Fruits and Veggies
by MiceSubject: [glass_onion] Fruits and Veggies (LGM) 1/2 Date: Sunday, September 15, 2002 7:15 PM Fruits and Veggies Author: Mice Email: email@example.com Category: Langly/Byers Rating: NC-17 for food and other kinks Summary: Byers and Langly go to the organic foods co-op Archive: Basement, Lone Slasher, Countermeasures, LGM Fanfic Bunker, Glass Onion, all others ask. Website: http://www.squidge.org/~surrealarts/mice.html Spoilers: Do they even have those anymore? JTS does NOT exist. Disclaimer: We deserve 'em more than CC does. They still belong to him, though. Author's Notes: Written for Surreal, because I'm "OTP deficient." Slightly damp beta by Amazon X.
He's playing with the English hothouse cucumbers again.
More than that, he's rubbing one slowly against my chest, whispering in my ear. "You know what else is this size, don't you, Johnny?"
It's an exaggeration, of course, but I wouldn't want to hurt his pride too much by reminding him, especially since I hope to take advantage of his endowment later this evening.
"Put that thing down unless you intend to have it for dinner, Ringo."
It certainly wouldn't do to let him know that his teasing arouses me in a public place like this, though I can feel myself blush. It never fails, and I hate myself for being so transparent. He sets the lengthy cucurbit down among the other long, thick, impeccably wrapped cucumbers emblazoned with 'New -- Organic!'
"I'd rather have you for dinner, Narc-boy," he says quietly, his hand now sliding slowly along the inside of my thigh. He leans against me and kisses me softly, but I can only allow it for a moment. I shift my weight and move away from him. This is far too public a place for the kind of games he has on his mind. He knows this, but never seems to care. I'd love to play them with him, but not here. Not now.
Frohike and Jimmy are off in the microbus, following Harley Davies, the man we've been trailing across the country for the last two weeks. We lost him a couple of times, and we're fairly certain he hasn't spotted any of us, but I saw him late last night coming out of a vegetarian restaurant near the University, so we know he's here in town.
Mulder suspects Davies is involved with a UFO cult out of Bellefleur, and so, naturally, we got 'asked' to trail him while our pet Fibbie races around the country with Agent Scully in tow, attempting to deal with the far more dangerous aspects of their current case. I can't remember the last time any of us said 'no' to one of Mulder's requests, no matter how ridiculous.
"And I'll have you for dessert," I tell Langly. He grins that crooked grin that always makes my knees weak. We may be one of the world's most unlikely couples, but we've managed to find some happiness together in the last five years, when our friendship turned a corner and became something far more. I pick up a pair of red and gold cherries by their stem from the bulk bin and dangle them in front of him. "I think I'd like you covered with these. They look about the same size as your balls." I blush, even though I'm the one who said it.
"Cannonballs would look that small next to my massive pecker," he snorts. We both laugh. I bag up a couple of pounds of the cherries for later. We don't have to tell the other guys we bought them. He rolls the cart into another aisle, knowing I'll catch up with him in a couple of minutes.
Since we're not on surveillance duty this afternoon, it's our responsibility to pick up something for dinner. I'm glad it was my turn to pick the place. Langly tends to go for the discount grocery outlets, where the food is cheap, but you have no idea how long something's been in the can. Jimmy shops at 7-11's when we're on the road, and in both cases, I'm astonished that we manage to survive. Slim Jims and Ritz crackers with stale peanut butter aren't my idea of a particularly nutritious meal, and the thought of baked beans from the Korean War era terrifies me. Frohike goes overboard in the other direction, choosing expensive gourmet food shops whenever he thinks he can get away with the dent in our budget. Admittedly, the food is always wonderful, but we have to consider things like rent, printing costs, equipment, and gas for the vehicles. On the road like this, we also have to consider the cost of our motel bills.
Today, Ringo and I borrowed Jimmy's Trans Am for the shopping trip. We both look absurdly out of place in it, but I have to admit, it's a lot more fun to drive than the van. It sports far more exotic possibilities as well, and I imagine myself stretched out over the hood, Ringo bent over me, kissing the back of my neck, unbuckling my belt -- no, I won't go there. I'm blushing just thinking about it, and I really don't want to do to myself what Langly does so well at every opportunity. A bag of mushrooms, four ears of corn on the cob, and I head off to find him.
