Rambo Slash Fic - Morning Routine
Feb. 7th, 2016 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nanuk_dainTitle: Morning Routine
Fandom: Rambo – First Blood
Pairing: John Rambo/Deputy Mitch
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: established relationship, fluff, explicit sexual content
Word count: approx. 3.400
Series: Partners (1st part: Right This Way, Partner)
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be. Pity, really...
Comment: Oh my, I really wrote a sequel... I don't believe it. I blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bachaboska for it. She wrote in a comment that "really Rambo needs somebody who isn't broken by war and won't get freaked out when somebody tries to shave him" - and that shaving idea has been with me for years. Now it actually transformed into a story.
I know there's probably nobody reading Rambo fics out there, but I'd still LOVE to hear from anyone who actually does read it. It's such a rare fandom (okay, it's basically non-existent XD).
Summary: Ever since Vietnam, John has been unable to let somebody with a blade come close to his throat. With Mitch, it's different. Or: An early morning shave.
*********
The air is fresh and crisp, almost cold, but that doesn't bother John. The first rays of the early morning sun feel like a warm, gentle touch on his face. The only sounds come from the forest around him, familiar and soothing. The soft breeze rustling in the trees, the songs of the birds, the gentle crackling and murmuring that is typical for the woods. He feels relaxed and at peace in a way he only does out here on the porch when the world around him is still sleeping.
The house lies quiet behind him. John takes a deep breath and lets the rich scent of the pine trees wash over him. He likes the peaceful atmosphere of the early morning, he likes to sit outside on the porch, the cold air touching the bare skin of his arms. There's something so profoundly soothing about it that it makes him forget every nightmare, every bad memory, every moment of pain and fear. Out here he's free of everything that ever tortured him.
John hears the almost silent steps of bare feet on the wooden panelling of the porch, a sound so familiar that he can't help smiling. He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, just remains sitting in the chair, his muscles loose and relaxed. Once Mitch has come close enough that he can feel his warmth in his back, John's nose picks up the unique mix of different scents that define Mitch for him. Soap, a discreet aftershave, and something distinctly Mitch. It's the note that John likes most in the mixture.
John hears a metal tray being set down on the little table next to him, the gentle sound almost loud in the quiet of the early morning. He feels Mitch's warmth move from his back to his front, then Mitch sits down on his legs, straddles him in the chair. Every time he does this, John can't help noticing that he is still light, although he has gained muscles and has become sturdier over the past decade.
Mitch's hands find John's jaw, first his fingertips - warm as always - then his palms settle on John's cheeks. His fingers slowly, teasingly trace the stubble that covers John's jaw, following the coarse hair down John's throat. John just smiles and lets his head fall back. Eleven years ago, when he first came to the town of Hope, he would never have allowed such a dangerous gesture, something that rendered him vulnerable on purpose.
Mitch bends down, his breath touching John's neck, warm and wet, right before his lips find the sensitive spot just beneath John's left ear. He gives a tentative lick, his tongue almost hot on John's cool skin. It makes John shiver with pleasure, and he arches his head back further, granting better access.
Mitch chuckles and John can feel his smile against the skin of his neck. Then the lips fasten on his earlobe, a teasing bite follows that leaves John brimming with growing arousal.
"Ready for a shave?" Mitch murmurs into his neck, somewhere close to John's ear.
"Hmmmm." John still hasn't opened his eyes, but his hands find their way to Mitch's thighs. He lets his fingers trail up and down the firm muscles he can feel underneath the thin fabric of Mitch's pyjama bottoms, encouraging him to go ahead. Mitch gives his earlobe a last nip, then his breath on John's skin disappears. It's replaced by the soothing warmth of a wet towel, and Mitch takes his time passing it over John's skin. Each stroke is a caress, and John relaxes even further under Mitch's ministrations and lets him do his self-appointed task.
The towel vanishes and Mitch's weight shifts slightly on John's legs as he bends over to the table beside them. John doesn't need to look to know that there are shaving tools on the metal tray that Mitch has prepared before coming out to the porch. A few moments later he feels the coolness of the shaving cream and Mitch's fingers that spread it thoroughly all over John's face and throat. Mitch never uses the brush when he's the one shaving John, he always does it with his fingers, as if it's a task he wants to feel on his own skin. It's a familiar sensation by now, one that John enjoys more than he ever imagined he would.
