said.

"It is not! I just got tested," said Roger.

"Prove it," Pete said. "Lemme see your dick."

"I shouldn't have dared him to do this," Keith realized. "It probably would've been better to dare him not to do it."

"Look!" Roger stood up and unzipped his fly. "It's perfectly fine. No warts in sight."

Pete shoved Roger down onto the couch. The singer squeaked and tried to crawl away, but Pete pinned him down and ripped his jeans further down.

"Tell me you don't want this," Pete said. His voice was suddenly husky. "Tell me you don't want me sucking your cock."

"Uh..." Roger said.

"You always tell me how bloody arrogant I am," Pete said. "Well, now it's time to put me in my place." He smirked, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"Uh..." Roger stammered. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Keith and John were casually watching, sharing a bottle. "I..."

"Tell me if you object," Pete said, smiling predatorily. He placed a kiss upon the bulge in the singer's boxers, making him squirm. "Lover."

Roger moaned. "Ah! Fine! Do it! I hate you all, I'm not gay, I'm not..."

He closed his eyes and he felt Pete pulling his underwear down, working his cock with callused, knowing fingers, stroking him just right, slowly, deeply rubbing the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. Roger couldn't help twitching a bit as he felt the blood rush to his member. He looked down to see Pete's intoxicated blue gaze piercing him as Pete's lips closed around the tip of his cock. He couldn't help but thrust forward into the slick heat...God, his wife never did this for him, and it had been so long that he'd nearly forgotten how good it was. Pete's tongue lapped up his shaft, tracing the veins, until the guitarist reached the pink, pearly head of the singer's cock, whereupon it dipped to slide over the slit, over and over, slightly penetrating it.

Roger leaned back into the seat, his heels digging into the carpet. John and Keith were watching with a mixture of horror, amusement, and what could've possibly been arousal. Roger tried to ignore them, but he'd always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak. The thought of them watching made him even harder. Pete was bringing him such impossible bliss, and he reached down to knot his short fingers in Pete's hair. He moaned uncontrollably, his voice deep and gritty and melodic.

"Pete," he whispered. "Peter, oh, slower, please."

Every time Pete touched him it made sparks shoot through him, though. The slower pace only intensified the feeling inside him, made Pete's every movement more noticeable. Soft, plush lips sliding against eager flesh...Pete was clever with his tongue, working it in ways Roger could never have thought of. Desperately, Roger keened and pushed his hips up, wanting to be deeper inside Pete. He felt Pete's throat swallow his cock, Pete's fingertips gently teasing around the base of his shaft, squeezing his balls, and he let out a cry of unbearable pleasure. "Fuck! Pete! You're so fucking...oh!"

It only took a couple more minutes of this for Roger to come. Pete seemed to enjoy it almost as much, although he wasn't even touching himself. His eyes were tightly shut and he occasionally moaned around Roger's cock, sending vibrations though him. Roger came in spurts, his cock twitching into Pete's mouth. When he'd finished he looked down at Pete. The guitarist's lips were dripping with cum, and it was spilled down his neck, soaking bits of his collar. He had a hazy look, and his Adam's apple jumped as he struggled to swallow the warm fluid. Roger fell back on the couch, not sure what he was feeling. He was panting, and even more sweaty, and he felt the way Pete looked, exhausted and satisfied and used up.

Pete got onto the couch and paused to catch his breath. "It's my turn," was the only thing he said.

Keith's eyes were wide. "I think that was the gayest thing I've ever seen in my entire life," he said. "I don't know how to feel about that."

"I'm not gay!" Roger and Pete chorused.

"This is the gayest game of truth or dare I've ever played," said John. "Keith, you're making everyone gay. This is your fault."

"Yeah, thanks," Pete said with a lazy smile.

"You're gross and I'm not making anyone gay, they're doing it of their own accord," said Keith.

"Shut up and let me pick," Pete said. "I think Roger's down for the count." The singer was softly snoring on the couch. "So I have to pick John or Keith."

"Pick him!" Keith said.

"No, pick Keith," John said quickly.

"John hasn't been picked yet."

"Why don't either of you want to be picked?" Pete said.

