John J. Rambo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2023-10-26 01:04 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2023-10-26 01:04 pm
heavy breathing never sounded quite so nice
[When the video comes on, it shows John Rambo's retreating form, then a moment later he's settled on the couch with his phone propped up on the coffee table in front of him. His surroundings will be familiar: it's the living room of the hotel suite from their 'negotiation date.' John's in a loose pair of sleep pants and nothing else--hair tousled, cheeks flushed with recent sleep. There's even a lingering dotted impression on one cheekbone, where he'd fallen asleep with his head on Jack's chest with the ball chain of his tags pressing into his face.
Once he's comfortable, he offers the camera a shy smile.]
I dunno if this makes it better or not, but you're asleep in the other room, and I'm gonna try to be as loud as I can without waking you up. [He smirks a little, dark eyes warming with desire.] To be fair? I, uh...I kinda wore you out.
[John snickers softly, leaning back against the couch.]
Thing is, I'm doing this 'cause I had a dream just now. About the white dress, and--and it wasn't like a dream. It was the memory, y'know? The whole thing happening in my head, and it was so real--
[John's breath catches, and his eyes darken, gleaming in the low light of the room. His hips shift restlessly, and the thin fabric of the sleep pants he tugged on for decency (and to tease) do little to hide the fact that he's getting hard.]
Those clouds everyone lived in--Nimbus, they were called? Nimbuses?...the night you first dolled up for me, I remember heading for yours. The whole gender thing, I didn't understand it. I was curious as hell...but I remember I was worried it would be something other, y'know? Like seeing you would be different or jarring, something I'd have to get used to. I was ready to have to figure some shit out and yeah: I was terrified of hurting you. Then I saw you...
[His entire expression softens, his breath comes a little deeper, just a little rougher.]
...and I lost my damn mind. But you know that--even if you don't remember like I do right now, you know.
[He takes a deep breath, hands smoothing over his thighs as his posture relaxes, legs stretching out a little, spreading as he gets comfortable.]
What hit me so damn hard was that in all the makeup and satin? You didn't look any different. Does that sound crazy? It does, doesn't it? That you could look nothin' like I'm used to, and just...you looked like you. As much as when you're driving me crazy when you mess with your suspenders...
[One hand shifts on his leg--hesitates--then with a flush creeping up his cheeks, he palms himself through the thin fabric of his sleep pants. John's breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut with a low sound of pleasure.]
I felt like I couldn't breathe 'till I was kissing you, tasting you--those gorgeous red lips, all done up...
[The memory has him now and his head falls back a little. His free hand drifts up to run across his chest, tracing his scars with a breathy moan. For a second he forgets himself and falls silent save for breath hitching, stroking himself through his pants, teasing his nipples and caressing his scars as his hips continue to shift, growing more and more restless.
In his mind's eye, he's kissing Jack--he can taste the waxy sweetness of that lipstick, hear him whining and pleading, feel the shift of that shimmering white satin under his hands...]
...I remember when you asked me to tie you up.
[The words are more breath than sound. He can feel the weight of Jack in his lap, writhing and whining and unable to keep his hands off of John. Fingers in his hair, palms smoothing over his shoulders...]
You were an incoherent wreck already--fucking gorgeous--but when I started bossing you around you suddenly got real clear-headed. Loved that, loved that I could put you together like that and I wanted to take it all apart again...and when I told you to tell me what it would take you asked me to tie your hands so you couldn't touch me. Asked me to make you beg--God, you wanted that so bad, wanted me to make you work for it...
[He stops palming himself through his pants and slides his hand up his stomach. He's not trying to put on a show anymore, not really--well, maybe a little and that feels so awkward--but the memory is so clear right now. Not just the words of a journal, memorized over years, Jack's voice is so clear in his ears. Breathless, softer, sweeter, asking John, begging John--
His hips lift just enough to shove his pants down so he can free his cock, hard and flushed as he takes himself in hand, head falling all the way back against the couch to bare the line of his throat.]
...wanted me to make you mine.
