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It’s dark and cold outside, and in this dusty room of his, where a Roxy record spins on a quality sound system, is lightened by a multitude of weak little lamps. Johnny can barely see in the fucking dark. This poor and worsening eyesight of his rarely has its advantages. So, he sacrifices the mood and opens the curtain a little more. Overcast light shining in. Returning soon to the warmth of the nest, but not before he cracks open the window to vent the room. Stuffy warmth from sleeping bodies. They’ve been awake (after long intervals of dozing on and off all throughout the day) for about an hour or so. After a previously grueling episode of his body shifting and twisting, slowly transforming; opening here, closing there.
Some so-called virtue presenting itself for the taking. There’s no fair body here, and much less a fair mind. He finds it sickly perverted that his body, on its own, apart from the reigning logic of the brain, has decided to throw itself into the whirlwinds of some boring passion. Begging for sex, begging for insemination. Mortifying it was when he’d been met with the most world ending arousal on his first heat. The need to get a damn hold of himself had never been stronger.
Marijuana smoke comes thick and heavy his way. Familiar and comforting- but not when it’s getting blown in his face. Down comes his hand, batting weakly at Sid’s shoulder. They’ve been at this all day, the same old game. It’s all they do during Johnny’s heat.
He can’t even smoke during his heat, anyway. That leaves him feeling fucking crazy. Like the blaze’s consuming him alive. What good is weed when it doesn’t even come providing him that well earned relief? Well, he still rolled one, out of the simple pleasure that brings the action, but also out of the goodness of his true and pure heart. Sid’s got some weak nerves, a weak heart. A natural born worrier, he is. He needs it.
Since then, they’ve sat around for some thirty or so minutes in a poor excuse of a ‘nest’. Layering dirty laundry that’s been accumulating for months on top of Johnny’s frameless mattress. A real pillowfort they made with them, and with actual pillows, too, of course. But, now he’s getting bored. It’s just smoke and the eventual cough; and this damn copy of some French author’s flowery recounts of utter boredom some so-called friend told him he just had to read.
In the meantime, he thinks, and thinks about how: It’s cruel, his heats, but in between, he can make them so deeply comforting. He spent all night listening to passing cars, and Sid snoring with the intensity of a foghorn, curled up like a baby on the other side of the mattress (he still refuses to cuddle, outside of post coital activities). This is what matters in heat, he believes, to be comfortable, to feel safe… not that he’d ever reveal to anyone that thought.
And after another long while, he finds himself yanking that joint right out of Sid’s hands, and stubbing it right onto the filthy, burnt, carpet. It's utterly unbearable the more he sits and waits. He’d been going so strong, a record of three days. Slickness moving down, travelling to the cleft of his cheeks. They’ve got the gear ready, and have had it ready since the very first moment they hunkered down together. They’re only having sex now, because Johnny wasn’t gonna give himself up to something so animalistic before it shoots him its last threat.
And, here it is. The blistering burn of at least fifty suns at the very center of his core. The most agonising sensation in the world, the feeling of all-consuming arousal.
He’d had it, he tells himself, damning his own anatomy, his bodily functions. He had it for about thirty minutes.
It’s Sid’s fault, he decides to blame. Sid’s the beginning, he’s the end. High and low. They work too nicely with each other, he’s beginning to fear the more he stays by Sid, relies on him to lull the pains of his heat, the more his resolve to keep himself mateless will wear thin.
But he’s trained him so well. Sid’s moving in a flash, gathering, twisting, pushing. First come the mitts, typical oven ones- that, Johnny hasn’t, ahem, ‘saved up’ enough for- and only with them on, does Johnny begin helping. Gathering tape to bind the oven tight, strapped to his wrists. He bets Sid’s hands are already sweating under there, already aching to hold something- anytime he gets a ‘pang’ of his, that scent of his becomes unbearable.
Not that either of them can really smell it, beyond the faint notion that it’s there. A tickle of the senses. It doesn't smell much beyond the typical bodily smell, earthy and seedy. Maybe, with some underlying notes of sweetness in between, but not much else. But, those senses. Oh, they take it all perfectly in, that scent, those pheromones impetrating for some mate’s sweet relief.
