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It was Andrew himself who told him he was into that stuff.
The whole "being a good boy" thing was starting to distract John far too much.
The evidence of his boyfriend’s inclination toward a slightly submissive attitude were clear even in their simple daily life, becoming even more evident in the bedroom. John likes to talk during sex and with Andrew who is so receptive to his words, it’s always so entertaining to see a mature, brooding, and silent man like his boyfriend melt when told he is a "good boy," and allows himself to be used, proving so eager to please that he puts his own pleasure second to John’s orgasms.
So why not suggest adding a little more spice to their already sizzling sex life?
“So?” John asks softly, watching closely for any visible reaction on Andrew’s face—feeling slightly self-conscious about the confession his young boyfriend has just made, “Would you be interested in exploring a dominant-submissive dynamic a bit more?” he asks again, trying to be as gentle as possible.
After all, while Andrew is a passionate, wonderful lover with a libido nearly matching John's, he is generally quite passive about sex in general and it’s fairly obvious that he has little interest in exploring the sexual realm out of mere curiosity; he prefers to simply follow the directions John often suggests. John doesn't mind taking the initiative to spice things up in the bedroom, though sometimes he’s so exhausted that a bit of humping each other's legs and kissing is more than enough—but he is twenty-six, after all, his libido is sky-high, and his desire to experiment with Andrew keeps growing. His boyfriend is so sexy and handsome that he’d love to keep him naked the entire time they’re together whenever Andrew comes back from Pittsburgh to spend time with him, but those moments when it’s just the two of them are rare.
But this is one of those long weekends when Lena has decided to stay with Michael and Jack in Pittsburgh, and Andrew has accrued enough vacation time from his work place to request at least a week off to be with John—so why not bring up the subject that has been tormenting him night and day for weeks?
The idea of suggesting to try out a dynamic from the bondage sphere has always fascinated him, but it’s something that requires the right person—someone you trust. Andrew is his boyfriend now and they talk a lot about what they both enjoy (something the older man found difficult at first,) which is why John is currently waiting for an answer to the main question, following a long explanation of what led him to make the proposal. In response, Andrew blinks slowly, looking at him with intense eyes and a set jaw, not in annoyance, but rather with a soft embarrassment. John gives him another little nudge, trying to let him go.
“You know, I remember when you told me that—well, you’re into the idea of being my good boy, and—,” he gestures slightly, “why not try something else? If the idea appeals to you. You don’t have to, of course, you know. I mean – ” John is rambling. Unlike his boyfriend, who goes quiet when he’s embarrassed, he always talks, filling the silence that makes him feel uneasy.
But Andrew surprises him.
“I don’t want a collar,” he says, so low, almost a murmur, so quiet that John has to lean in slightly to hear him.
“Uh?”
Andrew grinds his teeth, his back stiffening. As they sit on the sofa, he is perched almost on the very edge, as if he wants to get up and run away.
“Usually, the submissive is the one wearing the collar. I saw it at bondage parties thrown by some of my brothers’ friends and—” he pauses to swallow nervously, looking as though he wants to banish an unpleasant memory, “I don’t like it.”
John’s eyes widen as he rushes to set things straight. He doesn’t want his man to think he wants to put him in a collar and leash—oh God, no, he doesn’t like that idea at all either.
“Oh, man, no, of course! Bondage isn’t just that, there are so many different things—”
“I know that. But I just wanted to tell you.”
They look at each other, Andrew seems to be sinking with shame but holds his ground, while John just wishes he felt less guilty for having suggested this. Perhaps he should have waited a little longer? They’ve officially been together for only three weeks, though given their history, he thought he had enough leeway to bring it up. But maybe he shouldn't let his thoughts spiral, he needs to stay calm.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know that,” he says with a gentle smile, reaching out to stroke the other man’s hand, which is clenched into a fist on his thigh. Andrew relaxes slightly at the touch. “Is there anything else you wouldn’t like?”
His lover considers this, then gives a slow nod.
“No humiliation or impact play,” Andrew says, perfectly understandable, given the past he is still carrying with him and slowly moving past, thanks in part to psychotherapy sessions. John nods.
“Great,” he says, remaining silent to savor that small, electric moment, giving Andrew time to process what they’ve just discussed. Then he sees him relax slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.
