When John comes around, it’s to a familiar softwetwarm feeling, and his first thought is Holly. Except, unless things have changed a lot in the three years since he’s seen her, Holly doesn’t have stubble, and that’s weird enough to drag him all the way awake.
The Farrell kid, Matt’s face swims into view, a very close view, and John must make some kind of sound because it’s suddenly getting further away, which is a shame, John thinks muzzily; it felt kind of nice to have someone be that close without trying to kill him.
“Were you just-” he starts to ask, beginning to surface from sleep and painkillers and already wondering if he was just having some freaky hallucination.
“Um, yeah?” The kid rubs the back of his neck. He’s dressed in blue scrubs and seems to be swaying where he stands. Unless that’s John’s eyes; ‘course, after the day they’ve had, it could be both. He waves one hand vaguely for a second, watching the movement like he’s fascinated, then he grabs and stills it with the other hand. “I think I was hoping you wouldn’t wake up.”
John squints. “Are you high?”
Matt nods easily. “I told you, morphine.” He looks up at the stuff feeding into John. “You too, I think.”
“You think?” It’d make sense, explain the way his eyes won’t stay open, the way he wants to ask Matt to kiss him again just so he can remember it, and the way it’s getting harder and harder not to ask.
They’re so fucking high, some sober back corner of John’s brain thinks, but the rest of him is watching Matt and the way his hands have started that waving thing again.
“So I’m gonna go,” Matt says, waving at where John thinks the door is. “And hopefully neither of us will remember this tomorrow.”
“Okay,” John says, because it sounds like a good plan. He manages to watch Matt stumble out the door (well, into then out) before he’s pulled back under again.
Matt and Lucy’s date isn’t going well. Or at least that’s what John tells himself the lack of touching means.
Their heads are bent low together, two dark heads barely visible in the cloudy moonlight, but they’re not kissing. They’re just talking have been for the past half hour, ever since they pulled up outside campus in the beat-up old Ford Holly gave Lucy last birthday. John doesn’t know what the hell anyone can find to talk about for this long.
He drums his thumbs on the steering wheel and contemplates giving up, going home. He wasn’t planning to come tonight, trusts Matt with his daughter even if he’ll never ever admit it. But he’d been going slowly crazy at home, imagining them going at it like the last time he’d been here, picturing Matt in place of Lucy’s last asshole not-boyfriend, except no, he hadn’t been picturing them because that’d be sick, he’d been picturing Matt, a foggy dream-memory of warm breath, soft lips, wet tongue.
John closes his eyes, tips his head back and curses himself for an idiot; it’s been five weeks and John can’t stop obsessing about some smartass computer nerd punk who kissed him when they were both high. And it’s not even like it even meant anything. John himself has always liked to end a good world-saving with a kiss. Of course, before it’d always been with Holly, but the principle still applies - and it stands to reason that Matt’d feel the same way.
So there it is: just a friendly little yay-we-didn’t-die kiss between two world-saving buddies and John needs to stop thinking about it. Except there’d been a second, right when Matt pulled back, just as John was getting his eyes open, where his expression hadn’t been buddy like at all.
Fuck, John thinks, then double fuck when he hears voices from outside the car, sees Lucy and Matt climbing out, Matt limping, hand on the roof for support to get around to Lucy’s side, give her a hug.
Lucy presses her face into his neck for a second and John’s blood goes hot and fast, before she steps back and, oh Jesus, waves at John.
Yeah he really sucks, he thinks, waving back and wishing he was somewhere, anywhere else, hell he’d take Naka-fucking-tomi over the shit that’s about to go down here.
Except it… doesn’t.
Lucy says something to Matt, making him laugh, then she smiles at John – an honest-to-God smile – and heads away to her dorm. Huh, that’s weird. Maybe she’s plotting ways to kill him later.
John’s still watching her, so he’s startled when the passenger door clicks open and Matt climbs inside.
“Hey,” Matt says, sliding down low in the passenger seat.
John glances at him sideways. He looks sleepy and a little dishevelled, but that’s pretty much how he always looks, so John doesn’t worry that any illicit groping happened before he arrived to supervise. “Hi.”
