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Saving the World, One Bad Guy at a Time

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John's barely past the security gates when he hears, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Jack isn't the only one who startles at the shout, but where Jack reaches for a weapon that isn't there, John just smiles. The voice may be different—and a pleasant surprise—but the sentiment is the same, no matter what stupid shit he's returning from.

John spots Matt Farrell immediately, storming toward them with one hell of a frown. John wants to shake his head at the kid's exasperation. It's like he doesn't remember the fire sale. He was there with John through the thick of it. "Matt," he says instead, an easy greeting formed from years of friendly phone calls. "Who'd you have to blackmail to get them to let you come all the way up here?"

It's not an exaggeration to say that John talks to Matt more often than his own family. In John's defense, Lucy was the only one he'd been on speaking terms with before this Russian business. Jack has no clue who Matt is, a testament to how disconnected they've been. Jack looks ready to take Matt down if this meeting becomes suddenly violent, but John catches Jack's eye and shakes his head.

John bites back a laugh when Matt pokes him in the chest. Matt's really worked up about something. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what, even as the reason comes flying out of his ever-moving lips. "Russia? Chernobyl? Really? You really had to go there? I will put you on the No-Fly List, I swear to something other than God. I don't know. I swear to Doritos. For fuck's sake, John. They shouldn't let you out of the country. Ever."

John shrugs. He lets a bit of his good humor slip out. Jack looks at him sideways. Been a while since he's seen John smile. "Fine with me," John says. "I hate flying. Do you know how hard it was to find someone who speaks fucking English?"

Matt's groan is an exaggerated, whole-body affair. "That's because it's Russia, John."

Jack's patience runs out. He turns to John, curiosity expressing itself as anger. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Hello," Matt says, frowning. John can already tell these two are going to get along like two cats in a bag. "Right here." He holds out a hand to Jack, though it's obvious he's sizing Jack up. There's no doubt which of them would win in a fist-fight but Matt's the kind that would ruin Jack's life in revenge. John'd pissed him off a few months ago and spent a week fielding constant calls from idiots wanting to buy an Impala. All because John'd insulted some show Matt watches. "Matthew Farrell. You must be Jack."

They shake hands. Jack's eyes narrow. "You're that guy that's always commenting on Lucy's Facebook."

John pierces Matt with a stare. "You what now?"

"Hey, hey." Matt waves his hands to clear the air. "We're friends. Just friends. We went to the Academy together." He turns wide eyes on John. "You know we're not dating, right? She's with that guy. Brian. The sniper. Besides, you don't even know what Facebook is. I made you that account but you haven't even logged in."

John rolls his eyes and snorts. "Whatever. Calm down, kid. I know you're with..." John's memory fails him. "What's his name? Tom?"

"Todd," Matt says. He looks away, suddenly shifty. If John didn't know better, he'd think Matt was blushing. "And we broke up, like, two weeks ago. He's on the Asshole List now. Fucking asshole."

John nods along. He gestures forward. "Come on, you can tell me about it on the road. I'm assuming you're here to play chauffer?"

Matt side-eyes John. "No, I just like hanging out at airports. It's the best place to pick up guys, but instead I've just got some idiot cop that thought it'd be a good idea to blow up Russia."

"Detective," John corrects automatically.

"Right. Idiot detective." Matt pokes John's chest again. "Blew. Up. Russia."

"Only part of it."

They maneuver their way through a crowd of people waiting to get through security and tourists wandering around completely lost. One of the many reasons John hates travelling. It's easy to keep an eye on Matt. His constant chatter is like an annoying siren call pulling John forward. He used to hate the endless babble. He's gotten used to it now, a spew of words that fills the space around him, chasing off the silence.

He can't stop watching Matt's lips. The way they move. The curve of his lips and the faint glimpse of his tongue. It's been a while since they've talked in person. John likes it. None of that static from the phone lines, though Matt keeps telling him that it's because John has a shitty phone.

"Do you have someone picking you up?" For a second, he thinks Matt's lost his mind, but he's talking to Jack, not John.

