[Yeaaah he's not too eager to get into parental issues right now, either. That's a bit of a mood killer.]
Well... I can give it a shot.
[Said in a kind of chipper drawl that strongly suggests that yes, of course he can. Even though he's never done this before and has no fucking gameplan.
He'll just feel it out as he goes along. He thinks he might have an easier time working from this angle.
He puts a hand on John's knee, slowly pushing it down, so that he can move to straddle the man. Homelander takes him by the wrists -- not too much force, just as much as he needs -- and pins his arms by his head, meeting his gaze and smiling a little before dipping in to kiss him again.
It's a really fucking slow, obnoxiously Disney kiss. Just, with the occasional scrape of teeth, this time. And a bit more friction.]
[Slow and steady, takes some getting used to. Admittedly not his strong suit, but he goes with the flow. There's something about that smile that looks a touch more menacing, bathing in the shadows now that Homelander is looming over him. But far from making him ill at ease, he's eager to dig deep, double down, go all the way past the point of no return.
He can't help but wriggle his hips, try to grind back a bit even though he knows he ought to behave. The kiss makes his mind drift even though he's kissing back - reluctantly not because he doesn't want to, but because it feels affectionate. Like the last kiss in a romcom, only- so much more real.
It's rude to think about other people when you're in the middle of nipping the lower lip of the hottest thing to have sauntered into your life in a while, but this spontaneous boyfriend experience is pushing the guilt up to the surface, and it gnaws and gnaws and gnaws.]
Hm. [Closed eyes flutter open to greet his surprise find, mystery country boy, gift that keeps on giving as all the unwanted feelings get stuffed back down into their too-small box, giving way to the lusting and the curiosity that led him here in the first place.] This is nice. [A quiet admission, despite the fact that they haven't gotten very far just yet and Homelander probably didn't need the encouragement.]
[The grinding doesn't bother him. It's not like John's gonna get very far with it, and it's actually kinda fun. Honestly, nothing much bothers him when he feels in control, and right now, he's right in that smooth, slightly electric zone between control and slowly edging out of it.
He does need the encouragement, actually. Not that he'd ever admit it, but... yeah. It sends a surge of rare, disorienting warmth through him.]
Yeah?
[You can probably hear that he's pretty pleased, underneath that playful smugness.
Yeah. This is nice.]
Well, good.
[He lets go of John's wrists, presses a quick kiss to the side of his mouth, and sits back so that he can peel off his shirt -- might as well reward good behavior, right?]
[It goes deafeningly quiet until you can hear a pin drop. Well, if it wasn't for the sound of his racing heartbeat thumping in his ears and light, shallow, fast breaths to accompany the orchestra of involuntary reactions, along with his pupils dilating and the heat rolling over his skin in waves. He probably elicits similar reactions from everyone everywhere he goes, so hopefully it doesn't come as any sort of surprise that someone he's straddling might want to bone him.
Most people might have said 'wow' but he's too busy ogling, a freed hand drifting to his already loosened tie, slipping a finger into the knot to undo it completely. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, mouth running dry. Idly he's rather thankful he's still sober enough to enjoy this.]
You're uh... I d- I don't- [Words, Constantine. Surely you know a few more of them.]
[Well, it's definitely far from quiet for Homelander, because he can hear every heartbeat of John's perfectly and, uh... wow.
On the one hand it's pretty incredible, on the other, it's kinda overwhelming and he feels like he's in danger of blowing a fucking fuse or something. Hasn't he mentioned that he doesn't get to do this often?
So... he just sits there, watching John with an expression that's somewhere between smug, amused and confused.]
You, uh... you okay there?
I thought you'd done this before.
[Yeah... he's just gonna be an asshole about this, thanks.]
Yeah, course. [Don't mind him, he's just taking this as a challenge to his manhood, which he isn't going to back down from anytime soon.]
Just admiring the view. [Usually the clothes are off and the dick disappearing trick has happened by now. And he doesn't always get to spend any amount of time with someone who just rolled off the production line.]
Why? [His hands go back down in an effort to free the bulge in his trousers, although it's just as tempting to reach a little further and rub those... jeans.]
You know what you're doin', don't you? [Does he need the IKEA foldout sheet that says how and where to insert A into B?]
[Wait. Really? No. What? How? John forgoes undoing his pants and props himself up on his elbows, staring at that face framed by that chiseled jawline in mild disbelief. Constantine's been through some rough parts of the country during his travels, but even the most rural corners were not that backwater that someone like this would be out on his own.
He was only joking about the instruction manual. Christ.]
