#johnny hoerr

[saturnwisteria]

gasp...john cubed??

[moghraidhs]

fluff, nsfw under the cut

"Tell me what feels good."

Everything, Charlie thinks hazily, but he's unable to manage more than an incoherent moan.

The sun is shining through the window, sheets sticky and tangled underneath him. Normally it would bother him but right now, with Johnny's head between his legs turning his mind fuzzy, he couldn't care less.

Johnny kisses his clit, gentle, and then frustratingly pulls away. "Need you to tell me, Charlie," he says, soft but stubborn.

Charlie blinks, eyes heavy and wet. "I hate you," he mumbles as soon as he can get his tongue to cooperate.

Johnny smiles at him, a twist of his normally serious mouth. "No, you don't."

No he doesn't.

It would be easier if he did, Charlie thinks sometimes. Johnny loves the way he flies: no holds barred, Icarus facing the sun. Charlie's not sure he's worthy of it, not after everything.

Tears of a different kind prick his eyes.

"Hey." Johnny smoothes a thumb gently over his hip. "Where'd you go?" His accent gets stronger as he lowers his voice, every syllable stretched to near breaking point. Charlie would never admit it, but he loves it.

"'M okay," he says after a while. "It's just…a lot." He can't exactly quantify what 'a lot' is but somehow he knows Johnny understands.

"Do you want to stop?"

Charlie looks down at the man between his legs, the man who's so good to him it almost hurts. He knows he could say yes and Johnny wouldn't be mad.

For some reason, it's that thought that steadies him. "No. It felt good."

Johnny searches his eyes for a second and then smiles, full and bright and a bit mischievous. "That's what I wanted to hear." He lowers his head again.

Charlie lets out a startled yelp, hips bucking as Johnny's tongue prods inside him. Skilled fingers, pilot's fingers, thumb at his clit and it feels amazing. He whines.

"There you go," Johnny mumbles against him, gentle and teasing all at once. "So pretty for me."

Charlie's been called pretty before, but never with love. Never like this. His fingers tangle in Johnny's hair, heart drumming in his ears.

"My man. My pretty, sweet man."

Charlie's back arches. Legs spread, tangling in the sheets.

He thinks this is what Icarus must have felt like.

Johnny sucks his clit into his mouth and Charlie can't stop the bitten off wail that leaves him. He folds back on the sheets, shuddering and teary-eyed and boneless.

Johnny keeps licking at him through the orgasm, stopping only when Charlie whimpers a bit. He presses kisses up the side of Charlie's thigh and waist, all along to his neck. "You're beautiful."

Charlie nuzzles into the shelter of his chest. "So are you," he says, and means it. He smiles again when Johnny kisses his hair and holds him close.

So this is what it feels like to be loved.

[suburbanjustice]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

John gets a little excited after a close brush with death up in the air. He can't just go onto the hardstand all indecent, so Johnny Hoerr, being the good copilot he is, offers to help him out.

NSFW - awkward boners to mutual clothed handjobs, semipublic sex/risk of getting caught, size queen Hoerr/slightly above average yet inexperienced nice Catholic boy John Brady. 2,868 words.

How fucking embarrassing. Yeah, let him just hop out of the cockpit with his goddamn raging hard-on on full display. Not like he exactly has many options here—stroke himself off in the cockpit in front of his copilot, which he'd rather die than do, or blue balls. So John tries to think about old people and finances and anything else he can conjure up to temper the warm throb between his legs and stays very, very still, aside from shifting his weight a little to try and relieve some of the discomfort of the tight confines of his pants, which feels marginally more acceptable than shamelessly reaching down to adjust himself like he'd really like to right now. "Well, obviously, I'm hoping it'll go down, Johnny," he says sourly. "We've still got an hour in the air." Hoerr watches him for a moment, mouth half open, like he's thinking that's definitely not the case. He's probably fucking correct on that one—his body, as he'd learned during his adolescence, can be incredibly persistent when it wants to be. "You think that's..." Johnny squints a little, and glances down at his fucking boner, and frowns a little before looking up at him, which doesn't feel fantastic, and only serves to thoroughly compound his embarrassment until he considers reaching for his fucking chute. "It'll be enough?" John gives him an annoyed look. "What the fuck else am I going to do?" And then there's a pause, like Johnny's looking before a metaphorical leap. "You can't just step onto the hardstand like that. You're my copilot. I'll help you out."