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John was in Canada for a bit, spending his time at Smitty’s.
On the one hand, Smitty did have the space for him, so they weren’t on top of each other. John spent his time in the guest room and he had even brought a small recording setup with him, so if they did decide to record something, they absolutely could. On the other hand, it was cold, and apparently, Octavia liked John more than she liked Smitty. So, she had promptly ditched her beloved, very loving, very gracious owner to freeze his ass off in his bedroom while she cuddled with John in the guest room. Smitty was jealous. Of who, he wasn’t exactly sure.
It really only mattered because, without Octavia to cuddle with, Smitty’s shoulder was aching. It had been a new thing, just a knot that was in the joint of his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t remember the name of the muscle. It hurt whether he knew the name or not. It was annoying at best. Sleep-interrupting at worst. (It was probably his shrimp posture when he gamed. He really needed to work on that.)
Still, Smitty thought he was hiding it pretty well. Key word: thought. He apparently wasn’t, seeing as John was staring at his back as Smitty made them dinner. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, nothing too fancy and nothing too dramatic. It was a cold night. A good night for soup. And it was easy to make.
They’d just gotten back from a walk with Octavia…who was back to curling up at John’s feet. Her muzzle was beginning to turn gray. He didn’t know how he felt about that. She hadn’t exactly been young when he’d gotten her, seven years ago, but still…
“Should be good.” He turned to John, smiling, “You want one of the funny bowls or a normal one?”
“Funny bowls?” John tilted his head.
With a shrug, Smitty went to his cabinets and pulled out one of each bowl. The normal ones were a gift from his mother. His father had found the other set as a fucking joke at some secondhand shop or something. He didn’t know. He didn’t care, but the bowls were shaped like chickens. Just whole chickens. He had a matching teapot and teacup set, even though he really didn’t have any use for them. As far as he remembered, he’d actually never used them. He just didn’t have reason. No one to have tea with (John liked tea, sometimes. Not often, but still. Something for a fancy day…or a rainy one.)
Raising a chicken bowl in one hand and the normal porcelain bowl in the other, Smitty kept looking at him. “Normal bowl…” He held the porcelain up with one hand, “or funny one?” He held up the chicken bowl. John’s eyes lit up.
“Absolutely the chicken bowl.”
“Cool,” Smitty sent the bowl on the counter, adding, “Do you want to eat in the living room?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” John said. “Used to spend so many evenings like this. Mom would rent a movie or something and then we’d curl up on the couches and watch.”
“How have I never heard about this?”
Shrugging, John flashed a grin at him and said, “Just never came up, I guess.”
Smitty fixed him with a flat look, carrying the plates out into the front room and putting them down on the coffee table. “Sure.” He set them down and settled on the couch, groaning as his shoulder twinged. Reaching up, he went to rub at his shoulder, mumbling a soft, “Fuck me,” under his breath.
Glancing at him and abandoning the remote, John frowned, “You alright, Smit?”
Digging his fingers into the knot, Smitty tipped his head back and winced again, replying, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a knot in my shoulder. You know how it is.”
“Do you want me to try and help?” John asked. “Been told I give a mean shoulder massage.”
Smitty stared at him for a second, trying to think on it. “Yeah, sure, why not.”
“Great. Come here.” John settled back in the seat. Sighing, Smitty got up and went over to him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The remote was nudged towards him. “You pick the movie, I’ll take care of you.”
“Yeah, yeah. No rom-coms.” Smitty teased, rolling his eyes.
“What do you mean? You gotta watch The Notebook with the homies.”
“The Notebook is a terrible movie.” Smitty glanced back at John, who shrugged and mumbled something about Smitty having never actually watched The Notebook (he could still say it was a terrible movie). He tugged at Smitty’s collar, nose wrinkling. “I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Not asking you to. You could put on Heated Rivalry. They did have the two actors run the Olympic torch, you know.”
