"And with Topper? Topper!" John B says, for not the first time.
JJ considers pounding his head against the wall until he knocks himself out. With the weight of the last twenty-four hours sitting heavy and tired against his chest, it wouldn't take long.
"Yeah, dude, it sucks," he says instead. What can he say? John B's his best friend and JJ loves him… even when he'd kinda like to punt him into the marsh.
Because JJ can only offer reassurances so many times before they're just churning their tires. Thoughts spinning like wheels, mud sent flying; JJ getting fucking filthy with each mention of Sarah Cameron. But he never could step away when John B needed him. Why should now be any different?
"It's not like she even likes him," John B grumbles—which? C'mon. JJ's all for deny, deny, deny, but that might be taking things a little far. People don't get with folks they don't like.
(JJ's enough of a bro not to point that out though.)
Not that it matters. John B takes one look at him and his eyes narrow. "Don't give me that," he says.
"I wasn't giving you anything!"
John B just flops across his bed to stare all sad up at the ceiling. JJ, who'd been flopped across the bed since they'd come back from the whole 'try not to get decked by Mike Carrera' disaster, thinks it's unfair how aware his body is of every place they're pressed together. His foot's caught under John B's leg, his knee tapping at the top of John B's thigh. JJ's got his hands laced behind his head, and with every breath a swirl of John B's hair tickles his ribs.
Christ. JJ regrets taking his shirt off now. Doesn't matter how dirty it was, it would've been better than this fucking... hyperawareness. Thanks for that word, Pope.
"Can I tell you something?" John B asks all earnest and JJ tries not to breathe too heavy and still grunt a yes. "They never slept together. Sarah and Topper, I mean. Not once."
Dear God. "Dude, you can't just…go off that shit."
It's like he'd never spoken. John B rolls over, props his elbow on JJ's sternum, and leans warm right against it. "Don't you think that's weird? Because they were together for months back then and nothing."
"And?" JJ manages finally as John B's other hand taps along JJ's ribs. A mindless, fidgeting, absent motion; like doodling in class or trying to work a finger all the way through a clump of sand without it crumbling. Hell, John B probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.
"Doesn't that mean something?" he says and JJ drags his focus back.
"Mean what?"
"I don't know." John B huffs a sigh and goes back to staring at JJ from less than a foot away. "That I'm better at sex?"
JJ groans and slides his hands over his face. "Shit dude, don't go there."
"Why not?" John B asks all stubborn. JJ can't deal with this right now, so he shakes John B offa him and ambles over to the dresser. "It's true, isn't it?" John B insists as JJ rifles through the middle drawer that's been basically his since middle school. "She didn't want him like she wanted me." His voice goes all dopy. "She wanted me a lot." JJ rolls his eyes.
"Yeah y'know? I think you solved it." He pulls out a faded red tank top and tugs it over his head. "You're clearly the best at sex." The mostly empty pack of cigs left on top of the dresser gets stashed in his shorts pocket next to the comforting lump of his lighter. "'s the only answer, really."
"You're mocking me."
"Now, why would I do that?" JJ asks light. He heads for the door and ignores John B scrambling after him. "Not like you coldcocked Topper in front of half the island or nothing." He passes through the hall, the kitchen, and the living room. "Not like you could've blown our only chance to go save your dad." When he shoves out onto the porch, the night air rushes to meet him, cool and grounding. "Not like you've been bitching for the last—"
"JJ, JJ!" The porch door crashes hard against John B's hand, before that same hand grabs at JJ's upper arm and tugs him to a stop. "'m sorry, okay?"
John B means it, is the thing. Makes it hard to stay mad at him. JJ sighs. "Whatever, man."
He came out here to smoke and get some space. Now he's out here, he doesn't think he's gonna manage either. He slips out of John B's hold and collapses on the sagging couch, pressing his eyes closed. Jesus. What a day.
John B sits next to him. After a moment, he nudges their shoulders together. "Topper definitely has a tiny dick, though, right?"
Despite himself, JJ snorts. Because yeah, okay. Maybe he does. Nobody works out that much for fun.
"Told you," John B says like JJ agreed. For a long settled moment JJ thinks that's it: no more questions, no more Topper, no more Sarah Cameron. But John B and him have been friends for almost a decade…
He really should've known better.
Because John B starts stirring restless beside him. Shifting, biting at his mouth, getting that special kinda of over-focus he gets. Tire-spinning, mud-churning, gold-hunting obsessive.
