Inspired by this post by @permanent-fire-hazard.
Andrew used to be religious.
Sometimes reality is stranger than fiction.
It was only for a few years, a few almost peaceful years…He never did find that higher power. Maybe it wasn’t meant for him, someone so corrupted and dirty.
But that can’t be entirely true. John’s still here. Still alive and looking at him like there’s something worth saving. A real angel with the large brown eyes and beguiling smile. Someone so fucking trusting. God, he fell asleep the first night he brought Andrew to his house, even after seeing the scars and how his eyes constantly searched for weak points.
Andrew never learned how to not ruin something good.
If he were a better man he would’ve left by now. He thought about it, after a week and realizing John very well might let him stay forever. They hadn’t even slept together then. He snuck into John’s room, contrarily humble compared to the rest of the house, and he thought. Fuck he first thought about how easy it would be to rob him. The man made no effort to hide the valuables and would probably give Pope the code to the safe he most definitely had. The second thought was, he had to go. That men, animals, like him don’t belong in this celestial kingdom.
He could wire a car in his sleep and he didn’t remember the drive way having any gates. He’d be gone before John woke up. It’d be the right thing to do, keep him far away from the Codys and teach him to not trust very obvious criminals. It would be safer for this ridiculous man.
It’s easy to blame the fancy jam and the housekeepers that seem to materialize out of nowhere to keep everything precisely in order. It’s easy to believe that he had already fell in love and vowed to be a better man. In reality it was far simpler, Andrew Cody wanted someone to follow and John Carter could oblige.
Two fundamentally broken men. Neither had to worry about fucking up the other. John was a couple years sober, fentanyl of all things, and was stubbornly trying to stay afloat in the very environment that led to his spiral in the first place. Pope still has every instinct instilled in him by Smurf, perpetually having to remind himself to be gentle. With the companionship they slowly try to heal.
Pope listens to Carter without judgement. All the traumas, all the betrays, all the lies. It’s not like he has any room to judge. He takes over the cooking and makes sure to always have a lunch packed for him. Carter accepts Pope’s quirks, the incessant need for everything to be just so, the compulsory checking, the paranoia that fades but is ever present. He softly but insistently encourages him to believe in himself, that he can be better.
They even start doing stuff together, like going to the theatre and hiking. Andrew gets his GED and has a job at the botanical garden; John sometimes visits him on his off days. They like to visit Sue the dinosaur when the weather is bad.
Somewhere along their journeys of healing they fall into the very same bed Andrew watched John sleep in all those years ago.
Neither are new to sex, but Andrew’s never felt vulnerable from it. Sex was for pleasure and dominance and to feel without processing. Sex with John, God he is inexplicably stripped of all pretense. He is utterly desperate to please John, anything for John. Perhaps Andrew Cody was always meant to serve, it would explain a lot. Smurf, the family, God for a brief moment. Yeah, he was alway a dog, snarling and gashing his teeth up to the moment he was ordered to heel.
John, for as much as he is an angel, still has blue blood. An inheritance that allows him to take without consideration, to find weakness and exploit it for his own gain. Even as Andrew pins his wrists and chokes him and leaves bruises and fucks him into unconsciousness and keeps going after, it’s all by his command. Subconsciously he sees that the stray mutt he picked up is eager to find its next owner. That it’ll do anything he says. All he had to do was show him a scrap of kindness.
The sex isn’t unenjoyable. He gets to touch John after all. It’s just, Andrew knows violence. Intimately. Violence is meant for men who are threats, women who betray the family, nameless person of the night who doesn’t matter.
Not the man whose hands have only ever tried to heal. Not the man who still cries about people who are long dead. Not for the man who saw a half burned Pope clinging onto life and thought, ‘this is worth saving’.
But Andrew is a soldier. A dog. And his master wants violence with his sex.
So Andrew will give him violence.
