(no subject)

[renaissanceman]

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."

Comments

[renaissanceman]

"Go ahead," he says, posing himself back against the wall, arm above his head. "I'm still not touching you, so use me."

[sunburned]

He can imagine what he looks like as his hips start to move, pressed against Priestly's body and rutting like something in heat, but, Jesus, he can't bring himself to care.

[renaissanceman]

Priestly loves the way he looks. It's everything he wanted to see, when he'd all but told John to do that--beautiful and wrecked and desperate and so completely into what he's doing that he'd probably do anything Priestly said now. But mostly it's the desire that continues to take his breath away.

[sunburned]

He would do absolutely anything, he's so lost in it. All he's aware of right then is his cock and the friction from Priestly's skin and he's had it before, had it almost exactly like this, but it's never, ever been this good.

[renaissanceman]

"Do it," says Priestly, as though a person can be ordered to come. As if it's that easy. "Go on. Do it."