Work Header

Learning to Agree

Work Text:

When Matt called and asked to meet, John resisted. Even without the weirdness of the undiscussed blow job hanging over the conversation, he'd learned the hard way that trying to keep up an acquaintance with someone he'd met in extreme circumstances was difficult. The real world was a different place when you weren't trying to save it. But somehow they started arguing about coffee places and then they were agreeing that it couldn't be Starbuck's. Matt bitched about corporate greed; John said their coffee was shitty and tasted burnt.

They met at a local place, close to John's precinct. Matt ordered some funky half-caf half-soy half-mother's milk weirdo frou frou beverage; John got black coffee. It was the same thing he got every morning that he didn't feel like confronting the crap brewed at the station.

"I can't believe you drink that straight," Matt commented as they sat at a small table in the back.

"I can't believe you drink that nonsense," John returned.

"See? We agree on yet more things."

John snorted. "Is that what you're trying to do, just get me to agree to things until we're – " and then he stopped, because the concept of saying "we're dating" was too damned weird.

"Excuse me, are you Matt Farrell? Could you sign this for me?" The barista was brunette and perky with excellent knockers not disguised by her apron, and she giggled as she made the request, extending a sheet of paper in front of Matt. John had always liked Colleen – she filled his cup to the brim, never leaving space for cream.

"Oh, um, yeah." Matt accepted the pen she offered, spreading out the sheet. "Oh look, you're already here."

"I signed last week. It's her sheet of famous New Yorkers. He's from Camden, you know. New Jersey," he added, not wanting to test her knowledge of geography.

"That's okay. He saved the city with you. You guys saved the country."

"I was born in New York," Matt offered, flourishing a sprawling signature on the sheet under John's name. "Poughkeepsie."

"Thank you, Mr. Farrell. We can't thank you guys enough for what you did. You rock," Jackie bubbled as she carefully tucked the sheet back into her 'make your own design' travel mug. "I hope you drop by more," she gushed at Matt before bouncing behind the counter, showing her addition to the other barista.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, kid. It doesn't last long."

"People still remember what you did at Nakatomi."

"What are you talking about?" Jeez, Nakatomi was almost two decades ago. Matt would have been in grade school, and it had never got the press out here like it did in L.A.

"You're honored on the MySpace page of the kid you saved. It's a good picture, though I'm used to you without hair."

"My space page? What's a my space page? I didn't save any kids at Nakatomi. They were all adults."

"He wasn't born yet." Matt made a rounding gesture over his belly, making John remember a pregnant woman running with the other hostages. "MySpace – it's a website for social interaction, a place to meet people. I can show you." He started to swing his pack onto the table, but John stopped him with an abrupt wave of his hand. The last person who'd pulled all his information off the web had been a criminal and a killer who kidnapped his daughter and zeroed out his IRA, and hadn't getting that restored been fun? John was fucking always going to have paper records, no matter how much the department preferred electronic storage.

"You were researching me?" Matt's face was blank, as if he was confused by John's anger. Maybe they all did that these days, looked up everyone's histories, but it was wrong in John's book. "Don't research me. You want to know something about me, you ask me, okay?"

Matt nodded slowly, still not seeming to comprehend, and maybe he didn't. "Sure. I won't look you up again. I didn't mean anything by it."

Suddenly deflated, John slammed down half of his coffee. "Sure, kid. I know you didn't." He studied Matt's face, the big brown eyes and thick eyebrows, the faint stubble already springing back after this morning's shave, the silky fine hair, and wondered why the hell he'd agreed to meet him. There were decades of time and worlds of understanding between them. They weren't ever likely to be good friends, much less the lovers John was guessing Matt wanted them to be. Matt ought to be fooling around with a cute young doll like Colleen. "Look, kid – "

Matt let some of his own anger show. "Don't call me kid. My name's Matt."

John accepted the correction, but didn't let it stop him from saying what needed to be said. "Matt. I appreciate what you did, okay? You saved Lucy's life and I will never forget that. But this is just kinda insane. We don't have anything in common and we never will. Have a good life."

Leaving Matt staring in shock, John stood up and walked out.


John would not admit even to himself the sudden fierce gladness he felt when he pounded up to his front steps and saw Matt sitting there, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers halting from their typing as Matt registered John's arrival.

"Before you say anything," Matt spoke rapidly, "I'd found your address before this morning. So I already knew it before you asked me not to research you. And I asked the guy at the corner store what you like to drink," he continued, waving a six-pack of Guinness at John. "So I figure that's like doing detective work, right?"

"Yeah, that's like detective work." John grabbed the Guinness, stepping around Matt and unlocking his front door. Apparently Matt was not going to let whatever was happening between them end easily. "Jeez, what were you buying out the stores today?"

