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Dave’s arms loop around John, holding him close, tender kisses, soft hands roving over sensitive skin. It’s been months, now, they’ve done this so often Dave’s hands move with a practised ease, stroking exactly where John likes, how John likes it. John reaches out in kind, holding Dave gently by the face; he’s not much for the handsy kind of foreplay, not for himself, but John just can’t help but run his fingers through Dave’s stubble. He keeps it trimmed, embarrassed at how patchy it is despite all his years on testosterone yet adamant to have a jawline in some way, shape, or form, but John still loves it.
He feels himself being gently bent over backwards, and lies down, pulling Dave with him. Dave straddles him, pausing for a moment, eyes roving over John’s whole body. They’re both naked, which is a bit of a change of pace—John’s fucking thrilled that Dave’s feeling good enough today to let loose like this. He reaches up, looping arms around Dave’s fuzzy shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. Dave lets himself be moved readily, meeting John’s lips with his own gently. They’re pressed together, Dave nearly lying flat on John, and John fucking loves it, loves the warm feel of Dave’s skin on his. Dave’s a little busy being self-conscious about accidentally crushing John.
“Are you ready?” Dave asks softly, and John nods. Dave pauses for a second to reach back for the lube, which had been sitting next to them—he has to turn and look, fumbling around for it awkwardly before he finds it again. “Jesus. It damn near ran away.” John laughs, the kind of laugh that immediately dissolves into a wheeze, while Dave sits up and lubes his fingers. “Spread your legs a li’l more.”
John obliges, shifting on the mattress, then hums contentedly when Dave slips one finger into him. At this point he’s used to this, to the gentle escalation—and Dave refuses to skip any steps, ever. One finger, stroking deep, then a second, a third if he’s feeling especially nervous about how large the strap is. The one he’s sporting at the moment is one of the longer but narrower ones—at this point he’s gotten two more just for John, for fun. This one they’d actually picked out together, or rather, John had picked it and Dave had hit “add to cart” on the website, and therefore technically was also involved. He’d insisted he wanted to feel Dave “fuckin’ all the way through to my ribcage, man” which Dave wasn’t certain was possible but wasn’t about to say no to. It seemed safe enough. Probably only a few centimetres longer than his longest dick.
He shifts on his knees, pulls his fingers out, fairly sure John’s ready, then lubes his dick and lines up, leaning back over. “You ready?”
“Fuck yeah.”
Dave gently, slowly slides into John, watching his face, the way he breathes in as he takes it, eyes locked to Dave’s. “You okay?” Dave whispers, hesitating balls-deep.
“Yeah,” John exhales. “Fuck, yeah, that feels good. Please start moving.”
Didn’t have to ask Dave twice, certainly. He leans back for a moment, taking hold of both John’s legs and gently pushing them up before he begins to piston his hips against John’s. John’s quiet at first, light panting breaths, looking down at their bodies tangled together, but self-control has never been his strong suit. In no time he’s whining and moaning under Dave, reaching up, wrapping his arms around Dave’s shoulders to pull him in closer for more kisses. Dave lets go of his legs and braces himself against the bed. “Go harder,” John breathes in Dave’s ear, and he obliges immediately. John’s head falls back and he gasps for air, back arching. Dave can’t help it, his neck is right there, exposed; he leans over and gently sinks his teeth into it, licking over the skin. John groans and tries to pull him closer but Dave’s back won’t bend that far without him falling over, so he refuses to go any further. Instead he sucks hickeys into the side and base of John’s neck, tongues over his adam’s apple, captures John’s lips with his own and bites gently at his bottom lip. “God, fuck, you’re so good at this,” John gasps, pawing at him, and Dave grins.
“You’re easy,” he teases. “So sensitive.”
“Fuck off.” But John’s laughing lightly, and Dave snickers too, rubbing his nose against John’s, who gasps involuntarily when Dave snaps his hips a little more roughly and suddenly into him. “Shit…”
“Yeah?” Dave goads him, raising his eyebrows invitingly. John isn’t capable of answering. He looks almost delirious already, grinning hugely, eyes soft. “You’re so pretty,” Dave breathes, unthinkingly. He’s embarrassed immediately, it’s one of the most honest things he’s said—John really is so fucking pretty, haloed by his wiry brown curls, smiling, blue eyes glowing, snaggletooth canines slipping out of the corner of his lips, gapped teeth on full display. Dave’s hand slides up to cup his jaw, thumb rubbing gently over smooth skin.
