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priestly

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continued from here.

"I'm thinking we should probably get out of here," says Priestly when John's reaction is definitely not one that suggests Priestly is going too far. He slides his hand further under his shirt, so it rests just above his hip, and moves in close enough that their jaws are brushing up against one another. The feel of faint stubble against faint stubble is not one he's felt since Yorick, and he's missed it more than he realized. "Take our few successes and leave this for another day. Unless you just want to duck into the caves for a little while."

It would be so easy to turn his head, to press his lips against skin, but he doesn't. He drags in a shivering breath and nods. His shirt's open, but he feels completely naked in that moment.

"What's in the caves?" he asks.

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It's not something Priestly ever had to worry about, but he can imagine what it was like. Maybe, after being here for long enough, John won't feel like he has to find corners anymore. But for right now it's their best alternative.

The door requires more attention than he wants to give it, forcing him to turn around briefly, but then they're through and they're alone and they're very unlikely to be interrupted. And the first thing he does is gets John's back against the wall and he's got his mouth against his jaw like he's been dying to do ever since he first put a hand on him.

His back hits the wall and he breathes out, fingers tightening on Priestly's shoulder. He doesn't know what to do with his other arm, the hand that he can feel that isn't there, so he keeps it at his side.

Usually, it's him pressing someone back into shadows. The change in position is undeniably pleasant.

A few moments later he's pulling John's shirt open on both sides, starting to push it back over his shoulders but not wanting to let him away from the wall long enough to do it. He ends up fisting the fabric and grinding it against the wall as he presses his body up against John's, shoulder to knee.

This much is, at least, familiar. He's known what he is for a long, long time; he's welcomed the press of bodies, close, the familiar feel of muscle. He presses forward with his hips, with his hand, leaning hungrily into the kiss. It's barely started and he already knows completely, without hesitation, that he will take this anyway he can.

Priestly forgets, sometimes, that John is missing the hand, but he tries not to make a thing of it when he remembers, other than trying to get them into a position where John won't find himself needing it. Not that that's easy when all he's thinking about right now is grinding up against him and wishing he could use twice as many hands as he has, to touch everything he wants to touch.

It's cool in the caves but he already feels sweat on the back of his neck, and John's skin feels so hot where they're pressed together. He lets go of John's shirt only long enough to pull his own t-shirt off, losing it somewhere at their feet.

Priestly strips off his shirt and John kisses him hungrily before he pulls back enough to touch, to take in the sight of Priestly stripped to the waist. He trails his fingers down, from the side of his neck and over his chest, down to his belly and back again. He grazes the edge of one nipple with his thumbnail and his eyes flick back up to Granby's face.

Priestly leans in and bites down, just a little, catching the edge of John's lip for a moment before he opens his mouth wider to gasp. "Harder," he says, under his breath, before kissing him again. He digs his fingers into John's hip then, one hand still clutching John's half-removed shirt.

The bite is good, the tilt of Granby's hips serving as evidence as that, even as he does as directed, scraping his nail across Priestly's nipple again before he pinches, lightly, between forefinger and thumb.

"Fuck yes," says Priestly, a little louder. He gives up on the shirt, but not before he manages to tear off a button, and moves his hands down to John's trousers. "Like that."

Breathlessly, Granby grins. pinching again and twisting a little. He's far from a virgin, not a child, but the direction is helpful.

He glances down at Priestly's hands, his hips shifting against the wall.

It's on the tip of Priestly's tongue to say "tell me if you want me to stop", but sometimes it's better to bite your tongue and trust that people will do what they want, and nobody's going too fast here. Nobody needs to offer an out.

He's only got shorts on, drawstring at the waist, so they'll be easy enough to push down and kick off.

"Thank god Laurence hasn't got you in pants that have buttons all the way up or I'd be ripping them all off right about now," he says. The fact that it takes any effort at all is, at the moment, too much time wasted that could be spent skin on skin.

That's enough to make Granby laugh, a warm huff of breath against Priestly's skin. His hand slips lower, fingertips brushing Priestly's bely before they skim lower, his whole palm sliding down to graze the press of Priestly's cock through his clothes.

It's almost an ache, the pulse of sensation he feels when John does that. The fabric is thin, and John's hand is solid and firm and Priestly pushes back against him, rubbing into his hand. For a moment he forgets what he's doing, then, when he remembers to breathe again, he redoubles his efforts to get John out of his clothes.

The heat against his palm is distracting and he squeezes before he shifts his hand away again, shoving at the waistband of his trousers one handed, squirming out of them. He's not wearing underwear.

He's never had any problem being naked.

Priestly just wants to...he wants to do a dozen filthy things to him all at the same time, but some of them require more props than he has available so without even stopping to consider the hard stone beneath their feet he drops to his knees and mouths the side of John's cock, hands firm on his hips to keep him pressed against the wall.

Oh, God. It's been so long and just that touch of Priestly's mouth is perfect. There's a part of him that wishes he had Priestly's cock in his hand but this is so, so good.

And there'll be time for other things later.

Priestly's always taken pride in how good he is at this, first with women and then, once he met Yorick, with dudes, too. The fact is, he's just good with his mouth and, when it comes to getting some, amazing powers of concentration. So when he goes for it, he goes for it. Sucking and licking and breathing and little nips with his teeth in places that aren't too sensitive to handle it.

Granby's had his fair share of this, good and bad and middling. His hips jerk against the press of Priestly's mouth, fingers pressing into his hair. He rolls his hips experimentally. He doesn't want to be too rough, doesn't want to force a pace - he feels like he's feeling his way in the dark.

Priestly can take just about anything he can give. Which isn't to say that he doesn't have a gag reflex—a fact he considers a real disadvantage at the moment—but he can handle it. He wants to handle it. He sinks fingernails into John's skin and sucks harder and closes his eyes.

He takes the press of nails into his skin as a hint. His fingers tighten, holding Priestly's head as he rolls his hips and slides further past his lips. He's used to being silent that he bites back a moan, head tipped back against the rock wall.

Priestly hears the almost-noise, the stifled sound, and grazes the slightest bit with his teeth again to try to coax it all the way out of him. God, the things he wants to do to him, the places he wants to touch him, the walls and floors he wants to pin him too.

It comes out of him quiet, almost choked, a little sound on the end of a sigh. For a moment, he forgets all about Priestly's gag reflex and jerks. He'd feel bad about it if it didn't feel so good.

Priestly shifts, he adapts, he definitely does not stop. Maybe there are a dozen other things he wants to do to him but right now he's doing this and it's shot like a rocket to the top of the list. His knees are going to hurt like hell after and he doesn't care, he pushes them even harder into the ground as he pins John to the wall and swallows him as far as he goes.

He can't possibly last much longer. He can feel everything starting to unravel and he might have his hand in Priestly's hair but he's also not the one in control.

And it's glorious.
"Priestly," he breathes. "I can't. I won't...."
There isn't much longer.

Good, thinks Priestly, exactly like that: an emphatic voice saying 'good' in his head. If he's doing this right, John should be trembling and breathless and right on the edge right now, and he knows he's doing it right. He presses with the flat of his tongue, then flicks and swirls it and sucks him down again, one hand still grinding into his hip and the other between his legs, cupping and stroking his tightening balls.