Southland - Sticky Fingers (John Cooper/Ben Sherman, NC-17)
This is an outtake from Son is on a Midnight Run Like DeNiro or as serialkarma referred to it, "Anything to justify John and Ben filth is fine by me."
Southland
John Cooper/Ben Sherman
Rated NC-17 for filth. All filth. Nothing else.
Sticky Fingers
"I thought you were making breakfast," John says, pausing in the entryway of the kitchen.
"Maybe later," Ben pants.
John opens his mouth to reply, and his brain shorts out. He's having a moment of complete and utter disconnect and can't really communicate anymore.
The facts before him are just randomly processing.
A few seconds ago John Cooper woke up in Ben Sherman's bed alone, naked and half-hard, with sleep in the corners of his eyes and a crick in his neck from sleeping with Ben's head tucked under his chin. He's also got several scratches on his lower back from nails that Ben needs to trim.
His brain registers that it's 7:48 a.m. -- at least according to the LED display on the microwave.
It's early -- today is their day off.
Oh -- and Ben's naked on the kitchen island.
Literally.
John blinks, rubs at his eyes and then looks again.
No, Ben's still sprawled out naked on his kitchen island. Still glistening and sweaty on the cream-colored marble slab, legs spread wide, mouth wet and emitting little grunts as Ben fingers himself open.
John's long admired Ben's flexibility, but this is granting him a whole new appreciation. John makes a noise -- if 'holy shit' could be considered a noise.
Ben licks his lips as his fingers relentlessly piston into his ass. "John?" Ben's tone is tentative, his voice gravelly. John's cock assesses the situation far faster than John's brain, and he strokes himself several times while his mind tries to catch up.
Ben's feet are firmly planted at the corners of the island, the fingers of his right hand thrusting away as his cock slaps wetly against his stomach. By Ben's left hip is a half empty bottle of Astroglide and his left hand has got a white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter.
John walks across the kitchen, dick firmly in hand as though it might detach itself and run on ahead without him. Ben licks his lips again, pink and shiny. His hairline is damp. John releases his own cock, rubs his thumb over Ben's mouth and lets Ben suck on it before he pulls away.
"Is it my birthday?" John asks with some degree of seriousness.
Ben's laugh is strangled by a groan, his hand thrusting away furiously. "No."
"Is it your birthday?" John asks, running his left hand over Ben's ribs, rolling a pebbled nipple between his fingers.
"Nuh -- ohh," Ben moans.
John looks at Ben's bright cheeks, strokes his throat with the pads of his fingers, runs the heel of his hand down the flushed chest to the white spatters all over Ben's chest.
John touches the spunk on Ben's stomach. "Did you come already?" he says hoarsely, rubbing the slickness between his thumb and forefinger.
Ben makes a whining noise in the back of his throat as John wraps his hand around Ben's cock and begins to stroke. Ben's got lube spread everywhere. "I was expecting you to get up earlier," Ben gasps out. "I was -- was waiting. Had to -- couldn't wait."
John just shakes his head, thumb swirling around the head of Ben's cock leisurely. "Next time you decide to do this -- wake me up first," John orders. "Things like this should not be missed. Ever."
"Wasn't -- wasn't sure how you'd like it."
"Wasn't sure how I'd like watching you fuck yourself?" John scoffs loudly, his eyes raking over every inch of Ben's bare skin. "I like it plenty," he promises, applying just a little bit more pressure to Ben's cock, reveling in the feel of Ben fucking himself with John's hand.
How is this his life? He's got this 23 year-old partner -- man -- whatever, who thinks 'good morning' is displaying himself naked and wanton for John on the furniture.
When John was married, 'good morning' was a kiss and a cup of coffee. If the day was really good, he might get a blow job. Now he's got this trust-fund nymphomaniac with a brain the size of San Diego and a body that should make celibacy illegal.
Ben protests when John lets go of his dick, but the fingers of John's hand card through damp pubic hair as he slides his palm down, curling his fingers around Ben's balls, squeezing and lifting. Ben's hips push upwards just that little bit more, his dick slapping obscenely against his stomach as John cranes his neck so he can see what Ben's doing, watch as three of Ben's fingers fuck into his ass repeatedly.
Lube is smeared all over the inside of Ben's thighs. There's slick underneath Ben's ass and all over the kitchen counter. John curls the fingers of his free hand around Ben's knee, pulls him open a little more as he watches intently. Watches Ben fuck himself viciously, fingers tightly pressed together, hand shiny with fluids.
"God," John whispers. "Look at you."
Ben makes a keening sound in the back of his throat as John's fingers move away from his balls and skate over his asshole, over where he's stretched wide. "You were made for this, weren't you?" John says, darting a glance up the V of Ben's spread legs. "Made for me."
"Fuck." Ben's entire body goes taut, eyes squeezing closed as he comes on himself. Again.
John licks his lips, watching as Ben's muscles soften and relax. Watching the way Ben collapses back onto the marble countertop. All this just for him.
John's hand strokes the inside of Ben's thigh, mapping the tremors, watching the flush in Ben's body. Ben's bottom lip is red; he's bit himself. This is new; John hasn't seen this before.
