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2am at Fusco's

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What he’s not expecting is a knock on his door at two in the morning.

Lionel pads to the door in his t-shirt and boxers, not quite awake yet. There's a disheveled, sleepy Reese standing on his doorstep. “I owe you an apology,” are the first words that come out of Reese’s mouth. For a minute afterwards they just stand there, soaking that up. Like Lionel never thought he’d hear it and Reese never thought he’d say it.

“Save it,” Lionel says. “I’m getting my own back.”

He throws one arm around Reese’s neck and drags him into biting distance. But the incongruous smell of baby oil still clinging to Reese brings the images of that afternoon back in full force: the sticky bench, Reese's hands grabbing his ass. The showy way Reese had pulled his zipper down with his teeth, kissed his neck; everything fake. He freezes and clamps his eyes shut against the memories.

But Reese is already in motion, stumbling in through the doorway, his shoes scraping over Lionel's toes. Their foreheads knock together and Lionel is shocked back to the present. He digs his heels in and pushes back, even more determined to get even now. He’s just about to bite down on Reese’s upper lip when Reese's tongue gets in the way, all soft and unexpected and pliable - it makes his lips tingle. He follows it back into Reese's mouth, surprised by the warmth and wetness and the quickening of Reese's breath. He's still enraptured with the silken feel of the inside of Reese's mouth, his gums and teeth and tongue - when he hears his apartment door click closed behind Reese and blinks, startled. Even though he started it, he’s not totally sure he wants it.

Suddenly, Reese's hands are on his ass. They're warm through his thin boxers and gently pulling him forward, and up. Instead of letting himself be lifted onto his toes, Lionel just shuffles forward a bit. He lands right between Reese's thighs and their hips meet, and it's no longer anything at all like in the club. Reese's hard-on bumps his own dick and they both moan. He can feel the rush through his stomach all the way up to his neck, dick catching up fast now.

He shoves his hands inside Reese's jacket, down and up again, gliding over his shirt and around his back; there's so much energy he can't seem to stop anywhere. Reese is warm and shuddering a little and panting through his nose. There’s a sensitive spot on his ribs; every time Lionel touches him there, his breath catches. Lionel pulls at Reese's shirt and undershirt and shoves them up so he can reach that spot again and - oooh - skin. So much better.

Lionel leans back, his hands still moving restlessly, up and down over warm skin, through tiny fuzzy hairs and over Reese’s nipples, making him shudder. Reese follows him, his head angling forward, trying to get closer to Lionel, trying to get his tongue deeper into Lionel's mouth, hands sliding into the back of Lionel's boxers, holding him close. Lionel marvels at how Reese's tongue is no longer pliable but hard now, insistent and strong and - oh god - Reese is grinding his hips against Lionel's and there are way too many clothes between them.

Reese's belt and zipper are hard and scratchy and Lionel needs to get them out of the way right now. Reese seems to be in agreement, because he cants his hips so Lionel can reach better. It’s no use, he’s fighting with that stupid belt until Reese loses his balance and his shoulders hit the door behind him. Finally, Lionel has some room and can see what he's doing and now it's easy. There's this breathy whining noise Reese makes when Lionel's fingers help the pants glide down his thighs; it's intoxicating and he wants more of that. He does the same with Reese's boxer briefs, slowly, feeling the thigh muscles twitch beneath his hands. Reese is inhaling open-mouthed, trying not to make any more noise than he's already making.

Lionel has room enough to let his eyes roam back up over Reese's naked legs, and his hands follow. His gaze is just skirting Reese's hard-on, sees how it touches the hairs on his belly and brushes against the rucked-up shirt layers. Lionel hears Reese's head hit the door behind him and looks up, watching his reaction as he lets his hands trail up Reese’s sides. Reese is moaning now, his mouth open. His arms are tense, hands cramped on the wood of the door, eyes half-closed but still looking at Lionel through dark lashes, and they're pleading. It steals his breath.

Then Reese reaches out a tentative hand toward Lionel and opens his legs wider for him. It should look awkward with his clothes bunched at his ankles, but all Lionel can think is "he trusts me". It tugs at him how incredibly vulnerable Reese is in that moment. He just has to step closer to fill the space Reese made for him. Reese takes him in, melting against him, wrapping his arms around Lionel and pulling him even closer. Now with the barrier of John's pants gone it feels even better. Reese catches his mouth in another kiss and pushes down Lionel's shorts. He shuffles out of them quickly, trying not to step on Reese's belt buckle in the process.

Thankfully, Reese is toeing his shoes off and kicking his feet free and now their naked legs are touching all the way down. Reese has encircled him now, with his long arms and long legs, trying to touch as much skin as possible. Their dicks are perfectly aligned and Lionel can't help moving his hips to get some friction. Apparently, they both can't. Reese is kneading Lionel's ass and keeping him close, skin on skin. Tiny sparks are fizzing up Lionel's spine, and it feels like there's not enough air in his lungs, but still it's not enough, not enough. He leans against the door, his head on Reese's shoulder. He sticks his hand in between them, gripping them both together. Lionel wonders how his short, thick fingers even fit around both of them. It feels strange. But it works, oh yes, and Reese seems to tense and relax at the same time, somehow, leaning his head onto Lionel's cheek.

Lionel's biting his tongue. He needs to concentrate on moving his hand just like that, because it's tricky to keep them both together, they're moving and bucking in his hand, but he's got them. Reese is starting to shake and then he's coming with a long moan. Lionel's hand starts slipping between them, so good, and Reese's stuttering breath in his ear sends him over the edge too.

For a while all Lionel's doing is trying to get his knees to stop wobbling and his head to stop swimming. He's getting too old for this shit. He is exhausted and thankful the door is holding them up. He gulps in air, smelling only Reese's sweat; it seems to have chased away the baby oil. Lionel can't help his mouth stretching into a wide grin against the crook of Reese's neck.

He's still waiting for anything resembling clear thought to come back to him; the strong smell of sex in his nostrils isn't helping at all, when Reese takes Lionel's head in his hands, pulls his face up and kisses him and kisses him, his hands moving through Lionel's hair, down his neck. There’s Reese's tongue again, soft once more, stroking gently across Lionel's lips; calming, reassuring. Tender.

Reese murmurs “I'm sorry. For... ”

“Ah, shut up. Apology accepted. ”

Lionel pushes off the door despite his still shaky knees, takes Reese's hand, and pulls him along toward his bedroom.