[That's a clear signal if he ever got one, even before the thought - harder, such a raw and demanding thought that John shivers again simply because it's coming from Ryan. There's the rough side, the aggression that flashes up now and then. He's about to comply when Ryan gets his teeth into John's own lip and he moans instantly, almost in spite of himself, head tilting and mouth opening fully to lick into Ryan's.
He's starting to lose himself in it. Ryan is all around him, long arms and firm grip, the scent of him (something vaguely fruity - that's not his shampoo, is it?) and the taste (also sweet, like he had dessert, John has no taste for sweets but no problem sucking that taste from Ryan's tongue) and the warmth of their bodies pressed close together; most of that warmth is his own, he knows, but he always seems to feel it reflected back against the heat of another. An idea of how flushed he feels to others.
The hand at Ryan's side, small and warm, pushes up his shirt just a little to seek out bare skin and press his fingertips eagerly into it. No pressure, no expectation. No manipulation. He wants to, so he is. It's so much easier.]
[It's hard not to just give in instantly when he's wanted this even more since John admitted to what happened with Petre-- and so he doesn't bother trying. Ryan's fairly resolute in not pushing this, not pushing anything on him, but he's eager and willing to carry on anything that John starts. His own end of the kiss still has that curious, inquisitive touch to it, the only thing keeping it from feeling hungry- instead it's probing, sweeping, intent on getting a taste of everything he has to offer.]
God, you're warm.
[It's an idle, almost dizzy thought. For once, Ryan isn't bleeding thoughts out of his mind like it's a sieve, projecting nothing but a soft, pleased buzz of contentment as he all but melts into John's touch, presses against him.]
Just 'cause I don't make it myself doesn't mean it's not in there.
[Heat, constant awareness of heat, taking in and cataloguing like a computer and occasionally tempting him so greatly that something ends up on fire. Leaking from his pores when he can't use it to his advantage, a light sheen of sweat so often on his brow. John's entire being is heat.
And right now he feels hotter than ever. It's not something he would've expected when he first met Ryan, when someone crept into his thoughts and disturbed his attempted relaxation, but the sparks began to show early and a spark is all he needs. His fingertips press even harder, just enough for a bite of fingernails, and he finally gives Ryan's hair a tug at the same time to tilt his head back so that he can kiss him more thoroughly. His body's starting to move, just the subtlest shifting but something Ryan will likely pick up on, as attuned as he must be to this situation he thought would never happen - his hips are rolling forward, the position making it so natural that he doesn't even notice.]
[That bite of fingernails, the tug at his hair- both draw little gasps from him against John's open mouth, make him shift back against his body in the same way. The heat's an infectious thing, makes Ryan feel almost like it's flooding right into him through the kiss and their closeness, warming him in the same way it keeps John running hot.]
-d'you have any idea how much I wanted you?
[Almost rhetorical, with a dizzily lightheaded feel to it that makes it feel like it could have been an unintentional thought, if it weren't obviously meant for him to hear. He's pulling John close, breaking the kiss so he can mouth at his neck instead.]
[When Ryan starts to push back against his thrusts, he finally notices them, and there's just a brief pause while he processes the unconscious reaction - then there's that wonderful thought, food for his already massive ego, two years without a partner in this fucking school and someone wanted him. Not in a sick, controlling way like Petre, but him, the person he actually is.
By the time Ryan's mouth makes it to his neck, he's gone. Actually bucking into Ryan's lap, long moans necessitating a fist jammed into his mouth to keep them from carrying through the walls or out the door.
don't stop don't stop ryan right there bite suck anything don't stop]
[There's no way Ryan could tell him no, not with him practically begging for it, with the way John's hips are moving against him-- a soft little sound escapes him as he lets his teeth graze the sensitive skin of John's neck, his tongue tracing over the spot before he gives it a firm (but not hard bite.]
-like that?
[His hands, meanwhile, are slipping beneath John's shirt, smoothing along his sides to mirror what he'd done to Ryan earlier; there's just a faint little graze of nails, like he'd used, but from Ryan it's a little more tentative.]
