Harry's pants have never fit especially well, and it's simple to tug down just enough to get the sharp lines of his hipbones. John touches them, then traces them with one fingertip from the waist down to where the jeans are clinging on. He can feel the racing pulse there, strong enough to count the beats. John hums, pleased. "In general, or with men?" He asks, and it's a loaded question, but completely devoid of judgement. If the rumors about Harry and Raith are true, that's fine. If they aren't, that's fine as well, but John would like to know.

He'd like to overwhelm the man, but from pleasure, not inexperience. The hands wound tight in the sheets seem to be a good sign more than anything. And Harry responds beautifully; shifting around every time John touches him, restrained because John asked that of him, but otherwise eager.

He works the pants down slowly, the hand on Harry's back sliding down to help (and taking in the curve of his ass, that too). The boxers come too, and when Harry's cock comes free, John smirks and kisses the head smugly. He'll come back to it later. He has to move to pull the jeans the rest of the way off, lifting upward just to see the stretch of Harry's legs, the way the fold back down onto the bed with soft flumps.

John would be happy with just this, seeing Harry bare and long limbed and on his bed.

"Either way, I can be gentle," he soothes, hands sliding up from Harry's feet, up his legs, settling back between them.