With those on, the rest of the work is all on John. gathering a multitude of things from the drawer just next to the head of his mattress. Almost knocking a couple of bottles down with his impetus movements- god, he’s got to clean this fucking place up, one day, just to clear the fucking ways up.
The gimp mask fastened and a metal mouthpiece guarded around those teeth. It’s overkill, but also it’s part torture, the only person meant to like this is Johnny- and he doesn’t! Not one bit! He’s only doing this because he has to, because his body demands him to. Sid’s only got little holes to watch him through, and that’s enough. He’ll only see what he has to, and only touch what he needs to. Same goes for speaking. But, Johnny was kind- for once. this is the one, that he totally did not steal, with an opening for the nose. Sid won’t have to worry about suffocating in it.
He comes crawling right over him. Spindly pale legs allowing him to creep and check, then double check, these restraints well applied, safely secured. Fighting the urge to leave a little kiss on the tight rubber. His heats always turn him so affectionate.
Finally, come the cuffs, short fastening clicks follow, set over his taped on oven mitts- arms and hands to hold. Limbs at his mercy. Utterly incapable of libertaring himself.
Johnny crawls into that very tender hold, the cold leathery strap restricting Sid’s wrist to the desired limit now resting over his back. Balling his fists into stiff sticks within his mitts, the heat of John’s body rolls off of him. His scent, the memory of the salt of his skin on his tongue, when he’s allowed to give all kinds of lavish, pleasuring licks.
First things first, John goes right back to a series of neurotic checks. If one thing comes loose, it’ll be a total disaster. He’s pondered over every way it can go wrong; for example, if Sid’s cuffs were to come loose, and the tape with it, and the oven mitts were allowed to be displaced, then he’d have the dexterity to take off the mask.
Were he to take off the mask, then that threatening mouth would come free, and with his awarded dexterity, he suddenly would have the ability to hold him down, bite his tender flesh, mark and claim him all for himself- what a disaster, then. Johnny couldn’t- wouldn’t- be claimed, be bitched by anyone. He’d make the very point of excusing himself from the public eye forever. Nobody would ever see him again, especially not Sid.
They never fade, those bites. They’re the mark of the beast.
Straddling his hips now, where a hand comes to slowly unbutton his pyjama top. Blue pinstripes over white, some feigned look of innocence. One hell of a show he’s putting on, how nice he is to Sid, working him slowly into a frenzied state worse than the one he’s desperately working himself from. With no real plan to actually undress beyond the necessary.
Within another hit of cruelty, Johnny lets himself grind against the little stiff thing between Sid’s legs. Shaft meeting the clothed cleft of his rump in this sort of mock copulation. Hardened to the point of the most hurtful of exposure, foreskin pulled taunt, revealing the reddish, shiny tip.
Johnny doesn’t care that the slick his body tirelessly produced is growing uncomfortably wet, penetrating layers of cloth, from his underwear to his trousers the more he pulls them forwards, back that rump so Sid has all the more to desperately grind into. Within the little light, seeing those yearning doe eyes look past the peeping holes. Finding Johnny’s expression, set upon his fine and pallid features, typically merciless.
He’s going fucking crazy from it, little twitchy cock spilling pints of pre-come on his stomach, and he hasn’t even touched him yet! What a pathetic little display, John has only gained more restraint over the years, more control. No money for suppressants, no access either within this callous state, couldn’t just go running after any slight whiff of an alpha, now could he? Well, back then, with how squalid those dirty bastards were, it was really quite easy, he tells himself, in false retrospect.
Everyone was under this constant state of absolute filthiness for it to have mattered, and with omegas like him, under a constant state of horniness too. The squats were a dangerous place to find yourself falling into the throes of heat, you never know what’s creeping around the corner to come and use you. Hollow you out like a damn husk- At the same time, there was a market for young omegas, extra money to earn- as if he was that fucking desperate! He came here to be free from any fucking tyranic rule. To whore himself would’ve been a complete betrayal of his own morals! He’d rather starve, he’d rather rot!
It made sense then, that Sid, young and, at the time, still rutless¹, would be the one picked out of a bunch of alphatic² morons (as if he was getting courted, his hand fought for, choice to pick from) to bring him some relief. Back when he had no drive to bite, and no ability to knot. Utter heaven, the soothing sweet scent of him, even through the damn filth.