[The way he whimpers around that fist in his mouth, more breath than vocalization and much more high pitched than one would suspect him capable of, probably answers that question; if not, he also cranes his neck sharply to the side to expose as much as he can to Ryan's mouth, so that's a definite yes.
The light little touch on his sides makes him grin, though, and he gives his poor finger a break to let out a laugh.]
You're not gonna hurt me. [Far too many layers of meaning to that statement, aren't there.] And if you do, all the better.
[There's a fierceness to the thought that's incredibly rare in Ryan's mind, more clarity to it than the warm, pleased ones he's been sending so far-- and, ironically enough, his protest does make his nails dig into John's skin as his grip on him reflexively tightens. He leans back when he sends it, green eyes fixed on John's dark ones.
He'd never noticed they were blue before, and his intent expression softens a little at the discovery.]
[Oh god, no, he can't take that. He can't take earnest promises, people swearing up and down about things they can't control. Everyone hurts everyone, the simple fact that kept John isolated for so long - the only way to win was, and is, not to play. Now he's set up cravings that get past all his good sense, simply by letting his guard down for a second too long with all the wrong people (wrong for very different reasons, but still wrong), and those promises are so much more dangerous than any assertion that John is special or needed.
Believing a promise makes him much more vulnerable than believing a lie.]
Don't - don't - this is so fucking perfect, Ryan, don't ruin this now -
[The flicker of hesitation says it all. That was too far, wasn't it-- god, it's the first time they've kissed, the first time John's actually given in to whatever attraction might be there (that Ryan hopes is there, what if this is just experimenting too) and he can't help but back off.
He almost does physically as well, but part of that thought's sticking with him-- this is so fucking perfect-- so Ryan doesn't let go, just leans back in to catch his mouth in another needy kiss. There aren't any words in his thoughts, just that want- and a lingering touch of something almost guilty, sort of apologetic.]
[Yes. That's what he needs, the want, the desperation - not promises of care and protection. He starts rocking his hips forward again, more pointedly this time, making his intention and desire clear with the press of a burgeoning erection against Ryan's thigh. For once, he's unequivocally enjoying this, and he doesn't want that changing. He wants to get as much from this as he can.
He wants to feel every single bit of how much Ryan wanted - and wants - him.]
[That goes a long way toward getting those thoughts out of Ryan's mind-- getting everything out of it, really. He'd been with Petre in an attempt to see if it'd tune him out for a bit, let him have some peace, and he's finding it works even better when it's John.
The way Ryan pushes up against him is more desperate, all eagerness and heat- perhaps some of John's reflected back at him, who knows, but whether it's his or Ryan's own, there's a certain warmth in those wordless thoughts that drift over to him. There's been a spark for a while, and now that he's letting himself kindle it into a flame it turns out hotter than he'd expected.]
[He doesn't know what he needs, but this isn't enough. Just rubbing together like this isn't enough. Actual fucking is a whole different ballgame, someone saying he wasn't ready for that would be very much correct, but the friction of fabric against his cock is just driving him insane.]
If John hadn't asked, he wouldn't have made this kind of move-- but the words remove any doubt he might have had, keep him from being as hesitant as he might otherwise be as he reaches down to open the fly of John's pants.]
-anything you want. Any of it. Just tell me.
[And then Ryan's hand is brushing against him, with an almost audible murmur.]
[Anything. A dangerous offer. But for now, a hand other than his own touching him is more than enough.]
Oh god - [It's out loud, automatic, but he bites down hard on his lip this time as his head rolls back and he rocks up into the touch. Ryan really does have amazing hands. They've barely started to work and John is already trembling atop him, still worrying at his lip even after the initial urge to cry out has passed.]
That - yeah. That's good. Do you want -
[Anything, because as selfishly as he's taking, he needs to learn the whole process here. Should they be doing this at the same time? Should he take his shirt off, wriggle out of his jeans to give Ryan an easier grip? It's not that different, not really, but he still feels like he'd know where he stood so much more clearly with a girl.]