Fuck, but he loves John.
He kisses John again, rolling his hips gently but quickly, propping himself up on his elbows with his arms enclosing John’s upper body. John’s arms have snaked between his, looped around his neck and shoulders, one hand buried in his hair and the other gripping his back. Their mouths only part when they’re too overwhelmed to remember how to breathe, until John paws at him gently, panting, leaning up to speak in Dave’s ear: “Lemme ride you, please, please.”
“Really?” Dave slows, not sure John won’t immediately change his mind. Usually John’s kind of a lazy fuck, proudly referring to himself as a pillow princess with particular fondness for the word princess. He’s not into having to do more work to get off. It works, because Dave prefers to be more active, usually. But with John, he’s willing to try anything at least once.
“Yeah, I wanna try it,” John pushes lightly against him and Dave sits back, pulling out. John sits up a little clumsily as Dave lies down and shifts for a moment to be more comfortable. John moves to straddle him, eager, smiling down at Dave, who impulsively reaches over, running his hands along John’s calves. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” Dave answers. “Go for it.”
John shifts, reaching down to take the strap in-hand; it takes a moment for him to get lined up properly but once he is, he sinks down onto it with a little groan. He braces himself against Dave’s gut, panting quietly as he lowers his hips, slowly taking all of Dave into him. He breathes out a sigh when he’s all the way down, tracing his fingers lovingly over Dave’s belly. “Shit, man, you’re so deep in me,” he groans, shifting slightly, firmly planting his feet on the bed before he starts to move. Dave’s hands slide up to hold him by the hips, steadying him, as his legs tremble the first time he lifts himself. “Oh, my god…”
“Yeah?” Dave’s voice is hoarse and he clears his throat, swallowing, a little embarrassed despite John looking down at him with the horniest expression. Every now and then when something gets caught in his throat Dave’s voice drops to something rougher and John’s so fucking into it, it sounds like his voice when he first wakes up, or when he’s just coughed his lungs out taking a hit off whatever John’s smoking. It’s closer to animal. John loves it.
“Yeah,” John gasps, sliding back down. He keeps going, eyes locked to Dave’s, mesmerized, mouth partway open, slowly losing himself as he picks up the pace. He glances down for a moment, watching their hips, the way his dick swings in the air and thumps against Dave’s belly, the way he just takes all of Dave in him so easily. It makes him feel like a fuckin’ whore. His eyes flick back up, meeting Dave’s again, and he considers asking Dave to degrade him. It’s not something he asks for often, and Dave’s not always very good at it—he really seems to prefer giving out praise and encouragement if he talks at all—but John’s in the mood for it. “Call me names.”
“Baby—” Dave starts.
“Mean names, Dave,” John corrects, snickering a little.
Dave snorts. “Oh. My bad.” He grips John’s thighs firmly, digging his nails in. “Slut.” John grins, eager, as Dave’s hands slither up to lift him by his waist. He starts to buck upward, rutting his hips up into John’s, watching John’s eyes glaze over and his mouth go slack. “Cock-drunk whore. You’re built for this shit, aren’t you? Like a fuckin’, uh—cocksleeve.”
“Yeah,” John manages, a tremor running through him. He’s not seeing, vision blurred, high on the pleasure of it all. Fuck, but Dave knows what he’s doing by now. “Ye-aah, I am, I am—”
“You’re always so desperate for me to fuck you, like a d—an animal in heat. It’s pathetic.” He grips John tighter, as if trying to break his pelvis with his bare hands, and John whines. “How much time do you spend thinking about my cock? D’you—Do you sit at work thinking about me? Thinkin’bout what it feels like for me to fuck you like this? Like you’re my slut?” The line of questioning is growing more genuine but he can’t help it, can’t stop now that he’s started. Fuck knows he’s gotten into shit at work because he’s been too busy daydreaming about taking a fistful of John’s curls and pulling, forcing his back to bend while brutally fucking him. It’s something he almost feels guilty about—like it’s not appropriate to be fantasizing about fucking his best friend, despite the fact that they fuck all the damn time. “You ever jerk off thinking about it? I fuckin’ bet, I fuckin’ bet you do. You always ask me to fuck you like—like you can’t wait to let me destroy your ass again. Am I wrong?”
