Riverfront Blues

by Aosora Hikaru (青空 ヒカル)

(mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/267792.html)

DEEJAY ONE: Good morning, Detroit! You’re listening to WROX in the morning. I’m Johnny Danger–

DEEJAY TWO: I still think that’s a stupid pornstar name if I ever heard one.

JOHNNY: And that would be Bobby Killjoy, the wet blanket.

DEEJAY TWO: Hey, call yourself whatever you want. Whatever gets you the chicks. I’m Nate Rodriguez, and this is Rock Your Morning on WROX. Coming up: what does your choice of beer say about you? Find out in the eight o’clock hour.

—–

“Good show, man,” Nate said, clapping his hand on his co-host’s shoulder. The coffee had been better than usual this morning, and he smiled as he inhaled the deep aroma, then took a careful sip.

“You too. Hey, wanna grab some drinks later?” John smiled over his shoulder as he coiled up the wires from the headphones.

Nate turned back from John’s chair and shook his head. “Sorry, can’t.”

John bit back a laugh. “What, do you have to wash your hair or something?”

“Yeah.” Nate rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee. “That’s it. Not even the fact that it’s not even after three yet and you’ve just asked me to go to a bar.”

“I said, ‘later,’ but whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow, dude.”

“See you.”

It had been frigid that morning when John and Nate had shown up long before sunrise to prepare for their radio show, and the temperature hadn’t risen much by the time Nate left the studio to go home. He pulled his coat collar up higher and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked to his car. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, and his breath puffed out in front of him with his resigned sigh. He really did hate winter, but the WROX gig was good enough that he didn’t feel any need to leave Michigan. It was so rare to find a decent job in radio anymore, and as much of a tool as John presented himself as on air, he was a great guy in person. A good radio co-host is hard to find, too.

After fumbling his keys out of his pocket and scooping them up out of a pile of snow with a frustrated curse, Nate climbed in to his sedan and turned the key. He’d have to invest in remote start if he would remain in Michigan for another winter, because sitting in a freezing car wasn’t exactly the best way to spend one’s time. The car roared to life and he sat there for a couple of minutes blowing into his hands while he gave the car time to warm up enough to drive.

His phone chimed, and he pulled it out to see a text message from John.

I’m not shitting you, dude. Drinks?

Nate snorted. His thumbs flew over the touchscreen. Fine, drinks tonight. Where?

I know a sports bar in Rochester Hills. See you there.

The next text had an address, ready to be plugged into a map app or GPS for directions, but Nate didn’t need it. He’d been there before, on a few failed dates with girls and a few nights-out-with-guys he thought were dates but in actuality weren’t.

The roads were just slushy enough to command most of his attention, though thankfully it was mostly snow blown over from the drifts which lined the streets. Traffic crawled along as everyone else focused on the task so the car’s heater actually started blowing warm air before Nate got home, which was a rare occurrence. It was a rare treat to not arrive home with frozen fingertips.

He stopped outside his front door to kick the snow off his boots, and stepped inside only to be greeted immediately by a cat who seemed positive it was starving to death.

“Hey, Harvey. Yeah, I know I forgot to fill your bowl before work. You’re not going to die.”

The tabby gave an indignant meow and weaved himself through Nate’s legs. In the kitchen Nate found only an empty patch in the center of the bowl, and sighed as he gave it a quick shake to redistribute the kibble. “You’re spoiled, Harv. You know that?”

—–

NATE: So I heard a rumor…

JOHN: Oh? What about?

NATE: You know the actress from Just Belong?

JOHN: Oh yeah, what’s-her-face, uh, Jan Beltrig?

NATE: Yeah, something like that. Well, I heard she’s engaged. Didn’t you say she was cute?

JOHN: I say many people are cute. Doesn’t mean anything. I think I even called you cute, once.

NATE: Johnny Danger, you are a terrible flirt. You and I both know that was actually an insult.