They both fall silent as they watch Lucy cross the grass and disappear into her dorm.
“So,” Matt says, “Doesn’t look like you’re gonna be my dad-in-law.”
John tries not to smile. He’s relieved but he doesn’t look closely at why. “Shame,” he drawls.
“Yeah,” Matt agrees, but he sounds funny and, when John looks, he’s laughing.
Matt shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“What?” John repeats, taking care to add just a bit of a growl to the end of the word.
Matt looks more amused than cowed. “You’re such a stalker.”
“I’m just looking out for my daughter,” John says, but Matt snorts. “Fuck off,” John snaps.
“Nah.” Matt shifts down lower in his seat, closes his eyes. “Drive me home?”
John’s last midnight drive to Camden was enough to last him a lifetime, but there’s something soft around Matt’s words that makes John accept he’s going to give in eventually so he might as well do it now.
“What’s the address?” he asks as they pull out of Rutgers. He’s got a feeling Matt’s not going to stay awake long enough to direct him anywhere.
He’s right; Matt falls asleep before they reach the Turnpike and he’s still sleeping an hour later when they pull up outside his new building. He’s got his hands folded neatly across his stomach; he looks pale and beat, little frown lines around his eyes that John recognises from his own reflection sometimes.
“Hey, kid,” John says, hearing his voice come out gruff, surprised to find he cares that much, glad his brain knew to cover it up. “Wake up.”
Matt comes awake slowly, blinking even though it’s dark in and outside the car. “Hm?”
“We’re here, get out of my car.”
“Oh.” Matt looks around, peering out the window as if to check that, yup, that big, ass ugly, brownstone is his new apartment block.
John frowns, watching Matt fumble with the door handle. John’s never seen him like this before; even when he was getting himself shot up and scared as fuck, there’d still been that edge of cockiness, that bite that’d reminded John of himself.
“Fuck’s sake,” John mutters to himself, swinging himself out of his door and around to let Matt out.
The confused frown-lines on Matt’s face deepen when he finds himself standing up, John’s hands under his elbows to keep him upright.
“You okay, kid?” John asks.
Matt manages a smile; it’s pathetic enough that John wishes he hadn’t bothered. “Yeah. Just, you know-” shrug “Leg’s been hurting, new neighbours suck and-” He stops, grins, clicks his fingers at John. “But you don’t care. Right. Gonna get some sleep and then I’ll be right as rain.”
John rolls his eyes, at the kid’s dramatics, at the fact it’s working on him, at everything. “I don’t care,” he says and one thing John’s always been good at is sounding convinced when he’s not. He turns Matt towards the building, clicks his little doorlocking clicker with his free hand. “C’mon.”
Matt’s pliable under John’s hands, lets himself be manhandled into the building. The elevator’s a clanky, metal-cage thing and it looks dead; a sign taped to the door says NOT FOR USE AFTER 9PM. They stop at the bottom of the stairs, John frowning upwards; the steps are pretty steep.
“How’ve you been managing that then?”
“Oh,” Matt says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Slowly.”
John rolls his eyes, trust Matt not to check his new building has a working fucking elevator; they probably have some fancy Internet connection or something that tempted the kid instead.
“I am way too old to be anyone’s babysitter,” John complains under his breath, looping an arm around Matt’s waist and starting them up the stairs.
Matt’s apartment is on the third floor and by the time they get there, Matt’s pale and shaky, hands fumbling around the lock before finally getting the door open and John keeps a hand on him, not quite trusting him to stay upright on his own.
Inside, the lights flicker twice before turning on and the walls shine dark red and empty under the bare light bulb.
The kid’s got half a room full of computer junk, a TV and a sofa and John tries to lead him over there, but Matt tries to pull away, nodding his head towards a kitchen-unit tucked into one corner.
“Vicodin,” he says and yeah, John’s shoulder’s starting to throb and that sounds like a plan.
Between them, they get two glasses out of a cupboard and John hunts for the painpills while Matt goes to the faucet. It drips pathetically for a moment before water screams its way down the pipes and comes bursting out in a torrent, splashing John and soaking Matt.