"Yeah. They sent someone." John watches Jack for a moment. One foot on American soil and he's itching to get back into the spy game. John can't really blame him. That restlessness is part of the McClane blood.

They step out onto the Arrivals pick-up area. There are two black SUVs parked on the ramp with bland men in black suits standing in front of them. Matt's steps stutter. He recognizes them. Jack eyes them with muted wariness. Not CIA, then.

"What did you say brought you in town?"

Matt's distracted. He's altered their course to head toward the suits. "Oh. What?" He half-turns. "I got reassigned. Indefinitely on loan."

A plain man with a disarming smile and a receding hairline steps forward and offers his hand. "Detective McClane. Agent McClane. I'm Agent Coulson. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

"That's a mouthful."

Coulson nods. "We've heard that before. We go by SHIELD. We need to debrief you about the Chernobyl situation."

John glances at Matt. "You know these guys?"

Matt's face goes through an odd convolution of emotion. He settles on nervous. "Uh, kinda? I mean, I-" Matt looks at Coulson and something in the agent's blank expression instantly changes Matt's tune. "Yes, I know them. I've been working with SHIELD."

Coulson turns to the vehicles. Two agents open the back doors of each. "If you'd please accompany us, it's very important that we speak."

John looks at Matt once more. The kid's eyes are on Coulson and his posture's straighter. Whoever this Coulson guy is, he outranks Matt.

Jack's already making his way to the first vehicle. John shrugs. "Sure. Why not?" He lets Coulson guide him to the second SUV.

"I'll call you later," Matt says.

"No phone." The doors shut, and John catches the wistful look on Matt's face before they're whisked away.


It's hours later when John finally leaves the SHIELD office. He's been poked and prodded and scanned and debriefed. He'd lost his patience an hour in, when they were taking the fourth vial of his blood. He's not young like Jack and Farrell and the other bright-eyed agents swarming around SHIELD. He just wants to go home, take a shower, and go to bed.

He's somewhere in Manhattan, judging by the skyscrapers towering over him. He's not looking forward to the subway ride to Brooklyn.

A car door slams. John turns automatically and pauses as Matt Farrell stumbles his way toward John.

"Hey!" Matt covers the distance in a quick jog. He's smiling, a more casual expression now that they're alone. "Hey. I came to give you that ride home I offered earlier."

John tilts his head. "How'd you know?"

Matt doesn't need any explanation. He winks at John. "Hard to keep things secret when they let me into their systems."

John snorts and rolls his eyes. "Of course." Even if they hadn't given Matt access, that wouldn't have stopped him.

Matt's got a beater of a car. Some Honda sedan that rumbles and quakes as Matt merges into traffic.

"They don't pay you enough for a real car?"

"Hey!" Matt shoots him a glare. "Ginny's a real car. She's just-"

John holds up a hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait, wait, wait." He looks at Matt with incredulity. "You named your car?"

Matt fidgets, his fingers tapping at the steering wheel. "It's not that weird. Lots of people do it."

"Sure." John rolls his eyes. "Totally normal."

"Shut up."

John snorts and stares out the window. They're crawling their way south through the city. He's not sure which is worse, New York City traffic or that fucking Garden Circle. At least he knows this city. He knows the people in it and he can read the damn signs.

"How'd it go?"

"What?"

"SHIELD. The debriefing."

John looks over and leans back in his seat. "Fine. I guess they needed to make sure I'm not gonna grow a third arm or start glowing." He expects Matt to laugh. Matt's the kind of geek that's all over those stupid tabloid stories about aliens and bigfoot and shit.

Matt doesn't laugh. His lips tighten and there's a hard look in his eyes.

"You know that's a joke, right?"

Matt bites his lip.

John leans forward, not quite stretching toward Matt but at least putting himself in the kid's peripheral. "Fuck, Farrell, tell me you don't believe in that shit? I'm fine. No radiation damage or whatever."

"You were in Chernobyl."

