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Lavender

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It was a beautiful afternoon. The early spring sunlight shone through the curtains, giving the bedroom an almost heavenly glow and warming everything it touched. The sheets on Laszlo’s bed were cool and smooth, and the sight of the man spread atop them was one John would never tire of; a dazed expression, a pliant body; one leg bent and the other splayed slightly outward to allow John the perfect view of his clear need. A need that John felt reflected in himself, only intensifying when Laszlo’s eyes found his through the haze of the pleasure that John had been subjecting him to for the better part of an hour.

“John…”

Laszlo bit at his kiss-swollen lips, flicking his tongue out to wet them. He shifted his legs, pushing a foot against John’s knee where it rested at the edge of the mattress. John chuckled, closing his fingers loosely around Laszlo’s ankle and leaning down to kiss the crook of his hip.

“Just a moment, my dear. I want this to be good for you.”

“You’re always good for me,” Laszlo mumbled, and John laughed.

“I hope that will still be your opinion in a few moments. I had to spend a pretty penny on this, but I was curious.”

He gave a quick aha! as he shook the small bottle from the pocket of his discarded trousers into his hand. He held it up for Laszlo to see, giving it a slight shake.

“According to a friend--coincidentally a rather credible source for such things--this particular oil is of the highest quality. It’s slick, easily transferable--and, it smells like lavender.”

He knew that had Laszlo been in any state of mind to do so, he would have huffed and goaded John to get to the point. As it was, he just softly groaned and furrowed his brow.

“John, please.

John would be lying if he said seeing Laszlo so undone wasn’t a thrill of its own. He hadn’t forgotten his own need after all, and had to resist the urge to wrap a hand around himself.

“Right,” he said instead, dropping the trousers back to the floor and shuffling up the bed. He kneeled over Laszlo, straddling his legs as he twisted the lid of the bottle, eager to finally get inside of him.

The lid didn’t turn.

John frowned in mild annoyance, but merely tightened his grip and tried again. And again, nothing--the small metal cap stayed firm, not twisting in the slightest.

With growing impatience, John wiped his hand on the sheets, then the bottle itself; but still, the lid stuck fast.

“Fuck.”

Laszlo brushed his fingers over John’s bare thigh. “What’s the matter?”

“Ah…” John held the bottle up to show him with a grimace, moving to kneel to the side of Laszlo instead of over his legs. “The lid appears to be stuck.”

Laszlo frowned. He pushed up onto his good elbow to get a better look.

“Try turning it the other way.”

John could have hit himself. “Of course--the other way.”

He followed Laszlo’s direction but, much to his dismay, it made no difference. He groaned.

“Oh, for the love of--”

A sudden loud laugh startled him nearly enough to drop the bottle. He looked up to where Laszlo had flopped back on the bed, an arm slung over his face and, most surprising, chest shaking in laughter.

“Laszlo, what on earth is so funny?”

Laszlo just shook his head. Half of his face was obscured by his arm, but John could clearly see his wide smile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled, moving his arm to grin up at John, “it’s just--it’s extremely fitting.”

When John just looked at him blankly, Laszlo sighed and reached up to fondly brush his knuckles over his cheek.

“When I requested that you pick up something to replace the last of our oil,” he said, no longer laughing but voice still full of mirth, “I had been expecting another bottle of the same; not a luxury purchase that likely cost twice as much for half the amount. Though, I suppose I should have foreseen that you wouldn’t settle for simplicity.”

John’s face heated, and he frowned.

“Is it so wrong to want to treat you to some luxury every once in a while?”

Laszlo shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he said softly, and John couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed at the earnest smile on his face. “I simply mean that it’s very much like you to go the extra steps for something that would otherwise seem trivial; asking a friend, ensuring the quality, leading up all afternoon to the grand reveal--and then after all that, the damned thing doesn’t even--”

He dissolved back into laughter and, after a moment, John couldn’t help but crack up as well. He flopped down on the bed beside Laszlo, laying a gentle palm on his chest and feeling it rumble with his laugh.