—–

Nate hadn’t changed clothes before driving out to Rochester Hills, but when John walked in, he wished he had. The ripped jeans and t-shirts John usually wore had been replaced by a vest and button-down collared shirt.

Whoa.

John furrowed his brow and slid into the booth across from Nate, leaning over the table somewhat to be heard over the loud patrons cheering for the Pistons game. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Oh fuck. “Nothing, sorry. I just didn’t know you owned clothes that didn’t look like you dug them out of a dumpst– Ow!” Nate reached down to rub his shin. “Damn, dude.”

Grinning, John picked up the beer menu. “Deserved it.”

“It’s not my damn fault you wear shitty clothes to work.” Momentarily distracted by a particularly impressive three-point shot by the Pistons, Nate turned back to John. “So what’s up? Why did you want to go out for drinks so badly?”

John didn’t even look up from the menu as he spoke, and Nate had to fight not to stare at the shadows his long eyelashes cast across the tops of his cheeks. He hadn’t noticed those before now. “Well, we’ve worked together now for… What, three months?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“And I know next to nothing about you. Like, how the fuck are we supposed to act like best friends on the radio show if we aren’t even acquaintances in real life?”

The timely arrival of the waitress served only to give Nate more time to mull over this. He had already been toeing the dangerous line of a crush on John, even without them hanging out together. Now, with this unrestricted time to appreciate his looks and undisguised personality, he could already feel himself crossing the imaginary threshold. On top of that, the way John had show up tonight, dressed up like he wanted Nate to want him…

John even ordered the same thing Nate was about to order, which, as much as Nate was loath to admit, was a good sign for future outings together.

“Blue Moon, huh?” John grinned after the waitress walked away. “Are you copying me, Nathan?”

Nate shrugged. “Nah. Just, you know, my favorite beer. Yours, too?”

It hadn’t taken long for the waitress to return, and John accepted the bottles of beer and thanked her, then slid Nate’s across to him. “Well, this time of year it is. In the summer I prefer Oberon.”

“Oberon’s good stuff,” Nate murmured. This whole thing felt like it was spiraling out of control, and he had to get it together because he really didn’t want to fuck this up now. He finally had a co-host he liked, at a radio station he enjoyed working for, and he couldn’t let something so ridiculous as a crush ruin it. John made such a production about women at work, and every way Nate had tried to be subtle about asking about men had been met with jokes of the “no homo” variety. All Nate having a crush on John was going to do was break his heart (again) and make work a living hell (again).

“How are the Pistons doing?”

Nate shook his head, then turned his attention back to John. He’d been staring at the TV without seeing anything. “Uh, they’re doing okay.”

“Dude, they’re losing by like thirty points. The fuck are you thinking about?”

“Nothing, man. So what do you want to know, then, to start this new best friend thing you want going on?”

John took a long draw of his beer, narrowing his eyes and frowning in thought. “Where did you live before you moved here?”

“I was in Virginia.” Oh God, please don’t let him ask why I moved… Please don’t make me have to explain the crush that made it too awkward to look him in the eyes anymore. Don’t make me have to say why I had to leave.

“That’s cool. I visited there once. Spring break in college.” Grinning, John leaned forward onto the table, which brought his head more directly under the light over the table. Damn, but he was handsome, highlighted now by how the light and shadows threw the angles of his face into sharper relief.

Nate bit his lip as he brought up his own beer. The pain, he hoped, would snap him back to reality. He wouldn’t be going out for drinks with John again. It was far too dangerous, contained too much material to encourage this unnecessary infatuation. “Really? And how was that?”

John laughed. “Fucking insane.” The bar erupted in cheers again, and both Nate and John turned their attention to the televisions for a moment. After the excitement from the score died down, John continued, “I had a blast, though. Lots of alcohol.”

“And all the girls you wanted, right?” The basketball game was an easy way to distract himself from the sick feeling settling into the pit of Nate’s stomach, that familiar sensation of knowing with absolute certainty the person across from you does not nor will ever share your feelings for them.

John canted his head to the side slightly, his brow furrowed. “If I wanted them, I guess.”

