[That first night in his bedroom, only a week ago, John had fantasized about this. What it would feel like for Poe to push him down, and split him open. Fuck him raw.
Raw. John registers the lack of condom in a haze, caught between the roll of Poe's hips, and Poe's hand on his dick. If he concentrates, he can feel the difference. The intensity of friction. The tug and pull of Poe's skin against his skin, the texture of Poe's dick, uninhibited by latex. His mind strays to the scenario of Poe coming, if he'll pull out and do it on his back, or inside of him. That would be a first, something John's never allowed anyone else, and he can't bring himself to enforce that boundary. To say no. To want to say no.
Maybe that will make the difference between him feeling together, or alone, after all this. When Poe goes, and John is left with a sore body, and sweaty sheets he'll change in the morning.
Poe's voice, and the squeeze around his dick, bring John back. The thrust, harder, deeper, striking that hot button inside of John that makes the room spin, his shoulders going down, and his hips lift up, pulls a noise from his throat. High, and thready. Nothing anyone would expect from a commander of men, who has won countless battles, waged multiple wars, and killed more than any man ought to.
John turns his face into the sheets, dizzy with a shame that makes his dick twitch, and hole spasm in cringing response. The best he can muster to answer Poe's question is a nod.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-20 06:32 pm (UTC)Raw. John registers the lack of condom in a haze, caught between the roll of Poe's hips, and Poe's hand on his dick. If he concentrates, he can feel the difference. The intensity of friction. The tug and pull of Poe's skin against his skin, the texture of Poe's dick, uninhibited by latex. His mind strays to the scenario of Poe coming, if he'll pull out and do it on his back, or inside of him. That would be a first, something John's never allowed anyone else, and he can't bring himself to enforce that boundary. To say no. To want to say no.
Maybe that will make the difference between him feeling together, or alone, after all this. When Poe goes, and John is left with a sore body, and sweaty sheets he'll change in the morning.
Poe's voice, and the squeeze around his dick, bring John back. The thrust, harder, deeper, striking that hot button inside of John that makes the room spin, his shoulders going down, and his hips lift up, pulls a noise from his throat. High, and thready. Nothing anyone would expect from a commander of men, who has won countless battles, waged multiple wars, and killed more than any man ought to.
John turns his face into the sheets, dizzy with a shame that makes his dick twitch, and hole spasm in cringing response. The best he can muster to answer Poe's question is a nod.]