Chapter Text
John never understood why Tommy liked taking it up the ass so much.
It just made no real sense to him why Tommy would rather be a pansy and bend over willingly if he didn't lose a bet or got paid for it. And Tommy did it often too. Way too fucking often, if you ask John.
The repetitive banging of the headboard against the wall, his fucking mewling for "harder, please, ah, deeper, give it to me, fuck, ah, it's so big, Luca, don't stop, please, inside, do it inside," were driving John absolutely insane. It was going on through the bloody day and the night; they were like goddamn rabbits in there. Ever since dad left and Tommy could openly bring home his boyfriend, the house never had a week free of Tommy's lewd cries.
And John wasn't a virgin; he liked to fuck. He even thought he fucked just the healthy amount for a boy his age, if not more, with various girls; he knows how good it can feel. But it was as if Tommy made a deal with the devil and the cost was if Tommy doesn't have a dick up his arse every single bloody day, he will drop fucking dead. Tommy even endured their father's degradation while the old fucker was still here, his filthy words and beatings, just so Tommy could have a snog with Luca in the barn.
It was baffling, really. John couldn't get his head around it. Was Luca maybe paying him? If he did, they'd be the richest fucking family in the country, that's for sure. And those noises that Tommy made weren't fake, that he could tell. It must be some curse or witchcraft that makes Tommy addicted to it then. He couldn't think of any other explanation.
He tried to understand it by trying it out with girls, but they all said it was uncomfortable and didn't bring them any pleasure. So then why did Tommy act like it was the best feeling in the whole fucking world? It made no damn sense.
The thought didn't leave him alone; it followed him into his dreams, into his daily life, into the pub when he tried to drink it away, and even into the fucking bedroom of whichever girl let him have his fun. But it wasn't fucking fun when he literally couldn't focus on anything else other than what it might feel to be on her end and have a man press himself between his thighs.
Would he moan so honestly and whorishly like Tommy did when Luca draped himself over him? Sometimes it made him stop and hastily leave in shame, and other times, it made him abruptly come embarrassingly fast.
It was hard to banish these fantasies from his head when Tommy liked to bring Luca home so much, like now when John was supposed to have his lazy Sunday where he could sleep late, but the fucking moans kicked him awake. Again.
"Come on," Tommy whined, "put it in. Please, Luca."
John groaned and pressed the pillow down onto his face, hoping to filter out the noise or at least suffocate himself. When the bedsprings started to creak, John realized, with a suffering sigh, that he won't have the luck to find peace this morning.
He rolled out of bed with a huff, dressing with a scowl to leave the bloody house, hang around with his friends, find a chick, maybe sleep in the barn, anything to not listen to this.
He noticed while putting his clothes on that his winter trousers were missing. Tommy must have washed them or put them elsewhere. John really should get around to doing his own laundry and tidying his room by himself to avoid getting into situations like this, but he didn't have Tommy's neatness or need for order. He was such a pansy. Taking care of the household and other men's cocks.
John already felt angry enough to let his irritation carry him and march over to Tommy's room. He was not yet fully awake to properly grasp the weight of the situation and swung open his door, thinking it was due time for them to get interrupted and annoyed for once, but stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.
Tommy was straddling Luca's lap, moving his hips up and down as if he were riding a horse, with the squelching sounds of their fucking loud in the thick air. Tommy's back arched like a cat, his head thrown back in pleasure, and his thigh muscles moving with every bounce he made on Luca's cock, his waist gripped tightly by the older man, helping along his movements and guiding the rhythm.
John could feel flames licking up his neck and burn up his cheeks, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't move or even say a fucking word as if the curse affected him too.
Tommy was rock hard and eagerly grinding down, his movements all elegant and delicate like a fucking dancer, and Luca matched him on that, his glistening abs rolling up to meet him halfway.
Luca had a nice body. He was tall, tan, and ripped, and John knew he could take Arthur too in the boxing ring, hence why he earned the right to fuck Tommy in their house without Arthur trying to murder him.
Luca also had a huge dick, he knew. John saw it once when walking into the bathroom, unaware that Luca was in there too, showering off after fucking Tommy raw. He wasn't even hard then, but John still remembers how shocked he felt that Tommy's thin little body could take all that inside and not only survive but love it.
If Tommy, the tiny thing that he is, could do it, could John also be able to take it in that far? It seemed impossible.