"All the truth or dares have been really gay," Keith said, "and you're unequivocally the gayest member of the Who, so I don't want you to pick me because your truths and dares are probably even more gay."

"Half of that gayness was your fault, I remind you," Pete reminded him.

"I was just doing it to be funny! I didn't know it would really be gay!" Keith said.

"You're being annoying so I'm picking you," Pete said.

"Ha," John said.

"No!" Keith moaned. "Why, God, why—"

"Because you're annoying and gay!"

"You're annoying and gay!" Keith shot back.

"You're both annoying and gay, now just get on with it," John said.

"Keith," Pete said with an evil smile. "Truth or dare?"

"Uh, truth," Keith said for once.

"Mm, I've got to think of something really good," Pete murmured. "Okay. Truth. Have you ever, you know, fooled around with John?"

"What!" Keith yelled. "Fuck no! Gross!"

"Are you sure? You're blushing," Pete said.

"Uh..."

"One time," John said.

"Oh, how the gay tables have turned," Pete said.

"He jacked me off once," John said.

"JOHN!" Keith wailed, humiliated. He grabbed a pillow and covered his face with it. "You promised you'd never tell!"

"He doesn't want me to tell you because it was his idea," said John.

"Ooh," Pete said. "Repressed homosexual urges!"

"I'm not a homosexual!!" Keith yelled. "John, you're a jerk and I hate you."

"If this is going to be a game of gay truth or dare, then it's gonna be a game of gay truth or dare," John said ineffably.

"That's the spirit," Pete said.

"Oh, you're teaming up on me," Keith said. "Anyways, this is over, and I get to pick who's truth'd and dared now."

"Go on," Pete said.

"John, truth or dare," Keith said.

A look that Keith didn't quite catch flickered across John's stony features. "Dare," he said.

"Fine. Fuck you. I dare you to make out with Pete, and then we'll see how fuckin' gay you are, you fucking—bloody—anklebiting tattletale!" Keith spat wrathfully.

"There's no tattletales in war," John said. He looked over at Pete, who shrugged. John shrugged back. He sat down on the couch beside the guitarist.

"Kiss me like you kissed him," Pete directed John.

Without any further words, John kissed Pete. His lips were soft, but he fought back. John could taste what he thought was traces of Roger's cum on Pete's mouth. For some reason it just made the entire thing that much hotter.

Pete's skinny arms wrapped around John's shoulders, but not before he paused to grope John's arm muscles appraisingly. John's hands came up to rest on Pete's slim waist. His fingers gently swirled over the soft skin.

"Mm, that's good," Pete panted. He kissed John's neck and let out a little drunk laugh. "I want you to get in my lap now."

"I'm not getting in your lap," John said. "I'd squish you. You get in my lap."

"Fuck," Pete said. "Fine. You weirdo." He straddled John's hips. It felt weird to be sitting on top of someone else; usually when he was with girls they'd be on top of him.

"That's good," John said, looking up at Pete with what could've been admiration. He pulled the guitarist forward and planted a little kiss on his mouth. He felt Pete smile; they moved to kiss again, this time more slowly, feeling each other's breath on their faces and necks, until their teeth clacked together a bit too much. Pete leaned down to kiss John's neck again; he appeared to be somewhat fixated on it. His kisses landed on John's Adam's apple and on the tendons that stretched down from his jaw to his collarbone. John petted Pete's hair.

"That's good," John repeated, "but harder. More like this." He brushed Pete's shaggy hair out of the way and sunk his crooked teeth into the side of his neck, bruising the soft flesh. The effect was immediate. Pete let out a loud moan and his hips bucked forward, rubbing his erection in his tight white trousers against John's stomach.

"Again," he panted, "do it again," and John held him still while biting deeply into his neck, making him squirm and moan. "Harder, harder," he panted quietly. "Bite me harder—oh, fuck—" John's teeth broke the skin and Pete felt his wet tongue rasping across the wound, licking up the blood. Pete tugged on John's hair. "Don't stop—"

A pillow came sailing through the air and whacked Pete on the head. He cursed and looked up. The culprit was Keith. "Stop this gayness right now!"

"Don't tell me what to do," John said.

"He's just jealous 'cos he's not in it," Pete said with a grin.