Would you like to take those jeans off then, love? [No pressure, but. Can't exactly offer up either hole with those jeans hanging open like that.]
[He looks faux-thoughtful, like he's considering it. Which, well, he is. It's actually pretty fucking tempting, but... it'd feel too much like giving ground.]
Nah, I'm good.
[John's still got his fucking shirt on, so it wouldn't really be fair, now would it?
Also, he's fairly hard already and... he doesn't want to come in five seconds. That would be awkward.
He strips the undone tie off of John's neck, undoes the top button of his shirt, before pressing a hand to the center of the magician's chest to push him back down. He leans in and brings his mouth to John's bare throat, lips wet, breath hot, pulse thundering in his ears -- his or John's, he doesn't know, and it doesn't matter much. He leaves John's arms unpinned this time, so he's free to do whatever he wants with those.
And really, it's not just inexperience that makes him want to linger here. He also just... really enjoys this part. The kissing, the touching... he's into it.]
[No, he's- what? That doesn't- Okay. Okay this is going fine. John lies back down and while his hands gravitate back to those denim-sheathed thighs, scratching idly at a particularly coarse spot, he doesn't try to take those jeans off as much as he might have liked to do so. They slide up over the curve of that ass and down to rub over warm skin, up the length of the hard edges and curves of that back, stopping just at the nape of his hair, fingertips brushing in that sensitive spot just where the bare skin ends and the roots of blond hair begin.
Constantine tilts his head away, exposing more of the side of his neck as his hands retreat to unbutton the rest of his shirt. He's getting hot and he doesn't care that he might look emaciated in comparison to Homelander, especially when they're so close and are opting for a different kind of lip service than talking.
When the last button is undone and the flaps of his shirt sprawl out on the bedsheets, his hands go back to what they were doing, roaming, appreciating, this time up the front of that torso, over defined muscles, over nipples, then up to raking blunt nails down his back again. Partly exploring, partly trying to elicit some kind of reaction, figure out what the other man likes without chasing him away.]
[He likes all of it. Absolutely fucking all of it and that's what makes this so hard, because he can't concentrate, can't plot out a course of action beyond mouthing and nipping at John's throat, can't even keep his own fucking body in check. John's fingers reach his hair and he stops moving altogether, letting out a rough, shallow exhale, forehead dipping into John's shoulder.
He's getting hot, shuddering and arching his back when John's hands brush his nipples, jaw clenching hard in an attempt to stifle the needy near-fucking-whine that edges out of him.
It's too much. His head feels deprived of oxygen and he's no longer concerned about coming too soon. This keeps going much longer, and he's just gonna come in his pants.
And there's no way in hell that's happening. He rolls to the side, and onto his back. A decently polite person would let John reposition himself, but Homelander is all out of patience. He just grabs the other man by the waist and lifts him up, putting John on top of him. 'Cause if you're gonna let go of control, you gotta at least control the narrative. Alright?
'sides, if any actual fucking is gonna happen, it's gonna need to happen like this or he would end up crushing the guy, or tearing him apart. And he actually likes John quite a bit so, that wouldn't be ideal.
His tongue swipes at his lower lip and he tries for a cocky grin, though it comes out more on the side of boyishly eager.
C'mon. Go ahead, bud. You've got his permission. Do your thing.]
[John tenses up when he's grabbed, not as accustomed to all this manhandling, and still worried about probably pointless things like putting his full weight on Homelander straddling him sitting on his lap, trying to stay balanced on his knees.
He knows that look, even if it might need just a bit of work coming across how it ought to come across. It brings a hollow laugh out of him as he shuffles backwards a bit to pull those jeans and anything else down that's still in the way. It's more out of not thinking too far ahead, giving himself just enough to work with than it is anything deliberate, leaving those jeans hanging just above the knees, but it is a bit restrictive on those legs in the meantime.]
Stay there, love. Just. Like that. [Constantine has to shuffle up a bit and lean over that pretty face to reach the bedside drawer and pull it open to fetch the lube. He sort of hopes, sort of expects the other bloke to trust him as he shuffles back down to his lap and doesn't bother talking him through how it might feel a bit cold before it feels fucking fantastic.
Constantine moves his hips in a slow rhythm while he starts undoing his trousers, eyes downcast as he rubs the length of that hard cock in between his legs, a slow grind lapdance that promises more to come. He'll have to get up and take them off, but he's keeping Homelander distracted while he does, shifting his weight to one side to pull one trouser leg off and then the other.
