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Matt shivered as the covers were pulled back and a cool body slipped into the bed beside him. "You're home," he said, realizing that it was a dumb thing to say as soon as the words came out of his mouth. But fuck it, he wasn't at his best in the middle of the night without at least three cans of Red Bull in him.
John apparently thought it was funny – Matt refused to say cute, but truth be told, John probably thought cute, and wouldn't get why Matt was offended, but they could fight about entrenched discursive patriarchy some other time – because John's laugh blew warm air all over the back of Matt's neck. His toes curled up when John blew softly again, fully knowing what he was doing to Matt.
"Not often I come home to find you already in bed," said John, kissing the top knob of Matt's spine. "Usually you're playing that lame-ass game and I have to pull out the big guns to get you to come with me."
"It's not that big," said Matt, moving back so that he could rub his ass against John's cock. It was that big, really, but there was no need to feed McClane's already overly-developed ego.
"Liar," said John, nipping the spot he'd just kissed. "That's not what you say when I've got your legs up around my shoulders and my cock in you. 'John, more, God. So good, your fucking huge dick splitting me open.'" He said it in a higher tone, a very bad imitation of Matt.
Matt elbowed him in the ribs, but didn't bother putting much muscle into it. There were times he thought John might actually be made of titanium. There was no other way to explain how he was still fucking alive. Before they'd figured their shit out and gotten together, Matt had done a little research on John McClane. And by that he meant that he'd read every article ever written about him, every comment on the hero blogs put up by his fangirls, every official report filed and marked 'Classified.' One of the perks of being hired by Bowman to help build a system to replace the fuckery that had spawned Woodlawn was that he didn't set off alarms when he went into the secret files. He hadn't found who'd killed Kennedy yet, but he'd learned that they didn't come any harder than John motherfucking McClane.
"You like it," he said instead, pressing back even more so that his head was resting on John's shoulder.
John kissed the side of his neck. "I like a lot of things about you, Matty. I like the way you suck my cock down like you've had your gag reflex disabled. I like the way you take my cock in your ass, the way you look at me when I'm fucking you. I like the way you fill me up with your fingers and then your dick, and make me see goddamn stars." He nipped at the soft skin under Matt's ear and then sucked on it, his tongue running over it and every nerve ending there sending happy messages to Matt's cock. "And I like this, coming home to you already in bed, sleepy and warm and all over me."
Jesus, that was quite a speech for McClane. He showed his affection in other ways, like the thing he was currently doing to the side of Matt's neck, or rubbing his back after Matt had logged marathon sessions at home base, trying to meet the insane deadlines Bowman was setting. Matt understood the need for a new system better than just about anyone, but Bowman was like a man driven by unseen spirits. Or maybe that's what happened when the President got a hold of your direct line after a national disaster.
Matt was usually the more verbose of the two of them, to put it mildly. He knew he talked a lot, especially when he was nervous. So he'd spent the first month he lived with John trying to tone it down, dreading the moment John turned to him and said, 'Hey, shut the fuck up, Chatty Cathy,' and Matt would have to leave, because he wouldn't stay with somebody who treated him like that. Matt didn't want to go anywhere, so being quiet had seemed like the best option.
It had seemed like an excellent plan, at least until John got quieter, too. Three weeks after Matt moved in, John was barely talking to him at all, and Matt thought it might be time to start looking at the classifieds for new digs. He'd been doing just that, in fact, when John came home one night.
"You gonna need some help moving?" John asked, looking over his shoulder.
"It's not like I've got furniture or anything." Matt said, his heart sinking at John's controlled tone. "I'll probably just rent a car or something."
In his screen, he'd seen John nod behind him. For a minute it had looked like he was going to walk away, but then he squared his shoulders and made himself seem bigger, like he was looming over Matt. It was a cop trick, one that worked damn well on both perps and boyfriends insecure about their relationship.
"You gonna tell me what the fuck happened before you go?" John asked, still using that soft voice, the one that set off alarms more quickly than a letter full of anthrax hitting the White House mail room.
"You don't want me here."
