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food for the soul

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There was something to be said for blissful domesticity, but even Tim had to admit that he hadn’t expected Jon to proposition him as they were putting away dishes from dinner.

Well, it wasn’t so much a proposition as it was, just… Jon making a mention of the fact that he wasn’t anything beneath his skirt of choice for the day and, you know. Jon only did that for a reason. Jon only rarely did that for a reason, especially with his skirts, something so usually non-sexual for him. And yet…

Jon glanced over his shoulder, and then hurriedly went back to rinsing off a plate. “You don’t have to ogle.”

“Sorry, sorry, but how can I not?” He stuck his tongue out, even as Jon didn’t turn back around when he handed off the still dripping plate. Tim shoved it into the cabinet after a cursory towel dry, reaching for one of the bowls to set on top of it. There, done. Just the mugs. “You’ve been mucking about in that all day and not wearing any pants. Holy shit.”

“I was sitting the way I was for a reason.”

“I thought you were just cozy.” Besides, Jon sitting with his knees tucked up on the sofa wasn’t uncommon. He always had his toes tucked into the cushions, even in the midst of summer. “You know, skirt and all.” He gestured. Kind of his comfort thing. Tim was glad. “But you were scheming.”  

Jon almost laughed– almost. Just that tiny huff of breath that meant Tim was being impossible, but he loved him for it, anyway. (That’s what Tim assumed it was, and he wasn’t going to be convinced otherwise, thank you very much.) “I wasn’t scheming. I just… extended the offer. If you want.”

“Of course I want.” Because doing anything sexy with Jon was always a way to pique his interest. Especially when Jon was sounding all shy when he mentioned it like that, half muttered under his breath when he had brought it up. And it was pretty strong of an urge to immediately feel up his arse to be sure, but, you know, Jon didn’t lie about those sort of things. About sex. About wanting to participate, about wanting Tim to eat him out. “I’m always down for making out. And can usually be pretty ready for sex, whenever you want.”

“Of course you can,” Jon muttered, but he was still fond. “I don’t know if I’m jealous or disgusted.”

“Well, I hope you’re not disgusted now.” Tim abandoned the drying up, slipping his arm around Jon’s waist. “Are you?”

“Of course I’m not.”

“Good!” He rest his head on his shoulder, and pecked a quick kiss to his jaw. “Gonna kiss you real good in a second, then.”

“Just in a second?” Jon reached back, feeling for the towel. 

Tim let him take it. Forget the mugs. They’d make at least two more cups of tea tonight and what did a little air-drying matter, anyway? He had bigger interests. “Yeah. Gotta get you all hot and bothered first.” He slid his hands up along from his waist, over his ribs, and up to his chest. Let his hands curve along the swell of his breasts, nuzzling along his jaw. “‘m so glad you stopped wearing that at my place.” Not that he minded the binder, of course not, but it was so bad for Jon to wear it when they were just, like, casual. At home, not seeing anyone else. It was a health thing, but also a trust thing, which was really nice.

“Yes, well…” Jon was faltering as he toweled a mug dry. “It’s just– it’s just you. Like you’ve said. Plus, it’s literally in the bedroom, so if I need–”

“You won’t,” Tim interrupted. “I won’t let anyone in this house if it means your tits get to breathe.”

“You won’t let anyone in the house if it means you get to fondle them, you mean.”

“I’m not fondling.” A kiss to his neck. Jon tilted his head, allowing Tim more access like it was instinct rather than reflex. “I’m holding. Touching.” He rubbed the pad of his thumb over a nipple, already a little stiff beneath Jon’s shirt, and felt him jump. Always sensitive there. “Enjoying. Don’t drop that mug, I bought that on vacation.”

Jon spluttered a laugh, but did set it down gently on the cabinet. Tim waited until he had to bite down at Jon’s pulse, smiling at the reward of another quick breath and a tiny, tiny little groan. He gave a little more attention to the opposite nipple, the pass of his knuckles in a circle around it. Yeah, he was gonna give him this spectacular hickey and then he was really gonna kiss him good.

