The towel was gone; Harry was an endless stretch of bare skin beneath him, flushed and warm from the shower. John kissed his mouth, his jaw, the shell of his ear, the hollow of his throat where he was sensitive and responsive.
They tussled gently. Harry rolled up and over him, long legs sprawled to either side. He pushed up on his hands, grinning goofily. He looked like this was as absurdly funny as getting kidnapped by nymphs, like John was another ridiculous, madcap wrinkle in his ridiculous, madcap life.
John pulled him down and they kept rolling. Harry’s nipples hardened under his circling thumbs; his mouth softened, distracted, and his teeth lightly scored John’s lip.
Then he yelped, biting down more sharply. “Ow,” he said, shoving at John, “your belt—“
John went up onto his hands, disoriented and inelegant. “Sorry,” he said. The buckle must have hurt, digging into Harry’s bare skin like that. “You could fix it, you know,” he said encouragingly.
“. . . Oh,” Harry said, and reached for the buckle. He applied himself with studious concentration, his head bent, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. He paused when he got the belt open, flickered a quick glance up to John’s eyes, then looked back down and ran his knuckles over the bulge in John’s slacks. They both breathed in; John locked his elbows, forcing himself still.
Harry turned his hand, cupping him with maddening gentleness. He reached up with the other hand, cradling John’s dick between his palms. And then he waited, fingers moving softly, feeling John get hard for him. It didn’t take long.
John’s dick was bent awkwardly down, painfully confined. Harry rolled his hand once, stroking him, and John hissed between his teeth. Harry flashed him another look for that, mischievous and deeply pleased with himself. He snuck a hand down between John’s thighs, fingering his balls with a curious slant to his mouth. John widened his stance, letting him in. Harry squeezed his double handful, too gentle on his dick, too rough on his balls.
“Harry—“ John said, more threateningly than he’d quite meant to.
Harry’s face snapped into a look of intense focus; he scrabbled at John’s zipper, suddenly frantic. He nearly tore the button right off before he got it loose. He burrowed into John’s open fly two-handed, fishing his dick out with warm, rough fingers. Then he paused again, just looking. John’s arms were beginning to tremble at the edge of perception.
Harry curled curious fingers around him. It was unfairly arousing, that dry, warm, encompassing grip. Harry touched a finger to the head of John’s dick, slicking the single bead of moisture and then chafing the pad of his finger back and forth, back and forth over John’s slit until he got another.
“Huh,” he said, grinning with open delight.
“My goodness,” John said. That single nettling fingertip seemed to be twanging directly at the tight-strung string of his desire. “It works just like yours and everything.”
“You have this vein popping out in your temple,” Harry said helpfully. “Wow, I don’t think I even get that when I set something of yours on fire.” He beamed self-satisfaction.
“You are a curse upon me,” John said flatly. “There’s no other explanation.” He sat back and stripped off his shirt, then knelt up long enough to kick off his pants and shorts. Harry watched the process, beatific.
John settled over him again, both of them bare this time. They shifted and adjusted, bodies finding their natural alignment. John was intensely aware of him – the press of his ribs, the tickle of the hairs low on his belly, the heavy line of his dick tucked in the hollow of John’s hip.
Harry put his arms up and around John’s back. “You like it, I know you do,” he said. There was no flirtation there now. Just confidence.
Three months was a really fucking long time. But enough time, apparently.
John kissed him again. He let his full weight sink down over Harry for a minute. He was too heavy to stay, but he wanted to feel Harry breathe so close it was like it came from John’s lungs, too.
They eased onto their sides. Their legs braided together, their hips lined up. John found Harry’s nipple again. He pressed it lightly between two fingers, leaning back to watch Harry’s face. Tighter, tighter, Harry’s breath hitched and a flush bloomed in his cheeks, tighter, he bit his lip, tighter, he whined, body flexing forcefully against John’s.
“Good to know,” John said, slowly easing off.
“. . . Yeah,” Harry said, in the tones of someone having a revelation. “Do that again.”
John switched to his other nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, working up to the tight pinch Harry wanted in slow stages. On impulse, he ducked down and swiped his tongue over the other, already swollen from his first pinch. Harry’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck, holding him in place. John applied his teeth, working the nipple between them, biting down as he pinched tighter until Harry was moving constantly against him, hips rocking.
John let him go, and Harry pulled him up by the hair into a messy kiss. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide. He swiped his tongue over John’s lower lip, then ran his thumb along the same path, over and over until John’s mouth was sensitized and tender.