[It's a snarl as he continues to map the lines of muscle and scar tissue across his chest, spreads the moisture of his leaking cock over himself so he can fuck his own fist, nice and slick.]
And I was afraid, but then I saw--fuck--saw how it could be. Everything I knew how to do as a--a soldier, could use it to make you feel good. Make you come, make you scream, make you belong to me, Jack...
[He trails off again, hips rolling slow and lazy into his own hand. All John can do is moan and pant, occasionally saying Jack's name like he can't help himself, like the utterance alone brings as much pleasure as the way he squeezes his cock or brushes a thumb over his nipple.]
Didn't do half what I wanted to that night. Didn't know what I was doing, but if I had it to do again--fucking Christ, Jack, I'd goddamn ruin you and that pretty lingerie. Tie you to the bed, leave a dozen bruises on that gorgeous skin...bite, suck, play with my tags around your neck till you came in those lace panties, tear 'em to shreds and suck you off...
[John's writhing under his own hands now, his whole body moving as he thrusts into his own fist faster, rakes his nails along one of his scars to leave bright red lines and feel the tiniest kiss of sting, making him nearly cry out--a hoarse sound he barely manages to stifle.]
...but I had you, and nothing's ever gonna compare--God--to feeling you grinding in my...my lap, whining and, a-and cursing...white satin 'n lace just every inch 'n angel--all mine--shit--not afraid of my...myself--fuck love you so much, love you angel, love you, love bein' loved by you love you love you--Jack fuck love you Jack--
[His back arches as he comes against his own stomach with a low, animal snarl around Jack's name. He strokes himself through his orgasm, breathing hard and babbling a string of love you and so good and Jack's name until he finally goes limp and his hand falls away from his cock. Gradually, he catches his breath, and he's so loose in the afterglow, so still and relaxed he could easily be mistaken for having fallen asleep.
However, after a couple of minutes he lifts his head, heavy lidded eyes soft with drowsy contentment. He just lays there a moment longer against the couch, giving the camera the fully view of him because he knows Jack will love it.]
Now I gotta shower 'n sneak back into bed without waking you up, so I hope this was worth the effort of learning a new phone.
[Laughing, John pushes himself to sit up, kisses the fingers of his clean hand, and leans forward to touch the camera lens.]
Love you. Hope that was good.
[A moment later, the view jostles, and the video cuts off.]
Once he's comfortable, he offers the camera a shy smile.]
I dunno if this makes it better or not, but you're asleep in the other room, and I'm gonna try to be as loud as I can without waking you up. [He smirks a little, dark eyes warming with desire.] To be fair? I, uh...I kinda wore you out.
[John snickers softly, leaning back against the couch.]
Thing is, I'm doing this 'cause I had a dream just now. About the white dress, and--and it wasn't like a dream. It was the memory, y'know? The whole thing happening in my head, and it was so real--
[John's breath catches, and his eyes darken, gleaming in the low light of the room. His hips shift restlessly, and the thin fabric of the sleep pants he tugged on for decency (and to tease) do little to hide the fact that he's getting hard.]
Those clouds everyone lived in--Nimbus, they were called? Nimbuses?...the night you first dolled up for me, I remember heading for yours. The whole gender thing, I didn't understand it. I was curious as hell...but I remember I was worried it would be something other, y'know? Like seeing you would be different or jarring, something I'd have to get used to. I was ready to have to figure some shit out and yeah: I was terrified of hurting you. Then I saw you...
[His entire expression softens, his breath comes a little deeper, just a little rougher.]
...and I lost my damn mind. But you know that--even if you don't remember like I do right now, you know.
[He takes a deep breath, hands smoothing over his thighs as his posture relaxes, legs stretching out a little, spreading as he gets comfortable.]
What hit me so damn hard was that in all the makeup and satin? You didn't look any different. Does that sound crazy? It does, doesn't it? That you could look nothin' like I'm used to, and just...you looked like you. As much as when you're driving me crazy when you mess with your suspenders...
[One hand shifts on his leg--hesitates--then with a flush creeping up his cheeks, he palms himself through the thin fabric of his sleep pants. John's breath catches, his eyes fluttering shut with a low sound of pleasure.]