"I am not!" Keith crossed his arms stubbornly. "Stop this gay shit. I don't wanna play this game any more."

"You have to play, it was your idea," Pete said. John squeezed his butt and he let out a ridiculous little giggle and whacked John's hand away.

Keith groaned. "I hate all of you...I just wanted to have a laugh, I didn't know this would happen."

"Well, it's happening," said John. "And Keith, I pick you for truth or dare."

Keith sat on the bed and let out a huge sigh. "Fine! Truth!"

"Hmm." John's hands crept up and down Pete's sides under his shirt while he was thinking. Pete squirmed under the steady touch; he was ticklish there. "Keith, you like to pretend I'm your boyfriend, don't you?" John said.

"What! No!" Keith moaned disconsolately.

"I heard you talking about it in your sleep last night," John said.

Keith turned pink. "I didn't...I mean, I don't dream that you're my boyfriend. That's stupid. You'd be an awful boyfriend!"

"Give it up," Pete said.

"...Fine!" Keith fell down in the bed. "Maybe I do sometimes imagine John's my b-boyfriend! So what? It gets lonely on tour, and John's nice, and I trust him...or at least I did until today!"

"Oooh," Pete went. John rolled his eyes and shoved Pete off. He stumbled and landed on his butt.

"Keith," John said, gently but firmly, "come here."

"Don't wanna..."

"I want you to come here." John was impossible to disobey. Keith pouted and approached him. "In my lap..." Keith sat down the same way Pete had been. He looked extremely wounded. John pulled him closer and stroked his hair. "When you imagine I'm your boyfriend," he said, "what sort of things does that involve?"

Keith blushed again and bit his thumbnail nervously. "You hug me and things," he said. "And you tell me you...you love me," he managed.

"Is that what you want?" John said. "You want me to love you?"

"...Yes..."

"Are you afraid of what the others would say?"

"Maybe. A bit." Keith pretended he didn't care at all what anyone thought of him, but if you really looked deep you could see that even his whole destructive persona was just a mask he wore. Everything he did was because he was afraid of what other people would think of him, or worse, that they'd forget him.

"I'm sure they won't care," John said. "Everyone's been really gay and nasty today so I don't think they have any right to object."

"And you really wouldn't mind?" Keith said.

"I do love you, Keith," John said. "As a friend. As a brother. As something more."

"Wincest," Pete yelled.

"Shut up, Townshend!" John said. "I love you," he said to Keith.

"Oh, John," Keith said, "I love you too...you're my best friend out of this band. Even though you're a jerk."

"It's your turn to ask someone truth or dare," John reminded him.

"John, I pick you," Keith whispered.

"Dare."

"I dare you to kiss me..."

They kissed again, and this time it wasn't awkward like it was earlier. This time it was gentle and slow and perfect.

Pete sighed and lay down on the floor. "I always get left out," he drunkenly muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, Roger Daltrey was awakening. He looked around and winced at the disgusting sight of his rhythm section swapping spit. He looked at Pete, who was on the floor and appeared to be dead.

"Pete?" Roger said. He cleared his throat. "Peter!"

"Yes?" Pete said.

"What happened while I was asleep?"

"Oh, lots of things," Pete said, grinning.

"Do I want to know what they are?"

"I'll tell you," Pete said. "John told me that Keith jacked him off, and then I got to make out with John, and now Keith's making out with John and I think they're boyfriends or something."

Roger sighed. "We're all gay," he realized. "Everyone in this band. Gay. We're a band of gays. Gay band."

"It's just experimentation," Pete said. "Young people often experience same-sex romantic or sexual attraction that may not be permanent, and in this enlightened age we can be free to explore our sexualities." He licked his lips.

"Enlightened age! More like engayened age!" Roger said.

"It's my turn to truth or dare someone," John said. "I pick...Roger."

"No!"

"Truth or dare!"

"Truth," Roger said.

"He picks dare," Pete said very loudly.

"I dare you to kiss Keith," John said.

"I didn't pick dare! I never did!" Roger said.

"You have to do it," Pete said. "Kiss him!"

"You're all perverts," Roger said.

"I don't wanna kiss him either," Keith said. "He looks like a potato. I'd much rather kiss John again."