“They did? Huh.” Smitty turned back to the TV, scrolling through the different options. He felt John settle his hands into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It sent a jolt running through his veins. Not unpleasant, but a bit startling. “Do you have any particular episode you want to watch?”
John’s hands were warm, burning through the fabric of Smitty’s shirt. He didn’t know what to do with that. Sure, he didn’t often see his friends since so many of them were remote, but he had met up with Matt and Danielle just the last week. He’d seen his parents not too long before that. He couldn’t be…what was the phrase? Touch-starved? Maybe it was just John. (Though that made things worse, if it was just John. Smitty wouldn’t be surprised, because it was…well, it was John. He was…Smitty couldn’t even describe it. Describe him. There was something about John. Their relationship. Their everything.)
He tipped his head away as John started rubbing his shoulders. He dug his thumbs into the muscle. Gentle, not unwelcome, but a little painful.
As Smitty scrolled through the options, searching for Heated Rivalry since there was a disturbing lack of hockey games going on (a shame, he needed to find out when they were live again—usually he was better at this), John kept working. He let out a low, annoyed grunt. “I can’t really get your shoulders. Mind if I—” He traced his fingers along Smitty’s shirt collar, just barely lifting it with his fingertips.
“Go ahead.” Smitty said. John slipped his hands under his shirt, finding the sore spot and working at it.
Smitty’s breath hitched and he bit back a groan.
It felt good. John’s touch was gentle. Smitty squeezed his eyes shut, taking a slow breath. He needed to keep this hidden. Taking a slow breath, he dug his fingers into his knees. He needed to—
John managed to find a nice spot. Jolting, Smitty let out a moan. He cut it off, but—
John’s hands yanked back. Face flushing, Smitty kept staring ahead. “Sorry.” He choked out. “I—you don’t have to—”
He heard John audibly swallow, then say, “I don’t care if you don’t. You still have a pretty big knot.”
“That’s what she said.” Smitty cracked weakly. “You can keep going.”
John kept working on his shoulder, ignoring the way Smitty kind of squirmed.
On the screen, the two main characters were making out. Smitty felt something pooling in his gut. He wanted, and try as he might to ignore it, it wasn’t exactly going away. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek instead. Fiddling with his fingers, he pulled his knees up to his chest. Not like he could grab a pillow or something and he didn’t exactly want to put John in an awkward situation. Especially not knowing how he felt about…anyways. He wasn’t going to force him into anything he didn’t want—
Biting back another noise, Smitty squeezed his eyes shut. He kept his eyes on the screen…where the two main characters were still making out. Nope, wait, they were having sex. That felt fast. A little too fast. John paused, glanced up at the screen, and laughed softly, “That seems like fun.” John commented. Letting out a low groan under his breath, he added, “Damn, Smit, you live like this? Your shoulder’s fucked.”
The groan had not helped with his own problem. There was more heat, more want, growing in his stomach. He wanted so badly, and shoving it down wasn’t helping.
“It’s fine. I didn’t really—” Smitty gnawed on his lip more, then forced out, “notice.”
“Didn’t really notice? Dude,” John whispered. Leaning closer, he paused. His breath fanned over Smitty’s neck. Swallowing, Smitty straightened up. A shiver ran down his spine. “Huh. Interesting reaction, Smitty.”
“Don’t—don’t tease me.” Smitty asked.
“Is that you begging me?” John replied. “Or am I just reading into things?”
Quietly, Smitty choked out, “Am I?”
“Why not come up here and find out?” John shuffled to the side, and Smitty dragged himself up, too. John waited for him, studying his face. His eyes flicked down to Smitty’s mouth. It wasn’t for a short while, either. “Am I reading into things, Smitty? Jaren?” He sounded like he was saying Smitty’s name for the first time, rolling it in his mouth. Smitty’s heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t know.” He didn’t know what to say. If he was saying the right things, or maybe not. His own gaze was focused on John’s mouth. He swallowed weakly, wet his lips with his tongue. When he glanced up, met John’s gaze, there was something sharp there.