They quieted down soon after, ending up simply laying together on top of the sheets. Their bare legs were tangled together, and John was lazily tracing meaningless shapes across Laszlo’s chest with his fingers. He had the passing thought that the moment, while perhaps not intimate in the way they had set out for, was intimate nonetheless. It was a different sort of closeness--a feeling that only Laszlo had ever sparked in him.

As though he could read his thoughts, Laszlo leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. His throat constricted as he swallowed, bringing his weak arm up to drape it loosely over John’s waist.

John was, at this point, nearly fluent in the language of Laszlo Kreizler, and he smiled at the tenderness of the gestures.

“I love you, Laszlo,” he murmured. The words were quiet, trapped in the space between them on the pillows, and Laszlo’s eyes shone as he smiled.

“And I, you.”

Laszlo’s lips on his was a sensation as familiar to John as the sunlight warming his back. He exhaled softly, pressing back into the kiss with a slow sort of desperation--not so much an impatient hunger as a deep, consuming need to be close.

When John moved a hand down to grab his hip, Laszlo broke their kiss with a quiet breath. It was then that John remembered their situation--helpfully aided by the hot press of Laszlo’s erection against his hip, stirring his own back to life.

“Do you--” he was cut off by another kiss, Laszlo seemingly unable to decide whether he wanted to keep kissing John or let him pick up where they left off. “Would you--should I try to find some oil in the kitchen?”

Laszlo pulled a face.

“I’d rather you didn’t. I’m not entirely sure I know where a suitable substitute would be, and if Cyrus--or heaven forbid, Stevie--saw you like this, even clothed, there would be no doubt about what got you in this state.”

More like ‘who,’ John thought to himself. Instead of voicing it, he ran his hand up from Laszlo’s hip to the curve of his back, then back down along the swell of his rear.

“Well then, what do you suggest we do instead?”

Laszlo hesitated; for such a commanding man in average affairs, he could be strangely inept at voicing his own wants in these matters.

“Will you--that is…”

“Will I…?” John prompted gently. Laszlo’s face was noticeably red by now, and he pursed his lips while purposely avoiding John’s gaze.

“Would you...put your mouth on me?”

John tried to hide the warm smile, not wanting to risk embarrassing Laszlo further. Instead he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the centre of Laszlo’s chest.

“Of course,” he murmured against his skin.

He kissed his way down Laszlo’s body, slow but not teasing. When his lips met the seam of Laszlo’s hip, he stopped and looked up to meet his heated gaze. John felt his cock twitch against his cheek, and he couldn’t hide the faint smirk at that.

Turning his head, John parted his lips and mouthed along the base of Laszlo’s cock. It pulled a shaky breath from above him, spurring him on to grip Laszlo tighter, run his tongue flat up the side of his cock and close his lips around the head.

“John,” Laszlo gasped, two hands flying down to grip John’s hair with varying strength. John closed his eyes, focusing on sinking down and letting Laszlo slide deeper into his mouth.

As he started to slowly bob his head, John ran his hands down from where they framed Laszlo’s hips to slide up under his rear, gripping and kneading the soft flesh. Laszlo’s legs were shifting restlessly, and John gently took hold of his thighs and spread them. Unprompted, Laszlo let his legs butterfly out, making more space for John. He made a soft noise of displeasure when John pulled off, kissing the tip of his cock apologetically before moving lower.

“John, you--oh--oh--

Whatever Laszlo had been about to say was lost in a loud, unrestrained moan at the first kiss John pressed over his entrance; John had the feeling that his reaction was sparked more from the sheer obscenity of the act than the physical sensation.

With John’s hair out of his reach, Laszlo’s fingers curled into the sheets as he dug his heels helplessly into the mattress. John simply tightened his hold ever so slightly on Laszlo’s legs, tongue darting out to trace around the puckered skin of his hole. He was slow in his ministrations, keeping his steady pace despite Laszlo’s mounting desperation.