If Nate hadn’t been so absorbed in his own thoughts, with his mind made up about John, he might have actually heard what John said. “Hey, uh, listen,” Nate downed the last of his beer, then pulled out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table. “I should get going. Harvey seemed pretty lonely when I stopped home earlier and I don’t want him to pee on my shit. Just let me know how the Pistons game goes.”

Nate ignored John’s protests as he slid out of the booth and walked out to his car as fast as he could. Saying yes to meeting John for drinks seemed to have been the stupidest idea ever. He couldn’t handle even the notion of starting a friendship without getting a God damn job-killing crush on John. Now it would be fucking awkward at work, and he’d have to find yet another place to move. Harvey had barely handled the move from Virginia to Michigan. Maybe Nate could find another local station to take him on as a deejay, even if he couldn’t get another morning show position again.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Nate ignored it as he climbed into his car and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.

—–

JOHN: Hey, Nate?

NATE: Yeah, Johnny?

JOHN: Did you hear the Pistons won last night?

NATE: Really? They were losing so badly I stopped watching.

(A beat of uncomfortable radio silence passes, too short to be noticed by anyone but John, Nate, and anyone in the studio with them)

JOHN: Yeah, they came back to win the game, but not by much.

NATE: That’s cool, wish I’d watched the rest of the game.

JOHN: (hesitates) Me too.

—–

It had been a long and mentally exhausting show with both of them trying to pretend nothing strange had happened the night before at the bar. If Nate thought his stomach was fucked up last night at the bar, it was nothing compared to how it had churned for the entire time they’d been on the air. After the show, Nate excused himself as quickly as possible. He started to compose his resignation letter in his head while walking to his car, fishing for his keys in his coat pocket, when a voice behind him drew him up short.

“Nate. The hell was that last night?”

Nate looked John in the eye, furrowing his brow and digging deep for the energy to lie. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, John.” He found his keys in his pocket, and started toward his car again.

John scoffed as he turned to stand in front of Nate again. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Last night. Why the fuck did you bail on me?”

“I just… I don’t want to talk about it,” Nate grimaced, gripping his keys tight in his hand, his eyes pleading. “Please.” That sick feeling had come back now, worse than ever.

After a moment of staring Nate in the eyes, John stopped and took a breath. “Listen, please. I asked you out because I wanted to get to know you better. I wasn’t lying–”

“Wait.” Nate shook his head, the pain of his keys digging into his palm keeping him in the moment. “Asked me out? Like… A date?”

“Oh, God.” John’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in horror. “Shit. I… I didn’t mean to…” He stepped back, bringing his hands up in front of him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to offend or… Or scare you.”

“You wanted that to be a date?” Nate blinked a few times as he tried to parse what John had said. Was this some sort of sick joke? Had John seen through his act, and was this an attempt to make Nate pay for it?

A look of panic had taken up residence on John’s face, and he backed away a few more steps. “Listen, Nate, I don’t want to ruin this. Please don’t take that the wrong way. I thought you… I’m so sorry.”

Nate stepped closer to John to close the distance, praying his heart would slow down and that his stomach would stay calm enough to keep him from spewing all the coffee he’d downed over the course of their broadcast. “You thought what? That I was gay?”

John nodded, his eyes still wide with terror.

“Well, I’m not.” When John’s face fell, Nate held up a hand. “I’m bi. So you weren’t entirely wrong. But…” He shoved his keys back into his pocket; he wouldn’t be needing those quite yet. “I thought you were straight, though.”

“Oh, God no.” John shook his head with adamant denial. “I’ve known forever I was gay.”

“So all the talk about the ladies…?”

“Just a show. All for show. It’s easier to be popular on the radio if you act like a player than if you act like you’re gay.”

“That’s interesting, then.” Nate crossed his arms over his chest, shoving his hands under his arms to warm them. “So… Since we’ve established this… What are you doing Friday?”

—–

NATE: So, since we’re talking about that new Detroit-style pizza joint downtown, how do you feel about pizza?