His hand is wet and warm when he shuffles forward and reaches around behind him, pressing that hard cock against his ass and stroking it until it's slick and throbbing in his loose fist. If Homelander wants the full intimate experience he can bloody well have it, with John leaning in low to kiss a trail of kisses from the left side of that taut abdomen up to taking a nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth and sucking lightly while he presses just the tip of that cock against the tight rim of his ass.
There's that fleeting moment of 'is it really that big or does it just feel big because I can't see what the fuck I'm doing' but honestly it's probably a bit of both, and there's no hesitation or doubt in those half-lidded eyes as he mouths hotly across that broad chest to the other side.]
[Homelander stays as still as he can, only following John with an absorbed gaze, lips parted in anticipation.
The weird thing is, he does trust John. To a pretty unreasonable degree, really, considering he barely fucking knows the man. He isn't sure how or why, and it's not just that John is obviously very good at this, or the fact that Homelander could easily stop him at any moment. Maybe it's just... a decision. Homelander struggles with ambiguity, with the awkward halfways and in-betweens. He works best with absolutes. Once you go all in, you go all in.
He keeps his hands pressed down at his sides, watching Constantine work as his breath grows shallower and his skin grows hotter and saliva gathers and sticks in his throat. That pants-escape trick? That's... uh. It's really pretty damn impressive. Way to go, magician.
The slick hand on his cock has him shoving his head back into the pillow with a choked groan. He swallows, rolls his hips impatiently, shudders and even starts to fucking squirm as John works him over with his mouth.
Fuck. Fucking... fucking c'mon--
He struggles to keep his hips grounded, pushing up just a little, hands slapping onto John's thighs with a bit of a sting.]
[John hisses in response, biting down on his lip as the sting makes him tense up, gasp and hold his breath, losing his train of thought - not that he was overthinking this or anything. He straightens up a bit and turns his head over his shoulder even though he still can't see anything from this angle. But at least he doesn't have to meet that gaze, make either one of them feel awkward about this as he pushes back, just a third of the way down first before pulling back a bit, and then sinking back a little more, and a little more, taking it two inches in and one inch out at a time until he's all the way down, trembling with blunt nails scratching Homelander's taut stomach.
Look, he hasn't spent the last few minutes fingerfucking himself or forcing himself to relax, so it hurts more than it ought to to have Homelander stretch him out, but he's rolling with it and hell, it's not immediately obvious from that facial expression whether he's in pain or really enjoying this. (Protip: they're not mutually exclusive options.)
Running a wet hand through his hair, he slicks some short blond strands back with lube and grips the back of his head, tilting his head back, not particularly caring about the mess as he moves, shirt still hanging open brushing against the sides of Homelander's torso.]
Fuck. [He'll spare them both the dirty talk. It's hard for him to do too many things at once, hence why the kissing and teasing has stopped momentarily while he moves his hips and fucks himself on that dick.]
[Homelander bites down on his lip, watching with a kind of dizzy entrancement as John slowly impales himself on him. When he's in balls-deep and his teeth start cutting into his lip, he rolls his head back, groaning, letting his eyes flutter shut as he drowns in the sheer fucking heat of it. They open back to a full view of John looking like the centerfold of a fucking porno magazine, which is. Fine. It's just a pretty picture. He can handle it.
He keeps his hips down, stomach tense, trusting Constantine to get the rhythm right, pretty sure that if he tries to do anything himself, this will be over much quicker. His hands slide up John's thighs, thumbs running up the sharp lines of his hipbones, until he's gripping him by the waist.]
Look at me.
[His voice is low, hoarse, urging. It's not really a command -- it sounds much more like he's asking.
[Funny, that doesn't sound like asking nicely. Luckily for him it gets Constantine's attention, though maybe the hands on his waist has something to do with getting him to focus too. Breathing out a sigh towards the ceiling, he lowers his head, half-lidded eyes settling on those piercing blue orbs. Both hands find somewhere to perch on that body as his shirt starts drooping off his shoulders, dangling off his elbows. He's nothing much to look at, really. Some tattoos, old scars from his younger days and new scars from his time here, but mostly skin and bone. He'd much rather move a little faster, a little deeper, keep the other man sufficiently distracted.
It's hard for his gaze not to stray downwards past those eyes, harder still not to say something that'll inevitably ruin the mood, but he tries. His eyes flutter closed again as he hisses, grinding down against a particular sweet spot that makes his entire lower body clench up and draws a strangled moan from his lips. But as the tip of his tongue flicks against his upper lip he dares to look again, blinking a few times before cracking the smallest of cocky smirks.]
