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Jean
----
Jean tosses his keys onto the table next to the door as he slips off his shoes. He turns and sees the black coat on the rack, and can't help the ghost of a smile that tugs at his lips. It's Nino's, of course. And Nino being around isn't new - nor, if Jean is being honest with himself, is the fluttering warmth he feels on hearing the low rumble of his friend's voice from the next room. That's definitely nothing new.
But the intimacy that's grown up between them over the past months is new. And the expectation that Nino will be here, every night, sharing dinner, the quiet evenings, and Jean's bed.
He hear's Lotta's voice raised in protest and steps into the kitchen.
"You're not supposed to help!"
"But I want to," Nino is saying, a quiet hint of laughter in his voice. "I feel bad letting you do all the work."
"But that's the point ," Lotta wails. "I'm making it for you! Jean ," Lotta whirls around, pointing a whisk at him. "Take Nino away before he bakes his own birthday cake. And no, stop - don't you dare light that in here! Honestly, you're both one as bad as the other."
Jean slips a cigarette between his lips and lifts an eyebrow at Nino as he turns towards the sliding doors to the roof. He flips open his lighter as he steps out into the evening air, and hears the door close behind him.
"Lotta is having so much fun since you moved in," he says around his cigarette, shoving the lighter back into his pocket. "She's been so happy."
"She's not the only one," Nino murmurs, appearing beside Jean.
Jean lifts the cigarette out of his mouth and smiles. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you. Did you get me anything?"
"Only exactly what you asked for." Jean sighs. "Chocolate."
"Well, that sounds like it will make the perfect chaser after a nice slice of chocolate cake." Nino sounds like the cat that got the cream, all oozing satisfaction.
Jean moves towards the railing and leans forward on his elbows, cigarette hanging between his fingers and trailing wisps of smoke against the setting sun. A moment later and Nino is beside him, settling into a similar posture.
"You know," Jean says, "you're allowed to ask for more than chocolate."
"What more could anyone possibly ask for?" Nino jokes, adopting a tone of mock scandal.
"Things. Anything. You're allowed to want things now, you know. You were always allowed to."
The grin fades from Nino's face, and he turns to stare at the darkening cityscape spread out below them.
"Isn't there anything you want?" Jean presses.
The silence that follows stretches out so long, Jean thinks maybe this question isn't one Nino can answer yet. But then Nino turns to him, and his grin is back, wry and self-deprecating now.
"I can think of one thing," he says, and leans in to whisper. Jean's eyes widen slightly.
"Okay," Jean says steadily. "But I think you're going to have to take me out drinking first."
Nino
----
Nino does indeed take Jean out drinking, after they've shared both a chocolate cake and a box of chocolates with Lotta ("Too much chocolate," Jean had protested, with Nino and Lotta voicing vehement disagreement). They only stay at the bar long enough for Jean to become pleasantly buzzed, which isn't long at all; Nino leaves a large tip, feeling almost guilty about how little they've spent. On the way home they pick up a bottle of "contingency" wine (Jean's words), and when they step into the elevator at the apartment, instead of going up to the penthouse, Nino presses the down button.
One of the perks that comes with the penthouse flat is a large and private storage room off of the parking garage. It had languished under Jean and Lotta's care, populated mostly by dust bunnies and the occasional superfluous appliance. No longer; now Nino's motorcycle stands proud in the centre of the space. Nino smiles fondly at it as they step into the room through a side door and Jean flicks on the overhead fluorescents. Nino calls the room his garage, and it's certainly large enough to function as one, with a steel roll up door wide enough for his bike letting out directly into the private parking area. He isn't certain how soundproof the door is, but at least it has a lock.
Nino crosses to his bike and lays a hand on it, turning to watch Jean as he deposits the wine by the wall, followed by his jacket. He doesn't seem to be sure what to do with the next layer of clothing, and turns to look at Nino, thumbing at the top button of his shirt uncertainly.
Jean could still change his mind, and that would be perfectly alright, Nino tells himself, just as he's already told Jean several times. But he can't help the excitement already building in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm going to set up some lighting," he tells Jean. "Make yourself comfortable." Which is probably asking too much, given that they're standing in what amounts to a concrete box.