John steps back, dragging his hand along the inside of Ben's leg as he moves towards Ben's feet, fingers running over fine hairs and tight muscles, along the instep of his ankle. John looks up when he's at the end of the kitchen island. Looks at Ben's blue eyes gone dark as they track John’s every movement, brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Grabbing Ben's calf, he pulls Ben down to the edge of the counter, the lube sending him almost too fast as his ass collides with John's groin. Though Ben can't really go far with John blocking his way. John's cock sticks to the inside of Ben's thigh.
The edge of the kitchen island is right at the base of John's cock. He could fuck Ben here, but they could maul themselves on the edge of this same counter if he's not careful.
He'd love to explain bringing Ben into physical therapy with Janice because John wasn't patient enough to be careful. He knows he hasn't always been that attentive to what Ben needs, what he should have; he's trying to make a conscious effort now.
Plus, if they ever have to see Tony again, it'll be too soon.
Ben's still on his back, watching, waiting. "Sit up," John orders.
Ben's always done very well with orders. At least the ones he wants to follow. He's upright in mere seconds, cupping John's face and kissing him fiercely. John licks at Ben's mouth, letting Ben suck at his tongue, mouth at his neck.
"You want me to fuck you now?" John says softly, his hand rubbing circles in the small of Ben's back to keep him near. "You spent all that time fucking yourself open just for me. Opening yourself up for my cock. You thinking about that?"
Ben pushes his hips forward, pressing his groin against John's cock. "Fuck me," he hisses in John's ear.
John groans, wrapping an arm around Ben's waist and pulling him off the counter and onto his feet. Ben's lower back is slippery, smeared with slick, and John's hand automatically slides down to Ben's ass, squeezing, kneading, feeling the muscle, fingers sliding in the crease.
Ben whimpers as John's fingers rub his hole. "Oh god, John," Ben sighs, burying his head against John's neck as John strokes that perfect furl of muscle. "Like that," he says, pressing his dick against John's hip, smearing come and sweat all along John's body as Ben rubs against him, hands everywhere, mouth sucking and licking.
"So wet," John mutters into Ben's hair. "So open already."
He has to slide a finger in, just one, just feel that heat around him. Feel that ripple of muscle when Ben clamps down. "Yes," Ben hisses as John fingers him slowly, in and out and then one finger becomes two, because Ben did this just for him. It would be in poor taste not to accept such a gift.
Ben wraps an arm around John's neck, rising up on his toes and spreading his legs open. "Fuck me," Ben orders, pressing his hip bone into John's aching cock. "Fuck me like this."
John's free hand slips around Ben's waist and grips his ass, fingers stroking that scar that John can't ever forget about. John spreads him just that little bit more. "Nuhhh," Ben moans against John's shoulder, nipping at him as John fucks him with one hand and traces where Ben's spread open with the other.
"You gonna come for me again?" John asks, his fingers ghosting over Ben's prostate as Ben tries to wrap a leg around his calf, thigh. Tries to shift himself, get more.
"Can't," Ben gasps, writhing against him.
John pulls his fingers out slowly, noting Ben's grunt of discomfort. "Yeah, you can," he says, guiding Ben back onto his feet. "You're going to because I want you to."
Ben's entire face is rosy, sweaty; his mouth is swollen. He's gorgeous and completely fucked out... and John's just getting started. Ben's lips part as though he's going to say something, disagree, and then John leans in, kisses him softly, almost chaste.
If you ignore all the bodily fluids and lube smeared between then.
Ben returns the kiss, it's gentle and light for a moment, and then John sucks on Ben's lower lip. Ben’s hand wraps around John's cock in response, and John has to pull back to breathe.
John leans in, down just enough to press his forehead again Ben's, watch Ben touch him. He drives his dick into Ben's sticky fingers, feeling Ben's thumb stroking along the underside, grunting when Ben's grip loosens too much and then tightens dramatically.
Ben's smile is all filthy promise, and John has to kiss him just to get rid of the smug look on his face, has to suck on that skilled tongue, fuck into Ben's fingers. And then Ben's mouth and hand are gone and John's left blinking, hard and very aggravated.
"Oh, you want to play?" John asks. "Okay, you started it," he says, grabbing Ben by the arm and dragging him back down the hall to the bedroom.
"I started it?" Ben's laugh is all amused delight, and the mattress bounces noticeably when John shoves Ben onto the messy sheets.
"Yeah, you started it," John says, yanking the sheets out of the way.
Ben's quiet as John climbs over him, and then he grins. "You're right, I did start it."
John barks out a laugh. "Smart ass," he says, threading his hands through Ben's hair and kissing him brutally. Ben curls up into him, his nails scratching at John's chest, sending little flairs of heat directly to John's throbbing cock.
And then John pulls away, pins a squirming Ben to the bed by his wrists just so John can lick at Ben's half-hard dick.
"Fuck!" Ben howls, yanking his hands free to shove at John. "I just came!"
"Didn't see the first time, so it doesn't count," John says, grabbing hold of Ben's hands again before rubbing his mouth along the length of Ben's cock, sucking leisurely, spitting, tasting Ben and swirling his tongue around the head. Ben complains loudly, pulling his hands free again to push at John ineffectually until his fingers thread through John's hair and stroke the skin behind his ears.