“You’re– certainly eager–” Jon gasped, arching into the hands at his chest.

“Oh, always, for you.” He allowed himself to press up against him, not quite a grind, not quite the intention, but just enough to drive the point home. “Don’t you dare pick up another mug,” he warned, grabbing Jon’s elbow to spin him around before he could. “We’ve done ninety-eight percent of the dishes, it’s fine. My house, my dishes, anyway,” he joked, and leaned down to kiss him proper before he could complain.

“Oh.” Jon sucked in a breath, clumsily feeling out the damp bruise at his neck. “Tim–”

“Told you I would,” he replied, biting gently at his mouth, daring to deepen it a bit. “Gonna knock the sense right out of you.” He swept his hands down to Jon’s hips again. “And I’m not even on my knees yet.”

“Oh Christ.” Jon braced his hands on Tim’s chest, pushing him back an inch. “Let’s go, then.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. One last kiss to Jon’s mouth, clumsy and landing at the corner of his lips. “I was just trying to get you worked up preemptively, but if you want my efforts elsewhere–” Jon weighed pretty much next to nothing, which wasn’t a good thing, but helpful here as Tim held onto him, and lifted him up. And Jon barely had time to verbally complain before he deposited him fluidly on the countertop, still mindful of the mugs. “There we go!”

“Tim– oh my God.”

“Look, I love this,” Tim said, “I really do. But our height difference is hell, Jon. I need you somewhere where I can– mostly– comfortably get my mouth on you.” Not that he minded a little discomfort, or even maybe heretofore undiscovered facesitting, but, no, this for now. And there was always something a tiny bit hot about sitting your partner on the counter, right? Was that just him?

“But the kitchen–” Jon complained, flabbergasted, like they hadn’t had makeouts here before. Like they hadn’t done anything here before.

“Curtains are drawn.” He grabbed at the hem of Jon’s skirt, bundling it up around his hips. “We’re safe.”

Yep, he was definitely not wearing anything. Dark skin and lightened scars, that was all. Still beautiful as hell. 

And, listen, the skirt was nice, too. Definitely one of Jon’s nicer ones, soft knit and swishy. Super comfortable to curl up in. Super nice to touch, too. So if it ended up cascading down around Tim’s face, he wasn’t going to mind in the slightest.

“Christ.”

“Uh huh.” Tim sank down to the floor. “Keep praying if you’d like. Not sure it’ll help, but.” He rest his hands on either of Jon’s knees. “I’m sure it can’t hurt things.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Jon braced his hands at his thighs. See, the monotone was contradicted by the way Jon’s fingers clutched at the fabric of his skirt. Nervous, probably, a little annoyed Tim was pulling out kitchen stunts again, but no safeword, which was good! “You’re a regular class act, huh.”

“It passes the time,” Tim replied, cheery, and leaned in to kiss Jon’s thigh. “Much like other things,” he added, a little lower, purposefully breathing out against his skin just to feel him shift and wriggle already. Sensitive there, too. Sensitive everywhere, actually, which was a nice thing for, well? Both of them. For Tim, it meant he got to get him worked up faster. For Jon, it meant… he got to feel nice and get worked up fast.

Good stuff.

Jon’s little cock had already swelled quite a bit, just visible from the tangle of nearly salt-and-pepper curls down there. No, Tim didn’t tease him about either of those things– much, anymore. And who was he kidding? He loved them. Loved them the way he did Jon’s little gasp of breath as he continued to kiss up his thighs and over his belly, and the way the errant fuzzies on Jon’s skirt tickled his face as he went back down.

“You good for me?” he asked, slipping his hand between Jon’s legs. He answered the question himself; Jon was already wet, even though it hadn’t been a lengthy makeout session by any means. He could tease him, yeah, but he didn’t want to do that, either. “Yep,” he answered himself out loud, and slipped a finger into him.

