nastypieceofwork | IC Inbox

[Oh well. He has other people to text in the meanwhile, though he is very much expecting to drop them at any moment when a certain someone knocks at that door.

Which he does, because WHOOMP THERE IT IS. The door swings open and reveals a young man in impeccable clothes, even if his hair is only slightly less arranged than usual.]

Hey, hot stuff. Come on in.

[... so romantic]

Thanks.

[ Direct, though. He likes that.

He steps inside, immediately shedding his trench coat. And then, a moment after that, pulling his tie loose, and off, and draping it over where he's tossed his coat. ]

No pizza. I did warn you.

We'll just have to ask somebody else to bring it over for us. Cue porn movie waiting to happen.

[or a threesome!??]

You can take the rest off too.

I'm getting there, relax. [ And he is, unfastening the buttons of his shirt without missing a beat. ]

If we did order in a pizza, do you think they'd let us video call so we could choose the delivery boy?

[At which point Petre is moving in, helping the sleeves off his arms while leaning down to press kisses to his neck, collarbone, chest. Coming back up to keep both their mouths busy.]

They should. I want a good looking accessory to go with my pizza, thanks.

[ He shrugs the shirt off, one hand coming up to cup Petre's jaw a moment, holding him still for a few brief, searing kisses. ]

Make them hold to the delivery promise: hot and fresh in thirty.

Or our money back?

[He grins in between kisses. Silly conversation, but whatever, they can both afford to be idiots. They're clearly into each other. Soon as both their shirts are off, Petre shoves John down on the couch and drops to his knees without warning. Time to get those pants undone.]

Something like that, yeah.

[ But he stops running his mouth when he drops onto the couch. As soon as he grasps what it is Petre's aiming for, he shifts, sinking lower, reclining to make this easier. ]

[Dum dee dum, just your regular proceedings into giving a blowjob. Pants shoved down around his thighs, running his palm up and down the bulge between his legs to get him hard.]

So, aside from the obvious, what do you like.

[ The list is so extensive it's often more efficient to say what he's not into; but this hardly seems the time or place to get that involved. ]

Mark me up. Let me do the same to you, if you'd like.

Oh, cool.

[as for John marking him - he can certainly try.

And then he proceeds to take care of the rest, pulling his underwear and dipping down to take him in his mouth.]

[ And then that's the end of talking for a while.

John's head tips back slightly, his next breath coming out in a soft, low groan. One hand reaches down, fingers carding lightly through Petre's hair. ]

[He bobs his head up and down for a steady rhythm, pulling up every now and then to tease a little, lick at the tip before coming down again. Whenever John's fingers do something to show his appreciation, Petre murmurs softly. His own hand wraps around John's cock, applying pressure in upward strokes whenever he lifts, and quicker pumps when he dips.

Not much else is going to happen until John comes.]

[ John's fingers keep roaming for a while; this is good, all of it, and he wants to convey his appreciation. They drift along Petre's chin, back through his hair, down his arm and over the back of the hand curled around his cock.

Eventually his hand falls away. He's no longer able (or maybe it's willing) to divide his attention between what he's doing and what's being done to him. He relaxes into all this attention, but it doesn't take long for his body to start tensing again, breaths coming more rapid and ragged as those expert strokes, licks, lifts, and dips unravel him.

He comes with a low groan, the sound escaping through gritted teeth, his head thrown back in ecstasy. ]

[It's all good - John's appreciative and Petre enjoys the attention. He'd finish the job either way, but any boost to the ego is welcome. He doesn't stop until he's climaxed, coming up to wipe droplets from the corner of his mouth. It depends on his mood, but in this instance he's getting up to go spit the come in another division. The water runs, the tap is closed back up again, and he returns to the living room.]

Something to drink?

[ John's still a bit flushed, taking a moment to tuck himself properly back in, rearrange his clothing. He's willing to reciprocate but apparently this is not the moment. ]

Yeah, thanks.

Can I smoke in here?

[ Yes, it's a terrible cliche. ]

Go ahead.

[Petre smokes in here all the fucking time. The smell of tobacco should be everywhere, really. What's another cigarette going to do.]

[ He nods, getting up, reaching into his coat for his cigarettes. He taps one out of the pack, and then holds the pack out, eyebrows raised, an offering. ]

[He has no shortage of cigarettes, but takes one all the same. A gift is a gift, and so he places it between his lips and cocks his head.]

Light me up, will you?

[ He leans over to oblige; there's a metallic rasp and snap as he flips open his lighter and the flame leaps to life. He holds it there until Petre gets himself situated, and then he leans back, seeing to his own cigarette. ]

Okay, [he has the first drag, grabs two glasses with vodka because that's all he fucking drinks and brings them over to the couch, dropping down lazily.]

You owe me one now.

All right.

[ He moves close, bending with one hand braced against the back of the couch. He leans in to kiss Petre, slowly. ]

[He falls short of saying 'oh, cool' out loud. He's not even halfway through his glass or cigarette, but he's a good multitasker. So bring it.

His smile spreads before his lips connect with John's, tilting onwards before leaning back again, a mixture of tastes and scents between them.]

[ He draws back, grinning. Then he slowly lowers himself to his knees, settling in, stubbing out his cigarette.

Fingers move to deftly unfasten Petre's pants, but slowly, teasing a little. ]

[It's... almost a parody, the way Petre simply sits back with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, keeping his mouth busy with either one while Constantine makes himself pretty damn useful. There's a shift to his hips to help him ease his pants off, help get his hands wherever he wants them.]

[ He's faintly amused at the image before him, though. Cliche? Sure, but John's got a wicked enough sense of humor to enjoy it.

He gets the clothes out of the way, and starts stroking slowly, firmly, with his hand. ]

[Finally something telling shifts in the way Petre breathes, rolling his hips into the grip with what would look like discomfort from an outside view. Clearly that's not the case, and he just falls back with a sigh, lips stretching into a grin.]

That's nice.

[He's been pretty fucking aroused all along, but the grip is what finally gets him properly hard. John barely has to try, but it'll certainly be appreciated if he does.]

[ He does try. It's only fair, after all. And it's a bit of a matter of pride, too.

Firmer strokes now, less teasing, more blatantly meant to arouse. And then he leans down, taking him into his mouth, humming softly around him. ]

Ohh - [A dragged out sound, hips immediately arching without pushing himself any deeper. There's always a special thrill when his cock is felt through warm lips for the first time, and as soon as John picks up a rhythm, Petre is working with it, rolling slowly.]

[ John groans softly, his eyes lifting to Petre's face. He sets a slow steady rhythm for now, his hand curling around the base of Petre's cock, moving in time with his mouth. His other hand splays warmly across Petre's thigh, bracing himself, but also squeezing here and there. ]

[He releases little sounds, some of them startled, the others completely indulged, wishing he had both hands free so he could grab at Constantine's hair, pull it a bit, even yank whenever he hit a particularly good spot. He decides to just drink up the rest and place the glass down wherever possible, have another drag from the cigarette and follow through with his intentions.

Sorry it if hurts.]

Fuck, that's - yeah, that's good -

[Keep at it for another few minutes.]

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let us continue, yo.

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