I catch up with my lover in the bulk foods aisle, only to find him staring at the bins of falafel mix, rice flour, and raw kasha. Despite the long, blond hair, he looks lost here. His idea of bulk food tends toward Costco-sized crates of chicken ramen noodle packets. Fortunately, Frohike draws the line at such things, despite the food to cash ratio. We all, except maybe Jimmy, have bad memories of being too broke to afford anything else, but Langly never seemed to get past his addiction to MSG.
"Where the hell's the Twinkie aisle, Byers?"
After I put the vegetables into the cart he's been pushing, I stand with my hands on my hips. "Come on, Ree. You know organic co-ops don't have Twinkie aisles. It's all power bars, organic chocolate, and fruit-juice-sweetened cookies."
He makes a face. "Gimme death by white sugar any day of the week."
Two young women at the far end of the aisle are looking in our direction and giggling, though they're trying to hide it. They look like college students, but this is unsurprising so close to the campus. "They're so cute," the shorter one says. She looks like she might be a fraction of an inch taller than Frohike. Sometimes I think everyone's taller than Frohike.
"They're probably gay," the tall one hisses, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice down. "Every guy you think is cute turns out to be gay."
They both giggle again, then notice me watching them. With a blush and a flurry of laughter, they vanish quickly around the corner. Are we that obvious? I sigh. Langly's laughing silently.
"Would you stop that?" I snap. I'm unbearably embarrassed, and we still have to get something for a main dish. I turn away from him and stalk off to the frozen foods aisle. Maybe we could have a nice chicken or something. I'll pick up potatoes to go with the corn on the cob, and the mushrooms for gravy.
He follows me after a moment, and catches up with me as I lean into a frozen food case for a large free-range chicken. I feel his fingers trail up my back as he leans in behind me, taking my shoulder in one hand. He might look innocent, but I feel his hips press into my ass when he moves close. I'm going to lose it if he keeps this up. My hormones are getting the better of me, and he's half-hard already.
"Not here," I plead. He knows I'm helpless against this kind of assault on my senses. Ringo's hand grips my shoulder more tightly, possessively, as though he's bracing to enter me, and he presses himself against me harder. The contact is brief, but enough to leave my heart beating faster, my breathing quick and shallow.
I lose control too easily around him, and he knows it. He uses it more often than he should, but I always end up forgiving him, despite the fact that he's much more inclined to public games than I've ever been. I just wish he'd keep it more private. "Please, Ree. We'll be out of here soon." My voice is quiet. I need him, and his teasing only makes things harder. It makes me harder, too, and I hope no one but Langly notices.
We stand up together, and he takes the frozen bird from my hands, his fingers tracing gently along mine. "I know," he says. His blue eyes are burning me down to my soul. I want him so badly. I can barely resist the urge to take him in my arms and kiss him hard and deep, right here, but I know I must. I always do.
Some places may be more liberal than others, but my own shyness is what keeps me from displaying my desires and my love for him publicly -- my shyness, and a ground-in sense of propriety that was inculcated in me from my earliest childhood. My family rarely, if ever, showed any emotion in public. When my mother died, dad never shed a single tear in front of anyone else. About the only thing he ever showed in public was anger, though he was rarely violent.
Letting myself admit that I even have those feelings -- love, need, desire -- has always been hard for me, and to display the kind of emotion that I feel for Richard Langly outside the privacy of our own room is almost painful sometimes. He knows this. There are days when I think his teasing is his way of trying to draw me out. I've worn my heart on my sleeve before, and more often than not, all it brought me was trouble. It's a difficult balance for us.
I find myself staring into the depths of his gaze, and he's grinning at me again. "Let's finish up here, and get back to the motel where we can have some fun," he says. I smile and turn my face down, closing my eyes.
"You keep looking like that, Johnny, we're not even gonna make it to the car."
"Jesus, Ree, don't you ever think of anything else?" I take the handle of the cart and start us back toward the produce aisle for the potatoes.
"Well, we could still try to increase circulation with the Lone GunGirl of the Month --"
"Absolutely not! You know that's not the sort of journalism we're about!"
He folds his arms and huffs at me. "You've got no sense of adventure, dude."
"I have a perfectly functional sense of adventure. I just use it in pri--" Something catches my eye as we pass the diary case. I lower my voice to a sharp, worried whisper. "Langly, it's him. It's Davies! What's he doing here? I thought the guys were supposed to be watching him?"
We both duck, trying to conceal ourselves behind the shopping cart. I don't think Davies has seen us yet, and I don't want him to. Suddenly I realize how idiotic we must look. If we don't want to be noticed, we have to act casual, as though we belong here. As though we're not conscious of his presence. Cowering behind a shopping cart isn't going to help at all. On the other hand, if he sees us in here, it'll be easier for him to make us if we're on surveillance duty later, and he spots us. I hate these dilemmas.
