backstory: jack & johnny's first date
[london, april 1994. follows this... written as aim chat, revised slightly for clarity]
Something in the back of Jack's brain worries about the shivers he feels under his fingers, in Johnny's neck, on his lips and tongue, and he backs them up against the pub's locked door, the wood rattling on its hinges. There is a small awning above them and the ( Read more... )
Something in the back of Jack's brain worries about the shivers he feels under his fingers, in Johnny's neck, on his lips and tongue, and he backs them up against the pub's locked door, the wood rattling on its hinges. There is a small awning above them and the ( Read more... )
Johnny's reaction to the tightening of Jack's hands isn't something Jack was consciously expecting, but the pliancy is so goddamn perfect Jack groans against Johnny's cheek (skin strangely both chilled from the rain and hot from everything else) and grinds his hard-on into Johnny's.
"Yeah. C'mon."
And he tugs Johnny along kissing him, walking backwards through the floor-plan he's always known he could navigate blind and hands otherwise occupied. Their feet catch on the edge of the rug and they stumble for a few steps, mouths coming apart laughingly. Jack takes advantage of the moment and slips both hands up Johnny's hips and under the jumper, tugging it upward.
They're a mess, wet and dishevelled and fabrics clinging unhelpfully, and by the time Jack's got Johnny down to his thin white undershirt, they're both out of breath and, thankfully, in Jack's bedroom.
Jack's mouth is back on Johnny's and things have slowed down, thick like honey, suddenly in no hurry and much too dizzy to speed through any of it.
"Mmm," Jack hums agreeably, pulling back a fraction, fingers raking through Johnny's tangled hair. He smiles and their bodies sway, cocks pressed together warmly.
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Jack means lips bruised and flushed dark red with kisses that almost hurt and make Johnny's head spin like he's sixteen again; it means big warm wide hands, not rough but not baby smooth either, one of which is yanking impatiently at Johnny's fly, the other is working its way up under Johnny's tee shirt. Jack means the taste of cool rainwater on hot skin in the place where a shirt opens, Jack means a breathless chuckle when Johnny says fuck the buttons and just yanks.
The little bits of plastic hit the floor with a soft patter that's lost in the sound of their breathing, their gasping moaning laughing loud wet kisses and Johnny thinks there's no sound like that, nothing more amazing than that sound of two people escalating toward a fuck, it's fucking beautiful is what it is.
"Fucking beautiful," he sighs, rubs his thumbs hard over Jack's nipples just as Jack's hands finally win the battle with Johnny's zipper and they groan in unison, into each other's mouths.
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The waist of Johnny's boxers dig into Jack's arm and he moves again to slide both hands onto Johnny's hips and push at the intrusive fabric until Johnny's erection slides up wetly against Jack's belly. He reaches around to take two firm grips of arse and presses their hips together tightly.
Johnny's hair is all over the place, sticking to Jack's lips and face when he mumbles into Johnny's ear. "May I interest you in a blowjob?" He means it to be light and playful but it comes out heavy and sharp with the smack of spit and breath.
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He lifts his mouth to Jack's again, and Jack's teeth close for a moment on Johnny's lower lip, a nip and a suck and Johnny's breath nearly stops in his chest.
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The things stacked in teetering piles on it rattle when Johnny's shoulders hit the edge of it; Johnny is looking similarly shaken when Jack sinks to his knees and bites at his hipbone, hands curling around the back of Johnny's thighs.
He tries very, very hard not to let his fingers dig into Johnny's skin at the sudden lungful of scent, the intimate smell of skin, sweat and pheromones on the flat of Johnny's belly, in the dent of his navel, in the coarse curls of his sex.
Jack lets out a shaky exhale and tilts his head so he can apply a rough lick to Johnny's balls then suckle at them, mindful of teeth and the fingers suddenly fisting his hair.
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Johnny doesn't allow this, doesn't allow himself to be manhandled like this, doesn't just give it up like this, but if Jack was to fuck goddamn there there right there lift his head right now, and smile at Johnny with his lush come-slick lips and if he was to ask, Johnny knows he'd let him.
He tightens his grip on Jack's hair and Jack murmurs something Johnny can't make out, Jack runs his tongue firmly up the underside of Johnny's cock. Johnny sinks his teeth into his lower lip and tries his goddamnest not to beg.
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There's always this need to touch, though, touch more, differently, and Jack reaches up blindly to rub the flat of his hand against Johnny's belly, feeling the tremors and hitches of breath. He nudges Johnny's booted foot with his own knee and presses two fingers of his free hand behind Johnny's balls, massaging gently.
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"Nngh," Johnny articulates. His head lolls back and his vision fuzzes out; Jack's fingers are teasing down back and Johnny has a sudden flash, desire/premonition/wish, he can fucking feel Jack's cock working into his ass.