Jon jerked, hands coming down hard on either of Tim’s shoulders. “Fuck. Tim,” he whined, already clenching around that finger, so Tim just added another in. “Jesus.”

“Still?” Tim grinned and ducked his head, finally sucking Jon’s cock between his lips. There was nothing quite like that, really. On his knees for Jon, pleasuring Jon, subservient for Jon. He was very eager to please, and continued licking and sucking as Jon’s breath got shallow, and fast, and his nails bit crescents into Tim’s shoulders as he held onto him. “Didn’t know you were so devout,” he managed in between licks, careful cat-like swipes of his tongue over those most sensitive parts nestled in there.

Jon groaned, and his thighs were dangerously close to mashing against Tim’s ears. “You know I’ve never been– interested in– fuck,” he gasped, when Tim crooked his fingers and then straightened them out again.

“Yeah, I know, but here we are!” He could make a joke about Jon’s asexuality, and only he could make a joke about Jon’s asexuality.

“Tim,” he gasped, and he was definitely getting tighter. 

Tim should probably be feeling a bit suffocated, but he loved it. What better place to be, right? Trapped between Jon’s thighs with his face pressed against his mound? Hell yeah. He kissed his way along, delighting in Jon trembling around him. The grip on his shoulders, and his thighs, and his breathing, shaky and fast. Good. Tim went back to his cock, flicking his tongue against it, scissoring the fingers inside of him. 

When he sucked him back between his lips, Jon made a strangled noise from on high; his hands clutched hard at Tim’s shoulders and, then, Tim thought he did go momentarily deaf, because Jon’s thighs did really clamp around his ears, and he was tense and trembling and incomprehensible. Tim smiled against his skin, and slipped his fingers free only when Jon sagged again on the countertop.

“All done?” he asked, but not before he gave one final suck to be cheeky, and then raised his head. “Oh– who turned out the lights?” Because now, of course, the skirt had fallen down around him. Not that he minded the view at present, but he still laughed as he ducked his way out of the cascading fabric.

Jon didn’t open his eyes to watch Tim pop up, but he had braced his hands back against the counter like he couldn’t hold himself up any longer, so that was nice.  

“Jon.”

“Ye– Yes.” Jon raised his head, bonelessly. “All done,” he echoed, and scrubbed the back of his hand against his face, using it to push his glasses up to his hair. “Thank you.”

“Mhmmm.” He leaned in, pecking a wet kiss to Jon’s cheek, which he predictably spluttered and scrubbed at a moment later. “Thank you, boss.”

“Oh God, that again.”

“I mean, you’re still my boss. God knows you like giving me orders.” He gave a particularly pointed wink and reached past him for the towel to dry his fingers on.

“It wasn’t an order.” Jon took a deep breath, and sat up straight again. “And I…” he trailed off, eyes falling on the towel Tim was currently wiping his hands on. “And that’s the dish towel.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Oh, come on,” he added, at the growing appalled look on Jon’s face, “I’m going to throw it in the laundry, don’t get all grossed out. It’s your own juice, anyway, you know, sooo…”

“Please,” Jon murmured, smoothing the wrinkles in his skirt. “Never say that again.”

“Sure thing,” he laughed, holding out his (dry, thank you) hands to Jon to help him off the counter. And then steadying him when he staggered against his chest, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “Woah, okay?”

The blush probably should be dying down by now, but it really wasn’t. “I’m– fine. Think I just need to sit down– somewhere, else.”

Wobbly legs. Damn, was he good. Tim smiled, but didn’t say. “C’mon, then. Sofa cuddles it is, then.”

They were very good at sofa cuddles, too. 

Tim reaffirmed, as he pulled Jon onto the sofa and delighted in the way he curled up against his chest, warm and pliant, again.