"Do you want something, John?" Luca's chuckle snapped him out of his daze. He seemed entirely relaxed, not at all bothered by being caught fucking John's brother. John's fucking brother, who was still moaning and mewling, lost to the feeling, leaning down to press hungry kisses to Luca's jaw without stopping his hips.
Tommy was always a cold and emotionless bitch during the day, acting as if he was an all mighty being ruling over them, guiding them, but with Luca's dick nearby, he turns into such a mindless slut.
John wouldn't act like this with a cock inside. He wouldn't start moaning and begging for more and acting like a bitch in heat. Right?
John wasn't sure how long he was staring, but he hoped to God his thoughts weren't visible on his face as he rushed out with a stutter of, "No, sorry, wrong room."
He's just going to wear his summer trousers, fuck it. They were a much lighter material, and the wind will make his ass freeze up, but he had no other choice. He honestly doubts he could bring himself to look Tommy in the eyes today.
He rushed down the stairs, ignoring Polly's smug smirk, always knowing what goes on inside their head, the witch, walking past her chair to get some breakfast and get the fuck out. She and Ada were fucking supporting Tommy's relationship. They said Tommy was always more tolerable after getting pounded by that fucking wop, but just because it was true doesn't mean that all of this was fair.
"Aren't those trousers going to make you catch a cold? It's chilly today. Or are you feeling a bit too hot?" Polly's condescending tone was just the icing on the shit cake that was this day, so John just rolled his eyes and stuffed his mouth with dry toast and butter and headed out, unsure yet to where. He just needed to clear his head.
The image, the sounds, the fucking scent; they all stuck to him like honey, sticky and mind-numbing. Fuck Luca for making Tommy such a goddamn sissy and for making him think about it so much.
He wasn't a fucking molly or a nancy boy; he didn't want to get a dick up his ass. He liked girls. He liked fucking girls. But he was also curious, and it was all that damn Changretta's fault. Plaguing his mind with his overly large cock splitting his brother in two and not even feeling the slightest shame for it. Perverted prick.
John didn't even notice where he was walking until the salty-sweet scent of homemade tomato sauce hit him.
Angel Changretta's restaurant had the best food in town; that was a fact John was well aware of but would never admit out of pride and spite.
The place was by far the loveliest restaurant he has ever been in, with the neat greenwashed wood paneling and the red checkered tabletops, not to mention the scent. Homemade pasta and garlic and oregano and fucking heaven. No matter how much John ate previously, it always made his saliva pool and his stomach grumble.
But he didn't let himself go there, only asked some of his mates to get him some takeaway from the place, partly because of Luca and partly because of humiliation.
The Changrettas used to take care of them at their lowest, with free food and Luca's and Angel's old clothes and school supplies, getting extra tutoring and care. Audrey Changretta made it her life mission to not only be a wonderful teacher, but help out less fortunate children in any way possible, and her sons followed the sentiment.
Both Luca and Angel were older and taller than the Shelby kids. Luca thirteen years older than John, ten years older than Tommy, five years older than Arthur, and there was only one year between Luca and Angel, so there were plenty of clothes to choose from, and they gave them without hesitation.
They also never minded having them at their dinner table, encouraging them to eat more, take a bit home, try this, try that, is it good? The answer was always that it was fucking fantastic.
The memories of their kindness warmed his heart, but his family fought so hard just to not be a charity case anymore, but treated as an equal. They were no fucking dead weight.
But maybe that's just what he tells those around him when asked why he can't go to that place. The truth is, he can't even look at the restaurant without popping a vein in his head because of-,
"Ah, John, nice to see you! How is the family?"
Angel motherfucking Changretta.
He couldn't stand the prick. He was even worse than his dickhead brother. Luca at least didn't beat around the bush; he was a smug bastard that knew he was hot, knew that he was better, knew that he could knock Arthur and John out, and proudly showed off how disgustingly happy he was with Tommy bouncing on his dick every single day.
But no, Angel played the sweet and innocent honey bear that couldn't hurt a fly, the momma's boy that only wanted to help those in need and cook delicious food for people. He never took part in fights or gang activities like Luca, although he could have; he was also a big fucker, had more meat on his body than Luca. Strong but in a warm and soft way, every movement of his entirely harmless.
Maybe that's why Lizzie liked him.