There's a construction spotlight in the corner that Nino uses when he's working on his bike, and he drags it forward, draping a white sheet over it to soften the glare. His camera is hanging around his neck as usual, and he lifts it to his face, checking the angle of the lighting.
He turns back to Jean and sees that he's taken his shirt off, holding it bunched in his hands in front of him. Nino indicates his bike. "Take a seat," he suggests.
Jean drops his shirt and comes to sit sideways on the edge of the seat. "Should I take off my pants now, too?" he asks.
Nino has already lifted his camera, perhaps too eagerly, to snap a few shots. "If you want," he says, adjusting the focus.
"I mean, I don't know the conventions of motorcycle pornography. I wouldn't want to trespass on any sacred traditions."
Nino chuckles. "Motorcycle pornography" isn't exactly how he'd phrased his request earlier that evening, but Jean has summed it up accurately. In fact, he hadn't been sure how to phrase it. "I want you undressed on my bike. I want to take pictures of you on my bike. And then I want to take you on my bike." He'd worried that Jean would balk - that he might be asking too much, too soon. But Jean had agreed so gamely. Nino's body has been tingling all evening.
"I don't think we have to worry about tradition," he tells Jean. "Do whatever you're comfortable with."
"It's your big day. You tell me."
When Nino hesitates, Jean smiles patiently at him. "Nino. I'm not nervous. I just don't know what you want."
"I want it all off," Nino says in one breath.
Jean moves his hands to his belt. The rest of his clothes come off, and he slides them across the floor to come to rest with his jacket and the wine. Naked, he contemplates the bike for a moment before throwing one leg across the frame and settling down, facing forward, hands bracing the seat in front of him. He peers down and gingerly lifts his feet from the floor. The bike barely wobbles, both the front and back wheels held firm in their stands. Jean places his bare feet on the pedals, then stares, perplexed, at the dials and knobs on the handlebars. He glances at Nino for direction, and receiving none, reclines back along the double seat, propping himself up on his elbows.
Nino thinks, distantly, that he should offer some form of help, but he can't seem to keep his hands off his camera, to keep from gazing through the viewfinder at Jean, skin glowing ivory, limbs exploring the dark angles and contours of the bike. The repeated click-click of the shutter is the only sound in the room.
"Is there anything in particular I should do?" Jean asks eventually, and Nino lowers his camera guiltily. Despite Jean's assertions that he's not nervous, Nino can tell he's not entirely comfortable, either. Jean is accustomed to being the almost sole focus of Nino's lens, but this is different. Completely exposed under the harsh, almost clinical lighting, he looks unusually self-conscious.
"Hang on," Nino says. He crosses to the door and flicks off the overhead lights. It feels slightly more intimate with just the diffused spotlight on, and Nino takes a moment to admire the way it picks out all the details of the bike and highlights the soft curves and flat planes of Jean's pale skin.
He returns to the centre of the room and puts a hand on Jean's leg. "Can you turn and face me?"
Jean obligingly pulls his other leg back across the bike and perches sideways again. Nino can't help but step back and quickly snap a few shots - Jean huffs with quiet laughter - before he gets down on his knees.
"Can I suck you off?"
Jean smirks and raises a sarcastic eyebrow, as if wondering why Nino feels he has to ask. Nino always feels he should ask, although he remembers that Jean told him recently that blowjobs were his favourite part of sex. But then, Jean has professed that every part of sex is his favourite part of sex at various points over the past few months. Every part that they've tried so far, at least, Nino thinks to himself.
"Not all the way," Nino amends, and comprehension dawns on Jean's face.
"You want to photograph me while I'm hard."
Nino nods and stares up into Jean's face. Jean rubs at the back of his neck, taking a breath like he's steeling himself. Then he drops his hands onto Nino's shoulders. "Okay."
"Okay," Nino echoes with a grin, and shuffles a little closer. He rests his hands on tops of Jean's thighs, rubbing circles down their insides with his thumbs, and leans in on one side, pressing his mouth into the angle where thigh meets hip. He stays there for a moment, working the spot with his lips, kissing and gently suckling, running his tongue along skin.