John tilts involuntarily and nearly falls over, hands flying out to grip Dave’s knees in order to stay aloft. He’s breathing hard, whimpering with every clap of Dave’s hips on his, but unable to answer, head too scrambled.
“C’mon, ya whore. Say something.”
John manages a sound, not any words, just a noise. It could be a ‘no’ to answer his question or it could just be a moan, Dave isn’t sure, but he laughs a little. He can’t keep this up forever, though. Dave eventually sets him back down, lying flat again, a little out of breath, and John automatically starts riding him, chasing that high, refusing to come down. Dave keeps stroking his thighs and calves, lovingly, watching him with an open and honest adoration. The words I love you are building up inside him but now isn’t the time—there isn’t ever a time. He’s fairly sure there will never be a time for that and he will just have to be content with what they have—which, to be fair, is pretty fucking good. He’s content to love John quietly like this. His hands stroke over fuzzy calves and comparatively-smooth thighs, reaching behind, tracing over the rough burn-scar tissue on the backs of his upper legs. “You gonna just—just fuck your brains out on my cock?”
“Yeah,” John whines, voice high and breathy and in the back of his throat, barely intelligible. His brows knit together, teeth sinking into his lip, and with an involuntary fluttering of his eyelids his eyes roll back as he leans back, grinding Dave’s dick hard against his prostate with every bounce. He’s grinning, voice wavering as he whines and groans, and Dave is struck by how ridiculous an expression John’s wearing. It’s absurd, almost unreal, and Dave loves it so much. His lips curl up at the corner almost sharply, the kind of thing Dave hasn’t seen on anyone’s face other than John’s. His hair quivers and shakes around his shoulders like a living thing in its own right, wracked with pleasure just like the rest of him. Glows faintly gold around the edges from the sun streaming in through the half-parted curtains—their compromise between John’s exhibitionism and Dave’s shyness.
Dave runs his hands up and down John’s thighs as he keeps riding, hips plapping loudly against Dave’s. His balls rest comfortably on Dave’s stomach, dick swaying with every movement, and after a moment of admiring the view one of Dave’s hands slides over and wraps broad fingers around it. John gasps and whines and begs Dave to jerk him off, a request Dave happily honours. He moves slowly at the start, lovingly, twisting his wrist, running his thumb over the tip gently, at first ignoring John’s pleas to speed up before giving in, jerking him off fast and hard. John’s hips stutter as he moves, trying to buck into Dave’s hand yet still trying to grind against his dick, gasping and panting and desperate to get off.
“Shit, I’m close—I’m close—!”
His head rocks back as his back arches, muscles clenching, and he cums in Dave’s hand and across his torso. It comes on so strong he can’t even cry out, just lets out little broken sounds. He feels Dave’s hands slide over his skin, and a shiver runs through him before Dave’s hands grip his hips strongly and lift him up, just enough for Dave to start slapping his hips upward into John’s again, harsh and fast. John straightens and gasps and slumps again, forward this time, fingers spasming, legs automatically trying to close around Dave’s waist as he cums again, painting Dave once more. “Oh—Oh god, stop—”
And Dave does, letting John fall back into his lap, both of them breathing hard. John blinks spots out of his vision, wheezing, completely fucking astonished, barely holding himself up with his hands propped on Dave’s gut. “You okay?” Dave pants, running his fingers through John’s wiry body hair, stroking over his belly. It makes his dick twitch, involuntarily, and he trembles.
“Yeah,” John manages. “Just couldn’t take any more.” He leans over, at first aiming to just bend enough to kiss Dave, but he’s too shaken-up and falls instead. Dave catches him easily of course, laughing a little, cut off only when John’s lips press to his. He’s still buried in John, hilt-deep, and as John shifts to be closer to him he feels John’s flaccid dick pressing into his belly. “That was really fuckin’ good.”