There's an increase in the murmuring of the trees when the wind speeds up for a moment, and the breeze caresses John's bare arms. It's a bit on the cold side, but it doesn't matter compared to the heat he feels where Mitch is straddling his thighs. Mitch leans sideways again and the soft splashing tells John that he's washing his hands in the bowl of water he brought along. Then there's the sound of Mitch opening the straight razor. John knows what's coming next, and every time again he is amazed how it doesn't make him anxious anymore. He's sure Mitch still remembers the effect the blade had on him in the basement of the Hope Police Station all those years ago. He's come a long way since then.
Mitch's thumb comes to rest on John's cheek, his touch still warm even through the lather. It's a gesture that Mitch performs without fail every single time before beginning to shave him. John always wonders how much of it is to make John feel at ease, to warn him, to give him the chance to stop Mitch if he's not ready. It's the same kind of concern that Mitch has shown him from their first meeting on when he didn't even know him.
The cool blade touches John's skin, scrapes over his flesh, neatly trimming the stubble and leaving a clean shaven path behind. Mitch goes about it methodically, one cheek, the other, the upper lip, the chin, the throat. There's a certain routine to it by now, it's a comfort John doesn't want to ever miss again. Mitch has never once cut him, not even nicked his skin. John relaxes to the soft scratching sound of the razor on his skin, each of its strokes followed by the touch of Mitch's fingers, checking his work.
When Mitch is sure that he got even the last bit of stubble, he passes the wet towel over John's cheeks again, wiping away any remains of shaving cream. He's as thorough as is his nature, and only when he's satisfied that there's no lather left does he lean back slightly to assess his work. His fingertips pass over John's skin, up his throat and over his cheeks to his forehead, down through his thick hair until he's cupping John's face. His right thumb traces John's lips, a slow and sensual caress that makes John finally open his eyes.
"Good. Now I can kiss you without any risk of beard burn." Mitch says with a grin, satisfaction and mischief sparkling in his eyes. There's a ray of sunlight reflecting off his fiercely red hair, making it glow like fire. It's still messed up from sleeping, and John thinks he looks adorably young like this, as if he hasn't aged at all in the past decade.
What catches John's eyes, though, is the chain around his neck. It falls forwards when Mitch leans in, clinking together with its twin that hangs around John's neck. Its soft jingle hypnotises John every time again. Sometimes John still has trouble to grasp that Mitch has really taken to wearing one of John's dog tags in the first year of their relationship. John still doesn't know how he managed to get them out of evidence. Ever since Mitch first put the chain around his neck, John hasn't ever seen him without it. It gives him goosebumps when he thinks about it, of the hot, arousing, possessive kind.
John grabs the metal, warm from Mitch's skin, and hooks his fingers into the chain, pulling him closer still. Mitch follows immediately, leans in until his chest covers John's, hot skin pressed against hot skin. It's intoxicating, the way John can feel Mitch's rapid heartbeat where they touch, and he can't get enough of the feeling. Mitch is life to him, life in its purest, truest form, and to know that he can make Mitch's heart race with pleasure is almost overwhelming. It's addictive, and he doesn't think he'll ever tire of the feeling.
He feels Mitch's hot breath on his lips, teasingly close, his eyes focussed on their blue counterparts. Mitch holds his gaze, and there's open desire and fierce heat, and John licks his lips in anticipation. Mitch smirks when he sees it, then he leans forwards and captures John's mouth. There is nothing hesitant about him, and John opens up to him immediately. Mitch takes control of the kiss, deepens it, all the while he's pressing against John's chest that's equally bare as his. John's hands leave their relaxed position on Mitch's thighs and wander up Mitch's bare back. The skin is cool from the fresh morning air, but it's smooth under his fingertips, unbroken, so different from his own.