JOHN: Pizza’s great. Pizza is like manna from the gods, man. I could live off the stuff.

NATE: Yeah? I’m not sure I needed to know that.

JOHN: I would marry pizza if I could.

NATE: Yeah, really didn’t need to know that.

JOHN: I would make sweet pizza babi–

NATE: Johnny. Stop.

—–

Friday night Nate paced the living room floor in his apartment, ignoring Harvey’s curious meows. John was due to arrive at any second and Nate’s stomach had twisted itself in knots, his hands quivering with the slightest tremor. He pulled his phone out of his pocket for the thousandth time, expecting to find nothing again, but this time there was a text from John. Nate drew a careful breath, half expecting a cancellation, and opened the message.

Hey, I stopped at a party store near your house. Want anything?

It took a few tries to keep his thumbs still enough to tap out the reply. Nah. Whatever you want to grab is fine. Hope you don’t mind Harvey, he’s seeming a little attention-starved tonight.

Nate’s phone chimed again, and he laughed at the response: As long as he doesn’t eat my pizza we’re cool.

With his fear of John abandoning the plans to hang out alleviated his stomach uncoiled itself, and Nate sank onto the sofa. The Pistons were playing again tonight and he turned on the TV, settling in on the sofa to watch the game while he waited for John to arrive. True to Nate’s texted warning to John (and indeed, to his own feline personality), Harvey jumped up on the sofa and curled up on Nate’s lap, purring in an adamant solicitation for petting.

When the knock sounded on the door, Nate scooped Harvey up and deposited him onto the sofa next to him. He ignored Harvey’s affronted meow as he stood up and wiped the sweat off the palms of his hands onto his jeans. John’s arrival, and all that meant, had put the knot back in his stomach and set his heart fluttering in his chest. All the possible ways this could go wrong rushed through his head like a train barrels down its tracks, and he had to take a deep breath before he could open the door.

John grinned, holding up a six-pack of Blue Moon. “Hey! Thought this would be perfect. Is the pizza here yet?”

“Not yet. Should be any minute, though.” Nate held out his hand for the beer, then stepped aside to allow John to enter. “Don’t mind Harvey. He’s a little shy around strangers.”

As if on cue, as soon as John stepped over the threshold, Harvey gave a distressed meow and jumped off the sofa to run into the bedroom as quickly as he could. John, to his credit, merely chuckled. “Cats. A dog would’ve knocked me over and tried to lick my face off by now.”

Nate grinned, closed the door behind them, and went to put the beer into the fridge. “And that’s the exact reason why I don’t have one.”

“Not a dog person?”

“Nah. I prefer Harvey. He’s a little devil sometimes, but he’s my devil.” Nate pulled a couple of beers out before leaving the kitchen, and held one out for John. “I put the Pistons on. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Course not! Maybe they’ll win again. Maybe it’ll be less of a train wreck this time.” John took the beer and sank onto the sofa, sticking close to one end.

Good. That meant Nate could sit there on the sofa too without making it more awkward than it had to be, or like he was presuming too much. An empty cushion between them left room for personal space and maybe Harvey, if the cat decided John was worth investigating. Right as Nate was about to sit, though, there was a knock at his door. He straightened again with a groan. “Must be the pizza.”

“Want me to chip in for it?” John stood up again to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

Nate shook his head as he crossed the living room to the door. “Nah, I’ve got it. Besides, you bought the beer.”

The game was amusing enough while they ate their pizza. Turned out John was a bigger Pistons fan than Nate had thought, and he was very vocal about his support for — and, alternatively, frustration with — the team. Nate could easily have spent more time just watching John watch the game than he actually did paying attention to the basketball game itself. The way John tensed up on the sofa as the team ran the ball down the court, the way he held his breath every time someone tried to make a basket — never interesting on anyone he’d met before, but somehow, in this context, John’s passion fascinated him.