"I don't look like a potato!" Roger yelled.

"Yes you do," said Keith. "You're lumpy like a potato, and short, also like a potato."

"I am none of the above," Roger said. "And at least my eyebrows don't look like caterpillars!"

"At least my eyebrows don't look like potato eyebrows!" Keith yelled.

"Shut up and kiss," John said.

"Peer pressure, peer pressure," Pete said.

"Look, guys, I'm straight," Roger protested. "I swear! I'm as butch and rugged as it gets. All I think about is pussy. Look at these muscles!" He flexed his biceps.

Pete licked one of Roger's arms. "You taste good."

"Ew," Roger said.

"You didn't say ew when I was sucking your dick," Pete said.

"Yeah," Keith said. "You were all, 'Oh, Pete! I love you Pete! Stick your dick in me, Pete!'" He did a fake horrible high-pitched voice to mock Roger.

"Huh, huh," John said, "that's good, he sounds just like you, Dip."

"You're all douchebags!" Roger yelled.

"C'mon," John said, "you'd be a cute couple. You're both short and pissy."

"I am not short!" Roger said. "YOU'RE ALL TOO TALL! Tall people are ineffective! Their hearts have to pump more blood to get through all their stupid tall body parts, so their hearts wear out faster and they die quicker! Tall people take up too much space, they're not ergonomic! Tall people's heads are closer to the sun, so they get sunburn faster and then they get skin cancer and die! You'll all be dead in fifty years and I'll look back and laugh!"

"Alrighty then," Pete said.

"Napoleon complex much," John said.

"Fuck you!" Roger said.

"John, you're an awful boyfriend," Keith said.

"Would you just kiss him already?" John said.

"I'm breaking up with you!" Keith said. "You're not even that good of a kisser. I bet even Roger kisses better than you."

"Why don't you test that hypothesis?" Pete said.

"I will!" Keith said. He rushed up and kissed Roger. Roger made a surprised noise. Keith buried his hands in Roger's fluffy golden hair. If he ignored Roger's potato-like face, this was almost like kissing a girl. And Keith did always have a thing for blondes.

"Look at me!" Keith yelled when Roger finally pushed him away. "John, are you jealous yet?"

"My heart is burning," John said, rolling his eyes.

Keith kissed Roger again angrily. "Ugh," Roger said, "get off me, you smell like vodka and weed."

"And how would you know what that smells like, Mister Straight-Edge My-Body-Is-A-Temple?" Keith said.

"From hanging around with you dildoes all day," Roger snarled.

Keith kissed Roger one more time just to see if he could get a reaction from John. He broke the kiss, and sensually whispered "Kumquat" in Roger's ear.

"What the fuck," Roger said.

Keith laughed weirdly and ran back over to John. John smacked Keith's ass and pulled him closer. "Did I make you jealous?" Keith said eagerly.

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, very jealous."

"Good," said Keith.

"It's my turn to ask people questions now," said Roger. "And last time you guys cheated, so I'm gonna make one you do something extra horrible now!"

"Pick me!" Pete yelled.

"No, you're too gay!"

"Dammit," Pete groused, "I knew I should've pretended not to like it."

Roger had a bit of a dilemma now. He couldn't think of anything that his three bandmates wouldn't do. Apparently everyone was a lot gayer than originally planned. "I quit," said Roger. "I don't wanna see you being all gross and gay."

"No, don't!" Pete said.

"Drink more," said Keith. "C'mon, lower your inhibitions a bit." He found a bottle of champagne to throw at Roger's dick. Roger made a defeated noise and crouched into a ball.

"No," Roger moaned.

"Okay," Keith said, "since Roger's not going I have dibs on his turn."

"Why do you get dibs?" John said.

"Because I said so," said Keith. "Pete, truth or dare?"

"Dare," said Pete with a grin.

"I dare you..." Keith pried the bottle of bubbly from Roger's rigor-mortis-esque grip. "I dare you to pour champagne on Roger's chest and lick it off," he said.

"Yesss," said Pete.

"No!" Roger yelled. He tried to run. John grabbed him and held his arms behind his back. Keith helped John push Roger onto the bed and hold him there. "Quit molesting me," Roger moaned.