Just when the thought crosses his mind, John feels Mitch's fingertips trail one of the scars that cross John's chest, the one that runs high enough to peek out of the collar of every shirt he owns. John shivers with growing arousal and can't hold back a low groan that is lost in their kiss. Mitch has taught him to accept the scars, and although John still dislikes what they remind him of, he now has so many good memories tied to them that he can't hate them anymore. Mitch has covered every single one of his scars with touches and kisses over the years, has sucked delicious bruises over the puckered flesh so many times that John won't ever forget his touch. Sometimes he thinks he might even be conditioned to react with arousal to Mitch touching any of his scars.
Mitch chuckles in response to John's reaction. He knows exactly what he's doing to John, and as if to prove his point, he abandons John's mouth to lick and nip along the scar. John arches into the touch of his lips, craving more of the delicious torture. Mitch never hesitates to give him what he wants and makes a point of leaving yet another bruise on the puckered flesh, sucking at the skin in obvious delight.
John's fingers dig into the flesh under his hands in response. Mitch is broader now than he was when John first met him, his back is strong and the muscles are shifting under Johns fingers when Mitch moves. John loves feeling Mitch's strength, it's of the lean kind, like a runner, he relies on endurance and speed more than on strength. It's a contrast to John's own physique, an yet they fit together so seamlessly.
John lets his hands wander all over Mitch's back, then deeper and deeper until he slides his fingers underneath the waistband of Mitch's pyjama pants. He doesn't hesitate to take hold of Mitch's buttocks, pulling him closer and creating some delicious friction. He feels Mitch's erection press against his through the two layers of clothing of their pants, and he really wants to get rid of the barrier.
As if he has read his mind, Mitch suddenly gets up from his straddling position on John's legs. He lets go of John just long enough to strip off his pyjama bottoms, throwing them aside carelessly. There's a beautiful flush to his skin, spreading all the way from his face down to his chest. His fair complexion allows it to show clearly, and John finds it oddly arousing. Nobody else ever sees Mitch like this, it's for him alone, and that fills John with a mixture of possessiveness and pride.
Mitch doesn't seem to care too much about John staring at him, instead he goes for John's sweat pants and pulls them down as soon as John raises his hips off the chair to help him. He's back to straddling John within a matter of seconds. It's his favourite position, and John can't say that he has any reason to complain. His erection is nestled comfortably against Mitch's buttocks, and he takes hold of them when Mitch kisses him again. He allows his fingers to slide into the crack, and Mitch immediately arches his back and spread his legs a little further to give him better access. His reaction almost drives John crazy, he loves how responsive Mitch is.
"You came prepared." John rumbles against Mitch's mouth, amusement plain in his voice, when he finds Mitch loose and slicked up already.
"Knew I wanted this." Mitch growls back and groans against John's lips when John slides a finger in, then two when he finds no resistance. Oh god, Mitch must have done some serious preparing to get to this point, and the image makes John go wild with desire. He closes the gap between them to claim Mitch's mouth in a rough kiss that is returned in kind. Mitch bites John's bottom lip, grinding down on John's fingers to make it unmistakably clear what he wants. He's never been shy about that, and John is more than happy to comply with his wishes.
He takes hold of his own erection and places it at Mitch's entrance who raises his hips to take him in. Mitch lowers himself slowly but with no hesitation at all, and John's mind goes blank when he feels the heat surrounding him. It's so good, oh so good. Mitch's forehead is resting against John's, and he's panting, his chest rising and sinking rapidly.
"John..." Mitch's breath is laboured, his voice has gone down an octave, rough with arousal and pleasure. He raises himself up on John's lap and sinks down again, setting up a deliciously slow rhythm that makes John's eyes roll back in his head. He loves it when Mitch takes control, when he rides John in a way that renders him unable to think, that makes him follow whatever pace Mitch sets up. He loves it when Mitch loses his grip on words, when he begins to mumble meaningless noises, his face red with a high blush that almost matches his hair, his mouth swollen from their kisses, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by the black of his blown pupils. He loves it when Mitch lets out all those sounds that betray his pleasure, and he loves that Mitch is never quiet when they make love.
John thrusts in time with Mitch's movements to meet him halfway, to get deeper, and he's rewarded with a low groan every time he hits Mitch's prostate. The pace doesn't stay slow and teasing for long, Mitch soon gets frantic, pushing down harder, his fingers on John's shoulders digging in hard enough to leave marks. John feels his mind slowly going blank, the ecstasy is so intense he can't concentrate on anything but the hot friction of being inside Mitch, the warmth of Mitch's skin touching his, the sound of Mitch's hoarse moans.