“When—how you want to—”
“We don’t have to do it right away. I just wanted to talk about it and see if you liked the idea.” John shrugs, shifting to get more comfortable on the sofa. “We can start whenever we want, gradually, there’s no rush.” Andrew gives a slight nod, letting John guide him down onto the new sofa so they can both enjoy that brief moment of relaxation. Outside, the rain taps gently against the windows, and dinner is cooking in the oven, so they have time. Perhaps they are dozing lightly, shifting into a more comfortable position, with Andrew’s cheek pressed against John’s chest, wrapped in each other’s arms, both in comfortable house wear—savoring the half-day off John had managed to get.
“We need a safe word,” Andrew says softly after a few minutes. Right, one always needs to be ready to stop when things become too much.
“True. Which one would you like?”
“California. You need one, too.”
“Sutures. Sorry, medical terms are the only thing on my mind right now,” he chuckles, managing to coax a smile out of Andrew, who lifts his head to look at him. They share a slow, lingering kiss.
That night, they make love, without too many special games but John can sense that their conversation from earlier is still simmering beneath Andrew’s skin, surfacing whenever John whispers about how good he is for him, how he is his "good boy." Andrew climaxes quietly while John rides him, using him—a position the older man seems to thoroughly enjoy. It’s an intimate one that leaves no room for him to take the dominant role or risk being "too much" for John, even though he longs for the day when his lover will stop worrying about that and simply let go completely.
One step at a time.
⸝⸝
John frowns.
“You need a pillow,” he states, grabbing the best one from his couch and fluffing it up to make it soft, “You can’t stay on your knees on the hardwood floor for long, it’ll hurt you,” he says with concern, ‘cause the number-one rule for anyone wanting to be the Dominant is taking care of their subs. John wants to take his role seriously, so he signals Andrew to lift himself up slightly so he can place the cushion under his knees.
That afternoon, Andrew had told him he wanted to try — something that made the younger man’s eyes widen with delight. He had proposed starting with something simple: kneeling at his feet. John had to study on his only day off of the week, so why not combine business with pleasure? Sitting on the sofa, he suggested that Andrew could kneel at his feet for all the time of his study session, partly to help him settle into the role. Andrew had simply nodded, looking almost surprised. Perhaps he had expected to start with something more complex, but one needs to get into the right mindset to play properly.
So Andrew lets him place a pillow under his knees, positioning himself between John’s spread legs; John smiles and plants a quick kiss on his forehead, struck by how beautiful the other man looks in that moment. He can already see in Andrew’s eyes a desire to obey him perfectly—something that stirs a complex mix of excitement in John’s gut.
“The scene is simple: you rest your cheek against my thigh,” he says, pointing to his own left leg, “and I study. You don’t have to do anything else, just relax. All right?” He explains this ‘cause the second fundamental rule is communication — John is grateful to that patient who’d ended up in the ER after a household bondage mishap for teaching him all about that.
Andrew nods, leaning forward slightly to ask for another kiss, and John obliges. Then he settles more comfortably onto the couch, relaxed and at ease, helping Andrew get into position; the older man is a warm, reassuring presence against his thigh, and John knows he’ll have to focus hard to keep from getting distracted and to stay in character.
“Can I pretend you’re my cat? My beautiful big cat who just wants cuddles?” he asks, smiling childishly, his tone playful. Andrew seems to like the idea, nodding with a faint smile.
And so the scene begins: John opens the anatomy book, focusing on the words printed on those pages, while occasionally reaching out with his free hand to stroke Andrew’s dark curls, listening as the other man relaxes more and more—almost purring, as if he were truly a cat. Time goes by, as John finds himself relaxing too, even though he is terribly aroused. He wishes he could be superior to his own needs, be a Master who can genuinely focus on the task at hand without getting turned on by the thought of a beautiful submissive man at his feet, with his warm breath far too close to John’s groin—but forty minutes into the scene, the words on those pages are all starting to blur.
He wonders how long a scene ought to last to be "right," but since this is the first one, mistakes are bound to happen, he can always stop whenever he likes.
With an embarrassed grunt, John closes the book and runs his freed hand through the other man’s hair, feeling him give a slight start; perhaps he had fallen asleep, or maybe he was already in that subspace state of mind and John had interrupted him—but the way he lifts his gaze toward him makes John’s resolve crumble completely.