Langly slides over to the end of an aisle, trying to hide behind a tortilla display, and peeks around the corner to see where Davies has gone. "I don't think he saw us," he hisses at me.
"Quit acting suspicious. We'll stand out like red neon if we don't start acting normally." I take a deep breath and try to calm down, studiously examining the diary case. What I'm really doing is using the glass for a mirror, trying to find the man. Langly starts examining tortilla packages in an exaggeratedly 'casual' fashion. I keep thinking he'd have learned better by now, but no. We have to get out of here, and fast.
I reach over and grab Langly by the elbow. "Come on, we need to get those potatoes."
He nods, and we wander toward the produce aisle. Unfortunately, when we get there, Davies is picking up heads of garlic and squeezing them. He's about two bins away from where we need to be before we can get out of the store.
I busy myself looking at tomatoes, and Langly starts waving plantains at me, crotch level, a wicked grin on his face. I sigh, realizing that, for him, this is 'normal' behavior. I glare at him, but don't dare say anything, not wanting Davies to hear my voice.
Thankfully, after picking up garlic, onions, and a couple sweet potatoes, Davies heads off for another aisle. I rush over to Langly and hiss, "What the hell do you think you were doing?"
"Acting normally," he says. Then he leans close and whispers, "And thinking about how much I want to be in your ass as soon as we get back to the motel. Wanna play with my plantain, babe?"
I shudder, aroused, as the image of Ringo sliding into me takes over my mind, grab a random bag of potatoes, and hurry for the checkout aisle.
When we get to the parking lot, we load the groceries into the trunk of the Trans Am, and Langly looks up. The van is in the parking lot, and Frohike's in the driver's seat, waving frantically at us.
"Did he see you?" Frohike asks as soon as we get to the window.
"Nah," Langly says. "He was too busy squeezin' garlic."
"Are you guys okay," Jimmy says. He looks distressed.
"What happened?" I ask.
Frohike scans the parking lot quickly and looks at us. "He ran into one of the UFO cultists. We're gonna have to follow him around some more. They set up a meeting for tonight."
"What time?" Langly asks.
"He said about 9:30," Jimmy informs us.
"Some coffee shop about five blocks from here," Frohike continues.
"Will you still be taking a dinner break?" I ask.
"No, I think it's gonna be fast food tonight," Frohike says. "Whatever you guys got, enjoy."
"Can we go to that place we saw out by the highway?" Jimmy asks, "the one with the big fish in the hat?"
"Whatever," Frohike says. He turns back to us and says, "You two should get the hell out of here. The last thing we want is for him to see all four of us together."
Langly looks at him. "Yeah, well, you should be parked along the street somewhere, not in the parking lot here, just sitting on your asses in the van. You actually think he's not gonna notice Gilgamesh? Get a brain cell, Doohickey."
I pull Ringo away before the two can get into an insult match. It would take time, and we don't know how much we have before Davies finishes his shopping trip.
When we get into the car, his hand is in my lap before I start the engine. This is a more private place than the store, but I don't savor the idea of being distracted while I'm driving. Ringo can be very, very distracting, and I'm not all that familiar with the lay of the land around here as yet. Getting lost is fixable, but getting into an accident is something I'd very much like to avoid.
Fortunately, Ringo manages to keep his hands to the inside of my thigh, rather than going for my equipment. I can tell he's fighting with himself. I want him to touch me, want his hands on me, so the fact he has to keep them under control is torture for both of us. His fingers trail too close to my stiffening cock, but I keep my attention riveted to the road, my knuckles white on the wheel. I'm glad it's only three miles back to our motel. Much further, and I wouldn't have a prayer of getting us there in one piece.
He leans over to me, letting his hands trail up my chest, and whispers in my ear. "You're so hot, Johnny. I can't wait to get inside you."
His hot, soft lips brush across the side of my throat and I almost run the last red light. We're both thrown forward into our seatbelts when I jam on the breaks.
"Damn it, Ree!" I'm panting more from panic than arousal now, and so is he. "You know better than that! Are you trying to get us killed?"
"Sorry, man. Damn! I had no idea we were at a light."
I take a deep breath as I start up with the green light. "Neither did I. That's the problem. You can't distract me like that when I'm driving."
I'm still shaking when we pull into the motel parking lot a few blocks later. Langly grabs the bag of groceries, and I just head for the door. I'm angry, but I'm also horny as hell, and glad we made it here alive.