"Oh, come off it, we know you like the attention," John said. "You're just as gay as the rest of us."

"I'm not gay! Ugh!" Roger struggled, but John was holding his arms down, and Keith was holding his legs. He was trapped.

He stated up at Pete, biting his lip nervously. Pete grinned and leered and crawled up onto the bed between Roger's legs. Keith let go of Roger, who didn't struggle, just whimpered a bit.

"Hello, again," said Pete. He crouched awkwardly over Roger and ripped the singer's shirt open, revealing his tanned chest. Roger wriggled around a bit, uncomfortable under Pete's stare, which was pinning him down like an entomologist pins down a bug on a card. "My, you look lovely, all disheveled like this," Pete said, trailing one finger down the groove between Roger's pectorals. "Ravishing."

"No I'm not," Roger muttered.

"If you don't want me to do this, I'll stop," Pete said with a smirk. "Just say the word and I'll leave you alone. I won't lay a finger on you."

Roger glared at him, whining a bit. "I hate you."

"I didn't hear a no," Pete said. "Go on. Say 'no.' Say 'don't touch me.'"

Roger's eyes closed. "I can't..."

"Yeah, you know how good it'll feel when I make love to you," Pete murmured hoarsely. "You know how good it'll feel when I'm kissing your body all over."

"Oh, Pete," Roger whispered.

John backed off a bit, and Pete held Roger's arms down himself. "Lover," he said.

"Ah, stop using that word," Roger moaned.

"My lover," Pete whispered very close to Roger's ear. "Doll, you're going to be an absolute mess when I'm done with you. You're going to be begging me for more."

"Oh, Pete," Roger said. "Keep...keep talking."

"Don't worry," Pete said. "Let's see, first I'm going to pour champagne on you—"

"You're gonna be a bloody alcoholic, Townshend," Roger said.

"Shush, don't talk," said Pete. "And I'm going to lick it off your chest, off your stomach..." He traced said body parts with his fingertips as the slow, alcohol-soaked words left his mouth. "And your neck, I won't leave that out. I'm going to bite you like a vampire. And then I'll slowly kiss all the way back down your body, down your hips...I love the V of your hips, it's madly attractive, I love it. By then you'll be begging me to suck your cock again, and you'll be pulling on my hair, and I'll take as long as I possibly can, breathing in your smell, lover, before I pour champagne over your cock and lick it off, and I want to taste your cum as soon as my tongue touches you there, darling. And I'll swallow every last drop of it...Keith! Champagne me!"

Keith tore his eyes away from the spectacle and gave Pete the bottle. Even though he thought Pete was a pretentious git and Roger was an annoying waste of oxygen, he couldn't deny that it was rather fun to watch.

John was yawning. "Get to the good part, Pete," he said. "I wish this was a porn tape so I could fast-forward past all your annoying dirty talk."

Pete stared down at Roger, not really hearing John's complaints. Roger was a panting, squirming mess of arousal. "My," he said, "Daltrey, is that a microphone in your pants or are you just happy to see me?"

"Pete," Roger moaned under his breath. "Fuck, touch me."

Pete leaned down to kiss Roger's chest. He poured champagne over Roger's body and chased the bubbles with his tongue, enjoying the taste of wine and Roger Daltrey, a strange but compelling combination. It didn't work out exactly like Pete had imagined; for one thing, the sheets were being soaked with booze, but it was worth it.

"Moan for me," Pete whispered. "I want to hear that lovely voice."

"Fuck, Pete!" Roger cried. "I want you."

"He didn't even get paid ten billion pounds," Keith said, marveling. "Or amnesia."

"What do you want me to do to you?" Pete said.

"I don't know, suck my cock, anything," Roger groaned. "I can't fuckin' take this any more, it's torture..." He keened as Pete ran his fingers over the hard heat in his trousers. "I wish I was a girl," he said suddenly.

"Why's that?"

"I just want to keep coming for you," Roger said, his eyes closed, making a little wincing face of arousal-embarrassment. "Bleedin' refractory period...And I want...I want you, uh..."

"What do you want?" Pete's tongue circled around one of the singer's nipples.