"Hate you," Ben groans at the ceiling as John nuzzles his cock, sucks his balls into his mouth. "Hate you so much... your fucking mouth..."
John lifts his head, feels the spit and come on his chin, takes in Ben's wild eyes and messy hair. He waits until Ben stops moaning pitifully and focuses on him. And then he pushes Ben's legs further apart, watches Ben's face as John rubs his asshole with his middle finger. Ben whines in the back of his throat, John goes back to the task at hand: his mouth on Ben's cock interspersed with sucking bites at the inside of Ben's thigh.
It takes a little while, but soon enough Ben's hard again, and that's when John pulls away and rolls Ben onto his stomach. "Hands and knees," he orders, slapping Ben's ass.
Ben's entire body stiffens then he glances over his shoulder. "Spanking?"
John shakes his head, grips Ben's hips and pulls him back, placing him where he wants him. "You've just got all kinds of shit, don't you?" He grouses good-naturedly. "Older men. Exhibitionism. Spanking. Do I need to make a list called Sherman's Kinky Shit?"
Ben's laugh turns into a moan as John strokes the length of his spine, spreads him open. "There'd only be one thing on it," he grits out, voice wobbly.
"Oh, yeah?" John says, looking intently at Ben's ass.
"You."
John doesn't even know what to say to that. He just swallows and goes back to what he's doing: looking at Ben Sherman's red, puffy asshole. "Are you sore?" he asks, brushing a finger over Ben's abused entrance.
"No." Ben's hips cant back.
John huffs out a laugh, pushing the tip of his finger in. Still wet. Still stretched. So perfect. "Liar."
"Don't care," Ben whines as John slides his entire index finger inside of Ben. "Oh, god, more."
John can't tell Ben no. He doesn't even want to. He just wants to add another finger, so he does. And then he fucks Ben open with his fingers, feeling the stretch, the slick. He can only imagine the burn. The way Ben's cursing up a storm says plenty.
John doesn’t know what makes him add his other hand; it's just this compulsion. One minute he's pumping his fingers in and out of Ben's ass, listening to Ben's moans and howls, listening to Ben beg John to fuck him, and then the next he slides two fingers out to make room for the index finger from his left hand next to the index finger of his right.
Ben goes perfectly still for this long second while John stretches him before leaning in and spitting on him. It's nasty and just right, and then John licks Ben with the very tip of his tongue, pulling Ben open just a little more.
The yell Ben makes rings in John's ears, he sounds like he's been shot. Ben shoves back and then pulls away, mostly just quivering and grunting like he's coming apart at the seams.
"It's okay," John promises encouragingly. "It's okay," he says, licking and fucking Ben at the same time. His fingers are thrusting and stroking, making space for his tongue. It's raunchy and so good -- so very good.
Ben pushes back, fucking himself on John's fingers and mouth. He's moving so much John just has to follow. His hands are a little otherwise occupied.
When Ben goes down on his elbows, John can see him working his cock furiously. John just lets him, just watches and fingers him, licks occasionally and thinks about his own cock heavy and neglected between his legs.
Soon.
And then Ben's sobbing out something about coming. Something about John. There's all this blood rushing in John's ears, and all he can do is focus on taking this, on this primal need to possess everything that Ben has.
And then Ben's gone, scrabbling across the bed, and John's left sitting on his heels as Ben disappears over the side of the bed with a heavy thud. John stares at the empty space and then crawls over to the edge of the mattress.
Ben's on the floor, eyes huge and bottom lip bloody. His entire body is flushed, sweaty and shiny. There's come all over Ben’s stomach and thighs, and if John thought Ben looked fucked out before, that was nothing compared to this. This needs a new phrase. 'Pornographic' seems a little too mild.
"Too much?" John asks with a smile.
Ben's hands are shaking as he pushes his hair off his forehead, and for minute John can feel the alarm on own his face. And then Ben's up, like a fucking ninja, and shoving John back on the bed hard. "I told you I couldn't come again," Ben protests vehemently, straddling John's hips.
John's cock rubs against the wet crease of Ben's ass and it takes him a moment to process the words. He stares for a beat and then starts laughing uncontrollably.
"It's not funny!" Ben commands, socking him in the chest. "I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack! What the hell was that?"
Ben's punch hurts, but John's too busy wiping the tears from his face to complain. Trust Sherman to make him hysterical (with laughter). Ben's very close to pouting, which is wrong and a word that John wants to call 'cute' but won't. No, he really won't.
"You want me to apologize for making you come too much?" John wheezes, trying to school his features into solemnity. He fails miserably and doesn't care.
Ben's mouth thins into a line and then he reaches down and wrenches John's nipple hard. "Ow! Fuck!" John hisses.
"Now imagine that times a thousand," Ben says snidely.
"You know," John says, rubbing Ben's thighs, "you really should be nicer to the guy who's fucking your brains out."
Ben gives him the most innocent look imaginable. If he wasn't the slutty poster boy for a XXX-porn film it might work. "What makes you think you get to fuck me now? I've come enough that the next time might actually kill me. I think you're out of luck."
