John is perfectly fine with seeing Harry in such a state. His eyes are open and dark, watching John like he's something so very worthwhile. That makes him want to do more, seeing Harry like this. There's a flush working its way over Harry's skin, and John wants to push and coax until the man is blushing red everywhere, bright-eyed and overwhelmed.
But he should go easy, it seems. Harry deserves that. And only the brush of his lips makes Harry start. John chuckles and pets Harry's cock idly, like its not hardening in his hand insistently. "Shush," he whispers, squeezing once, a light tug, just to make Harry's hips lift a little before he lets go.
If Harry thinks John needs a soft touch-- John smirks at the thought. "Who says I like things gentle?" Even as he speaks, his hands keep soothing Harry's legs, spreading them a little wider. There's enough room for John to undo his pants and push them down. The belt clacks loudly when the rest of John's clothes hit the floor. Now, it's an even playing field.
Or not, really. John cannot stop his eyes from tracking up the long arrow lines of Harry's body, the way the sheets crease in his hands. He can see the wrinkles set into the linens, where Harry has needed to hold on. John would much like to see how far Harry can go. How long can he just hang on and enjoy the ride without touching? What will it take to have him break?
He starts with another piece of fruit that he lets drip down the slope of Harry's leg, along his thigh. It's slow, and John raptly watches the trail of red-purple as it goes. He waits for it to run all the way down, watches it follow the contours of Harry's skin, bending and curving until it pools in the crease between his leg and hip. It begins to slide back, onto the bed, but John is there. He laps it away, holding Harry's leg in place, smearing the line of juice his tongue doesn't clean up.
It's messy and sweet and warm with his face tucked into Harry's pelvis. With the juice gone, he keeps going, exploring this tender, vulnerable area with his mouth. Belying his words, there's nothing gentle about how he drags his tongue over Dresden's skin, eventually painting a way to his dick. It's calculated seduction, pushing Harry to his limits if only to find where said limits are.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2012-12-14 07:33 am (UTC)But he should go easy, it seems. Harry deserves that. And only the brush of his lips makes Harry start. John chuckles and pets Harry's cock idly, like its not hardening in his hand insistently. "Shush," he whispers, squeezing once, a light tug, just to make Harry's hips lift a little before he lets go.
If Harry thinks John needs a soft touch-- John smirks at the thought. "Who says I like things gentle?" Even as he speaks, his hands keep soothing Harry's legs, spreading them a little wider. There's enough room for John to undo his pants and push them down. The belt clacks loudly when the rest of John's clothes hit the floor. Now, it's an even playing field.
Or not, really. John cannot stop his eyes from tracking up the long arrow lines of Harry's body, the way the sheets crease in his hands. He can see the wrinkles set into the linens, where Harry has needed to hold on. John would much like to see how far Harry can go. How long can he just hang on and enjoy the ride without touching? What will it take to have him break?
He starts with another piece of fruit that he lets drip down the slope of Harry's leg, along his thigh. It's slow, and John raptly watches the trail of red-purple as it goes. He waits for it to run all the way down, watches it follow the contours of Harry's skin, bending and curving until it pools in the crease between his leg and hip. It begins to slide back, onto the bed, but John is there. He laps it away, holding Harry's leg in place, smearing the line of juice his tongue doesn't clean up.
It's messy and sweet and warm with his face tucked into Harry's pelvis. With the juice gone, he keeps going, exploring this tender, vulnerable area with his mouth. Belying his words, there's nothing gentle about how he drags his tongue over Dresden's skin, eventually painting a way to his dick. It's calculated seduction, pushing Harry to his limits if only to find where said limits are.