[Just him and his willingness and those sounds he makes, so unlike anything Ryan's heard from him before, making him eager to pull more of them out. It doesn't matter that they're here, that they could be overheard; all Ryan wants is to make him feel as good as possible, show him it can be like this. That it's not something to reject or avoid.
He tugs John's pants out of the way (more easily, because guess who forgot John had sweatpants on, oops) to make touching him easier, starting to stroke instead of just brushing fingertips across skin.]
[Just you. It echoes and echoes through his head. Oh, this is dangerous, this is potentially addictive. And there's not a chance they'll want the same things from it if the addiction grows.
But dangerous and potentially addictive are things he thrives on, and when they're combined with Ryan's hands stroking him properly, nothing could make him stop. Not the moments of actual affection that he's felt, not the confused desire for things he knows he can't allow himself, nothing. Those sounds Ryan wants are muffled, his teeth still holding his bottom lip punishingly tight, but they can't be stopped either; nor can his hips, rolling and riding Ryan's hand just a little bit harder and faster than what he offers. Even if he ups the pressure, the speed, John will push for more. Any concerns about how long he'll last or how he'll look are a million miles from his mind, lost in the sheer pleasure.]
God, oh fuck, yeah, don't - [At some point he slips, starts speaking aloud, voice quiet but as hoarse as if he'd been screaming for hours.] - don't stop, it's so good, just - fuck, I need this, please -
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
He's starting to lose himself in it. Ryan is all around him, long arms and firm grip, the scent of him (something vaguely fruity - that's not his shampoo, is it?) and the taste (also sweet, like he had dessert, John has no taste for sweets but no problem sucking that taste from Ryan's tongue) and the warmth of their bodies pressed close together; most of that warmth is his own, he knows, but he always seems to feel it reflected back against the heat of another. An idea of how flushed he feels to others.
The hand at Ryan's side, small and warm, pushes up his shirt just a little to seek out bare skin and press his fingertips eagerly into it. No pressure, no expectation. No manipulation. He wants to, so he is. It's so much easier.]
no subject
God, you're warm.
[It's an idle, almost dizzy thought. For once, Ryan isn't bleeding thoughts out of his mind like it's a sieve, projecting nothing but a soft, pleased buzz of contentment as he all but melts into John's touch, presses against him.]
no subject
[Heat, constant awareness of heat, taking in and cataloguing like a computer and occasionally tempting him so greatly that something ends up on fire. Leaking from his pores when he can't use it to his advantage, a light sheen of sweat so often on his brow. John's entire being is heat.
And right now he feels hotter than ever. It's not something he would've expected when he first met Ryan, when someone crept into his thoughts and disturbed his attempted relaxation, but the sparks began to show early and a spark is all he needs. His fingertips press even harder, just enough for a bite of fingernails, and he finally gives Ryan's hair a tug at the same time to tilt his head back so that he can kiss him more thoroughly. His body's starting to move, just the subtlest shifting but something Ryan will likely pick up on, as attuned as he must be to this situation he thought would never happen - his hips are rolling forward, the position making it so natural that he doesn't even notice.]
no subject
-d'you have any idea how much I wanted you?
[Almost rhetorical, with a dizzily lightheaded feel to it that makes it feel like it could have been an unintentional thought, if it weren't obviously meant for him to hear. He's pulling John close, breaking the kiss so he can mouth at his neck instead.]
no subject
By the time Ryan's mouth makes it to his neck, he's gone. Actually bucking into Ryan's lap, long moans necessitating a fist jammed into his mouth to keep them from carrying through the walls or out the door.
don't stop don't stop ryan right there bite suck anything don't stop]
no subject
-like that?
[His hands, meanwhile, are slipping beneath John's shirt, smoothing along his sides to mirror what he'd done to Ryan earlier; there's just a faint little graze of nails, like he'd used, but from Ryan it's a little more tentative.]
no subject
The light little touch on his sides makes him grin, though, and he gives his poor finger a break to let out a laugh.]