“Can I kiss you?” His heart skipped another beat, and Smitty nodded jerkily. John leaned in first, reached up to touch his cheek.
Smitty let his eyes fall shut, let John go the rest of the way.
His moustache tickled against Smitty’s upper lip. Both hands settled on his face, pulled him closer. Smitty grabbed his hip in response. Slowly, he was pushed back, pressed into the couch. John swung a leg over his knees, pulled himself into Smitty’s lap and deepened their kiss. He rolled his hips down, briefly.
Moaning into John’s mouth, Smitty kissed him back. He wanted more, and John pushed him down to the couch cushions. John dipped his hands, thumbed at the hem of his shirt. He felt fingertips trace the skin just above his waistband. “John—”
“Tell me to stop,” it was an offer, not a demand. John wasn’t scared. Not in the slightest. He was giving check-ins.
Arching his back, Smitty groaned again. John pulled away, ducking his head. The line of his nose brushed against Smitty’s jaw, tipping his head back. Smitty went freely, letting his eyes fall closed. He groaned low in his chest. John dragged his hands over his sides, bit his neck. Smitty flinched.
“Smitty?” John asked, softly.
Curling his fingers in John’s hair, Smitty pushed him back to his neck. There was a soft laugh, then John was back to working a mark into his skin. Smitty hoped it stuck around for a while. He wanted John to stick around, too. He wanted him so bad—
This close, he could smell John’s cologne, felt the weight of John’s body against his own. The jut of his hip into Smitty’s own thigh, which wasn’t quite comfortable, but he didn’t hate it. He couldn’t hate it. The scratch of John’s moustache against his skin, the way he soothed each wound with his tongue. The feel of his hands, warm and a little bit rough in some unusual places, sitting on his hips. His hips were pulled up into John’s.
Another moan left him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Smitty sucked in a deep breath. He rolled his own hips up, lips parting. “You’re loud,” John mused, voice rough. He was still on top of Smitty, holding onto him. He groaned again. “This what you usually sound like? Or is this a new thing?”
Smitty dropped his hands to the couch instead. “John.”
John moved, bracketed him in with one hip. His thigh pressed into Smitty’s crotch. The whole time, he kept biting and kissing Smitty’s neck, marking up a line down to his collarbone. He tugged the shirt collar aside, gave himself more space. Smitty dug his fingers into the couch cushions beneath him. John paused, warm breath fanning across Smitty’s skin. It was so nice. He wanted to stay like this forever—
“Can we do this again?” John asked, pressing the bridge of his nose to Smitty’s throat.
“This?”
“Make out?” John replied. His hands stayed on Smitty’s sides, dug beneath the crest of each hip.
“What would you do if we did?” Smitty replied. How far would you go? He wondered.
“What would you let me do?” John asked. That shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. Smitty wanted, but he didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted John. Wanted to hold him close, to be held close. A random song he’d heard once popped into mind, something about pancakes for dinner and not admitting what it was the singer actually wanted. And then John pulled his shirt collar down a little more, pressed his lips over Smitty’s heart.
“I don’t…” Breath hitching, Smitty said, “I don’t know. Anything. Everything.”
“Except peg you.” John cracked softly. After a moment’s hesitance, a breath caught in his throat, he asked, “Would you peg me?”
“Would you want me to?” They were asking too many questions. John definitely seemed to think about it, though, grinding his hips into Smitty’s.
“At least take me out to dinner first.” Another joke. Pushing himself up, John shifted so he was looming over Smitty. Their eyes met, breath mixing. Smitty blinked, staring up at him. Some of his hair was falling into his eyes.
Reaching up, Smitty brushed that lock of hair back for him, tucking it behind his ear.
“Would you stay?” Smitty kept looking at him. Fuck, John was pretty. He was so pretty. Eyes flicking across his face, John nodded.
Smitty pulled him into a kiss, capturing the taste of him in his mouth.