"I don't?"
Matt had shrugged. "It doesn't seem like it. You don't talk to me, you've barely said ten words to me in the last three days. And you didn't come home last night. I don't want to push you out of your house: it's better if I just go."
John had taken a deep breath, and Matt knew he was counting to ten. After the last time he'd saved the world, he'd been sent for anger management counselling – a shitty reward, if you asked Matt – and that was one of the tricks he'd learned. "Would you please turn the fuck around, Matt? I don't want to have this conversation with the back of your head."
Matt had turned his chair around slowly, and McClane had almost smiled at him. "Thank you," he said, sitting down on the couch that had been part of the home office when Matt moved in. John still used it: on days off he'd grab whatever he was reading – there had been a lot of Hemingway when Matt first moved in, and to this day he didn't know what that meant – and stretch out on the couch while Matt was working.
"Focus, Matty," John had said, surprising Matt with the endearment. "Good. First, I was on a stakeout last night. Secondly - and this is where you should pay extra-close attention – I stopped talking because you didn't seem to have a thing to say to me. I was married a long time, I know what that kind of silence means. I didn't think you'd want out so soon, but if that's the way it is, I'll deal. Is that the way it is?"
"No. Fuck, John.” Matt had felt short of breath all of a sudden, like he’d been sucker-punched and had the wind knocked out of him. “I don't want out. I just didn't want to piss you off. I mean, I know that you like peace and quiet, and I didn't want to piss you off when we're just starting out by talking all the time. Like, once I start, I just don't stop, you know? So I thought I'd just be quiet for a while, give us a chance to adjust to each other."
John had stared at him, a somewhat softer version of the McClane Death Glare (TM), but still effective as hell. Matt opened his mouth to explain himself more, but John had shaken his head and Matt stopped.
"Just let me talk for a minute, okay? Then it'll be your turn again." Maybe the marriage counselling hadn't been enough to save John and Holly, but John had clearly internalized a lot of the lexicon. "When we met, I spent two days with you no more than five feet away from me. You don't think I knew that you talk a lot when I asked you to move in?"
Matt had shrugged, but let John go on. "I knew exactly what I was getting into with you, Matty. And I wanted it. I've spent a lot of years mostly alone, and the silence is what killed me. Slowly, like the death of a thousand cuts."
"You asked me to move in because I talk a lot?" Matt had said. "Fuck, John, you could have just turned on the radio."
John glared at him. "Don't be a smart ass. You know why I fucking asked you to move in with me. Or at least I thought you did, until you gave me that lame-ass explanation about an 'adjustment period'. You really think we need to adjust to each other, Matty?"
“Hell, no.” Matt had shaken his head. “Fuck, John, I feel like I’ve been accustomed to you since, like, two hours after we left D.C. to stop the fire sale. It was fucking freaky, in fact, because I’ve never been so comfortable so fast with somebody in my entire life. So I know I was a bit punchy then, but on top of people constantly shooting at us, I had to deal with, like, this instant rapport with you. And then Gabriel trying to have you killed, and fuck, did that piss me off. I wanted to know if we had a chance, but, no, there was this deranged programmer with his own fucked up agenda.”
John had smiled at him. "All right then. You wanna go get burgers and watch the beer league guys make asses of themselves on the diamond down the street?"
They'd had plenty of fights since then, but not one of them had been about how much anybody talked or didn't talk.
"Hey," John kissed his neck again. "It's okay if you want to go back to sleep, Matt. You don't get enough of it as it is, lately. You don't need a lecherous old man molesting you in your bed." His actions belied his words, however, as he slid his hands down Matt's torso. He paused at Matt's nipples long enough to lightly pinch them into hard little buds. "Hmm. Maybe you do."
"Yes," Matt said, biting his lip when John twisted his nipple a little bit harder. "Come on, corrupt me."
John laughed. "You were on an FBI watch list when I met you. I'm pretty fucking sure you were corrupted well before I came along."