He still remembers his mum’s worry, when he’d finally found his way back home- that they had to bring him to some dank clinic, just to check, once he’d been allowed back home. He can’t imagine how worried sick she might have been, berating his father every damn day about the hundred horrid possible realities he might’ve been living through. He couldn’t be blamed for getting his heat so early, at some tender fifteen. Just a year ahead of the average. What can he say? He’s always been ahead of the curve.
But, yes, how terrible it would’ve been. As if he was a fucking moron, stupid enough to get himself knocked up. Who do they think he is?
He’s much smarter on the topic of sex than he’d been five years ago. Nasty little tricks picked up from the streets. Strange things these- and then, SEX came around in the meantime, and provided some more. Magazines and people have shown him all manner of interesting sights. He’s truly seen it all, he believes- Now, what comes next is experiencing it.
Bondage has found its wonderful way into the hearts of young omegas like him- want to make an absolute toy out of your partner? Too scared to let them mark you, or just not wanting to get tied down? Don’t trust who you’re fucking with? Want to hurt an alpha really, really fucking bad? Frustrate them to tears then leave them to suck it up when they go into rut sooner or later? Bondage’s got the remedy, just for you!
He’d earned himself some gear (not from SEX), nicked himself some other (okay, some of these ones were from SEX). It’s just what an omega’s got to do, he can’t be blamed!
Protection is unheard of. Suppressants are a joke, especially when it comes to acquiring them, don’t even get him started on the quality. But, Johnny knows all he needs to keep himself from committing a big mistake is putting a little condom on Sid’s cock. Rubber containing all his nasty baby making demons far from his innards.
And, he’s not all horrible with this big helper of his. Back at the squats, plenty of times he offered up his thighs for young, moronic Sid to get his poor and sickly first ruts dealt with, spilling all weakly in the dark quiet of the night, a pseudo thing brought on very simply by those pheromones his heat provides. Again, that sweet, innocent scent assuring Johnny he was still all safety. Body forced to hasten its development all for him, how cute. And, how pathetic that even after all of these years, Sid has not developed some form of restraint, or some self control.
And he’d been worried too, so worried about when his helper would find his proper rut. Who’d fuck him then, lull the ache of his heat?
Well, they’ve seemingly figured it out now. Bringing that cock to rut up against him. Body opened in all manner of embarrassing ways, spilling slick like a fountain, just straight pissing it out of his ass.
The deal had been made, Sid was now his very personal heat reliever, and when it came to the possibility of mating, marking, or mere claims of getting game. Johnny had them dealt thing first thing, as soon as the contract had been made: he’d grabbed Sid by the front of his old lady perm and told him very clearly “Tell anybody about this and I cut your fucking balls off, Sidney.” and reliever he’ll remain, until Johnny finds some worth spending the rest of a lifetime with. Mateless, again. He cannot stand the idea of anybody biting down on his neck and claiming his body and soul for themselves.
But he’s managed a nice compromise during these few heatful days, as much as he ends up drawing them out severely with his hatred for the acts.
It’s easy sex for Sid, and pure relief for Johnny.
That is, when he doesn’t have him sit on stand-by, or offering the bare minimum: a handjob, or a blowjob, or some thorough rimming (only on the table if he’s recently showered), which he’s found he’s embarrassingly a fan of. Things that only bring John pleasure, and force Sid to be nothing but his little tool.
There, that’s enough for now- he’s got to be to the meat and bones of this thing. Finally pulling down his trousers enough, momentarily, just to release his ass. Bringing Sid’s drooling cock to rut again, skin on skin. Cringing against the stickiness of him, slavering against his cheeks. The worst part being that- it’s actually cooler than his heat-flushed skin, but not for long. Soon enough, Sid will be boiling just as he’s been. He’ll do all to bring him to that desperate simmer, make him join him in this deep suffering. No escape for his little heat reliever.
He doesn’t care much for undressing properly, for now. Focusing on the most important step of them all. Johnny reaches upward towards the drawer, mindlessly following the motions of ripping the top of that small little wrapper off with his teeth, too busy with his hands. Sighing as he pulls himself back, trousers ending up sliding back up his slim thighs he reaches under his legs for Sid’s cock. Pulling him up rather carelessly by that strap, and trying not to grin when he helplessly follows, too subservient to allow himself to hook himself off so he can lay back down.
