theydrewfirstblood | [PERCHANCE TO DREAM] in the mood

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verse: perchance to dream

[PERCHANCE TO DREAM] in the mood

Still got my doubts on if giving you any heads up will keep my duds in one piece, but figured I'd give it a shot.

Now you’re in trouble. When I finish up work? Give me an hour, plus time for a shower, and meet me downstairs. Then you’ll be sorry.

The photo Jack included with his little message made it a hard fucking threat to make—but the last couple of times Jack ambushed him with this shit gave him ideas, things he’d been considering since the beginning. That first day at the house, the box of photos…dancing in the living room.

So…John’s been planning a little ambush of his own. He just needed a chance to set some stuff up—things he couldn’t keep on hand. And, of course, because he made the mistake of not asking Jack to amuse Estelle for a couple hours that afternoon while he groomed her?

John really needed that shower.

So after he finished up with work for the day, he made his arrival back at the house audible. He grabbed a couple things, headed outside, then slipped upstairs when he heard Jack in the bathroom to make sure he didn’t spoil the reveal. Grabbing some clothes, he showered in the downstairs half bath, taking a little extra time to…well, dressing up wasn’t something he was really good at, but he tried to at least match the effort. He tied his hair back, put on his best pair of boots, and put on a pair of black jeans he’d found in the city a little while back, along with a snug fitting black Henley t shirt he didn’t bother to button.

It felt a little…much, but when he realized the end of one of his scars was visible if he left it open, he couldn’t help the little flare of warmth that lit in his chest—one that came with the immediate visual in his head of Jack seeing it and getting that one particular look in his eye. The one that made it clear he found shirts offensive—mostly when John was wearing them.

For the first time, John was actually anticipating that look.

Once he put his jade pendant back on and decided he was ready, John amused himself with looking through his records while waiting for Jack. He wasn’t going to use any of them tonight—not since he’d discovered the miraculous little contraption that held actual hundreds of songs and could even make something like a mixtape—but if he spotted something he wanted to add at the last minute, he was pretty sure he could figure out how to add it in to the songs he’d picked out…

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Oh, fuck. Jack lets out a small whine as the meaning of John's words pierces the haze taking over his mind, as he realizes the wonderful bastard still isn't touching him, not as much as he wants. But he promised to behave, so he resists the urge to beg for more as he uncaps the bottle and slicks up his fingers.

It's only a little awkward to get the right angle to ensure he's making a good show of running two fingertips over his entrance, pressing inside so much more slowly than he usually would. Normally, it would feel good but not so much that he'd be worried about ending things early--but normally, he's not opening himself up under John's intense gaze.

"Fuck," he gasps as he spreads his fingers, just a little, and feels his cock twitch. "Fuck, god, John, please…"

“Perfect.” John growls, watching Jack fuck himself on his own fingers, gasping and babbling and begging again. He’s so fucking beautiful like this, open and vulnerable and letting John take care of him. Nothing in the world could ever make him feel like this, no one but Jack, nothing but this…

“I’ve got you.” He soothes, running his hands over Jack’s bare thighs and up to his hips, pulling him a little bit closer. “Gonna give you what you need, don’t worry…Jesus, I’m so fucking lucky that you’re mine, that I get to see you like this…you ready for me? Come on, Jack, wanna feel you, need to be inside you so bad…”

The sensation of John's rough palms running over his thighs is almost too much after spending so long keeping himself from the edge, and Jack has to close his eyes for a second to calm his frenzied, wanting nerves just a little.

Not that it helps that much, not when that touch is coupled with the words he's been aching to hear.

"Yes," he says, voice slightly raspy, and his breath hitches for a moment as he withdraws his fingers and shifts his weight. "Fuck yes, ready for you, need you."

Need doesn't even come close to expressing the wonderful, aching desire that's been building up for what feels like years--and Jack would know. It's been a long time since anyone's spent so much time working him into a frenzy and it's overwhelming and fantastic.

John gets his hands on the lube and tries to slick his cock up quickly—but Jack’s voice, rough and breathless, Jack needing…John has to stroke himself a couple times, squeeze himself a little, laugh to himself in a distant part of his brain wondering if Jack might want to try and talk him off sometime because John thinks he could…

Gripping his cock, John urges Jack closer, straddling him as he guides himself into Jack’s body when he finally, finally starts to sink down onto him.

