Sequel to There's No Russian Word for Mohawk
Chris decided three very important things while waiting for JC to get back from wherever he'd gone. Crucial things. Possibly of the save the world, unlock the magic box with a left-left-right button combo variety.
One had to do with the Beatles and "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and the way JC bites his fingernails until they bleed when he's writing songs.
One was maybe about how he needs a new rug in his bathroom, except he hates buying shit like that. When he finally did move he'd spent two months walking the aisles at every housewares store in Orlando without making a single purchase. Finally JC had come along with him, and they'd spent eight hundred dollars in forty-five minutes. Chris had already picked out everything he wanted, he'd just never been able to make himself buy any of it.
He's pretty sure there was a third thing, but whatever it was is really so much less important than the way that JC is sitting astride Chris' hips, skating a palm down Chris' breastbone with a gaspy sigh. Chris pushes up and in and then lets his ass fall back to hit the soft sheets.
Three hundred thread count, and JC bought those, too, not that would Chris would notice if they were fucking on a bed of nails right now. But the cotton is chilled, the room overly air conditioned as always, and beads of sweat dry on JC's neck before they gather enough weight to fall between their two bodies.
JC whimpers in his throat and comes, rising up on his knees and Chris slides out, even when he chases JC's body with a weak thrust. JC falls back and to the side and Chris groans, cold everywhere that isn't hot enough to melt what brain cells he has left since they started this.
"I'm," JC pants, incoherently. "I'm, please." His breath makes waves across the sheets where his chin is pressed to the mattress. There are goosebumps up his spine. Chris pushes himself up with one arm, breathing heavily, still hard, and JC says "please" again and doesn't seem to have any intention of following it with "stop," which is as much as Chris can handle on the higher-thought plane.
JC's tan is perfect and stretches for acres across the white covers. He looks airbrushed and Chris knew already that JC's skin really was that soft but it feels different pressed against his thighs. It's like chamois on hot wax.
Chris stands at the foot of the bed and JC moans. Chris grabs JC's leg by the ankle and pulls him back hard. JC runs in place for a second before his feet hit the carpet, his arms stretched out long above his head. He pivots his toes out so his legs are spread wide and says Chris' name, whines it really, and Chris lets loose the roar he's been biting back since JC touched watery fingers to the sides of his head an hour before.
He stays standing, pulling JC back and up, and it's one smooth move back inside. JC's shoulder muscles quake with effort as he steels himself against Chris slamming hip to hip, and Chris folds himself over JC, traces the outcropping of shoulderblade with shaking hands. He palms JC's ribs, thumbs between the bones, and JC inhales tightly, doesn't breathe out, and his body is tight and rigid and Chris explodes.
JC exhales on a low chord of content and Chris laughs aloud, shocked as hell. JC winds an arm back around, his nails dragging along Chris' ass. He bends his other arm at the elbow and walks fingers up Chris' ear to tug at the new haircut.
Chris laughs again, maybe the only sound he can find inside that's not a moan or JC's name, and suddenly remembers the third thing.
John Lennon and "see the love there that's sleeping," a new rug, and the third one was that JC really had no idea what he was doing, had definitely never shaved someone's head before, but that as long as he left something to hold onto, Chris didn't care.
I don't know why nobody told you
How to unfold your love
I don't know how someone controlled you
They bought and sold you
I look at the world and I notice it's turning
While my guitar gently weeps
END
Credits: The Beatles. For Younger, as part of the great kirkchastrick late-night porn exchange. Kel gave it a once-over, in a very cruise-y kind of way, of course.