[ He'd thought it might be too much too fast, but now that John's even intimated a hint that perhaps implies he wants it, the answer is yes.
At the same time, the sense of being nudged towards a conclusion, even one he'd practically already come to himself, is--
--something he's not dwelling on. ]
You'd like that, huh?
[ His voice is simmering and so is the rest of him. He twists his fingers. He lifts his face until his mouth is just touching the wet head of John's cock, blowing air across it when he talks. ]
Think you're ready for that? You think you can take my whole cock at once as nice as you're takin' my fingers? I wanna find out.
[ It's their lucky day, because he might have cooking oil yeah. ]
[ For all that they're walking the knife edges of a couple dozen different triggers*, the bucking just thrills him: it's pleasure, it's John, it's John feeling pleasure and Charlie giving it to him.
Okay. Okay. Okay, this means he has to think logistics, which is true dramatic irony considering the only thing he wants to think about is John whimpering and begging on his cock.
Okay. Focus. Make it happen.
*Charlie knows what those are now! ]
Don't move. No, ben-bend over the-- no, no, wait. I gotta... gotta get a thing. [ Words hard. ] Spitting won't cut it. [ Not that he's never fucked or been fucked dry, but that was almost always hurried and furtive, and over quickly, and that's not what this is. That's not what he wants for this.
Living area. Kitchenette. Oil? Oil! Oil for salads. There's a joke here somewhere but he's not stopping to think of it. He's back between John's legs as soon as possible, trying to maintain composure but betrayed utterly by his flush and his stare and his absolute lack of breath.
Charlie's eyes are glued on John's body as he lubes himself, groaning quietly at how good that alone feels after going untouched so far. Somehow, he maintains the patience to screw the lid back on the bottle before he puts it aside. ]
Okay, get... how far can you- lift your legs? Hold them up?
[ His cock is pretty well lubed at this point, but he's still slowly and lightly touching himself. ]
[ John gives an unhappy growling noise at the fingers being removed, Charlie's mouth removed, but he breathes in deep and lets his head drop back to breathe a few times until he hears Charlie nearer. Then there's the slick sound of the oil, his mind's eye telling him what it looks like for Charlie to stroke himself slick with it and the scent of it mixing strangely with the other heavy smells in the room. He's glad to hear the oil container be placed down on the bed table, within reach, before he's focusing back on Charlie's voice and what he'd ask.
He lifts his legs, spread them a little wider, and keeps his eyes closed, not looking. Waiting. Wanting.
Trust. He trusts Charlie to only bring him pleasure. ]
[ Charlie reads the closed eyes as anticipation, because John sure doesn't seem nervous. He rests his hands on John's lifted thighs, sliding up them easily, shuffles forwards on his knees.
He pauses for a moment to catch his breath at the landscape in front of him, the beautiful goddamn rolling hills and valleys of John. Feels the way he imagines the first men at the South Pole felt: shivering and awed, far from owners of the land and yet seeing their own footprints on it, relieved to be alive in every possible way to read that sentiment.
He slides his fingers across John's asshole, fumbles for a moment with his slippery hand to get a cheek aside for visibility and then his cock in the right place -- then slowly pushes inside.
The warm moving vice of John's ass drags a moan out of him, and with a face like he just lost half his braincells in one go he pushes the rest of the way in, as deep as he can. ]
[ The slippery hands on his ass gets an appreciative rumble, even with the fumble; it's still Charlie and his hands and those hands on him. But when he feels the head of Charlie's cock against him, he sucks in a breath... and sucks it in further as Charlie starts pushing in.
He can't help but arch his back, or the muscles that clench and unclench around Charlie's dick as the sensation of it thunders through him. He almost has enough time to think, let alone to think that Charlie's going to take this slowly, but then he pushes the rest of the way in and hits something that makes all the circuits in his body light at once as Charlie's sac settles against his ass.
The rumbling groan of it is enough to go through Charlie at the chest, or maybe it's the way he's shaking or maybe it's how the muscles clenched around Charlie's dick are flexing like they're trying to urge him on; it is a damn good thing he went to get the oil because it's hard to say if he'd be going anywhere without it.
Fuck.
[ Small and gasped. ]
Charlie.
[ Everything is lit, and John's thighs are taunt and shaking; there's no mistaking what he wants. ]
[ Charlie echoes, stripped down to a very narrow and specific vocabulary, and he leans over John and pulls out some of the way but just far enough to push in harder. ]
God-
[ He starts to find a rhythm, breathing and whimpering in time with it. Rolls his hips, trying to pinpoint the spot that's making John groan like that. One of his hands plays with the head of John's cock, but the movement is idle because everything in Charlie's body is pulling his attention to just one place. ]
John-
[ He closes his eyes, overwhelmed and focused completely on fucking John, an actual half of a god, an actual fragment of the King, someone who could break him like lightning splitting a tree, someone who has no reason to look twice at Charlie except that Charlie looked first, someone billions of years in age who has never had anybody do this before, someone to whom Charlie wants to deeply and energetically give good things. ]
That does not mean that when Charlie finds that point, that John doesn't keen like a dying thing before biting his lip and panting for more as his insides squeeze and flex and spasm, overwhelmed.