He glances up through his lashes and sees that Jean's eyes have already fallen closed. His fingers knead at Nino's shoulders distractedly.
Nino moves one hand along the inside of Jean's thigh to cup his balls, massaging gently. His mouth moves from the hip, kissing and sucking, towards a spot a few inches below Jean's navel. He can feel Jean’s pulse beating hard and fast under his tongue.
Nino kisses his way downward. He lifts a finger and strokes it lightly along the bottom of Jean's already-hardening cock, and Jean exhales sharply, leaning his weight onto Nino's shoulders. Satisfied, Nino moves his fingers up around the base of the shaft while he slips the head into his mouth, tongue deftly exploring. He wonders if he's taken Jean far enough for his purposes, but he promised a blowjob, so he slips more of Jean's length into his mouth.
It isn't long after Nino begins sucking that he feels Jean's hands balling the fabric of his shirt tightly against his shoulder, and with one final suck, he pops his mouth off of Jean's cock and sits back. "Enough?"
Jean blinks down at him dazedly, as if he's forgotten what they're supposed to be doing. "Oh. Right."
Slowly, Nino gets to his feet. He ignores the tight ache at the front of his pants, lifting his camera back to his face, determined not to waste this opportunity. "You can lie back again," he tells Jean.
Jean slowly moves one leg back over the bike, reclining along the seat on his elbows once more. Nino smiles to himself, because Jean looks just as uncomfortable as he did a few minutes before, but now for completely different reasons. He watches through the viewfinder, shutting clicking eagerly away, as Jean breathes heavily, his full erection bobbing as he shifts his hips.
Jean moves his hands down to grip at the body of the bike, lying back against the seats completely. He casts an impatient glance at Nino. "How many pictures do you need?"
"A lot," Nino says, and suddenly he's struck by inspiration. "Jean. Can you touch yourself?"
"You mean...?" Jean looks startled. This isn't something they've explored yet together, much less with a camera involved. He turns his head to stare up at the ceiling, then nods.
"Just a second," Nino says, and hurries over to his camera case. Shielding the camera from the light, he removes the roll of film and pops in a fresh one.
When he turns back around, he can see that Jean isn't entirely sure where to start. Jean raises his shoulders slightly to stare down towards the front of the bike and lifts one leg, the one further away from Nino, to brace against the handlebar. He leaves the other dangling against the pedal, lying back down and moving his hands to rest on his belly.
Nino's camera is already pressed back against his face. "Just do whatever feels good."
Taking a deep breath, Jean closes his eyes and runs his hands experimentally over his chest, fingers coming to rest on his nipples - two spots Nino has been paying careful attention to over the past few months. Jean slowly tweaks them, a small blush tinging his cheeks. He cracks one eye open and peeks sideways at Nino.
"That's great," Nino encourages, amazed he's able to keep his voice steady. "You look amazing."
Jean's gaze comes to rest on a spot below Nino's belt. "What's amazing is that you can still use your camera in your condition."
"Don't you worry about me," Nino tells him. "Just concentrate on yourself."
Jean's eyes close again and he seems to take Nino's advice, one hand still rubbing at a nipple while the other slips down across his navel to wrap around his erect cock. He rubs at the head with his thumb, and his chest caves in as all the breath escapes his lungs in one fluttering sigh, his body relaxing visibly.
Nino swallows hard, bumping his camera with his nose. He takes a few steps to one side, then another, then kneels, exploring different angles, the camera lens rapidly clicking away the whole while. Jean doesn't seem to notice now, slowly becoming absorbed in seeking his own pleasure. His fingers pinch his nipple hard, rubbing back and forth, as his head dips to the side, hair gently falling across his face. His toes stretch as he grips his shaft more firmly, stroking up his length, rubbing again at the tip with his thumb.