John slumps back with a groan. "You're ridiculous. It's not even radioactive anymore." Matt snorts. "Fine. Not much."

Matt stares ahead at the traffic for far too long. "The world's a weird place, John."

"You're telling me?"

Matt opens his mouth, almost says something, and then snaps his mouth shut.

"Don't tell me you've been listening to that stupid conspiracy shit from your wizard friend."

"It's Warlock," Matt snaps. John is fully aware of that basement-dweller's name. It's just fun to rile Matt up. "And no." Matt pauses. "Okay, yes. Just a little but it's more than that. I've seen things that can't be explained, and I've seen what the wrong kind of radiation can do to someone."

John takes a deep breath and releases it. "Fine. If I start turning into a lizard-person, you'll be the first person I call."

Matt glares at him. "That's not funny, John."

"Agree to disagree. Where'd they stick you, anyway? FBI paying for some swanky hotel?"

Matt barks a short laugh. "Yeah, right. They've got me in the SHIELD barracks, which is about as far as you can get from decent human accommodations. I can't get a straight answer yet on how long I'm going to be here, so I have no idea if I should get another apartment, though how the hell I'm supposed to afford a place here and a place in D.C., I have no clue. Like, really, guys? Pick two of the most expensive cities to live in and that's where you want to be headquartered? At least Quantico's outside the city."

John somehow never tires of hearing Matt complain about D.C. He's kind of glad Farrell's in New York. Camden was close enough for a train ride to the City, but there's still a lot of places Matt's never been. John hopes he can take Matt sometime. It's not about sharing the city John's spent most of his life in with Matt in a way he never could with Jack and Lucy. Matt's not his kid, but he still feels protective of him and there's still this strange, almost giddy excitement at showing Matt something new.

Matt's waiting for John to say something snarky, so he latches on the first—and most obvious—thing. "Not enough room for your computers?"

"Not enough room for me." Matt pulls into a parking spot a few houses down from John's apartment building. "And we have arrived."

John hesitates with his hand on the handle. He can't bring himself to walk away. Not yet.

"I have a guest room, you know." He has no idea where that came from, but the statement sits right with him. Matt doesn't belong in some bureau bunker and John would feel better if he could keep an eye on Matt. That's a feeling he's not ready to analyze. He's fine letting his son disappear into some CIA black hole, but not Matt.

"Really?" Matt blinks. "I mean... Are you sure? I don't want to... But you probably... And, I mean, I'm not really..."

John forces himself out of the car before he does something stupid. "Just go get your stuff." He slams the door on Matt's stunned, slack-jawed face.

His apartment is dark and dirty and exactly the kind of shithole Holly would have blown up over. He looks in the direction of his shower and sighs. Instead, he goes to the kitchen and starts clearing the biohazard in his sink.


John's been awake for hours before Farrell stumbles out of the guest room. Matt goes straight to the coffee pot and doesn't even acknowledge John until he's halfway through his first cup. "You have no idea how good that bed feels. Seriously. I'm taking it with me. It's mine now."

John snorts into his own cup of coffee. "It's just a bed."

"No." Matt drops into the chair next to him. "It's a dream. It's amazing. That thing at SHIELD can't even be qualified as a bed. They call it a bunk, but it's just a slab of misery attached to the wall."

"That good, huh?"

Matt groans and lays his head on the table. "You have no idea. I thought my spine was going to desert me."

"Right." The t-shirt Matt slept in is too big for him. The collar hangs low, exposing a pale expanse of shoulder and throat. Something primal stirs in John, making his teeth ache and his dick twitch.

He pulls the paper up, using it to block his view of Matt.

"You off today?" Matt asks.

"Yeah. I go in tomorrow to see if I still have a job."

Matt chuckles, his voice muffled slightly by the table. "Like they're going to fire John McClane."

There was a time they would have. They almost did a few times, after the fame from Nakatomi Plaza had faded and alcohol ruled him. He'd almost finished wearing off the shine from the fire sale and now there's this stupid Russia thing hanging over his head.