Despite the unfortunate change in their plans, John still fully intended to make him fall apart.

It had been a long while since John had partaken in this particular act, and as far as he knew, Laszlo never had. He listened, observed, drank in every reaction from his lover; cataloguing Laszlo’s “tells” that he had learned and using them to turn him mad with pleasure.

He’d only just worked Laszlo open enough to breach him with his tongue when Laszlo let out a hurried burst of German. He started to reach for John, but he was already there, hovering over Laszlo and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, feeling Laszlo’s good hand run through his hair. “What do you need, darling?”

“Touch me,” Laszlo pleaded. His voice was rough, weak with want, and the ruined sound of it sent a shiver up John’s spine.

“Yes,” he whispered, not entirely sure whether he meant it as confirmation or as gratitude.

Laszlo jerked when John’s hand wrapped around him, almost enough to knock him off-balance. He steadied himself, using the hand not on Laszlo’s cock to guide one of his legs up; understanding, Laszlo lifted both legs and wrapped them around John’s hips.

John withdrew his hand just long enough to spit into his palm, before angling his hips to press his own erection against Laszlo’s and grip the both of them together.

Laszlo let loose a string of guttural German, sounding broken even to John’s untrained ears. His legs tightened around John’s hips as he thrust up, and John sighed roughly at the slide of Laszlo against him.

They moved in tandem, Laszlo using his legs as leverage to thrust into John’s hand, John stroking them both quickly in turn. With how much time he’d spent riling Laszlo up beforehand, it wasn’t a surprise when only minutes passed before he tensed, scrabbling at the back of John’s neck with his left hand.

“John, I’m--please, my love, I’m going to--”

John acted quickly, pulling away just enough to slide down the bed once more. Before Laszlo could finish his stuttered warning, he was using one hand to spread his ass again enough to reach his twitching hole.

Laszlo finished like that; with John stroking him off quickly with one hand, and squeezing his rear with the other as he worked his tongue against his entrance. John felt him seize up, his legs flexing on either side of his head. He could practically taste Laszlo’s moan of release on his tongue, could feel the rumble of it down his body where John’s mouth was buried against him.

His own arousal spiked hot and sharp in his gut, and he pulled off of Laszlo with a gasp. Practically shaking with the force of his own need, he let Laszlo weakly urge him up to kiss him, groaning hotly when he felt his cock slide through the puddle of spend on Laszlo’s stomach.

Laszlo held him close, breaking the kiss only to turn his head and whisper a mix of English and German endearments into his ear. His good hand slid between them, curling around the head of John’s cock as he rubbed against him, and that was all that it took.

“Coming--!” was all John had time to gasp before his pleasure peaked. He hung suspended in it for a moment before it broke over him, making him pitch forward to bury his obscene moan in Laszlo’s neck as his hips twitched with every spurt of come he spilled between their stomachs.

 

Some time later, once they’d both caught their breaths and John could feel his legs again, he slipped out of bed to the wash basin on the other side of the room. The water wasn’t warm, but Laszlo didn’t complain as John tenderly wiped him down with one towel, then patted his skin dry with another. They both could do with a proper wash, he mused, but for the moment he was content with falling back into bed beside Laszlo.

The sunlight had turned golden in the last hours of afternoon, and the lace of the curtains cast whimsical shadows over the room where it shone through. Laszlo was warm against him, his chest rising and falling against John’s with even breaths.

He mumbled something into John’s neck, muffled and incomprehensible. John hummed in question, feeling sated and heavy.

Laszlo sighed, a puff of hot air against his skin. He pulled away enough to look John in the eye.

“I love you.”

No matter how many times John heard those three words in Laszlo’s voice, he knew they would never lose the rush. He smiled, his whole body feeling light.

“I love you, too.”

He was almost asleep when Laszlo spoke again, and grunted out a “whawazzat?”

He felt Laszlo smile against his neck.

“You still need to buy more oil.”