Havin' fun? [he asks breathlessly between pants, tensing up and growling again when he rams Homelander's cock in that feel-good spot that sets everything ablaze. He won't even need to jerk himself off at this rate.]
[Well, he recalls being asked to leave nice at the door, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
And it's true that Constantine isn't going to be crowned Miss America anytime soon, but to Homelander, it's exactly those scars and tattoos and all of those other little imperfections that really drive it all home. Even the fact that John is fucking himself on him with his shirt hanging open makes this better somehow. It doesn't make sense. It's not about any of the separate ingredients. It's about how it all comes together.
It is pretty strange, looking a man he barely knows in the eye while barely holding himself together, and Homelander isn't even entirely sure he likes it, but... there's an uncomfortable intensity to it that draws him in, lights him up in a way he can't quite describe.
The question has him huffing out some air. Gee, John, what do you think? He could attempt nonchalance, like ehhh it's not bad, but while he is a damn good liar, he's not that good. And, honestly, he can't find the breath to be an asshole, let alone the will.
Every fucking sound John makes, every tight, hot slide -- threatens to set him off.]
Ah--a.
[Fuck off, that's the best he can do, and even that just barely scrapes out of his throat. Consider that and the ass squeeze that follows a pretty enthusiastic thumbs up.]
[Warm hands slide a little further up Homelander's chest, his back arching as he shifts, filling up the hand on his ass a little more. He's eager to keep this pace and relish in the different sensations brought about by this new angle, almost as if he can feel every inch of that cock brushing close to his tailbone. His arms can't go much further with his shirt holding them back, but he can reach enough to toy with those nipples, brushing his thumb over them and pinching them between his fingers, which is about as far as he needs them to go anyway.]
Move? [It sounds a lot more like a question, if nothing else because John can't turn those manipulative tendencies off and tends to slot in like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; assertive and aggressive if he has to be to fill in the gap, or taking the softer, suggestive approach if he's with someone more domineering.
Leaning back again, one hand keeps himself balanced, pressed against those toned abs while the other trails down further to give his own neglected cock a bit of attention, as overt of a sign that he can give that he's close. Just a slow rub is enough to get a gasp and a long, shaky sigh tumbling out of his lips as his head falls back again. He's almost shy about it, or maybe that's just the placement of his other hand, obscuring it from Homelander's immediate line of sight.]
There's the involuntary movements he's making, shuddering, blinking, trying and failing to keep from outright writhing at the nipple pinching. It's almost annoying, how fucking good it feels.
He doesn't know how to move in concert with someone else, especially not a regular human. There are just too many variables, too many things that can go wrong, and while Homelander's got plenty of practice at navigating that -- his whole life is a kind of excruciating balancing act -- he's not thinking remotely straight to trust himself to get it right.
Panting, tongue swiping at his lip, he lifts himself up a bit, hands sliding off of John's ass. He rocks his hips to unbalance the other man and get the hand off his stomach. Then he just swats John's other hand away from his dick. Rude? Maybe. But it's too distracting, and he needs to--
Well, not think, so much as lock in on the target.
John doesn't need to balance himself anymore, Homelander's got this. His hands close on other man's waist, holding him in a grip that might seem iron tight when really, it's downright careful.
He lifts John up, then brings him back down, until Homelander is buried deep inside him, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
Ow. [Don't worry, nothing broken, and he might even like it. There's very little not to like about this debonair gentleman doing very ungentlemanly things to him, not that he would ever say as much aloud.
He's not giving John much room to move even when he's in too deep, moving too fast, the straining in his legs making the rest of his lower body tingle as he draws his nails over an unmarred six-pack. The skin looks soft to the touch but it feels like trying to scratch hard leather.]
W- wait, I'm close. [His eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed deeply, lips parted, breathing hard and fast like he's close to suffocating. There wasn't any real need to announce it beyond stroking someone's already inflated ego, unless Homelander's particular about not getting cummed on. In which case they can't keep going like this.]
[Wait... why? John's close, so fucking what? So is Homelander, and that's a far more pressing matter.
It's true that he doesn't particularly enjoy getting messy, but it's far from his top priority at the moment, thanks. And he sure as fuck isn't about to break the rhythm now.
His fingers press harder into John as he brings him down on his cock and practically fucking slams into him at the same time, a low grunt stretching into a long, shuddering groan.
[Something something he's man enough to take it, fuck you, so he doesn't bitch that it's hurting too much, though he can't quite help that choked, quiet little whimper that falls from his lips as his toes curl and he struggles to move, foot digging into the mattress and pushing back to no avail. Laboured, ragged breaths don't help to stall the involuntary spasms, the ends of his shirt brushing against the top of Homelander's thighs as the heels of his palms move down to his sides to give those wrists a light push.