Harry pushed a hand between them, fumbled until he had their dicks cozied up together in his oversized palm. His mouth slid from John’s as he squeezed them, a thoughtful crease between his eyes.
John would have bet a large portion of his net worth that there was some crack about measuring contests incoming. Instead, Harry licked his lips and said, “What do you want?”
And there was a loaded question, at last. Harry had said, without ever saying, that he was pretty invested in whose dick went where in whom. On the one hand, that was absurd. John wanted to do everything with him in reverse alphabetical order, and then reprise mutual favorites until neither of them could get out of bed if they wanted to. His desires had boiled down over long years to elementals; he wanted the taste of Harry’s sweat, the tender weight of his balls to cradle, a spot high on his throat to bite.
On the other hand . . .
John was not ashamed to admit he’d been carrying an itch like some people would carry a torch. And that putting Harry Dresden on his hands and knees and fucking him until he came all over himself, and then more until he cried would be . . . extremely satisfying.
So many things to want. And so much time, it turned out.
“Let me put my mouth on you?” he murmured.
“Oh,” Harry said, flushed deepening. “That’s – yeah, okay.”
There was an interval of awkward untangling; John cut through it by the expedient of shoving Harry flat on his back and kissing down his belly. Harry moved helpfully at last, making room, and John settled down between his legs. He indulged himself, running his fingertips and mouth over all that undiscovered territory. He kissed the hollow of Harry’s hip, bit gently at the tendon connecting his thigh to his groin, scratched his nails up Harry’s thighs against the grain of the coarse dark hairs.
“John,” Harry said, shifting restlessly.
“Mmm?” John said. He ducked down and kissed Harry’s balls, his mouth open, tongue working.
Harry’s thighs jumped under his hands. “Will you get on with it?”
“Mmm,” John said again. He wormed in closer, pressing into the intimate space behind Harry’s dick. He smelled like John’s own soap. A modern scent mark, but still primally satisfying. And under that, he smelled like a man.
John nosed down past his balls, licking inquisitively. Harry made an uncertain noise; his thighs flexed around John’s ears, squeezing like he might be trying to force John away.
John burrowed down further, mouth straining. The tip of his tongue touched more crinkly hairs, then, fleetingly, the whorled rim of his hole.
“Um!’ Harry said.
John sat up. He’d been playing it a little by ear, offering up a blowjob because there were few men out there who would want to turn that down. But now he was fired with a different purpose.
“Turn over for me,” he said.
“Uh!” Harry said. Then his eyes narrowed in outrage. “But you said—“
John smiled, showing his teeth. “I never specified where,” he said. “Really, Mister Dresden, you should be more careful with the agreements you make.”
Harry’s look of incredulous outrage was warming. “You bastard,” he said. “I should have fucking known. What, do you have a lawyer on speed dial whenever you go to bed with someone?”
“With you, no,” john said sweetly. “Only the fire department.”
“I hate you,” Harry said, resorting to base emotions in the absence of a comeback that would hold an ounce of water. And he rolled over.
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
And that putting Harry Dresden on his hands and knees and fucking him until he came all over himself, and then more until he cried would be . . . extremely satisfying.
Jesus fucking christ, John. Me too.
Dear, dear tellnooneyourname, you are the supreme ruler of porn*. No lie.
* Very very intelligent, thoughtful and well-written porn that doubles as character/relationship study.**
** That just makes it hotter.
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
On the one hand, that was absurd. John wanted to do everything with him in reverse alphabetical order, and then reprise mutual favorites until neither of them could get out of bed if they wanted to.
I love these moments of odd sweetness in your John, considering how insane he is most of the time. 8D
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
Oh, God, this is killing me dead. That pool of guh on the floor is what's left of me. Dead, dead, dead, I tell you.
This is so, guh... No words...
And this line hit like a truck: “Really, Mister Dresden, you should be more careful with the agreements you make.”. Of course John would be like that. Of course.
So perfect!
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
This is rather disarmingly sweet. <3 And hot. That too. Goodness.
On the one hand, that was absurd. John wanted to do everything with him in reverse alphabetical order, and then reprise mutual favorites until neither of them could get out of bed if they wanted to. His desires had boiled down over long years to elementals; he wanted the taste of Harry’s sweat, the tender weight of his balls to cradle, a spot high on his throat to bite.
On the other hand . . .
John was not ashamed to admit he’d been carrying an itch like some people would carry a torch. And that putting Harry Dresden on his hands and knees and fucking him until he came all over himself, and then more until he cried would be . . . extremely satisfying.
See? Sweet. And some fabulous turns of phrase. And oh John. You don't have problems, not at all.
