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Straight Outta The Closet

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Jason loved having sex. It didn’t matter what kind- rough and fast, slow and sweet, good morning sex, good night sex, sleepy sex, I-can’t-sleep sex, I-love-you sex, I-missed-you sex; it didn’t matter whether he was on the bottom or the top. (Or, in some cases, the middle.) He said that sex was one of the best parts of being human, and that religions banishing it were made by idiots.

He also looked the best during sex, and John didn’t mean that he looked hottest- well, he did , sometimes, but still. When he was having sex, Jason looked… alive. He looked young, healthy, lively. He looked like a man in his early thirties who had the best day of his life every day of his life. John could be fucking the man’s brains out and he’d look like a male model on a gay variant of the Playboy Magazine.

At first, John wasn’t even sure he knew what sex was. I mean, sure, the guy was a thousand years old, he’d had to have gotten busy at some point, but for the first three months that he and John were dating, he’d never even mentioned sex. In fact, he’d spent the entire time making John feel like he were the Queen of England.

Even when they fought- and gods, their fights were like flaming hurricanes, neither willing to back down, but neither willing to escalate the situation, until one of them stormed out- Jason would come back, anywhere from two days to two weeks later, an apology on his lips and food in his hands. He always, always apologized. Even when it was John’s fault. When Etrigan had gotten out, John thought for a moment that the demon might kill him. (And that it would be the hottest thing he’d ever been through. John was a no-shame kind of guy, after all, and that demon was incredibly sexy. He was huge. His teeth were huge. His voice was deep and rough… It was enough to make a man swoon.) The demon, however, had simply laughed a very, very knowing laugh that made John wonder if he could read minds, and then leapt away into the night, cackling.

The next morning, Jason knocked on John’s door, hair a mess and clothes rumpled, a wild look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” He burst the second John opened the door, making the man jump. “Wha?” He asked, more an exclamation of surprise than in answer to the question. Jason had already surged forwards, grabbing John and pulling him this way and that, checking him over like a doting mother over a worrisome child. John sputtered indignantly and slapped his hands away. “What are you on about, man?”
“Etrigan, did- did he hurt you? He’s a cryptic bastard, he won’t give me a straight answer, if he hurt you I’d never forgive myself-” John stopped him, then, placing his hands on the sides of Jason’s face. “I’m fine, love, he didn’t lay a claw on me.” John said seriously, looking into Jason’s eyes. They were a stormy grey-blue, like faded denim, or those weird short sleeved hoodies with the intentionally faded coloring, or the ocean when thick storm clouds had formed over it, refusing to let their rains pour, but the waves rolled and roared just the same.

This last comparison made John nervous, so he stopped focusing on his boyfriend’s eyes.

 Boyfriend. That word in and of itself made John a little nervous, a little woozy; the last real boyfriend he’d had was a werewolf. (Yeah, that ended as badly as you can probably guess.) Before him, it was just flings. One-night-stands. Other than this one man, that John might have liked to settle down with, if he ever had the chance, ever stopped running. He and his girls were killed by demons, though, and John quickly pushed that dream down into the vault where the rest of his hopes went.

But, Jason. Current boyfriend, currently still doting over him. “Honey, I’m fine,” John insisted. The pet name just kind of slipped out, but it felt so natural to say it that John didn’t care. “...Okay,” Jason finally said, eyes still overcast. John kicked his front door closed, then remembered that he didn’t have anything in his apartment to do that was appropriate for his boyfriend except play poker. He also only had ten dollars in his wallet. Honestly, he’d been having one of his episodes where he’d obsess about saving Astra, realize none of them would work, and then cry for hours until someone called. Usually Chas, who had some freaky ability to sense when John needed help.

Also, John’s chest was really starting to hurt. “Love, I’m really glad you came to check on me, but I don’t, uh…” He didn’t really have a valid excuse for Jason to leave, either, did he? John just wanted to take his binder off and then drink himself into a dysphoria-less, dream-less sleep… but he also really wanted Jason to keep holding him for a minute or two longer. Jason always held him like he was something to be cherished, and it made John feel like warm cotton- and not unpleasantly so.

 

Man, I’ve gotten off track. You’re probably still wondering why I started this off talking about sex, right? Well, be patient. I’m getting there. This isn’t just another “They had sex, the end” story.