It's not that he wants him to stop, but he kind of does, but he doesn't know, can't make sense of what he wants right now. Every jolt of pain-discomfort-uncertainty has him clenching down hard around that cock and dancing on the edge, feeling like it's too much until it is too much and he cries out hoarsely, sounding almost helpless in the throes of his pleasure-pain-confusion.]
[Shit, okay, Homelander isn't really all that great with the concept of limits, but that... that doesn't sound like John's having a good time. Fuck.
He stops, loosening his grip, forcing himself to lie all the way back down so that he can suck in a few shuddering breaths, trying to get himself a bit more in order. He didn't... Fuck.]
Uh. [He tries clearing his throat, swallows.] You alright?
[Well let's not get the alcoholic to drive either; that can only end one way and it wouldn't be pretty. Just because he's painfully sober and well-behaved today doesn't mean this is his normal state of being.
He's not dead, so that's something, isn't it? Sore, sure, and he might have made a wee bit of a mess before and during those precious few seconds when he was seeing stars, but he'll live. Is the nice-not-so-nice-bit-of-a-mystery country boy worried about him? That's sweet.]
Yeah. [Yeah, that was something else. He can't move right away, but when he does, he shuffles backwards, not really sure that he can feel his legs and keeping his balance by letting his fingertips drift down the side of Homelander's body.
Leaning in close, Constantine tongues at his own cum, lapping it up off those abs before moving lower, breath hot against the other man's crotch. Slender, borderline bony fingers slowly curl around the base of that cock before he licks a wet stripe from balls up the shaft to the slit, taking just the head between his lips, sucking gently, cleaning up with his mouth. Can't send Homelander out into the big, cruel world embarking on that walk of shame looking like a slut, can he?
Though. He's welcome to stay the night, if he doesn't insist on leaving.]
[Well, technically, Homelander does know how to use a shower, but...
This works, too. Real considerate of you, John.
At least Homelander didn't break the guy. That would've fucking sucked. Now, he's feeling... pretty out of it. Sort of dizzy and disoriented, like the world has taken a sharp spin and everything is still blurry and out of order. It's not bad, just... something. He lies back looking at the ceiling, breath catching at the feeling of John's mouth on his oversensitive cock.
He exhales with a shaky sigh. His gaze, drowsy and uncertain, drifts back down, his fingers wandering awkwardly into the blond, lube-slicked hair.]
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no subject
Well... I can give it a shot.
[Said in a kind of chipper drawl that strongly suggests that yes, of course he can. Even though he's never done this before and has no fucking gameplan.
He'll just feel it out as he goes along. He thinks he might have an easier time working from this angle.
He puts a hand on John's knee, slowly pushing it down, so that he can move to straddle the man. Homelander takes him by the wrists -- not too much force, just as much as he needs -- and pins his arms by his head, meeting his gaze and smiling a little before dipping in to kiss him again.
It's a really fucking slow, obnoxiously Disney kiss. Just, with the occasional scrape of teeth, this time. And a bit more friction.]
no subject
He can't help but wriggle his hips, try to grind back a bit even though he knows he ought to behave. The kiss makes his mind drift even though he's kissing back - reluctantly not because he doesn't want to, but because it feels affectionate. Like the last kiss in a romcom, only- so much more real.
It's rude to think about other people when you're in the middle of nipping the lower lip of the hottest thing to have sauntered into your life in a while, but this spontaneous boyfriend experience is pushing the guilt up to the surface, and it gnaws and gnaws and gnaws.]
Hm. [Closed eyes flutter open to greet his surprise find, mystery country boy, gift that keeps on giving as all the unwanted feelings get stuffed back down into their too-small box, giving way to the lusting and the curiosity that led him here in the first place.] This is nice. [A quiet admission, despite the fact that they haven't gotten very far just yet and Homelander probably didn't need the encouragement.]
no subject
He does need the encouragement, actually. Not that he'd ever admit it, but... yeah. It sends a surge of rare, disorienting warmth through him.]
Yeah?
[You can probably hear that he's pretty pleased, underneath that playful smugness.
Yeah. This is nice.]
Well, good.
[He lets go of John's wrists, presses a quick kiss to the side of his mouth, and sits back so that he can peel off his shirt -- might as well reward good behavior, right?]
no subject
Most people might have said 'wow' but he's too busy ogling, a freed hand drifting to his already loosened tie, slipping a finger into the knot to undo it completely. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, mouth running dry. Idly he's rather thankful he's still sober enough to enjoy this.]