"I don't think I fucked it up," he says, and "I can't believe she cheated on me," and, "I wasn't bullshitting about the sex thing, I really don't think—"
"Jesus Christ, dude!" JJ finally bursts. "What do you even want from me right now? I don't know why she cheated, I don't know the size of Topper's dick, and I don't know who's better at sex because I've never hooked up with either of you!" Even to himself, he sounds vaguely hysterical. Stupid. Panicked or some shit. But even with all that, he can't quite bring himself to stop. "So 'm sorry if I really don't get what you're looking for here!"
His panting breaths break the steady rise of droning cicadas and chirping crickets, cover the gentle lap of water hitting the shore, like for one long painful beat JJ's become the loudest person in the world.
Then John B's hand lands high on his leg. Thumb resting against the seam of JJ's thigh and hip kind of high, fingers curling round towards his ass.
JJ refuses to look at him. "Don't do this, JB," he warns.
"'m lonely," John B says.
"No, you're not." JJ's palms are sweaty. He doesn't move. "You're pissed about Sarah."
Which is why this is a terrible idea. JJ's not this weak.
(John B's hand squeezes, light and distracting.)
He's not.
"Okay." John B inches his thumb down that little crease, sliding towards JJ's dick. "But you are."
…He's not exactly wrong—that's the bitch of it.
Throat gone bone dry, JJ forces himself to swallow. He stares at John B's hand and lets his mouth do the talking and a solid chunk of the thinkin' too. "I don't know if you've noticed dude," he manages. "But I've been a little busy what with the running for our lives and the bein' homeless and the—"
John B leans right over him, and all JJ's words dry up, snapping away like a dead twig caught under a tire.
"Hey," he says, real low, and JJ looks up.
It's a mistake, he knows that immediately. Because John B's just watchin' him with that half-smile half-smirk that's gotten JJ to do all sorts of stupid shit long before they hit double digits. So this one isn't his fault, okay? His brain's practically programed or whatever Pope was goin' on about with the dogs and the bells.
"Fuck my life," JJ mutters and John B's answering grin presses against his lips.
And it's—
Like—
Okay.
John B gets a certain way when he's messing with JJ, all deadpan and smug and sure of himself. Sure of JJ too—how he'll react, how far he can push. All the shit no one else ever really bothered to learn.
Now, okay. JJ knows how John B gets when he's teasing JJ, right? So JJ don't know why the hell he thought this would be any different.
'Cause that's exactly how John B kisses. Confident and insistent and unfair.
"This is so stupid," JJ pants as John B breaks off to kiss at the corner of his mouth, his jaw, and down his neck. His hands are twisted in the back of John B's shirt, and he's not quite sure when it happened. "So fucking—" he cuts off with a yelp. John B bit him. Fucking bit his neck. Right on the pulse.
For a moment John B breathes heavy against that spot. Then he pulls back, puts his thumb to the mark, and pushes hard into the stinging. He meets JJ's eyes. "Any objections?"
Damn it all, but JJ can't manage a single one. So he kisses John B instead. Hungry and hard, the way he always thought he would if he was ever given the chance. God, this is gonna end so badly.
John B grabs his leg which feels a bit fast? But he only yanks it towards the back of the couch to tip JJ sideways and sprawling so John B can crowd over him and kiss him again.
"Hi," John B says when he's done, smiling down all dumb and soft and blinding like he's not sneaking a hand under JJ's shirt.
JJ hates him. Hates the way he makes JJ's heart kinda stutter, his air trip up in his lungs, sets a flush burning in his chest. How's he supposed to live with that, huh? "I thought we skipped hellos when you stuck your tongue in my mouth," JJ says. But John B just keeps smilin' at him, so JJ huffs and pokes him in the side. "We doin' this or not?" he demands and squirms like John B doesn't have their legs pretty well tangled together.
"Stop squirming," John B says immediately and rucks up JJ's tank top to bunch under his arms. "You're gonna knock me off."
JJ rolls his eyes. "Shouldn't have started this on the couch, then." The air slips cool over his chest and he shivers. John B's not even doing anything with all the skin he's exposing, just staring down at 'im like he hasn't seen JJ shirtless a thousand times.
But maybe JJ gets it. Because he's never cared who sees his body, so long as it's not bruised up or nothing. He's not shy. He's hot, okay? Never had a problem with proving that. Or admitting it.
So the thoughts swirling in his head are nothing but bullshit. How he ain't been eating great. How his ribs are probably sticking out more than's sexy. How nobody fucking wants—
John B skates his hand up JJ's side and thumbs at his nipple. "Pretty," he mumbles.
JJ kicks him in the leg.
(It's completely rational. He's making such good decisions right now.)
"Ow!" John B braces against the top of the sofa and shifts so JJ can't kick him again. Smart, because JJ was totally gonna. "The hell was that for?"
"Don't say stupid shit!" JJ snaps. Before John B can notice how much he's flushing or whatever, JJ twists his hips and rolls them right off the couch.