Another click of the shutter, and Nino curses quietly; he's breathing hard now, making it difficult to hold the camera steady. He has to admit Jean has a point; the building pressure against the tight stretch of his jeans is becoming an increasingly painful distraction. What he doesn't want to admit is how close he already is. He feels heady, watching Jean sprawled languidly across the body of his bike, like liquid honey melting onto a dark and bitter chocolate. Jean, naked and inviting, on Nino's motorcycle: a fantasy he's secretly harboured for years, couched in guilt and self-reproach, now come to dizzying and shameless reality.
And I'll be damned , Nino thinks to himself, if I blow this opportunity by spilling into my pants like some hormone-addled teenager.
Not that it would be the first time; on their first night together, only a few short months before, both he and Jean had come almost before they'd started. They'd laughed about it afterward. There had been too much nervousness and too much excitement, and it had been a long time for both of them; in fact, he suspected Jean had been a virgin, although Jean insisted it was none of his business. But Nino knew almost everything about Jean; knowing everything about Jean had been his job for thirty years. And he was almost certain none of Jean's many one-sided crushes over those years had resulted in anything more than tears drunkenly spilled into the cups Nino would dutifully refill, across more nights and more bars than he cared to remember.
He's seriously beginning to contemplate the logistics of undoing his fly without overstimulating himself when a particularly loud moan brings him back to reality. Jean kicks at the handlebar and pedal, feet scrabbling for purchase as he lifts his hips and arches his back, one hand pumping his cock while the other grabs at the side of the bike for balance. Nino realises how close Jean is getting, and steps forward, wrapping a firm hand around Jean's wrist, stilling it. Jeans eyes fly open, levelling an accusing glare at Nino.
"Not yet," Nino says. "Hold on just a little longer." He straddles the bike just behind the handlebars, standing between Jean's legs, and points the camera down at him, appreciating this new perspective.
Jean's foot kicks against the handlebar again, just behind Nino. "I'm ready now ." He somehow makes a whine sound like an imperious command.
Nino chuckles. "Impatient," he mutters, and wonders if Jean had more to drink than he realised; his friend's querulous and demanding side usually only emerges once he's pretty far into his cups. Nino lifts the viewfinder to his eye, when suddenly Jean grabs the strap of the camera and yanks Nino down into a fierce kiss, his legs wrapping around Nino's waist and locking him firmly in place. Nino sprawls awkwardly against Jeans length, pressing down on him, and he can feel Jean smile against his mouth, obviously pleased at catching Nino off guard.
The heat pooling in Nino's groin and the ache of his neglected cock are suddenly almost unbearable; he can feel Jean's erection, hard and throbbing, pressed against his belly, while his own grinds against Jean's hip. He manages to disentangle himself from the camera and lower it to the floor before Jean snakes his arms around Nino's neck, pulling him down into another mouth-bruising kiss.
They stay locked like this for a minute, pushing helplessly against each other, Nino's hands travelling along Jean's skin, desperate to touch him everywhere at once. Under him, Jean twists his hips, and Nino gasps, "Wait." He gets his feet back under himself and stands - Jean moves his feet back to the handlebars - pulling a packet of lube from his back pocket. He tears it open with his teeth and coats two fingers, rubbing them together.
"No," says Jean.
Nino looks at him in concern. "Are you sure? You're going to hurt tomorrow."
"I'm sure," Jean says, sounding frustrated. His arms are stretched above his head on the seat; his eyes hooded, pupils dilated. His breath comes out in rapid little puffs from between parted lips.
The tiny, rational part of Nino's brain that still remains is quickly overruled and he's fumbling to undo his belt so quickly he nearly drops the lube. He lowers his pants as far as he can against the frame of the bike - he's already an embarrassing mess of precum, he realises - and the rest of the lube is squirted into his palm. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath before sliding his palm slowly along his rigid cock.
"Ready?" he rasps, barely recognising his voice. Jean only makes an impatient noise in response.
Nino takes his cock in his hand and presses the head firmly against Jean's asshole. He moves his hands up to steady himself on Jean's hips and begins to push himself slowly forward, meeting resistance. He shifts, angling himself higher and pushing harder, and suddenly his whole length slides in.
