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Woolsey tells John he's kinky before they even sleep together the first time. He makes sure to tell John it won't be a dealbreaker if John's not interested in kink at all. John says what the hell, he'll try anything once or twice.
After they've been sleeping together for a couple of months – which with their schedules means a couple of handjobs, John blowing Woolsey after a crappy mission and some good wine, and Woolsey fucking John twice – Woolsey gives John a five-page questionnaire, printed out on recycled paper. Things he's done or had done to him and whether he liked them or not, things he wants to do, things he might do with the right partner, things he's curious about. Things he needs, and things he won't ever do.
Woolsey says he can take his time filling it out, and afterward they'll compare answers and discuss. John makes a smartass comment: This how it's done in law school? Woolsey just gives him that intent, serious look that makes John's dick jump, and says, "Yes."
"Huh," John says, and picks up the pencil. Woolsey politely ignores him, working on reports on his laptop. John wonders whether Woolsey would be so cool if John were naked and he could see how thinking about sex was making John hard. Thinking about being naked and ignored makes John harder, and he flips through the pages to see if that's on the list. There's role-play, but that's not quite what he's thinking of. Finally he settles on Humiliation, private not public, and damn, just putting a tick in the little box is humiliating. Especially with Woolsey so serenely ignoring him.
It takes John over an hour to go through the whole thing. He has to stop every now and then to remind himself that this is stuff that's actually on the table, with Woolsey. When he's done, he has a lot of maybes. Woolsey told him to just mark the things John doesn't know – not to guess – but John bets most people who do this kind of questionnaire at least know if they're straight or gay or bi, or dom or sub or switch. John doubts Woolsey will be condescending to him for his ignorance, but... under the right circumstances, John could probably get off on that. Huh.
When they compare lists, whole chunks of activities get tossed out. John feels kind of bad about that, especially when his no way in hell about anything to do with gags, blindfolds, and restraints trumps Woolsey's fondness for tying people up in creative and artistic ways.
"It's my day job," John says, wincing as Woolsey's highlighter skips that section.
Woolsey gives him another of those looks and holds up a finger. "Firstly, we are looking for potential areas of compatibility. Size doesn't matter." He raises a second finger, which keeps John from saying what he always does when given that line. "Secondly, everything is re-negotiable at any time. If we try something and I don't enjoy it, I will of course let you know. And if you ever feel like there's something you'd like to explore, we can discuss that. The basis," he says, leaning forward, so earnest John can feel it like heat from a fire, "of any relationship should be trust and honesty, don't you agree?"
John agrees, but it takes him a moment to be able to say so. He knows that's fucked up, but Woolsey just nods as if satisfied, and goes back to the discussion, negotiation, and highlighting.
When they're done, John's jittering from nervous over-exposure, kind of wound up and with no idea what he needs to let go.
Woolsey studies him, appraising, and then tells John to strip and go into the bedroom. He doesn't say please and he doesn't sound like he's on the edge of control, but his suit trousers do a crappy job of hiding how hard he is.
John strips, fast but taking time to fold everything right; he doesn't want to walk out the door looking like he's just been fucked. Woolsey watches, and now John knows that Woolsey likes watching, but there are other things he likes better. When John pulls off his socks, and then his boxers, Woolsey stands and follows John's bare ass into the bedroom.
John feels more naked than he has in a long time – it's a feeling he usually associates with someone trying to take him apart, take him down, use what makes him tick to break him. But the Replicators just stuck their hands in his head and mindfucked him into exposure; Woolsey's not like that. John does trust him, and John thinks Woolsey doesn't take that lightly or for granted. That was the whole point of the paperwork, right?
"Lie down," Woolsey tells him. "Spread out and get comfortable."
John settles in on his back, arms and legs wide, rubbing against the sheets. Woolsey's sheets are always cool to the touch and silky fine, and they smell spicy, a little like Woolsey's colonge but also like the incense burned at temples. Exotic, John thinks, and shifts a bit more, breathing the scent in.
Woolsey reaches out and touches John's knee, trails his fingers up and watches as John's hair slides over his neatly manicured nails. John likes that Woolsey takes care of himself and enjoys looking good and surrounds himself with beautiful things. He likes when Woolsey looks at him the way he is now, like he's one of those things. Woolsey's fingertips pause when they reach the line at the top of his thigh, and then slide down, thumb rubbing idly at the base of John's cock.