John takes a firm grip of Mitch's leaking erection and speeds up his thrusts, his hand working Mitch with just the right amount of pressure. He's close, and he knows that Mitch is, too. Mitch arches his back only seconds later and clenches down around John when he comes, not bothering to keep down his voice. John is pushed over the edge by the dual stimulation of Mitch's voice and his insides tightening around John's erection. His fingertips dig into the soft skin of Mitch's hips when the pleasure overwhelms him and melts his mind.
He feels Mitch sag against him, his head coming to rest on John's shoulder, his breath still hot and laboured against the skin of John's neck. John's arms wrap around the boneless form, his hands splayed out on Mitch's back, slowly caressing his warm skin as well as providing support, keeping him from slipping to the ground. Every muscle in Mitch's body seems to be completely relaxed, and he's plastered against John in a comfortable sprawl. Sometimes John is still overwhelmed by the trust he's shown, amazed at the fact that Mitch chose him, with all his flaws, all his issues, with all his baggage. John doesn't know what he has done to deserve this, but he appreciates it every day anew, never takes it for granted.
Mitch has made him come home from the war in a way that ten years of living stateside hadn't managed. He hadn't expected to ever feel at home again in this country, not after what he had lived through in Nam, followed by what he experienced when he came back to the States. Yet now he lives in a small house in the mountains just outside the township of Little Creek, some fifty miles away from the small town of Hope where he'd thought he'd hit rock bottom eleven years ago. Mitch has been the sheriff of the Little Creek Police Station for two years now, and ever since he got the post he made sure to lead a different regime than Teasle.
"What are you thinking about?" Mitch murmurs against his neck, the words barely comprehensible, but John still understands them effortlessly.
John doesn't reply for a moment, his fingers drawing mindless patterns on Mitch's back. The skin is getting cold where the cool air is drying the sweat of their heated encounter. They're still connected, although he's soft now. When he finally speaks, his voice is even more quiet than Mitch's. "I don't know what I did to deserve the life I have now. To deserve you."
It takes Mitch a moment to reply, his voice tinged with dry humour. "Heavy thoughts for the aftermath of mind-blowing morning sex."
That makes John snort with unexpected laughter, a wave of amusement washing over him that he can't hold back. He feels Mitch smile against his neck and hears him chuckle.
"I must have done something wrong if you still have the capacity to think." Mitch teases and gently bites John's shoulder.
John smirks and let his hands slide down Mitch's back to cup his butt, his touch a caress as much as a tease. "I assure you, there wasn't that much thinking involved."
"Good to know." Mitch is grinning, John can hear it in his voice. "I most certainly wasn't thinking at all. I was too busy with other things."
"I guess you're not referring to the shave." John remarks dryly. Mitch just chuckles and cuddles closer to John, pushing back into John's hands. He knows that John has a weakness for his butt and he loves it. Sometimes John wonders if it was such a good idea to tell him how incredibly sexy his backside looks in his police uniform. He can't help the feeling that Mitch makes a point of walking around in nothing but his uniform pants when he comes home from work. But John is not complaining, he really enjoys the sight, after all.
"We should probably get ready, my sister expects us to be on time for breakfast." Mitch gives a sigh that is full of fond exasperation, but makes no move to get up.
"We should." John smiles in Mitch's unruly red hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
They don't move for at least another five minutes, and John allows himself to indulge in the pleasant haze of aftermath, the sensation of Mitch's weight pressing him back into the chair and the cool morning breeze caressing their skin.
"We really should get going." Mitch says and reluctantly gets up. "You know how she hates it when we're late."
"True." John agrees and takes his time to enjoy the view. Mitch's skin is still a little flushed, and he looks beautiful with the marks on his hips that speak of their morning activities. "But you also know she's feeding us so that we help her building the garage. She won't start without us."
A grin spreads over Mitch's face. "That means there's still enough time for a long, leisurely shower, then."
John smirks. "There sure is."
He watches as Mitch stretches thoroughly with a teasing smile on his face before he goes inside, buck naked, heading for the shower.
A few seconds later John stands up and follows him.