“Yeah?” Dave strokes a hand over John’s back, tracing every vertebrate with his fingertips.
“Yeah,” John breathes, shifting, pulling Dave’s dick out of himself gingerly before lying down halfway on Dave, tucked into his shoulder, laid out over his arm. “Fuck. Yeah.”
Dave listens to John breathe in his ear, and he thinks about how often they’ve done this. How many different things he’s tried with John that he normally wouldn’t feel open to at all. How much closer they’ve gotten, the ways it’s improved their friendship, the fact they’ve gone from fucking every once in a while to nearly every damn day. And yet they still just never talk about it. They’ve never truly sat down and sorted out what this is, what it means, what they’re doing and why. He’s been tiptoeing around it, wary of scaring John—who doesn’t do ‘serious’, who doesn’t have conversations like that—and ruining everything.
But Dave’s sick of this shit. He’s sick of pretending he doesn’t want things, that he doesn’t want to do more with John. He tilts his head, looking over at John, then reaches over, dragging him in closer—John expects at first for a kiss, the start of round 2, a little fast but not unheard-of, but instead he just pulls John in tight, holding him.
John stays still for a moment, perplexed yet hopeful, before relaxing contentedly into Dave’s arms. He considers instead asking if he can get Dave off in return, but he’s a little tired… maybe in a minute or two. Dave never minds waiting. Hell, half the time, he still seems startled when John asks, like he’s surprised John wants to touch him. Somehow he’s completely oblivious to the fact that John frequently wants to touch him so bad he can only barely be normal about it.
This arrangement is… well, it’s nice. It’s probably the best thing John’s had in a long, long time, unsettling ambiguity of it aside. He cozies up to Dave, nestling in, eyes closed, listening to Dave’s breathing right next to his head. Broad hands wander over John’s body softly and sweetly, bringing him back down, grounding him. Dave’s lips meet his forehead gently. “You feel okay?”
“Mhm.” John shifts a little, kissing Dave’s neck. “Thanks for letting me try that. I know you don’t usually like to hold still.”
“It was kinda hot,” Dave admits, quietly, shyly. But it fucking was. “You got really into it.”
John smirks. “I did, yeah. I’d love it if we could do that again.” He traces his fingers over Dave’s upper chest gently, stroking through his hair.
“Yeah, I’m down.”
They’re quiet after that. Ambient sound filters in from John’s backyard, birds and someone’s dog off in the distance and a passing extremely-loud stereo. John’s bed is soft. A little softer than Dave usually likes, really, but it’s still nice. There’s a pillow really only halfway under his head and he shifts a little, trying to push it away, not wanting to keep his head tilted up unevenly yet equally far too lazy to reach up and pull it under his head. John doesn’t react, content and cozy nestled against Dave’s chest. Dave gazes at the ceiling, thinking. As per usual.
John, too, is thinking, for once. Thinking about this whole deal they have going on, thinking about the way they’ve been friends for over a decade now. Thinking about the nature of close friendships and about his own feelings—a topic he usually stays way the fuck away from. But right now it’s nagging at him. Has been the past few times they’ve hooked up, if he’s honest. A little whisper in the back of his mind telling him if the first big leap turned out so well surely a second one would too. And he’s old enough to know that sometimes that’s the devil talking, he’s gotten enough broken bones from “if the first time I did this stupid thing went just fine, surely the second time will, too!”, but this is different, surely.
The only danger here is losing Dave.
…That’s much worse than a few broken bones.
But he’s always been the kind of person to chase adventure. He can’t do something stagnant and “safe,” it’s too boring—yet at the same time he always comes back around to Dave, always swinging back toward his quiet safety. He’s John’s anchor, has been for a long time. Sometimes John wonders what the fuck Dave could possibly get out of their friendship, other than a brief respite from loneliness—he’s so sure if Dave were just a little less socially-inept, they wouldn’t be friends. Dave would have 2 or 3 much-better friends instead.