He follows me into the suite as soon as I unlock the door, and when we get to the kitchen, he drops the bag on the counter, takes me into his arms, and kisses me until I can't breathe anymore. I'm leaning against the counter to stay on my feet, his hard shaft against my own. His tongue in my mouth and his hands on my back and sides have driven every last vestige of anger and fear from my body. My own hands frantically explore the skin under his t-shirt, and the curve of his denim covered ass as we try to breathe each other in. The only thing I'm shaking from now is desire.
Reluctantly, slowly, I pull myself back. "We have to take care of the chicken before we can do this," I tell him.
"Screw it, Johnny," he growls, "I want you now." His hands caress my chest under my jacket. I shiver at his touch as his fingers glide across my nipples. His eyes are fixed on mine, penetrating my heart as I know the hardness of his arousal will enter my body soon. I barely have the will to object. We've had very little time alone since we started this road trip. It's taking its toll on both of us, making us both a little crazy and careless.
"If we leave the chicken here, it'll go bad before we can cook it. And no matter what we do in the next five minutes, I do intend to eat dinner later tonight."
"It'll just thaw on the counter," he says, sliding the knot of my tie loose and unbuttoning the top two buttons of my shirt.
"Yeah, but the outside will go bad before the inside's thawed if we do that. You know how easy it is to get food poisoning from raw chicken. Just give me three minutes to deal with it." I want to kiss his neck and run my hands through his long, honey-cream hair instead of being responsible yet again, but I can't. Not until this is dealt with. I don't want either of us to get sick, or the others if they eat some of it. I turn to the bag, and his hands find my waist, his long arms wrapping around me as he presses the length of his thin, buff body against my back. This is far more intimate and intense than his possessive touch in the store. If we weren't wearing clothes, he'd be inside me already.
With Ringo's hot breath on the back of my neck, tongue caressing my ear, teeth nibbling my jaw, I try to focus enough to complete my task. "Don't wanna wait," he breathes, "wanna be in you. I wanna touch you everywhere, Johnny. It's been too goddamned long." His fingers pinch my nipples, making me moan, and he grinds his cock against my ass hard and slow. One hand slips down to my pants and starts unbuckling my belt. I'm going out of my mind.
In two minutes flat, I have the chicken unwrapped and soaking in a large pot of cold water to thaw. I set it beside the sink and wash my hands thoroughly with soap and water, then turn to my lover, who has been as close to my body as my own skin the entire time.
At last, I can turn my full attention to what has been tempting me so deeply all afternoon. His arms are strong and wiry, holding me close. I kiss him with everything I have. My arms wrap around his waist and I pull him to me, insistent and needy. I know he loves this; loves my display of the strength I keep hidden under the suit and the buttoned down exterior.
People often see my shyness, my pacifism, and my body type as a sign of physical weakness or effeminacy. It's not. I haul enough heavy equipment around the office, and back and forth from the van on a regular basis to stay in reasonable shape. I'm nowhere near as strong as Jimmy -- none of us are -- but I pull my weight. It's just that my slight build has never been the sort to develop the kind of musculature that Langly has. Like me, he avoids notice with concealing clothing; in his case, baggy t-shirts and scruffy jeans. We each have our chosen armor against the world. I count myself fortunate to have a lover like Ree; he may be a world-class drama queen, but he's also brilliant, sensitive, strong, and very loving when he's not giving me shit about something.
At the moment, he's giving me a kiss that's melting the few brain cells I have left. When we pull back from each other to breathe, I reach into the grocery bag and pull out a pair of joined cherries, placing one in my mouth and offering the other to him. His wet, pink tongue reaches out to accept the fruit carefully, the tip just brushing my lips, and we both tug against the stems, a sort of fruity wishbone. The twin stems part, and I watch him suck the fruit off the stone. He watches me intently, eyes alight, as I pull my entire cherry into my mouth, stem and all. He knows what's coming, and it fascinates him.
I separate flesh from stone, savoring the sweetness, then set to work on the stem. Ree is the only person in the world who knows I can do this. A few deft movements, and I slide the tip of my tongue out, displaying my work: the stem of the cherry is knotted. He moves to spit the pit from his mouth onto the counter, then covers my mouth with his and takes the stem and stone from my tongue, soft and gentle. The sweet tang of cherry is still on his tongue as I taste him.
"I love it when you do that," he whispers, voice gravelly, after ridding himself of pit and knotted stem. He leans into my body, the hardness of him pressing against me everywhere, his long shaft hot and delightfully sensual against my own. I don't want to be dressed anymore. I want to feel his skin on mine.