He hardens his voice and pretends John’s just another one of his men. He looks only at the wrists he pins. He closes his eyes when he feels his hands around John’s neck. He uses all his experience to leave bruises that sting like a bitch in the moment but only ache slightly after. He fucks like the animal he is, and he presses an hand to John’s pulse to remind himself he’s alive when he passes out.
It’s lust. Nothing more nothing less.
Clearly John Carter has desires that for some reason he doesn’t indulge in with someone else. No, he saw Andrew, saw the violence in his blood, and knew he could be useful.
Pope always must be useful.
Cleaning up after becomes a pleasure. It gives him plausible deniability to be tender with John, to carve out moments of softness that do not belong to him. He gets to gently run his hand on Carter’s body and pretend that he too could be someone who helps others. He must be doing something right because John always nods off.
In the after, that’s when Andrew sins.
He curls up to John and holds him to his chest. He plays with the thick mop of brown hair. He breathes in the scent of them.
For maybe an hour Andrew lets himself pretend John would let this happen while conscious. The intimacy is stolen and manufactured, he knows this. Knows these quiet moments are a pitiful delusion. A sinner imagining himself in heaven.
He always stops at the first sign of Carter waking. Any shift, broken breathe, or creased brow. He’s up and out of the room. Rich people don’t like the help overstaying their welcome.
Pope’s lived on far less.
He may’ve started to stay even when Carter wakes up. Not holding him of course. Just in the bed with him, an appropriate amount of space between them.
It takes six months for Carter to catch on. Of course sex brings out the rich boy in him, so inconsiderate of others.
They’re making out, a relatively new addition.
“What do you want Andy?” He asks, breathless and curious, and maybe a little chagrined. “We always do what I want. Aren’t you tired of that?”
That’s a trick question if he’s ever heard one. A confusing one.
“No.” He answers too quickly, too robotically.
The mood’s not entirely dead, but it’ll be moving to hospice soon if nothing changes. John’s on top of him and is now using his elbows to prop himself up.
“Really?” The question’s good natured enough, but Andrew sees the intent underneath.
“Yes. I. I like this. With you.” True enough. Not clean enough to get away with the half truth.
The concern is growing and the mood is currently setting off every alarm. “Andrew…I. We’re. I want you to enjoy this as much as I do.”
No you don’t. You don’t want someone like me to hold you like a lover, to try and crawl into your ribcage.
“I enjoy what we do.” It comes out too small, too desperate.
John cups Andrew’s check, stroking it slightly. He can’t help to try to lean in. “Andrew, I want to do what you want to. I promise.”
He feels the hand gently move his face so he’s staring into intelligent brown eyes. “If it’s something I’m not comfortable with I swear I’ll tell you.”
He’s just desperate enough to believe him.
The mood is brought back to life through multiple shocks. Kisses initially sweet turning hungrier. Not the way they normally are, there’s a distinct lack of urgency.
Andrew knows what he’s doing is sacrilegious. There’s a high chance this’ll be the last time he’s in this bed. Why shouldn’t he savor this? His own torn off morsel of heaven.
He rolls them over so he can see John in his entirety. He looks dazed. Perfect.
Andrew hasn’t been religious in a long time. He still knows how to worship. How to demonstrate his adoration and devotion.
He touches and kisses and nips. Not to hurt, not even a little. It would be playful if he wasn’t completely focused on his ministrations. Taking in every second: the sound, the taste, the feel; all John, everything he’s ever wanted. Only for a moment. He’ll lavish in it for as long as he can.
There’s no consideration of his own pleasure. He’s more than satisfied to see John cum twice without so much as a brush against his cock or a finger on his prostrate. His own orgasm is sudden and unforgiving. One moment he’s licking at John’s inner thigh and listening to his moans, the next there’s white and he swears his ears are ringing.
It really does feel like he died and went to heaven.
That feels like as good of a sign as any to move along.