Of course, John was fucking jealous. Lizzie was his sandbox crush, the prettiest girl in town, and he always dreamed of one day marrying her, even if she just ruffled his hair and called him a nice boy for the flowers he picked for her. She was only three years older than him, Tommy's old classmate and friend, but it never stopped him from thinking that one day he could get a shot with her and not just be the sweet young boy drooling after her.
That is until she started dating fucking Angel.
She fucking raved about what a gentleman he was, how well he cooks, how sweet and kind Angel is, how he's so handsome and strong, and how one day they're going to marry, crushing John's dreams in the process. The worst part is that John understood why she loved him so much; all she said was true.
Angel was just as much of a menace to his life as Luca, if not more, and the bastard had the nerve to act innocent as if he didn't do anything wrong, like right now, smiling so kindly at John as he cleaned away one of the tables outside.
He was a full-grown man, already thirty with big arms and wide shoulders, more body hair than all the Shelbys put together, peeking out through his white waiter shirt on his chest and flashing on his strong forearms from below his rolled-up sleeve. It wasn't fucking fair that even his lazy stubble suited him so fucking well. He was too hot; John will never get a fucking chance.
John realized he must have got carried away by his thoughts again because Angel was looking at him expectantly with a face so chipper it was as if he wanted to wordlessly gloat that he was fucking his crush and his brother was fucking John's brother.
"They're fine," John grumbled, trying to put as much hate in his words as possible and wanting to get the fuck away from those brown puppy eyes as fast as possible.
"That's good to hear," stop smiling so brightly, you idiot, "would you like to bring some food home to them? I'd be happy to give you some to take away, free of charge. I'm trying to freshen up the menu a little, and you'd do me a great service if I could get your honest feedback."
John clenched his fists in his coat pockets. Of course, Angel's food was always great; he doesn't need the opinion of a few street rats living off on cabbage soup and stale bread. The fucking bastard was trying to sugar coat his condescending charity to not hurt his fucking pride. John wanted to gauge his eyes out.
"We don't need your pity meal, Changretta. Fuck off."
Angel had the audacity to look taken aback, speaking carefully, as if he was actually remorseful, "That's not what I meant by that. I didn't mean to offend you; I was just trying to be friendly, John."
Very friendly to date your crush and turn your brother into a pansy slut.
"Well, don't. I don't need to be your fucking friend."
John turned to walk away, but Angel gently took him by the arm to stop him from leaving, "John, I'm sorry if I-," John didn't let him finish, recoiling at the touch and punching Angel in the jaw.
Angel immediately let go, putting a hand up to signal he didn't want to fight, but John just hit him again, this time in the stomach. John shook off his wrist, strained from the hit as well, and watched him cough and hold the hurt area. Angel was a massive fucker; John couldn't do any real damage to him with just his hands. If Angel wanted to lay John flat on the ground, he would have no trouble doing so. Shame that he was such a pussy he couldn't even bring himself to land a slap.
John dragged Angel to the narrow alley behind the restaurant by his shirt, and the miserable bastard came with him on his own, trying to calm John down with kind words while rubbing at his bruised jaw, and it spiked John's anger back up.
John tackled him to the ground, landing hit after hit into his middle, his chest, and his face, but Angel still didn't try to fight him back, only trying to catch John's wrists and keep him still.
"John, wait, what's wrong? Hey, listen, calm down, I'm sorry," Angel didn't sound like he was pleading for his life, more like a tired nanny trying to get a toddler with a tantrum to stop.
John could fucking scream. He leaned back with a raised fist to give a hit ten times the force from before.
But then he startled, suddenly all too aware of their position, as he felt Angel's belt buckle dig into his ass through the thin material of his trousers.
John stilled, panting, lowering his arm as it slowly dawned on him that he was in the same position that he saw Tommy in this morning: straddling a man's lap with his ass directly sat atop his crotch.
He was sitting on a dick.
"Alright, could you please tell me what's wrong now, John?" Angel panted under him, punches coloring his face in a similar way John's face now colored at his thoughts.
He held onto John's wrists gently, trying to hold him back from any further hits, and that had John snap out of his momentary daze.
"Let go of me, you wop bastard," John growled, trying to wrench his hands free, but he got distracted by the feeling of how he could feel himself grind back on the crotch below him with every movement he made.
Kind of like how Tommy ground back when riding Luca's cock.