Hitting the hardwood hurts, but JJ lands on top so… worth it. Probably.
The bitching starts building up on John B's face, so JJ leans down and kisses him again before he can start. It works well enough JJ's kinda pissed he never thought to try it before now. A surefire way to get John Booker Routledge to shut the fuck up? Hell yeah, JJ wants in on that.
But John B's kinda a little shit, even when he's not trying to be. Example A: the way he gets his hands under the back of JJ's tank to settle warm and strong against his lower back. JJ can't breathe with it. His lower back's always been a thing for him. Like, can't decide if he wants to flinch away or spread his legs and beg kinda thing, and now John B's pressed right against it and JJ still can't figure it out.
He's not sure what to do about it, besides blocking it all out to lick into John B's mouth again. But John B's kinda a little shit, remember? Because that's when he breaks off to breathe or something stupid. He pushes a bit when JJ tries to dive back in, like his hands aren't still grabbing at JJ's fucking back. It's kind of unbearable. "Can I get in your pants now?" he asks, as light and teasing as the finger he slips under JJ's waistband. It's ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as shiver that flies up JJ's spine when he says it.
JJ rolls off, away—anything to catch his breath; to remind himself not to get all stupid about a one-time offer. Because John B's sad. He's mad about Sarah Cameron. And JJ? JJ's just… helping him out. That's it. That's all. Helping.
He pants up at the raw beams and rusty nails of the ceiling. Christ, they're on the porch. This is such a terrible idea.
"This is a terrible idea," JJ repeats.
"Yep," John B says and JJ laughs.
"We're gonna do it anyways, aren't we?" He gets a flash of the Twinkie drowning, of Sarah looking between them. "—Like when have we ever done the safe thing?" JJ finishes and John B flinches. Oops. Guess they were broken up then too, weren't they? Her and John B. That warned JJ offa love for a long time. Can't miss what you've never had.
John B's hand curls hesitant around his.
JJ sighs and sits up. "Yes, John B, I hereby give you full authorazation to 'get in my pants,'" he offers, voice only a little unsteady on it. He even undoes the zipper for him and everything.
Then John B's leaning over and smacking a noisy peck on his cheek. "Authorization," he says, and JJ can't even kick at him again 'cause he's reaching into JJ's shorts. When he wraps a hand around JJ's dick, JJ jolts but John B just ducks close until JJ feels more than hears the chuckle against his neck.
"Sensitive?" John B asks all teasing and shit, so JJ does his best to make a face at him. Gotta do that with John B sometimes to keep him from getting a big head. But from the way John B nips at his neck again, JJ's not quite sure it worked.
"You're touching my dick, dude," he tries.
"Oh gee JJ, I had no idea."
"You're such an asshole." JJ hisses as John B strokes at him. He gets laughed at, 'cause he weren't lyin' when he called John B an asshole. But JJ must've been an asshole too from the way that low, soft sound's got his dick perking up. That's got to be punishment for something, right?
John B mustn't think so. His hand is warm and tight and okay yeah, it's a little dry, but it's also John B and that's enough for JJ to feel every tug on his dick go right through him. Down his legs or curling 'round his hips; swirling tight in his stomach until he feels lightheaded with it. Christ, it's been too long.
"You always so prickly during sex?" John B murmurs in his ear, like that's even fair, and it takes him a minute to catch the question through the breath against his skin and the pleasure sparking in his gut. The answer? Well…no. When JJ hooks up with a Touron, he works to impress; uses his mouth, his hands—really get that five-star review goin'. He's way slicker with them. More polite, more sexy, more in control. 'n it's worked out just fine for him, thank you very much.
But that shit won't fly with John B. Whenever JJ tries to impress him John B just smiles and gets this real amused look in his eye, all 'yeah that's nice JJ, you can stop faking it now,' 'n shit. Then he turns around and gets all impressed and fucking embarrassing about it when JJ didn't even do nothing. Like, swap the keys or whatever, give a stupid little speech, stick with him through the gold hunt like JJ'd ever do anything else. Then it's all clapping and telling everybody and fucking 'it means a lot to me that you're here tonight,' like JJ can even handle that without feeling like he's going to explode.
The way he feels right now. So he snaps "Wouldn't be if you'd hurry up and get me off already," and it's a mistake, right? A huge-ass mistake.
Because John B throws his head back and laughs so free and easy and fucking stunning, it kinda hurts to look at him all a sudden. Like JJ might not be able to stop looking at 'im kind of beautiful, when they both know that's not what this is. You're just lonely, dumbass, JJ thinks furiously. Stop it with the sappy shit.