He curses, almost drops a glass and John strides over, taking the glasses away from him and turning him towards one of the two doors leading off the living room; one of them’s got to be the bedroom, he reasons.
“Go get dry, okay? I’ll do this.”
Without a half asleep kid getting in his way, the process goes much more smoothly. John steals a couple of pills and swallows them, then takes the glasses and bottle over to the coach. He slumps down and looks around for a remote. He’s still looking when Matt comes back.
“Hey, I got your-” John starts to say then stops, blinks, shakes his head; Matt’s wearing a white t-shirt, washed thin, proudly stating I DIDN’T FUCK YOUR DAUGHTER across the front.
“Well, that’s good to know,” John drawls.
Matt smirks and does a slow turn-around. John bites his lips as he reads the back: BUT I MAY HAVE FUCKED YOUR SON.
“Jesus,” John sighs. “Are you for real?”
Matt’s smirk grows. “As real as it gets.” A pause, a small frown. “Of course reality is just a social construction designed to-”
John grins. “Shut up.”
“Yeah,” Matt agrees, dropping down beside John and taking his own pills. They’re a fine pair of crocks, John thinks, and smiles to himself.
“What?” Matt says and when John looks over, Matt’s looking back, eyes heavy lidded and sleepy.
Uh oh, John thinks, No way, but the kid’s scooting closer.
“Uh,” John says and stands up quickly. “I’d better be going.” Because, Jesus, the kid’s half-dating his daughter.
“Right,” Matt says and pulls himself back to his feet. He can’t quite hide a huff of pain and John feels like six kinds of bastard.
It only takes five seconds to get to the door, but they’re pretty awkward seconds all the same. At the door, right before John can get it open, Matt’s hand closes around his elbow. “John,” he says, which is weird enough to get John to look at him.
“Thanks,” Matt says softly. He puts his hand on John’s shoulder, leaning in.
Step back John’s brain says. Fuck off the rest of his body replies, cock and balls and the burning in his belly leading the rebellion.
Matt’s kiss is soft and John recognises the soft brush of lips, swipe of tongue across his bottom lip from back in the hospital, knows that that’s where it ends. Except he really doesn’t want it to be over yet and he brings his own hands up, one cupping Matt’s cheek, the other going to the small of his back, pressing him in, and the kiss deepens, Matt’s tongue along the inside of John’s lip, Matt making little noises, a deep groan building up in John’s chest, and when they do eventually pull back it’s with a series of slow licks and kisses, like they’re trying to keep it going for ever.
John takes a long, shaky breath when his mouth’s just his own again, and looks across at Matt, feeling suddenly, unusually, uncertain.
Most people look pleased when they kiss you and you kiss back, but Matt, obviously, has to be contrary so he’s big-eyed and shocked-looking instead. “Oh,” he says, licking at his lips. “You-”
John interrupts him, really has to. “You got a funny way of saying thanks, kid.”
Matt just stares at him, and fuck this was a bad idea. “Good night, Matt,” John says and gets out of there, strategic retreat he tells the parts of him that are calling him a coward.
It’s 3 in the morning by the time John gets home and the red light’s blinking on his answer machine. It’s probably Holly; she’s been calling to berate him nightly since the fire sale, and tonight he’s really not in mood.
He’s been hard since he left Camden and wishing like hell that’d he’d stayed, taken Matt up on what he obviously would have been offering after a bit of persuasion, except John doesn’t want to be the kind of asshole who persuades just-out-of-college kids to fuck him, so he’s got to take care of himself instead.
John strips out of his clothes and crawls into bed. The only good thing about being divorced is there’s no one to mind if he sleeps naked, no one to get offended that sometimes he likes to jerk himself off.
He’s all the way hard, no surprise, and his palm around his cock is good enough that it’s not going to take long.
He spreads his legs and pulls his knees up, puts his other hand under his balls and rolls them gently.
He thinks of Holly, stretched out on her front between his legs, neat little licks around the base of his cock, teasing him the way she always liked to, looking up with soft, mocking eyes, while her hair fell in her face and her breasts got squashed underneath her.