The fucking itself was gentle in the way he only dreams of. He stretches out John to the level he wants—two fingers more than normal—and takes his time putting his cock in. He waits for him to adjust and rocks slowly, purposefully. They’re missionary—a position they don’t ever use—and Andrew uses it to his advantage and holds John. He lets his hands trace nonsensical patterns into his skin and greedily steals a couple more kisses. He nibbles loves bites into the side of his neck and watches him turn bright red from the attention.
John’s crying out in frustration but his body seems to appreciate the change in pace. He makes sure to wring another orgasm about of him before he cums.
Instead of immediately getting up to clean the up, he snuggles into John. There’s a hand that buries itself into his curls. Not like Smurf, there’s no pain or possession, only tenderness. He relaxes into John’s chest. If he was a cat he’d be purring. If this is it then he can say he won’t leave with any regrets.
He lets himself drift slightly, wills himself to stay in the moment and enjoy this.
“I didn’t know.” John’s soft voice shatters the fabricated peace.
“That this is what you wanted.”
Andrew swallows slightly. “It’s okay. We can go back to what you want.”
He notices John doesn’t make him get off him. “Seriously, I enjoy what we’ve got.”
He’s actually proud he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t sound like bargaining at all.
“Andrew.” He looks up and sees an odd angle of John’s face. “I really enjoy this.”
He blinks. There’s no fucking way. “I enjoyed you spoiling me. But I mostly enjoyed seeing how happy you were.”
Now Andrew’s sitting up and facing John, who’s smiling and looking alarmingly rueful. “I’m sorry for not realizing what you wanted until now.”
Oh no. That’s not it. Andrew wasn’t lying before. He liked what they had because he got John. That’s all that mattered in the end. He’s used to it. Used to scraps and getting only a sliver of what he wanted.
He kisses John in lieu of saying any of this. It seems he got the message all the same.
John pulls away and examines Andrew, thoroughly. Reminding him that for all his goofiness and sweetness John Carter is still a respected physician—an achievement in of itself given his past.
He seems to be torn between pleased and troubled with his conclusions. “Oh Andy, sometimes I just want to hide you from the rest of the world.”
This kiss is considerable more forceful, as if Carter can actually claim him. Something young and forgotten turns onto its belly in complete surrender.
When they separate Andrew can’t help but blurt out, “Let me date you.”
They both are thrown off by the request. But Andrew knows how to dig in his heels. “Please?”
It’s considerably less confident than he’d like.
John stares at him for a second before throwing his head back and laughs. He immediately shrinks into himself. Of course he’d laugh. He’d rich and good and why would he tie himself to a crazy criminal?
John notices and quickly sobers up. “Oh shit, yeah of course I’d like to date you.” His smile turns sheepish. “I thought we were dating for the last two months.”
Andrew may have gawked at him for a second. Or seven.
The last two months. The months when he started to linger in bed.
“Yeah. God we’re a mess.” He sounds disturbingly amused.
“Don’t be. It’s not like I said anything either.” The cheerful note is really off putting. Is this a normal thing for Carter? If so…well it should say something that Andrew is concerned.
“We really need to learn to talk.” He decided, if nothing else it’s an attempt to refocus the conversation.
“Yeah. Probably.” Again with the cheerfulness.
“So am I.” He doesn’t sound it. But at least he sounds more grounded now. “I really like you, and this relationship, even if it wasn’t really one, was probably the best I’ve ever had.”
The bar is in hell. Absolute fucking hell. Andrew will get around to telling him as much later. Right now he’s busy trying to fight the inner demons that are demanding he find all of John’s exes and make them suffer.
“I like what we are. You make me feel safe.” He decides on. John looks close to crying. “We should probably clean up.”
Suddenly the tackiness of his skin is unbearable. As is the heat and the smell and the sheets.
“Yeah.” John agrees, looking absolutely besotted and unconcerned about such trivial things.
Ridiculous. This man is ridiculous. Andrew treats himself to one last kiss before he get up, already knowing John will follow.
Maybe there is or isn’t a god. He certainly doesn’t know.
He’s found someone to worship, someone who made him fell saved, someone who saw the whole of his souls and still loves him.
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