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Roy steps into Johnny's apartment, takes a deep breath, looks around the familiar surroundings. He's been spending more time here lately, coming over at least once a week just to spend more time with his partner, his best friend, the man… the man he loves more than any other. He of course still spends plenty of his free time at home with his wife and children—he loves them far too much to be gone from them for too long—but he's truly been enjoying the extra time spent with Johnny. Besides, it isn't as though his wife doesn't know where he is or what he's thinking and feeling.
This was Joanne's idea, after all.
That's nothing he can explain to Johnny, though. He can't even tell Johnny that he loves him, that he's attracted to him, that he wants to fuck him, be fucked by him, anything and everything. He certainly can't tell him that his wife knows all of that, that she's encouraging him to spend more time with Johnny because of that, that she doesn't care that Roy wants to fuck his partner.
He can't tell Johnny that he'd once moaned his name during sex with his wife, and he can't tell Johnny that—far from being upset—Joanne encouraged him to tell her more, to explain his feelings and fantasies, to give her his deepest secrets. He most definitely cannot tell Johnny that that had led to him and Joanne having some of the best sex they'd ever had, nor about the conversation they'd had after.
"I suppose," Joanne had said in the afterglow, "that if it were just… some other random woman or someone I didn't know, I'd be upset. But it's, y'know, it's Johnny. I know Johnny. I've known him for years now, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't love him myself. You loving him the way you do… I dunno, Roy, it doesn't feel wrong. In fact, it feels kind of right."
No… Roy can't tell Johnny any of that. Not now. Not ever. It would ruin their friendship, their partnership, would maybe even tear apart their shift, and that's not something Roy is willing to risk. He's long accepted that he can't have Johnny as anything more than a close friend, has made his peace with it.
He simply drops himself onto the couch beside Johnny, beers in their hands, though neither speaks right away. This last shift had been… well…
"You almost died."
Johnny's voice is brittle, quiet, fearful, enough so that it makes Roy look at him. There's a light flush in his cheeks. His eyes are wet. His gaze is distant. Roy swallows, trying to rid himself of the slight lump that's appeared in his throat.
"I suppose I could've, yeah."
It had been a close thing. He'd gotten lost down in the basement of a burning office building, looking for a victim they'd been told was down there, had nearly run out of air. He'd lost track of his time as his search went on, and once he'd realized he hadn't quite left himself enough air to get back out, it was too late to turn around and get out. Not only that, but thick smoke and identical doors and corridors kept him disoriented and lost. After what felt like the millionth wrong turn, he'd started to make peace with the idea of dying down there, was ready to say his prayers and try to make his body easy to find.
But then a hand gripped his arm, tugging, pulling, leading him out of that dreadful basement. Johnny. There was a rope around his waist and a grim look on his face behind his air mask, but he was there, bringing Roy up and out into sunlight and fresh air. As he pulled off his air mask and sucked in deep gulps of clean air, he didn't even mind Johnny scolding him because it meant Johnny was with him, saved him, cared about him, loved him. It was enough.
Now, here, sitting beside Johnny on his couch while Johnny tries not to cry, it's enough. Maybe he'll never kiss Johnny, but Roy at least knows Johnny loves him enough that the thought of him almost dying pushes the man to tears.
"You almost died," Johnny repeats in the same shaky voice, continues this time, "and I— and I had to come find you. Do you— I— Roy, what if I really had found you dead down there?"
His voice trails to a whisper, the last few words so quiet Roy strains to hear them. He doesn't have an answer. He doesn't want to think about it, if he's being honest with himself. He can remember Johnny's friend Drew, remembers Johnny having to tell that friend's wife that he was gone, and he has the dark thought that if anyone were going to tell Joanne Roy was dead, he'd want it to be Johnny. Johnny would be kind about it, would cry with her, would comfort her. He doesn't tell Johnny this. Another thing he can't tell him.
Johnny speaks again, still so quiet, "Roy… I— I was so scared. I couldn't even imagine-… I pretended I was doin' okay, that I wasn't freaked out, but I— I was really losin' it. I just couldn't stop thinkin' about— what if I really lost you? What if— What if I had to find you and bring you out like that?"
"You'd do what you'd have to do," Roy tells him, soft, gentle, "You… You'd take care of me."
Of that he has no doubt. Perhaps Johnny doesn't love him in the way he'd like, but Roy has no doubts at all that Johnny does love him. He knows that if he'd died down there, it would have devastated Johnny, would have broken him, destroyed him. Roy feels a painful twisting in his chest at the thought of it. Johnny must be thinking more about it, too, because he leans forward and sets down his beer, putting his face in hands and taking a deep shuddering breath.
Roy sets his own drink down and shifts closer to Johnny, reaching out to comfort him, to settle a hand on his back or to pull him into something like a hug.
