toews/kane, "unexpected"
Title: Unexpected
Fandom: Hawks RPS
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1000
Summary: For the prompt, Toews/Kane - porn, from vancouverr. Patrick walks in on Jonny jerking off. To gay porn. :D More porn ensues.
Their eyes lock, and it's the longest second of Patrick's life. Like time's stopped, his mind spins at a thousand miles an hour, taking in everything he sees, frozen in his tracks, terrified and turned on, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He knows he should move, get out, close his eyes, apologize. Something. Anything. But he can't. Fucking. Move.
Jon is completely, utterly still, eyes blown unbelievably dark and clouded with arousal, then growing wide and shocked. His hair is wet and messy, like he's just gotten out of the shower. White t-shirt, riding halfway up his ribs, boxer-briefs tangled around his ankles, long stretches of muscle, fingers wrapped around his cock, flushed and hard, Christ, it's huge.
Patrick swallows, and Jon groans like he can't stop it, and the moment is broken.
"Shit," Pat whispers, "I-"
Jon's eyes dart back to the side, where the television is, and his hips arch up at the same time a loud moan comes from the tv. Patrick can't help it, he takes two steps in, and jesus god, Jon's got gay porn on, and in an instant, his cock swells inside his jeans and his breath catches in his throat.
"Fuck," Jon says, throwing his other arm over his eyes, and Pat nearly staggers at the wave of want that crashes over him.
Move, move, fucking move, his brain yells, but Jon is making small, choked off noises and Pat says, "Jon," and Jon lifts his arm up and looks at him and says,
"In or out," voice hoarse and deep, and holy fucking shit, Patrick cannot fucking breathe right now.
He toes off his shoes, and it's awkward and yet unbelievably hot, Jon's eyes trained on him while he takes off his shirt and jeans and boxers and slowly steps closer to the bed, simultaneously scared to death and more turned on than he's ever been in his entire life.
“Hurry the fuck up," Jon orders, and Patrick nearly stumbles when he gets to the bed. Jon reaches out fingers almost painfully tight around his wrist and pulls, and just like that, they're making out, hard, messy and desperate and Patrick needs to feel Jon's skin under his fingertips so he pushes the shirt up further, legs sliding between Jon's.
He can’t hear the tv anymore, lost in Jon’s hands and Jon’s mouth and the noises he’s making, the sharp breaths they take in between long, drugging kisses that leave his head spinning and his fingers curled tightly around Jon’s hips. Jon is rocking up against him, Patrick can feel his cock pressed between their stomachs and smearing pre-come over their skin.
Jon reaches to the side, a soft, “shut up, shut up” and then the television clicks off and he’s staring up at Patrick, hands warm, rough palms sweeping over Patrick’s back and the curve of his ass. “Touch me,” he says, and Patrick does so without hesitation.
He rolls slightly to the side, snug against Jonny’s side, biting down on a spot on his ribcage that makes Jon squirm and yelp, and Patrick takes the opportunity, sliding his fingers along the length of Jon’s cock, slippery and hot. Jon sucks in a quick breath and shuts his eyes.
Patrick isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing, but he keeps watching Jon’s expressions, watches Jon’s ribcage rise and fall rapidly and the sweat trickle down over his hips. He shifts down on the bed, licks at drop with his tongue and Jon swears under his breath. “I’m gonna,” he starts, and thinks about every time he’s gotten a good blowjob, curls his lips over his teeth and goes down.
“Fucking - holy shit, Pat,” Jon chokes out, sweeping his hand over Patrick’s head, but his hair’s shorter now, so it curls over the back of Pat’s neck and keeps him there, not pushing, just encouraging.
Pat relaxes his throat, goes a little deeper. The taste is odd, a little bitter, but Jon’s hips are twitching restlessly under his hands, and he swirls his tongue around the head, using one of his hands to grip the base because he can’t go down far enough. It doesn’t take long for his mouth to grow numb, so he pulls off and keeps up a steady rhythm with his hand, Jon yanking him back up and kissing him so hard Patrick’s teeth rattle.
Jon wedges his leg further between Pat’s, shifting and slipping until they find the perfect angle, and Patrick’s brain sparks when their dicks rub together, it’s so fucking perfect he can only hold on, grip Jon’s hips and arch against him, and when he comes, his toes curl and he grits his teeth but he can’t hold back the whine that escapes his mouth.
His foot is sliding against Jon’s , and it tickles a little, but he’s still shuddering with aftershocks, and something about the movement is calming. Jon drops his head into the crook of Patrick’s neck and bites down gently as he follows with a muffled, “Holy shit,” against Pat’s skin.
Then they just breathe, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal.
Patrick swallows, mind racing to find something, anything. Any words would be adequate for this situation. There are none. Eventually Jon tips his head back, rolling over onto his back and reaching to the bedside table for a box of tissues.
“Hi.” It slips from Pat’s lips, unbidden. Immediately he blushes, sound dumber, Kaner, really, but a smile blooms across Jon’s face.
“So, um-”
“That happened,” Patrick finishes with an awkward laugh. He moves to - well, move, but Jon says, quietly,
“You could - not?” There’s only the tiniest amount of inflection in his tone, so Patrick can’t tell whether it’s a question, suggestion, or even a statement. He stills, and watches Jon’s eyes dart up to his face. “I mean,” Jon continues, and then stops, heaves a breath. Tries again.
“I want you to stay.” Out there, honest, and Patrick loses his breath all over again, jumps off a cliff.
“I’ll stay.”