You're uh... I d- I don't- [Words, Constantine. Surely you know a few more of them.]
no subject
On the one hand it's pretty incredible, on the other, it's kinda overwhelming and he feels like he's in danger of blowing a fucking fuse or something. Hasn't he mentioned that he doesn't get to do this often?
So... he just sits there, watching John with an expression that's somewhere between smug, amused and confused.]
You, uh... you okay there?
I thought you'd done this before.
[Yeah... he's just gonna be an asshole about this, thanks.]
no subject
Just admiring the view. [Usually the clothes are off and the dick disappearing trick has happened by now. And he doesn't always get to spend any amount of time with someone who just rolled off the production line.]
Why? [His hands go back down in an effort to free the bulge in his trousers, although it's just as tempting to reach a little further and rub those... jeans.]
You know what you're doin', don't you? [Does he need the IKEA foldout sheet that says how and where to insert A into B?]
no subject
Yeah.
[He even laughs a little. Wow, John, what a stupid fucking question. Why would you even. Hm.
He can't help a rough swallow.]
Of course.
[Fuck you.]
no subject
He was only joking about the instruction manual. Christ.]
Would you like to take those jeans off then, love? [No pressure, but. Can't exactly offer up either hole with those jeans hanging open like that.]
no subject
[He looks faux-thoughtful, like he's considering it. Which, well, he is. It's actually pretty fucking tempting, but... it'd feel too much like giving ground.]
Nah, I'm good.
[John's still got his fucking shirt on, so it wouldn't really be fair, now would it?
Also, he's fairly hard already and... he doesn't want to come in five seconds. That would be awkward.
He strips the undone tie off of John's neck, undoes the top button of his shirt, before pressing a hand to the center of the magician's chest to push him back down. He leans in and brings his mouth to John's bare throat, lips wet, breath hot, pulse thundering in his ears -- his or John's, he doesn't know, and it doesn't matter much. He leaves John's arms unpinned this time, so he's free to do whatever he wants with those.
And really, it's not just inexperience that makes him want to linger here. He also just... really enjoys this part. The kissing, the touching... he's into it.]
no subject
Constantine tilts his head away, exposing more of the side of his neck as his hands retreat to unbutton the rest of his shirt. He's getting hot and he doesn't care that he might look emaciated in comparison to Homelander, especially when they're so close and are opting for a different kind of lip service than talking.
When the last button is undone and the flaps of his shirt sprawl out on the bedsheets, his hands go back to what they were doing, roaming, appreciating, this time up the front of that torso, over defined muscles, over nipples, then up to raking blunt nails down his back again. Partly exploring, partly trying to elicit some kind of reaction, figure out what the other man likes without chasing him away.]
no subject
He's getting hot, shuddering and arching his back when John's hands brush his nipples, jaw clenching hard in an attempt to stifle the needy near-fucking-whine that edges out of him.
It's too much. His head feels deprived of oxygen and he's no longer concerned about coming too soon. This keeps going much longer, and he's just gonna come in his pants.
And there's no way in hell that's happening. He rolls to the side, and onto his back. A decently polite person would let John reposition himself, but Homelander is all out of patience. He just grabs the other man by the waist and lifts him up, putting John on top of him. 'Cause if you're gonna let go of control, you gotta at least control the narrative. Alright?
'sides, if any actual fucking is gonna happen, it's gonna need to happen like this or he would end up crushing the guy, or tearing him apart. And he actually likes John quite a bit so, that wouldn't be ideal.
His tongue swipes at his lower lip and he tries for a cocky grin, though it comes out more on the side of boyishly eager.
C'mon. Go ahead, bud. You've got his permission. Do your thing.]
no subject
He knows that look, even if it might need just a bit of work coming across how it ought to come across. It brings a hollow laugh out of him as he shuffles backwards a bit to pull those jeans and anything else down that's still in the way. It's more out of not thinking too far ahead, giving himself just enough to work with than it is anything deliberate, leaving those jeans hanging just above the knees, but it is a bit restrictive on those legs in the meantime.]
Stay there, love. Just. Like that. [Constantine has to shuffle up a bit and lean over that pretty face to reach the bedside drawer and pull it open to fetch the lube. He sort of hopes, sort of expects the other bloke to trust him as he shuffles back down to his lap and doesn't bother talking him through how it might feel a bit cold before it feels fucking fantastic.