Except… except it had always been gentle with Holly and John doesn’t want gentle now, he wants somewhere he can pound into, someone he can take and have and not be scared of hurting. He wants…
No, Jesus, he does not want Matt.
Matt’d tease him too, John just knows it, but his mouth’d be wider, hot, and when he finally did take John in, swallow him down, he’d just go for it, not stopping for anything, and John would curl his hands in Matt’s stupid hair and come in his mouth, down his throat, over his face and chest and neck and then, then – John’s cock jerks in his hand, the room fading away and nothing but the phantom memory of kisses in his mind while he comes and comes. And then, after, he’d get to make Matt come too.
The telephone wakes him and it’s way too dark outside still for anyone to be calling him.
“McClane,” John growls into his phone when what he really wants to say is do you know what fucking time it is?.
“Hi, Dad,” Lucy says, way too chirpy. “Did I wake you up?”
John rolls onto his back and scratches his belly. There’s dried come there, gross. “No, baby, I’ve been up hours.”
She laughs, God but it’s sweet to hear her laugh. “Liar. Anyway I was just going to go for my jog-” John’s brain decides it would rather not process that. “And I thought I’d check that you got Matt home okay. I tried to call you last night but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah,” John says, definitely not thinking about Matt. “Got him home fine.”
Lucy pauses and John swipes at his eyes, scratching sleep crud from out of the corners. “Daddy?” She sounds uncertain. Lucy has never sounded uncertain in the whole of her life. “Matt’s nice, isn’t he?”
Shit, John thinks, please don’t be in love with him. “Sure,” he says cautiously.
“Yeah, you think so?” She sounds excited; this is bad. “He really likes you, you know.”
“Lucy, I-” Hang on, rewind, what? “Me?”
“Sure. Mom told me how you used to date boys before you married her and Matt thinks you’re really cool so I just thought maybe…” She trails off.
It’s way too early to be dealing with this. “Lucy, honey, this really isn’t something I want to be talking to you about.”
“No, baby, just. I’ve gotta go, okay. I’ll talk to you soon.”
She sighs. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you go. But think about it, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, and hangs up. For good measure, he throws the phone across the room.
“Shit,” John says aloud and covers his face with both hands. Time was he had a wife, two cute little kids, and bad guys used bombs. Nowadays he’s divorced with one kid who won’t talk to him and another who wants him to go on dates with boys, and bad guys can take out a country with a couple of clicks on their fancy-ass computers-modem-ISP-thingies.
He wishes his shoulder would heal up; he wants to get back to work and stop having to think all the fucking time. With a groan, he rolls out of bed.
John takes a quick shower, letting hot water pound down on his head and not thinking about Lucy, Holly, Matt or anyone else who’s ever done their best to screw his head up.
The doorbell’s ringing before he’s finished getting dressed, and he fumbles his fly closed with one hand, tugging down his t-shirt with the other while he stumbles through the mess on his living room floor. If it’s Mormons he is fully prepared to choke someone.
It’s Matt. Of course. He looks better than he did last night, and thank Christ he’s not wearing that stupid t-shirt anymore.
“I-” Matt says, then he stops, steps inside the apartment and closes the door. John stands to the side, arms folded and waits. “I wanted to test something.”
“Test?” John asks. His heart’s started to beat double-time, that feeling he gets right before something big happens.
“Yeah.” Matt’s walking forward slowly, languid kind of, like he’s sleep-walking, or his legs are taking him somewhere his brain isn’t sure of. “Test.” He stops right in front of John; John doesn’t step back.
Matt lifts his hand, same slow movements, and touches the corner of John’s mouth with two fingers.
John licks his lips, not thinking about it until he’s already done it, is tasking salt and something chemical from Matt’s fingertips.
Then Matt’s mouth is on John’s, in place of his fingers and not soft like the last two kisses – and fuck, this is their third kiss? What’s happening to John’s life? – a hard, determined sort of kiss that makes the blood throb in John’s veins, makes his hands come up of their own accord, wrap around Matt’s shoulders and yank him in.
Matt gasps right against John’s lips, mouth opening and moaning when John takes the hint and licks his way inside.