He misses being a simple beat cop. Now, he's the one breaking in the rookies and handling all the Fed cases, like he's the only name in the department that the feds can remember. He knows how quickly that can fall apart. There's a reason he hasn't had a drink in years.

"Hey," Matt says, jolting John out of his melancholy. "Do you want to show me around town? I mean, I did all the big touristy things but I'm curious what your highlights would be."

It's a bad idea. This whole cohabiting thing is a bad idea. He knows that, but he still says, "Yeah, sure." This isn't going to end anywhere good but he can't stop himself from buckling in for the ride.

Maybe it'll stay harmless. Maybe it'll be nothing. Maybe he'll actually behave for once in his goddamn life and not let his dick set him off after a kid young enough to be his son.

None of that's going to happen. He knows this is going to hurt but he can't stop himself from twisting the knife anyway.

He's always been his own worst enemy.


"All I'm saying," Matt says as he sits across from John and slides John's black coffee across the ridiculously tiny table, "is that you should be flattered. They like you."

"They made t-shirts," John growls into his coffee.

Matt's enjoying this far too much. He's smiling into his stupidly complex cappuccino order. Matt always gets their orders because John refuses to learn that stupid two-shot half-something mocha monstrosity. It's worst than those energy drinks and they come in a can.

Matt opens his mouth to continue his defense of John's rookies and their stupid 'Yippee Ki Yay' t-shirts but a gunshot drowns out whatever Matt was going to say. John barely registers the hard thump against his chest. It doesn't hurt. He almost thinks someone threw a ball at him but he looks down and there's nothing, just a small black spot on his shirt.

Matt ducks for cover, hands over his head like that's going to protect him from a bullet, but at least the table might. There's chaos around them. John stands, making himself the lone target out of all the people screaming and running. No one's down. No one's bleeding.

Where the hell is the shooter?

He feels two more impacts on his chest. Thud-thud. Right over his heart. There's now a trio of black dots on his white shirt. He frowns. There's something not right. That was gunfire. Someone's shooting at him but not hitting him.

"Jesus Christ! John?" Matt has a slug in his hand. It looks like someone shot it against a wall. Most of the bullet's gone. It's just a flat stub.

He's not going to think about that right now. There's a shooter.

It's easy to find her. She's heading straight for him, gun aimed at his chest. Solid stance. Perfect aim. A pro, despite appearing like someone's Chinese grandmother. She fires again. Another thud. He hears the bullet drop to the cement.

"John, go!"

Matt's voice spurs him into motion. He may be suddenly, miraculously bullet proof but everyone else around him is not. Matt's not. He stalks toward the grandmother. They meet in the middle of the café's open seating area. She empties the gun into his forehead, then tosses it aside to come at him with some kung-fu bullshit that seems strangely familiar.

He knows she's going all at him, but it feels like nothing, like some little kid trying to beat him up. He can barely feel it. He swats her hands aside. She's not a danger, she's an annoyance. A well-trained, lethal annoyance, but an annoyance still. Like those t-shirts.

Her eyes are wrong. Yellow. Not in the jaundiced way but off. It's threaded through her iris, streaking through her brown eyes. She moves wrong too. Stiff. Jerky. Like a robot or a marionette.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do here. She's unarmed. He's not bothered by the way she's hitting him but she's not stopping. It's an awkward sort of stalemate.

She seems to realize the futility of it at the same time he does. Her head snaps back at an impossible angle, the crack of bone so loud he flinches. Her mouth opens on an unearthly yell that gives him goosebumps. Then she drops, hitting the pavement like a sack of dead flesh.

That's what she is, he realizes. He kneels down to check for a pulse but he knows he isn't going to find one as soon as his fingers land on her cold flesh. She's dead. If she hadn't just attacked him, he would have said she'd been dead for hours, maybe days even.

He distantly registers sirens, Matt's footsteps, the flash of cameras as tourists realize the danger has passed. It's lost on him. He has her head in his hands and he's looking right into eyes that are brown covered in the milky white of death. There's no yellow there. None at all.