Matt slipped his laptop into his pack and gathered up his plastic shopping bags. "I'm still replacing my computer equipment. I bought most things online but there were a few things I wanted to pick up locally." He followed John into his house, dropping his bags in the living room. "Were you jogging?" he asked incredulously.

"What gave you the clue?" John headed to the kitchen, depositing the Guinness into the refrigerator, handing one bottle to Matt as he did, pulling out another for himself, and grabbing the opener off the refrigerator to pop the lids.

"I think it was the shoes," he answered, pointing with his bottle to John's ratty sneakers. "Or perhaps the clothes," making a gesture toward John's wife beater and running shorts, "but no, definitely the sweat." This time he didn't restrict himself to waving the bottle, but ran one finger down the side of John's face, along his chin and down his neck, to the scoop of his wife beater, disturbing the sweat generated by John trying to run away memories of one of the best blow jobs he'd ever known, and the person he'd told goodbye.

"Bright kid." John took a step back, raising his bottle to his lips at the same time, all one motion as if he wasn't escaping Matt's touch.

Matt let him go, his hand falling to his side as he raised his bottle, copying John's example. He promptly spat the black liquid out, managing to aim most of it to hit the sink. "Christ, that's like drinking sludge!"

John laughed and tried not to notice the kid's cuteness when he was being indignant. "Best beer ever. You want a coke instead?"

"No, I'll drink this," Matt insisted, leaning against the counter, his next taste a small sip.

"So what are you doing here?"

"I'm drinking a beer. I was thinking maybe we could have dinner. And talk." Matt was stubborn, that was apparent. John could respect the trait he shared. "Pig-headed" was a word Holly had loved, though he'd gotten "uncompromising" a few times, which he'd figured was just the polite version.

"Pizza good?" John noted the flash of happiness and relief in Matt's brown eyes. It had been a long time since he could make someone happy merely by agreeing to share a meal. Mostly he ate alone these days.

"Pizza's great."

"Let me take a quick shower. Make yourself at home."

Leaving Matt in the kitchen, John headed to the bathroom for a fast wash, showering the sweat off his body, loving the hot water on his exhausted muscles. Jogging was a necessary activity for him, dictated by his need to be able to effectively chase bad guys, and not something done for pleasure. Getting clean afterwards was the best part of the experience.

Toweling off, he discovered that Matt had taken him at his word, making himself comfortable on John's bed, the blankets pushed to the bottom and Matt resting naked in the middle of the bed, his fingers loosely curled around his dick, stroking absentmindedly.

"Fuck," John swore as he went hard. This should not be hot. It shouldn't. No nice breasts; no wet vagina for his cock to fill. Just lots of creamy skin on a lean body, a smattering of fur on a slim chest, a hard cock, a mouth that could deliver heaven, and someone who wanted him.

Matt rolled off the bed, dropped to his knees in front of John, and took his erect dick between his soft lips.

"No." John fisted one hand in Matt's fine hair, forcing his head away.

Matt licked his lips, giving John's cock a telling glance. "No?"

"This is insane, you know that?"

"Sanity is as overrated as conformity." Matt tried to capture John's dick again, making John tug hard on his hair.

"I want to get you off this time." Hell, if they were going to do this, they were going to do it right. Though John knew he had his share of disagreeable traits, he wasn't an asshole in the bedroom.

Matt slapped John's hand away. "I'm not arguing. You don't have to pull my hair." He rose nimbly to his feet. "You could fuck me."

John's dick gave a quiver, saying yes, yes, very much please, because his body was with the program, even if his mind had doubts. Out loud John asked, "Will that get you off?"

"If you do it right, it will."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. I won't let you." Matt caught John's dick and John allowed the pull to the bed, both of them falling onto it, John's hands burying in Matt's hair again as he claimed Matt's lips with a heated kiss.

"Here." Matt handed him a tube of lube that he must have brought, because –

"Gun Oil? Rapid Fire Lubricant?" John read the stark white lettering, decorated with traces of gun fire, with disbelief.

"It reminded me of you," Matt answered with a grin, and then took it back. "Never mind. I'll take care of it." And though Matt was smaller than John, he must have developed some muscles during his computer-loving life, because he pushed John toward the head of the bed. "Just sit on the bed. Back against the headboard."

John had never been one to obey orders he found stupid, but he was a-okay with reasonable ones, figuring out how Matt wanted him and scooting in position as Matt knelt on the bed, reached between his legs, and stuck his lubricated finger in himself, laughing at John's grimace.

"It feels good."

"Yeah, sure." Matt did appear to be enjoying himself, his breathing increasing, eyelids fluttering. "You, ah, touching your prostate?" he asked casually because he'd heard the gay cops claim it was fabulous and he wasn't going to act like he didn't know what he was happening. He did, even if he hadn't experienced it.

