˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ chaos demon ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

John, in general, is a talkative person. Get him started on a subject and he’ll talk and talk and talk. For some people it can be a bit much; John has made comments about his fellow coworkers making fun of him for how long winded he gets. Sometimes he’ll apologize when he catches himself going off. Cheeks flush red as he stammers and tries to course correct.

Andrew loves it though.

Loves listening to him going on about new medical journals he’s been reading or how the perfume of the woman standing behind him on the El gave him a headache. He once spent two hours telling Andrew about a movie from the 90’s after Andrew asked him what he wanted to do that weekend. Andrew doesn’t remember the name of the movie or what it's even about because all he remembers was John’s excited ranting.

He’s opinionated with a voice that Andrew can’t get enough of.

So it makes sense that in the bedroom he can’t keep his mouth shut either. Always telling Andrew how beautiful he is, how good he is, how well he’s taking him. Guides Andrew through things he’s never done before and reassures him with whispered praises that he loves him.

The only other person Andrew knows who talks as much as John is his brother Jack, which might be why John’s talking soothes him. Jack used to read to him when they’d hide from Smurf. Usually it was stolen books from the store, but after they were old enough to get library cards it was anything Jack could get his hands on.

Andrew knew how to read but it was hard for him to keep up.

With Jack he could go on for hours.

Except with Jack, Andrew never heard the phrase, “Wrap your lips around my cock and hold it there, sweetheart,” and he plans on keeping it that way.

All that being said, it doesn’t surprise Andrew in the slightest that whenever it’s John on his hands and knees he’s loud as fuck. Vocal in ways he isn’t when he’s on top, soothing Andrew’s worries, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear.

When Andrew has his legs over his shoulders, gripping his thighs as he drives into him, John is all moans and groans. Stuttered curses followed by delirious laughter as he begs Andrew to go harder, faster, deeper. His nails skittering across Andrew’s skin, careful not to leave any marks but trailing stinging pleasure down his spine.

Like right now — Andrew is on top with his hand clamped over John’s mouth. He’s rocking into him, head spinning, as John loses his ability to be quiet. He’s close, painfully close, and every sound John makes sends a spiral of heat to his cock.

He’s trying to get the right angle that makes John go wild, and it works — John jerks beneath him, knocking Andrew’s hand away.

“Come in me.” He begs.

Andrew grunts, slamming his eyes shut trying to keep himself in check, wrapping John’s leg around his waist. He tilts his hips up to drive deeper.

“Andy please, please—” He’s gone airy, dazed, eyes rolling back. Andrew fucks in harder, slipping his knees to give John’s thighs better leverage for gravity to assist. John’s hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into Andrew’s skin, making him jump.

“God yes.” John yowls, come shooting across his jumping stomach. He tightens, pulsing around Andrew’s dick. His mind buzzes from the mewling sound John is making. His own orgasm barrels through him like a freight train.

Afterwards, when he’s curled up on John’s chest, dozing while John’s skilled fingers scratch his scalp. John is telling him about his day, explaining how he saved a kid who fell off a roof and got a fence post shoved through his stomach.

The story itself is more gruesome than an afterglow conversation should be, but Andrew basks in it.

“Susan said I was going on too much about it afterwards.” He’s kissing Andrew’s hairline. “But you can’t not talk about a miracle like that.”

“I like how much you talk.” Andrew himself isn’t much of a talker; if he doesn’t have anything to say, then he’s not going to say it. Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t enjoy when other people speak their minds.

He’s so focused on how warm he feels wrapped up in John’s arms, his heart beating beneath his ear, that he didn’t notice John had stopped talking.

Thinking the younger man fell asleep, he peers up to see John’s mouth pressed tight, gaze glued to the ceiling. His face is equal parts flushed and pale, like he’s not sure what kind of reaction he’s supposed to be having.

For a second Andrew thinks he’s hurt. Did something happen? He shoots up, looking John up and down trying to figure out what’s wrong. Did they overdo it? John’s back has been acting up lately. Are his scars hurting? Is it his stomach? Did Andrew hurt him?

He pushes John’s side, prodding at his stomach the way he’s seen John do to himself.

John makes a concerned noise.

Andrew stops, “Are you okay?”

John blinks, something like embarrassment crossing his face, “I talk too much.”

Andrew stares at him.

John covers his face, groaning into his palms, rocking his head side to side, “I do. Fuck, I know this about myself yet I still keep doing it. I’m doing it right now! What’s wrong with me—” the rest of his sentence is muffled by the pillow that he slipped from behind him.

Andrew twists his mouth then grabs the pillow, removing his ability to smother himself. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

John’s ears are deep, concerning red, his cheeks almost purple with how hard he’s blushing, “Don’t.” He tries to take the pillow back.

Andrew scoots down the bed. “I’m serious.” He blocks John from grabbing the other pillow.

He deflates, collapsing onto his back, “Andy—”

Collecting himself, he thinks about his words carefully, knowing that whatever he says will either make this better or worse. It’s easy for him to trip over what he means versus what he says.

“I love when you talk.” He watches John’s ears, his own burning, “I like your voice.”

John tilts his head, “Oh.”

