This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.
John has told himself not to think about it, and so he hasn't been thinking about it, except that evidently he can think without thinking, because Brian squats back to tear the condom open and John sits up and whacks it right out of his hand.
"Ow," Brian says mildly. He looks at John the way he always does. Like he knows an explanation will be coming along eventually, or else it won't, but either way, there's no point in asking for it now. Brian learns quicker than most people John has to deal with.
What John says is, "I want you to bareback me."
Brian's eyes get really big. He doesn't say, "Are you sure?" and he doesn't say, "Why?" He swallows, and the hand that tips up the bottle of slick isn't entirely steady, and he says, "OK."
At the first slippery touch of his bare cock against John's ass, Brian's face goes red. "God." He looks like he can hardly keep his eyes open. "Oh, god, John, I'm not -- I've never."
Of course he never. He's a responsible nineties kind of guy, not like John, who used to put his dick anywhere that would hold still long enough and only glove up if the girl insisted. John's thought about it, read up a bit, and he's pretty sure that even if he had something, he couldn't pass it on to Brian by giving him this. John's not what anybody would call a responsible guy; he only cares about himself and Brian. But that's two more people than he's ever cared about before.
Brian's lips are pulled back over his teeth. He looks like he hurts, but he doesn't. "I'm not going to last long like this."
"Like I give a fuck." John pulls his knee back against his chest, because his heart is pounding weirdly and Brian needs to get on with it before he loses his nerve. "Get your cock in me and we'll figure out the rest later," and Brian pushes forward like he was just waiting for permission.
"It's, oh, god," Brian says thickly after a minute. He's moving his lower body a little in a way that doesn't so much move his cock in John as move him and John together, rolling forward and back again. "Different."
It's not that different for John -- good like always, maybe a little wetter -- but he's never seen Brian's face broken open like this before, wide-eyed and sweating like they've been at it for hours. "Come on," he says, in a gentler voice than he planned on using, and he reaches up to push the damp hair off Brian's temple. "Move."
"If I move I'll come," Brian says all in one panicky breath.
"So come, moron," John says. He's got a lump in his throat. It pisses him off. "What did you think we were doing, birdwatching?" and he can't feel Brian shooting in him, but he can feel Brian's body shaking all over, and it makes it hard to breathe.
Brian pulling out -- now, that's plenty different, and not in a good way. But, hell, sex is never going to be hygienic. People who don't want to get dirty should stay up and play Parcheesi. He's thinking about whether he wants to come in Brian's hand or just rub off all over his thigh when Brian abruptly slides his fingers back in, where John's still all slippery. John makes a really undignified noise and reaches up to brace on the wall so he can push down on them, make them go deeper riding on the slick of Brian's come.
"Can't believe it," Brian says, pressing his hot face into John's shoulder like he doesn't want John to see his expression, but his voice tells the whole story. "Gonna want to mess you up all the time now." He pulls his fingers out, circles them noisily around John's hole, pushes them back in.
He never did this before, John thinks, never pushed his dick into anybody without that fucking wall of latex between his skin and theirs. Never did it, but now he's done it to me. John comes all over him.
It's intense, and it takes a couple of minutes before either of them wants to move, but eventually they wipe off and shift around and grab up the pillow that got knocked on the floor, and Brian pulls John in like he thinks he needs a cuddle. "John," he says. "Why?"
John sort of knows the answer, but not on a level he can get at with words. "I'm a delinquent, remember? I live for danger."
Brian doesn't point out that John's a small-business owner with an IRA, now, that his hair is thin on top, that he sometimes has to squint to read the drive-through menu, that he's looking at a choice between giving up beer and taking up jogging.
"You idiot," is what he says, with this strange little smile on his face, and suddenly, weirdly, John understands what he's saying: There isn't anybody else, there hasn't been anybody else, those days are over.
"There's no danger ," Brian says, and after all, he's the smart one.
- end -
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April 24, 2007