November 28, 2003
Disclaimers: If they were mine, I'd do it just like they do. Well, assuming I couldn't get the show moved from Cartoon Network to HBO.
Spoilers: Absolutely none.
Summary: John and Wally are definitely starting to get a feel for each other.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: Shrift shared some deeee-lightful porn. I felt like returning the favor. This could be read as part of the Inside This series, located here:
However, it's intended as a standalone.
Acknowledgments: To Shrift, the Spike, Adam, and Molly for audiencing. To Tham for inspiring indirectly. (mad skillz!)
Feedback is adored. firstname.lastname@example.org
He can tell by the way John is clenching his fists that it's cold.
John has more ways to make a fist than most people have for smiling. Wally thinks it's probably part of the Badass Ex-Military thing, but it's also just the John thing. The way that it was a huge and potentially deadly mistake to assume that just because the man wasn't saying anything that he also wasn't thinking.
Large thoughts, deep thoughts, potentially violent thoughts.
He just doesn't actually express most of them. In that way where Wally both wants and fears the Day He Finally Gets John Thoroughly Drunk.
And, yeah, sometimes he kind of wonders what the man's childhood was like, and if it could've possibly been good, but then Wally also spends a great deal of time around Batman, which means that not-good is also probably not-THAT-bad.
Wally refocuses on the John-in-his-apartment as opposed to the John-in-his head, and finds the man loose and casual in everything but the set of his body. A weird distinction, but an important one. Also? Still looking at the TV, as opposed to looking at him, which is something he's had to get used to:
Just because it feels like he's spent ten minutes woolgathering doesn't mean he actually has.
"Should I close a window?"
"Mm?" Aliens is still more interesting than Wally. He can understand that, what with the Vasquez factor.
"You look cold."
A blink, and then a smile that isn't so much secret as... the sort of thing that was probably perfectly innocuous, but could also possibly lead to sex if Wally played his cards right. One of his favorite John smiles, really. "Well. We don't all have your metabolism, hotshot."
"Hey, it's not that I'm too warm, I just..." Wally shrugs and zips around to close the living room windows and back to the couch, just a little closer this time. He can be subtle. "I just forget."
Slow, considering nod. "Understood. I appreciate it."
And then John takes a swallow of his beer, only...
He's still looking at Wally, unblinking and green, and it's something between an invitation and a goad.
"So I'm guessing you know what I'm thinking. Uh."
Slow, serious swallow and John takes his time shifting. Takes his time resting the hand with the beer in it over the back of the couch. Takes his time uncrossing his legs and resting one knee flat and...
Really, Wally knows that it isn't just him. It'd be torturously slow for anyone. And that slow, lazy smile just makes little explosions go off in parts of his brain that are probably important.
"I'm getting to know your moods," is what John finally says.
And it's not like Wally isn't, but sometimes he really has to push. "Oh yeah? What am I thinking now?"
A slightly less... dangerous quality of smile. Like a half-step back without actual movement. "I'm not enough of a gambler to take bets on that. However."
John's thigh is big, the position making muscle strain against the material of his jeans. Not enough. John needs tighter jeans. Wally drags his gaze back up. "However?"
"I'm getting certain images. Impressions, you could say."
I want to lick your mouth until you can't use words with all those syllables anymore, is what Wally doesn't say. "Tell me." It comes out way too desperate for the game, but --
It also makes John's eyes narrow in that way. The one that isn't really different at all from GL's-gonna-kick-your-ass, except for the lack of uniform and glowing green skin-border of ominousness. "I think you want me to touch you."
He's surprised by his own laugh, by the fact that he still can, but goes with it. "I always want that. Be specific."
The smallest of movements, and Wally doesn't look down.
He doesn't. Until he does, and, fuck, hard under those jeans. Those not tight enough jeans. He hears himself make a sound, and it's one of those sounds, the ones that usually lead to John pushing him up against something and holding him still until he can decide what to do to Wally first, but he doesn't move. And Wally looks up to find John giving him that really kind of mean smile.
The one that would actually be kind of scary if it didn't absolutely mean he was thinking of sex.
"I think you want my hand around your cock, Wally."
And, Jesus, it's one thing to be fast and another thing entirely to be reaching for the fly of your own jeans well before your thoughts catch up to your want. He stops himself with an effort. Drags his hand up to the arm of the couch. "Nope."
Surprised little blink, and it's John's turn to be fast, because that smile is right back. That focus. "I had other ideas."
"You always push your face into the pillow -- or the wall -- when I have you by the hips. When I squeeze hard enough to leave bruises. Like you're trying not to yell."