John's eyes narrow. "The hell I am," he says, gripping Ben's waist and rolling them over so he's on top. John braces his elbows on either side of Ben's head, ghosting a hand over Ben's skull.
"Are you always this easy?" Ben mocks, wrapping his legs around John's waist.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" John growls, rubbing his swollen cock between the cheeks of Ben's ass and the sheets. Ben's skin is tacky. He lifts his hips a little and the head of John's cock drags along even more.
Ben groans, pushing back. "Are you going to fuck me or what? I've asked. I've bitched. I've begged. What more do you want?"
John raises an eyebrow. "You begged? When did you beg?"
"You remember that part earlier when I was fucking myself on the kitchen island?" Ben says.
John smirks. The Technicolor flashback is just an added bonus to something he'll still be jerking off too when he's 65 and retired. "I have a vague recollection of that, yeah."
"Do the words 'fuck me now' ring any bells?"
John looks up at the headboard as though the answers are written there, and Ben bites his shoulder in retaliation. John has to laugh. "Young, slutty and pushy," he says with a shake of his head.
"Are you complaining?" Ben demands.
John looks down, looks at Ben's flushed face and puffy mouth. He traces Ben's jaw with his fingers. "Not even a little bit."
Ben's pleased. John can tell by the shift of his hips and the smile turning the corners of his lips. There's a warmth in John's belly that has nothing to do with the ache in his cock; Sherman's made him soft. And very hard. He supposes it could be worse.
He shifts away, reaching out for the condoms on the nightstand. Except it's just one empty wrapper after another.
"If we're out of condoms, I'm sending you to the store," John warns, glancing down at Ben. "Naked." Ben blinks up at him. "Okay, not naked," John amends. "The last thing I need is other people looking at your ass - that belongs to me."
Ben hoots and John tosses a dirty look over his shoulder as he crawls over to open the nightstand drawer. Which is empty.
He falls backwards on the bed. "I don't fucking believe this," he says to Ben's overhead ceiling fan before giving his rightfully angry dick an apologetic squeeze.
He blinks when Ben sits up, looming over him. "Are we seriously out?"
"Do you think I would joke about this?" John snaps.
Ben laughs. Of course he's laughing -- he's already come three times. John hasn't even come once. "I hate you," John says, flinging an arm over his eyes. "I really hate you."
The bed shifts as Ben moves around. There's a shadow being cast somewhere behind John's forearm, a hand stroking John's hip and then there's wet, hot mouth around his cock. John moans, arching up from the bed. He uncovers his eyes and finds himself with an eyeful of Ben's messy, come-stained stomach.
Ben's braced over John, slurping on his dick like it's a popsicle on the hottest day of summer. All John can do is moan, thread his fingers through Ben's hair and fuck into that hot, sweet mouth.
Ben's groin is looming over John's face, and John can't help pulling a hand away from Ben's hair to run an inquisitive finger along Ben's flaccid cock. Ben chokes and pulls back coughing. He glares at John, practically upside down.
"Keep it up and I'll leave you like this," Ben warns.
John tightens his hold on the back of Ben's head. "No, you won't."
Ben meets his gaze fully, and then his mouth slides into a smile. "No, I wouldn't."
"Less talking, more sucking my dick." John punctuates his edict by pushing Ben's head down and lifting his hips upward. Ben wraps a hand around John's cock, rubs the head over his lips, and John groans softly.
"God, you're good at that," he says approvingly before Ben sucks him down again. John keeps a hand on Ben's skull, runs the other over Ben's flank. He drives his cock into Ben's mouth, feeling Ben's tongue stroking the underside of it with every thrust. Ben's mouth moves away, sucking lewdly at John's balls, pulling John's legs apart with one hand.
John feels the spit land on his thigh, and then feels Ben's fingers sliding behind his balls, tracing his hole. John makes another approving sound, and then Ben swallows him back down, his finger eagerly exploring, pushing.
John's too dry for this, but it doesn't stop Ben from jamming a finger in up to the first knuckle. Doesn't stop John from coming down Ben's throat. It's been so long in coming, it's almost an afterthought. Except for the way that the heat in John's stomach dissipates into the ether.
Ben pulls off and collapses next to John on the pillows. John looks over at him, at the come spatters on his mouth and jaw. John's pretty sure even prostitutes don't do tricks like this.
He shifts around on the bed until they're face to face and then he wipes Ben off with his sheets a little bit. It's just too obscene; John'll never get to sleep if Ben looks like this. His cock is already thinking it's up for round two, which is a lie.
"Why are you cleaning me up?" Ben yawns. "You offended by my appearance?"
"Not likely," John says as Ben curls around him.
"Just checking."
"Feel free to check as much as you want. Especially if I get a repeat performance."
Ben laughs around another yawn, eyes fluttering closed. "I think I'm going to need a few minutes."
John kisses him on the forehead. "I'll even give you a whole hour," he says.
"You're going to spoil me."
"Try not to get used to it."
Ben opens his eyes briefly, gives John a small smile. "Too late."
John sighs, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. "Yeah, I know."
-end-
Betas by sparky77 and Romanticalgirl who listened to me wax rhapsodic about Ben and John having filthy sex for like a whole day before I ever got around to it. As you can see conversing with me is very hard and taxing.