 

Anyways, at this point, Jason was starting to feel a little stupid about rushing to John with no plan, and if there was one thing that man hated more than anything else, it was feeling stupid. With a thousand admittedly hazy years under his belt, stupid was the last thing he wanted to be. So instead, he leaned back, looked at the incredibly gorgeous man in his arms, and said, “Do you want to come to my apartment? I can make you breakfast.” He paused. “Or, have you had breakfast? Wait, did you have dinner?” No, John hadn’t had dinner. “Of course I had dinner,” He grunted defensively. “You also haven’t changed,” Jason observed, ignoring him. “Go get dressed, then I’m taking you to my house and making you breakfast.” with that, Jason kissed him, a sweet peck on the lips that made John feel like melting, and then pushed him towards his room. John rolled his eyes, but he was hungry, and he needed a distraction. It took him five minutes longer than necessary to change, because his chest really hurt but he really didn’t want to take his binder off, because Jason…

Jason didn’t know. John hadn’t told him. He’d meant to, at some point, if it ever became relevant, but John didn’t want to be rejected over something like that. He liked Jason- hell, maybe he even loved him. Call him foolish all you like, but John didn’t want to risk losing something that was going good for him. John didn’t want to take his binder off, but he knew that if Jason knew, he’d want John to take care of himself. So, doing his unaware boyfriend (and himself) a favor, he closed his eyes and pulled the garment off his chest. Keeping his eyes shut, he pulled on a bra, then a baggy hoodie that was at least one size too big for him. He’d stolen it from Jason’s closet the last time he had stayed over at the man’s house. (“You can keep it,” Jason had smiled at him when he saw. “You look much better in it than I do.” It was black, with flames licking up from the bottom left, going across the sleeves, front, and back, so it looked like the hoodie was on fire. John had gladly taken it, both for another garment that wasn’t his coat to wear, and also because it made him feel safe. It still smelled like Jason- like mint and freshly mown grass. If John was too far gone to call anyone, he’d curl up, press the hoodie to his face, and take deep breaths.)

Jason was tidying up John’s apartment when John finally came out of his room. He was a little too tired to feel bad about the plethora of empty beer bottles and cigarette butts littered about his apartment. Jason had thrown out most of the cigarette butts, after making sure they were out, and had stacked the beer bottles into pyramids on the counter by the door. “It helps me think,” He’s explained when he did it for the first time, and John asked him what the bloody hell he was doing. “Or, uh, I guess it helps me not think? It helps me think about one single thing, and gives me something to focus on with my hands.” John had understood how that felt. He didn’t feel the same about cleaning- he hated cleaning- but he understood. It was also handy, so he didn’t say anything else.

“Hey,” Jason greeted without turning as John shut his door, balancing a last bottle on top of a rather impressive pyramid on the floor, stretching up to Jason’s head. When he was sure the pyramid wouldn’t topple, he turned, and a grin broke out on his face when he saw John’s outfit. “Hey yourself,” John hummed back, sauntering up to him, all sarcasm and arrogance. “It’s nice to see you in something that isn’t your terrible coat,” Jason continued, grin still on his face. “Have you ever washed that thing?” John gave an offended gasp. “Of course I have.” Once. Not anytime recently. “Just because you said that, I’m bringing it with me. How does hubris feel, Blood?” Jason laughed. “It feels good, as long as you’re still wearing my clothes,” he purred back, pulling John closer and kissing his forehead. Wonder how I’d look if I wasn’t wearin’ anythin’ else, John thought absently.”Ey! Off!” He yelped as Jason moved to his neck, pushing the man about two inches away. The soft butterfly kisses on his sensitive skin were ticklish, and John was not about to start giggling in front of his boyfriend.

 Jason loved dating John. He loved being social, no matter how much he wanted to hide away and protect people from himself. He loved to touch and kiss John, even if it was just a hand on his back or a peck to his cheek. He loved being able to touch and kiss someone again.