"Okay hold up, stop," he bites out and John B startles back, eyes wide like he—oh shit, yeah no. JJ didn't mean it like that. He puts a hand on John B's leg before he can scramble any farther outta JJ's space. "Just get your shorts off, dude."
John B raises an eyebrow. "You wanna?"
For some reason, JJ can't quite look at him. "Well, I'd offer to suck you off, but I'm kinda shit at it."
"I mean, if you ever wanna practice…" John B unbuttons his pants and strips off his shirt while he's at it. Then his shorts are getting tossed in the corner, boxers following and yep. Yup. That's John B. Naked. Right there. This is fine.
"What, I can use your dick?" JJ snarks because that's what? Normal? Maybe? More normal than noticing John B's got a really nice cock, anyway.
John B smirks. "I was gonna say I could give you some tips, but sure, that too." His thumb presses against JJ's lower lip. "Never gonna complain about getting your mouth on me, Js."
JJ jerks his head away. "Jesus fuck man! Do you ever stop talking shit?"
"Nope." That stupid grin again. Christ, JJ's gonna kill him. "Sarah used to—"
He stops, sharp. Like he didn't realize the words would cut until he tasted the blood in his mouth. Shit.
JJ reaches out slow and gets his hand curled around John B's cock. A quick breath catches in his throat as JJ starts stroking. It's kinda the hottest sound JJ's ever heard. Right until it's not, because John B kinda moans when JJ twists his hand on the upstroke and—oh God he's never getting that out of his head is he? Fuck, he's so stupid.
"Sarah used to threaten to gag me," John B blurts out and JJ's eyes go wide.
"Did she do it?"
John B huffs a laugh as his legs tense. "Wouldn't you like to know," he manages.
"Yeah, dude, that's why I freaking asked." But John B stays tight lipped. "Oh my God, you suck."
"Not tonight," John B quips, so JJ rubs right under the head until he's gasping too much to keep up with the smartass shit.
It backfires though. Because the next time John B talks? His voice comes out all breathy; catching and tripping like JJ's piss-poor handjob is absolutely wrecking him. "Sarah used to, like, when she got close?" he manages. "She'd kinda tense up, right? Like right before."
John B's getting wet in his hand, messy, and JJ can feel a flush crowding up his neck at the feel, at the words. 'Cause he shouldn't know this, but here John B is telling him anyway. He bites at his lip.
"So I'd slow down," John B continues, rough. "Just. Just real slow and steady inside her, until she'd like, start begging, y'know?" John B grunts. "It was so fucking hot, dude."
He's got his eyes closed tight, rocking into JJ's hand like he's picturing something else.
JJ's stomach churns. "Bro, I can't do this if you're gonna be thinking about Sarah the whole time."
"'m not thinking about Sarah." JJ shoots him a look that does fuck all with John B pressin' his eyes closed. Bullshit, JJ thinks, and tightens his grip on John B's cock until he hisses.
"It's just—" John B huffs out a breath that almost sounds embarrassed. "I was thinking about doing it to you."
An image springs to JJ's head, so vivid he fumbles his hold on John B's dick. Himself, splayed out against some muted background. He's squirming, sweating, fucking begging for John B to make him cum. He looks desperate and—and pathetic, and John B's got him firm by the hips until JJ—
His brain kinda sparks out, gettin' caught between two ideas. He can't figure out if this is the hottest thing that's ever happened to him or if the sheer embarrassment will kill him dead. Well shit.
The way John B's staring at him isn't helping, all dark eyed and flushed not from the handjob (because JJ's kinda stumbled to a stop there) but like he's also picturing JJ flat out on his back and whining and—fuck.
Goddamnit John B.
JJ feels the heat rise around his neck. "We don't have any—"
"I do," John B cuts him off.
JJ bites at the inside of his cheek, uncertain.
"We don't have to, man," John B says, and his hand finds JJ's chin in a way that's soft and firm and fills JJ's head with stupid sappy shit.
"What—I mean, like…" JJ swallows hard and fights to meet John B's eyes. "What's got you so hot about it?"
John B leans forward—then he's like, in JJ's lap holy shit—all bare skin and tight muscle. He grabs JJ's shoulders. "You're always so tense, dude," he says and pushes down. The knots strung numb and heavy from JJ's neck down his back light up, hot and painful. He hisses, kinda gasps. Oh God, why does it feel good like that?
"All wound up," John B goes on. "Fucking wired." He starts rubbing tight little circles into the muscles off JJ's neck, deep and relentless and fucking unfair.
JJ grits his teeth against whatever John B's doing to him. Christ, he can feel it in his toes. "'m not," he tries to insist.