"I'm going to show you how I want you to trim down here," Woolsey says, like it's no big deal, and John feels suddenly jerked in two. Part of him reacts with a reflexive fuck you, but there's this mental image of Woolsey with a razor in one hand and John's balls in the other that's... damn attractive.
He doesn't know what to say. "I," he starts, and stops, and good one, John, great way to be expressive. "I'm not sure about that."
Woolsey nods as if he's not surprised. "It's a personal vanity," he confesses. "A way of leaving my mark on you which no one will notice." John makes a face; everyone in Medical's seen his dick at one point or another. "That no one will think of as anything other than your mid-life crisis," Woolsey corrects, and slides his fingers down between John's cock and balls, stroking idly while John's thighs tense and his toes curl.
"Let me sleep on the idea," John says, but he knows he's going to say yes. Hair grows back fast enough, especially his; what's he got to lose?
"Certainly," Woolsey agrees, and gives John's balls a squeeze. "Now, I want you to jerk off for me. Stop when I tell you," he adds.
John's had his hand on Woolsey's dick a lot recently, but this is different, this is Woolsey standing over him in his goddamned suit and still wearing cufflinks while John's sliding his hand slowly up, not sure if he's meant to be giving a show here or what.
"Oh," Woolsey says, and John stops, confused. "No, no, keep going," Woolsey says, but he walks around the bed to his shelving unit and takes down the box where he keeps the condoms. He takes out the lube and pops the top to dribble a neat trail up John's dick to the head. "I find it improves the experience," he says with a tip of his head.
"It, um, yeah," John says, sliding his palm up to catch the slick and work it around with a twist. His hips jerk up as his ass clenches, and he fucks up a few times into the tight ring of his fingers. He wishes Woolsey would touch him. He wishes he could say that. "You could," he says, and nods downward as suggestively as he can.
"Hm," Woolsey says, and gives John a look like he's solving a crossword and can't think of the word on the tip of his tongue. Then he rummages in the box again and comes up with a dildo, which okay, John wasn't expecting that. He passes it to John's free hand; it's slim and purple and only vaguely cock-shaped, and heavy. "Show me what you can do with your mouth."
Unexpected, and John's on the line again between resistance and compliance. "Take off your jacket," John blurts out, surprising Woolsey and himself. He brings the toy up to his mouth and licks it, experimentally.
"I keep everything clean," Woolsey says, bland statement of fact. "I was under the impression that you liked the suits."
"I love the suits," John says. "But...." And he shuts his eyes and slides the dildo in along his tongue, sucking so he'll have something to do besides squirming with embarrassment, and he does not wonder when giving even artificial head became a comfort. "You're not touching me." He knows that doesn't make any sense, and stops his mouth with artificial cock as he distracts himself with a couple of long hard pulls on his dick.
"I anticipate my restraint not lasting long once I do," Woolsey says drily; and then, "Will this do?"
John opens his eyes to see Woolsey slip off the jacket and hang it on the back of his desk chair, and pull off the cufflinks, and roll his sleeves up to his elbows. From the box Woolsey takes out a small bottle, and gives John a brief, smug smile.
John has no idea what to expect; certainly not the hot-cold fiery burn of the stuff in the bottle as Woolsey rubs it in circles around his nipples. His back arches up off the bed, and he's thankful for the dildo because it lets him muffle his shout of surprise and the noises pulled from him as Woolsey starts using his neatly-trimmed nails to trace patterns over skin that's gone super-sensitive. Every brush of air is magnified; John can't move without feeling his nipples go through the whole burning-freezing thing again, but he can't stay still, and he can't stop gasping for breath.
He finds, suddenly, that it's a lot easier just to let the sensations pull him under, stop fighting. Once he does, his hand on his dick and his full mouth and Woolsey's gentle pinching and pulling add up to a sharp headlong rush toward orgasm. At least until Woolsey grabs hold of John's wrist and pulls his hand away from his dick. The pads of his fingers burn cold, and John's too out of it to protest beyond a heartfelt Hey.