Southland
John Cooper/Ben Sherman
Rated NC-17 for filth. All filth. Nothing else.
Sticky Fingers
"I thought you were making breakfast," John says, pausing in the entryway of the kitchen.
"Maybe later," Ben pants.
John opens his mouth to reply, and his brain shorts out. He's having a moment of complete and utter disconnect and can't really communicate anymore.
The facts before him are just randomly processing.
A few seconds ago John Cooper woke up in Ben Sherman's bed alone, naked and half-hard, with sleep in the corners of his eyes and a crick in his neck from sleeping with Ben's head tucked under his chin. He's also got several scratches on his lower back from nails that Ben needs to trim.
His brain registers that it's 7:48 a.m. -- at least according to the LED display on the microwave.
It's early -- today is their day off.
Oh -- and Ben's naked on the kitchen island.
Literally.
John blinks, rubs at his eyes and then looks again.
No, Ben's still sprawled out naked on his kitchen island. Still glistening and sweaty on the cream-colored marble slab, legs spread wide, mouth wet and emitting little grunts as Ben fingers himself open.
John's long admired Ben's flexibility, but this is granting him a whole new appreciation. John makes a noise -- if 'holy shit' could be considered a noise.
Ben licks his lips as his fingers relentlessly piston into his ass. "John?" Ben's tone is tentative, his voice gravelly. John's cock assesses the situation far faster than John's brain, and he strokes himself several times while his mind tries to catch up.
Ben's feet are firmly planted at the corners of the island, the fingers of his right hand thrusting away as his cock slaps wetly against his stomach. By Ben's left hip is a half empty bottle of Astroglide and his left hand has got a white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter.
John walks across the kitchen, dick firmly in hand as though it might detach itself and run on ahead without him. Ben licks his lips again, pink and shiny. His hairline is damp. John releases his own cock, rubs his thumb over Ben's mouth and lets Ben suck on it before he pulls away.
"Is it my birthday?" John asks with some degree of seriousness.
Ben's laugh is strangled by a groan, his hand thrusting away furiously. "No."
"Is it your birthday?" John asks, running his left hand over Ben's ribs, rolling a pebbled nipple between his fingers.
"Nuh -- ohh," Ben moans.
John looks at Ben's bright cheeks, strokes his throat with the pads of his fingers, runs the heel of his hand down the flushed chest to the white spatters all over Ben's chest.
John touches the spunk on Ben's stomach. "Did you come already?" he says hoarsely, rubbing the slickness between his thumb and forefinger.
Ben makes a whining noise in the back of his throat as John wraps his hand around Ben's cock and begins to stroke. Ben's got lube spread everywhere. "I was expecting you to get up earlier," Ben gasps out. "I was -- was waiting. Had to -- couldn't wait."
John just shakes his head, thumb swirling around the head of Ben's cock leisurely. "Next time you decide to do this -- wake me up first," John orders. "Things like this should not be missed. Ever."
"Wasn't -- wasn't sure how you'd like it."
"Wasn't sure how I'd like watching you fuck yourself?" John scoffs loudly, his eyes raking over every inch of Ben's bare skin. "I like it plenty," he promises, applying just a little bit more pressure to Ben's cock, reveling in the feel of Ben fucking himself with John's hand.
How is this his life? He's got this 23 year-old partner -- man -- whatever, who thinks 'good morning' is displaying himself naked and wanton for John on the furniture.
When John was married, 'good morning' was a kiss and a cup of coffee. If the day was really good, he might get a blow job. Now he's got this trust-fund nymphomaniac with a brain the size of San Diego and a body that should make celibacy illegal.
Ben protests when John lets go of his dick, but the fingers of John's hand card through damp pubic hair as he slides his palm down, curling his fingers around Ben's balls, squeezing and lifting. Ben's hips push upwards just that little bit more, his dick slapping obscenely against his stomach as John cranes his neck so he can see what Ben's doing, watch as three of Ben's fingers fuck into his ass repeatedly.
Lube is smeared all over the inside of Ben's thighs. There's slick underneath Ben's ass and all over the kitchen counter. John curls the fingers of his free hand around Ben's knee, pulls him open a little more as he watches intently. Watches Ben fuck himself viciously, fingers tightly pressed together, hand shiny with fluids.
"God," John whispers. "Look at you."
Ben makes a keening sound in the back of his throat as John's fingers move away from his balls and skate over his asshole, over where he's stretched wide. "You were made for this, weren't you?" John says, darting a glance up the V of Ben's spread legs. "Made for me."
"Fuck." Ben's entire body goes taut, eyes squeezing closed as he comes on himself. Again.
John licks his lips, watching as Ben's muscles soften and relax. Watching the way Ben collapses back onto the marble countertop. All this just for him.
John's hand strokes the inside of Ben's thigh, mapping the tremors, watching the flush in Ben's body. Ben's bottom lip is red; he's bit himself. This is new; John hasn't seen this before.