"Stubborn," John B huffs into his ear, laughing light at him. "Makes me want to hold you down, y'know? Make you go slow, take a breath, really fucking feel it." JJ lets out a sound. He didn't mean to, but there it is. Floating in the air all stupid and needy and fucking…fucking… stupid.
"Yeah, that's it," John B tells him. "That's—"
He cuts off with a sound of his own, rocking in JJ's lap, rubbing his ass over JJ's dick, his own prick into JJ's stomach.
"You'd look so fucking hot, man."
"Shit," JJ hisses and grabs at John B's hips to hold him still. "Shit. Okay."
John B blinks startled at him. "Okay?"
"You said you have stuff?"
"Yeah, let me…" John B clambers off him and JJ's left panting into the cool evening air with his dick throbbing, feeling fucking shaky all down his arms. This was supposed to be a hookup. A rebound. A nothing. The hell does JJ think he's doing right now?
When John B comes back, he needs to fix this. Say he's changed his mind, then offer to blow him and be done. No 'you're always like this and it makes me want to wreck you.' No more stupid sappy shit. Nothing. John B's mad about Sarah, and JJ needs to quit forgetting that before it fucks with his head and he starts wanting shit that isn't his to have.
But then John B comes back, still naked, with a crumpled box of condoms and a bottle of lube under his arm. He didn't go to his bedroom, but out to the van, which kinda figures. "I think a bug just bit my dick, dude," he says and his face twists up so goddamn bewildered and gettin' all concerned that JJ cracks the hell up.
"Don't laugh at me!" John B complains, but JJ knows it's bullshit 'cause he's laughing too, all soft and rueful, and JJ… JJ feels a swoop in his stomach, a tingling drop that tells him he ain't gonna say shit.
John B gestures kinda awkward with his arms full. "Sofa?" he asks, so JJ gets off the floor, lays back on the sagging couch, and tries not to feel too much while John B puts his shit within easy reach. Because John B's gonna fuck him open, gonna get inside his body the way he's inside his head, inside his—
JJ pinches at the thin skin above his elbow. Keep it together, shithead, he tells himself. It doesn't mean shit.
Then John B's settling over him, bare against JJ's clothes and wait, fuck, wait— JJ shoves a hand against John B's chest and feels him go still.
JJ's voice comes out airy and breathless. It's stupid as fuck, but JJ's been stupid all night so whatever, right? Whatever. "If we're gonna do this…" he forces out. "You have to promise me nothing changes."
John B rolls his eyes. "It's a hook up, JJ, not—"
"I mean it, John B," JJ cuts in, too fast. Too desperate. "I can't lose you, man. Not to something stupid like this," he tries to cover but he's too late.
Because John B brushes JJ's hair outta his face how JJ never knew he wanted before John B up and does it. Fuck, he's so screwed.
"I promise," John B says. "No changing, no losing—not a chance, okay?"
JJ swallows hard. "Okay. Okay, um…"
"Shorts?" John B suggests, so JJ shimmies his shorts and boxers down and only elbows John B like, three or four times. Then his bare ass is against the cushion. It feels a little dumb, being bare-ass naked with his shirt still on—kinda lopsided. Makes him way more aware of not having a stitch of clothing on his bottom half.
John B's hand taps twice at JJ's naked hip. "Spread those legs, buddy," he says, goofy and smiling about it, like he don't even care how ridiculous he's being.
"I hate you so fucking much," JJ lies.
John B hums. "Oh, of course. That's why you listened right away."
"Don't say it like that," JJ complains.
"What?" John B makes himself far too comfortable between JJ's thighs. "You don't wanna be a good boy for me?"
"I will cut off your balls, dude."
John B buries his cackle into JJ's shoulder, muffled in the fabric of his tank.
Finally, John B gets himself together enough to lift his head. He presses a kiss to JJ's cheek. "Never change, JJ," he says, and doesn't even give JJ a second to get flustered about it before his hand is spreading JJ apart and his finger's rubbing at his asshole. JJ may or may not choke on his own spit.
"You good there, bubba?" John B asks, like he's not pushing these maddening little brushes against JJ's hole while he reaches for the lube.
JJ huffs out a groan. "Jesus, you can't say that."
"Why not?"
"You want me gettin' hard next time you call me that in front of Pope? Or—" Kie, he doesn't say, because John B's slid his finger in deep, he's inside JJ now and it kinda hurts but in a way that has his mouth falling open.
"I don't know, could be fun." John B wraps his other hand around JJ's dick and stokes in time with the hand up his ass. It's good, so good. JJ has to fight not to fuck up into it. "Depends. You always this sensitive, bubba? Or is it just me?"
"Hey!" JJ protests so he doesn't like, explode from embarrassment or something. "I haven't exactly had time dude. And it's not like I was gonna start skinning the snake right there on the Poguelandia beach."
