healingmirth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
healingmirth) wrote2009-01-28 03:50 am
healingmirth) wrote2009-01-28 03:50 am
Fic: Give and Take
give and take, Die Hard, John/Matt, pliant
originally posted here as part of the porn battle
reposted here for my convenience.
The best - the absolute best - thing about morning sex is a John McClane that no one else gets to see.
Not that there was anything wrong with that everyday McClane - tough, and honest, and cocky and that smile and jesus those muscles. After just 36 hours with the closest thing to a superhero that Matt ever expects to meet, he already had enough fantasy material for years. Once they got together, Matt thinks that he would have been just fine being shoved up against walls, and held down while John breathed filthy promises into his ear, and fucked so hard and so deep that he could feel it for days afterwards, thank you very much. The thing is, though, that John McClane seems to have been designed to exceed expectations in the most improbable ways.
So on mornings like these, when Matt wakes up first (or sometimes, when Matt is just coming to bed as the sun rises) he takes full advantage of the gift he's been given, and it’s enough to make him want to pray his thanks, because there is no logic to explain this. There is no way that he deserves this man, spread out before him like - no, way better than - the best kind of porn. This John takes direction like he was fuckin' born to it, his anti-authoritarian smirk replaced by a faint pleasure-soaked smile, his eyes closed as he arches into a touch, completely entrusting his pleasure into Matt's hands as they trace his scars and worship his skin. Matt sucks a mark onto John’s shoulder, where only he can see it.
He tugs John’s leg a little more to the side, and pushes in steadily past the slight resistance John’s body puts up on his behalf. He feels the reverberation of a moan enter his chest where it’s pressed against John’s back. John rocks into him in a silent plea for more, but Matt could have words now too, if he wants them; John would beg as he writhes, never had anything as good as this and more and God, Matt, please. He could pin John’s wrists to the mattress, or twine their fingers together underneath the pillow. The illusion of power is heady. He could tie John up and tease him until he strains against the bonds, but he likes this better, the rare gift of John’s submission more precious than anything feels like it’s taken.
John’s reactions are never less than true, but there’s a clarity to them like this when Matt sets the tone, and as he feel’s John’s movements start to lose rhythm, Matt slides a hand up the sheet and under John’s body to wrap around his cock, pulling in counterpoint to his thrusts. When John spills over Matt’s fingers, he raises them to John’s lips and John sucks before biting down and tugging at a knuckle, sending Matt over the edge.
Matt is not-quite-panting against John’s neck, and he can feel the quip about time at the gym rising as he pulls out, so he rests his fingers against John’s lips for a moment to stopper the words, and then pulls John to the dry side of the bed, arranging their limbs one last time as he drifts off to sleep.
originally posted here as part of the porn battle
reposted here for my convenience.
The best - the absolute best - thing about morning sex is a John McClane that no one else gets to see.
Not that there was anything wrong with that everyday McClane - tough, and honest, and cocky and that smile and jesus those muscles. After just 36 hours with the closest thing to a superhero that Matt ever expects to meet, he already had enough fantasy material for years. Once they got together, Matt thinks that he would have been just fine being shoved up against walls, and held down while John breathed filthy promises into his ear, and fucked so hard and so deep that he could feel it for days afterwards, thank you very much. The thing is, though, that John McClane seems to have been designed to exceed expectations in the most improbable ways.
So on mornings like these, when Matt wakes up first (or sometimes, when Matt is just coming to bed as the sun rises) he takes full advantage of the gift he's been given, and it’s enough to make him want to pray his thanks, because there is no logic to explain this. There is no way that he deserves this man, spread out before him like - no, way better than - the best kind of porn. This John takes direction like he was fuckin' born to it, his anti-authoritarian smirk replaced by a faint pleasure-soaked smile, his eyes closed as he arches into a touch, completely entrusting his pleasure into Matt's hands as they trace his scars and worship his skin. Matt sucks a mark onto John’s shoulder, where only he can see it.
He tugs John’s leg a little more to the side, and pushes in steadily past the slight resistance John’s body puts up on his behalf. He feels the reverberation of a moan enter his chest where it’s pressed against John’s back. John rocks into him in a silent plea for more, but Matt could have words now too, if he wants them; John would beg as he writhes, never had anything as good as this and more and God, Matt, please. He could pin John’s wrists to the mattress, or twine their fingers together underneath the pillow. The illusion of power is heady. He could tie John up and tease him until he strains against the bonds, but he likes this better, the rare gift of John’s submission more precious than anything feels like it’s taken.
John’s reactions are never less than true, but there’s a clarity to them like this when Matt sets the tone, and as he feel’s John’s movements start to lose rhythm, Matt slides a hand up the sheet and under John’s body to wrap around his cock, pulling in counterpoint to his thrusts. When John spills over Matt’s fingers, he raises them to John’s lips and John sucks before biting down and tugging at a knuckle, sending Matt over the edge.
Matt is not-quite-panting against John’s neck, and he can feel the quip about time at the gym rising as he pulls out, so he rests his fingers against John’s lips for a moment to stopper the words, and then pulls John to the dry side of the bed, arranging their limbs one last time as he drifts off to sleep.