"This is amazing," Matt says as he paces the length of the room to John's right. "Do you have any idea how amazing this is?"

John shares a look with the tech, Emma. "I think I got that from the last twelve times you said it."

"But do you know what this means?" Matt looks at him with wide eyes and a broad, sweeping gesture. "You've leveled up. You've, like, ascended. No more badass John McClane, destroyer of terrorists plots and bane of Russia. Now you're this even more badass version. You're invincible. You're like Superman, only without the laser eyes and the flying and being from outer space.

John rolls his eyes. "This isn't the comics, Matt."

Matt points a finger at him. "You- You have no idea, John. No idea. If I-" Matt stomps his foot and groans. "I'm getting you clearance. I am fucking getting you clearance because they cannot expect me to be near you and not say the shit I want to say, because-" Matt cuts himself off with a frustrated shout.

"Is he always like this?" Emma asks as she caps yet another swab from his chest.

"Fifty-fifty."

"Not funny, John."

"Then calm down." John sighs. "I don't get why I need to be here. I'm a cop. Why is this SHIELD's mess?"

"This," John waves his arms to encompass all of John and the whole facility they're in, "is SHIELD's mess. You've officially stepped into being SHIELD's mess with the..." Matt's mouth hangs open, words lost as he gestures again at John's bare chest. He quickly looks away, cheeks pink. John raises an eyebrow. "With you. All of the... you."

"That is an accurate summation, though less eloquent than I would have put it," Coulson says as he walks in. Another agent trails Coulson, some guy with a military cut who leans against the doorjamb and examines his nails. "The appearance of your abilities puts you squarely in SHIELD's focus."

John raises an eyebrow and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Abilities? Really?"

"Do you have a better word?"

John has no answer to that.

Coulson nods and continues. "I've assigned Agent Barton," Coulson gestures at the other man, "to be your liaison. As this new threat seems to be targeting you, there are certain matters you'll need to be briefed on. For starters, I'd like to compile of list of people who'd want to harm you."

John barks a short laugh as he hops off the exam table. The tech's left them so he assumes they're done. "I hope you got a lot of paper 'cause it's a pretty long list."


John takes Matt's car keys and pushes him toward the door. Matt's spent the last hour asleep at the conference table and there's no way John's going to let him drive like that. Matt barely misses the wall as he stumbles out the door.

"Mr. McClane. A word."

John pauses and looks back at Coulson, who's gathering his notes from their meeting. Barton stands outside the door, obviously waiting on Coulson. John crosses back to Coulson. "Yeah?"

"I wouldn't wait too long, if I were you."

John frowns. "What?" He's not waiting on anything, last he checked.

Coulson glances down the hallway. "Farrell. He looks up to you. Admires you. He's not going to wait forever."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Coulson says. "He's a good agent. It's hard to find people like that, who'll watch your back. Don't take them for granted."

Coulson leaves with his advice ringing in John's ears. Barton glances back at John once, then he's in step behind Coulson, watching his back. John stares. There's something in the way they move that makes him envious.

"John!" Matt's voice echoes down the hallway.

John shakes his head. He'd better catch up to Matt before he tries to hotwire his own car.

As he's driving home, Matt passed out in the passenger seat and snoring softly, John realizes he's never had what Coulson described. Someone to watch his back. Not like Coulson and Barton. He's had partners, yeah. Coworkers he's been close with. Holly. But there was never that ease shifting between home and work, on and off. He's never had that. Never even realized it was the kind of thing he could have.

Now that he knows, it's all he can think about.


Matt's already home when John gets in. He's had a long day trying to argue his way out of being on permanent loan from the NYPD to SHIELD. He's starting to learn to not bother when Coulson's involved. The agent has a way of getting what he wants no matter what's in his way and somehow twisting it around to make it seem like it's the best thing for John.