“There…” Johnny mutters, sizing up the slightest swell of his cock, assuring he’s got that condom nicely trapped. The biggest disaster imminent is right here. Neither of them need a small, scampering nightmare lodged into his bowels. Growing, and growing. Swelling him to impossible sizes. Ghastly, innit? That’s been their one shared condition. Protection, always, or complete and total abstinence otherwise.
He’s just this ready to stick himself into an abbey, and never see the outside world again. That’d properly do him better, but he’s having too much side in this outside world. And, what misery could ever emanate from the insides of a cloister? Pah, what a bore they must be.
Only now does he allow himself to strip. Just because it’s getting fucking unbearable, and the heat can at least escape from his legs, and his open shirt. Giving himself a tight squeeze through his trousers for some momentary relief, unhooking Sid from himself. See? He’s being nice!
He can feel that intensity, boring into him from the tiny holes allowing Sid to see through the gimp mask. Trying not to suddenly turn self conscious, ready to button his clothes back up, pull his trousers over his stiff cock, help Sid out of all this gear, and act like this set up never happened.
But an inner voice, perhaps of his very heat, tells him to get his act together. Trembling slightly as those pyjama bottoms drop. Radiating, just as he’d guessed, rolling heat. Hairs raised on end. All mental energy focused on keeping up appearances, so much so he’s half blind as he throws those trousers wherever. Tunnel visioned onto his one goal.
He gives him a single generous pump, watching Sid softly stir, toes curling on themselves, every nerve ending already electrified. Thumb following up, all held in the caring cradle of his palm. Part of him wants to bend and bow, and lavish that piece of Sid with kisses, licks- lose all inhibitions and take him to the hilt. Mouth watering at the taste of him, the sweat and salt of his very skin. It’s exactly for that reason he gives his cock a sudden slap, after his fingers mindlessly caress his inner thigh for dragging seconds. Ignoring Sid’s little ‘ oowww ’ as he straddles him again. Lube unnecessary where they’re headed.
No ceremony wasted as he sinks right down onto him. Baring the usual shocks with ease. Hooking his thumb under the strap restricting poor Sid’s wrists, pulling those arms taunt as he sinks and sinks. Pretending his body isn’t trembling in the meantime, pleasure leaving his stiff cock twitching, typically dry with heat. He’s glad omegas haven’t evolved to have their willies shrivel up during heat, with how useless they become. Impotence at this age, once a year! That would be mortifying enough to kill him.
Johnny settles himself into some easy, boring pace. Focusing on everything but the feeling, still acting unbothered by the tight squeeze of his heat, or trying to. Nothing can hide the deep blush reddening his features, or the tired look around his eyes, of a man so tortured he hasn’t managed to properly sleep in the past three days.
Using the lost springiness of his shoddy mattress for some more push to his movements. Attempting to ignore every tiny clench and squeeze his body gives. Holding that intrusion so tight inside, like he can’t get enough of it. Like his body can’t get enough of begging. Begging… Johnny shakes his head, trying to make the movement as minute as he can’t. He really shouldn’t have picked the one out with the little holes for the eyes.
Trying to use that shake to drive himself faster. Sid’s grip helps him keep pace, forceful through his mitts, enough to bruise, if it wasn’t for the soft barrier of cotton. Gripping at the counter of his drawer for some sort of balance as his legs aching as he attempts at keeping force to his ups and downs. Sid’s cock finally meeting his spot. Sending a world shattering jolt up his spine, curving off into each and every nerve ending. Through it all, Johnny refuses to speak. His whimpers and whines enough. At least he has strength enough to keep himself from moaning.
That’s all he needs to take initiative. Using that grip to drive up with need, whole body tightening around him. Sid doesn’t have to dream, knowing already what it’s saying, what it’s begging for. Maybe, one day, John’s stubbornness will reach such heights his body will act on its own, for his own sake, for his good, for his pleasure. Words appearing underneath his skin, all just for Sid to read, to guide him secretly through their shared goal.
He’ll conspire so neatly with it, bring Johnny to the wildest of pleasures. Show him to not be afraid, melt his disgust with a single, lubricious gesture. Wring a climax so heavenly it’ll have him seeing stars.