Constantine moves his hips in a slow rhythm while he starts undoing his trousers, eyes downcast as he rubs the length of that hard cock in between his legs, a slow grind lapdance that promises more to come. He'll have to get up and take them off, but he's keeping Homelander distracted while he does, shifting his weight to one side to pull one trouser leg off and then the other.
His hand is wet and warm when he shuffles forward and reaches around behind him, pressing that hard cock against his ass and stroking it until it's slick and throbbing in his loose fist. If Homelander wants the full intimate experience he can bloody well have it, with John leaning in low to kiss a trail of kisses from the left side of that taut abdomen up to taking a nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth and sucking lightly while he presses just the tip of that cock against the tight rim of his ass.
There's that fleeting moment of 'is it really that big or does it just feel big because I can't see what the fuck I'm doing' but honestly it's probably a bit of both, and there's no hesitation or doubt in those half-lidded eyes as he mouths hotly across that broad chest to the other side.]
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The weird thing is, he does trust John. To a pretty unreasonable degree, really, considering he barely fucking knows the man. He isn't sure how or why, and it's not just that John is obviously very good at this, or the fact that Homelander could easily stop him at any moment. Maybe it's just... a decision. Homelander struggles with ambiguity, with the awkward halfways and in-betweens. He works best with absolutes. Once you go all in, you go all in.
He keeps his hands pressed down at his sides, watching Constantine work as his breath grows shallower and his skin grows hotter and saliva gathers and sticks in his throat. That pants-escape trick? That's... uh. It's really pretty damn impressive. Way to go, magician.
The slick hand on his cock has him shoving his head back into the pillow with a choked groan. He swallows, rolls his hips impatiently, shudders and even starts to fucking squirm as John works him over with his mouth.
Fuck. Fucking... fucking c'mon--
He struggles to keep his hips grounded, pushing up just a little, hands slapping onto John's thighs with a bit of a sting.]
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Look, he hasn't spent the last few minutes fingerfucking himself or forcing himself to relax, so it hurts more than it ought to to have Homelander stretch him out, but he's rolling with it and hell, it's not immediately obvious from that facial expression whether he's in pain or really enjoying this. (Protip: they're not mutually exclusive options.)
Running a wet hand through his hair, he slicks some short blond strands back with lube and grips the back of his head, tilting his head back, not particularly caring about the mess as he moves, shirt still hanging open brushing against the sides of Homelander's torso.]
Fuck. [He'll spare them both the dirty talk. It's hard for him to do too many things at once, hence why the kissing and teasing has stopped momentarily while he moves his hips and fucks himself on that dick.]
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He keeps his hips down, stomach tense, trusting Constantine to get the rhythm right, pretty sure that if he tries to do anything himself, this will be over much quicker. His hands slide up John's thighs, thumbs running up the sharp lines of his hipbones, until he's gripping him by the waist.]
Look at me.
[His voice is low, hoarse, urging. It's not really a command -- it sounds much more like he's asking.
Really fucking insistently.]
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It's hard for his gaze not to stray downwards past those eyes, harder still not to say something that'll inevitably ruin the mood, but he tries. His eyes flutter closed again as he hisses, grinding down against a particular sweet spot that makes his entire lower body clench up and draws a strangled moan from his lips. But as the tip of his tongue flicks against his upper lip he dares to look again, blinking a few times before cracking the smallest of cocky smirks.]
Havin' fun? [he asks breathlessly between pants, tensing up and growling again when he rams Homelander's cock in that feel-good spot that sets everything ablaze. He won't even need to jerk himself off at this rate.]
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And it's true that Constantine isn't going to be crowned Miss America anytime soon, but to Homelander, it's exactly those scars and tattoos and all of those other little imperfections that really drive it all home. Even the fact that John is fucking himself on him with his shirt hanging open makes this better somehow. It doesn't make sense. It's not about any of the separate ingredients. It's about how it all comes together.
It is pretty strange, looking a man he barely knows in the eye while barely holding himself together, and Homelander isn't even entirely sure he likes it, but... there's an uncomfortable intensity to it that draws him in, lights him up in a way he can't quite describe.
The question has him huffing out some air. Gee, John, what do you think? He could attempt nonchalance, like ehhh it's not bad, but while he is a damn good liar, he's not that good. And, honestly, he can't find the breath to be an asshole, let alone the will.
Every fucking sound John makes, every tight, hot slide -- threatens to set him off.]
Ah--a.
[Fuck off, that's the best he can do, and even that just barely scrapes out of his throat. Consider that and the ass squeeze that follows a pretty enthusiastic thumbs up.]
