@epicentered // continued. ]]
if he’s being honest — it all feels like a dream. it feels like something kept out of his reach. something he’d never allow himself to actually have. johnny dubcek has been terrified on intimacy since he was young, since before he knew what it was like to truly be lonely. that summer. that horrible summer that ruined everything — it left marks on him that other people couldn’t see. it ruined him. tainted him. it made him damaged goods and he felt it in every breath, every blink. there was something wrong with him. something that the other kids could spot — something that martin shultz could see from miles away. a weakness. a sickness. coded wrong, he’s always been too shy. he’s always been too soft. even in his younger years where he would drink and get into fights, he was somehow gentle. poetic, really. he was like the sea. still. warm. vast. one moment, he was as calm as ever but the next brought on a certain kind of churning. emotions. johnny didn’t always know what to do with them and sometimes they built up into little typhoons that demanded release — demanded destruction.
a hurricane is how they meet. that’s no mistake.
gunnar keeps him and in many ways, johnny acts like a wounded animal found on the street. he hides behind bangs, avoids eye-contact, and speaks in hushed tones. whenever he touches gunnar — it’s hesitant. careful. afraid. he’s afraid of contact but he also craves it, ends up melting the first time gunnar calls him some petname. he wants to be kept. wants to feel normal. it’s hard, battling with himself. sometimes he feels like everything is his fault. that he asked for it by being gay. that he deserved it, for being different. like he was marked. there are days where he is disgusted with himself for wanting to taste another man’s mouth — for wanting to be touched and adored. on those days he’s especially quiet. on those days he clings to the bottle to forget what he is, what he was, and what he doesn’t want to be.
but there are days like today. days where he feels like he’s drowning in emotions stockpiled.
days where he needs someone to touch him. days where he aches. he’s spent years denying himself, hating himself. it only takes lips on his throat to undo it all — to make him sigh and ease further into sheets. gunnar has taken things slow. he’s been understanding, continues to be so as johnny wakes up and allows himself to feel. to want. there is always hesitancy in his kisses; he’s afraid of rejection, afraid of pain, afraid of the memories that lurk in shadows. he’s nervous, hands trembling, hips moving. the friction feels good. so good. so does gunnar’s weight.
gunnar calls him ’baby’ and his entire soul seems to relax. some of the fear ebbs away. there’s a promise against skin that causes his eyes to burn, unshed tears shining bright in the morning light. he wants it to be true. he wants to believe them. he does, he does, he does.
“p-please.” the word is broken, tears making his voice crack as he begs with his eyes — with hands that knead and pull.
guide him towards what he wants. show him it’s okay. let him feel. let him have.
one day they might both come clean with the monsters in their closets. johnny deals with them daily, he can see it in the soft stammering voice and the tentative hands. it’s there in the skittish way his eyes linger. but there’s something worth waiting through the panic, something that has him kissing the kid like it’ll breathe fresh life into those shaking hands. parting the kiss wetly, he trails his lips over tears, over delicate eyelids and murmurs against his forehead, “don’t you worry BABY --”
it’s slow, the gradual way he eases off that last layer, letting johnny see and feel him first before he even thinks of taking away that last layer of armor. gunnar has those shy fingers in his own, showing him slow and easy how to grip his cock, how to work slick pre-cum over the head and down the shaft. a bit like teaching him the motions and reassuring him in the same breath.
gunnar continues to kiss and bite gently along his neck, leaving a chaotic map of colors on that pale skin. each stroke is rewarded with soft praise, “sei bravo ragazzino. molto bene.” only when those fingers are confident touching him without his hands does he think of eases down elastic and eventually tossing aside that last layer. “look at you,” he breathes out, looking over the sight of him spread out fully naked beneath him. meeting those eyes there’s a slight smirk, “yeah just like I thought, you’re pretty as a flower.”
fingers run featherlight along the swell of his cock, teasing before letting his touch dip steadily lower. fingers cup the weight of his balls and gunnar smiles against johnny’s cheek as he gives a light squeeze. “especially here baby, you have the prettiest cock I’ve seen.”
instead of going blindly further, of just pressing johnny into the sheets and fucking him nice and hard, gunnar steals a kiss.
it’s slower than the others and it lets him half fumble in the nightstand for a bottle of lube. he wants it to feel good for him, wants him to want this as much as he does right now. so he sits back a little and guides those thighs a little further apart.
“gonna get you ready nice and slow baby, you tell me if it’s too much though.”
he bends low, pressing a kiss to a bent knee before popping open the top to the bottle.
“might be a little cold,” gunnar warns, slick fingers dipping lower along the pretty curve of his ass. see, any other man in his bed would get thrown down and fucked well within an inch of his life. gunnar didn’t do it often, hell, this trembling beautiful man was the first in almost a year. and maybe --
maybe he wanted to see johnny enjoy this.
either way, he doesn’t look away from those pretty eyes when his finger finally eases in nice and slow. “that good?” his other hand works soothing little circles against a pale hip with his thumb. gunnar manages a calm warm sort of smile.
“you wanna try fucking me instead baby?”
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