“You’re like a bulldog,” Klarion had stated to him once, on one of the occasions when he came to pester Jason, and Jason just let him hang around for a few hours, because he was lonely and had nothing better to do than entertain him. “Elaborate,” the man replied. Klarion wiped strawberry ice cream off his chin and pointed at him. “Nobody likes you. But, you want everyone to like you! It’s tragic, really.” Klarion was always blunt and to-the-point. Jason kind of appreciated that, even when Klarion full-out insulted him to his face. His honesty was refreshing. “But don’t worry, uncle,” the boy chirped. “Some people love bulldogs! They have good smiles and are very loyal dogs.” He patted Jason’s head, leaning over from where he sat on the table. “You’ll find a bulldog lover someday,” Klarion said, a whimsical surety in his voice and a smile on his face. Teekl purred from the seat next to him, and he hopped off the table and whisked himself and his cat away, taking the tub of ice cream with him. Jason sat and pondered this for a while after.

He hadn’t really gotten it, even when Glenda broke up with him- which was understandable, 100%. He didn’t blame her for leaving, quite the opposite. He knew he shouldn’t have entertained the idea of dating a regular person anyways, not with an issue like his. An issue that spelled out “Granite”, in fact. But John hadn’t cared about Granite Bitch. He’d heard of Jason Blood, demonologist and alter ego to Etrigan the Demon, from his time in hell. Most of the demons there hated the man’s guts for taking their prince away from them, but they dared not touch him. John hadn’t known the details of his situation until Jason explained it to him, and the first thing he said was, “Is there a way I can help?” (Well, it was actually “That fucking blows, mate,” but it was in the same sentence.) He just kind of rolled with it, in a way not many people had. And when Jason found himself shoving the other man against a wall and snogging his face off, then he finally understood what Klarion meant.

Jason would worship John, if the man would let him. Not even in a sexual way. He just wanted to hold John to his chest and kiss him until the stars fell from the sky and hell froze over. Etrigan liked him, too, as far as Jason could tell- he’d killed almost all of Jason’s past lovers, which infuriated and unnerved Jason to no end, but the demon seemed almost protective of John. “I don’t get it,” Jason had complained once. “You kill all the men I try to date for the past thousand years, then you kiss Glenda, and now you growl when anyone other than me touches John? Do you just like blondes?” To avoid he and Etrigan switching places while he slept, Jason had taken to sitting with the demon in his mind while his body rested. The sad little corner Etrigan had carved out for himself, the little void with the thorn cage, had made a sorry sight, and after a while Jason, despite himself, felt so bad about it he changed it. Now, he sat in a gymnasium, containing benches and multiple heavy weights, along with a punching bag in the middle of the room. Etrigan liked this setup much better than the last, though when Jason was there, he’d just use the bag as a scratching post and watch as Jason waved his hand to stitch it back up. “I like John,” Was the demon’s only reply. “That doesn’t technically rhyme,” Jason pointed out, and Etrigan narrowed his eyes at him before slashing the bag open, sand spilling everywhere.

Despite this assurance that the demon wouldn’t hurt John, Jason was still reluctant to sleep with him. (Etrigan only killed his past lovers after they had sex with Jason, for a reason he couldn’t fathom.) Which was very, very hard sometimes. Sometimes Jason wanted nothing more than to push John against a wall or bend him over a desk and fuck him until daybreak. Other times he wanted to make love to him. Jason loved that it was called that, because it’s exactly what he wanted to do- he wanted to pour all of his love and affection into the man, to say “yes, I love you, I want you, you mean everything to me” with every slow roll of his hips, every lazy kiss to John’s mouth. Gods, his mouth. His lips. Jason could write a novel on everything about John that drove him crazy. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, his laugh… the man was intoxicating.

And Jason was desperately, hopelessly in love with him.

Even now, in Jason’s room, the TV playing some movie that neither of them had been paying attention to. John looked beyond delicious in Jason’s hoodie. Jason wanted to rip his pants off and fuck him, to see him gasp and arch his back. Was he a loud bottom? Would he bite his lip to keep himself quiet?

Jason pushed these thoughts away before he popped a full hard-on while making out with his boyfriend. He always, always let John initiate things, let him be on top. Jason was taller than him, stronger than him- intimidating. He didn’t want to accidentally pressure John into doing anything he didn’t want to, so he let John take control. It was an arrangement they both liked. But now, John seemed reluctant to climb onto him, and eventually Jason pulled away. “Baby, are you okay?” He asked, brows furrowing, lips twisted into a frown.