It’s all he dreams of: Johnny’s face twisted in such deep pleasure, broken into by such wondrous means his defenses all dissolve. Have him whine, finally, as he’s been yearning to. Let him lose itself to it, and hold his hand through it, so nothing truly takes him. That supplies Sid with enough vigour to trust up maniacally up into him. Almost making Johnny spurt into a fit of laughter at another ridiculous little display of his. His little grunts, muffled animalistic sounds they are, just make Johnny snort.
Rolling his eyes as he goes twisting that strap around his wrist. Switching positions will simply make it easier for himself- Sid’s had it too easy! Laying down and being offered one hell of a ride. Well, it’s what they recommend for frail little omegas, isn’t it? Soft and sweet missionary- as if he’s gonna be face to face with grunting black latex. And, he’s got to remind his pet alpha who’s in charge here, no? Can’t have him get greedy, or think he’s ever been in control. Using the strap of the cuffs, he comes lifting Sid’s lean, nimble body up. Following his every command, Sid knows just what's being demanded of him. Allowing Johnny to take his comfortable place on the pillows. One managed under his core to soften the harsh sway incoming.
Sid tries his best to keep up with demand, mittens grappling at his sides as he attempts to drive further, deeper. Skin mercilessly slapping on sweaty skin. His thin waist the focus of some odd dreamy fantasy- he’s sure of it! Sid must be imagining some pretty, sordid, run of the mill, useless, agreable, witless, terrible other omega! He must be imagining.. He must be imagining-!
It’s enough to make him want to shut his eyes and cover his ears. The most vomit inducing sound in the world. His slick squelching between them as Sid’s balls slap against his. Throwing his back further into it, meeting each further thrust- just to fucking get this over with, John assures.
Pulsing cock moving within him, threatening further and further to meet its goal. Johnny’s not gonna act like his body isn’t trying to wring him dry, either. It’s not his fault, is it? That his ass is so tight, hole squeezed around that intrusion, despite how easy his distending slick makes for penetration, of the most widening degrees.
Johnny bites down on his thumb nail, trying to focus on anything else but the cock meeting his limits. Sticking mercilessly into his spot with some practiced ease. Stupid, idiot Sid, always bragging about this and that in the bedroom, and now that they’re here, he doesn’t even have the decency of sucking at it!
“‘M getting close.” he warns, face buried in the pillows for not a second longer as Sid goes back to the old position- John hates him, he tells himself. Hates the smug smile behind that mask. What weakness he so willingly exploits.
Feeling his body forcing itself open again, dileating to the widest point. He swears he can feel slick rush right out of him. His nasty inner juices. But, obviously, it’s merely his imagination. Half lidded and deaf in one ear as Sid starts rutting up into him, still strenuously working him to the very end. The tireless sheen of sweat must be covering his face, seeing it cover his neck, its pale expanse glowing as it catches the light.
It’s cruel! This world is cruel! Sid’s handsomeness strumming some heavy cord at his very core. Keeping a nice purr rolling. He can imagine it with ease. The way he must be screwing all his features. Mouth hanging slightly open, suckling the mouth piece for some resolve for the lack of skin to sink his teeth into.
And, beneath, where his hand comes travelling, following all that glistening lean musculature. He imagines the fire of an emerging rut beginning to flicker. Smiling to himself. They’re animals, the both of them. Nothing more, nothing less.
Needy little animals looking to mate, to breed. For a moment, he tries to swallow the feeling of patheticness and enjoy it, the primalness of it, but he hardly can. Rolling his eyes just to himself. Like he’s looking to mate, or breed. Like he needs something crawling around his inner tubes to swell him nice and round, like they’ve been telling him he ought to, ever since it was clear where he fit within the so-called ‘trinity’.
He’d rather carve his own womb out than give birth to any ugly, little, baby germinating from Sid’s corrupted seed. Whatever his spunk’s made of, if it manages to take root in him, whatever comes of it, well, it’d be pure fucking evil. Maybe the honest-to-God antichrist itself.
