I was pretty confident this was going to be the quickest shower John had ever had. Distantly, I heard the shower start up as I wiggled down Hendricks a little, shifting back until I straddled his thighs. I’d felt him getting hard, bushing up against my ass, and he looked a little put out by my sudden relocation. But I wasn’t abandoning him, I just wanted a better feel. “Hmm,” I said, tracing the shape of his cock through his slacks. “I want to suck you already. That’s getting the party started too soon, isn’t it?”
“Your mouth. Christ,” he said. I’d take that as a yes. I wondered if Hendricks had thought about it before, on mornings I’d staggered out of one of John’s places with a rough voice and a red mouth. I bit my lower lip in an exaggerated portrayal of bashful, “So my mouth’s cute too? Should I pout for you?”
“You’re pretty as you are,” Hendricks said. “Johnny not tell you often enough?”
I threw my head back and laughed. I knew I was nothing near pretty, all unkempt uninviting angles and temper. “Only when I’m safely comatose.” I said. But hey, flattery gets you everywhere. I wiggled back further, and then bowed my head to drop a kiss onto the promising bulge of his slacks. I nuzzled against the heat of him, anticipating. I bet Hendricks was big. And that he’d be painstakingly careful not to choke me, maybe a gentle hand on the back of my head, encouraging but not demanding, his body flexing under me but refusing to thrust up, to fuck my mouth the way he knew he could.
I heard the water shut off. “Nearly showtime,” I said. “Give it a couple of minutes.”
A couple of minutes was more than long enough to get a little silly, to catch the zip of Hendricks’ fly between my teeth and ease it down a little teasingly. I got a sharp breath and then a rumbling laugh out of him because yeah, I probably looked insufferably pleased with myself. So sue me. It was a good way to waste a little time. “He’ll be in the bedroom, come on.”
I was harder than was strictly comfortable for a man still wearing his jeans, which made rolling off the sofa kind of hard too. Hendricks hauled himself up, still in his unbuttoned, untucked shirt and partly zipped slacks. I caught him round the wrist and led the way.
I was right. John was stood in the bedroom, a white towel knotted around his waist, unfolding a bath robe he’d just pulled out of a drawer. “You’re doing it backwards!” I said, “less clothes, not more.” I confiscated the robe, leaving John in just his towel. He was a pretty sight that way. All shower clean and unusually open, lips slightly parted as he looked between the two of us. It was a thing for him, showering after work, and sometimes I wondered if water could wash away more than magic. At moments like this, he looked a whole lot more John than he did all wrapped up in responsibility and reputation. Without the suits and the terrifying sense of purpose, you were left with the quiet assurance that lay at the core of him, that self-fulfilling presumption that he was enough for whatever he faced. John dropped a hand to the knot of the the towel, unpicked it casually, and then let it fall. I felt something inside me relax, something I hadn’t realised had been waiting for confirmation we were on solid ground. I smiled when I turned in time to see the same moment of realisation cross Hendricks’ face. Well. I’m not a mind reader, I guess it could have been plain lascivious glee at the sight of John naked. Because, yeah. He was worth looking at.
John crossed to the bed and settled, leaning against the headboard. “Enjoy yourselves?” he asked, taking us both in and looking more than a little pleased with himself.
“Yep,” I said, and shimmied out of my jeans. “Nice shower?”
“Very. Plan on joining me?”
The question was more directed at Hendricks than me, and I realised the big guy had kind of stalled. He was... staring. Hand resting on the waistband of his slacks like he’d started to unfasten them but got distracted. I wasn’t immune to the distractions of John Marcone all fresh and warm and wanting, but I’d seen him like this before, Hendricks hadn’t. Pictured it maybe, but that was different from having years of familiarity turned upside down. I decided Hendricks could use a little distracting in a different direction. I slipped his open shirt back off his shoulders, down his arms and away. There was so much of him to explore, I dropped a kiss onto his collarbone and wanted to wrap my arms around him, trace the contours of his body with my mouth, taste all his pale skin and drop a kiss on every freckle. Hendricks had less scars than John, which might make you think the two of them were doing the whole bodyguarding thing the wrong way round, but most of John’s scars came from a time no-one realised he was worth guarding.
I trailed a curious hand down Hendricks’ broad chest as I dropped to my knees, intent on finally getting him out of those trousers. I tugged them down, and Hendricks set a hand on my shoulder as he stepped out of them, leaving me to smile at his bulging boxer shorts.
Ngh. There will be more soon. Yes, that was supposed to be a question but my brain said it should be a statement instead. *attempts to poke brain but there is nothing but mush*
Harry, you are so very right. John should NOT be putting more clothes on. :)
I am still loving this. I'm sort of impatient, so I don't know if waiting for the next part is making it better or just making me savor the parts already posted more, because I keep going back to reread bits while waiting. :) Either way, I keep hoping for the next part to be soon - because, guh. I want to see how this works. I love Harry's sometimes-awkward little comments, that aren't really awkward because they're in his head.
Also, I had a serious "aw Harry" moment for a while there, With this response:
I threw my head back and laughed. I knew I was nothing near pretty, all unkempt uninviting angles and temper. “Only when I’m safely comatose.” I said.