"But the FBI wasn't monitoring my sex life. Well, not my corporeal sex life. I mean, they might have seen some interesting chats now and then and gotten more than an eyeful if they accessed my web cam, but my security rocked so I doubt that happened." John's hands moved down again one rested on his abdomen while the other slipped under the waistband of his boxers and brushed over Matt's cock before John gently squeezed his balls. "Oh, God, John."
"You like being watched, Matt?" John said, his voice husky. "You gonna put on a show for me someday soon? I want to see you fuck yourself on your fingers, to see you open yourself up for me while I'm watching. You want me to tell you what to do, how many fingers to put in your ass, when to touch your balls like I am now, when to stroke yourself off?" John's hand moved up and he slowly jacked his hand up and down Matt's cock, his thumb sweeping over the head when he reached the top.
Matt tilted his head all the way back and John leaned forward and kissed his mouth, licking at his lips before sliding his tongue into Matt's mouth, stroking Matt's tongue with the same rhythm that he was using on Matt's cock. Matt kissed him back, slowly twisting their tongues together, pressing his lips against John's so that he could feel his smile.
"Later," he said, pulling away. "Fuck, I'll do anything you want, later. Just, right now, I want you to fuck me. Now. Please."
“How do you want it, baby? You want to get on top of me, let me see you move up and down on me, watch my cock fuck into you?” John thumbed the tip of Matt’s cock again, rubbing precome all over the head. He brought his thumb up to Matt’s mouth and Matt licked it before sucking on it. John loved his mouth, he knew that. He would fill it with his fingers when they were just hanging out on the couch, Matt sprawled all over John as they watched tv. Well, they started off watching tv, and then John would watch Matt suck on his fingers and before he knew it, John would be on his knees between Matt’s legs.
John slowly pulled his thumb out of Matt’s mouth, replacing it with his index and middle fingers. Matt licked and suckled, covering them with as much spit as possible. John pulled them out and bit the back of Matt’s neck again. “Tell me what you want,” he said, rubbing his wet fingers over Matt’s nipples.
Matt pulled away long enough to reach down and pull off his boxers. He rubbed his bare ass against John’s hard cock. “Christ, McClane. Fuck me, please. Like this.”
“Yeah?” John asked. “Don’t move, then.”
Matt heard the bottle of slick open and then goosebumps prickled his skin as John drew the blankets down. “I know you’re cold,” said John. “Just give me a minute here – yeah, like that.” Matt drew his top leg forward, and John spread lube over Matt’s hole before pushing a finger in. He fucked it in and out slowly, and then did the same with two. “You need another one, baby?”
Matt moaned and pushed back as John’s fingers skidded over his prostrate. “Yes. Please. Fuck, John. One more. I just – I want that. And then I want you inside me. Unless – fuck – what can I do for you?”
John laughed. “Oh, I’m good just like this. And in a minute I’m going to have my cock in here –“ He spread his fingers and Matt groaned. “And then I’ll be even better.”
“Now, said Matt. “Oh, Christ, now.”
“Yeah,” said John. He spooned himself against Matt’s back, pulling Matt’s left leg over his hip and slowly pushed his cock inside Matt. Then he pulled up the covers and Matt was warm all over again.
They fucked slowly, John’s cock deep inside his ass, their hands wrapped together on Matt’s hip. And all the while that he fucked Matt, John talked to him, telling him how hot he was, how good. How they were going to take some time off, both of them, and fuck their workloads. They needed a break, and they needed it together. They’d rent a boat and sail it down south, see if they could get to the Gulf of Mexico. Sun, swimming, sand up their asses when they fucked on the beach. It all sounded perfect to Matt, and he said so.
John squeezed his hand and then let go of it, wrapping it around Matt’s cock and stroking up and down. “Come for me, Matty. I want to feel you let go, feel how tight you are on my dick when you come. It feels so good, baby.” Matt did, crying out, and John came inside him a minute later, his heat spreading though Matt.
They fell asleep like that, stuck together with come, John’s cock still halfway inside Matt. And all through the rest of the night, Matt dreamt of John’s voice, low and husky, saying things Matt never thought he’d hear, but that he believed with all his heart.