renaissanceman | (no subject)

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granby

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Priestly's done this so many times now he could practically do it in his sleep, washing up the kitchen, putting pots and pans away, helping drunk patrons out the door and storing all the food. But there's one person he doesn't urge out the door at closing time, and it doesn't feel quite like business as usual, as familiar as all the tasks are.

"Looks like you closed the place down," he says as he hangs the last of the glasses. "Could probably serve you one more, if you like, since there are no actual, you know, liquor laws or anything."

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That gets a sound of him, soft, breathy, but there. His hips push back. His fingertips press against the wall.

He swallows hard.

"Fuck I love touching you," says Priestly, lips moving against his skin. Even when John is actively trying to control himself—more or less, anyway—his body is still so completely responsive and unrestrained. Priestly can always tell when he wants it, and has always loved that he doesn't try to pretend he doesn't.

"I love it when you touch me."

He lets himself have that much. Even though he knows that they're alone, he can't bring himself to be loud, not here, not in a place like this. It doesn't stop the shiver that comes from Priestly's breath on his skin and it doesn't stop the ride of his hips, either.

Priestly knows he has a condom tucked away somewhere because, well, he's started doing that ever since he and John started this thing, but he has to pull away to search for it, and to pull off his own clothes, if only as much as he's pulled off John's.

He finally slips his fingers out pulls his hands away, if not his mouth, and finds the condom tucked away in one of the pockets of his jeans before he kicks them off, leaving his shirt on.

This time, Granby doesn't move. His hand stays against the wall, forehead bent against the wall. His feet are planted wide, legs spread. He feels slick and open and exposed. His cheeks are burning.

He waits.

Priestly doesn't tease him this time, doesn't take it unbearably slow. He sees John's position, his bowed head, and his heart thumps harder, his pulse races. He places his hands on John's body and holds him there and pushes inside until there's nowhere more to go. And only then does he rest his teeth against John's throat and pause a moment.

To be so totally filled so suddenly is such a shock that he makes a long, strangled sound, squirming his hips back. It hurts, in a good way and he bites down hard on his lip.

Priestly gasps, he can't help it, he's been holding that reaction in too long, he gasps and he mouths at John's skin and it's another few moments before he moves, before starts moving inside him, and you don't forget how to do this. You never forget how to do this.

There's a limit to how much he can move, given the position that Priestly's put him in. It doesn't matter. he's content to stand there and take it, his hand against the wall.

He does moan, though, louder, this time.

True to his promise, he doesn't reach around and touch John's cock, and doesn't let him do it either. What he does is curl his hands around John's hips, brush his fingers over the skin then sink them in tight, and vary the angle he's thrusting him into it at till he finds the one that elicits the most noise.

When Priestly hits that spot, hits it with every thrust, it's all John can do to cry out and take it. He moans on every thrust, rocking his hips back to meet them.

He'll have bruises on his hips tomorrow. The thought of them makes his cock throb all the harder.

"Can you do it?" Priestly starts to say, letting one hand drift up under his shirt, up towards John's chest, nails scratching lightly against his skin. "Can you come like this? Can you come?"

Priestly's nails are maddeningly close to his nipple and, for a moment, it's all that he can focus on. His cheeks burn. He nods.

"Yes."
It comes out strangled but it's definitely there.

Priestly sinks his teeth in, just for a second, then thrusts just a little bit harder and flicks his nipple and says, "Prove it."

Maybe it's the pain that does it, or the quiet command in Priestly's, the angle of his cock but something pushes John over the edge right then. He comes so hard that all he can do is stand there and take it until it's done.

Priestly closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe and, after a few seconds of tighthotohdeargodfuckyes, he has the presence of mind to bend his head in again and kiss an exposed part of John's neck and thrust hard and fast and lacking all finesse or rhythm, no longer worried about getting John off and desperate to come himself.

Despite what he's been told, he moves. He rocks his hips back smoothly, meeting every single stroke. He moans encouragement.

"Come on," he mumbles. "Do it."

It's exactly what Priestly wants and needs at this point, and he clutches John tightly and pushes hard into him, rocking them both as far forward as they'll go, then he's coming in a lightheaded rush.

He gives himself a few moments to just bask in it, half-clothed body pressed up against John's and panting hard, then he's pulling out and away faster than he'd like to clean them both up. This is one place where he can't leave a mess,

When Priestly comes, he's pressed almost flush against the wall, cheek and chest and the palm of his hand. He feels completely hot and completely owned. When Priestly pulls out of him, he groans softly.

But he stays still.

When Priestly's done he leaves his pants off and leans in against John's back again, one hand resting gently on his abdomen under his shirt and his lips nearly against his neck again.

"So," he says, and kisses him lightly. "I feel like I should make us something to eat now."

"You want me to eat after that?" says John, huffing a laugh, boneless and content now, sinking into the feeling of Priestly's possessive touch.

"You're saying you haven't worked up an appetite?" says Priestly, grinning against his skin and trailing his fingers up and down. "Maybe I didn't try hard enough."

"I'm saying I'm ruined - I couldn't possibly eat," he says, grinning as he shifts slightly under that light touch.

"You tried plenty hard enough."

"Maybe next time I'll even touch you, if you're very good," says Priestly, kissing the other side of his neck, "because I'm very good at touching."

"I believe it," breathes Granby, essentially still pinned against the wall. "But what do you define as being good?"