John was not okay. He wanted so desperately to be okay, but he wasn’t. And maybe he was getting too comfortable, maybe he was caught up in the moment, maybe it was the deep concern in Jason’s voice, the sincere worry over him; whatever it was, something pushed him, and he just let it spill out, choking on the words. “Jason, I-I-I’m trans,” He almost sobbed, face flushed and eyes wide, desperate and hopeful. He hated being honest about himself, but gods damn him if he didn’t love the man in front of him, and damn him again if he wanted to lie to him. (Despite these self-assurations, he still very much wanted to jump out the window.)

Jason, for his part, blinked. His brain slammed on the brakes in surprise, shifted gears, and hesitantly started rolling again. “...Okay?” He said after a moment, more a question than an affirmation. “Okay?” John repeated. “Yeah, that’s-” Jason seemed a little lost for words. “I mean, that’s- that’s fine? Am I supposed to throw a fit or something?” He seemed genuinely confused as to why John was so anxious. “I mean, I don’t really care if you’re trans. You’re my boyfriend. I love you. You could have, like, a snake in your pants, and I’d still think the world of you.” Then he remembered that “snake in your pants” was a euphemism for “a really big dick” and sputtered out a correction, but John was already laughing. Loud, desperately relieved laughter. “So, you- you don’t care? That I’ve got the wrong parts? You still…” You still love me? “John,” Jason said, putting his hands on the man’s cheeks and stroking his thumbs across them. Was John crying? God, why was he so weird? “I don’t really think they’re the wrong parts, they’re your parts. It’s just you. And I- gods, John, I love you so much-” John lunged forwards, tackling him into the bed, kissing him desperately. (Everything he was doing was desperate. Chill out, John.) His chest was pressed against Jason’s, but he was too euphoric to be dysphoric, and just curled closer, smiling brightly. Somewhere, Jason could hear Etrigan start purring.

“So…” John said after a few minutes. “So?” Jason asked, arms casually hooked around John, fingers twisted together behind his back. “So, how do you feel about sex?” John asked. Jason grinned. “Awesome. I feel awesome about sex.” John could barely contain his giddiness, and pressed his face into Jason’s neck. “I’ve thought about it a lot,” he mumbled. Jason hummed in interest, shifting until he was back against the pillows, John completely on top of him. With how well Jason responded, John was as comfortable as ever, sprawled lazily over him like a cat after a warm meal. “I’ve- god, I’ve wanted to have sex with you for so long,” John sighed. Jason’s cock twitched, despite himself. John felt it against his thigh, and a devious grin formed on his face as a plan came together in his head. He sat up and placed himself squarely in Jason’s lap.

After all, John was a loyal boyfriend; he hadn’t gotten dicked down in three months. He deserved a little fun.

 

“Tell me about it,” Jason purred, hands sliding to John’s hips, thumbs hooking into the belt loops of his jeans. John’s grin only grew wider. “Well,” he hummed, rolling his hips teasingly into Jason’s, making the other man bite his lip and whine. Etrigan shifted in his little corner and growled, and then Jason understood. He didn’t want to kill John, he wanted to watch. And Jason was just fine with that.

“My favorite one is where I’m wearing this sweater,” John whispered conspiratorially, rolling his hips in a slow, circular motion over Jason’s hardening dick. “And you push me up against the wall, pull my trousers off, and grind your cock up against me.” Jason was painfully stiff, straining against his jeans, and John’s boxers were soaking. “And I wrap my arms around your neck as you lift me up and carry me to the bed, and then you pull my shorts off and eat me out.” John continued with his fantasy, and Jason was sure, distantly, what he was whimpering- probably drooling, if he was honest with himself. He bucked his hips up instinctively, desperate for more friction, but John pinned him down and leaned over him. “And once you’re all done with that, and you’ve brought me,” He was rolling his hips harder now, practically humping Jason’s aching cock as he whispered against Jason’s neck, “squealing, writhing, gushing over the edge-” Jason whimpered a shaky “Please,” and John shut him up by shoving two fingers in his mouth. “-You’d slick yourself up, push up my legs, and fuck me.” Jason’s back arched at the thought. “You’d go rough and fast, pin me to the bed, so all I could do was scream, ‘Jason, please!’” As John recited this, he made his voice wetter, higher, desperater. Jason threw his head back and snarled, John’s fingers popping out of his mouth with a wet sound. “Will you do that for me, baby?” John asked sweetly, his slick fingers dipping into his pants to finger himself. He didn’t really need them to be slick at this point, with how wet he was, but he knew Jason would like him spitfucking himself. And he did; Jason was panting, growling, every fiber of his being screaming at him to fuck the gorgeous man in his lap, but ever the gentleman, he breathed, “Let me get a condom first.”