And oh Jesus who’s John trying to kid pretending he doesn’t want this?
With an effort, he breaks away. “You sure you-?”
“Shut up,” Matt says, and who knew he’d turn out to be the brave one, the one who pushed for this? “You talk too fucking much.”
John laughs right into his mouth, feels stupidly, embarrassingly elated.
It’s twenty six steps from John’s front door to his bed, but this morning John doesn’t remember taking any of them, doesn’t remember anything until they’re falling onto the bed, John landing on his elbows over Matt’s panting body, careful not to crush him but still wanting to press as close as he can.
Matt’s hand finds its way to John’s crotch, curving around his cock and hot even through John’s jeans and John swears, twisting his hips down into Matt’s firm, sure hold.
“Oh God, oh God,” Matt’s whispering, his thumb rubbing up and down the length of John’s cock, and John has to kiss him, Matt’s head twisting up and back under the force, his arching back pushing his chest against John’s and Christ, this has no right to be as hot as it is.
Eventually, Matt pushes him off, sinking down into the bed, bright red and breathless. He tugs uncoordinatedly at the hem of John’s t-shirt. “Get naked, okay? You should get-” But John’s already doing it, ripping his t-shirt over his head, kicking off his pants, pleased he didn’t bother with boxers. “Just like that,” Matt finishes.
John smirks at him, his hands going to Matt’s fly.
“My turn?” Matt asks, smile cheeky. John worms his hand into Matt’s open fly and pumps his cock, once, twice, three times until the smile’s replaced with lusty shock.
“Oh, yeah,” John promises and gets him naked in about ten more seconds.
It takes a minute to get them fitted together; Matt’s got a nice chest, neatly defined, but he’s so fucking skinny and John really doesn’t want to hurt him. But Matt takes the decision out of his hand, wrapping one leg up around John’s waist, curling their hands together and sliding John’s arms out and up the bed, forcing him down until his hips are just below Matt’s, cock brushing the inside of Matt’s thigh.
He hisses and Matt moans, the most needy and content sound John’s ever heard.
Matt’s kissing along John’s jaw, hot mouth and the tinniest scrape of sharp teeth and he’s babbling things, things John half wants to hear except he can’t concentrate on any fucking thing but the twist and arch of the body underneath him and he licks his way up Matt’s throat, around the shell of his ear, stopping his words.
Matt’s skin is soft, almost downy and Christ, he’s so young. John’s fingers fumble over Matt’s chest, twisting in chest hair - thank God, not that young - flat chest, tiny nipples, tempting and right there.
John sucks one into his mouth and it’s strange after so long not to feel the swollen weight of a breast behind it, taste the sweet scent of a woman’s skin, but still somehow good, great, fan-fucking-tastic.
Matt gasps softly and scrabbles his fingers over the back of John’s head, looking for purchase.
Encouraged, John sucks harder, rubs the flat of his tongue over Matt’s hard little nipple, brushes his fingers over the other, twists it when Matt’s gasp becomes a moan, scrapes the edge of his nail around it when Matt’s moans become a constant stream of vowels.
Matt strains upward, head lifting and dropping kisses wherever he can reach, on John’s temple, head, eyebrow, eyelid. It feels weird, but good weird, Matt’s mouth is soft, strangely nice, which isn’t something John had ever thought to find himself thinking.
“God, John,” Matt is saying. His hips are shifting restlessly and he’s hard against the leg John has shoved between his thighs.
John smiles against Matt’s chest, weirdly pleased to know he can still have this effect on someone. Then Matt’s hands are on his ass and John’s smile is lost in a groan of his own.
“Come here, c’mon,” Matt begs, pleads, orders, tugging at John until John gets the message and shifts up, mouths meeting and kissing, kissing like they might never stop.
Matt’s hand wraps around both their cocks, sliding them wetly together, hot and smooth and so overwhelmingly good that John knows this is it, knows he’s gonna come. He tries to put it into words, warn the kid that it’s going to happen but then it is and it’s too late.