John steps back, dragging his hand along the inside of Ben's leg as he moves towards Ben's feet, fingers running over fine hairs and tight muscles, along the instep of his ankle. John looks up when he's at the end of the kitchen island. Looks at Ben's blue eyes gone dark as they track John’s every movement, brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Grabbing Ben's calf, he pulls Ben down to the edge of the counter, the lube sending him almost too fast as his ass collides with John's groin. Though Ben can't really go far with John blocking his way. John's cock sticks to the inside of Ben's thigh.
The edge of the kitchen island is right at the base of John's cock. He could fuck Ben here, but they could maul themselves on the edge of this same counter if he's not careful.
He'd love to explain bringing Ben into physical therapy with Janice because John wasn't patient enough to be careful. He knows he hasn't always been that attentive to what Ben needs, what he should have; he's trying to make a conscious effort now.
Plus, if they ever have to see Tony again, it'll be too soon.
Ben's still on his back, watching, waiting. "Sit up," John orders.
Ben's always done very well with orders. At least the ones he wants to follow. He's upright in mere seconds, cupping John's face and kissing him fiercely. John licks at Ben's mouth, letting Ben suck at his tongue, mouth at his neck.
"You want me to fuck you now?" John says softly, his hand rubbing circles in the small of Ben's back to keep him near. "You spent all that time fucking yourself open just for me. Opening yourself up for my cock. You thinking about that?"
Ben pushes his hips forward, pressing his groin against John's cock. "Fuck me," he hisses in John's ear.
John groans, wrapping an arm around Ben's waist and pulling him off the counter and onto his feet. Ben's lower back is slippery, smeared with slick, and John's hand automatically slides down to Ben's ass, squeezing, kneading, feeling the muscle, fingers sliding in the crease.
Ben whimpers as John's fingers rub his hole. "Oh god, John," Ben sighs, burying his head against John's neck as John strokes that perfect furl of muscle. "Like that," he says, pressing his dick against John's hip, smearing come and sweat all along John's body as Ben rubs against him, hands everywhere, mouth sucking and licking.
"So wet," John mutters into Ben's hair. "So open already."
He has to slide a finger in, just one, just feel that heat around him. Feel that ripple of muscle when Ben clamps down. "Yes," Ben hisses as John fingers him slowly, in and out and then one finger becomes two, because Ben did this just for him. It would be in poor taste not to accept such a gift.
Ben wraps an arm around John's neck, rising up on his toes and spreading his legs open. "Fuck me," Ben orders, pressing his hip bone into John's aching cock. "Fuck me like this."
John's free hand slips around Ben's waist and grips his ass, fingers stroking that scar that John can't ever forget about. John spreads him just that little bit more. "Nuhhh," Ben moans against John's shoulder, nipping at him as John fucks him with one hand and traces where Ben's spread open with the other.
"You gonna come for me again?" John asks, his fingers ghosting over Ben's prostate as Ben tries to wrap a leg around his calf, thigh. Tries to shift himself, get more.
"Can't," Ben gasps, writhing against him.
John pulls his fingers out slowly, noting Ben's grunt of discomfort. "Yeah, you can," he says, guiding Ben back onto his feet. "You're going to because I want you to."
Ben's entire face is rosy, sweaty; his mouth is swollen. He's gorgeous and completely fucked out... and John's just getting started. Ben's lips part as though he's going to say something, disagree, and then John leans in, kisses him softly, almost chaste.
If you ignore all the bodily fluids and lube smeared between then.
Ben returns the kiss, it's gentle and light for a moment, and then John sucks on Ben's lower lip. Ben’s hand wraps around John's cock in response, and John has to pull back to breathe.
John leans in, down just enough to press his forehead again Ben's, watch Ben touch him. He drives his dick into Ben's sticky fingers, feeling Ben's thumb stroking along the underside, grunting when Ben's grip loosens too much and then tightens dramatically.
Ben's smile is all filthy promise, and John has to kiss him just to get rid of the smug look on his face, has to suck on that skilled tongue, fuck into Ben's fingers. And then Ben's mouth and hand are gone and John's left blinking, hard and very aggravated.
"Oh, you want to play?" John asks. "Okay, you started it," he says, grabbing Ben by the arm and dragging him back down the hall to the bedroom.
"I started it?" Ben's laugh is all amused delight, and the mattress bounces noticeably when John shoves Ben onto the messy sheets.
"Yeah, you started it," John says, yanking the sheets out of the way.
Ben's quiet as John climbs over him, and then he grins. "You're right, I did start it."
John barks out a laugh. "Smart ass," he says, threading his hands through Ben's hair and kissing him brutally. Ben curls up into him, his nails scratching at John's chest, sending little flairs of heat directly to John's throbbing cock.
And then John pulls away, pins a squirming Ben to the bed by his wrists just so John can lick at Ben's half-hard dick.
"Fuck!" Ben howls, yanking his hands free to shove at John. "I just came!"
"Didn't see the first time, so it doesn't count," John says, grabbing hold of Ben's hands again before rubbing his mouth along the length of Ben's cock, sucking leisurely, spitting, tasting Ben and swirling his tongue around the head. Ben complains loudly, pulling his hands free again to push at John ineffectually until his fingers thread through John's hair and stroke the skin behind his ears.