And hooray for Harry's sensitive nipples. I am not at all invested in those. Nope, no siree bob.
author Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
They tussled gently. Harry rolled up and over him, long legs sprawled to either side. He pushed up on his hands, grinning goofily. He looked like this was as absurdly funny as getting kidnapped by nymphs, like John was another ridiculous, madcap wrinkle in his ridiculous, madcap life.
John pulled him down and they kept rolling. Harry’s nipples hardened under his circling thumbs; his mouth softened, distracted, and his teeth lightly scored John’s lip.
Then he yelped, biting down more sharply. “Ow,” he said, shoving at John, “your belt—“
John went up onto his hands, disoriented and inelegant. “Sorry,” he said. The buckle must have hurt, digging into Harry’s bare skin like that. “You could fix it, you know,” he said encouragingly.
“. . . Oh,” Harry said, and reached for the buckle. He applied himself with studious concentration, his head bent, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. He paused when he got the belt open, flickered a quick glance up to John’s eyes, then looked back down and ran his knuckles over the bulge in John’s slacks. They both breathed in; John locked his elbows, forcing himself still.
Harry turned his hand, cupping him with maddening gentleness. He reached up with the other hand, cradling John’s dick between his palms. And then he waited, fingers moving softly, feeling John get hard for him. It didn’t take long.
John’s dick was bent awkwardly down, painfully confined. Harry rolled his hand once, stroking him, and John hissed between his teeth. Harry flashed him another look for that, mischievous and deeply pleased with himself. He snuck a hand down between John’s thighs, fingering his balls with a curious slant to his mouth. John widened his stance, letting him in. Harry squeezed his double handful, too gentle on his dick, too rough on his balls.
“Harry—“ John said, more threateningly than he’d quite meant to.
Harry’s face snapped into a look of intense focus; he scrabbled at John’s zipper, suddenly frantic. He nearly tore the button right off before he got it loose. He burrowed into John’s open fly two-handed, fishing his dick out with warm, rough fingers. Then he paused again, just looking. John’s arms were beginning to tremble at the edge of perception.
Harry curled curious fingers around him. It was unfairly arousing, that dry, warm, encompassing grip. Harry touched a finger to the head of John’s dick, slicking the single bead of moisture and then chafing the pad of his finger back and forth, back and forth over John’s slit until he got another.
“Huh,” he said, grinning with open delight.
“My goodness,” John said. That single nettling fingertip seemed to be twanging directly at the tight-strung string of his desire. “It works just like yours and everything.”
“You have this vein popping out in your temple,” Harry said helpfully. “Wow, I don’t think I even get that when I set something of yours on fire.” He beamed self-satisfaction.
“You are a curse upon me,” John said flatly. “There’s no other explanation.” He sat back and stripped off his shirt, then knelt up long enough to kick off his pants and shorts. Harry watched the process, beatific.
John settled over him again, both of them bare this time. They shifted and adjusted, bodies finding their natural alignment. John was intensely aware of him – the press of his ribs, the tickle of the hairs low on his belly, the heavy line of his dick tucked in the hollow of John’s hip.
Harry put his arms up and around John’s back. “You like it, I know you do,” he said. There was no flirtation there now. Just confidence.
Three months was a really fucking long time. But enough time, apparently.
John kissed him again. He let his full weight sink down over Harry for a minute. He was too heavy to stay, but he wanted to feel Harry breathe so close it was like it came from John’s lungs, too.
They eased onto their sides. Their legs braided together, their hips lined up. John found Harry’s nipple again. He pressed it lightly between two fingers, leaning back to watch Harry’s face. Tighter, tighter, Harry’s breath hitched and a flush bloomed in his cheeks, tighter, he bit his lip, tighter, he whined, body flexing forcefully against John’s.
“Good to know,” John said, slowly easing off.
“. . . Yeah,” Harry said, in the tones of someone having a revelation. “Do that again.”
John switched to his other nipple. He rolled it between his fingers, working up to the tight pinch Harry wanted in slow stages. On impulse, he ducked down and swiped his tongue over the other, already swollen from his first pinch. Harry’s hand clamped down on the back of his neck, holding him in place. John applied his teeth, working the nipple between them, biting down as he pinched tighter until Harry was moving constantly against him, hips rocking.
John let him go, and Harry pulled him up by the hair into a messy kiss. He was breathing hard, his eyes wide. He swiped his tongue over John’s lower lip, then ran his thumb along the same path, over and over until John’s mouth was sensitized and tender.