His lips, tongue, and teeth on my neck drive away my ability to articulate this ardent desire. The only sounds I can make are low, incoherent groans of pleasure. I love his ability to reduce me to this state. I love having the force of my logic and intellect stripped away like this, leaving only sensuality, heat, and desire behind. I close my eyes and bend my head back, panting, letting him do as he pleases with my exposed skin. His hands are no more still than his moving mouth, tugging at my shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of my pants.
With him, like this, is the only place I feel safe letting myself go; the only place where I can risk this kind of vulnerability, this kind of emotional exposure. I'm able to show him pieces of myself that no one else has ever seen, and I don't mean physically. He's seen me lost in the depths of ecstasy, out of control with desire and longing, deeply in love. He's held me through long, hard nights of fear and pain and unwelcome, unbidden memory. He's seen me in tears, perhaps the rawest vulnerability of all. When I thought my father was dead, Ree was the only one who saw me cry. Even Frohike, our erstwhile den mother, has never seen that.
Yet, Ree loves me. It's our trust, almost more than his touch, that sparks my passion for him. We've seen things, been through things together that are unspeakable. Our love is a brotherhood of impossibility, a bulwark against the horrors we live with. And his hands under my shirt, trailing his short nails up my sides, make me shudder as he sucks my ear lobe.
I squeeze the firm flesh of his ass and thrust against him as he nibbles his way down my neck to the hollow of my throat, then pulls my loosened tie away with his teeth, growling a little. There's something wild and primal, something frenzied about it, and his hands follow quickly, loosening my buttons and opening my shirt. Why the hell do I always wear a t-shirt underneath? Right now I simply wish all my clothing would vanish. He tugs it up and slips it over my head, exposing my chest and abdomen while leaving the rest of me covered.
"Touch me, Ree," I whisper, "I want you so much." I thrust against him again, making him moan, and his head sinks to my chest. He kisses me, tracing my ribs with his lips. I want to keep his ass braced with my hands as I move against his body, but I'm too tempted, and I run them up through his long, soft hair instead, pressing him gently against my chest as his hot breath moves over me. He slides his cheek over my belly. It's slightly scratchy with his stubble. He's so blond you can barely see it, but it's there. I caress his face, and he takes one of my fingers into his mouth and begins to suck as his hands trace lightly over my erection, still captive in my pants.
It's unbearable. My cock is aching and throbbing against his body. His mouth is soft and wet and impossibly sensual and I can't take this anymore; I have to have him. "Damn it, Ree, stop teasing me!"
I grab his shoulders and pull him upright, then start to drag him off toward the bedroom. My frustration has reached heights I haven't felt in over a year, since the last time we were forced to endure a long road trip with no privacy. I'm a patient man, but even I have my limits, and they've just been breached.
"John!" He's flushed, panting as I pull his t-shirt off over his head while we move quickly for the other room. "I was getting there, dude. I am so gonna fuck you hot and hard when I get your clothes off." He takes me by the hips and pushes me into the bedroom, then down onto the bed. As much as I was enjoying his tease in the kitchen, I'd far rather our first time in two weeks be somewhere comfortable, where we don't have to get up afterwards; a place where I don't have to worry about bruising my knees or hips on the floor or against a counter.
We don't restrain ourselves any longer. Clothes are pulled off and tossed around the room carelessly. Shoes hit the walls and bounce to the floor. I hear his glasses clatter onto the bedside table. Our bodies connect, skin on skin, hot and smooth and already slightly slick with sweat. Ringo's weight is on me, delicious and comforting as we writhe together, kissing and touching each other everywhere, breathing and moaning together. His long fingers move on my body, strong and accurate, knowing where I need to be touched or stroked or pinched.
He's an amazing lover, an acute observer of my reactions and desires. There are many things in life that he deliberately ignores, or simply doesn't think to look for, but our pleasure is as important to him as a clean hack, and he gives it the same purity of attention, the same minute focus. I bless him for it every time he makes love with me. I can only try to return his care measure for measure, exploring his most sensitive places, running my nails up the small of his back as he shivers to my touch, sliding skin along the delicate, sensitive insides of his elbows. He moans for me and I smile, watching his face light with the sensation, the blue of his eyes concealed behind the delicate skin of his eyelids. I kiss them softly as I slide a finger between his firm, well-shaped cheeks, tracing the silk hot pucker of his entrance. He moans again and thrusts against me.
"Again," he demands, and I repeat the motion. He kisses me hard, muffling his voice against my tongue as he whimpers, "Oh, god, John."