A groan wracks his whole body, and he can feel Jean gasp and buck once beneath him. Take it slow, Nino tells himself. But his hips don't seem to get the message, and they thrust forward hard, too fast - once, twice --
Nino shudders and gasps sharply, clenching his eyes shut, feeling like a long overstretched bowstring finally released, his whole body twanging and jerking forward in pleasure. Then a moment of stillness. Then he feels the blush searing across his cheeks.
Still breathing hard, he opens his eyes and peeks down at Jean, whose own eyes are wide, his mouth forming a little "o" of surprise.
I blew it. Literally.
"Uh," says Nino. "Jean, I'm sorry - I just. You looked so amazing, and I couldn't believe you were down for this-" Nino knows he's babbling, but his mouth won't stop; it seems he's lost control over every part of his body tonight. "And I didn't expect I'd be so turned on - no, that's not true, but I thought I could control it - and I just... I think," he finishes lamely, "that bike sex is really, really, really my thing."
Jean regards him in silence for a moment, then he tips his head back against the seat of the motorcycle and laughs.
"Sorry," Nino says again. He's not used to feeling so indescribably lame. He really is channeling his inner teenager.
"Don't apologise," Jean says, smiling calmly. "I'm just glad you're enjoying your reward."
Nino pauses, perplexed. "Reward? I thought this was my birthday present."
"It's your birthday present, and it's your reward," Jean explains, "for being honest with me about what you want."
"Ah," Nino says. And he wonders how it came about that the world has decided he can possibly deserve Jean Otus in this way, after so many years of lies. Maybe all it took was a little honestly. He feels emotion choking at his throat, and hopes he doesn't tear up. He's always a little emotional after an orgasm, but he's had enough of losing his cool for one night.
"Thank you," he says, inadequately.
"You can thank me," Jean says, a hint of strain in his voice, "by taking care of this." And he guides Nino's hand down to his still-throbbing erection.
Nino smiles and plants a kiss on Jean's cheek, slipping out of him as he shifts a little lower. "Your wish, my command," he murmurs.
There's no room, with the handlebars right behind him, to move down any further and use his mouth again, so he braces one elbow on the seat next to Jean's head and fishes about on the floor for the discarded package of lube, squirting the last dregs of it into his palm once he finds it. He wraps his hand around Jean's cock, giving it a slow, firm tug. Jean's eyelids flutter closed and he turns his head to the side, a small moan escaping his lips.
Nino brushes his lips against Jean's ear. "Do you want it slow?" he asks, "Or fast?"
"Fast ," Jean mutters. "I was almost there before."
Nino grins wickedly and circles Jean's cock tightly with his thumb and forefinger, moving up the shaft as slowly as his own patience will allow.
Jean groans his displeasure. "I will bite you," he warns.
"You know I'd just love that," Nino says.
In response Jean wraps his arms around Nino's shoulders and lifts his head towards his neck, sinking his teeth in gently, licking and sucking. Nino wraps his hand more firmly around Jean, speeding up a little, and slowing down again whenever Jean's kisses dissolve into moans. Nino feels like he's on more familiar ground here, teasing Jean, drawing him out. He could stay like this forever, he thinks to himself, with Jean writhing beneath him, suckling at him, limbs wrapped around him, wanting him. Wanting Nino. It's still such a novel and indescribably heady feeling. But Jean's groans take on a stronger note of frustration, and Nino knows he isn't being fair, so he tightens his grip and begins to pump faster.
Jean's legs are quivering with exhaustion against Nino's sides, now, his breath coming out in quick pants as he moves his hips, trying to thrust against Nino's grip."Nino," he mutters, dropping his head back onto the seat. " Ah --"
Nino's hand stills, suddenly, and he leans back. Jean opens his eyes in confusion.
"Jean. Sorry, but can we switch positions?"
Jean's eyes widen in disbelief. " Now? "
"It's just--" Nino cringes at himself inwardly. "I'm ready to go again." Hormone-addled teenager, indeed.
"Oh, come on ," Jean explodes. "I'm so close! Nino! " He drapes his hands over his face, uncharacteristically dramatic. Nino waits. Beneath Jean's hands, Nino can see the corner of his mouth quirk slightly.
