"You're a lot of things," Harry mutters, "especially for just one guy."
It's like playing a game of table tennis, the way they trade sentences. John plays an easy, patient serve and Harry returns it sharply, with energy to spare. Though he relates their conversation to that, his tone is idle, focused not on acerbic retorts but on the way John fucking absorbs his request like it's a delicacy. Well, to a man as multi-faceted as him, it must have been. He did get off or something when demanding a 'please' or two from Harry's lips. Was it something about his asking, rather than commanding, that did it to John?
The idea itself wasn't bad. While Harry would pick waterboarding over begging, briefly contemplating how using manners and requests in a controlled environment wasn't something he just discarded. No, it settled in his eyes and in his brows as they knit thoughtfully - then he tucked it away for later reference, as his hands were pressed above his head. He elects to keep them there, for now.
There's a hiss wrung from him, not in warning, but in surprise - frozen fruit against his skin, followed by the heat of a tongue - he heaves a breath in, holding it until the sensation has begun to settle into his nerves. Harry almost says something, his fingers curling into the bedding. He refrains; instead, he watches with sharp, studious eyes. Cataloging the night in a personal way, one that is as much his years spent as a PI as it is a human being.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-12-08 01:59 am (UTC)It's like playing a game of table tennis, the way they trade sentences. John plays an easy, patient serve and Harry returns it sharply, with energy to spare. Though he relates their conversation to that, his tone is idle, focused not on acerbic retorts but on the way John fucking absorbs his request like it's a delicacy. Well, to a man as multi-faceted as him, it must have been. He did get off or something when demanding a 'please' or two from Harry's lips. Was it something about his asking, rather than commanding, that did it to John?
The idea itself wasn't bad. While Harry would pick waterboarding over begging, briefly contemplating how using manners and requests in a controlled environment wasn't something he just discarded. No, it settled in his eyes and in his brows as they knit thoughtfully - then he tucked it away for later reference, as his hands were pressed above his head. He elects to keep them there, for now.
There's a hiss wrung from him, not in warning, but in surprise - frozen fruit against his skin, followed by the heat of a tongue - he heaves a breath in, holding it until the sensation has begun to settle into his nerves. Harry almost says something, his fingers curling into the bedding. He refrains; instead, he watches with sharp, studious eyes. Cataloging the night in a personal way, one that is as much his years spent as a PI as it is a human being.