A moment later, he moves his body, turning so we can suck each other. I know he wants to enter me, to come inside me, and I want this more than I can say, but we always bond so deeply in this mutual oral pleasure. It's not just how he feels in my mouth or the salt taste of him or how I love to be sucked by him, but the scent of him when he's aroused pushes me into a vast internal space of want and desire. It fills my body and tightens my chest, and I'm hyperaware of every subtlety of his touch on my skin. There's no top here, no bottom, no power play or imbalance, only the mutual sharing of our love and trust and our need for each other expressed in a most physical way.
He takes my ankles in his fists, grounding himself with my bones as we suck. My fingers dig into the crease of his powerful thighs, pulling him deeper into my mouth, closer to me. I can't bear any distance between us. I caress his balls as they frame the bridge of my nose, almost in my eyes. His pubic hair tickles, but I don't care. I've been in a state of arousal for nearly an hour now, since Ree began teasing me at the store, and I can't hold back any longer. I come hard as he licks and sucks me, lying atop me, his weight keeping my spirit and body connected. I have to open my mouth, loosen my lips around him as my chest heaves with my breathing. My mouth is too full for words, but I grunt and moan, thrusting hard into the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue caresses the head of my shaft, a hand cupping my balls, one long finger slid into my ass, and he drags out my orgasm as my body jerks beneath him.
It's good, so good, but I want to be filled with him. "Fuck me, Ree," I beg. The last time I was buried in him was over a month ago, and I want that tonight as well, but more often I love the feeling of his length inside me. I love the feel of his body on my back, his arms around me as I brace myself against a wall or a counter, or the head of our bed. He rolls over and turns around.
"Get on your knees," he rasps, his hands guiding me, steadying me against my trembling legs. I lean against the wall, and I'm not sure where the lube comes from, but he's slicking me and sliding his fingers into me, and I repress the urge to scream. I groan instead.
"God, Ree, god... love you... need you in me..."
I feel so safe and so loved when he's wrapped around me like this, buried in me. I feel the pressure of the blunt head of his cock against me, and with a grunt and a long, low moan, he thrusts into me with a deep, torturously slow stroke that leaves him planted in me to his root.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh..." I clench my eyes shut, focusing on the feel of his flesh deep within me. The cold wall against my palms and the fullness of his body inside mine leave me trembling, my cock hard again as he holds me and doesn't move. The pleasure of it arches my back, flattening me against him, and my head falls against his shoulder, turning toward his neck. His arms, ringing my waist, slide up my body as his hands caress my sides and chest, fingers teasing my nipples. I gasp, trying not to come again so soon.
"Johnny, you feel amazing," he whispers, the heat of his breath slipping into my ear and sending shudders down my spine. My movement shakes his control for a moment, and he groans, pulling out slightly and thrusting back in roughly. "Love you so much," he gasps, "mine, you're mine..." He lowers his mouth to my throat and sucks. I whimper at the hard thrust and the pull of his mouth on my skin, but stay braced against the wall, back against his chest, head lolling on his shoulder as he is again nearly motionless within me.
"So hard." My voice is high and tight, and it's only the nearly unbreakable habit of years of making love quietly, trying not to disturb Frohike or Jimmy in the middle of the night, that keep me from screaming when I call out, "Ahhhh, Ree! Ahhhhhh..."
The stillness takes an iron discipline from both of us, but the feeling is incredible as we breathe together. We tremble as one, so slightly, sweating with the effort of this intensely erotic joining. I feel his shaft twitching inside me, a tiny, deliberate torture, and waves of pleasure well up and wash over me as I savor the way he fills me. He holds himself inside me so deeply, so tight, that I think it's impossible for us to be more closely joined.
We can't stay like this for long, usually only a minute or two, because the temptation to move is so overwhelming, but the power of the sensation is amazing. It leaves me feeling as though we inhabit one body. I squeeze him inside me, knowing it rocks his body with sensations as strong as those coursing through my own. He shudders and bucks, then his hand slides down to caress my shaft, his thumb sliding along the slit. I buck with him, and he leans into me, keening as he takes me hard, thrusting fast and deep. "Love you, John, gotta fuck you, so good, so... uuuuuunh..." he groans through gritted teeth. He's almost violent in his intensity.
He's stroking me as he slams into me, his balls slapping mine, the sting of it pushing me to the edge, and I can't form words anymore. I want to beg him for more, plead with him to fuck me harder, to pound me into oblivion, but I have no voice and all I can do is grunt in a staccato rhythm of need as I thrust back against him in time with his strong, desperate penetration and the tight grip of his fist around me. I've wanted this -- needed it like an addict needs a fix -- for days. My head swings back and forth with my wild response to the way he rides me.