The best part was how John would let that all go with every score, his body relaxing as he let out the sharp exhale. Of all the things Nate had ever found attractive about anyone ever before — man or woman — this was definitely the strangest. Not that Nate was complaining; it was certainly the most unique thing he’d ever noticed about a person.

John turned to Nate, his eyes bright, a grin wide across his face. “Wasn’t that a fantastic — why are you staring at me?”

For a moment, Nate froze. He could lie, as he had been doing to John for months now, the entire length of their professional relationship, or he could tell the truth. After all, hadn’t they had that talk? Hadn’t John admitted he had attempted to ask Nate out as a date instead of just guys hanging out together? Hadn’t they both confessed, in that weird roundabout not-really-saying-it way, that they were attracted to each other?

No, this wasn’t the time for lies. This was the time for the truth.

“You truly enjoy this, and it shows. And I think that’s beautiful. You’re — you’re beautiful. When you get passionate about something, I mean.”

John blinked slowly, then took a long draw from the bottle of beer as a thoughtful sort of look furrowed his brow. Nate held his breath, wondering if perhaps he had crossed a line, admitting such.

Before he had a chance to ask if he had, John leaned across the couch cushions and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, one that asked permission as much as granting it, one that seemed so unlike the rough exterior John tried to give off at work. Nate gave a pleased hum, responding to the kiss in kind, parting his lips to perhaps encourage John further–

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” John murmured, pulling back the slightest bit, hesitant. “I shouldn’t have–”

Nate grabbed a fistful of John’s shirt, pulling him in again. “Don’t be. I’m glad you did.”

When their lips met again, it was tentative again, as though John were waiting for Nate to say he’d been mistaken.

Nate couldn’t blame him, to be honest; he’d heard it himself from guys in college and even a few others years after that. He would say he was kidding, or just confused, or just wanted to see what it was like, and they never had good timing with that sort of revelation. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and kissed John with ever-growing intensity in an effort to bury those memories even deeper.

The longer they kissed there, the more John relaxed, his hands starting to come up to wander over Nate’s arms. John broke the kiss again but only for a moment, so he could move closer to Nate on the couch, and when their lips met again it was as if a floodgate had opened, with John clinging to Nate and his kisses growing more desperate.

It was as though John had needed Nate as badly as Nate had needed him, and it was such a dramatic change from what Nate was used to in every other romantic situation. It was wonderful and it was sloppy and it was everything Nate needed after so much failure in his relationships.

Nate pulled John closer, sliding down the couch to pull John over him. It wasn’t long before John had his hands up Nate’s shirt, curious fingertips brushing over every secretly ticklish spot, idly rubbing and pulling at Nate’s nipples. Nate gasped against John’s lips, his back arching up into the touch, and John laughed. He sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside, and when Nate let his eyes wander down to John’s chest, he gasped again, for an entirely different reason.

John sat back, giving Nate the chance to sit up and reach out a tentative hand to brush his fingertips over one of the rings looped through each of John’s nipples. “Holy shit. I would have never guessed. You just seemed so–”

“Yeah, it usually surprises. You gonna take yours off too?”

Nate grinned, then gave one of John’s nipple rings a slight tug. “Maybe I’m just too busy enjoying the show.”

John raised an eyebrow, then pushed himself up from the sofa. “I didn’t realize I was being expected to put on a show.”

“That’s not what… No, John, don’t–” Nate stopped, cut off by John’s fingers against his lips. His eyes grew wide as John brought his other hand up, pressing his index finger against his own lips in a silent shh.

Nate took a deep breath, then nodded, sinking back onto the sofa as John straightened up again. A wide grin spread across John’s face, brightening it in ways Nate hadn’t imagined possible, as John moved his fingertips in a lazy slide down his stomach to his belt buckle.

When the first click of metal against metal sounded, followed by the slide of leather, John blew out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. His own jeans felt uncomfortably tight, the denim stretched taut over his hard cock. He moved a hand down to reach for the button of his own jeans, but John let go of his belt to grasp Nate’s wrists.