"Hate you," Ben groans at the ceiling as John nuzzles his cock, sucks his balls into his mouth. "Hate you so much... your fucking mouth..."
John lifts his head, feels the spit and come on his chin, takes in Ben's wild eyes and messy hair. He waits until Ben stops moaning pitifully and focuses on him. And then he pushes Ben's legs further apart, watches Ben's face as John rubs his asshole with his middle finger. Ben whines in the back of his throat, John goes back to the task at hand: his mouth on Ben's cock interspersed with sucking bites at the inside of Ben's thigh.
It takes a little while, but soon enough Ben's hard again, and that's when John pulls away and rolls Ben onto his stomach. "Hands and knees," he orders, slapping Ben's ass.
Ben's entire body stiffens then he glances over his shoulder. "Spanking?"
John shakes his head, grips Ben's hips and pulls him back, placing him where he wants him. "You've just got all kinds of shit, don't you?" He grouses good-naturedly. "Older men. Exhibitionism. Spanking. Do I need to make a list called Sherman's Kinky Shit?"
Ben's laugh turns into a moan as John strokes the length of his spine, spreads him open. "There'd only be one thing on it," he grits out, voice wobbly.
"Oh, yeah?" John says, looking intently at Ben's ass.
"You."
John doesn't even know what to say to that. He just swallows and goes back to what he's doing: looking at Ben Sherman's red, puffy asshole. "Are you sore?" he asks, brushing a finger over Ben's abused entrance.
"No." Ben's hips cant back.
John huffs out a laugh, pushing the tip of his finger in. Still wet. Still stretched. So perfect. "Liar."
"Don't care," Ben whines as John slides his entire index finger inside of Ben. "Oh, god, more."
John can't tell Ben no. He doesn't even want to. He just wants to add another finger, so he does. And then he fucks Ben open with his fingers, feeling the stretch, the slick. He can only imagine the burn. The way Ben's cursing up a storm says plenty.
John doesn’t know what makes him add his other hand; it's just this compulsion. One minute he's pumping his fingers in and out of Ben's ass, listening to Ben's moans and howls, listening to Ben beg John to fuck him, and then the next he slides two fingers out to make room for the index finger from his left hand next to the index finger of his right.
Ben goes perfectly still for this long second while John stretches him before leaning in and spitting on him. It's nasty and just right, and then John licks Ben with the very tip of his tongue, pulling Ben open just a little more.
The yell Ben makes rings in John's ears, he sounds like he's been shot. Ben shoves back and then pulls away, mostly just quivering and grunting like he's coming apart at the seams.
"It's okay," John promises encouragingly. "It's okay," he says, licking and fucking Ben at the same time. His fingers are thrusting and stroking, making space for his tongue. It's raunchy and so good -- so very good.
Ben pushes back, fucking himself on John's fingers and mouth. He's moving so much John just has to follow. His hands are a little otherwise occupied.
When Ben goes down on his elbows, John can see him working his cock furiously. John just lets him, just watches and fingers him, licks occasionally and thinks about his own cock heavy and neglected between his legs.
Soon.
And then Ben's sobbing out something about coming. Something about John. There's all this blood rushing in John's ears, and all he can do is focus on taking this, on this primal need to possess everything that Ben has.
And then Ben's gone, scrabbling across the bed, and John's left sitting on his heels as Ben disappears over the side of the bed with a heavy thud. John stares at the empty space and then crawls over to the edge of the mattress.
Ben's on the floor, eyes huge and bottom lip bloody. His entire body is flushed, sweaty and shiny. There's come all over Ben’s stomach and thighs, and if John thought Ben looked fucked out before, that was nothing compared to this. This needs a new phrase. 'Pornographic' seems a little too mild.
"Too much?" John asks with a smile.
Ben's hands are shaking as he pushes his hair off his forehead, and for minute John can feel the alarm on own his face. And then Ben's up, like a fucking ninja, and shoving John back on the bed hard. "I told you I couldn't come again," Ben protests vehemently, straddling John's hips.
John's cock rubs against the wet crease of Ben's ass and it takes him a moment to process the words. He stares for a beat and then starts laughing uncontrollably.
"It's not funny!" Ben commands, socking him in the chest. "I thought I was going to have a fucking heart attack! What the hell was that?"
Ben's punch hurts, but John's too busy wiping the tears from his face to complain. Trust Sherman to make him hysterical (with laughter). Ben's very close to pouting, which is wrong and a word that John wants to call 'cute' but won't. No, he really won't.
"You want me to apologize for making you come too much?" John wheezes, trying to school his features into solemnity. He fails miserably and doesn't care.
Ben's mouth thins into a line and then he reaches down and wrenches John's nipple hard. "Ow! Fuck!" John hisses.
"Now imagine that times a thousand," Ben says snidely.
"You know," John says, rubbing Ben's thighs, "you really should be nicer to the guy who's fucking your brains out."
Ben gives him the most innocent look imaginable. If he wasn't the slutty poster boy for a XXX-porn film it might work. "What makes you think you get to fuck me now? I've come enough that the next time might actually kill me. I think you're out of luck."
John's eyes narrow. "The hell I am," he says, gripping Ben's waist and rolling them over so he's on top. John braces his elbows on either side of Ben's head, ghosting a hand over Ben's skull.