But Sid, what’s he been thinking about that? He’s already aware that, in between fighting to keep his false social image honest in the daytime, with his bar fights and squabbles, Sid dreams of little sheep jumping white fences. He’ll sure have to change sexual partners if this one turns around and tells him he wants a tiny, evil, baby.
Hah! Well, for now, Sid ain’t trying to be anybody’s daddy. For now, Sid knows his place. Sid knows he’s nothing but a little toy, and he accepts his position diligently- and for that, yes, for that. Johnny will mercifully reward him.
“Y-Y’gonna-” he can’t stop his voice from quivering. Voice box squeezed as every other moan and whimper is simply screwed out of him “Y’gonna knot me, Sid?"
Sid just follows with desperate nodding, gritting his teeth around the metal mouthpiece to bear the burn, enough to shatter. The deep white heat melting his core. Hair sticking to his forehead the more he sweats, deeply uncomfortable, suffocating, under the mask, droplets dripping from his body aflame. He doesn’t even care about how fucking wet the mattress’ gonna be once this is over, how uncomfortably moist to lay on it’ll be. He can’t stop thinking about the sinuous squeeze of Johnny all around him. Body accepting his knot, well loving him up. The squeeze of the condom around it already driving him nuts- he’s so close. Too near for comfort.
Johnny grapples at his shoulders, pulling his damned weight for a moment and planting both feet against the ratty thing beneath them- barely helps. Rendered gelatinous under the blaze, he falls back to his knees within seconds, but that hardly deters him. He’s on the bounce within seconds, switching instead his grip for that drawer behind him, for further balance. Cock bobbing heavy within rhythm. Unashamedly ignored.
Doesn’t matter- Johnny’s whiny voice “C’mon, Sid-!” bending down, coming to nag come more into his ear, is all it takes to throw the both of them over the edge “Do your fuckin’ job, knot me already!”
It takes moment after grueling moment to settle once he’s stretched to his own undecided limit. Body finally allowing itself to receive its one perceived goal. Whether Sid can knot it or not is all on Johnny, after all. His body and pleasure. And, here he is, accepted to the limits of his depth.
Sid’s knot penetrating and opening him, as his body goes stiff and straight. Gravity’s mercy awarded down onto them. The slick slide is easy, as painful as it is. He’d be used to this if he weren’t denying himself any sexual adventure when his body demands it, but it’s equally his pride. Nobody has him… yet.
It takes all his focus, his control, to move. Twitching hands crawling, slender fingers shaking. Digits sliding along the warm metal of the collar holding still the gimp mask. Undoing that tight buckle at the back of Sid’s neck, sweat rolling down, droplets speckled across his pale and lean musculature as his skin twitches underneath, a world shattering sensation each time a drop falls over his burning chest. Bunching his fist around the back of it, rubber squeaking, wet from sweat, trying his best not to accidentally rip Sid’s hair right off with his sluggish motions.
Sid’s face is all red and puffy the moment the mask comes off. Hair sent in each and every direction, yet not much different from how he styles it. Dampened and heavy from his sweat. Looking at him with these beady little glassy eyes, but he’s guessing that’s from how stuffy the mask got, pupils blown wide from the thrills of pleasure.
There’s no real holding back now. Hormone powered kisses speckled onto every inch of skin, then on those heavy, swollen lips. Red from abuse, shining with spittle.
Those oven mitts are an absolute torture now. His body’s burning under the sudden molten waves of his orgasm. The tape keeping them secured around his wrists is a job for a pair of scissors, only relief he gets is Johnny releasing him from the leather cuffs. Not much else to be done about it, not even out of meanness. That knot swelling him open, his body clinging, accepting, keeping them tied together- yearning for some insemination that’ll never come. It’s a heavier weight than the one Sid’s feeling, and that he knows. All he can do is pet-pat his way into bringing Johnny some much needed comfort. Wincing and grimacing at the pain he’ll never get used to. Stretched so wide, and remaining with no real relief- his hand ducking right back to his cock, mechanically tugging at his length, hoping to cum again, quickly, as soon as possible. His mind’s only clear five or so seconds after a world shattering climax, and then comes his heat again, asking him why he isn’t knocked up yet.
So much wasted seed, all from Sid’s little balls.
His pulse slowly begins to halt, but he still feels the tremble of each beat in his hands. A frightening little kick to each tug he gives himself. Sid just holds him, incapable of doing more. He did well, did what he was asked to and nothing more.