*** The End
Fandom: Rambo – First Blood
Pairing: John Rambo/Deputy Mitch
Author: Nanuk Dain
e-mail: nanukdain@gmx.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: established relationship, fluff, explicit sexual content
Word count: approx. 3.400
Series: Partners (1st part: Right This Way, Partner)
Disclaimer: Not mine, and never will be. Pity, really...
Comment: Oh my, I really wrote a sequel... I don't believe it. I blame
bachaboska for it. She wrote in a comment that "really Rambo needs somebody who isn't broken by war and won't get freaked out when somebody tries to shave him" - and that shaving idea has been with me for years. Now it actually transformed into a story.I know there's probably nobody reading Rambo fics out there, but I'd still LOVE to hear from anyone who actually does read it. It's such a rare fandom (okay, it's basically non-existent XD).
Summary: Ever since Vietnam, John has been unable to let somebody with a blade come close to his throat. With Mitch, it's different. Or: An early morning shave.
*********
The air is fresh and crisp, almost cold, but that doesn't bother John. The first rays of the early morning sun feel like a warm, gentle touch on his face. The only sounds come from the forest around him, familiar and soothing. The soft breeze rustling in the trees, the songs of the birds, the gentle crackling and murmuring that is typical for the woods. He feels relaxed and at peace in a way he only does out here on the porch when the world around him is still sleeping.
The house lies quiet behind him. John takes a deep breath and lets the rich scent of the pine trees wash over him. He likes the peaceful atmosphere of the early morning, he likes to sit outside on the porch, the cold air touching the bare skin of his arms. There's something so profoundly soothing about it that it makes him forget every nightmare, every bad memory, every moment of pain and fear. Out here he's free of everything that ever tortured him.
John hears the almost silent steps of bare feet on the wooden panelling of the porch, a sound so familiar that he can't help smiling. He doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, just remains sitting in the chair, his muscles loose and relaxed. Once Mitch has come close enough that he can feel his warmth in his back, John's nose picks up the unique mix of different scents that define Mitch for him. Soap, a discreet aftershave, and something distinctly Mitch. It's the note that John likes most in the mixture.
John hears a metal tray being set down on the little table next to him, the gentle sound almost loud in the quiet of the early morning. He feels Mitch's warmth move from his back to his front, then Mitch sits down on his legs, straddles him in the chair. Every time he does this, John can't help noticing that he is still light, although he has gained muscles and has become sturdier over the past decade.
Mitch's hands find John's jaw, first his fingertips - warm as always - then his palms settle on John's cheeks. His fingers slowly, teasingly trace the stubble that covers John's jaw, following the coarse hair down John's throat. John just smiles and lets his head fall back. Eleven years ago, when he first came to the town of Hope, he would never have allowed such a dangerous gesture, something that rendered him vulnerable on purpose.
Mitch bends down, his breath touching John's neck, warm and wet, right before his lips find the sensitive spot just beneath John's left ear. He gives a tentative lick, his tongue almost hot on John's cool skin. It makes John shiver with pleasure, and he arches his head back further, granting better access.
Mitch chuckles and John can feel his smile against the skin of his neck. Then the lips fasten on his earlobe, a teasing bite follows that leaves John brimming with growing arousal.
"Ready for a shave?" Mitch murmurs into his neck, somewhere close to John's ear.
"Hmmmm." John still hasn't opened his eyes, but his hands find their way to Mitch's thighs. He lets his fingers trail up and down the firm muscles he can feel underneath the thin fabric of Mitch's pyjama bottoms, encouraging him to go ahead. Mitch gives his earlobe a last nip, then his breath on John's skin disappears. It's replaced by the soothing warmth of a wet towel, and Mitch takes his time passing it over John's skin. Each stroke is a caress, and John relaxes even further under Mitch's ministrations and lets him do his self-appointed task.
The towel vanishes and Mitch's weight shifts slightly on John's legs as he bends over to the table beside them. John doesn't need to look to know that there are shaving tools on the metal tray that Mitch has prepared before coming out to the porch. A few moments later he feels the coolness of the shaving cream and Mitch's fingers that spread it thoroughly all over John's face and throat. Mitch never uses the brush when he's the one shaving John, he always does it with his fingers, as if it's a task he wants to feel on his own skin. It's a familiar sensation by now, one that John enjoys more than he ever imagined he would.