His shoulders slam back against the dresser. Something rattles, papers fall.
Fuck fuck fuck and he looks down again, looks at Jack on his knees with his eyelids fluttering as he goes down down down on Johnny's cock and Johnny wants to thrust and take and fucking come, Christ, and his pants are still around his knees, man, it's not, it isn't...
Fuck. Johnny gulps a lungful of air, allows himself an indulgent thrust that grazes tha back of Jack's throat; Jack's nostrils flare and Johnny relaxes his deathgrip in Jack's hair, pulls back, back.
"C'mon," he says soft, urgent, "C'mon, up, c'mon, take me to bed, Jack, christ, so fucking good but I want, please, I..."
He's not sure he's even making sense but the words won't stop.
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Johnny opens his mouth to say something again but Jack presses him against the dresser again and saves him the trouble of having to let the words out of his mouth at all. Johnny groans and clutches, sucking the taste of himself off Jack's lips.
Jack's feeling that thing where he wants to shove Johnny up something (else) and get his way, but conveniently enough the bed is only four stumbled steps away and he ends up on his back with a tangle of Johnny over him. He laughs breathlessly, pushing ineffectually with his knee at the denim bunching around Johnny's legs.
"Boots. You had to wear boots," he muses, ducking away from Johnny's lunge for his mouth.
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Johnny shudders.
"You, you," he mutters, shoves at Jack's shirt, pushes it down off his shoulders. "Your turn, big man, take your shoes off and stay a while."
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There are things--that looks right/don't move I want to look at you/where have you been--he doesn't (wouldn't) say, not now, not anytime soon; there are others that are safe but don't sound quite appropriate, or maybe just not enough.
Jack pushes jeans and boxer briefs down and climbs back into bed, knees settling settling astride Johnny's hips. Jack rubs his palm against the head of his own cock, slicking it, skin responsive at the sudden attention. He shifts his weight to lean a hand over Johnny's shoulder, looming over him.
He blinks the hair out of his eyes and presses his thumb, sticky with pre-come, against Johnny's bottom lip, watching the wet part of his mouth and the glistening swipe of tongue.
"I agree," he murmurs, and his smile is distracted, intent. "Fucking gorgeous."
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Yeah, that one.
Jack pulls his thumb free, cups Johnny's face and god, these kisses are like smack, so fucking high so fucking fast and Johnny slides one hand up to grip in Jack's hair again, slides the other down Jack's chest, down down down yeah. Jack groans again, into Johnny's mouth, and Johnny squeezes, strokes, slowly and firm and finally he tears his mouth away to suck in a desperately needed breath.
"So here we are," Johnny gasps, and it wasn't supposed to come out nearly that raspy and needy and fuck almost like a plea.
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Jack's fingers follow Johnny's arm to the space between their bodies and they circle Johnny's wrist gently, unobstrusive but inviting.
"Johnny, let me..."
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Jack doesn't seem to mind, though, Jack smiles with heavy-lidded eyes and moves slow and careful, moves between Johnny's spread thighs, moves Johnny's hands up over his head, pins Johnny down with weight and heat and the slick of his tongue in Johnny's mouth. Their cocks slide together, delicious fire zips up Johnny's spine and he's fucking shaking again, never did that before, not like this. He has enough brain power left to briefly wonder why Jack's different, already different, already got a category of his own instead of just being filed under "one night only."
Then Jack really moves, an urgent press and rock, a preview showing, and Johnny's mouth opens on a moan and then closes on Jack's lower lip.
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Jack loaths to peel a single body apart away from Johnny when what he'd really like to do is crawl inside him; still he manages a careful stretch of his body along Johnny's so he can reach into the bedside drawer. The thing is a mess and Jack fumbles ineffectually for a moment while Johnny stretches along with Jack and they relocate higher on the bed, mouths and bodies never parting.
Jack's fingers (under three maps of France from a trip the year before and two empty matchbooks) finally close on the two desired objects, which he fishes out and tosses onto the bedspread by Johnny's head; there are three linked condoms left in the crushed box, but the tube of lubricant is plump and full, its cap snapping open with a crack when Jack flicks at it his thumb.
There's a fumbling of hands and limbs and Jack watches Johnny's face when he rubs a cool dollop of lube behind Johnny's balls, then in swiftly, two-fingered and yeah, yeah, like that, with Jack's thighs keeping Johnny's open and still when they twitch and tighten at the intrusion.
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Concern flashes across Jack's features. "All right?" he asks, his voice is raw and sexrough, but his fingers still in Johnny's ass and his other hand comes up, brushes Johnny's hair gently out of his face.
"It's... just... just take it easy," Johnny mumbles, and he can't meet Jack's eyes, turns his head away.
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