Aug. 01st, 2008
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Freddie is saying, "—seriously, man, you're going to love it, I mean, fuck, it's pretty much the best present ever," when they step out of the elevator. John rolls his eyes and wonders how much booze Freddie and Mac got him, or if it's weed. There's at least a small chance it's both. There's a much large chance that they'll help him consume most of it.
John isn't quite sure why they had to go to a fucking hotel on the other side of town to get it, but sometimes Freddie and Mac's plans are unnecessarily complicated. He's learned to roll with it. They stop in front of room 406, and Freddie grabs John's shoulders, staring him in the eye and saying with what seems like far too much gravity, "Today, my friend, you become a man."
And then Freddie grins like a loon, unlocks the door and drags John inside.
There's muffled cursing from further in, and John raises his eyebrows, stepping into the room proper as Mac jerks up off the huge bed. He's flushed, moving a little jerky, and keeps pulling his shirt down over the front of his pants.
And John really would have paid Mac more attention, but there's a fourth person in the room, and John kind of gets distracted. John doesn't think the other kid is any older than him, standing from where he'd been kneeling beside the bed, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth and blinking at John from beneath messy blond curls.
Freddie slaps John on the back, snickering, "We'll leave you two to get better acquainted. He's yours for the weekend, man," and then Freddie and Mac are moving towards the door, Freddie hissing in what he probably thinks is a whisper, "Dude, what the fuck did you do?"
Mac not-really-whispers back, as they yank the door closed, "He said he was charging the whole time, right? I was just testing the water for John, and holy fuck man, that mouth was—"
John looks over his shoulder at the door, looks back at the kid standing beside the bed with his hands on his hip, and frowns. He says, "Look, I don't know what they told you, but it was probably a lie." Because that, at least, he knows for sure.
The kid rolls his eyes, declaring, "I'm brushing my teeth," like that explains everything and stepping into the bathroom. After a moment John follows him, because he doesn't know what else to do.
The kid spits into the sink, rinsing his mouth, and John leans against the doorframe, finally managing, "So, can you tell me what the hell they were talking about? Because I think Freddie took my keys when he left." He wouldn't put it past them to trap him on the other side of town, he just isn't sure why they would.
For a long moment the kid just blinks at him, looking faintly disbelieving, and then he sighs, tilting his head forward and down, wrapping one arm around his chest and scuffing at the floor with one toe. He's blushing a little when he says, "Look, I'm Rodney. I'm your birthday present."
John blinks. And then blinks again. Rodney doesn't look like he's joking, just watching John with those big blue eyes and waiting, biting at his bottom lip. John swallows, and then takes a step back, raising his hands, "Okay. Okay. Okay, look, I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding here."
Rodney follows him back out to the main room, leaning against the wall, his thumb caught in his waistband, pulling his tight jeans down just enough for John to see a sliver of pale skin below his shirt. Rodney says, watching John reach for the phone, "What kind of misunderstanding do you think there's been?"
John pauses, cradling the headset against his ear and then realizing he has no clue who to call. He fidgets with the cord, and then blurts, "You're a hooker." Rodney shrugs, blushing again, and John feels like an asshole, hurrying on to, "No, I mean. That's fine. If you are. But, uh, I'm not. I'm not, you know," he waves a hand, and then crosses his arms, "I'm not a queer."
For a long moment Rodney just stares at him, and then one side of his crooked mouth twitches upwards, just a little. He says, "Really?" shifting away from the wall, walking slowly around the bed towards John. And John can hear himself swallow when Rodney reaches up to take the phone away from him, the other boy's warm body brushing against John's.
John expects Rodney to draw back into his own space, but he doesn't, instead tilting his head to the side. John feels frozen, breathing fast and shallow, wondering if Rodney is going to touch him and where and what he's supposed to do if that happens.
And then Rodney's saying, voice warm and soft and right against John's ear, "Me either, I just fuck men a lot," and John shivers, involuntarily, taking a small step back in an attempt to regain some distance and perspective. Rodney just follows him, not quite touching, just there in a way that John is finding impossible to ignore.
John takes as deep a breath as he can manage, "That's—I don't. Fuck men. Or want to fuck men."