“Andrew,” he whispers, his breath catching slightly; his grip on the curls tightens a little as he hears the other man grunt and sees his eyelids flutter, “would you eat me out, please?” It might sound ridiculous to say exactly what one wants, but John finds the whole thing incredibly arousing—something the other man seems to appreciate too, since he nods quickly, his hands moving to the waistband of John’s pajama bottoms to strip them off in a rush and spread the younger man’s legs, ready to get to stuff his mouth with John’s dick.
John comes embarrassingly fast, with two fingers inside his pussy, his knees pressed almost against his shoulders, as Andrew devours him like a starving man in the desert.
“Would you—” he catches his breath as he slowly comes down from his own climax, “would you like to come?” he asks, trying to compose himself and letting his legs slide off Andrew’s shoulders. The other man barely considers the offer, simply shaking his head no.
“No, Sir, thank you.”
John moans and blush shamelessly.
“You don’t have to —” but Andrew looked at him with a stern look.
“I want to say it,” he tells him, and after a couple of seconds spent catching his own breath, John leans forward, cupping Andrew’s face in his hands, showering him with kisses, and massaging his shoulders.
The third rule for a good Master is the aftercare: no matter how intense the scene was, once the game is over, the one in charge must look after their submissive one. So John makes hot tea for both of them, fitting for the late-autumn afternoon and tells Andrew to lie down under the fleece blanket on their sofa; for once, the man doesn't seem to want to fight the devotion with which John is tending to him.
“You’ve been so good, thank you so much,” he whispers between soft kisses as they embrace on the couch, both savoring the aftermath of their first scene. John smiles with satisfaction; he wants to ask how Andrew is feeling—whether he enjoyed it or not—but the way Andrew holds him close, looking so relaxed that his erection has already subsided, puts his mind at ease.
First step done.
⸝⸝
John is at the hospital when he calls Andrew, during a rare break in his late-afternoon shift. It has been a hectic day, as usual, and all the while he has thought of nothing but their first session and how much he wants to try it again.
“Do you feel like doing a scene when I get back? Nothing complicated—it’s just been a tough day,” he says in a low voice, ducking into the break room to avoid being overheard by the other doctors relaxing inside. He bites his lower lip, waiting for the reply; it takes Andrew a couple of minutes to answer, and John can almost picture him furrowing his brows as he gathers the courage to respond.
“How do you want me?”
“Why don’t you wait for me on your knees by the bed? You can stay dressed if you like, but I’d love to find you naked,” he whispers, keeping his voice low and slightly husky. He doesn’t have the same vocal timbre as Andrew, but he knows how to use his voice effectively when the moment calls for it.
There is another brief moment of silence, but this time Andrew sighs heavily on the other end of the line.
“Yes, Sir,” he whispers softly, and John smiles; his cheeks flush warm, and he bites his lower lip to hold back the rush of euphoria.
“Thank you, love,” he replies, ending the call and returning to the last four hours of his shift, clinging to the electrifying thought of what awaits him at home.
When he opens his apartment door, he finds the place tidy, the dishwasher humming quietly, and dinner in the oven. But it’s the light streaming from the bedroom that draws him to stride quickly across the small apartment. He opens the bedroom door and holds his breath in pleasant surprise to find Andrew waiting for him naked, kneeling with a cushion beneath his knees and his head tilted slightly forward. In submission.
“Oh, Andrew,” he whispers lovingly, gazing at the beauty of the body offered to him in that way—the muscular shoulders trembling ever so slightly, and the hands resting composedly, palms open, upon his muscular thighs.
John hurriedly strips off his coat, letting it drop to the floor along with his bag, because he needs to get close to Andrew—to caress him, to kiss him. To take care of him.
As he cups Andrew’s face in both hands, kneeling so they are eye-to-eye level, the other man looks up at him with dreamy eyes, waiting in eager anticipation. John smiles at him.
“Hi,” he whispers softly, grazing Andrew’s cheeks with his thumbs and watching him melt under the touch. “Thank you for this,” he says, leaning in to kiss Andrew’s forehead and burying his nose in those soft dark curls. Andrew has used his shampoo—a detail that sparks a possessive shiver in John, causing him to let out a low, faint growl.