Which, yes, absolutely yes, to the point where he's leaning in close, close enough to smell John's aftershave, and it's a scent that should be sharp and kind of off-putting, but really just isn't with John in a way that has nothing to do with brand. Presses his mouth to John's throat and wants to kiss, wants to lick and suck and hold on, especially when John swallows again and he can feel it, but also no.
Forces himself back and actually smacks into John's hand where he was -- and this is gonna kill him -- about to rest it on Wally's head.
And John's mouth actually hangs open a little bit with shock.
"Wrong again, but really --"
The kiss is hard and wet and almost actually fast, tongue stroking in and in and in and Wally catches John's face and holds him there and part of his brain is yelling something about control and John and losing it, but it sounds pretty freaking thrilled, so Wally ignores it and kisses back.
Feels himself forget how to breathe and just loses himself in the weirdly ticklish scratch of John's hair against his palm, the almost-pain of the shorter stubble and God, what would it feel like rubbed against the rest of his skin?
Wally groans into John's mouth and indulges himself, letting his hand slide enough to feel that stubble against his bare wrist. Groans again and thinks, seriously, about the pros and cons of coming in his pants. And then John's palm is pressed against Wally's chest, stroking and pressing just a little in that way where Wally knows he's supposed to push back until John has to use more of his strength.
And then there's really no air left, so he breaks the kiss, but John catches him before he can pull away, before he even knew that he was going to pull away, and Wally winds up panting dumbly and staring at the way John's hands just sort of surround his wrists.
"Time for me to guess again?"
"Oh, fuck, John, anything --"
And John licks his teeth and stares. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"You know I do. You --" Thumbs stroking the skin, pushing at it hard enough to make it move against the muscle and Wally's hips jerk. "John. John, you make me crazy --"
A squeeze, almost hard enough to hurt.
"God, come on, just --"
"Tell me what you want. What you were thinking about."
And it takes a long time to connect that to actual thought, because actual thought has long since stopped being important, but. He gets this. How maybe this weird little game is important to John the way John's hands on him are important to Wally.
Because John says more with his body than he ever could with his mouth. "I. Your jeans aren't tight enough. I want to suck you, want you to fuck my mouth --"
And the squeeze this time does hurt, but John lets go. Slides his hands up Wally's arms and grips his shoulders for a heartbeat and then those hands are in his hair, holding his head and pulling him down, pulling him in.
"Fuck, yeah..." And he's almost sure he had something else to say here, something to express the absolute yes please of this moment, and also his abject and sincere gratitude for just... all of this, but...
Words aren't just unimportant when he's close enough to smell how turned on John is, words are absolutely impossible.
For some time when he can't just nuzzle against that big, hot bulge in John's jeans, the jeans that still aren't tight enough for his tastes, but are suddenly really just right.
The difference between really good porn and being there, and he's sure there's something profoundly idiotic about that thought, but he really doesn't care.
Pushes fabric aside and something about the sight of that straining zipper...
And okay, licking it not one of his best ideas, considering taste and ow, but it makes John buck, makes him tighten his grip on Wally's head and yeah, nothing like a good case of mutual want-this to make things better, hotter.
Pulls back barely enough to get his hands in, get the jeans open and John lifts up and Wally's hands get busy with the get-jeans-down while Wally's face gets busy with the push and rub and.
Mm. So much better to lick at John's shorts. Thin cotton and when he sucks a kiss there he can taste him.
That gonna-do-you voice that's probably the same as other people's gonna-kill-you voice.
Except not, because when John really lets it go, there's a kind of gentle surrender that vibrates its way into Wally's chest.
And yeah, he likes what he's doing, likes it a lot, but he wants more. Maybe more of John-losing-it more than he wants that cock in his mouth. Different wonderful results, same action, so he doesn't wait any longer.
Eases the boxers aside and catches John by the root and sucks hard for a long second that makes John yank his hair hard enough that a few strands let go. Pushes up against those hands and John's smart, John's wonderful, John pushes.
Making him take more and more until he has to swallow and --
Socketed tight and the first careful thrust makes his eyes roll back in his head, makes him grab blindly for his own dick, arching up off the couch for only long enough to get a good hold, and now he wants to talk.
Tastes good, feels good, do it, make me feel it, and it comes out as muffled grunts and happily-strangled moans and John gets that, too.
Holds his head hard and thrusts raggedly until he catches a rhythm, until Wally shifts left while John shifts back and it's just right, it's perfect.
He gonna fall off the couch and -- wait.
He shakes John's hands off, catches and kisses and licks them with a promise and does get off the couch. Turns John around and kneels between his legs and yanks him down into a sprawl that should be illegal with a half-naked John, or maybe just mandatory, because fuck.