John's not entirely sure how Coulson did it, but he'd made it seem like the transfer was a promotion rather than a hostile takeover. John got a raise and better benefits so he's not arguing too hard against it. The squad had brought in cake. His trainees had been relieved. They all knew whoever took over from John was going to be a pushover in comparison.

There are voices coming from Matt's room. John only catches snippets of the conversation. It makes no sense to him. Something about mountain ash and banshees and foxes. John figures it has something to do with those online games Matt plays and he tunes it out while he changes out of his work clothes. Matt ends the call and emerges from his room. John follows him to the kitchen. Neither of them are good cooks, but they work well enough together putting together a couple sandwiches.

"Who was that?" John asks as they sit down across from each other at the kitchen table.

Matt swallows the first bite of his sandwich before answering. "FBI friend I made during training. Name's Stiles. Division Thirteen. He knows some cool stuff and can find out anything he doesn't know in a few days. I was asking him about the possessions."

John arches an eyebrow. "The what now?"

Matt stares back. "Possessions? You know, those corpses that keep trying to kill you?"

"I thought that was some virus..."

Matt falls back in his chair and groans. "That's the cover story, John. Come on. You were there."

"Corpses don't get up and try to shoot people."

Matt rolls his eyes. "And normal people die when they get shot in the head. There's a wide world of weird stuff out there, John. Either keep up or deal with me making fun of you."

John doesn't answer. He's still in denial about the whole superhero thing, and now they're throwing in weird demon shit? Yeah, no. Not tonight. He gets up and puts his plate in the dishwasher. Matt joins John on the couch a couple minutes later. John lets Matt have the remote because life's just easier that way. In exchange, Matt passes John a beer.

"Hey," Matt says as he flips through channels. "There are some Supernatural reruns on." He grins at John. "It'd be like research."

"Absolutely not."

Matt ignores him and puts it on anyway. John grabs for the remote. Matt yelps and holds it out of John's reach. The ensuing tussle ends with John pining Matt to the floor and a broken remote. They're both breathing heavy, but in John's case, at least, it's not from exhaustion. Matt's face is only a few inches below his. John's never really looked at Matt up close like this. He's never had the time or the excuse. Matt's lips are parted, mouth practically begging for something to be put in it. There's mischief in Matt's eyes and a sparkle of something else. Something deep and dangerous that fuels the fire in John's belly.

Then Matt shifts, legs going wide as he makes room for John between them. Matt's expression softens. His eyes partially close, giving him a lazy, almost sleepy look. John's aware of how hard he is, of how much he wants to take what's laid out before him. Matt's hips push up, brushing Matt's erection against John's and holy shit, Matt wants this too.

John jerks upright. The change in position only highlights his dick, now straining against the cage of John's jeans. Matt's eyes go straight to it and he licks his lips. "John..."

Fuck. Matt's tone is inviting. He says John's name like welcoming John home. Like this is where John's supposed to be.

Matt's too young. He's got a long life ahead of him. John's made a mess of his. It wouldn't be right to bring Matt into that mess.

Matt's fingers twist in the front of John's t-shirt. He pulls and John follows, all the way down to wet lips and an eager tongue. John's had a long line of kisses over the years, good ones and bad ones. He counts this as one of the better ones. Their mouths are hungry for each other. It's a fight of a different kind, both of them shifting, seeking out better angles to reach deeper, to consume more. Matt places a hand on John's lower back and pushes, just a little, an encouragement. Their hips slide together. John groans into Matt's mouth. His cock's weeping to be free. He wants to bury himself in Matt, to get lost in his body.

Moving isn't even an option yet. They hold each other too close, gripping and grabbing. Tugging closer and closer as they build a sliding rhythm. Matt hooks his legs around John's hips in a move that's had some practice. It makes John think of Todd and Jason and all the other men Matt's dated. There were more before that. He knows that logically, but he can't help but envy the first guy to feel Matt like this, to claim him.

