If he needs physical contact, he asks for it in a way that includes the slow arch of his body into John's hands and the way his eyebrows climb towards his hairline. John shifts against him, molding him into a position he swears he's never contemplated before. Harry goes with it; his legs bending so that he can set his heels against the edge of the bed and lift his hips, just a little, so that John can fit against him.
Afterwards, he has to unwind. Inch by gradual inch, he loosens the muscles in his legs and lets them each down in turn. One, then the other; tucking them back alongside John's hips. He does so with purpose, concentrating on proving to the part of him that must have decided you've got traction now get the fuck out of this that he was okay. He doesn't liquefy when John's finger makes a pass over his mouth, but it does encourage him to settle and brings him right back down.
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry laughs. He'd like to reciprocate (he'd like to touch, to flatten the palm of his hand against John's stomach when he moves just to feel his muscle shift under skin, or get a hand on his back and feel him flex, or grab his biceps when he leans over and cages him with his body), but if he lets go of the bed... well, he doesn't know which direction he'll go. So he clings to the sheets and digs his fingers into the bed and watches. Harry watches until John paints his mouth, cleans him up and then taunts him with the berry.
With the brief warmth and the stray thoughts of kissing John Marcone senseless, and that's all that it takes, because his legs tighten around the man's waist so help him fold in half and lunge for John's mouth. This time he's sweet with his kisses, and maybe it's because the prize is as much a tender berry as it is the chance to tease another laugh, another noise for fucks sake, from John.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-12-21 06:35 am (UTC)Afterwards, he has to unwind. Inch by gradual inch, he loosens the muscles in his legs and lets them each down in turn. One, then the other; tucking them back alongside John's hips. He does so with purpose, concentrating on proving to the part of him that must have decided you've got traction now get the fuck out of this that he was okay. He doesn't liquefy when John's finger makes a pass over his mouth, but it does encourage him to settle and brings him right back down.
"Don't flatter yourself," Harry laughs. He'd like to reciprocate (he'd like to touch, to flatten the palm of his hand against John's stomach when he moves just to feel his muscle shift under skin, or get a hand on his back and feel him flex, or grab his biceps when he leans over and cages him with his body), but if he lets go of the bed... well, he doesn't know which direction he'll go. So he clings to the sheets and digs his fingers into the bed and watches. Harry watches until John paints his mouth, cleans him up and then taunts him with the berry.
With the brief warmth and the stray thoughts of kissing John Marcone senseless, and that's all that it takes, because his legs tighten around the man's waist so help him fold in half and lunge for John's mouth. This time he's sweet with his kisses, and maybe it's because the prize is as much a tender berry as it is the chance to tease another laugh, another noise for fucks sake, from John.