There's an increase in the murmuring of the trees when the wind speeds up for a moment, and the breeze caresses John's bare arms. It's a bit on the cold side, but it doesn't matter compared to the heat he feels where Mitch is straddling his thighs. Mitch leans sideways again and the soft splashing tells John that he's washing his hands in the bowl of water he brought along. Then there's the sound of Mitch opening the straight razor. John knows what's coming next, and every time again he is amazed how it doesn't make him anxious anymore. He's sure Mitch still remembers the effect the blade had on him in the basement of the Hope Police Station all those years ago. He's come a long way since then.
Mitch's thumb comes to rest on John's cheek, his touch still warm even through the lather. It's a gesture that Mitch performs without fail every single time before beginning to shave him. John always wonders how much of it is to make John feel at ease, to warn him, to give him the chance to stop Mitch if he's not ready. It's the same kind of concern that Mitch has shown him from their first meeting on when he didn't even know him.
The cool blade touches John's skin, scrapes over his flesh, neatly trimming the stubble and leaving a clean shaven path behind. Mitch goes about it methodically, one cheek, the other, the upper lip, the chin, the throat. There's a certain routine to it by now, it's a comfort John doesn't want to ever miss again. Mitch has never once cut him, not even nicked his skin. John relaxes to the soft scratching sound of the razor on his skin, each of its strokes followed by the touch of Mitch's fingers, checking his work.
When Mitch is sure that he got even the last bit of stubble, he passes the wet towel over John's cheeks again, wiping away any remains of shaving cream. He's as thorough as is his nature, and only when he's satisfied that there's no lather left does he lean back slightly to assess his work. His fingertips pass over John's skin, up his throat and over his cheeks to his forehead, down through his thick hair until he's cupping John's face. His right thumb traces John's lips, a slow and sensual caress that makes John finally open his eyes.
"Good. Now I can kiss you without any risk of beard burn." Mitch says with a grin, satisfaction and mischief sparkling in his eyes. There's a ray of sunlight reflecting off his fiercely red hair, making it glow like fire. It's still messed up from sleeping, and John thinks he looks adorably young like this, as if he hasn't aged at all in the past decade.
What catches John's eyes, though, is the chain around his neck. It falls forwards when Mitch leans in, clinking together with its twin that hangs around John's neck. Its soft jingle hypnotises John every time again. Sometimes John still has trouble to grasp that Mitch has really taken to wearing one of John's dog tags in the first year of their relationship. John still doesn't know how he managed to get them out of evidence. Ever since Mitch first put the chain around his neck, John hasn't ever seen him without it. It gives him goosebumps when he thinks about it, of the hot, arousing, possessive kind.
John grabs the metal, warm from Mitch's skin, and hooks his fingers into the chain, pulling him closer still. Mitch follows immediately, leans in until his chest covers John's, hot skin pressed against hot skin. It's intoxicating, the way John can feel Mitch's rapid heartbeat where they touch, and he can't get enough of the feeling. Mitch is life to him, life in its purest, truest form, and to know that he can make Mitch's heart race with pleasure is almost overwhelming. It's addictive, and he doesn't think he'll ever tire of the feeling.
He feels Mitch's hot breath on his lips, teasingly close, his eyes focussed on their blue counterparts. Mitch holds his gaze, and there's open desire and fierce heat, and John licks his lips in anticipation. Mitch smirks when he sees it, then he leans forwards and captures John's mouth. There is nothing hesitant about him, and John opens up to him immediately. Mitch takes control of the kiss, deepens it, all the while he's pressing against John's chest that's equally bare as his. John's hands leave their relaxed position on Mitch's thighs and wander up Mitch's bare back. The skin is cool from the fresh morning air, but it's smooth under his fingertips, unbroken, so different from his own.
Just when the thought crosses his mind, John feels Mitch's fingertips trail one of the scars that cross John's chest, the one that runs high enough to peek out of the collar of every shirt he owns. John shivers with growing arousal and can't hold back a low groan that is lost in their kiss. Mitch has taught him to accept the scars, and although John still dislikes what they remind him of, he now has so many good memories tied to them that he can't hate them anymore. Mitch has covered every single one of his scars with touches and kisses over the years, has sucked delicious bruises over the puckered flesh so many times that John won't ever forget his touch. Sometimes he thinks he might even be conditioned to react with arousal to Mitch touching any of his scars.