It's too intense to sustain, and we both freefall into a burning mutual orgasm, collapsing onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. Our hips jerk together as we keep coming, our bodies uncontrollable, and he's calling my name again and again until we gasp into silence, clinging together, holding each other, his flesh still buried in me, our oneness inviolable and holy.
Slowly, he withdraws from me, and we turn to face each other, lying on our sides. Just my luck. With this small bed, I'm stuck in the wet spot. We're still panting too hard to talk, our muscles trembling from the exertion, but I stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers, and he closes his eyes.
"Sweeeeet," he whispers.
"Roll... on your back," I tell him. He flops over with a sigh, and with what energy I have left, I slide over and climb on top of him. He puts his arms around me and we rest, holding each other. It gets me out of the wet spot and gives me the physical contact I crave. I lose track of time after that, because I wake up still lying on his chest, and he's breathing softly beneath me, sleeping.
I'll fix that.
I move slowly, softly, so as not to wake him just yet. The wet spot is still damp, so I don't think we've been asleep that long, but I feel rested and up for another round with my lover. I need to clean us both up before we can do much, so I get a washcloth hot and wet and wipe myself down, then head back to the bed with it to play with Ringo.
When I get there the cloth has cooled just enough that I won't wake him immediately when I touch him. I take his soft shaft in my hand and stroke him with the warm cloth to clean him up. He shifts under my hand, his breathing growing slightly heavier as his cock twitches a little. Yes, this was exactly what I hoped for. Maybe he won't fully wake until I'm in him. The thought excites me, and I'm getting hard.
I continue stroking him gently with the rough, warm terrycloth, just enough to arouse him without bringing him out of his sound sleep. I wonder what he's dreaming of, his thick length stiffening in my hand. My other hand slides up his body, and I trace the shape of his nipples, the curve of his clavicle, the line of his throat. He moans softly, licking his lips, and shifts his weight again. My breath catches as I watch him respond to my touch, still sleeping.
I lean down and kiss his now clean head, then slip the tip of my tongue along the slit. Ree moans and his hips press his growing erection to my lips. I love this. I grow harder as I play with him, licking his head, and stroke myself as I slowly caress him.
His breathing grows rougher, and I reach for the lube that he left on the bedside stand. I stroke it onto myself, thinking of how I'll feel in just a few moments, sliding into my lover. He needs to be slicked as well, and I apply some of the thick, warmed gel to his cock, sliding my fingers down over his tightening balls and into the heat of his crack. He's moaning more now, trying to make words, but they won't form in his sleep. His thrusting into my slick fist starts to find focus.
"...fuck..." he mutters, "... Johnny... oh god..." His eyes are closed. I'm pretty sure he's still asleep. I dream of him like this sometimes. I'm so hard as I run a finger over his tight, soft sphincter, and his mouth opens, a half-formed moan emerging. I wonder how much more I can get away with before he realizes that this is real, not a dream. I slide my finger slow and gentle into his tightness and heat, and he shakes his head from side to side, eyes still closed, hissing, "...yessss..."
God, this makes me so hot. I want to be in him, but he's not quite ready yet. Fortunately, since he's still asleep, he's more relaxed that he would be at this point were he conscious. I slip another finger into him and can see that he's starting to wake. I move his knees up and apart and thrust slowly into him. He's hot and tight and I gasp as I enter him. It's been too long, and I want to make him feel what I felt before -- the pleasure, the fullness, the intimate connection. His eyes open, surprised, and he groans.
"Oh, god, John!" I love it when he talks to me as we make love. I love hearing him call my name. He gasps. His legs tighten around me, drawing me into him, and I cover him with my body. A sharp thrust and I'm in him to my balls. He shouts, his arms wrapping around me, and our mouths join. I kiss him hard, my tongue demanding his full attention. He bucks against me, moaning in my mouth, and we begin moving together in a passionate rhythm. He's so hot around me, so tight as I pump into him.
When we break our kiss, he groans out, "Fuck me fuck me fuck me," and I comply, thrusting harder and deeper. I can feel the steel of his slicked shaft against my stomach. He shouts wordlessly, close to the edge, then whimpers, "harder, Johnny!"
I slide my arms under him, grabbing his shoulders, and take him as hard as I can. I fuck him with all my strength, teeth clenched, grunting, incoherent in my ecstasy. He screams again as he comes, his body stiffening beneath me, the arc of his back lifting us both from the bed as he shoots between us. I watch his face for a moment, stark and beautiful, until his opening clenching around me as I drive into him drags me into the abyss as well.