“Oh man,” Matt whispers and when John wrenches his eyes open, he sees Matt staring down at their cocks, John’s twitching and sensitive still held against Matt’s. There’s come on Matt’s belly, in the dark hair between his thighs, John’s come, and John’s cock manages one more shiver at that.
He drops an off-centre kiss on Matt’s lips then licks a trail up to his ear. Matt shudders. “Hey kid,” John rasps, right against his ear; Matt’s shivering pretty much constantly now. “You are fucking hot.”
Matt groans out a surprised laugh and, satisfied, John scoots down his body, dropping random kisses and licks as he goes, only stopping to work a hickey into the hollow of Matt’s hipbone and then another just below his bellybutton because it’s too tempting not too.
Matt’s so hard the head of his cock is knocking wetly against the underside of John’s chin and John would laugh except Matt’s making pained little noises and he doesn’t want that, he just really wants to make him come.
It’s strange to have a cock in his mouth again; he hadn’t thought he’d ever be doing this again, but God it’s good, apparently he’s missed it.
Matt’s cock is long, not too wide, but a nice mouthful, smooth and warm, tasting of salt and skin, his own precome and John’s come, and John sucks him hard and fast, getting Matt right there, right on the edge and keeping him there for two long seconds that make Matt twist and whine and beg above him, before dragging him over, letting him come.
“So, uh,” Matt says afterwards then doesn’t say anything else.
John rolls over and just the fact of getting to roll around naked in his own bed with someone else to see feels kind of erotic. Which is either a sign that John’s finally cracked or that it’s been way too long since he got laid.
“So, uh?” he prompts.
Matt mock-pouts at him, and no way is that endearing. “Last night, you were freaking out right, that’s why you left?”
“No, I was not-” John starts, then catches sight of something sort of uncertain on Matt’s face and changes his mind. “Maybe a little,” he concedes.
“Good.” Matt smiles. He runs his hand down the length of John’s back, not a straight path and John guesses he’s avoiding some of the nastiest looking scars. “You know it’s okay if you’ve never done this before, I don’t expect any-”
John’s on top of him before he can finish that thought. “You little punk,” he growls. Matt goes big-eyed and flushed. “I’ve been fucking men since before you were born.”
Matt’s smiles widens. “Yeah?” His hands have moved to John’s hips and now he runs one over John’s ass. “So if I do this, you won’t deck me?” And his fingertips brush over the crack of John’s ass, lightly skimming his hole. John pushes back into the touch, shivering all over; Holly would never do that, thought it was disgusting.
“Might kill you if you stop,” John forces out and Matt laughs. He squeezes John’s shoulder and turns his head to kiss John’s arm.
“Let me out, yeah?”
John rolls off him, lets himself be guided down onto the bed, spreading his thighs a little when Matt lies down between his legs. Only it’s not fingers that touch him this time, it’s lips, then tongue, wet and soft and ohfuck. “Oh, fuck,” John says and Matt’s laugh vibrates all the way through him.
“Mm,” Matt says in between licks, “I’ve always wanted to try this.”
John’s cock is getting hard again; that should not be possible this soon, not at his age.
“How’s this?” Matt asks softly, and he pushes his tongue in as far as he can get it and sort of flutters it, that’s the only word for it.
“Awesome,” Matt says, sort of reverently and John’s not totally comfortable having anyone talk about him like that, especially not someone with their tongue up his ass, but, yeah, tongue up his ass and it’s kind of hard to think.
“Shit, John,” Matt whispers into his skin and that’s hot; John swears like breathing but Matt doesn’t. “Shit, I want to fuck you.”
John cranes his head to look over his shoulder. “What’s stopping you?” he asks calmly and Matt goes still, looking shocked. “Oh c’mon,” John chides, “You don’t think I’m that much of a bastard?”
And that gets him moving again. “No, no, of course not, I just- Really?”
John grins at how eager he sounds and reaches out. Snagging condoms and lube from the bedside table, he tosses them over his shoulder at Matt. “Use those,” he orders, “And we shouldn’t have a problem.”