John let out a pathetic little noise that he tried to mask with another growl, hoping his burning cheeks will be something Angel would think are made of his fury.
Because it is. Of course, it fucking is: John wasn't some virgin pansy, blushing at the notion of his ass atop some man's fucking-, oh good God, was that a twitch?
John tried to struggle some more, subtly rocking back against Angel's lap, focusing on if he could maybe feel the other man's cock. Just for the sake of research, of course. Would Angel even get hard from this? John could shamefully sense his own trousers becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second, so he hoped he wasn't alone in that regard.
"John, please get off, let's talk, alright? I don't want no trouble," Angel tried to speak to him softly, letting go of John's wrists and putting his hands up as a sign of peace.
"Shut the fuck up," John rumbled as he fisted his hands in Angel's shirt, shaking him to get away with grinding back a bit more purposefully, trying to mimic what he saw Tommy do, and froze as he felt an unmistakable twitch under his ass.
Angel was reacting to his grinding. He didn't know why he felt a strange sense of pride at that or why his own dick twitched at the notion.
They both stared at each other with wide eyes for a second, both knowing what they just felt before Angel shook his head and hastily tried to lift John off of himself.
"John, get off, please, I didn't mean to," Angel grabbed John by his waist, but the touch and the image of it immediately gave John a flashback to how Luca grabbed Tommy the same way, lifting him up and down on his cock.
Now he thought about Angel and him, naked and in the same position as their brothers have been on the bed this morning: with John riding and grinding down on Angel's cock, moaning the same nasty shit Tommy did.
Would Angel fuck like Luca? Or would he be more vanilla and sweet, letting John take his time and pleasure? John bet that was the case, which is a shame with his sheer mass. He could hold him down and fuck him like a fucking beast.
Did Angel have a cock as big as Luca's?
The hands encircling his waist were about the same size as his, but thicker, so maybe he was also-,
Angel tried to buck him off gently, lifting his hips a bit and squeezing his fingers around his waist, and John thought he was going to lose his goddamn mind.
He couldn't mask this noise, too close to whimper to play off, as he felt those big and warm hands gently try to peel him off like an unwanted kitten. John clenched down harder on the shirt in his fists as Angel lift him, and fuck, he was right; the fucker was strong; but not firm enough, leaving room for John to squirm and sit back down on his crotch in defiance. The belt buckle dug into him harshly through the thin material, but he couldn't care about that minor pain now.
John needed to feel Angel get hard under him. He just fucking had to.
His next grind must not have been as subtle as he hoped for, be it for his lewd gasp or his more frantic movements or Angel looking down to see John's tenting erection poke at his belly because Angel completely froze for a minute before looking back up at John.
John's face was burning so hot you could no doubt cook an egg on it.
Angel fucking caught him getting off on this.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. How could he fucking explain why he was so hard and pushing his ass back on the cock of the guy he was supposedly beating up?
Angel quirked a curious brow before trying to lift John away again, but he didn't want to fucking go, squeezing Angel's middle between his thighs, and that reminded him of how Tommy rode his fucking brother again, but he couldn't fucking let go. Angel watched his face and bucked up softly again, John fucking whining as he felt his bulge press against him, and he ground down on it without any subtlety.
As if he just begged to get fucked, Angel's face smoothed out, his uncertainty replaced by an all-knowing calmness and revelation as if he just diagnosed John with fucking hysterical sissy syndrome.
He wasn't a pansy. He wasn't. John was shaking his head frantically, but no coherent words came out, only pathetic half sounds.
"It's okay," Angel tried to soothe him as he would with a spooked animal, petting at his waist gently and trying to whisper away John's spiking anxiety, "You're young. This is normal; it happens."
No, it wasn't.
"Shut up." John tried to sound intimidating, but he came across more as a whiny kitten, and he utterly hated it, "Shut the fuck up."
"Boys your age get like this from a stronger wind; it's natural, don't worry," Angel gave a small reassuring smile as if a blackeye wasn't already forming on him, "It's alright, John. I understand; I had similar problems your age."
Not the fucking age gap prep talk, please. Angel acted like John was fucking twelve and not eighteen, the belittling fucker. He only saw him as a pathetic little boy with too-big ears and lips, dumb, stupid freckles, and a babyface just like Lizzie. He wasn't afraid or attracted to John.
"I said shut the fuck up!" John roared, punching Angel across the face with panicked intensity, landing with a wet sound.