He isn't prepared for Johnny to push him back onto the couch and climb into his lap, molding himself to Roy's body, burying his face in Roy's neck. On pure instinct, Roy wraps his arms around him, holding him close. He feels his eyes flutter shut, his heart thumping, his breath catching. Having Johnny so close… His arms tighten around Johnny, wanting to hold him for as long as he can, not knowing when he might get another chance to do so.
"I can't lose you," Johnny murmurs, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin of Roy's neck, "I really can't."
The sensation makes Roy shiver, though he tries to hide it. He simply tilts his head slightly, puts his own lips close to Johnny's ear, whispers, "You didn't lose me, Johnny. I'm here. I'm right here."
"But I almost did. I almost— Roy, I—" his voice catches— "I don't know what I'd do without you. I really don't."
He nuzzles his face against the side of Roy's throat, arms loosely wrapped around Roy's neck, his body pressed against Roy's. It's overwhelming. Roy's whole body is warm, his nose filled with the scents of Johnny's cheap soap and shampoo, his fingers tingling where they rest on Johnny's back.
Roy wants to tell him that it's fine, that he's okay, that he isn't going anywhere and never will (not that he can promise that, not in their job), but his voice sticks in his throat. It occurs to him that if he stays quiet then Johnny would stay here in his lap longer. It's a terrible thought. He should want to comfort his friend, should want to take away any pain or sadness that he's feeling, but there's something inside him, something dark, that wants to keep Johnny just like this for as long as he can. He turns his head a little more, buries his nose into Johnny's hair, right above his ear, takes a deep breath, takes a moment to just… imagine.
Imagine if he could have Johnny in every way. Imagine if Johnny loved him the way he loves Johnny. Imagine if he and Johnny could lay like this all the time, no worries or care, simply pressed up against one another, basking in one another's warmth. Imagine if Johnny would dream of Roy the way he dreams of Johnny, hot and hard and humping the mattress—
Hard.
Pressed together as they are, it's obvious. Johnny is hard, and not only is he hard, he's starting to move, shifting slightly, rocking faintly, as if he doesn't know he's doing it. Roy should stop him. Roy should push him away, gently tell him that they shouldn't do something like this, that he loves Johnny (and oh, how he loves him) but they can't because Roy is married.
But Joanne is the one who'd pushed him to reveal his feelings. She not only wouldn't mind if they did something, she would encourage it. Roy's fingers twitch against Johnny's back, pressing him ever so slightly closer.
"Roy…"
He feels Johnny's mouth drop open, feels his breath—hot and damp—at his throat, feels him rock again, feels his own cock start to fill.
"Roy," Johnny murmurs again, his voice small, afraid, "Roy, I— I don't—"
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay, Johnny," Roy tells him, gentle, soft, "You're okay. You can— You should take what you need, do what you need."
"But—"
"No, don't worry about it, don't worry about anything else but what you need."
He can't see Johnny's face, but he hears him suck in a sharp breath, feels how the air moves over his skin, feels his body twitch.
"You mean it? It's okay."
"I mean it. Whatever you need."
There's a beat, a moment in which neither of them moves, thinking about what's about to happen, what they might be about to do, if it's a good idea. It's a good idea to Roy, even if they only do it once because then at least he'll get to experience it. He waits for Johnny to decide what he wants.
And decide he does. Johnny grinds down, intentionally, and a groan leaves Roy's lips like it's been punched out, arousal sparking through his veins. His arms shift, tightening around Johnny's waist, keeping him in place, not that he thinks Johnny is interested in going anywhere.
Johnny keeps rocking and shifting, trying to find a good angle, his face still pressed against Roy's neck. Roy is fully hard now—they both are—and it's becoming harder and harder to keep himself still. He wants to push Johnny down onto the couch, wants to kiss him senseless, wants to have him any way, every way he can. He won't. He doesn't want to scare Johnny off, not when he's finally getting something he's wanted for so long.
He lets his head tilt slightly, giving Johnny more access to his neck and throat, feels his open mouth against the sensitive skin, feels him nosing and huffing, his breath warm and damp.
"Roy…"
His voice is soft, little more than a whimper, and the sound goes straight to Roy's cock, his hips rocking up.
"Johnny, I— I need to— to move—"
"Yeah, yeah, go ahead…"
Permission given, Roy lets his hips roll again, Johnny rocks back, and together they set a good rhythm. They rut against one another like horny teenagers, Roy's hands finally slipping down to grab Johnny's ass, pulling him in, giving himself more leverage to rock up into him. Johnny still has his face pressed into Roy's neck, is moaning and whimpering, and Roy is seized with the desperate need to see his expression. One of his hands slides up Johnny's back, coming to rest at the base of his skull, fingers slipping into his hair.
"I wanna look at you, Johnny," Roy says, breathless, "Would you— Would you look at me?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"I— 'cause I'm afraid that if I look at you, I— I'll wanna kiss you."
Roy feels his heart stutter, his fingers twitching where they rest against Johnny's body. Johnny wants to kiss him? He wets his lips, says, "That's fine. If you wanna kiss me… that's— that's fine."