John B snorts. "I've got my finger up your ass, JJ. You can say dick."
"You're being a dick," JJ mumbles, but it's halfhearted at best, too busy clenching tight on the burn of John B inside him. Christ, his best friend's inside him. Not quite comfortable thinking about it head-on like that, JJ closes his eyes instead. He focuses on the tug, the pressure, the way he can already feel himself going limp, loose. Squeezing then relaxing then—
"Where would you have done it?"
JJ's eyes fly open. "Huh?"
"On Poguelandia," John B clarifies, horribly clear. "By the lake? That big rock you were obsessed with climbing?" He shifts to get right up against JJ's ear and teases another finger wet against his hole. He hisses as John B pushes a bit, then backs off.
"At camp?" John B offers, breathing heavy. Jesus Christ.
"You're a kinky bastard dude," JJ manages through the swirling rush of 'oh shit'. If John B keeps blabbing through this whole thing, JJ's gonna die. "You wanted me to jerk off in front of your girlfriend?" he jabs, and this time, when John B pushes a second finger at JJ's hole, he keeps pushing until it burns tight and straining.
"Bare down, bud," John B offers kinda absent. "They wouldn't have known. Not if you could keep quiet." He rubs at the tip of JJ's dick.
JJ jolts, some hidden tension gives way, and the second finger slides in stretching and full-aching and—
John B snorts at him. "They would've heard that."
"S-shut up," JJ pants, and it's really not any better than the stupid moan John B's mocking, all airy and breathless and, and stupid.
"Fuck," John B says, and JJ can't even ask him what's wrong before he says, "What if I was awake?"
JJ squints and tries to block the steady in and out working inside him. "You would've decked me, dude."
John B jabs deep and JJ jerks. "Or I could've helped you out." He starts twisting his fingers, spreading them apart. "Could've covered your mouth—kept you from being so noisy while you fucked your hand." The grip goes tight around JJ's cock. "Would've been pressed right up against you, bubba. Would feel you rocking your ass back against me in the dark. No one would've noticed." His voice strains. "Just me and you."
The words run hot and freeze JJ up, even as a third finger touches light against him. "You—you had Sarah, dude."
John B goes still. So still, that for a moment JJ thinks he's gonna leave him like this: hard and empty, fucking lube making tracks down his ass.
But John B doesn't leave. No, he lets go of JJ's dick, only to wrap his hand around JJ's hip and stare down blank at JJ's covered chest.
"Well, maybe I shouldn't've," he says, and his hold ticks tight, tight, tight. That might bruise, JJ thinks dimly, then the heat rushes to his face so fast he feels lightheaded. Oh fuck.
"Maybe I should've reached over one night," John B says as JJ pictures Sarah's face if she saw John B's mark on him, if she knew, if she—fuck, if she told Kie. "Maybe I should've touched you." Kie with her 'not bad-weird,' and her 'I love you, dude,' and her 'what is wrong with you?' "Marked you up." John B looks him dead in the eye. "You would've let me, wouldn't you?"
And fuck, but yeah, JJ would've. He can't say that, mouth gone too dry, but John B's eyes go dark, then darker. They're kissing fast and biting and JJ's got his leg hooked up 'round John B's back and with every move John B's fingers are getting jostled inside him and it feels like coming apart.
"We both know you wouldn't have cheated on me," John B pants against his neck and JJ huffs.
"You don't know that."
John B bites under his ear, quick and stinging. "We've been friends for almost ten years and you've never ditched me."
"Yeah, well…friendship's different from relationships, ain't it?" It's hard to get the thought into words with John B nipping sharp down his neck, but JJ manages it.
"Not that different." Teeth clamp down on his clavicle and okay, yeah. The marks have gotta be on purpose, right? Fuck, JJ's gonna be covered in 'im. John B pulls back, looks satisfied at the bruise blooming on JJ's chest, gets that third finger shoving back at where JJ's strained tight. "Hell, in some ways…You've been more mine than any girl I've ever dated."
JJ moans. He doesn't mean to, but the third finger's stretching him open, the bite on his chest tingles dully, and John B's tugging his knee taut to the side like he wants space to watch JJ's body pulling him in. 'Cause that's what its doing; making space for John B, the way JJ always has.
"Fuck," JJ spits. "In me. Fucking get—" He cuts off when John B curls his fingers, cuts off at the bolt of lightning up his spine. He's moaning again.
John B goes a little wide-eyed. "Fuck, you're pretty," he says like JJ even knows what to do with that. He can't kick him spread open like this. Can't do nothing but take it, the words flushing over his face, his ears, down his neck, settling warm and tingling in his chest. He's burning up or burning out. Fuck, he needs John B in him already.