Angel's face snapped to the side, his lip split and splattering blood over his mouth and the cobblestones below him, but only giving out a pained hiss in response. Angel rolled his jaw and turned back towards John, but with no anger showing on his handsome face, those warm brown eyes still trying to project calm even with blood oozing from his thin lip and staining his stubble. He looked fucking breathtakingly hot.
John was panting and staring, utterly captivated by the sight before he pounced, licking at the blood and biting Angel's mouth in a vicious kiss, acting fucking feral as if this was another method of beating the crap out of him.
He didn't even realize he was actually kissing him and not just playing out another fantasy in his head until he felt Angel's hands caress at the small of his back, trying to soften the kiss and then trying to push him slowly back. John just became meaner from that, clawing at Angel's neck, grinding his ass back harder, the buckle digging into him, rubbing himself against his stomach, gnawing at the fresh wound until Angel winced and tried to nudge him off more urgently.
John only pulled back a bit to take Angel's lower lip between his teeth and pull, watching it redden from the abuse and bounce back as he released it, and then he just had to chase after it with another kiss that was more of a bite. Fuck, he was getting drunk on the salty copper taste.
"John," Angel breathed into his mouth, trying to pull him back by the waist, "slow down, okay? It's alright just slow down a little. I've got you."
John pulled back at that, blood-stained saliva dripping from his lips to shake him by his shirt again and snarl, "You ain't got me, you bloody bastard, you hear me?!" as if he hasn't been fucking kissing him a second ago. "I'm not a fucking faggot." He had to say it for his own fucking sanity. He wasn't. Angel was just hot, and this felt too good.
"I hear you, I know, I do, just breathe a little deeper for me, alright?" Angel nodded, trying to be as reassuring as possible, working so hard to get John to calm down and emitting peace from every pore even with his face all messed up.
John involuntarily found himself trying to mimic Angel's deep breaths, still shaking and panting from rage and whatever made him so bloody hard.
Their faces were so close together. John bit at his own lip at the mess he made of Angel; his mouth and jaw were all glistening from blood and saliva and red from John's mean bites. He wanted to lick his stubble. It felt so strange but good against his face. Will John get a beard-burn from it if he kisses him some more?
"Good, you're doing good, John," Angel pat his thigh as he would with a fucking child or a dog, and John wanted to bite him again, but then he put his hands back on his waist and gently moved John a bit backward. John panicked again, sitting up, thinking Angel was going to lift him off, and his hands were shaking with how hard he was gripping onto the white shirt, but Angel just hushed him softly, "No, don't worry, it's okay, everything will be fine, I'll help you."
"I don't want your fucking help," John scoffed weakly but grabbed after Angel's hands when they let go of his waist.
"That's alright, I'm not going anywhere," Angel smiled and reached down to his belt, starting to unbuckle it. John immediately froze, and Angel was quick to reassure him, sliding his belt out and off, throwing it out of reach, "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. I just thought it would be more comfortable for you like this."
John wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp. He wasn't even thinking about getting whipped by his belt; he just thought Angel was going to pull his cock out; there's no fucking need to bring his abusive father into all this. But of course, Angel bloody Changretta would be fucking concerned right now about triggering a painful memory in John.
If Angel didn't put his hands on his hips, he would have clawed his eyes out.
John's lashes fluttered, and his breath caught as Angel gently rolled him back forward, resuming John's earlier grinding but much slower and without any pretense. It did feel much better without the belt.
"Fuck," John gasped and steadied himself on Angel's torso as he ground back on the fattening bulge under him.
He did that.
He got Angel Changretta hard. And John was painfully hard from it too.
" Fuck ."
John wanted to go faster, but Angel's hands can be steady if they wanted to, gripping him firmly and guiding the pace, making it less frantic and more sensual. Like Luca did with Tommy when he was riding his dick. That thought had no right making him feel so hot and twitchy, trying to test how much Angel could hold him steady. The answer was very much. Fucking fuck .
Angel could so easily flip them over and just pound him against the floor. Maybe it would be easier to handle this situation that way if Angel just stopped being a gentleman for two minutes and tore his thin trousers off, shoved his cock inside John's ass, who would be helpless and unable to do anything. Just gasping and cursing and letting Angel press him down and into him, using him like a fucking pansy whore and fuck, fuck . The thought made him close his eyes and fucking shudder.
