[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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[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.]
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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 -