Matt gasps for breath in the brief space between kisses. "Bed," he says, tugging at John's shirt. The fabric slides up and off John's frame. John tosses it somewhere out of sight. He's got Matt's t-shirt half rucked up. He slides down just enough to push his tongue into the dip of Matt's bellybutton. He bites the pale flesh he finds there and Matt shudders, his entire body shaking.

"Come on, John," Matt says, tugging on John's bicep. "I want a bed. Wouldn't you like a bed?"

"In a minute." He wants to follow the trail he's found down to Matt's pants. His hands spread over Matt's thighs, holding them up and open as he bites Matt's hip.

"Fuck!" Matt nearly smacks John in the face with his crotch. "I swear, McClane, if you don't fuck me soon..."

"Yeah?" John asks. He slides up, keeping one hand on Matt's ass while the other slides under Matt's shoulders. He takes Matt with him when he leans back. The startled yelp Matt lets out when John lifts Matt clear off the ground is worth everything.

"Fuck." Matt groans against John's neck. He's wrapped himself around John for the few steps it takes to get from floor to bed.

As soon as John sets Matt down, he's springing back up. "Wait right there," Matt says, pointing at where John's sitting on the edge of the bed, confused. "Preferably with less clothes. I'll be right back."

John shrugs and rolls with it. He's never done anything like this, but he's aware enough of his own body to know he's got nothing to be ashamed of. His cock stands thick and ready. John gives it a few strokes while he waits. He has no idea what kind of stuff Matt's into—well, he sort of does, thanks to Matt's drunken tendency to overshare—but he knows what he wants.

Matt's naked when he runs back into the room. He looks way too gleeful as he tackles John back onto the bed.

"Really, kid?" John rolls his eyes but goes along with Matt's insistent tugging.

They slide up the bed enough that John's legs are dangling off the edge, but Matt's got enough room to kneel with his legs on either side of John's hips. "Just..." Matt spreads something from a tube onto his hand and reaches back. John startles as Matt's slick, wet hand closes around his cock, spreading slick all over him. "Fuck," Matt groans. His eyes are blown wide and he's not even looking at John, too focused on feeling up John's erection. "Fuck, John, how did I not know you were hiding this? It's not fair. No one should hide a dick this good."

John opens his mouth to respond but his words get lost in a jumble of sound as Matt leans back, lining John up against his entrance and pushing back. John's hands clench around Matt's hips, helping to steady Matt as he sinks back onto John like he was meant to be there. Matt's body opens up around him, welcoming him in with tight heat.

"Fuck." He's not sure which of them said that but the feeling is mutual. Words are lost the second Matt starts moving, lifting himself in slow starts, just barely moving on top of John's cock and then getting bolder. He balances himself with one hand flat on John's chest, the other using the corded muscles of John's arms for stability.

John can't look away. He's been to museums and galleries before. He's seen art. It's nothing like this. Matt's lips are parted, letting out short little sighs of pleasure as he fucks himself on John's dick, taking his pleasure exactly how he wants. Matt's face is flushed, not from embarrassment. It's an effort to ride John, but he makes no move to stop or slow down. He's found a rhythm he likes and John lets Matt go to town.

John wants to slide his hands up Matt's sides, to feel the delicate arch of Matt's back. Maybe run his hands down Matt's legs. Matt's thighs are trembling on either side of John, shivering with each slide down onto John's cock. He's never seen Matt looks so open. There's not the faintest mask between them. Matt's emotions are raw on his face—want and pleasure and greed and satisfaction. John doesn't dare move, aside from jerking his hips up, meeting Matt's slow downward slide with impatience. He doesn't want to break the spell.

He has to, eventually. Matt's cries are getting louder, soft little 'oh, oh's that make Matt seem surprised at his own pleasure. It's good. It's real good, but it's not enough.

"Fuck!" Matt shouts as John rolls them. He pulls Matt's hips to the edge of the bed and takes over, replacing Matt's slow roll of hips with fast, sharp jabs, sending his dick deep into Matt's body.