You're not gonna hurt me. [Far too many layers of meaning to that statement, aren't there.] And if you do, all the better.
no subject
[There's a fierceness to the thought that's incredibly rare in Ryan's mind, more clarity to it than the warm, pleased ones he's been sending so far-- and, ironically enough, his protest does make his nails dig into John's skin as his grip on him reflexively tightens. He leans back when he sends it, green eyes fixed on John's dark ones.
He'd never noticed they were blue before, and his intent expression softens a little at the discovery.]
I won't. Swear to god, John, I won't.
no subject
Believing a promise makes him much more vulnerable than believing a lie.]
Don't - don't - this is so fucking perfect, Ryan, don't ruin this now -
no subject
He almost does physically as well, but part of that thought's sticking with him-- this is so fucking perfect-- so Ryan doesn't let go, just leans back in to catch his mouth in another needy kiss. There aren't any words in his thoughts, just that want- and a lingering touch of something almost guilty, sort of apologetic.]
no subject
He wants to feel every single bit of how much Ryan wanted - and wants - him.]
no subject
The way Ryan pushes up against him is more desperate, all eagerness and heat- perhaps some of John's reflected back at him, who knows, but whether it's his or Ryan's own, there's a certain warmth in those wordless thoughts that drift over to him. There's been a spark for a while, and now that he's letting himself kindle it into a flame it turns out hotter than he'd expected.]
no subject
[He doesn't know what he needs, but this isn't enough. Just rubbing together like this isn't enough. Actual fucking is a whole different ballgame, someone saying he wasn't ready for that would be very much correct, but the friction of fabric against his cock is just driving him insane.]
- touch me -
no subject
If John hadn't asked, he wouldn't have made this kind of move-- but the words remove any doubt he might have had, keep him from being as hesitant as he might otherwise be as he reaches down to open the fly of John's pants.]
-anything you want. Any of it. Just tell me.
[And then Ryan's hand is brushing against him, with an almost audible murmur.]
no subject
Oh god - [It's out loud, automatic, but he bites down hard on his lip this time as his head rolls back and he rocks up into the touch. Ryan really does have amazing hands. They've barely started to work and John is already trembling atop him, still worrying at his lip even after the initial urge to cry out has passed.]
That - yeah. That's good. Do you want -
[Anything, because as selfishly as he's taking, he needs to learn the whole process here. Should they be doing this at the same time? Should he take his shirt off, wriggle out of his jeans to give Ryan an easier grip? It's not that different, not really, but he still feels like he'd know where he stood so much more clearly with a girl.]
no subject
[Just him and his willingness and those sounds he makes, so unlike anything Ryan's heard from him before, making him eager to pull more of them out. It doesn't matter that they're here, that they could be overheard; all Ryan wants is to make him feel as good as possible, show him it can be like this. That it's not something to reject or avoid.
He tugs John's pants out of the way (more easily, because guess who forgot John had sweatpants on, oops) to make touching him easier, starting to stroke instead of just brushing fingertips across skin.]
no subject
But dangerous and potentially addictive are things he thrives on, and when they're combined with Ryan's hands stroking him properly, nothing could make him stop. Not the moments of actual affection that he's felt, not the confused desire for things he knows he can't allow himself, nothing. Those sounds Ryan wants are muffled, his teeth still holding his bottom lip punishingly tight, but they can't be stopped either; nor can his hips, rolling and riding Ryan's hand just a little bit harder and faster than what he offers. Even if he ups the pressure, the speed, John will push for more. Any concerns about how long he'll last or how he'll look are a million miles from his mind, lost in the sheer pleasure.]
God, oh fuck, yeah, don't - [At some point he slips, starts speaking aloud, voice quiet but as hoarse as if he'd been screaming for hours.] - don't stop, it's so good, just - fuck, I need this, please -