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he's not sure why he expected larusso to be able to keep his mouth shut. sure, he gives as good as he gets — better even, maybe, if john was so willing to admit a loss that easily ( he's not. ) keeping a hand in his hair, tugging on soft blond locks every so often to try and coax a moan out of john. it's working, annoying as it is.
annoying : the way he's already half - hard, just from making out with him. * not the first time thinking about larusso's gotten him to this point, but he figures having the real thing in front of him is what's speeding it up. he'd be embarrassed if he didn't feel larusso's own problem hard against his thigh.
larusso lets him go just enough to breathe, but when he dives back in for another kiss, john pushes back, hands still trailing the soft skin beneath larusso's t-shirt — johnny has him pinned against the door. he's breathless when he speaks, refusing to look at larusso's eyes. ' fuck you, ' comes the annoyance, soft, missing any of the heat from before. larusso makes as if to pull him back again, but john's quick to pull his hands back from against larusso's chest, pushing searching hands away from him.
it's unceremonious, the way he drops to his knees in front of larusso. it's a good height, john face - to - dick with larusso now, the latter's jeans tented, tempting. john does his best to not allow his hands to shake — anticipation, not nerves : he has no reason to be nervous, it's daniel fuckin' larusso, not the man of his fucking dreams. ( the man of his nightmares, really — of those dreams where he wakes up with an ache in his chest, and a longing that tastes so bitter on his tongue. the crashing reality that he's far more invested in this ... whatever, that's formed between them, that he isn't even safe from his yearning in his dreams. ) — he does his best not to allow his hands to shake when he reaches for larusso's belt.
it's unbuckled and larusso's fly is open, quick work made of the zipper as well, when john curls his fingers around the waistbands of his briefs and jeans alike. he finally forces himself to look up at larusso — who peers back at him, baby browns wide, almost enraptured, if he'd allow himself to be so cocky. ( he's hard as a rock himself, now, but he barely registers it, uncomfortable as it may be ; he has more important things on his mind, hopefully soon in his mouth, but he's waiting. )
' do you want this? ' he asks, and it's the first thing out of his mouth all day that isn't laced with contempt. he almost wants to curse himself for how softly it came out, but he's too goddamn smug at the way larusso can only wordlessly nod his answer.
PERMISSION GRANTED, and john's grateful that he no longer has to be held hostage by those wide, beautiful baby browns. a blush has now spread across larusso's cheeks, and there's no other word to describe him besides pretty. john's been aching to get his mouth on him, and when he finally pulls larusso's pants down, he feels the wind knocked out of him just as easily.
( he's gotta get daniel to fuck him. )
if he wasn't already blushing, he's sure as hell beet red now : he can't think of any other word to describe daniel's cock any better than perfect. longer than his — not by much, but enough to make his own dick twitch, not as thick, but perfect. ' you don't have to — ' he only vaguely registers that daniel's starting up again, so he tries to put a quick end to that immediately : ' shut up. '
john licks a stripe across his hand, wrapping it around daniel's cock slowly. he has no intentions of dragging this out that long, but the opportunity to tease has presented itself to him, and the way he hears daniel's head thud back against the door when he starts sliding up, down, is enough to egg him on. this doesn't last long, though, because john's mouth is watering, and he sure as hell wasn't on his knees for a handjob.
he's never wanted to smirk more than at the oh, fuck, that falls from daniel's lips when john finally gets his mouth on him. he takes him in slowly, hand tight now around the base of his cock, taking daniel in inch by inch, almost agonizingly slow. it takes a few gos at it before he can meet his hand, a few more tries before he can take daniel all the way to the base. it's been some fuckin' time, but he'll be damned if he isn't going to show off for daniel.
daniel's a real gentleman too, babbling off praise, and forcing himself to keep his hips back, and john finds himself starting to get annoyed by the aborted little stutters of his hips, hating the way that daniel holds himself back.
still, the praise and filthy words were both starting to go to johnny's head, every fuck making him feel pleasantly dizzy, every good boy going right to his dick — since fuckin' when did anyone call him good boy? ( since fucking when did he want to be? ) but it's one comment that went right through him, forced him to pull off.
“your mouth feels so good.”
he thinks he could've creamed his pants right there.
he pulls off of daniel, a long thread of spit from his dick to john's lips, and he looks up. ' gimme your hands. ' daniel looks pained, aching at the sudden loss of contact, but he obliges, holding out his hands for johnny — and the near - confusion on his face strikes john as almost adorable.
johnny moves daniel's hands, placing them at the back of his head. his slicked - up hand is working daniel over again, keeping him right before his mouth. icy blues look up at daniel, making eye contact with still - wide baby browns. ( he could fucking drown in those eyes, if daniel would let him. ) ' i want you to fucking wreck me. ' daniel opens his mouth as if he's about to argue, and john narrows his eyes. ' i will leave right fucking now, ' he warns, but there's no heat in it. if daniel's really uncomfortable with it, he isn't going to force it. but there's a flicker of understanding in daniel's eyes, a flicker that looks a hell of a lot like need, and he can only hope it matches his own hunger.
' you're not gonna break me, larusso. i want this. ' john doesn't give daniel more time to mull it over, instead wrapping his lips back around daniel's cock. daniel moves gently, shallow thrusts into john's mouth, and john wants to groan, wants to complain that it's not what he wanted, so he starts meeting him halfway. he seems to finally get the picture, or seems to get over himself, realizing john isn't made of glass, as he starts fucking john's mouth in earnest. he's unable to keep his eyes open, and he can't stop himself, moaning around daniel's cock, as his nails dig little crescent - marks into the back of daniel's thighs. fingers are curling around blond hair and tugging tight, daniel finally taking whatever he wants from john.
it's actually almost frustrating, john realizes, the care that's being put into this. daniel's not hesitating anymore, punching out little cries from john, making him feel on the brink of death, his own dick so hard from the abuse on his mouth, his throat. but there's a very determined carefulness there, no pain inflicted on john he didn't deliberately ask for. hell, daniel makes to push john off with a warning, but he's not having any of it, only resuming his efforts on his own.
he's never been a fan of giving head : it's not something he's ever really cared for, never really liked receiving it either. in the handful of times he's ever blown a guy, he's pulled off the moment they got close, letting them shoot on his chest, or spill in his hand. but john wants more, doesn't want to let this end with daniel. almost scares himself with how much he wants him to finish in his mouth.
for christ's sake, he cums himself, untouched, at a particularly rough thrust, at the thought of how much better it'd be letting daniel bend him over the table and fuck him like this : unrestricted, unburdened. he didn't know he could do that. he didn't know daniel could do that to him.
and it's the shuttery, broken moan around daniel that pushes him over the edge, john's name on his lips when he cums, and though he almost wants to cough, he does his best to swallow every fucking drop, milking daniel through his orgasm. it's thick, and salty, and it's really fuckin' gross, but his stomach is turning at the realization — he wants to do this again.