"Yeah. You can handle this right?" With his free hand, Matt flipped a foil package at him.

"I've been handling these since before you were born." At least the condom was plain and white, and not some funky dayglo color. John rolled it on, and slathered some lube on it. "You doing okay?" he asked as Matt gave a tiny wince.

"It takes a little time to stretch."

"You want some distraction?" John asked, capturing Matt's dick in his hand. It wasn't the first time he'd ever touched another guy's dick – when you were a cop, you had to deal with all sorts of weird crap, including manhandling naked suspects or druggies – but this was the first deliberate touching, the first time he curled his fingers along the shaft and stroked with intent, feeling the skin soft and warm. The sensation was surprisingly hot, a familiar but yet forbidden activity he had never wanted or expected to know.

"Distraction – yeah, distraction's good."

The dick stroking seemed to be going well, so John reached out with his other hand, pinching at Matt's nipples. They were small nubs, flat and brown, but they must be sensitive because Matt breathed out sharply, arching his chest at John.

"Come here." Keeping one hand working steadily on Matt's dick, John gathered him close with the other arm, making him straddle John's thighs, bending his back to offer those nubs to the exploration of John's hungry mouth.

Getting off was great. John loved an orgasm as much as the next guy. But he loved getting his partner – girlfriends, his wife up to that point – off even more. Panted cries in his ears, a body writhing in his arms, slick sweaty skin caressing his own, the smell of arousal… Matt gave it all to John, being everything he craved after too many damned nights of loneliness.

"I'm ready. I need – " he pushed John's lips away from his chest. "Space. Lean back."

John obeyed, releasing Matt's dick, spreading his arms on the headboard, offering his body for Matt to use. Fortunately Matt didn't waste time, holding John's dick in position, beginning to sink down, a trace of pain crossing his face.

"You said you were ready."

"I am! I am. I need to adjust. Give me time."

The motion of Matt jerking in place, rising a half inch and sinking back, was almost painful, because John's dick wanted it all, begged to be fully surrounded by that tight warmth. John ignored his cock, waiting, not moving, watching intently as Matt eased himself down, the expression on his face gradually losing the tenseness, settling back into pleasure.

When he judged Matt was close enough, John nipped at his ear, the sharp flare of pain making Matt sink the rest of the way, completely impaling himself. "Bastard," Matt responded, with dazed affection.

"I've been told that." John rubbed his cheek on Matt's, his dick screaming yes, yes, yes, because it had never known anywhere this tight, this hot, this fun. "You okay now?"

"I am so good," Matt mumbled, and then he began rising up and down in a sustained smooth glide, shoving back down forcefully, taking and releasing John's very ecstatic dick. "So good. Christ, you're big."

Settling his hands on Matt's slim hips, John kissed everywhere he could, fast kisses that landed wherever they would, aiming for erogenous areas, Matt's lips, his neck, his nipples, but sometimes hitting weird places, his nose, the side of his chin, random spots on his chest. Everywhere tasted good, like Matt, like youth. "You're good. You feel so good."

Matt's eyes were spacey, confused, and he rode John hard, bouncing up and down like he was on a trotting horse, totally absorbed in what he was feeling and needing as much as he could get. "Fuck!" he yelled, his come spurting on John's stomach, and John squeezed his hips firmly, grinding Matt down, letting free with his own roar, remembering the heat and fire and noise as he'd exploded sticks of dynamite down an elevator shaft, blowing out an entire floor of a skyscraper.

Panting, exhausted, with Matt resting on him, John thought maybe he wouldn't admit it had been quite that satisfying.

"Jeez, that was good," Matt breathed on the skin of his neck.

"Yeah, pretty damned good." Matt's back was warm and slick under his hands as John stroked him, feeling the last shivers of aftershocks matching the ones rippling through his own nerves.

"The, ah," Matt gingerly swung off him, making sure the condom stayed on, and with reluctance John heaved himself up and disposed of it.

Matt was sleeping when John returned from the bathroom, his body loose from his orgasm, limbs sprawled over the bed. Sex always gave John energy, but it seemed to have the reverse impact on Matt. John hesitated, not wanting to disturb him, taking the time to look now that he wasn't making any disturbing moves like dropping to his knees. Whatever bruises Matt had suffered during the day they'd met were gone, and the gun wound was a small scar by his knee. He was healthy and content, a young man who ought to be dating his daughter, but seemed to want a battered old cop with a bad attitude and broken relationships instead.

It was insane and stupid on Matt's part, but for once in his life, John thought maybe he'd go with the flow and not fight it.

Quietly, he slipped on a pair of sweats and left the bedroom. He'd give Matt a half hour to sleep, before waking him to see if they could agree on pizza toppings, or needed to order two. And after dinner… they could start to find out what else they agreed on.

~ the end ~