He tries to shake that out of his head, squirming closer. That’s just the sub-drop talking, the sudden decrease in endorphins and brain-chemicals and whatever that people go through after getting off. He usually chases another high before the low can reach him (or falls asleep) but these days he’s trying to just allow himself to feel things. When he moves closer Dave’s grip on him tightens in kind, as if reassuring him silently. It’s the kind of small gesture John doesn’t fucking get with anyone else—and he’s got plenty of anyone-elses in his life, past and present. It’s the kind of thing that has him marvelling at how Dave can exist like this. He’s not the most expressive man out there, very much a victim of traditional masculinity, except when he is expressive, in such small movements like this, but rarely in words. His love is all in his actions and yet he can be so incredibly blind to how much other people care about him.
John’s pretty sure Dave has no idea of John’s feelings for him. Shit, he barely even realizes he’s truly John’s best friend, he’s fairly certain. It’s not hard to hide things from Dave because he never knows where to look. Which feels a little cruel, since it’s not like that’s something he can help, it’s just how he’s wired, but John’s been pretty glad for it regardless. It’s given him time to prepare.
Except he doesn’t really do preparation, just impulse. And right now, as he’s cuddled against Dave, he’s feeling a massively strong impulse to just rip that bandaid off and tell Dave. Tell Dave how he feels. Tell Dave how much he fucking loves him and how he hasn’t felt that way in so, so long and this time he doesn’t want to fuck it up. This time he’s going to do things right. Dave deserves to know—not just because he deserves love but because John knows damn well it wouldn’t be fair to him to continue this if they’re not still on the same page. The idea of losing this terrifies him but he just has to trust that even if Dave doesn’t feel the same they can retain their friendship.
John, honestly, would die without it.
He clears his throat. “Dave…” And Dave hums in an I’m-listening kind of way, “I, uh… may have something to tell you.”
Dave pauses, confused, a few quiet alarm bells going off. “You… may have something to tell me?”
John’s fingers twirl through Dave’s chest hair absently, anxiously. “Depends on if you wanna hear it.”
That makes Dave’s stomach drop and the bells get louder. He can feel a cold sweat descend. Did he do something wrong? Is John about to end this? At most optimistic this is the setup for a joke he will not appreciate. “Uuuh… Lay it on me, man.”
There’s a pause. A bit of a long one. If John’s fingers weren’t still moving Dave would wonder if he just fell asleep. “I, uh. Don’t know how to say it.”
Dave hesitates, awkward, then answers: “Well, I mean, I can’t say it for you. You’re gonna have to figure this one out yourself.”
John laughs, wheezingly, that lovely way he does where it wracks his whole body. He curls against Dave, burying his nose in Dave’s clavicle. “Fuck, dude… Why’re you so funny?”
“I’m fat. How else would I get laid.”
John wheezes again, this time accompanied with a drawn-out “noooo” before he coughs, clears his throat, takes a deep breath to recover and says, “God, man… I’m in love with you.”
Dave’s heart fucking—it turns itself inside-out, or something. The lurching shocked feeling he’s experiencing is like no other. He really understands the phrase pull the rug out from under you right now. He feels like he’s just been swept off his feet and directly onto the floor ass-first. “You what?” His voice cracks in a way it hasn’t since his second year on T.
John doubles down. “I am. Fucking—seriously. Genuinely.” He shifts, pressing his forehead to Dave’s shoulder, a little humiliated if he’s being honest. He can’t deal with looking at Dave while saying shit like this. Speaking of Dave…he isn’t speaking. He’s silent. Staring, John presumes, at the ceiling, maybe zoning out the way he always fucking does every time they do this. So he just decides to keep going. “Look, I know we… we never really, uh, talked-over what all of this…is. Or what it means. And I’m fine with that—with it continuing to just kinda be this thing we do, same as the rest of our shit, like sitting on the couch playing video games or getting really high and eating two entire pizzas but I just—I dunno. I’m open to… other shit.” He swallows, nervous. “To—To making it—official.”
He can’t say anything else. He’s already feeling his throat close up with anxiety. Dave isn’t moving, isn’t saying anything, and while John is tempted to pull back to look at his face he is not that brave. On the bright side, Dave hasn’t let him go yet. But John can’t say for certain that’s not just out of shock.
“I, uh… Are… You’re serious?” Dave manages eventually, hoarse.