“Would you help me undress? I want to take a shower before we start,” he says, trying to stay calm, though his palms are already sweating. Andrew nods, helping John stand and beginning to untie his shoes and slip off his socks; then he stands and with gentleness and precision, slides the suspenders down John’s arms and hips. John sighs heavily, as if all of this were already delicious foreplay. He would like to tell him to lie down on the bed that very instant, but he must resist.
Andrew’s hands are warm against his skin as they stand naked, facing one another. He leans in and kisses him hard; Andrew melts, hesitating to touch him—perhaps waiting for an order. The thought that his lover is currently poised to await a command and serve him makes John’s head spin, though he composes himself, reluctantly pulling away from his boyfriend’s lips.
“It won’t take me long,” he murmurs, pressing their foreheads together and stroking Andrew’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I’d like you to wait for me on your knees again. Would you do that for me?”
Andrew nods, but John gently shakes his head.
“You have to say it out loud, Andrew. Would you do it?”
The other man swallows hard, closing his eyes.
“Yes. I’ll wait for you on my knees, Sir,” he whispers, and that is more than enough for John. He lets go, giving him the space to obey, and Andrew, like a doll with its strings cut drops to his knees, perhaps a bit too hard for John’s liking (he makes a mental note to apply there ice packs later, just to prevent bruising), but he smiles with satisfaction. He lightly strokes Andrew’s curls before hurrying off to take a shower. He is meticulous about washing every inch of himself, though, because what he has in mind requires his boyfriend’s mouth all over his naked body.
After drying himself off and stepping out of the shower, John bites his own lower lip as he notices his coat and bag neatly arranged near the wardrobe. Andrew has moved; he ought to punish him, but it would make no sense right now. Slowly and gently, he approaches, grazing Andrew’s shoulders with a light caress before running his fingers through his curls. Andrew lets out a soft mewl and lifts his head slightly, watching intently as John positions himself in front of him; he raises his right leg, resting his foot on the mattress and fully exposing his pussy.
He smile at Andrew.
“Do what you’re good at, sweetheart,” he says in a kind yet firm way, and he revels in his role as Master as he watches his sub quickly lean forward. With eyes closed and with his usual determination, his boyfriend sticks out his tongue to deliver a long lick to John’s cock, which is already semi-erect and peeking out delightfully from the small patch of pubic hair.
John holds back from fully surrendering to the pleasure washing over him, wanting to push Andrew to do even better—though what he’s doing is already incredible, making one wonder what he could achieve with more practice. Andrew sucks his clit as if it were a huge cock, burying his face deeper and deeper into John’s pussy, as if trying to choke himself on it.
The mere thought of buying a strap-on to truly give Andrew that sensation of choking during a blowjob makes John clutch the other man’s curls with both hands and throw his head back; he can no longer pretend he isn’t already experiencing peak pleasure.
“Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking good at it, you know?” His mouth runs wild, as always, and he knows how much Andrew loves hearing praise for how well he eats him out—he can hear Andrew grunt, increase the suction, and add his tongue to the mix.
“Use your fingers. Do it,” John grunts, forcing himself not to crumble under the pleasure mounting deep in his belly when Andrew obeys and fills him with three fingers. His pussy is slick, wet with his own juices and saliva as he feels a trickle, sliding down his inner thighs, which tremble as he feels the orgasm rising up his spine.
He throws his head back, then leans forward and grips Andrew’s shoulders; he feels the other man’s hands supporting the backs of his thighs as Andrew gives one last lick and presses his cheek against John’s inner groin, breathing deeply as if he had been holding his breath for so long.
John collects himself, taking long breaths, and taps Andrew’s shoulder to make him lift his face toward him—what a terribly lustful sight it is, having a man as powerful and strong as Andrew looking up at him that way.
“Lie down on the bed,” he tells him, giving a quick nod, and Andrew doesn’t need to be told twice—though John clearly hears his knees popping and catches a grunt of discomfort from him, the result of holding the same position for too long. Yet he makes no complaint, and John runs a hand through his hair to steady himself as he watches his lover lie back, waiting for him with eager anticipation. The initial plan was to give him a blowjob or ride him and use him as a mere sex object, but the moment John picks up the lube and sees the way those legs are spread wide and wantonly for him, a thought flashes through his mind.