Fandom: Hawks RPS
Pairing: Toews/Kane
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1000
Summary: For the prompt, Toews/Kane - porn, from vancouverr. Patrick walks in on Jonny jerking off. To gay porn. :D More porn ensues.
Their eyes lock, and it's the longest second of Patrick's life. Like time's stopped, his mind spins at a thousand miles an hour, taking in everything he sees, frozen in his tracks, terrified and turned on, adrenaline pumping through his veins.
He knows he should move, get out, close his eyes, apologize. Something. Anything. But he can't. Fucking. Move.
Jon is completely, utterly still, eyes blown unbelievably dark and clouded with arousal, then growing wide and shocked. His hair is wet and messy, like he's just gotten out of the shower. White t-shirt, riding halfway up his ribs, boxer-briefs tangled around his ankles, long stretches of muscle, fingers wrapped around his cock, flushed and hard, Christ, it's huge.
Patrick swallows, and Jon groans like he can't stop it, and the moment is broken.
"Shit," Pat whispers, "I-"
Jon's eyes dart back to the side, where the television is, and his hips arch up at the same time a loud moan comes from the tv. Patrick can't help it, he takes two steps in, and jesus god, Jon's got gay porn on, and in an instant, his cock swells inside his jeans and his breath catches in his throat.
"Fuck," Jon says, throwing his other arm over his eyes, and Pat nearly staggers at the wave of want that crashes over him.
Move, move, fucking move, his brain yells, but Jon is making small, choked off noises and Pat says, "Jon," and Jon lifts his arm up and looks at him and says,
"In or out," voice hoarse and deep, and holy fucking shit, Patrick cannot fucking breathe right now.
He toes off his shoes, and it's awkward and yet unbelievably hot, Jon's eyes trained on him while he takes off his shirt and jeans and boxers and slowly steps closer to the bed, simultaneously scared to death and more turned on than he's ever been in his entire life.
“Hurry the fuck up," Jon orders, and Patrick nearly stumbles when he gets to the bed. Jon reaches out fingers almost painfully tight around his wrist and pulls, and just like that, they're making out, hard, messy and desperate and Patrick needs to feel Jon's skin under his fingertips so he pushes the shirt up further, legs sliding between Jon's.
He can’t hear the tv anymore, lost in Jon’s hands and Jon’s mouth and the noises he’s making, the sharp breaths they take in between long, drugging kisses that leave his head spinning and his fingers curled tightly around Jon’s hips. Jon is rocking up against him, Patrick can feel his cock pressed between their stomachs and smearing pre-come over their skin.
Jon reaches to the side, a soft, “shut up, shut up” and then the television clicks off and he’s staring up at Patrick, hands warm, rough palms sweeping over Patrick’s back and the curve of his ass. “Touch me,” he says, and Patrick does so without hesitation.
He rolls slightly to the side, snug against Jonny’s side, biting down on a spot on his ribcage that makes Jon squirm and yelp, and Patrick takes the opportunity, sliding his fingers along the length of Jon’s cock, slippery and hot. Jon sucks in a quick breath and shuts his eyes.
Patrick isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing, but he keeps watching Jon’s expressions, watches Jon’s ribcage rise and fall rapidly and the sweat trickle down over his hips. He shifts down on the bed, licks at drop with his tongue and Jon swears under his breath. “I’m gonna,” he starts, and thinks about every time he’s gotten a good blowjob, curls his lips over his teeth and goes down.
“Fucking - holy shit, Pat,” Jon chokes out, sweeping his hand over Patrick’s head, but his hair’s shorter now, so it curls over the back of Pat’s neck and keeps him there, not pushing, just encouraging.
Pat relaxes his throat, goes a little deeper. The taste is odd, a little bitter, but Jon’s hips are twitching restlessly under his hands, and he swirls his tongue around the head, using one of his hands to grip the base because he can’t go down far enough. It doesn’t take long for his mouth to grow numb, so he pulls off and keeps up a steady rhythm with his hand, Jon yanking him back up and kissing him so hard Patrick’s teeth rattle.
Jon wedges his leg further between Pat’s, shifting and slipping until they find the perfect angle, and Patrick’s brain sparks when their dicks rub together, it’s so fucking perfect he can only hold on, grip Jon’s hips and arch against him, and when he comes, his toes curl and he grits his teeth but he can’t hold back the whine that escapes his mouth.
His foot is sliding against Jon’s , and it tickles a little, but he’s still shuddering with aftershocks, and something about the movement is calming. Jon drops his head into the crook of Patrick’s neck and bites down gently as he follows with a muffled, “Holy shit,” against Pat’s skin.
Then they just breathe, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal.
Patrick swallows, mind racing to find something, anything. Any words would be adequate for this situation. There are none. Eventually Jon tips his head back, rolling over onto his back and reaching to the bedside table for a box of tissues.
“Hi.” It slips from Pat’s lips, unbidden. Immediately he blushes, sound dumber, Kaner, really, but a smile blooms across Jon’s face.
“So, um-”
“That happened,” Patrick finishes with an awkward laugh. He moves to - well, move, but Jon says, quietly,
“You could - not?” There’s only the tiniest amount of inflection in his tone, so Patrick can’t tell whether it’s a question, suggestion, or even a statement. He stills, and watches Jon’s eyes dart up to his face. “I mean,” Jon continues, and then stops, heaves a breath. Tries again.
“I want you to stay.” Out there, honest, and Patrick loses his breath all over again, jumps off a cliff.
“I’ll stay.”