"It's alright, John, I've got you," Angel whispered gently, and John wanted to argue again if not for how the older man rolled his hips up, his hands sliding down to John's ass, and pressed his prominent throbbing erection between his cheeks. "That's it, good boy, John."
John's sudden orgasm was something neither of them expected.
One second, John was just panting and trying to hold on for dear life for the world's slowest rodeo, imagining pure fucking filth. And then the next, he had his ass grabbed, felt an erection between his cheeks, and he was shuddering and coming in his fucking pants like a sensitive schoolboy with a girly fucking moan.
What was even more embarrassing was how sweet Angel was about it, fucking petting him through it and kissing his temple and whispering reassuring words like John was a fussy child in need of care.
John didn't even realize his orgasm made him crumble if not for how good Angel smelled where he hid his face in the crook of his neck. He smelled of spices and warmth.
Everything about Angel was warm; his eyes, his smile, his skin, his torso, that John laid on, and his hands that were still rubbing his ass and slowly coming up to caress soothing circles into his back.
"Fuck." John groaned against Angel's shoulder, the high of his orgasm slowly seeping out of his head replaced by disgust and panic. He grimaced at the sticky wet mess he made in his pants and frantically sat back up, the situation hitting him with clarity like a knockout punch. " Fuck ."
"It's alright, John, don't worry," Angel tried to emit calm and kindness again, but his hands pulling back to signal he won't be touching John anymore only made him feel more panicked. "I won't tell anyone; this was just a little accident, nothing to be ashamed of, I swear."
"Shut up," John stuttered, his eyes wide and his hands shaking from the sight of the wet patch on his trousers. He came in his fucking pants from his ass getting groped like a fucking virgin. And Angel was still hard under him; he could feel it. Fuck.
"John, please, listen to me, this is completely normal, you don't have to-," but John didn't let him finish, punching him across the face again.
"I said shut the fuck up!"
John quickly scrambled off of him, his knees dirty and aching from the cobblestones, the cold wind an unwelcome reminder against his wet trousers, and he kicked Angel in the side just to punish him for it.
"You fucking perverted pig," John panted, but it was more to himself than Angel, to be honest, "I'll kill you, I'll fucking kill you!"
But his stuttered threat had no follow-up because Angel still had that awful pitying face on, and John just had to run away. He felt close to fucking sobbing as he ran out of the alley and didn't stop or slow down until he was home.
John didn't say anything to Arthur, greeting him cheerfully at the table or Polly looking at him with suspicion; he just climbed up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom. It felt so fucking hard to breathe as he tore his clothes off frantically and got under the cold shower to wash away the fucking evidence of what he just did.
He scrubbed himself raw from head to toe as if that would be enough to erase what he did twenty minutes ago, pushing his ass back onto the bulge of another man, kissing him, and fucking coming with the bare minimum of touch. Imagining what it would be like if they actually fucked.
But that was not gross, was it? Fantasies are not real life; there was nothing to be fucking ashamed of, was there? So what if he thought about what it may be like to have a dick up his arse; every man thought about it before, haven't they?
John bit at his lip as his soapy hands traveled to his waist and down to his ass, trying to mimic how Angel grabbed it. He was kinder than John's squeeze, but what if Angel gripped him this hard? Dug his fingertips into his flesh? Fuck, with his big hands. Did he like John's ass? It was bigger than Lizzie's, that's for sure.
If he slipped a finger between his cheeks, it was purely for cleaning reasons, no matter what his twitching prick might say. And if he imagined Angel's finger instead of his own, that was purely his business.
What did Tommy like about this? The finger that he nudged in only felt strange and foreign, and he was far too tight to fit a whole cock in there. John moved the finger around a bit, trying to find what made it so good, but maybe he wasn't reaching deep enough? But he was afraid to push in any further. He was terrified of liking it.
He could imagine Angel caressing him reassuringly, telling him it's all alright, this was all natural, just breathe a little deeper, that's it, good boy, John. Good boy .
He gasped against the tiles, pressing the finger in further, his cock twitching. Fuck, fuck .
He took the digit out, disgusted by himself, ignoring his traitorous erection in punishment of how it betrayed him with Angel, and focused on cleaning himself up thoroughly.
He wasn't a fucking pansy. He wasn't going to entertain these fucking fantasies any fucking further. He wasn't. Right?