Mitch chuckles in response to John's reaction. He knows exactly what he's doing to John, and as if to prove his point, he abandons John's mouth to lick and nip along the scar. John arches into the touch of his lips, craving more of the delicious torture. Mitch never hesitates to give him what he wants and makes a point of leaving yet another bruise on the puckered flesh, sucking at the skin in obvious delight.
John's fingers dig into the flesh under his hands in response. Mitch is broader now than he was when John first met him, his back is strong and the muscles are shifting under Johns fingers when Mitch moves. John loves feeling Mitch's strength, it's of the lean kind, like a runner, he relies on endurance and speed more than on strength. It's a contrast to John's own physique, an yet they fit together so seamlessly.
John lets his hands wander all over Mitch's back, then deeper and deeper until he slides his fingers underneath the waistband of Mitch's pyjama pants. He doesn't hesitate to take hold of Mitch's buttocks, pulling him closer and creating some delicious friction. He feels Mitch's erection press against his through the two layers of clothing of their pants, and he really wants to get rid of the barrier.
As if he has read his mind, Mitch suddenly gets up from his straddling position on John's legs. He lets go of John just long enough to strip off his pyjama bottoms, throwing them aside carelessly. There's a beautiful flush to his skin, spreading all the way from his face down to his chest. His fair complexion allows it to show clearly, and John finds it oddly arousing. Nobody else ever sees Mitch like this, it's for him alone, and that fills John with a mixture of possessiveness and pride.
Mitch doesn't seem to care too much about John staring at him, instead he goes for John's sweat pants and pulls them down as soon as John raises his hips off the chair to help him. He's back to straddling John within a matter of seconds. It's his favourite position, and John can't say that he has any reason to complain. His erection is nestled comfortably against Mitch's buttocks, and he takes hold of them when Mitch kisses him again. He allows his fingers to slide into the crack, and Mitch immediately arches his back and spread his legs a little further to give him better access. His reaction almost drives John crazy, he loves how responsive Mitch is.
"You came prepared." John rumbles against Mitch's mouth, amusement plain in his voice, when he finds Mitch loose and slicked up already.
"Knew I wanted this." Mitch growls back and groans against John's lips when John slides a finger in, then two when he finds no resistance. Oh god, Mitch must have done some serious preparing to get to this point, and the image makes John go wild with desire. He closes the gap between them to claim Mitch's mouth in a rough kiss that is returned in kind. Mitch bites John's bottom lip, grinding down on John's fingers to make it unmistakably clear what he wants. He's never been shy about that, and John is more than happy to comply with his wishes.
He takes hold of his own erection and places it at Mitch's entrance who raises his hips to take him in. Mitch lowers himself slowly but with no hesitation at all, and John's mind goes blank when he feels the heat surrounding him. It's so good, oh so good. Mitch's forehead is resting against John's, and he's panting, his chest rising and sinking rapidly.
"John..." Mitch's breath is laboured, his voice has gone down an octave, rough with arousal and pleasure. He raises himself up on John's lap and sinks down again, setting up a deliciously slow rhythm that makes John's eyes roll back in his head. He loves it when Mitch takes control, when he rides John in a way that renders him unable to think, that makes him follow whatever pace Mitch sets up. He loves it when Mitch loses his grip on words, when he begins to mumble meaningless noises, his face red with a high blush that almost matches his hair, his mouth swollen from their kisses, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by the black of his blown pupils. He loves it when Mitch lets out all those sounds that betray his pleasure, and he loves that Mitch is never quiet when they make love.
John thrusts in time with Mitch's movements to meet him halfway, to get deeper, and he's rewarded with a low groan every time he hits Mitch's prostate. The pace doesn't stay slow and teasing for long, Mitch soon gets frantic, pushing down harder, his fingers on John's shoulders digging in hard enough to leave marks. John feels his mind slowly going blank, the ecstasy is so intense he can't concentrate on anything but the hot friction of being inside Mitch, the warmth of Mitch's skin touching his, the sound of Mitch's hoarse moans.