Harry pushed a hand between them, fumbled until he had their dicks cozied up together in his oversized palm. His mouth slid from John’s as he squeezed them, a thoughtful crease between his eyes.
John would have bet a large portion of his net worth that there was some crack about measuring contests incoming. Instead, Harry licked his lips and said, “What do you want?”
And there was a loaded question, at last. Harry had said, without ever saying, that he was pretty invested in whose dick went where in whom. On the one hand, that was absurd. John wanted to do everything with him in reverse alphabetical order, and then reprise mutual favorites until neither of them could get out of bed if they wanted to. His desires had boiled down over long years to elementals; he wanted the taste of Harry’s sweat, the tender weight of his balls to cradle, a spot high on his throat to bite.
On the other hand . . .
John was not ashamed to admit he’d been carrying an itch like some people would carry a torch. And that putting Harry Dresden on his hands and knees and fucking him until he came all over himself, and then more until he cried would be . . . extremely satisfying.
So many things to want. And so much time, it turned out.
“Let me put my mouth on you?” he murmured.
“Oh,” Harry said, flushed deepening. “That’s – yeah, okay.”
There was an interval of awkward untangling; John cut through it by the expedient of shoving Harry flat on his back and kissing down his belly. Harry moved helpfully at last, making room, and John settled down between his legs. He indulged himself, running his fingertips and mouth over all that undiscovered territory. He kissed the hollow of Harry’s hip, bit gently at the tendon connecting his thigh to his groin, scratched his nails up Harry’s thighs against the grain of the coarse dark hairs.
“John,” Harry said, shifting restlessly.
“Mmm?” John said. He ducked down and kissed Harry’s balls, his mouth open, tongue working.
Harry’s thighs jumped under his hands. “Will you get on with it?”
“Mmm,” John said again. He wormed in closer, pressing into the intimate space behind Harry’s dick. He smelled like John’s own soap. A modern scent mark, but still primally satisfying. And under that, he smelled like a man.
John nosed down past his balls, licking inquisitively. Harry made an uncertain noise; his thighs flexed around John’s ears, squeezing like he might be trying to force John away.
John burrowed down further, mouth straining. The tip of his tongue touched more crinkly hairs, then, fleetingly, the whorled rim of his hole.
“Um!’ Harry said.
John sat up. He’d been playing it a little by ear, offering up a blowjob because there were few men out there who would want to turn that down. But now he was fired with a different purpose.
“Turn over for me,” he said.
“Uh!” Harry said. Then his eyes narrowed in outrage. “But you said—“
John smiled, showing his teeth. “I never specified where,” he said. “Really, Mister Dresden, you should be more careful with the agreements you make.”
Harry’s look of incredulous outrage was warming. “You bastard,” he said. “I should have fucking known. What, do you have a lawyer on speed dial whenever you go to bed with someone?”
“With you, no,” john said sweetly. “Only the fire department.”
“I hate you,” Harry said, resorting to base emotions in the absence of a comeback that would hold an ounce of water. And he rolled over.
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 03:32 am (UTC)(link)Jesus fucking christ, John. Me too.
Dear, dear tellnooneyourname, you are the supreme ruler of porn*. No lie.
* Very very intelligent, thoughtful and well-written porn that doubles as character/relationship study.**
** That just makes it hotter.
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
About " Very very intelligent, thoughtful and well-written porn that doubles as character/relationship study which just makes it hotter".
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
I love these moments of odd sweetness in your John, considering how insane he is most of the time. 8D
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
Oh, John, you really have no idea.
Hello, guh. Nice to meet you.
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)This is so, guh... No words...
And this line hit like a truck: “Really, Mister Dresden, you should be more careful with the agreements you make.”. Of course John would be like that. Of course.
So perfect!
Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
On the one hand, that was absurd. John wanted to do everything with him in reverse alphabetical order, and then reprise mutual favorites until neither of them could get out of bed if they wanted to. His desires had boiled down over long years to elementals; he wanted the taste of Harry’s sweat, the tender weight of his balls to cradle, a spot high on his throat to bite.
On the other hand . . .
John was not ashamed to admit he’d been carrying an itch like some people would carry a torch. And that putting Harry Dresden on his hands and knees and fucking him until he came all over himself, and then more until he cried would be . . . extremely satisfying.
See? Sweet. And some fabulous turns of phrase. And oh John. You don't have problems, not at all.
And hooray for Harry's sensitive nipples. I am not at all invested in those. Nope, no siree bob.
author Re: Fill (2/3 no really I swear this time . . . probably)
I know right? It's freaking me out.