He leans forward, between Andrew’s parted legs, kissing him to taste himself on the other man’s lips.
“Can I finger you? We’ve never done it, and you look so beautiful right now. I just want to give you pleasure. Can I?” he asks, caressing Andrew’s cheek and watching the micro-expressions flit across his face, shifting from embarrassment to worry, until curiosity wins out.
“Yes. Please,” He whispers, more than enough for John, who, with a final kiss and a boyish grin, sits back on his heels, and nudges Andrew’s legs a little wider apart.
“Is this okay? This way I can see your face and touch you better,” he explains, and Andrew is fine with it. Then he leans forward a moment longer, taking the other man’s wrists to cross them and gently press them against the pillow above his head.
“Stay like this, please, until I tell you otherwise.” Andrew frowns; he likes caressing and touching John when the young man he’s on top of him, and not being able to do so will definitely be a challenge for him, but he nods slowly, brow furrowed. John smiles at him, electrified.
He takes his time teasing and preparing Andrew, who delights him with soft grunts, eyes closed and breathing deeply, whenever John’s well-lubricated fingertips tease a spot where no one has ever tried to touch him before. John had always asked him if he’d ever even tried it on his own, but Andrew had always been adamant: neither he nor anyone else had ever tried to fuck him in the ass—not even during a blowjob, let alone with a dildo or a real cock.
There's always a first time, and John is thrilled that his gruff boyfriend feels safe enough with him to let him try.
When the first digit breaks through the tight ring of muscle, Andrew barely opens his eyes, gazing adoringly at John, his lips parted and his legs trembling slightly. John pushes Andrew’s right leg forward, slowly, to gain more room, and everything changes: he goes deeper, searching for that specific spot that –
“Fuck!” Andrew grunts, his eyes rolling back and his abs contracting as John finds his prostate. John smirks, amused, and bites his lower lip as he watches pleasure wash over his man’s face.
“Bingo,” he whispers softly, not wanting to distract Andrew from the intense pleasure he’s experiencing. He begins to fuck him with one finger, then two. As the third one approaches, Andrew tenses slightly but takes a deep breath and relaxes. At the sight of that ring of muscle stretched wide, filled with his fingers, John moaned loudly.
“You should see yourself. You’re beautiful. Oh, Andrew, you’re stunning,” he murmurs, breathless himself; his own pussy throbs at the thought of being filled again, of impaling himself on his man’s cock. But he’s already had his orgasm, now it’s Andrew’s turn.
“Fuck, baby, come on my fingers. C’mon, you can do it,” and increases the speed, his wrist is slightly tense but it doesn't matter. He tightens his grip under Andrew's knee, holding his leg open, exposing him. While his lover is usually, almost silent when they fuck, only letting out little grunts, now he manages to elicit loud moans from him, watching him tense, bite his lower lip, and pant.
All for him.
As a final coup de grace, John leans forward, sucking hard on the tip of Andrew’s cock, enough to push Andrew past his limit; he comes so hard and so much that John moves out of the squirt, though some of it still lands on his cheek. But it doesn’t matter—the sight is obscene and beautiful: the arched back, taut with a shattering orgasm, his ass clenching around those fingers that are still pressing against his prostate to deliver one final wave of pleasure that leaves him all but sobbing.
“Too much – please,” Andrew is panting heavily; even though he ought to use his safe word to end the scene, John takes pity on him—though he won't next time.
John looks at him as he slides his fingers out, both of them are breathless, yet inexorably even more aroused. Andrew gazes back with a dark intensity, his pupils dilated enough to swallow the green of his irises, and John is overwhelmed by the sight. He brings his right hand between his own legs; he is so wet that two fingers slip right in without effort. They lock eyes—for a brief moment the game pauses, leaving just the two of them and Andrew quickly pulls him close against his side, their legs and hands tangling as they touch and cling tightly. John finishes with a second orgasm while Andrew pinches his lil cock and fucks him with three fingers, greedily sucking on his shoulder.
That is enough for both of them and exhausted, sweaty, and breathless, they smile at each other, stifling a yawn. John will worry about cleaning up later; for now, all he wants is to be held by his boyfriend and drift into a pleasant doze, with a faint smile on his lips.
⸝⸝
It was a rough day. John is on edge and even a bit angry.