Yes, Harry, you are pretty. Maybe not conventionally pretty, but still pretty. And cute. Maybe not baby-kitten!cute, but your own version of adorable. :)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Filled 8/?
“Your mouth. Christ,” he said. I’d take that as a yes. I wondered if Hendricks had thought about it before, on mornings I’d staggered out of one of John’s places with a rough voice and a red mouth. I bit my lower lip in an exaggerated portrayal of bashful, “So my mouth’s cute too? Should I pout for you?”
“You’re pretty as you are,” Hendricks said. “Johnny not tell you often enough?”
I threw my head back and laughed. I knew I was nothing near pretty, all unkempt uninviting angles and temper. “Only when I’m safely comatose.” I said. But hey, flattery gets you everywhere. I wiggled back further, and then bowed my head to drop a kiss onto the promising bulge of his slacks. I nuzzled against the heat of him, anticipating. I bet Hendricks was big. And that he’d be painstakingly careful not to choke me, maybe a gentle hand on the back of my head, encouraging but not demanding, his body flexing under me but refusing to thrust up, to fuck my mouth the way he knew he could.
I heard the water shut off. “Nearly showtime,” I said. “Give it a couple of minutes.”
A couple of minutes was more than long enough to get a little silly, to catch the zip of Hendricks’ fly between my teeth and ease it down a little teasingly. I got a sharp breath and then a rumbling laugh out of him because yeah, I probably looked insufferably pleased with myself. So sue me. It was a good way to waste a little time. “He’ll be in the bedroom, come on.”
I was harder than was strictly comfortable for a man still wearing his jeans, which made rolling off the sofa kind of hard too. Hendricks hauled himself up, still in his unbuttoned, untucked shirt and partly zipped slacks. I caught him round the wrist and led the way.
I was right. John was stood in the bedroom, a white towel knotted around his waist, unfolding a bath robe he’d just pulled out of a drawer. “You’re doing it backwards!” I said, “less clothes, not more.” I confiscated the robe, leaving John in just his towel. He was a pretty sight that way. All shower clean and unusually open, lips slightly parted as he looked between the two of us. It was a thing for him, showering after work, and sometimes I wondered if water could wash away more than magic. At moments like this, he looked a whole lot more John than he did all wrapped up in responsibility and reputation. Without the suits and the terrifying sense of purpose, you were left with the quiet assurance that lay at the core of him, that self-fulfilling presumption that he was enough for whatever he faced. John dropped a hand to the knot of the the towel, unpicked it casually, and then let it fall. I felt something inside me relax, something I hadn’t realised had been waiting for confirmation we were on solid ground. I smiled when I turned in time to see the same moment of realisation cross Hendricks’ face. Well. I’m not a mind reader, I guess it could have been plain lascivious glee at the sight of John naked. Because, yeah. He was worth looking at.
John crossed to the bed and settled, leaning against the headboard. “Enjoy yourselves?” he asked, taking us both in and looking more than a little pleased with himself.
“Yep,” I said, and shimmied out of my jeans. “Nice shower?”
“Very. Plan on joining me?”
The question was more directed at Hendricks than me, and I realised the big guy had kind of stalled. He was... staring. Hand resting on the waistband of his slacks like he’d started to unfasten them but got distracted. I wasn’t immune to the distractions of John Marcone all fresh and warm and wanting, but I’d seen him like this before, Hendricks hadn’t. Pictured it maybe, but that was different from having years of familiarity turned upside down. I decided Hendricks could use a little distracting in a different direction. I slipped his open shirt back off his shoulders, down his arms and away. There was so much of him to explore, I dropped a kiss onto his collarbone and wanted to wrap my arms around him, trace the contours of his body with my mouth, taste all his pale skin and drop a kiss on every freckle. Hendricks had less scars than John, which might make you think the two of them were doing the whole bodyguarding thing the wrong way round, but most of John’s scars came from a time no-one realised he was worth guarding.
I trailed a curious hand down Hendricks’ broad chest as I dropped to my knees, intent on finally getting him out of those trousers. I tugged them down, and Hendricks set a hand on my shoulder as he stepped out of them, leaving me to smile at his bulging boxer shorts.
Yep. Big.
Re: Filled 8/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-23 11:03 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Filled 8/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-24 12:02 am (UTC)(link)I am still loving this. I'm sort of impatient, so I don't know if waiting for the next part is making it better or just making me savor the parts already posted more, because I keep going back to reread bits while waiting. :) Either way, I keep hoping for the next part to be soon - because, guh. I want to see how this works. I love Harry's sometimes-awkward little comments, that aren't really awkward because they're in his head.
Also, I had a serious "aw Harry" moment for a while there, With this response:
I threw my head back and laughed. I knew I was nothing near pretty, all unkempt uninviting angles and temper. “Only when I’m safely comatose.” I said.
Yes, Harry, you are pretty. Maybe not conventionally pretty, but still pretty. And cute. Maybe not baby-kitten!cute, but your own version of adorable. :)
-OP still loves you. Promise.