It's not until John B's cursing and pulling his fingers out that JJ realizes he said that out loud. Fuck. John B fumbles for a condom, slicks himself up, and presses hot and hard against JJ's asshole. "Let me?" he gasps. "C'mon, Js, let me in you? Just let me—I'll make it good for you, I promise, just let me. You'll feel so good, babes, I promise, I promise."
JJ's head spins. "Yeah, 'course, just—" John B presses into him, slow and straining, and for a second the pressure builds so strong, JJ thinks he might fly right apart. He hooks his hands 'round John B's shoulders and clings, gasping, until his air forces out entirely as John B sinks deep.
"—good? You good? Talk to me Js," he hears, and fumbles words back onto his tongue.
"Yeah, yeah it's…" He hisses at the tug as John B pulls back. "'s good," he manages. Christ, he's so full.
John B grins down at him, quicksilver fast. "Yeah?" He grinds his hips forward. JJ chokes on his next breath, eyes flying shut. "Fuck," John B says. "You look wrecked, bubba."
And yeah, okay, maybe, but John B ain't gotta point it out like that. JJ flexes into John B's next thrust, meets his momentum with his own into something deep and fast. He grits his teeth, hears John B's surprised groan instead of his own stupid sounds as he loosens up into the rock of it. When John B moves inside him, sparks skitter hot up his spine as any tenseness fades into a deep, aching stretch.
But John B's still kinda a little shit, right? 'Cause he grabs at JJ's thigh right where he started this whole thing and lifts it. JJ's leg bends, his knee hits his chest, and the next time John B rocks into him, his whole fucking body lights up.
He tries to say something, anything, but his mouth drops open, empty and panting. It feels—and it's—oh God, oh fuck, oh fuck—
"That's it," John B mumbles over him. "You feel so good. Fucking…" His grip on JJ's leg slips sweaty behind his knee, keeping it pinned tight to his chest. "Fucking love your smile," John B gasps out, 'cause he's nothing if not a ridiculous sappy loser. "Your eyes." God. He looks down at JJ and huffs. "The way you're blushin' like hell 'cause I'm saying nice shit to you."
"'m not," JJ manages and John B kinda groans.
"You're such a bad liar when you're being fucked," he says, says it like he thinks it's hot. "Fuckin'. Fucking can't hide shit."
''m not,' he wants to say again, or maybe 'you're the weirdo getting off on it,' but John B's snapping his hips forward, JJ's fumbling to brace against the couch, and he can't manage more than a weak gasp. Then John B curls a hand around JJ's dick and starts jacking him off hard and fast. It builds from his legs, his back, his chest, coiling burning into his gut where it swells and twists and oh God, he's gonna, he's almost— It's gonna tear outta him and—
The pressure on his dick disappears. JJ jerks his hips, but John B's hand is planted above JJ's head now and he can't, it's not—
John B thrusts once more, driving deep and going still. Head spinning with the sudden loss, JJ thrashes and curses as the twist in his gut slips back into the burning and aching and fuck he needs to—
"Fuckin' move already!" he hisses as John B ducks their heads together, nuzzling all sweet at JJ's cheek like he's not on edge, like one more tight stroke on his dick wouldn't send him over and—
"—op. Stop, Js," John B's saying all low, and JJ wants to tell him to go fuck himself or better yet, finish fucking JJ. He can't fuckin' breathe, he's burning up; he's all tangled and caught and John B ain't fuckin' moving and JJ needs him. "Hey, hey, you're good. Calm down. I got you, bubba, just give it a sec."
JJ'll give it a sec. He's gonna give it one single sec before he flips them over and fucks his own fist but then… John B moves.
It can't be called a thrust, not really. It's more of a slow, deep grind so far in him, JJ can't find the end of it.
He gasps. Quiet, barely anything, but he can feel John B smiling against his cheek.
"There you go," he says, "You feelin' it now?" And it's stupid. This shouldn't feel good, shouldn't feel better than when he was about to cum. But something's clicked over in his head and fuck. How does John B feel bigger like this? Feel more like this? JJ wants to laugh or, or cry. Wants something he can't get his fingers 'round but can feel glowing in the palm of his hand; something long like forever and good like JJ's never been, something stupid like blurting out I love you.
"There you go," John B says again. "There you go baby." JJ doesn't want to flush at hearing the nickname again, at John B bein' all John B about JJ the way he doesn't get about anyone else. But with him pressed all against JJ, inside JJ, JJ can't help it. "So fucking hot babes." John B presses their foreheads together. Gasps with him. "I told you you'd be."