Matt's hands twist in the sheets, pulling like the fabric is the only thing anchoring him to consciousness. His back arches on each forward thrust, bringing his hips up to meet John's insistent push. John's always been a fairly gentle lover but he can't stop this primal urge that sends him fucking into Matt's body like it's the only thing holding him together. Matt's going to bruise and John likes that. He wants Matt's hips to bear John's mark. He wants everyone who looks at Matt to know that Matt is owned. He's taken. Don't touch.

"John..." Matt lifts his head, eyes searching for and meeting John's gaze. "John."

He knows what Matt's asking for. "I'm here, baby. I've got you."

Matt's head falls back and he whines, loud and long as John pushes him closer and closer. He's got Matt teetering on the edge and all it takes is one more sharp snap of John's hips, sending their bodies crashing together, and then Matt's gone. He shouts his release, letting the whole damn building know he's having sex. John finds he doesn't mind. Let them know. They can come watch Matt writhe on John's dick for all John cares.

Matt's cries fade, getting softer and softer as John pounds through Matt's orgasm. Matt blinks and then he's back, mostly lucid eyes locking on John's face. Matt wraps his hand around John's wrist.

"Come on, big daddy," Matt says, voice sugar sweet. "You can do it. You can have me. Take me. Make me yours. Fill me up with your sweet, sweet come."

John groans. That kind of talk never did it for him, but coming from Matt's mouth it sounds obscene. The words go right to his dick and he bites his lip to hold himself back so he can chase the pleasure of Matt's body just a minute more.

"Fuck. John. Fuck me, big daddy. Fucking own me. John. Please, John."

God, he's so close. He squeezes his eyes shut. All of his focus is on the velvety heat clenching around his dick.

"You can do it. Come on, John. Fuck me. Fuck me so hard. Give me all your come. Make me your boy."

John falls forward with a shout, barely catching himself before he crushes Matt with his weight. He's blinded by the orgasm that tears through him. His face twists as he unloads into Matt's body, shooting load after load of cum into Matt's ass. His hips don't stop. It's like a reflex now. Like he's a fucking machine, fucking his cum deeper into Matt's body. It takes a force of will to get his hips to stop and even then it's with great reluctance.

"I think you broke me," Matt says with a grin when John finally opens his eyes. He's still buried deep in Matt's ass but neither of them make the first move to separate. "I'm not going to be able to walk straight for a week. You'll have to carry me."

"Yeah, no," John drawls. He's smiling. He can't seem to stop.

"It was worth a try." Matt stretches underneath John and groans. "God, your dick is a national treasure."

John snorts. "Really?"

Matt hums an agreement. "I might need you to fuck me again, like in an hour, after I get feeling back in my toes and my hips stop throbbing."

"I thought you said you were sore."

"Yeah." Matt grins. "Doesn't mean it's not worth it."

John shakes his head. "Whatever you want, kid."


Matt's FBI friends show up and get rid of the ghost, or whatever it is. John doesn't care enough to remember the details and he keeps getting distracted by Matt's mouth every time Matt tries to explain. There are better things Matt can do with that mouth, only some of which involve him being gorgeous on his knees. There's a bratty kid that reminds him too much of Matt, some guy that turns furry, and a redhead that literally screams the ghost away.

It all has something to do with Russia and a woman who wants revenge. John does not care. He's used to relatives coming after him for killing their scumbag siblings. It gets taken care of. There are only a few minor explosions and no structural damage to anything in the city. Nothing important, anyway.

John doesn't have time to dwell on it. They've got some guy they pulled out of the ice who says he's an old war hero and another guy out in New Mexico that claims to be a god. John doesn't have time for any bullshit besides what's in front of him. And Matt. He'll put up with Matt's bullshit because he likes it, even if he won't admit it. The kid doesn't need to know how badly he has John wrapped around his middle finger.

Matt has enough of an ego without John's help. Someone has to keep Matt in place and John seems to have landed that job. Coulson sympathizes. Barton laughs. John doesn't listen to most of what Stiles says. It's just better that way.

John finds he doesn't really mind being partnered with Matt. He likes having someone to watch his back.