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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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Priestly doesn't stop him, because that would mean stopping what he's doing and there's no way he's stopping what he's doing. He thinks about using fingers but instead he presses them into John's flesh and continues to use his tongue, working it in a little but mostly just sucking and licking and yes, biting gently on the fleshy bits and leaving red marks in his wake.

It's a luxury he's never really even dreamed of to have this much time and privacy to revel in a thing like this. He keeps his movements slow, the rock of his hips and the graze of his fingers along the twitching length of his cock.

He sees no reason to rush any part of this.

Priestly could almost—almost—let it go on forever. It certainly feels like he's trying. But they've already come once and that means he wants to make sure that this one counts. It takes a tremendous amount of willpower to pull away, but he finally does.

"You can have me if you want," he says, the words barely a breath against John's leg, all spoken in one exhalation.

"I want," he says, heel resting against Priestly's bare skin. He shifts his hips, squeezing his fingers around his cock, trying to find his centre again. He drags in a shuddering breath.

"Come up here," he says, a note of military steel in his voice for a moment.

Priestly wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, takes a few slow, deep breaths, and finally lets go of John's thighs to move up the bed. He almost doesn't. He almost dives back in and takes him the rest of the way. But he wants it all.

"I'm surprisingly flexible," he says, the words just running themselves right out of his mouth. "Everyone always says so."

"Does everyone, indeed," says Granby, looking amused as he leans up, fingers curling around the back of Priestly's neck to pull him in for a kiss that's hard and hungry enough to bruise.

"I want to fuck you until you forget your name," murmurs Granby, so close that his lips smudge against Priestly's.

Priestly thinks he just did. He can't even quite answer him, not verbally, just lets his lips part and his legs part and feels a little bit like he's melting. Oh, pulling away was the best decision ever.

His hand's between them, cupping Priestly's cock, palming the length of him, feeling how hard he is. It's a possessive gesture, possibly a touch too rough, setting the tone.

"I want you on you knees with your head down," he says. He says it gently enough, but he also sounds exactly like he expects to be obeyed.

"I..." Priestly gets out, but it's not a statement that demands an answer. Actually, it kind of feels like something he should just do. And in the space of time it takes him to think about that, he's body's already moving into position without him.

There's something immediately and intensely gratifying about the way that Priestly shifts into position with barely a word. John pushes up off the bed and moves behind him, kneeling. He rubs his thumb from Priestly's tailbone and down the smooth patch of skin behind his balls, then back again, lingering to press against his hole, teasing.

"I assume you have the necessary?"

"Around," he says, waving his hand vaguely without lifting his head. Around the bed somewhere. He hasn't needed to keep anything around for a while, but he still does, more out of habit than hope. He's grateful now that it's there when he needs it.

There's a bottle of something at the side of the bed that strikes him as familiar and he leans across the small of Priestly's back, reaching for it. He sits back on his heels, pouring enough into his hand to get his fingers slick.

"You're going to have to make yourself useful," he says, grinning, eyes fixed on Priestly's naked form. "Get your hands back here and spread, if you would."

It's funny that that, more than anything else, makes Priestly feel a little dirty. In the good way. He does exactly what John tells him to, without comment, because he has a strong feeling that good things are coming his way.

For a moment, he just sits back and takes that in - Priestly's fingers pressing into the meat of his arse as he spreads himself, the length of his thighs and the weight of balls and cock between them.

Granby makes a low sound of want in the back of his throat before he leans forward and trails his slick fingers down the cleft of Priestly's arse.

"Tell me you want it."

"I want it," says Priestly, and not just because John's telling him to (though that's definitely a part of it), but because if he says that, then maybe he'll get it faster and now, and any ideas about making this last forever are gone in the face of him wanting it this much.

Faster and now aren't really words on Granby's mind, especially given how little time he's ever had to really linger over this. He presses the tip of one finger against Priestly, rubbing, massaging, but not really trying to push deep.

"What is it that you want?" he prompts, still grinning.

Priestly isn't any better at dirty talk than he had been earlier, but he manages to get a few words out. "If we fucked," he says, the words muffled by the blankets on his bed, "that would be good."

It just might be the biggest understatement that has ever erupted from his mouth.

"My mother always told me that patience is a virtue," says Granby but he does start to work his finger into Priestly's body, slowly but steady.

'Your mother never did this,' Priestly thinks, but mercifully manages not to say out loud because talk about mood killers.

He exhales, slow and loud, and tries to relax but his body is still so tight with anticipation.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, no small hint of wanting in his voice. "But you need to relax. I do not wish, particularly, to hurt you."

"Believe me, you won't," says Priestly. Everything's gonna snap pretty soon and he's going to melt like jelly into the bed, probably long before John actually gets around to the fucking part. "Just...keep on...that."

"Relax," says Granby, that note of steel back in his voice. He doesn't pause, though, pushing his finger until it's buried to the knuckle in Priestly's body. He lets it sit, for a moment, and then he pulls it back out, almost all of the way, before pushing it back in, fucking him smoothly.

It occurs to Priestly, just for a moment, how far he's come from Santa Cruz, and how little he expected to be here today. But it's only for a moment, because having John on the cusp of being inside of him does not leave a lot of room for stray thoughts.

"Just do it," he says, pushing himself back against John's hand, and letting a torrent of words loose at last. "Just do it, just fuck me, just do something, you're not gonna hurt me and trust me, I'm going to open up for you, you have no idea, just do it, just try it, just try me, just trust me."

"Patience," he says, again, easing another finger in alongside the first. And it's torturing him, a little, just as it's clearly torturing Priestly, and that's part of what makes it good.

"Fuck patience," says Priestly, squirming hard up against him again. Man, if his self of three years or so ago could see him now. "You know you want to. You know you want to do it. You know you don't want to wait either."