[ooc: wherein the muns drown their cancellation sorrow in explicit smut]A fight was a fight and a make-up was a make-up and none of it really mattered in the long run
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Derek was so taken by surprise that he had acted instinctively by putting his hands on John's hips, fingers tight that even through his jeans he was sure he'd later find marks.
He kissed back surpassing John's intensity, pulling the boy to him, moving his lips like it was the last kiss he'd ever receive.
Gasping into the kiss, John pulled at Derek's t-shirt, pulling it up his back, the material fisted in his hand. He could feel scars under his fingertips. He could barely breathe for the heat under his skin.
Derek was already walking John backward, toward the bed, not bothering with the shirt but already unzipping his pants. He didn't let go of the kiss until it was time for him to do so just so they could tug his goddamned shirt off.
Two shirts fell to the floor and two pairs of jeans weren't far behind. John let himself be pushed toward the bed, but he didn't fall back, kicking at the mattress to give himself leverage to bend down, kissing around the bandage that covered his tattoo.
Comments 41
Hmm. That was probably John's idea.
Derek was so taken by surprise that he had acted instinctively by putting his hands on John's hips, fingers tight that even through his jeans he was sure he'd later find marks.
He kissed back surpassing John's intensity, pulling the boy to him, moving his lips like it was the last kiss he'd ever receive.
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