"Horndog," Jean accuses softly, his voice full of both exasperation and fondness.
Nino wastes no time. He stands up quickly, shucking off his pants entirely, and his shirt too, for good measure. He helps Jean up into a sitting position, then pushes him forward on the motorcycle's seat so he's resting on his belly, hands braced on the handlebars. Jean curses under his breath, his toes pushing at the ground, shifting his waist around, desperate for friction against his erection.
Nino slips behind him. The passenger seat is slightly raised, giving him the perfect access to Jean's upturned ass just below him. He gently inserts a finger into Jean, swirling it around, and slips it back out to find it still sticky with cum and lube from his first round. He angles his cock - once again fully erect - downward to press between Jean's cheeks, slowly inserting the head. Jean hisses, but makes no further protest, so Nino tips his hips forward off his seat, letting his weight carry him down to bury himself in Jean. Jean lets out a strangled noise and jerks so forcefully Nino has to grab for balance, and he knows he's landed right on Jean's prostate.
"You alright?" he asks, wriggling slightly.
"Yes," Jean gasps.
"Can I start moving?"
"Yes. " Jean sounds close to the brink of hysteria, and Nino grins to himself, suddenly glad Jean's teeth don't have access to his neck just now.
Nino rests his hands on the back of Jean's heaving rib cage and rolls his hips, pushing himself fully inside. He feels Jean's muscles spasm and clench around him and he exhales shakily, his head dropping forward. The sensation is incredible, but he worries that Jean is too tense, and rubs his thumbs in small circles against his back.
"I'm fine," Jean says, just as Nino is opening his mouth to ask. "Nino, please ."
Nino readjusts himself slightly, rolls his hips again, then begins slowly rocking back and forth, falling into the steady rhythm he wasn't able to achieve earlier. He tilts his head back, eyes closed, heat building between his legs in slow, aching waves.
Beneath him, Jean moans, and Nino opens his eyes and looks down at him. Jean's knuckles are white as he grips the handlebars, his arms shaking. His bare toes, slicked with sweat, slide uselessly against the floor now as he tries to push himself up into Nino's weight. Glancing forward, past the handlebars, Nino wonders if he'll ever be able to concentrate on driving again with this experience seared into his memory. He shifts forward slightly more, angling himself further downward, and speeds up his thrusts, sensing Jean's growing urgency.
Jean lets out a shout so loud it bangs off the walls of the garage, enveloping them a hundred times as he arches backwards sharply enough to hit his head on Nino's shoulder. Then he slumps forward, and Nino watches his hands slip off the handlebars.
I should have tied those there , Nino thinks to himself, and somehow the thought has him digging his hands into Jean's sides, bending forward and shuddering as his own climax suddenly overtakes him.
Jean
----
Jean stares, unfocused, at the far wall, feeling Nino's chest slowly rise and fall beneath him. He'd had to be helped off the bike by Nino, his whole body feeling like a particularly wobbly jelly, legs collapsing and head lolling. Nino had spread his coat on the ground and laid Jean on top of it, and when Jean complained of the cold, Nino lay down at his side and rolled Jean on top of him, instead.
His gaze comes to rest on the unopened bottle of wine. He hadn't needed it tonight, but tomorrow morning, Jean muses, might be another story. He feels Nino take a breath, and cuts him off. "Don't say thank you again."
"I was actually going to ask if you were still cold." Jean can hear the smile in Nino's voice. "But I may as well take the opportunity to thank you again, as well."
Jean grimaces. "Stop that. It's weird. I got just as much out of tonight as you did."
"Oh, I doubt that." Jean feels the low bass rumble as Nino chuckles. Nino's arm is stretched out to the side, his hand wrapped around his camera. He lifts it up. "I got the ultimate spank bank, after all."
"Congratulations," Jean says, unable to help a small huff of laughter. "I hope that means you've learned your lesson."
"And what's that?"
Jean angles his head up to plant a kiss on Nino's collarbone. "Honestly is the best policy."
Nino chuckles again and Jean closes his eyes, listening, loving the feel of it with his ear pressed to Nino's chest. Nino's hand ruffles his hair.
"Duly noted."