By the time he’s fully seated on John’s cock, he knows he won’t last long, not if he’s not careful. And he wants it to last, wants to watch Jack fall apart before he lets himself come, wants to watch Jack fuck himself on John’s cock, hear him and feel him shatter…

So he grips Jack’s hips hard to keep him from moving right away, has to close his eyes because seeing Jack’s face will send him over the edge—too hot, too good, too much.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Jack—fucking perfect, beautiful angel, all mine. So good…”

John waits until his racing heart slows, just a little, before he finally lets Jack go and opens his eyes, drinking in the sight of him.

When John holds him in place, now that he's finally getting what he's been aching for all damn night, Jack has to bite his lip against a frustrated growl because he had said he'd be good, but fuck the man really doesn't make it easy when he's so hot and his cock feels so damn fantastic--

Then he lets go, and Jack's been stared at like that by plenty of lovers, looked at like he was impossible even when he was mortal, and sometimes even when he was a mess of ruined makeup, but it's never been quite…this. Never someone who wanted to take the time and effort to just completely ruin him--or anyone he would have let do it in this way. There were people he'd let put heavy cuffs around his wrists and electrodes several interesting places and so many other apparently-wild things that he would have never dreamed of being 'good' for.

Even if his mind wasn't utterly destroyed by the force of his arousal, Jack's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to find all the words to tell John just how overwhelming and wonderful that is. He'll have to settle for the ones he can.

"All yours," he breathes. Then, unable to stop himself, he leans in to capture John's mouth with his own--a movement he immediately-but-not-really regrets, as it makes him even more aware of John's wonderfully hard cock, and the kiss winds up more of a fumbling brush of lips as he moans against John's jawline.

That first movement, just to lean forward for a kiss, is nearly enough to unmake him. Especially when Jack moans like that, when the kiss breaks down to mindlessly mouthing at his jawline—when he’s so fucking turned on he can’t even kiss John properly.

John has to slide a hand into his hair, pull him back to be able to see his face, how little exists for him except for John.

“Look at me…fuck, you’re so beautiful. Taking my cock like you were born for it. Think you were…born for me to fuck, to love, to keep. My Jack, my good girl, my perfect beautiful sexy fucking angel…”

Jack's breath catches hard when John tugs at his hair, and looking into his eyes and seeing how damn earnest he is in his arousal-fueled praise would probably be even more overwhelming if Jack had more of his wits about.

"Might be right," he manages, half-gasping, as he rocks forward with a little more intent this time, searching for the rhythm that will ease the wonderful, torturous ache that's been building all night.

"Seeing's…you're the only one's…called me that."

He's been called lots of things in bed, some more complimentary than others, but it would be difficult to come up with one that's anywhere near as absurd as when John calls him angel like that.

“Cause you are.” John half growls, half breathes as Jack starts to move—and somehow takes him higher, when he thought he was so close to coming but feels a fresh, more intense wave of arousal sweep through him. Watching Jack, feeling Jack, hearing him let just a little of that in, the faith and the certainty with which John loves him…

“You’re my angel.” He insists, pressing the words into Jack’s jaw with a kiss. “And you’ll never be anyone else’s. That’s the part of you I’m gonna take with me—no matter what, you’ll never hear that word again without thinking of me—without knowing it’s true.”

He pulls back from pressing kisses to Jack’s jaw and neck, leaning his forehead into Jack’s again, hands tangled in his hair.

“You’ll never let anyone else call you that, cause you’ll never be able to hear that word without feeling me, just like this…feeling…how much I love you.” He gasps. “Gonna make you feel it right now, Jack…fuck you slow, make you feel so good it hurts, wreck you so you can’t remember how to do anything but beg…and scream my name…”

Jack's eyes flutter closed as John starts kissing him and he lets his mind drop out a little more under the half-growled praise. This is one of the few places he's able to accept anything like this--the place where he's sure of himself and his abilities, where the stakes over any kind of mistake are so much lower than anywhere else in his life.

And he knows without needing to think that John is right. So many of his lovers have had their own special pet names and endearments for him, words unique to their time and place that he wouldn't hear again in any other bed, that he has no doubts that the odds of anyone else calling him 'angel' are incredibly small--and that he'll find some way to gently reject it in favor of something else if they do.

