[ and so he allows himself one, just the one, leaning in to press mouths and linger for only as long as he can before either of them moves to press in closer and then somehow finding it in him to pull back. reach his arm out along the counter and take Freddie's glass, steal a swallow.
because there's no catching up to do where this is concerned. he's not racing nameless faces to a checkpoint, he's kissing a young man who still clings in so many places to the life of a boy and to do that at John's age either smacks of unmoored hunger or, ages after most people, with time to learn and know and only then to start to want in earnest, something else.
it's dangerous, this. and if he were to think about it in any real detail, what he's doing to himself and to the both of them, it might be enough to slow him down. so he doesn't. his thoughts keep toward the immediate and rarely ever ahead, he asks as few questions of himself as he can and he meets Freddie Baxter's cocksure comebacks with a bright glint in his eye.
a hand up, fingertips pushing into the hair at the base of Freddie's skull. John's head tilts and he rests his mouth close, a request for another kiss. ]
[A request barely granted at first, beyond the lightest brush of Freddie's mouth to his. His eyes dip closed, dusty eyelashes vanishing pale against his cheek, then blink open again to refocus. For all else he might be, he pays attention: even acts of ignoring someone are considered and deliberate. But he watches John like he's trying to learn him. He brings his hands up to splay across the topography of his jawline like he's studying the pathways of his bone structure.
His eyes are still open as he leans into that kiss, claims it gently, by degrees. Sometimes what passes between them is enough to bruise. This is rarer and somehow just as intense. It builds, until Freddie's fingertips give way before they leave bruises and fist at John's collar instead. Until his lips are parted, eyes closed.
Until one hand strays and there's a sudden burst of light, like a crack opening in stormclouds. And Freddie pockets his phone again. He'll share that photo the same way John did, later.]
Well. [He'd sound almost still put-together as he breaks the kiss, if he weren't so breathless.] We have got all night.
[ John laughs with what's left of his breath as they separate for Freddie to speak, only belatedly processing that bright flash, the event behind it. his mouth curls and his eyes open to fall on Freddie's lips, his face, find traces of what he looks like after all that. it doesn't last over long - a push forward and guiding hands at Freddie's hips indicates his readiness to move. ]
And three bottles of wine.
[ best to get on with it if I'm to drink any more of this before I get too distracted ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ and so he allows himself one, just the one, leaning in to press mouths and linger for only as long as he can before either of them moves to press in closer and then somehow finding it in him to pull back. reach his arm out along the counter and take Freddie's glass, steal a swallow.
because there's no catching up to do where this is concerned. he's not racing nameless faces to a checkpoint, he's kissing a young man who still clings in so many places to the life of a boy and to do that at John's age either smacks of unmoored hunger or, ages after most people, with time to learn and know and only then to start to want in earnest, something else.
it's dangerous, this. and if he were to think about it in any real detail, what he's doing to himself and to the both of them, it might be enough to slow him down. so he doesn't. his thoughts keep toward the immediate and rarely ever ahead, he asks as few questions of himself as he can and he meets Freddie Baxter's cocksure comebacks with a bright glint in his eye.
a hand up, fingertips pushing into the hair at the base of Freddie's skull. John's head tilts and he rests his mouth close, a request for another kiss. ]
no subject
His eyes are still open as he leans into that kiss, claims it gently, by degrees. Sometimes what passes between them is enough to bruise. This is rarer and somehow just as intense. It builds, until Freddie's fingertips give way before they leave bruises and fist at John's collar instead. Until his lips are parted, eyes closed.
Until one hand strays and there's a sudden burst of light, like a crack opening in stormclouds. And Freddie pockets his phone again. He'll share that photo the same way John did, later.]
Well. [He'd sound almost still put-together as he breaks the kiss, if he weren't so breathless.] We have got all night.
no subject
And three bottles of wine.
[ best to get on with it if I'm to drink any more of this before I get too distracted ]