[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 -
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[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 -