“Nuh-uh. You’re gonna watch first. You talked before about enjoying the show, so that’s what you’re gonna do. No touching.”

Nate let go of the button, and John let go of his wrists. As John straightened up again Nate let his hands fall to his sides, and he caught his lower lip in his mouth in anticipation. The way John gyrated his hips the slightest bit as he undid his jeans, sliding them down and kicking them aside, made Nate’s breath catch, made him roll his own hips up as though there would be something there besides unyielding denim and unfeeling air to meet him.

John’s eyes flicked down to Nate’s hips, and the corner of his lips lifted in a lopsided grin as he worked his boxers down in a slow torturous tease. When his cock bobbed free, Nate let out another strangled groan. A generously sized ball sat at the very tip of John’s cock, with another sitting just below the head on the bottom, and in that moment Nate could think of nothing more than how that would feel inside of him.

“Oh my God, John,” Nate managed to choke out, his fingertips digging into the sofa cushions while his eyes were glued to John’s hand’s lazy strokes up and down the length of his cock. With each stroke over the head, John lingered at the piercing, as though he could read Nate’s mind and knew that was what Nate was drawn to.

John stepped out of his boxers, stepping forward again even as his hand stroked along his cock. “Didn’t expect that, either, did you?”

Nate only shook his head in response, dragging his fingernails up the sofa fabric before extending a hand, reaching out for John’s cock. All he wanted was to feel it, warm and alive in his hands, maybe even taste that bitter tang of the jewelry against his tongue.

With an eyebrow raised, John stopped just short of Nate’s reach. “Oh, no, you don’t get to touch until you get all that clothing off, too.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Nate had to stop himself from sighing at just how gorgeous he looked that way. John’s cock still stood out in front of him, a single clear drop of pre-come clinging to that silver ball at the tip. Somehow the way his arms crossed in front of him framed those pierced nipples perfectly, and Nate had to control how quickly he stood up from the sofa to tear his own shirt over his head.

John chuckled when Nate nearly tripped over his jeans in his haste to remove them, but helped Nate regain his balance anyway. They stood there for a silent moment, naked, until Nate pulled John forward into another hard kiss. John pulled back and grinned, then murmured, “Been wanting this for a while, huh?”

“Too damn long to stand here staring at each other naked,” Nate muttered, then took John’s cock in his hand, sliding it along the shaft in smooth strokes. The ring took a few movements to adjust to, but it didn’t take very long at all until John was breathing soft moans into Nate’s ear.

It was remarkably rewarding to discover the areas which drew the best reactions from John. The ring itself seemed to be a great source of pleasure for him, and Nate loved the ways John would gasp or writhe, or how his cock would twitch from the stimulation each time Nate’s fingers brushed one of those metallic spheres.

The movements of John’s hips grew more demanding, pushing forward into Nate’s hand faster and faster until he finally grasped Nate’s hand and pulled it up away from his dick. A small smile playing across his lips, he advanced and urged Nate backward. He didn’t stop until the backs of Nate’s legs hit the sofa, and after a firm kiss, he pushed Nate back onto it.

“What was that for?” Nate started to push himself back up, but John crawled onto the couch over him. With a hand planted to the side of Nate’s head, John reached down between them and lined his cock up against Nate’s.

“This.” With his hand wrapped around their cocks, John pushed his hips forward.

Nate hadn’t considered before how frotting could have possibly gotten better than it had been any other time he’d engaged in rubbing his dick against someone else’s, but the presence of John’s piercing there, stroking against that sensitive spot right under the head of his dick, made it phenomenal. It seemed safe to assume John felt the same way, judging by the way his eyelids fluttered closed and a low groan slipped from between his lips with that first push.

Just like before, when watching the basketball game, that look of utter focus and enjoyment on John’s face was unspeakably beautiful to Nate. Each time their cocks slid through John’s fist, they both let out desperate moans. Nate started to bring his hips up to meet each thrust, to make the sensation more powerful, to press that piercing against his own sensitive dick.