I felt like I couldn't breathe 'till I was kissing you, tasting you--those gorgeous red lips, all done up...
[The memory has him now and his head falls back a little. His free hand drifts up to run across his chest, tracing his scars with a breathy moan. For a second he forgets himself and falls silent save for breath hitching, stroking himself through his pants, teasing his nipples and caressing his scars as his hips continue to shift, growing more and more restless.
In his mind's eye, he's kissing Jack--he can taste the waxy sweetness of that lipstick, hear him whining and pleading, feel the shift of that shimmering white satin under his hands...]
...I remember when you asked me to tie you up.
[The words are more breath than sound. He can feel the weight of Jack in his lap, writhing and whining and unable to keep his hands off of John. Fingers in his hair, palms smoothing over his shoulders...]
You were an incoherent wreck already--fucking gorgeous--but when I started bossing you around you suddenly got real clear-headed. Loved that, loved that I could put you together like that and I wanted to take it all apart again...and when I told you to tell me what it would take you asked me to tie your hands so you couldn't touch me. Asked me to make you beg--God, you wanted that so bad, wanted me to make you work for it...
[He stops palming himself through his pants and slides his hand up his stomach. He's not trying to put on a show anymore, not really--well, maybe a little and that feels so awkward--but the memory is so clear right now. Not just the words of a journal, memorized over years, Jack's voice is so clear in his ears. Breathless, softer, sweeter, asking John, begging John--
His hips lift just enough to shove his pants down so he can free his cock, hard and flushed as he takes himself in hand, head falling all the way back against the couch to bare the line of his throat.]
...wanted me to make you mine.
[It's a snarl as he continues to map the lines of muscle and scar tissue across his chest, spreads the moisture of his leaking cock over himself so he can fuck his own fist, nice and slick.]
And I was afraid, but then I saw--fuck--saw how it could be. Everything I knew how to do as a--a soldier, could use it to make you feel good. Make you come, make you scream, make you belong to me, Jack...
[He trails off again, hips rolling slow and lazy into his own hand. All John can do is moan and pant, occasionally saying Jack's name like he can't help himself, like the utterance alone brings as much pleasure as the way he squeezes his cock or brushes a thumb over his nipple.]
Didn't do half what I wanted to that night. Didn't know what I was doing, but if I had it to do again--fucking Christ, Jack, I'd goddamn ruin you and that pretty lingerie. Tie you to the bed, leave a dozen bruises on that gorgeous skin...bite, suck, play with my tags around your neck till you came in those lace panties, tear 'em to shreds and suck you off...
[John's writhing under his own hands now, his whole body moving as he thrusts into his own fist faster, rakes his nails along one of his scars to leave bright red lines and feel the tiniest kiss of sting, making him nearly cry out--a hoarse sound he barely manages to stifle.]
...but I had you, and nothing's ever gonna compare--God--to feeling you grinding in my...my lap, whining and, a-and cursing...white satin 'n lace just every inch 'n angel--all mine--shit--not afraid of my...myself--fuck love you so much, love you angel, love you, love bein' loved by you love you love you--Jack fuck love you Jack--
[His back arches as he comes against his own stomach with a low, animal snarl around Jack's name. He strokes himself through his orgasm, breathing hard and babbling a string of love you and so good and Jack's name until he finally goes limp and his hand falls away from his cock. Gradually, he catches his breath, and he's so loose in the afterglow, so still and relaxed he could easily be mistaken for having fallen asleep.
However, after a couple of minutes he lifts his head, heavy lidded eyes soft with drowsy contentment. He just lays there a moment longer against the couch, giving the camera the fully view of him because he knows Jack will love it.]
Now I gotta shower 'n sneak back into bed without waking you up, so I hope this was worth the effort of learning a new phone.
[Laughing, John pushes himself to sit up, kisses the fingers of his clean hand, and leans forward to touch the camera lens.]
Love you. Hope that was good.
[A moment later, the view jostles, and the video cuts off.]