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Move? [It sounds a lot more like a question, if nothing else because John can't turn those manipulative tendencies off and tends to slot in like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle; assertive and aggressive if he has to be to fill in the gap, or taking the softer, suggestive approach if he's with someone more domineering.
Leaning back again, one hand keeps himself balanced, pressed against those toned abs while the other trails down further to give his own neglected cock a bit of attention, as overt of a sign that he can give that he's close. Just a slow rub is enough to get a gasp and a long, shaky sigh tumbling out of his lips as his head falls back again. He's almost shy about it, or maybe that's just the placement of his other hand, obscuring it from Homelander's immediate line of sight.]
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There's the involuntary movements he's making, shuddering, blinking, trying and failing to keep from outright writhing at the nipple pinching. It's almost annoying, how fucking good it feels.
He doesn't know how to move in concert with someone else, especially not a regular human. There are just too many variables, too many things that can go wrong, and while Homelander's got plenty of practice at navigating that -- his whole life is a kind of excruciating balancing act -- he's not thinking remotely straight to trust himself to get it right.
Panting, tongue swiping at his lip, he lifts himself up a bit, hands sliding off of John's ass. He rocks his hips to unbalance the other man and get the hand off his stomach. Then he just swats John's other hand away from his dick. Rude? Maybe. But it's too distracting, and he needs to--
Well, not think, so much as lock in on the target.
John doesn't need to balance himself anymore, Homelander's got this. His hands close on other man's waist, holding him in a grip that might seem iron tight when really, it's downright careful.
He lifts John up, then brings him back down, until Homelander is buried deep inside him, jaw clenched tight enough to hurt.
Fuck.]
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He's not giving John much room to move even when he's in too deep, moving too fast, the straining in his legs making the rest of his lower body tingle as he draws his nails over an unmarred six-pack. The skin looks soft to the touch but it feels like trying to scratch hard leather.]
W- wait, I'm close. [His eyes are squeezed shut, eyebrows furrowed deeply, lips parted, breathing hard and fast like he's close to suffocating. There wasn't any real need to announce it beyond stroking someone's already inflated ego, unless Homelander's particular about not getting cummed on. In which case they can't keep going like this.]
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It's true that he doesn't particularly enjoy getting messy, but it's far from his top priority at the moment, thanks. And he sure as fuck isn't about to break the rhythm now.
His fingers press harder into John as he brings him down on his cock and practically fucking slams into him at the same time, a low grunt stretching into a long, shuddering groan.
Well, a long, shuddering everything, really.]
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It's not that he wants him to stop, but he kind of does, but he doesn't know, can't make sense of what he wants right now. Every jolt of pain-discomfort-uncertainty has him clenching down hard around that cock and dancing on the edge, feeling like it's too much until it is too much and he cries out hoarsely, sounding almost helpless in the throes of his pleasure-pain-confusion.]
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He stops, loosening his grip, forcing himself to lie all the way back down so that he can suck in a few shuddering breaths, trying to get himself a bit more in order. He didn't... Fuck.]
Uh. [He tries clearing his throat, swallows.] You alright?
[Maybe he shouldn't, you know, drive.]
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He's not dead, so that's something, isn't it? Sore, sure, and he might have made a wee bit of a mess before and during those precious few seconds when he was seeing stars, but he'll live. Is the nice-not-so-nice-bit-of-a-mystery country boy worried about him? That's sweet.]
Yeah. [Yeah, that was something else. He can't move right away, but when he does, he shuffles backwards, not really sure that he can feel his legs and keeping his balance by letting his fingertips drift down the side of Homelander's body.
Leaning in close, Constantine tongues at his own cum, lapping it up off those abs before moving lower, breath hot against the other man's crotch. Slender, borderline bony fingers slowly curl around the base of that cock before he licks a wet stripe from balls up the shaft to the slit, taking just the head between his lips, sucking gently, cleaning up with his mouth. Can't send Homelander out into the big, cruel world embarking on that walk of shame looking like a slut, can he?
Though. He's welcome to stay the night, if he doesn't insist on leaving.]
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This works, too. Real considerate of you, John.
At least Homelander didn't break the guy. That would've fucking sucked. Now, he's feeling... pretty out of it. Sort of dizzy and disoriented, like the world has taken a sharp spin and everything is still blurry and out of order. It's not bad, just... something. He lies back looking at the ceiling, breath catching at the feeling of John's mouth on his oversensitive cock.
He exhales with a shaky sigh. His gaze, drowsy and uncertain, drifts back down, his fingers wandering awkwardly into the blond, lube-slicked hair.]
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