Those thighs, that hard, flat belly, that wild, wild glare and those hands reaching for him.
Stroking his cheeks and slipping back into his hair and Wally's already leaning forward, but John stops him with fingers on his mouth.
Fingers petting his mouth and sliding around in spit and when Wally opens his mouth to lick, John shoves two fingers in and pets his tongue.
He's got his own cock in hand. Not stroking it, just holding it. Hard and dark-on-dark and leaking at the tip and Wally hears himself whine because he'd wanted to stop, needed to stop, but that was just about position.
Forces his eyes back up to John's and the way he's looking at him... it's not a smile at all. It's something between hunger and anger, and Wally mmphs around the fingers in his mouth and finally, finally gets his fly open.
Gets his cock out.
And he really wants to answer that, but those fingers are fucking his mouth and he's so hard it almost hurts to stroke. Almost.
"I'm gonna fuck your mouth again."
Cock spitting pre-come and mind... elsewhere and he does his best to swallow John's fingers.
"Don't stop this time."
And he's sucking and licking and... drooling, but he's also nodding, and he'd be a little impressed with that if he wasn't turned on to the point of critical brain-melt, because.
That was an order.
And John slips his fingers out, tracing slick, messy trails over his chin before settling his hand back into Wally's hair and pulling him back in.
John gives him enough time to lick the pre-come off the head, and then John's other hand is pressing on the points of his jaw, opening him up wide.
And Wally's ready for a thrust -- he thinks John is ready for a thrust -- but what he gets is another pull.
Sliding him down over John's cock, down enough to swallow him in, and it doesn't last because John's tugging him off.
"Fuck yourself, Wally."
And he hears himself make a broken noise, but fuck yes.
Braces his free hand on that big, hard thigh and goes for it, licking his way down and sucking his way up, following the rhythm of that hand on his head and wanting more.
Tries to find a rhythm that'll let him throat John without gagging or otherwise embarrassing himself, but it's hard.
And John is. Still talking.
Little 'yeahs' and groans and 'wallys' that tell him just how good this is, and it is, it's...
A bizarre mix of control and absolutely none, so good that he can almost forget about his dick in his hand.
So good that he doesn't want to stop.
"Suck it, Wally..."
And he has to whine at the back of his throat and do just that, and he can't quite get the same motion, or the same degree of motion, but struggling for more just makes him hotter.
Literally, sweat beading and rolling down his face and the only thing keeping him from ripping his clothes off is the fact that it would mean letting go.
Not feeling this anymore, this slick-hot slide of skin over his tongue and the stretch of his mouth and the hand on his head, guiding him in for more.
"God, Wally --"
And then John's holding him still again and standing up, looming over him like the sexiest idol ever sculpted and brought to life. Forcing Wally's head back and up until just the head is in his mouth, until they can see each other, and Wally has no idea what's on his face, but it makes John growl.
Stroke a thumb under his eye and fuck his way back in.
All rhythm, no gentleness.
Just in and in and in, and it hits Wally low in the belly and hard in the cock. He's being fucked, right here, on his knees, by John.
His groan is cut off by the next hard thrust and it's like being snapped back into place, into himself -- flushed and begging with his entire body for more. He comes all over his fist and belly and swallows convulsively, reaching up for John's hips to hold him in and sucking as hard as he can.
Every thrust is small and sharp and purposeful, and when Wally looks up John's eyes flare and he comes hard, pulsing down his throat.
Painting his tongue when Wally pulls back enough to get a taste -- salty-hot and perfect.
John stumbles a little pulling out, and Wally half-absently pushes him back down to the couch.
Licks his lips.
Feels them, because God. Sore, yeah, but also swollen and just tender.
Wally blinks back to himself and realizes that he's licking the come off his own fingers. Comparing. "Mm?"
Soft chuckle. "Get up here."
Wally grins and crawls up to straddle the man's lap, getting that smile -- the recently-fed-predator one that's his absolute favorite, bar none.
John kisses his throat, his chin, his cheek. Kisses his mouth softly, but not in any way that could be considered innocent. "You get good ideas, hotshot."
"It's been known to happen."
A raised eyebrow and hands on his ass. "Has it, now...?"
"I'd have to say most of my ideas on what to do with a John in my house have been pretty good." And yeah, definitely feeling a little smug, now.
"I wouldn't dream of disagreeing."
Another slow kiss and in about a minute and a half he's not gonna care about his mouth being sore. At all.
Somewhere over his shoulder, in the world full of not-John and other irrelevancies, someone's insisting that the game is over.
In Wally's little corner of the world, there are darkly sweet kisses that make him want to be most sincerely naked.
And no one seems cold at all anymore.
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