It takes Matt forever to get the condom packet open and John’s half tempted to sit up and do it for him, but when he looks back, Matt’s fingers are shaking and he’s biting his lip like this is taking the very last bit of concentration he has and it’s so hot to see Mr Multitasker, Brain the Size of a Planet outsmarted by a piece of foil all because of John that John just settles down to watch.
When Matt’s finally ready, he goes about as slow as it’s possible to go, so slow it’s got to be torture but shit that still really fucking hurts. John grits his teeth and widens his legs and then Matt’s all the way in, gasping hotly against John’s back.
“Okay,” Matt asks shakily. He puts his free hand on the small of John’s back, rubs slow circles, and it’s weird but it does help, letting John relax, give in to the pressure and then, oh man there it is, that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.
“Yes,” John manages, “Go, go, go.”
Matt laughs. “I’m not a SWAT team, McClane” he says and he sounds so affectionate as he says it that John has to kiss him.
He reaches back, hooks an arm around Matt’s neck and tugs him down. Matt squawks briefly then gets the hint and fits their mouths together, kissing John slow and lush while his hips make aborted little circles against John’s ass.
“Okay,” Matt says at last into John’s mouth. “That was nice, but this is a crappy angle.”
“Yeah,” John agrees, letting him go. He waits for Matt to kneel up then pushes himself up onto hands and knees and then things really start to get good. Matt seems to take John’s grunted “harder” and “faster” as a personal challenge, really going for it, fucking him so hard the bed squeaks, the headboards knocks dents into the paintwork and Mr and Mrs Cleaver next door probably think there’s an earthquake going on.
John loves it.
He wishes it could go on forever but pretty soon Matt’s making the kind of noises you only make when you’re fighting off a ball shaking orgasm and his hand is groping clumsily at John’s cock, begging him to come and, really, when you put it that way-
John’s orgasm hits him hard, knocks him flat and way before he’s finished coming he can feel Matt doing the same thing inside him and that’s hot enough to produce a couple of aftershocks of its own.
“Jesus Christ,” Matt groans, pulling out and rolling off the bed. John doesn’t even try to open his eyes, just lies there, breathing hard into his pillow until Matt comes back, drops down next to him and pulls the sheet up over them both.
“Time to sleep, okay?” Matt says and it’s got to only be lunchtime at the latest, but that’s the best idea John’s heard all day. Or rather, it would be, if one of the other ideas hadn’t been him having sex with Matt.
He cracks open an eye. Matt’s lying on his side, looking at John through half closed eyes.
“Did you tell my daughter you wanted to fuck me?”
Matt goes still; John reaches out and lays a heavy hand on his hip so he can’t try to escape. “Well,” he says slowly, “I didn’t exactly say it like that.”
John glares. “You ever discuss my sex life with my daughter again and you will have no further part in it.”
Matt’s eyes go wide. “Technically I was discussing my sex life and-” He stops, eyes widening. “I get to be a part of your sex life? I mean like ongoingly?”
John’s not sure that’s a real word. “You thought it was a one time thing?” John’s never done the one time thing, isn’t sure he can. He tends to get… possessive about the people he cares about.
“Uh,” Matt smiles, just a little; he’s looking very young again – John wishes he’d stop doing that – and there’s something shy on the edges of his smile. “No?” He looks thoroughly pleased with himself.
“I’m not promising forever or anything,” John tells him cautiously, because you never know; even the most normal people can turn out to be bunny-boilers.
Matt smirks. “No, really? My heart’s broken,” he says deadpan, pressing a hand to the centre of his chest. He then totally ruins the disinterested act by rolling close to John and spooning up against his side.
John tugs him closer with one arm, running his other hand over Matt’s back, feeling stupid and protective even as he worries he’s setting the kid up for a fall. “I’m not great at this shit, Matt. I never even managed to stick with my wife for ever.”
Matt puts his hand over the tight, new-scarring skin on John’s shoulder. “How long did you manage?” he asks.
“About 20 years.”
Matt smiles, like that’s all the time in the world; hell to him it probably is. “Plenty of time,” he says, curling an arm around John’s waist, stealing half his pillow and closing his eyes, falling asleep like it’s just that simple.
John surprises the hell out of himself by hoping it is.