"I want you, um, inside of me," Roger said.

"Yeah?" Pete said, smirking.

"I hate you," Roger said. "This was all your evil plan, wasn't it? You were planning to make me gay!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Pete said. He straddled Roger's legs and slowly bucked his hips against Roger's, rubbing their clothed erections together.

"This is all your fault," Roger panted. "You're mind-controlling me!"

"It's not mind control," said Pete, "it's seduction."

Roger groaned. "That was awful even for you."

"I know. Shut up," said Pete. "I'm gonna fuck you, then." Roger gasped wordlessly. "You won't be able to sit down right for a bleedin' week. I'm gonna fuckin' ravish you, you're gonna be screaming my name..."

"Do it," Roger said. "Please, please, fuck!"

Keith pushed Pete over. "Okay, I've had enough of this! If anybody's gonna be pounding anyone here it's gonna be me!"

"What, you doing the pounding or you getting pounded?" Pete asked.

"Doing the pounding!" Keith said. "What, do I look like I'm gay?"

"You're watching two guys make out and I can see your boner," John said. "And you're on top of Roger. That seems pretty gay."

"I am not gay!" Keith said. "I'm just having a fun time." He stared at Roger, who was completely out of it, practically melting on the sheets. His fingers went to his fly and he unbuttoned it and pulled out his hard cock.

"Gay readings are off the charts," Pete said.

"You're off the charts! Get his clothes off, I don't wanna touch his dick."

Pete pulled Roger's trousers off for the second time, this time all the way. He paused to admire Roger, then crawled onto the bed and kissed the singer's cock, making him moan.

Keith pursed his lips. "Do you think champagne would be good for lube?"

John had been rummaging in his suitcase. He pulled out something and threw it at Keith. It bounced off his head and Pete caught it. "It's lube," Pete said.

"If there's butt stuff going on I damn well better be invited," said John.

"Don't worry, big guy," Pete said, smiling hungrily. He poured out some of the lube into his hand and went to work on Keith's cock. Keith moaned and wrapped both his hands around Pete's, desperate to come.

Roger's eyes snapped open when he felt someone pushing his legs up and poking at his ass, but it was only John, gently circling his fingers around Roger's entrance. The singer made a face as he felt one of John's slicked-up fingers ease into him. "Just relax," John said. "It'll be easier if you relax."

"I'm as relaxed as I can get! You've got big fingers!"

"Count backwards from 100," John advised Roger.

You could practically hear the gears grinding as Roger struggled to remember what went before 99. John focused on the task at hand. He could feel himself getting hard. Roger was so damn tight, it was taking ages to get him to loosen up.

Meanwhile, Keith had pulled Pete's trousers down and was coating the guitarist's cock with lube as well. They were both making little moaning noises as they jerked each other off. Pete's free hand had moved to start sliding up inside Keith's T-shirt.

John crawled off the bed and snuck around to smack Keith's ass. "He's ready for you, *boyfriend*," John said in a really really gay voice.

"Ow, John," Keith whined. He brightened up when he saw Roger, though. Roger's blond curls were spread out over the pillow; his shirt was open, and his trousers had gone somewhere under the bed. His cock was hard, dripping with precum...Keith worked very hard to convince himself that he didn't want to touch it.

Keith crawled forward, pushed Roger's legs up, gripping his thighs, and sheathed himself inside the other man. Roger cried out. Even with John preparing him, it was still so weird to have something inside him. He wiggled around as Keith pulled out and entered him again, building up a steady rhythm which...which felt quite good, actually. Roger moaned as Keith hit something inside of him.

"He's a natural," Pete said, leaning over and winding one of Roger's curls around his finger.

"Ah—that's not what I wanna hear," Roger said. "Fuck..."

Keith dug his fingers into Roger's hips. He was used to girls, used to feeling the supple give of a girl's love handles rather than hard muscle, but he supposed this wasn't bad. He didn't think he'd be able to last much longer, either. He grunted as he felt tight muscle convulsing around his cock. "Fuck," he purred, finally dropping the plummy fake accent and slipping into the rougher Wembley one. "That's fucking...fuck," he said.

"Well said," said John. He'd pulled out an 8mm camera from his suitcase, and was recording them.