"But I'm afraid that if I kiss you now, I won't wanna stop," Johnny murmurs, "I'm afraid that if I get to do it even once, I'll wanna do it all the time… even— even at the station."
"That's okay," Roy tells him, bursting with happiness, "I want you to look at me anyway. If you kiss me… I'd like that."
Those words make Johnny move at last, finally pulling back from Roy's neck to look at him, his eyes red and glassy, and he unwinds his arms from around Roy's shoulders. For a brief moment, Roy fears that he'd irrevocably fucked up, that this was some kind of odd test that he'd failed by admitting he'd let Johnny kiss him.
But then Johnny's hands cup his face, warm and calloused and perfect, their eyes locked on one another.
"I shouldn't kiss you," Johnny says, his voice quiet.
"Why not?"
"I, uh, I don't think your wife would appreciate it very much."
"You'd be surprised at what exactly my wife would appreciate."
To emphasize his words, Roy rolls his hips, satisfied with how Johnny's mouth drops open just a bit more, his body jolting slightly as he remembers what they were in the middle of. Roy's hand is still cupping the base of his skull, just holding, not urging, wanting Johnny to make the decision on his own.
Johnny does lean in closer, their noses brushing, their breath mingling as they pant, their mouths so close that if either of them tilts their head their lips would touch. Roy wants that, of course. He wants to kiss Johnny so bad, has wanted to kiss him for so long, is so desperate for him that it takes all his will power to not move his head and do so.
For a while, that's all they do: rock against one another, eyes locked, panting, gasping, groaning. Roy's head tilts almost on its own, so close to brushing his lips over Johnny's, though Johnny doesn't move. Rather, he doesn't move to kiss Roy, seems to be deliberately avoiding it, in fact, leaning slightly back when Roy leans slightly in, pressing their foreheads together so their mouths stay apart.
Johnny's hands are still on his face, holding him so close and yet so far, thumbs stroking over Roy's cheeks and nose and lips. Oh, the feeling of Johnny's fingers on his lips is almost as a good as a kiss. He tries to chase them, wants to suck one of those beautiful fingers into his mouth, is so drunk on Johnny's presence that he can't move fast enough to do so.
Arousal surges through Roy's veins. What they're doing… it feels more erotic than actually kissing, grinding against one another on the couch, breathing one another's breath, hands gripping and groping, their heads doing an intricate dance to avoid their lips meeting.
"John— Johnny, I'm close," Roy pants, "I'm close—"
"Me too… Fuck…"
It's evident just how close they are. They no longer move with any real rhythm, their movements desperate and needy. Johnny's pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed, a slight of sweat on his brow. Roy assumes he must look the same, just as hungry, just as greedy, just as wanton, absolutely besotted. Heat burns through him, sweat prickling under his arms and on his chest and in his groin. He can feel his orgasm growing ever closer.
Johnny is the first to cum, though, and the sight nearly sends Roy over the edge. His mouth drops open, releasing a punched-out groan, his hips stuttering against Roy's. What does send Roy over the edge is casting his gaze down to Johnny's crotch and seeing the wet spot in his jeans. Knowing that he'd been the one to make Johnny do it…
With a rough grunt, Roy cums himself, spilling in his pants for the first time in a long time. His hips jerk up sharply, grinding against Johnny some more, and he revels in the high whine that leaves Johnny's throat.
"Kiss me, Johnny," Roy begs, his voice breathless and harsh, their heads still dancing around one another, "Fuck— please, I need— fuck, please, kiss me, Johnny, please—"
Years of dreaming still hadn't prepared him for exactly how good it feels to kiss Johnny. It starts as something slow, tentative, just the simple brushing of lips, and then all at once, it isn't. One moment the kiss is soft and gentle, and the next it's sloppy and passionate, the two of them licking into each other's mouth, desperate with need and desire. They barely stop to breathe. It isn't long at all before they're both hard again, before they start grinding against one another again, before they cum in their pants again. Somewhere in there they aren't even truly kissing anymore, their open mouths pressed together while they gasp and groan.
Even when all is said and done, Johnny doesn't move from Roy's lap, staying pressed up against him, arms around his neck, and Roy doesn't want him to move. He keeps his arms around Johnny's waist, hands splayed over his back. They should probably clean themselves up soon. Roy's slowly drying pants and underwear are already starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, but he wants to savor this moment for as long as he can have it.
Johnny in his arms. Johnny in his lap. Both of them sated and kiss-bitten, the taste of Johnny's mouth still on his lips and tongue. He feels another surge of arousal as he thinks of what Joanne's reaction to all of this will be when he tells her, because he will tell her, of course. It's not enough for him to get hard again, not now, but it's enough to have him kissing Johnny again, trailing his lips over Johnny's cheeks and nose and jaw and forehead, any bit of him he can reach.
Maybe when the moment isn't so fragile, Roy will have enough courage to tell Johnny all the things he said he never would.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.