"Let's see if you can come on my cock," Woolsey says, the same tone he uses in meetings when he's trying to get to the bottom of a diplomatic problem. He lets John go, and a second later is pressing the lube into his hand together with a hand towel. "Can you prepare yourself?"
"Yeah," John says, agreeing before he's processed the words, and then, "Sure," again, once he's a little clearer. He puts the dildo down and avoids touching his chest, even though it still feels weirdly sensitive; he's not quite prepared for getting any of that burning stuff up his ass.
John's got three fingers spreading himself wide by the time Woolsey's naked, and Woolsey's rolling the condom on while John's wiping the lube off his fingers and asking Woolsey how he wants him.
"Open and slutty," Woolsey says, and fuck but that wasn't what John meant but it's what he wants to give. He meets Woolsey's eyes and knows he's got need written all over his face, but Woolsey's just as impatient. "Hands and knees."
John scrambles to roll over, be ready for when Woolsey kneels up behind him, shoving John's legs wider open, holding John's hips with both gorgeous hands, thumbs spreading John's cheeks wide. John's no good at taking cock like the guys in porn; he tenses and jerks and always has to ask Woolsey to stop two or three times before he finally gets it all in him. This time is worse, because he's so aware and it's too much. He has to dig his hands into the mattress, soft sheets slipping between his fingers as his shoulders flex and tighten with the effort it takes to hold still. And Woolsey's a gentleman even when his balls are slapping up against John's, but John can feel the dig of his fingers, knows he'll have bruises. He pushes back because he wants to move forward, Woolsey's hips cradling his own, and then John starts moving, slow, uncoordinated, barely letting Woolsey's cock slide out an inch before taking it in again.
"Up," Woolsey says, leaning backwards and pulling John with him so John ends up sitting on Woolsey's lap. John feels impaled, and he thinks anyone would shout, he can't be the only one. Woolsey's got an arm around John's waist, and his hold tightening is the only warning John gets before Woolsey starts thrusting up. John breathes through his teeth and pushes back, and they get a kind of desperate rhythm going.
Then Woolsey picks up the dildo and flicks the base with his thumb, and the quiet hum is the only warning John gets before the dildo – vibrator – torture device – is pressed right over John's right nipple and holy fuck it's like fireworks going off under John's skin, lines of fire shooting through him from chest to dick to ass and the only way he's going to get through this is to come or die.
He's not aware of riding Woolsey hard, dizzied by the vibrator sliding over his skin like a brand. But then Woolsey drags the vibrator all the way down the center of John's chest, and the steady throb against the head of John's cock is more than John can withstand. Orgasm hits like a hard wave curling around him, brilliant with sun, and he rides it out as long as he can, feeling light and speed and the freedom of being in that space of perfect pleasure.
He's aware of Woolsey pushing him down to the mattress and a moment later, the warm wet splatter of come on his ass. John's fucked-out enough to find that romantic, in a way that makes his breath hitch in his throat, and he reaches for Woolsey, grabbing his arm and toppling him to the mattress and then just hanging on.
"So," Woolsey says after a few minutes of comfortable companionable silence, and John's impressed that he's already got his lawyer-voice back, even if a bit rougher than usual. "Are you all right? I'm afraid," and he slides his palm thoughtfully over John's ass, "I may have gotten carried away."
"Do you need to talk about it?" John asks, and then winces and raises his head, propping himself up with one hand on his cheek. "Serious question. Not a complaint."
Woolsey takes a moment to consider. "After we try something new, yes, I'd like to know your honest opinion. But I can wait until after," he eyes John, one eyebrow arching, "a shower, say."
"A light snack," John suggests. "Or this – " he flicks his finger back and forth between them – "this isn't bad."
"Cuddling," Woolsey agrees, the corners of his mouth rising, even though John can see he's making an effort to keep his face straight. "Which is new, for you."
Part of John thinks he ought to be angry at that, but he doesn't have reserves of anger to draw on; they've been lanced and drained, and he's cool without them, for now. "Bad?" he asks, hoping the answer's not yes because he doesn't want to get up and get dressed and leave, just yet.
"Perfect," Woolsey answers, and John can see he's dead serious, and he gets so warm inside that he has to lean down and kiss Woolsey because he has no words at his disposal that are good enough.
*