It means that so much of how taunt and desperate and needful he is has to do with Charlie, with the man who has every reason to hate him, had every reason to curse him, bringing him here, giving him this, wanting more than anything to give him such good things. That he is a rolling tide of pleasure inside a human form but he is also happy and filled with the nonsensical urge to stop everything just to kiss Charlie on the lips and tell him over and over how much he adores him, how brave he is, how kind he is, how much he matters and to John and it's not because of what he's here for or what he knows but because of who he chooses to be.
He's rocking into Charlie's thrusts, gasping more breaths than not, a veritable St. Sebastian pierced over and over again unable to find words. And thus one word becomes them all: ]
[ It's so much. John's body, his movements, are so much. John keening and gasping and babbling his name is so much. Charlie wants badly to cum but he also wants to keep rocking into John forever, but more than both of those he wants to control the pace. So his own movements are steady and forceful, and on a couple of occasions his muscles clench with the focused effort of not tipping over the edge, and he says oh fuck and John with about five syllables apiece because he is barely curating what comes out of his mouth at this point.
His patience isn't infinite, though. So presently he speeds up, a rough note coming out of his throat with each landing in the deepest part of John he can manage. And he goes from holding John's cock to squeezing and pumping it, because fuck, he wants to cum and he wants them to do it together.
[ John is awash in feelings, sensations. Getting fucked is one of them, but there's something to Charlie's words, breathes out to him like the filthiest prophecy, that he can't deny. There's a shudder, more intense than the shaking of his thighs, and his back arches to slam Charlie into exactly the right spot, and then John is doing exactly what he was told.
Charlie will feel it in his hand, feel John lose it, just like he did in his mouth what feels like a lifetime ago, and the slick hot vice grip around Charlie will only intensify as John's mouth opens, he jams one fist in there, and then a thunderous growl at his release. ]
[ John's rib-shaking growl as he cums, and the physical sensations in Charlie's fist and around his cock, are somehow second to the fact that Charlie said to unravel and John did. And all of those things together take Charlie quickly down with him. He says John's name in about three different keys and volumes; his hips judder forwards into John, until the scales tip over into too-sensitive and he comes gently to a standstill, though he doesn't yet pull out.
He breathes deeply and slowly, while shocks like electricity go off here and there under his skin, and he runs his hands down the sweating insides of John's thighs like he's soothing him. He's--
--he catches himself going away and brings himself aggressively back to the present, and above all he tries to not think too much this time. He wants to be here feeling fond and awed and spent. He also doesn't want to be so present that he freaks out. It's a delicate balance, but somehow, he finds, not as difficult as it was last time. Maybe the terror is less when he's so unequivocally setting the pace. ]
[ John pulls his hand out of his mouth, catches the dents in his knuckles, and misses the dimples disappearing as he looks up to watch Charlie, look into his eyes, see him walk that line between here and not, between intense pleasure and satisfaction and the bigger reality.
He'll reach that hand over, just a light pressure on the back of the palm as his chest goes from heaving to something more steady. ]
[ If Charlie is looking, he'll be able to see how much that little kiss somehow makes everything in him flutter despite everything else they've just done. His teeth dent his lower lip as he listens to Charlie's praise and Charlie will feel a soft clench around his soft cock. John... might very much like compliments like that from Charlie. ]
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At the same time, the sense of being nudged towards a conclusion, even one he'd practically already come to himself, is--
--something he's not dwelling on. ]
You'd like that, huh?
[ His voice is simmering and so is the rest of him. He twists his fingers. He lifts his face until his mouth is just touching the wet head of John's cock, blowing air across it when he talks. ]
Think you're ready for that? You think you can take my whole cock at once as nice as you're takin' my fingers? I wanna find out.
[ It's their lucky day, because he might have cooking oil yeah. ]
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I don't know. [ Panted, barely holding to an edge now that it's real. Now that it might happen. ] but I want it. Charlie... Please.
[ He shifts his hips to press the fingers just a little deeper in and shivers. ]
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Okay. Okay. Okay, this means he has to think logistics, which is true dramatic irony considering the only thing he wants to think about is John whimpering and begging on his cock.
Okay. Focus. Make it happen.
*Charlie knows what those are now! ]
Don't move. No, ben-bend over the-- no, no, wait. I gotta... gotta get a thing. [ Words hard. ] Spitting won't cut it. [ Not that he's never fucked or been fucked dry, but that was almost always hurried and furtive, and over quickly, and that's not what this is. That's not what he wants for this.
Living area. Kitchenette. Oil? Oil! Oil for salads. There's a joke here somewhere but he's not stopping to think of it. He's back between John's legs as soon as possible, trying to maintain composure but betrayed utterly by his flush and his stare and his absolute lack of breath.