We lie shaking, our chests heaving, arms and legs tangled together. For a few minutes, we simply stay motionless, my cock still buried in Ree's ass. I don't want to move, don't want to lose this closeness, but I'm no longer erect, so my wish will be a moot point shortly. A few moments later, I slide out of him, but we continue to hold each other.
He kisses me softly. "Wanna make you scream like that someday, Johnny." His face brightens with a lopsided grin. The lechery in his face is unmistakable.
I sigh. I wish that I could. "I'm sorry, Ree. I guess it's just not really me to be quite that loud."
He looks into my eyes. "It's cool, man. Really. Just seeing your face when we're into it makes me so horny."
"I..." I blush.
"I mean, I don't mind that you don't scream, or that you don't talk a lot. Your face says so much." He runs a gentle finger along the edge of my mustache, tracing along the line of my beard to my ear. It feels wonderful. "Like, I can tell when you look at me how much you love it when I'm in you. That just totally turns me on."
"Thanks," I whisper.
"Sometimes, when I see you, just working or walking around or sitting reading, I want you so bad. You wouldn't believe how many times I've gotta stop myself 'cuz I know you're not all into pda's in front of the guys. But there's something I wanna know," he says.
He takes a breath, as if he's not sure he should ask his question. "Well, I'm just kinda wondering. I mean, I love it when you fuck me. You're so damned hot, babe, and you feel so good in me. It seems like you like it too. I mean, that was one hell of a great way to wake up just now. But, like, why don't you do it more often? Am I... I mean, is there something you're not getting from it? Is there something wrong?" His blue eyes reflect worry and concern. I can hear the unspoken fear that there might be something wrong with him. I never realized it bothered him.
I hold him closer and kiss him, trying to reassure him. "No, Ree, god no. There's no problem, there's nothing wrong. I just..." How to explain this? Will I sound weak, or too clingy if I tell him? I know I should, to ease his fear. I can't let him believe that I don't want him. "I just... I love being in you, there's nothing else like it, but sometimes it's... it's just not what I really need right then. A lot of times, what I need is to be filled with you. I need to feel you inside me, need you deep in my body, so that... so that I feel..."
I swallow. This is uncomfortable.
"It's okay, Johnny" he says. One hand strokes my hair, and I rest my head on his shoulder. "Whatever it is, it's okay. It's not like I'm gonna bite unless you ask nice. I love you, remember?" He chuckles.
I know he does, but my heart still beats faster when he says it. "When you're inside me like that, I feel... feel so safe. I feel like nothing can hurt me, like nothing can hurt either of us. I feel like nothing will ever be able to separate us, Ree. There's just so much crap in our lives. Things get so risky sometimes, and I'm... I'm afraid that..." I take a deep breath. I don't want to admit how afraid I am sometimes.
He kisses the back of my neck as he continues to stroke my hair. It's helping, and so is the fact that we're wrapped around each other. The warmth of his body is so steadying.
"I think I know what you mean," he says. "Did you ever think that maybe I might feel like that too? Like maybe I need you the same way, need to have you in me, need to know I'm not alone?"
I raise myself to my elbows and our eyes meet. His hand is still on the back of my head, and he pulls me down for another kiss. This one is burning, insistent, full of his need for me. We're barely breathing when he finally lets our lips part.
"I never knew," I whisper.
"I'm not saying we've gotta swap off every time, or keep score or anything," he says quietly, our eyes locked together. "I'd just like to be on the receiving end a little more often, you know?" He grins again, hopeful.
I smile. "I think we can manage that."
His grin broadens and he rolls us over so he's on top, laughing. "About fuckin' time!"
Great. I'm in the wet spot again. My stomach rumbles. "Speaking of which, what time is it?" Lying on my back, I can't see the clock from this angle.
He gropes for his glasses, knocking the clock to the floor in the process. After a little more fumbling, he gets them onto his face, then fishes around on the floor for the clock. "It's about six," he says, slapping it back on the table.
I groan. I don't want to get up, but I'm hungry. "It's probably time we started dinner."
He bends down and bites my neck gently, then looks back up at me. "Hmmmm. Yeah, maybe I could go for some food too. Even though you still look good enough to eat." A broad grin appears, and he slaps my hip. "Let's get up. You're cooking, right?"
I laugh. "I have absolutely no desire to commit suicide by carbonated chicken, Ree."
"Where did you throw my boxers?"
"You think I keep track of that shit?"
Oh yes. I think I'll have Ringo Langly for dessert.
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