He has pent-up tension and stress to release, and the only one who can serve as a punching bag for him to vent on, is his boyfriend.
He realizes he was abrupt, even a bit of a jerk, when back at home, he walked in after a grueling shift and a final chat with Benton, who had called him “spoiled and incompetent child,” and slammed the door without so much as a greeting or a polite word. He barked at Andrew to strip and get straight to bed.
Because he needs it.
Because, for once, he wants to be the one in charge. He doesn’t want to feel like a kid who messes up and refuses to own his mistakes. He doesn’t want to be told what to do and how to do it all over again.
He wants to be the one calling the shots. Just for once.
Andrew asks no questions, he simply watches with a furrowed brow and lets John give him a rough shove toward the bedroom, allowing him to throw his little tantrum. In a way that is almost bizarrely comical, John manhandles him, stripping him harshly and offering nothing but barked instructions on what to do.
He just wants to use him, and Andrew seems to have grasped that without making a fuss.
And so they find themselves naked in bed, with Andrew lying back against John’s chest, his legs spread wide and pinned by John’s own; John has decided to take his time and toy with him, one hand wrapped around his cock, repeatedly bringing him to the brink of an orgasm only to cut it off just as it starts. John grunts, biting into Andrew’s bare shoulder as he hears him whimper yet again—his right hand gripping the base of Andrew’s slick, well-lubricated cock, while his free hand squeezes a nipple, leaving nail marks on Andrew’s chest.
“Look at you, being so good, letting me touch your big cock and just enjoy yourself,” John whispers, sucking another hickey onto him just below the jawline, “love to have you like this,” he says, giving his balls a slight squeeze before going back to stroking him—slowly, just the way Andrew likes it. The other man trembles, exposing more of his neck in submission and gripping the sheets beneath them so hard he nearly tears them. John smirks wickedly.
“You like it? Wanna cum in my hand, love?”
“Yeah. Yes, Sir, please,” Andrew whispers breathlessly, tensing up as John focuses on the head of his cock before moving down to squeeze the base. The wet sounds are obscene, they fill his head and make him smile deliriously.
“You’re close, love? You have to tell me, Andrew, don’t be selfish,”.
It was the request John made before they started: that Andrew tell him as soon as his orgasm was close, because he would stop it. And it is terrible to have to cut an orgasm short just as it’s beginning, but Andrew is good at this, and with a deep breath, he nods slowly.
“Close. I’m – close, John,” Andrew replies reluctantly, and John stops, cutting short yet another orgasm that leaves Andrew’s balls aching from the unfulfilled release. John smiles, kissing his cheek, watching a shy tear slide slowly down his boyfriend's flushed cheek.
“We just need to slow down, so,” And that is what he does, slowing the movements and momentarily loosening his grip on his lover’s cock to admire how hard it is, standing as rigid as marble, while he moves down to massage his balls in his palm.
Andrew lets out a faint whimper.
“I know, I know. Let me just play with you a bit more,” he whispers, “I know you can do it, you’re my good boy, remember?” he licks his ear, savoring his boyfriend’s moans, before pressing his forehead against Andrew’s sweaty temple.
“Say it,”
“I’m – “ Andrew gathers his strength while John increases the speed of the hand job, “I’m your good boy, Sir,” He says it all in one, arching his back and clutching the rumpled sheets as the orgasm sweeps through him from head to toe, coming so hard that John finds himself breathless and giggling while looking at the obscene and delicious show in front of him.
“Look at it,” He says, his free hand gently sliding under Andrew’s chin and grabbing his jaw. Andrew lets himself move, his temple against John's cheek, while John grins excitedly, “I love it, Andrew. You came so much, I’m so proud of you,”.
Andrew sobs, his body buckling under that endless orgasm, as he comes, and comes again, all the way to his pecs, staining his tense abs. Oh, John wants to lick him clean so bad.
He continues to jerk him off, even though Andrew squirms slightly from the overstimulation, but he says nothing, accommodating a second orgasm that slides lazily along John's tight hand, which still doesn't stop, until—
“California,” Andrew whimpers, utterly spent, as John stops instantly, suddenly frightened that he’s gone too far as he notices, out of the corner of his eye, small tears of overstimulation streaking his boyfriend’s face. He tries to stay calm, though panic colors his voice as he pulls his hand away from Andrew’s groin and quickly grabs a cloth he had set aside earlier; he wants his hands to be clean to touch his lover’s face. They might not be clean enough by Andrew's standards, but he'll make up for it.