John looked down at him while their bodies moved in unison, and something burned in his eyes so similar to that need Nate felt within himself. Without saying a word, Nate reached up to tangle a hand in John’s hair and pulled him down into another hard kiss. Everything, it seemed, had been building to this moment between them. All that awkward conversation in the halls at the station, all the times their eyes had met during a broadcast, even that horrific disaster of a date — all of it, leading to this between them.

With a soft groan, John pulled back just enough to speak. “Do you want to — oh, God — move somewhere or…”

“I swear, John, if you stop doing what you’re doing I will never forgive you.” Nate slid a hand down John’s chest to pinch at one of his nipples, and the way John’s body twitched pushed him against Nate a little harder. “Fuck, it feels good when you do that.”

John didn’t so much ask for clarification as he did grunt in a questioning tone, and in response Nate brought up his hips and rested his heels on the backs of John’s thighs. The change of angle pressed John’s dick against his more fully, and Nate moaned low in his chest before breathing, “That.”

Grinning, John slid his hand along their cocks while he pushed, and Nate couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. The pleasure radiating from the superficial joining of their bodies flowed through him, threatening to drown him. He moved to meet John, his hands clawing at John’s arms and shoulders to try to pull him closer, the orgasm he so desperately wanted lingering just out of reach.

“Do it,” John panted, the arm supporting him quivering so strongly Nate could feel it in the couch cushions. “Let me see you come, Nate.”

The tone of John’s voice, that low growl that colored the words, turned out to be Nate’s undoing. He let his head fall back as he dug his fingertips into John’s shoulders, a cry tearing itself from his throat as he spurted through John’s fingers. The metal ball on the bottom of John’s dick, which had felt so wonderful while the orgasm was building, quickly became too much. It was a sublime torture, but only lasted a handful of seconds more until John’s ragged breaths built into a strangled cry of his own and another hot splash of come landed on Nate’s stomach.

John let go of them, bringing that hand up to cup to Nate’s cheek and kissing him between desperate panting breaths. After a moment he drew back, gazing down into Nate’s eyes with that sleepy, melty look Nate had often seen in other lovers.

And then, John frowned.

“… What is it?” Nate murmured, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I got…” John pulled his fingers back, holding them up for Nate. “Stuff on your face.”

Nate brought his own hand up, wiping them across his cheek and peering at them. When he noticed his fingertips glistening with their shared spunk, he let out a soft laugh. “I see. How about we get in the shower and clean up? I might forgive you for such a trespass if you help me wash off.”

Grinning, John carefully climbed up off of Nate, and held a hand out to help him up from the sofa. “I think that’s fair.”

—–

JOHN: Hey, Dave, how did that Pistons game on Friday go?

NATE: Of course, Johnny calls our intern in, and he wasn’t even ready — whoa, Dave, be careful — so now he has to get to a mic.

DAVE: Yeah, I’m here. The Friday Pistons game? Didn’t you guys watch?

JOHN: Too much beer.

NATE: Yeah, it’s all sort of a blur.

DAVE: (with a dubious sort of tone) They won.

JOHN: Awesome. Thanks, buddy.

DAVE: You guys seem to be in good spirits for spending the whole weekend drinking.

NATE: Johnny and I know an ancient hangover cure. Can’t share it with the interns, sorry. You have to earn that sort of info.

DAVE: If you insist.

NATE: Thanks, Dave. I think they want you back now.

JOHN: Hey, move that box when you go past it. Don’t just kick it.

NATE: You’re too bossy.

—–

While Nate packed up after the show that morning, John grinned at him from across the room. Quickly, Nate dropped his eyes, hoping not to give too much away — sure, they’d had a great time that weekend, but it was way too early to let anything on at work and it would be too easy to scare John away.

It was hard not to grin in return, though, when John walked past, clapped a hand on Nate’s shoulder, and murmured as he went by, “Wanna come over to my place tonight?”

Nate finished packing, and on his way out of the building, he bumped his shoulder against John’s and replied under his breath, “I’ll bring the condoms.”

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