"Hey, turn that fuckin' thing off," Roger said hoarsely when he saw the camera.

"'S for my private collection," John said.

"Hnghh, fuck you," Roger moaned as Keith pounded steadily into him.

He closed his eyes, but opened them when he felt someone kiss his cheek. It was Pete. "I couldn't stay away," the guitarist said. "You look too lovely."

"Pete," Roger whispered.

Pete continued kissing Roger's face and neck as Keith neared his climax. John moved in to get a closer angle, then got an idea. He put the camera down carefully on a table and snuck up behind Pete, then slid both his hands down over the guitarist's ass.

"Gah!" Pete said.

"You said I was invited to butt stuff," John said seductively.

"Ohh," said Pete. "Uh, is this the RSVP?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know I'd be coming," John said, slowly rubbing up against Pete's ass.

"Sounds lovely," Pete purred, leaning back so that he could feel John pressing against him.

John pulled his trousers off and, after some consideration, opened his black dress shirt and rolled the sleeves up. He yanked Pete's clothes off, too. Pete nearly sobbed as he felt John's warm hand close around his cock; he'd been hard for ages.

John busied himself admiring Pete's ass, running his fingers over it. He had a surprisingly nice butt for such a skinny guy. John contemplated this.

Keith glanced over. He was close to coming, but he knew he could get Roger there first, and he was determined to do so. He bit down on his lip, face flushed as he buried his cock inside Roger, making him squirm and pant, and started lightly touching the singer's cock.

"Look at that," John murmured to Keith, gently smacking the guitarist's ass. Pete, who was busy making out with Roger again, let out a little cry. "You could bounce a fuckin' quarter off that."

"Ah, I want that," Keith said, in a blissful daze.

"It's mine." John was grabbing Pete's ass again, drawing his fingers down the cleft, rubbing over his opening. "Yeah, you're mine," he said to Pete.

"Hit him again," Keith said.

John grinned sharply and smacked Pete's ass again, harder this time. Pete squirmed around from the stinging feeling.

"Again...fuck..." Keith frowned, trying to concentrate on making Roger come.

John pulled Pete onto his lap so that he was face-down, with his hips on John's lap and his arse up. John cradled Pete's behind with his right hand, then smacked him hard. Pete whined and thrust forward against John's thigh.

"You've been a naughty boy," John said, smirking. Pete made incomprehensible moaning noises. "Yes you have," John said. "And bad boys get punished, don't they?"

"Y-yes, Uncle John," Pete said in a very high-pitched embarrassed voice.

John spanked Pete a couple more times, murmuring little things to him like "you dirty thing, you little slut," until Pete was moaning for him. Then he wet his fingers with lube again and pushed them into Pete, rubbing against his walls, stroking his prostrate.

"John!" Pete cried out. "Fuck!" He bucked his hips, trying to create friction between them, but John kept him still and continued his onslaught. Pete couldn't stop struggling and mouthing John's name.

Meanwhile, Roger was just hitting his second orgasm in half an hour, his fingers clenching the sheets, pushing up to meet Keith's thrusts. He finally came, his seed dripping down Keith's fingers, his voice calling out a stream of swears and hard moans. Keith gritted his teeth as he watched it, forcing himself to think of anything but the man below him—he didn't want to come just yet. He pulled out, precum and lube dripping down his painfully hard cock.

"John," he moaned. "Fuck me."

"I've got to fuck Pete," John said.

"You can fuck him after! Don't you care about me?" Keith demanded.

"I've been waiting for this all evening," Pete complained.

"Yeah, well, I've been waiting for years!" Keith said.

"There's enough of me to go around," John said, smiling. "Okay, Pete, you fuck Roger, and I'll fuck Keith, and I'll fuck you after."

"Why am I always getting fucked?" Roger said.

"You want his dick anyway," John said.

"I did before! Now I'm just embarrassed!"

"Embarrassed!" Pete said. "About me!" He grabbed Roger and propped him up on his hands and knees. "Teach you to be fuckin' embarrassed..."

"Cut it out!" Roger yelled. "I'm not your fuckin' Fleshlight—oh, God, fuck me harder..."

"He stops complaining if you stick your dick in him," Pete said, bemused.