“Oh my God, I’m so – you’re ok?” asks hurriedly, trying to not tremble too much as he gently strokes Andrew’s flushed cheek. He is blinking slowly, caught in a weird limbo between subspace and the desire to stay awake and talk.
“Yeah. That was just –”
“Too much?”
Andrew nods slowly, a faint sense of sadness at not having lived up to expectations, something that tears John apart inside, prompting him to give him lots of little, reassuring kisses all over Andrew's face.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, babe. It’s really been a horrible day," John mutters softly, taking a deep breath and burying his nose in Andrew’s dark curls. "I should have... calmed down, but instead I was just being an asshole."
But Andrew shifts slightly to look John in the face, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. John sighs heavily, wrapping his arms around his lover’s shoulders.
"There’s no need for you to stress yourself out any more. We can just..." Andrew bites his lower lip, hesitant. "Can I make you come? Without all the 'Sir' stuff or anything, just... like always."
John nods, smiling gently at him and brushing a sweat-dampened curl away from his forehead.
“Yeah. Of course, thank you,” he gives him a kiss on the forehead, then on the nose, slowly moving down to his mouth, “you’re so sweet with me,” whispers against Andrew’s lips. For a brief moment, neither seems quite sure what to do next, but then, in a burst of energy, Andrew pulls John into his arms, pushing him back onto the mattress and pressing his entire body against him as if he were a heavy blanket.
John exhales contentedly, closing his eyes and savoring the brief path of Andrew’s hand along his side and down between his legs, which he opens without hesitation.
“Wanna take care of you, John,” Andrew whispers lovingly, gently massaging John’s clit with his fingertips, slowly kissing his face, letting him relax beneath him. John closes his eyes, holding back small tears born from stress and overwhelming emotion, and lets out a soft sob as two fingers slide inside him. He clings desperately to his man’s shoulders; Andrew tightens his grip, fucking him slowly, almost tenderly yet with enough intensity to bring John to a delicious and calm orgasm that washes over his body in waves, making his toes curl and his teeth sink into his lower lip, while a delightful smile spreads across his face.
It's all so beautiful, when he opens his eyes and Andrew looks at him sweetly, his eyes shining, a little smile that also recalls John's, who continues to snigger until –
“Fuck, Andrew, I love you so –” but he stops immediately.
They haven't told each other the magic three words.
Not yet at least.
Andrew freezes, his eyes widening; he parts his lips to say something, perhaps to contradict John, to tell him he doesn't know what he's saying, that he can't possibly love him but a few moments later he relaxes, taking a deep breath and pressing his forehead against John’s, closing his eyes serenely.
“I love you too, John,” he whispers, a faint sound, yet enough to make John tremble again, spent from the day, the session, and his orgasm.
They kiss and hold each other tight, sweaty and tired but John remembers that he is the one who needs to handle the aftercare.
“It’s important, baby, and we definitely both need it,” he tells him when his boyfriend tries in vain to keep him in bed so they can doze off together. Andrew doesn’t mind the idea of showering with John, though space is tight, so one of them has to wait outside the shower; still, it’s not bad at all. John lets Andrew go first, and sitting nearby on the closed toilet lid, watching his boyfriend’s perfect, marble-like body, wet and busy soaping up, makes John smile.
He knows he’s kinky and these early attempts, almost clumsy yet incredibly sweet to explore new dynamics in their intimate life, thrill him very much.
He gazes at Andrew’s solid back and perfect ass, picturing them flushed red and crisscrossed with welts from the belt, or simply marked by the imprint of his hands…
Andrew watches John shower too, standing ready with a towel to dry him off and rub down his wet body and hair. Once they are both in their pajamas, John pulls Andrew over to have dinner on the sofa, listening to good music and talking about what had been troubling him during the day. Andrew listens, strokes his hands, and furrows his brows, snorting angrily when John tells him what Benton had said to him.
But it’s late, and they are tired and well satisfied, with full bellies and overflowing hearts, dozing on the sofa until Andrew moves them both to bed and tucks them in.
Tomorrow John has the day off, so they’ll be able to talk a lot.
Make love.
And play a little more.