Rodney hums, and John wonders if he's smiling, his voice a low rasp when he says, "So, just me then?" and cups John's erection right through his jeans. John curses, taking another step back, wondering when the bed got there when he runs into it.
John grabs Rodney, strictly for balance, hands closing around the boy's upper arms while Rodney nips at the lobe of John's ear and rubs the heel of his hand slowly up and down the line of John's zipper. John's hips jerk forward without his permission, looking for more pressure, and Rodney murmurs, low and intimate, "How about I take care of that for you?"
"Yes. Sure. Okay," John is pretty sure he meant to say no. He's pretty sure that he didn't intend to reach down and grab Rodney's wrist when the boy tries to move his hand. He's pretty sure that the whimper in his throat when Rodney squeezes him was completely unintentional. John gasps, "Fuck, I—"
"Hm?" Rodney is squeezing and then releasing, fingers sliding back just far enough to press against John's balls through his jeans. John groans, covering the boy's hand with his own, rocking into it and feeling his stomach tightening up.
He comes like that, sagging down onto the bed afterwards, breathing hard and feeling shaky. Rodney rubs John's stomach for a long moment, which feels surprisingly good, and John squirms around when he remembers just how uncomfortable coming in one's pants is.
And then Rodney is leaning over him, grinning when he says, "That's very flattering. So. They weren't lying about you being a virgin, huh?" and before John can even think to protest, the boy is unbuttoning John's jeans, making quick work of the zipper, and then wrestling the constricting material off of John's hips and down his thighs.
Orgasm is making John stupid and happy with the whole world, and particularly Rodney. He shrugs, blinking down at his dick, sticky with his come, "Nope. They were telling the truth." He frowns, because he's pretty sure that he's never actually admitted that to anyone before.
Rodney rolls his eyes, demanding, "Give me your shirt," and John does because there might possibly be more orgasms involved if he does and that would be awesome. He manages a soft protest when Rodney only uses to shirt to wipe off John's come, but that morphs half-way through into a groan, because Rodney is stroking his dick, and he's well on his way to hard again, just like that.
Rodney says, "Well, the good news is you're not going to have to worry about being a virgin anymore. The bad news is I'm pretty sure a blowjob will kill you."
John's shoulders curl off the bed, and he groans, something long and drawn out, his dick twitching hard. He manages to grab one of Rodney's arms, pulling at him and insisting, "No, no, I'll be fine," and even if he does die, he's sure it'll be worth it.
Rodney stares at him for a moment, and then that crooked mouth of his twists up again and he says, "Your funeral," and pushes John's shoulders flat on the mattress, before grabbing John's legs and pulling at him until his hips are right at the edge.
When Rodney kneels between John's thighs, John pushes up onto his elbows, because he has to see. The boy's pale curls contrast with the dark hair on John's stomach and thighs and around his dick. It's...well, pretty isn't the right word, but it'll have to do.
And then Rodney is looking up, a little foil square held between his fingers. He raises his eyebrows at John, speaking fast and sharp, "Not that I should have to be telling you this, but this is a condom. Condoms are your friends. If at any point this weekend you try to put your dick anywhere in me without one we're going to have problems."
John moans, his dick jerking again, because holy fuck, but he's going to get to put his dick in Rodney as much as he wants and that's just awesome. Rodney rolls his eyes, tears the packet open and continues, "Pay attention," and then he's sliding the latex down John's dick, and the unfamiliar constriction has John whimpering, clawing at the sheets and squirming.
"I'm going to suck you now," the words are soft, matter of fact, and John drops limp down to the mattress, offering himself up for whatever.
Rodney's mouth is hot and wet and perfect. John stares sightlessly up at the ceiling, mouth open though he's found himself speechless. The kid just goes down and down and down and John can feel the back of his throat and then his just shuts down.
John is aware of only brief snatches of things, Rodney's nose pressed up against his groin, the little whimpering sounds that are apparently coming from him, the lick of Rodney's tongue up the underside of his cock, and his orgasm burns hot and bright and hard.
Afterwards, John tries to remember how his brain works, and Rodney leans over him, grinning, his mouth reddened because John's cock was in there, and says, "Congratulations, you didn't pass out," patting John's chest and John smiles so wide his face aches.
::go to 'Send Offs 5' —>::
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