"Are you always this easy?" Ben mocks, wrapping his legs around John's waist.
"You think you're funny, don't you?" John growls, rubbing his swollen cock between the cheeks of Ben's ass and the sheets. Ben's skin is tacky. He lifts his hips a little and the head of John's cock drags along even more.
Ben groans, pushing back. "Are you going to fuck me or what? I've asked. I've bitched. I've begged. What more do you want?"
John raises an eyebrow. "You begged? When did you beg?"
"You remember that part earlier when I was fucking myself on the kitchen island?" Ben says.
John smirks. The Technicolor flashback is just an added bonus to something he'll still be jerking off too when he's 65 and retired. "I have a vague recollection of that, yeah."
"Do the words 'fuck me now' ring any bells?"
John looks up at the headboard as though the answers are written there, and Ben bites his shoulder in retaliation. John has to laugh. "Young, slutty and pushy," he says with a shake of his head.
"Are you complaining?" Ben demands.
John looks down, looks at Ben's flushed face and puffy mouth. He traces Ben's jaw with his fingers. "Not even a little bit."
Ben's pleased. John can tell by the shift of his hips and the smile turning the corners of his lips. There's a warmth in John's belly that has nothing to do with the ache in his cock; Sherman's made him soft. And very hard. He supposes it could be worse.
He shifts away, reaching out for the condoms on the nightstand. Except it's just one empty wrapper after another.
"If we're out of condoms, I'm sending you to the store," John warns, glancing down at Ben. "Naked." Ben blinks up at him. "Okay, not naked," John amends. "The last thing I need is other people looking at your ass - that belongs to me."
Ben hoots and John tosses a dirty look over his shoulder as he crawls over to open the nightstand drawer. Which is empty.
He falls backwards on the bed. "I don't fucking believe this," he says to Ben's overhead ceiling fan before giving his rightfully angry dick an apologetic squeeze.
He blinks when Ben sits up, looming over him. "Are we seriously out?"
"Do you think I would joke about this?" John snaps.
Ben laughs. Of course he's laughing -- he's already come three times. John hasn't even come once. "I hate you," John says, flinging an arm over his eyes. "I really hate you."
The bed shifts as Ben moves around. There's a shadow being cast somewhere behind John's forearm, a hand stroking John's hip and then there's wet, hot mouth around his cock. John moans, arching up from the bed. He uncovers his eyes and finds himself with an eyeful of Ben's messy, come-stained stomach.
Ben's braced over John, slurping on his dick like it's a popsicle on the hottest day of summer. All John can do is moan, thread his fingers through Ben's hair and fuck into that hot, sweet mouth.
Ben's groin is looming over John's face, and John can't help pulling a hand away from Ben's hair to run an inquisitive finger along Ben's flaccid cock. Ben chokes and pulls back coughing. He glares at John, practically upside down.
"Keep it up and I'll leave you like this," Ben warns.
John tightens his hold on the back of Ben's head. "No, you won't."
Ben meets his gaze fully, and then his mouth slides into a smile. "No, I wouldn't."
"Less talking, more sucking my dick." John punctuates his edict by pushing Ben's head down and lifting his hips upward. Ben wraps a hand around John's cock, rubs the head over his lips, and John groans softly.
"God, you're good at that," he says approvingly before Ben sucks him down again. John keeps a hand on Ben's skull, runs the other over Ben's flank. He drives his cock into Ben's mouth, feeling Ben's tongue stroking the underside of it with every thrust. Ben's mouth moves away, sucking lewdly at John's balls, pulling John's legs apart with one hand.
John feels the spit land on his thigh, and then feels Ben's fingers sliding behind his balls, tracing his hole. John makes another approving sound, and then Ben swallows him back down, his finger eagerly exploring, pushing.
John's too dry for this, but it doesn't stop Ben from jamming a finger in up to the first knuckle. Doesn't stop John from coming down Ben's throat. It's been so long in coming, it's almost an afterthought. Except for the way that the heat in John's stomach dissipates into the ether.
Ben pulls off and collapses next to John on the pillows. John looks over at him, at the come spatters on his mouth and jaw. John's pretty sure even prostitutes don't do tricks like this.
He shifts around on the bed until they're face to face and then he wipes Ben off with his sheets a little bit. It's just too obscene; John'll never get to sleep if Ben looks like this. His cock is already thinking it's up for round two, which is a lie.
"Why are you cleaning me up?" Ben yawns. "You offended by my appearance?"
"Not likely," John says as Ben curls around him.
"Just checking."
"Feel free to check as much as you want. Especially if I get a repeat performance."
Ben laughs around another yawn, eyes fluttering closed. "I think I'm going to need a few minutes."
John kisses him on the forehead. "I'll even give you a whole hour," he says.
"You're going to spoil me."
"Try not to get used to it."
Ben opens his eyes briefly, gives John a small smile. "Too late."
John sighs, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. "Yeah, I know."
-end-
Betas by sparky77 and Romanticalgirl who listened to me wax rhapsodic about Ben and John having filthy sex for like a whole day before I ever got around to it. As you can see conversing with me is very hard and taxing.