John shifts. “…Yeah. I am.” He sighs and turns his head, tucking his nose back into Dave’s neck. “And, look, I—You know… how fucking… bad I am. At this shit. And I swear I just—I don’t—I can’t fucking figure it out, any of the normal shit, but this—It just—This feels so… I don’t know. Right? Good?” He’s being too honest, it’s giving him hives, but he can’t stop, he’s just gutspilling now. It won’t stop until he’s all out of words. “It just feels like it’d work and I want to try so badly, I want to try. I just don’t know how the fuck to do that. But I want to figure it out. With you it feels like I almost get it, like I’m so close. And I just— I want you so fucking bad. I want this every day and I want all the other bullshit too, I want to—to fucking, hold your hand when we’re in the car and I want to come over after work and kiss you, and I want—I want— Shit man, I don’t even know. Everything. But only if you want that shit, too.”
Silence descends for a moment. John is dreading Dave’s inevitable answer, somehow so certain Dave will reject him—after all, Dave knows him. Dave knows how bad he is with commitment, with himself and just how bad he is at life in general. John knows Dave is a settle-down kind of man, that his chaotic just-for-fun bullshit doesn’t match up with that, so why on earth would Dave say anything other than ‘no’?
When Dave finally speaks, he just says, “I never would’ve figured you’d actually want me.”
It feels so out of left field that John doesn’t even comprehend it but the second he does all he can say is, “What?”
“I mean, I’m just saying,” Dave shrugs as much as he can. “I’m fat, I’m kind of an asshole, a depressed-lump burden, I’m trans—”
“And you’re my best fucking friend, and also, we’ve been fucking for, like, half a year now.” John would be insulted if he didn’t know Dave so well. It’s almost a relief, that this is what he says. That it’s just his usual self-hate nonsense. Nothing like a rejection.
Dave snorts. “Yeah… yeah.” He stares at the ceiling once more, thinking carefully, then eventually mumbles, “I don’t know, man. I haven’t—I’ve never been with a dude, let alone with somebody I was friends with first. But, I mean—this whole arrangement is really fucking nice…”
John isn’t sure where he’s heading with this. He’s dreading what he feels is an inevitable “and I think you’ll ruin it if we change how things are, so let’s just keep them as they are, I can do without anything else.” Because Dave’s not really a physically affectionate kind of man. John’s seen him be soft and cuddly with girlfriends, sure, but he’s only ever like that with John when they’re fucking, and he’s not sure if it’s the kind of thing Dave just does because it’s expected of him. Maybe they just aren’t compatible, maybe Dave’s enjoyment of commitment and lack of enthusiasm for physical affection are irreconcilable to John’s fear of permanence and love of sensual kindness. He’s too scared to speak up. He just remains still, lying on Dave, feeling the slow rise and fall of every breath as Dave seems to take more time to think.
“Y’know,” Dave says eventually, and John’s heart stops, “I think it’s worth a try.”
John doesn’t answer right away, but Dave says nothing else. When he finds his voice again he asks a small, “You do?” It’s only a fraction of what he wants to say, what he wants to ask is Do you really think I’m worth a try? You’ve seen me, you know me, you know I ruin everything. You really think that mess is worth it? Are you crazy? But he can’t make himself say any more. He’s afraid if he truly voices his fears, Dave will remember what a piece of shit he is, and change his mind.
Dave considers. “Yeah. I do.” Behind it he’s saying I know you and I already love you, I have loved you, and I probably will continue to love you. You’re too hard on yourself. I know you enough to know what scares you and I won’t do it to you. It’s all worth it. He’s not the best with words, though, and it wouldn’t come out right falling off his tongue, anyway.
There’s silence for a long moment. Briefly John wonders if he might even cry but the feeling passes. The fullness in his chest doesn’t. He feels one of Dave’s hands tracing over his back and closes his eyes, revelling in it for a moment. His thumb rides over every vertebrate, down to his lower back, before his palm tracks back up, over every rib. John honestly can’t believe his luck. He’s also dead certain Dave will change his mind in a week but for now… For now they’re boyfriends. Thinking of the word makes John so fucking giddy.
He sits up, rolling forward a little, and Dave turns to look up at him as he looms above. “Can I suck your dick?”
Dave grins. “I’m never gonna say no to that.”