John rolled over and let Jason stumble up, squirming out of his jeans and pulling off his shirt. He tore open a condom wrapper with his teeth, looking John in the eyes as he did. John’s responding moan made him grin. He let his boxers drop to the floor as he pulled lube out of the drawer, then practically pounced onto the bed. He rolled the condom on as John watched, fucking his fingers as deep inside himself as they’d go, biting into the sleeve of his other hand. Jason yanked his pants off, pulling his boxers with them, first up to his knees, and then completely off. John settled back comfortably, spreading his legs, and the sight of him pushing his fingers in and out of himself tore a moan out of Jason’s throat. He barely thought to squirt lube onto his cock when John pulled his fingers out and primly slid them into his mouth, sucking. His half-lidded eyes were locked on Jason’s, and gods, he was going to die before he even got inside his giant cocktease of a boyfriend.

Jason had planned for their first time to be meaningful, to spend hours pushing John over the edge again and again, finding every single spot that made him whisper Jason’s name breathlessly. He wanted to treasure John, to hold him close and not let go.

He was doing that now, kind of. The not letting go part, at least. He’s skipped the eating out part of John’s fantasy the moment the cheeky blonde started sucking on his fingers. Instead, Jason had pushed his legs up, resting his ankles on Jason’s shoulders, and admired how pretty the man was for a moment before stuffing himself in.

Up to this point, John had been fairly quiet, so Jason was pleasantly surprised when John threw his head back and screamed “Fuck, yes!” at the top of his lungs. (Jason was also glad he’d thought to put up a sound-proofing spell in his room.) It took all of Jason’s willpower to not come right then, with John moaning like he’d never been touched before, his tight, tight hole squeezing around Jason’s cock. Too tight, almost. “Is it too much?” Jason asked breathlessly, but John wailed over him, “Don’t just sit there, you bloody, filthy bastard, fuck me!” And that was all the invitation Jason needed.

Payback, he thought as he moved his hips, starting a sharp rhythm as John moaned. Jason pressed his thumb to John’s clit, massaging it, rolling his thumb over the sensitive clump of nerves slowly as he pounded John into the bed. The man was swearing, squirming, his words too jumbled and slurred to understand. Jason wasn’t really sure if he was hitting a good spot or if John was just that sensitive, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less.

John came screaming, jolting, digging his nails into Jason’s back as he shuddered under the cacophonous wave of pleasure. Jason was right behind him, pressing their bodies flush together and moaning brokenly into John’s neck. The hoodie was soaked with sweat, and the sheets probably weren’t much better. Jason tried to pull out, but John pressed his nails into Jason’s back again and sobbed, “Wait, wait, please.” Jason settled on top of him instead, peppering kisses onto his face and neck as the man came back to himself. Finally as they caught their breath, Etrigan growled, “I think the movie’s over.” And Jason burst into laughter. “What?” John asked, smiling from Jason’s infectious giggles. “E-Etrigan,” was all the man could wheeze out. “Ohh, the demon’s got jokes, does he?” John hummed, a wide grin on his face. Jason giggled hopelessly. “I think the movie’s over,” he repeated, and then they both laughed.

Then, finally, John had relaxed enough for Jason to pull out. (He still whimpered.) Then they showered, kissed, fucked a little more in the shower- John’s hands were experts, apparently. John felt so… comfortable. He had only hesitated for a moment before pulling off the hoodie, eyes looking pointedly away from his chest, and pulled the bra off. Jason’s eyes were starry. “What?” John asked, both flustered and annoyed. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met,” was Jason’s response. “Can I-”

“Absolutely.”

Afterwards, he didn’t even put the bra back on. Jason gave him a shirt (“This isn’t available for stealing,” he’d said pointedly, and John pouted) and a pair of boxers, and once they were both changed, Jason snapped his fingers and let magic clean the sheets.

Then he curled up with John and hit restart on the movie.