He squirms, feeling exposed and raw with how John is watching him. Brown eyes wide and soft, a smile ticking up the edges of his mouth. His shoulders draw up his neck, back going ramrod as he tries to fight his instincts to avoid the open expression aimed his way.

“You like the way I talk?” A hand brushes his arm.

Andrew nods.

John rolls his lips, “Why?”

Andrew shrugs, his voice lost to the shyness creeping up his spine. John’s hand slides from his arm to his shoulder, pulling him back towards him. “I’ve been told I talk too much my whole life. Had some exes tell me I’m too loud, especially in bed. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone tell me they like the way I talk.”

“Those people are idiots.”

John hums, pulling Andrew harder. He gives in, letting John guide him into his arms until he’s almost sitting in his lap. The angle makes it impossible for Andrew to look away from him.

John’s beauty makes Andrew’s heart beat double. Movie star handsome is his first thought — imagining John as one of those heart throbs from the shows Julia used to watch. His floppy hair, day old stubble ghosting his jaw, candy pink lips tucked into a smile that crinkles large doe eyes.

Andrew, pushing forty-five, will never understand how someone as gorgeous as John and fifteen years his junior would want someone like him. A busted criminal with baggage heavy enough to drown a boat.

Not that Andrew thinks he’s unattractive. He’s not the slickest in social situations, but he’s had his fair share of people tell him how good he looks. John tells him all the time that Andrew, “Looks like he was carved by the gods.” But Andrew is broken, missing a few substantial pieces and held together by stubbornness and superglue.

If it weren’t for Jack, Lena, and John — Andrew doesn’t know what.

“I love how loud you get.” He admits.

John rubs his arms, from shoulder to elbow, then his back, drawing Andrew closer to him. “Loud?”

“You make a lot of noises, especially during sex.” The redness collects high on John’s cheeks. Andrew keeps going, “Real loud when I’m fucking you.”

A low sound almost like a purr erupts from John’s chest. “I didn’t realize.”

Andrew touches John’s blush with his thumbs, “It lets me know when I’m doing it right. The louder you get the—” He pauses, not sure how to explain what he means.

“The hotter it is?” John fills in the blank space.

Andrew nods.

John’s hands slide around his hips, bumping him until he crawls closer, properly sitting in his lap now, towering above him. He runs his fingers through John’s hair. John rumbles, eyes shutting as he tips his head backwards. Andrew bends to kiss his forehead, down his cheeks, nudging him until John meets him in a kiss.

John moans, long, deep, vibrating through the kiss into Andrew’s chest. He twists his fingers in John’s hair and yanks. The moan breaks apart the kiss, John’s mouth slack as he pants.

“Do it again.” He whines.

Andrew clenches his fist and yanks hard enough John’s neck arches, a gasp tears free. He kisses beneath his jaw, scraping his teeth along the stubble before ducking to mouth the column of his throat. John keens, fingers flexing around Andrew’s waist before he squeezes, rolling his hips over him.

He’s hard, rutting into Andrew.

Arousal flares hot in his chest, dripping down his spine, pooling in his groin. He rocks forward, dragging his soft cock over John’s hard one.

“Fuck.” John gasps.

“I can’t get it up again.”

John tips his chin to kiss Andrew, licking into his mouth as Andrew continues to rock into him. “Don’t need to.” He murmurs.

“My mouth—”

John shakes his head, “Like this, please.”

“Okay,” Andrew leans back, breaking the connection. John pouts, whimpering as he chases after him. Andrew yanks his hair, watching John’s eyes roll back as a shudder racks through him, “Don’t try to be quiet.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He spreads his legs wider, shifting higher so he’s snug against John. “Continue.”

The noises that come from him make Andrew’s ears ring. It’s unreal, throaty, a symphony of his name and please, please, please. He kisses the sounds into Andrew’s skin, crying out when Andrew wraps his hand around his own cock, still soft, and jerks himself.

It’s too much — he really can’t get hard again, but it has John moaning like a porn star. He pins Andrew in his lap and ruts up like a beast, precome slicking the rough friction.

“Yes,” He pleads, “Andy, yes, yes, please, fuck, fuck—” He sucks sloppy hickeys into his skin, along his collar and down his chest. He bites his tits hard, sinking his teeth in as Andrew rolls his hips, dragging his balls and taint over John’s leaking cock.

“Shit,” he hisses, dragging the word between his teeth.

“Are you going to come?”

“Yeah, yes. I’m so close, Andy. So close.” John babbles.

“Does it feel good?” He thumbs his head, the faintest hint of precome smears along his thumb. It’s too much, too sharp. John watches him, mouth slick and open, eyes burning dark.

“John.” He almost lets go, but John makes a garbled sound. He tightens his fist instead, sighing when John’s head drops forward.

“It’s so good,” he pants, “Your thighs are a work of art. The way your tits bounce. I want to sink my teeth into you, want to sink my cock into you but I want you to fuck me too. God you feel so fucking good. You’re gorgeous, Andy. My gorgeous boy — shit, fuck, yes — you’re incredible. Please I’m so close, fuck I’m coming — Shiiiiiit.”

Andrew swears he comes a second time that night, dry and twitching just from the feeling of John’s come splashing behind his balls. John’s face wide open, staring at Andrew with a gobsmacked expression. He keens, long, breathless, twitching beneath him.

“Music.” Andrew murmurs.