"Harder, Pete, harder, make me come again!"

"Shut up," Keith said. He threaded the fingers of one hand through Roger's hair and yanked his head up. Roger opened his mouth to complain but quickly found his mouth occupied by Keith's dick. He made strangled noises that quickly devolved into moans of ecstasy as he was filled up.

Keith was close to coming, and John approaching him from behind and sliding two slick fingers over his tight hole made him lose all semblance of composure. He moaned out John's name and desperately fucked Roger's throat. John was rubbing against something inside him that made him pant madly. He let out a yell similar to the ones he made while drumming and came deep in Roger's throat, so deep the singer didn't even have to swallow. He went limp in John's arms.

Just at that moment, Pete brought Roger to orgasm again. He couldn't cum again, but he was wracked with dry spasms, until he begged Pete to stop fucking him because he felt so sensitive. Pete pulled out with a grunt and Roger fell face-first onto the bed and immediately started snoring. Pete crawled back over to John in what he probably thought was a sexy manner.

"Look at them sleeping," John said, putting a blanket on the yawning Keith. "Little angels."

"Most perverted bloody angels I've ever seen," Pete snorted.

"You're one to talk," John said. "You're something else."

"Is that a bad thing?" Pete said.

"Not necessarily," said John. "Come here..." He sank his teeth into Pete's neck again. Pete yelped and wrapped his arms around John.

"I wanna ride you," Pete whispered.

"Good." The palm of John's hand collided with Pete's firm ass, making Pete twitch and bite his lip. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

"Fuck..." Pete pushed John down and slowly lowered himself onto his cock. It felt huge inside him, probably because it was huge. He tentatively thrust forward and felt John's thickness shifting inside him, hitting him in all the right places. He threw his head back and started riding John, impaling himself on the bigger man's cock.

He'd been hard for so long that it only took a minute of this to bring him close to the edge, and he was pushed over by something else; Keith's lips wrapped around his cock. He cried out in ecstasy and made a face that was one of the most beautiful things John had ever seen as he came powerfully all over Keith's face and John's stomach.

He swayed dizzily, overcome by it all. John pulled him off and helped him gently onto the bed, where he lay back, wincing because his arse was sore already.

John cradled Keith in his arms and made a point of licking all the cum off his face and chest. Keith snuggled happily in John's arms, until he felt something pressing into his thigh. "Oh, John, you didn't finish," he said.

"I'll finish myself."

"No, don't touch yourself," Keith said. "I...I want you to come in me." He looked down, pouting a bit, at John's dick. John's mouth was watering. He gently massaged Keith's ass, making him giggle a bit and look back up into his eyes.

Ever so slowly, Keith took every inch of John inside himself. The pain was bringing tears to his eyes, but he forced himself to take it. Finally, John was sheathed inside him. He gulped. It felt like he was being split in half.

"You're so big," he said, his voice faint.

"Sorry," said John. He squeezed Keith's hip.

"No," Keith said, "I can take it." He bounced up and down in John's lap a bit.

Keith was so tight it was almost painful. John grabbed Keith's waist and pulled him down, hard, thrusting into him. He managed to find a rhythm in Keith's painful twitches. "Keith, I'm close," he whispered.

"Fuck," Keith said.

"...I love you," John gasped. "I love you—fuck!"

Keith winced as he felt John's cock buck inside him. He was in pain, but he was distracted from it by the fact that he'd just made John come. Just how he'd wanted. He let out a long groan of exhaustion and pleasure.

When he got off of John it felt strange, all hot and sticky inside of him, John's cum dripping down into the sheets. He blushed as John pulled him in close to spoon in the warm blankets.

Roger had awoken. He yawned. "I just wanted to let you all know that I don't think I'll be able to look any of you in the face ever again," he said.

"That's okay, we'll just do it doggy style," Pete said. Roger smacked him.

They all felt very comfortable drunk in bed together, ready to sleep. The heat wasn't so bad now that the sun had gone down, and a cool breeze wafted over them from the window, making each band member sigh in post-orgasmic bliss. "...So, who's up for a game of Spin the Bottle?" Keith said, breaking the brief silence.

"KEITH!!"