John takes a firm grip of Mitch's leaking erection and speeds up his thrusts, his hand working Mitch with just the right amount of pressure. He's close, and he knows that Mitch is, too. Mitch arches his back only seconds later and clenches down around John when he comes, not bothering to keep down his voice. John is pushed over the edge by the dual stimulation of Mitch's voice and his insides tightening around John's erection. His fingertips dig into the soft skin of Mitch's hips when the pleasure overwhelms him and melts his mind.
He feels Mitch sag against him, his head coming to rest on John's shoulder, his breath still hot and laboured against the skin of John's neck. John's arms wrap around the boneless form, his hands splayed out on Mitch's back, slowly caressing his warm skin as well as providing support, keeping him from slipping to the ground. Every muscle in Mitch's body seems to be completely relaxed, and he's plastered against John in a comfortable sprawl. Sometimes John is still overwhelmed by the trust he's shown, amazed at the fact that Mitch chose him, with all his flaws, all his issues, with all his baggage. John doesn't know what he has done to deserve this, but he appreciates it every day anew, never takes it for granted.
Mitch has made him come home from the war in a way that ten years of living stateside hadn't managed. He hadn't expected to ever feel at home again in this country, not after what he had lived through in Nam, followed by what he experienced when he came back to the States. Yet now he lives in a small house in the mountains just outside the township of Little Creek, some fifty miles away from the small town of Hope where he'd thought he'd hit rock bottom eleven years ago. Mitch has been the sheriff of the Little Creek Police Station for two years now, and ever since he got the post he made sure to lead a different regime than Teasle.
"What are you thinking about?" Mitch murmurs against his neck, the words barely comprehensible, but John still understands them effortlessly.
John doesn't reply for a moment, his fingers drawing mindless patterns on Mitch's back. The skin is getting cold where the cool air is drying the sweat of their heated encounter. They're still connected, although he's soft now. When he finally speaks, his voice is even more quiet than Mitch's. "I don't know what I did to deserve the life I have now. To deserve you."
It takes Mitch a moment to reply, his voice tinged with dry humour. "Heavy thoughts for the aftermath of mind-blowing morning sex."
That makes John snort with unexpected laughter, a wave of amusement washing over him that he can't hold back. He feels Mitch smile against his neck and hears him chuckle.
"I must have done something wrong if you still have the capacity to think." Mitch teases and gently bites John's shoulder.
John smirks and let his hands slide down Mitch's back to cup his butt, his touch a caress as much as a tease. "I assure you, there wasn't that much thinking involved."
"Good to know." Mitch is grinning, John can hear it in his voice. "I most certainly wasn't thinking at all. I was too busy with other things."
"I guess you're not referring to the shave." John remarks dryly. Mitch just chuckles and cuddles closer to John, pushing back into John's hands. He knows that John has a weakness for his butt and he loves it. Sometimes John wonders if it was such a good idea to tell him how incredibly sexy his backside looks in his police uniform. He can't help the feeling that Mitch makes a point of walking around in nothing but his uniform pants when he comes home from work. But John is not complaining, he really enjoys the sight, after all.
"We should probably get ready, my sister expects us to be on time for breakfast." Mitch gives a sigh that is full of fond exasperation, but makes no move to get up.
"We should." John smiles in Mitch's unruly red hair and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
They don't move for at least another five minutes, and John allows himself to indulge in the pleasant haze of aftermath, the sensation of Mitch's weight pressing him back into the chair and the cool morning breeze caressing their skin.
"We really should get going." Mitch says and reluctantly gets up. "You know how she hates it when we're late."
"True." John agrees and takes his time to enjoy the view. Mitch's skin is still a little flushed, and he looks beautiful with the marks on his hips that speak of their morning activities. "But you also know she's feeding us so that we help her building the garage. She won't start without us."
A grin spreads over Mitch's face. "That means there's still enough time for a long, leisurely shower, then."
John smirks. "There sure is."
He watches as Mitch stretches thoroughly with a teasing smile on his face before he goes inside, buck naked, heading for the shower.
A few seconds later John stands up and follows him.
*** The End