Charlie's eyes are glued on John's body as he lubes himself, groaning quietly at how good that alone feels after going untouched so far. Somehow, he maintains the patience to screw the lid back on the bottle before he puts it aside. ]
Okay, get... how far can you- lift your legs? Hold them up?
[ His cock is pretty well lubed at this point, but he's still slowly and lightly touching himself. ]
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He lifts his legs, spread them a little wider, and keeps his eyes closed, not looking. Waiting. Wanting.
Trust. He trusts Charlie to only bring him pleasure. ]
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He pauses for a moment to catch his breath at the landscape in front of him, the beautiful goddamn rolling hills and valleys of John. Feels the way he imagines the first men at the South Pole felt: shivering and awed, far from owners of the land and yet seeing their own footprints on it, relieved to be alive in every possible way to read that sentiment.
He slides his fingers across John's asshole, fumbles for a moment with his slippery hand to get a cheek aside for visibility and then his cock in the right place -- then slowly pushes inside.
The warm moving vice of John's ass drags a moan out of him, and with a face like he just lost half his braincells in one go he pushes the rest of the way in, as deep as he can. ]
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He can't help but arch his back, or the muscles that clench and unclench around Charlie's dick as the sensation of it thunders through him. He almost has enough time to think, let alone to think that Charlie's going to take this slowly, but then he pushes the rest of the way in and hits something that makes all the circuits in his body light at once as Charlie's sac settles against his ass.
The rumbling groan of it is enough to go through Charlie at the chest, or maybe it's the way he's shaking or maybe it's how the muscles clenched around Charlie's dick are flexing like they're trying to urge him on; it is a damn good thing he went to get the oil because it's hard to say if he'd be going anywhere without it.
Fuck.
[ Small and gasped. ]
Charlie.
[ Everything is lit, and John's thighs are taunt and shaking; there's no mistaking what he wants. ]
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[ Charlie echoes, stripped down to a very narrow and specific vocabulary, and he leans over John and pulls out some of the way but just far enough to push in harder. ]
God-
[ He starts to find a rhythm, breathing and whimpering in time with it. Rolls his hips, trying to pinpoint the spot that's making John groan like that. One of his hands plays with the head of John's cock, but the movement is idle because everything in Charlie's body is pulling his attention to just one place. ]
John-
[ He closes his eyes, overwhelmed and focused completely on fucking John, an actual half of a god, an actual fragment of the King, someone who could break him like lightning splitting a tree, someone who has no reason to look twice at Charlie except that Charlie looked first, someone billions of years in age who has never had anybody do this before, someone to whom Charlie wants to deeply and energetically give good things. ]
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That does not mean that when Charlie finds that point, that John doesn't keen like a dying thing before biting his lip and panting for more as his insides squeeze and flex and spasm, overwhelmed.
It means that so much of how taunt and desperate and needful he is has to do with Charlie, with the man who has every reason to hate him, had every reason to curse him, bringing him here, giving him this, wanting more than anything to give him such good things. That he is a rolling tide of pleasure inside a human form but he is also happy and filled with the nonsensical urge to stop everything just to kiss Charlie on the lips and tell him over and over how much he adores him, how brave he is, how kind he is, how much he matters and to John and it's not because of what he's here for or what he knows but because of who he chooses to be.
He's rocking into Charlie's thrusts, gasping more breaths than not, a veritable St. Sebastian pierced over and over again unable to find words. And thus one word becomes them all: ]
Charlie.
Charlie...
C h a r l i e...
Charlie charlie charlie please charlie!
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His patience isn't infinite, though. So presently he speeds up, a rough note coming out of his throat with each landing in the deepest part of John he can manage. And he goes from holding John's cock to squeezing and pumping it, because fuck, he wants to cum and he wants them to do it together.
Rapid, and gasped: ]
You're gonna cum. Cum for me. Do it.
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Charlie will feel it in his hand, feel John lose it, just like he did in his mouth what feels like a lifetime ago, and the slick hot vice grip around Charlie will only intensify as John's mouth opens, he jams one fist in there, and then a thunderous growl at his release. ]
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He breathes deeply and slowly, while shocks like electricity go off here and there under his skin, and he runs his hands down the sweating insides of John's thighs like he's soothing him. He's--
--he catches himself going away and brings himself aggressively back to the present, and above all he tries to not think too much this time. He wants to be here feeling fond and awed and spent. He also doesn't want to be so present that he freaks out. It's a delicate balance, but somehow, he finds, not as difficult as it was last time. Maybe the terror is less when he's so unequivocally setting the pace. ]
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He'll reach that hand over, just a light pressure on the back of the palm as his chest goes from heaving to something more steady. ]
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--and he squashes them firmly to the ground, and turns his hand to grasp John's, and lifts it up, leaning forwards, and kisses it. ]
You were so good. [ His voice isn't anywhere close to the rumble John can achieve, but next to Charlie's speaking voice it's a rumble. ] Jesus Christ.
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