JJ's dizzy with it. The grind, the—the words. His dick's dripping and his legs are straining wide, and his ass is fucking wet and full and he can't feel nothing but the sofa against his back and John B everywhere else.
"I wanna, I wanna cum." It slips out between them; gets caught under the look John B gives him, crushed between their bodies. The grind turns into a slow thrusting.
"I wanna," JJ's mouth starts again, and it tastes like a change. "I just. You. Please, just..."
At the 'please,' John B's hips stutter, deep and fast. "Fuck," he breathes.
The pressure's starting to build again, slower, bigger, a wave before it whitecaps. "Please," JJ says again, kinda helpless with it. "Please, just, I need you to—"
But he doesn't need anything, not with John B rocking hard into him with every word he lets out, not with the wave burning hot and overwhelming, pushing at him.
He's gonna cum. Oh God, he's gonna—
"John B, please," he says, and John B's thrusts go wild as he curses, as he slips a hand hard against JJ's dick. JJ jerks, shoots, and everything goes hyper-clear and hazy, body strung tight as the wave crashes over him. John B fucks him through it and JJ's little sounds get lost under John B's gasping.
Then he's down and he's settling. John B's cock pushes big inside him and the touch of his wet hand still on JJ's dick burns tight with overstimulation. He makes a noise, something pathetic and overwhelmed, and John B goes, "Shit, sorry, lemme…" and makes to pull out.
"No, 's. Keep goin'," JJ slurs, clumsy around the looseness puddling through his whole body. John B hesitates, looks at him a beat before he buries his face into JJ's neck, and drives his cock in hard and fast.
It hurts, a little, something bright and too-much that has JJ hissing and his dick twitching limp against his thigh. It feels good; sore and stretching somehow, a tight pull that strings him out and tethers him tight at the same time. John B's fucking keeps nudging against JJ's soft dick, a random little spark, and just when the overstimulation reaches a knifepoint, a bleeding edge between the hurt and the good, John B stutters, grinds deep, and goes still.
He pants against JJ's neck. "You good?"
JJ hums. He feels weird, loose and light like he might float up to the ceiling.
"Js?" John B brushes at his hair again and JJ ducks into it. "Buddy you with me?"
JJ cracks open one eye. "You're still up my ass dude."
John B stares at him a moment, then he kinda snorts. "Yeah, yeah I'm…" He doesn't finish what he's saying, all red and not meeting JJ's gaze. Pff. Whatever. JJ closes his eyes again.
"Are you seriously asleep?"
"Dick. Ass. Nope," JJ says. He's pretty sure it makes sense. Yeah, for sure.
John B pulls outta him, finally, and JJ grumbles a bit at the feeling. God, he's sore. His ass, his legs, all those stupid bite marks from John B mackin' all over him. Then John B goes off somewhere and JJ'd honestly be a bit pissed about it if he could pry his eyes open long enough for it to count. But John B comes back, swipes something wet where JJ's all sticky, then bullies JJ into sitting.
"C'mon, bubba, pants," he says, and JJ tells him he sucks but does fumble on the clothes John B's holding out. It's the least he could do, considering.
Then he's falling back on the couch, face down. It smells like him and John B and sex. It'd be perfect if John B weren't just standing there. Starin'. JJ flaps a hand at him. "Perv later. 'm cold."
John B grouses at him a bit, but he also shoves onto the couch with JJ, so what was all that bitchin' for, huh?
JJ'd ask, but he's already asleep.
--- --- ---
When he wakes up, John B's ringing the bell over the marsh. Incessant. Longing. God fucking damn it.
The day doesn't get much better from there.
It's like something broke in his brain, some invisible boundary between him and John B he hadn't realized was in place until he's careening right past the shattered pieces. Unthinking. Uncontrolled. He can't stop touching. He doesn't mean to, but the tiny impulse of 'stop,' of 'that's weird,' of 'he's not yours like that,' is just…gone.
So JJ grabs and shoves, and tries to pretend it's got nothing to do with 'You would'a let me, wouldn't you?'.
He's not sure if John B picks up on it, so he's gonna walk it off, right? No big deal. Don't make it weird. Then JJ's crawling out from under the table and John B's shoving at his ass and he knew this was gonna be unfair. He said it, didn't he? 'Cause all JJ can think is 'Bare down, bud,' and it's distracting, yeah?
It feels like something broke open last night, and now all bets are off.
Maybe that's why their fight turns physical.
Because John B shoves him and JJ knew last night was a terrible idea, 'cause now JJ's body seems to be under the impression winning don't matter, not even when he's really fucking pissed, and John B gets him on his back easier than he's ever managed. It's not fair.
Then…
Well then Shoupe happens.
Then Sarah happens.
And nothing changes, just like JJ told John B he wanted.