“Thank you,” John mumbles, out of simple politeness, he tells himself, and hopes Sid doesn’t hear a sound. Still, he repeats it, hanging on to the feeling, the vibration of his vocal cords, to hang on to a piece of physical reality “Thank you…”
The barrier created by the condom cuts short the downtime for his knot to deflate as well. Within a handful of minutes, John’s lifting his hips. Cock unlodging itself from his tightness with what’s almost a pop!
Finally allowing Johnny to flop onto his back, pulling his trousers back up despite the blistering heat eating his whole body alive, and the gross, wet feeling of slick and spunk. He doesn’t care, doesn’t care for the discomfort. He’ll do anything but be naked like this. But, he doesn’t go buttoning up his shirt now, allowing the cool winds from that cracked window to swim into the room, flowing around them. A clement chill over his sweaty skin that has him shiver in relief.
They take just another moment to settle… before Sid’s gently pawing? pushing? his soft, cotton oven mitts against him- looking at him with those big doe eyes, like he’s asking for a piece of candy at the store, and just ready to throw a fit if he doesn’t get it. It takes a while for John to get what he’s asking, and it would’ve taken more, had it not been for him asking “What?”
Sid’s expression takes some odd turn for the worst. Looking at him, nauseous, like a sailor in a lifeboat- or maybe in a raft, under the blistering sun. Johnny finally gets it. He’s not going to last an hour more with those things secured around his hands. Damn it! They just can’t go wasting all the tape like that. Limited supply they got here!
But, he’d rather that than Sid suffering from heat exhaustion in November. Sighing to himself as he seizes up one of his arms. Teething a bit aimlessly at the tape, plasticky taste filling his mouth. It takes a couple of tries, but miraculously, he manages to dig his teeth in just right. In a complete vice grip with it, twisting back to rip away with all the energy he can muster.
Johnny can’t help but spit off to the side, needing something to wash out that taste. Now wrapping his fingers around the tape, where the glue must’ve begun melting- he swears- because there’s no way this stuff is that sticky. Throwing that mitt off to the side as soon as Sid’s loose enough. Giving him a tired shrug, telling Sid to figure himself out of his other mitt.
Sid lays busy, bothering himself with his other wrist, and all’s perfect until Sid’s free, rolling onto his side, wrapping his unbound hands around his burning figure, and pressing his lips onto his clothed shoulder. John’s sure to immediately push his face away, body moving along. Feeling dampened sweat, where his fingers easily slide against that wet skin. He doesn’t need to be cuddled! Much less kissed! But, he quickly allows him to return. Right, Sid’s sensitive, Sid’s a weak and frayed thing. He needs the love, the kindness. Johnny ought to not remain so cruel if he wants to keep their contract working.
Sid lasts about two seconds still, before he’s reaching overhead for the drawer, right next to the head of their (temporarily) shared mattress, for one of his comics, having brought a ridiculously massive pile with him on the very first day. All his fragile paperbacks tucked so carefully into a holdall. He’s begun accumulating them, with each visit- Sid just forgets them, his precious babies. What a bad daddy he’d be.
It’s strange to think that, slowly, sooner or later, he’ll have to make some space for them. For his endless supply of drivel. “I’m gonna try sleepin’ now.” he announces, which earns him a simple nod against his shoulder. Not minding the fact that laying his head and staring straight ahead forces him to look at that very drivel. Little lines and dotted colours, and speech bubbles with senseless dialogue. Men in suplex thighs, with their undies over their pants.
He’d always known there was something wrong going on up in Sid’s head.
He doesn’t mind it, in the end. The lull of his ups and downs as he desperately tries to settle on a position that’d have his view given full access to his object of interest. This slight rock that makes Johnny feel… small, calm. For a fact, he’s being most definitely held, and he feels all the safety of being in another’s arms. He doesn’t know when, or how, it happens, but slowly, his body loses all tension. Head and hands going lax, out of his control. Body turning heavy on the ratty mattress. And, instead of grueling heat, comes this veil of gentle warmth enveloping his body.
He lets his eyes fall shut, and ignores the typical flutter in his chest. Knowing he’ll have to repeat this scene again when he wakes up.