"'s one thing I can promise I'll remember," he murmurs, as he wraps his arms about John's neck, fingertips toying with his hair. "If I forget everything else," he breathes, voice catching for a moment as a ripple of pleasure rushes through him "I'll remember your name and that gorgeous voice…calling me that while fucking my brains out," he laughs softly as he presses a more-solid kiss to John's mouth.

John grins against Jack’s mouth as he kisses him, and fuck, that’s exactly what he wants, to obliterate everything that isn’t him in the moment. Every second of his long life that’s ever hurt him, brought him sorrow or pain—wipe it out with pleasure, even if it can’t last.

He wants to make this a memory he can’t shake—this moment, this night, nothing special save that he escaped, even for a second, the weight of immortality.

So he kisses Jack, lets his hands devour bare skin as Jack rides him. He forces Jack to take his time, gripping his hip to make him slow down when he can feel the tension building too quickly, when Jack starts to make those beautiful sounds that mean he’s getting close.

It’s torture for them both, and soon John is just as lost as Jack. He forgets to make him take his time, lets Jack set his own pace, and gives himself over to the feel of Jack wrapped around him, the taste of his skin, the violent spark of pleasure that rips through him with every tremor of pleasure that causes Jack’s muscles to tighten around him.

It's pretty unfair, Jack thinks, in the far back of his mind where a few cells are still capable of something approaching real thought, that the better the sex is the greater the instinctive urge to just get to the end. Because god this is so damn good, and every time John grabs onto his hip Jack has to fight the impulse to grab his wrist, because it feels like he's been on the edge forever and he desperately wants to come just as much as he wants this to never end. Because when it does, he'll eventually remember why he's so rarely given so much to anyone in all his lives, why doing it now should be far more terrifying than thrilling.

But right now, all he can focus on with any degree of clarity is John, his mouth and hands and fucking incredible cock, and how badly he wants--needs to make him happy.

"Fuck," he gasps against John's shoulder, after what feels like both just a few minutes and a whole damn millennium, "Fuck, John, please," he murmurs, half-dazed, as he trails his mouth along the slope of his neck. "Please let me come for you."

There—the Jack he wants in this moment, this is what he wants Jack to remember. Totally consumed, out of control, and for this one moment in time, completely possessed. This perfect surrender, begging to come, clinging to John like he’s the center of the universe—mouthing along the line of his neck like he’s drawing air from his skin, nourishment from the feel of his body against his, this is the moment he wants to haunt Jack for the rest of eternity.

To warm every cold night, to remember what it was to feel safe and cared for when the weight of the world is on his shoulders again. To ache for this feeling for the rest of eternity…and while part of John hoped he would never find it, that it would be something he would remember John alone for? He wanted Jack to find it again, to chase it forever.

Not just company or pleasure, but something, someone that would cherish him and look out for him the way John did.

“Look at me.” John instructed, one hand in Jack’s hair to lift his head so John could look into those lust-clouded, hazy blue eyes. “Look at me, angel—wanna watch you, see you when you come for me, my good girl…such a good girl for me, so fucking gorgeous taking my cock…”

He continued to murmur feverish praise for a few more moments, drawing it out as long as he could stand—and when he couldn’t take another moment of torture himself, John finally wrapped a hand around Jack’s cock, stroking him in time with every rock of his hips.

“Go ahead, Jack—come for me, show me how good it feels, tell me how good you feel…come for me…”

The weight of John's strong, warm gaze paired with the gentle praise is almost too much to take for a second, as it fans the flames burning under his skin and the wonderful bastard still hasn't laid a hand on his cock, and he's nearly at the point of breaking his promise of good behavior.

Then John's fingers are finally wrapped around him and it takes every scrap of concentration Jack can find to keep his eyes from fluttering closed.

"God--god, John, you're so damn good at working me--" he says, half slurred, as he clings to John's shoulder. "--makes taking your fantastic cock 'ven better, fuck…"

Soon, trying to both speak and keep his gaze lifted to John's becomes impossible under the force of his building orgasm so Jack stops even trying to come up with anything approaching a coherent sentence and just lets whatever words his brain can still find fall from his mouth; mostly swears, interspersed with John's name and 'thank you', 'love you', 'good'. But even those become impossible in short order, and he goes almost entirely still for a second, breath freezing in his throat, before his grip on John's shoulder tightens as he's overtaken by the force of his orgasm, gasping and bucking in John's fingers--and, somehow, keeping his head lifted and eyes mostly-open to meet John's steady, loving gaze.

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[PERCHANCE TO DREAM] in the mood

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