untitled jon/ryan commentfic, nc17
Feb. 2nd, 2009 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stephanometraIn which they're very nearly too stoned to fuck (it was touch and go there for a bit) and there is hair-pulling. :D? For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boweryd.
***
"I like your hair long," Ryan says. He can hear the way the pot slows the words down, broadens the vowels and makes him sound a lot more solemn than he meant to be; he smiles brightly so Jon knows that Ryan isn't, like, making a serious aesthetic statement, or anything. It's just been weeks and weeks since they've seen each other, and Jon hasn't cut his hair, and Ryan likes it. That's all.
Jon makes an affirmative sound, and doesn't seem to take note of Ryan's internal monologue. He doesn't see Ryan's smile, either, because he's lying on his back on the couch next to Ryan, his head in Ryan's lap and his eyes closed with a mellow, contented smile on his face. His hair is curling over his forehead a little, clean and shiny and soft-looking, seeming to invite touch.
He cracks an eye when Ryan does reach out and thread his fingers through Jon's bangs, and then he laughs, because Ryan is still smiling his ridiculous not-serious smile. Ryan feels the vibration against his thigh, under the pleasant feel of Jon's head resting there, the soft hum of the drug under his skin. It feels nice, nice like Jon's hair under his hand.
Belatedly, Ryan realizes that he's kind of petting Jon like he's a cat in Ryan's lap, and he stills his hand for a second while he ponders that, trying to remember if he's ever met a cat whose fur felt like Jon's hair, or if he's even ever met a curly-haired cat.
"Hey," Jon says, and Ryan looks down to see Jon blinking up at him.
"Can cats have curly hair?" Ryan wonders.
Jon laughs again, eyes bright but unfocused, happily blazed. "I don't know," he says, and then arches a little, pushes his head up against Ryan's hand. "Don't stop."
"Not the boss of me," Ryan says airily, just for the sake of being contrary, and then pushes his fingers into Jon's hair again.
It really does feel good under Ryan's hand, thick and soft, curling just at the ends. Ryan's hair does that, too, but Jon's hair isn't as fine as Ryan's, the texture more substantial and interesting than Ryan's own. He catches himself twirling strands of it around his fingertips, tugging little bits of it in different directions, watching in fascination as it slips back into place on the next pass of his fingers.
Jon's eyes dropped shut when Ryan started petting him again, but they fly open when Ryan pulls a little too hard. His mouth opens, too, shaping a quiet little oh sound that sticks in his throat.
"Sorry, sorry," Ryan says, stroking over the spot lightly in apology. He didn't mean to get carried away.
"Not." Jon turns his head to rub his cheek against the wash-worn softness of Ryan's cords, looking up at Ryan again through his lashes. His nose is almost poking Ryan's thigh. "Don't stop," he says again. He doesn't sound as sure as before, the lilt of his tone almost turning the words into a question, but Ryan didn't really want to stop, anyway.
He gathers up a handful of Jon's hair, noting once again how good it feels between his fingers, and pulls gently enough that Jon could move his head with it so it wouldn't hurt.
Jon's hands spasm at his sides, and he moans, but he doesn't drop his head back, just stares up at Ryan from where he's half-hiding his face against Ryan's lap.
Ryan doesn't really know what's going on, but it fascinates him all the same. He tugs on Jon's hair again, harder this time, and Jon gasps and arches his back a little, one of his hands scrabbling at the front of his jeans. A third tug, and Jon's actually cupping himself through his jeans, pressing a hand against his cock through the denim.
"Jon?" Ryan asks, staring, his fingers still tangled in Jon's hair.
For answer, Jon turns onto his side, curling in on himself a little. The sound of his fingers fumbling open his jeans is almost lost under the sound of Jon's moan, or of the one Ryan answers with, because Jon's nose is kind of poking at Ryan's crotch, now, breathing hot against his cock through the material of his pants.
Ryan's breath catches, because this is kind of weird, but then he unconsciously tightens his fingers in Jon's hair, and when Jon cries out again it's accompanied by the sharp smell of precome as Jon finally gets his dick out, and it's kind of pointless for Ryan to pretend that he's not getting hard from this. It's really pointless once Jon's obviously jerking off; there's no reason for Ryan not to reach down with his free hand and undo his pants, shove his hand inside to curl around his cock.
Jon is still panting against the placket of Ryan's pants, making soft little sounds every time Ryan tugs on his hair. He noses the zipper aside and then just stares at Ryan's hand for a second, at the way Ryan's curling his fingers around his cock; Ryan cries out high and desperate when Jon cranes his neck so he can press his mouth against Ryan's hand. He looks up at Ryan again, eyes dark through his lashes, and presses his tongue against Ryan's fingers.
Ryan can barely even feel it, Jon's mouth too clumsy and Ryan's hand moving too fast, but it makes him moan, anyway, makes him pull harder on Jon's hair and arch his hips up off the couch, pressing against Jon's face. And that just makes Jon shudder and come all over his hand, groaning against Ryan's skin, the sound of his strokes getting slicker, dirtier as he shakes through it.
He finally goes still, resting his head in Ryan's lap, but his tongue is still fluttering over Ryan's knuckles, his breath still hot on Ryan's cock. And as Jon keeps looking up at Ryan, lazy and sated, Ryan can't stop himself from coming, from spilling hot and white over his fingers, smearing some of it over Jon's mouth as he strokes himself through it.
"Shit," he breathes, when his come is cooling on his skin and his heartbeat has slowed down a little bit. They both kind of reek of come on top of the smell of the pot smoke, and Ryan doesn't really want to wipe his hand on his shirt.
Jon, however, doesn't have a problem with doing just that; then he makes a happy little noise and rubs his cheek against Ryan's pants some more.
boweryd."I like your hair long," Ryan says. He can hear the way the pot slows the words down, broadens the vowels and makes him sound a lot more solemn than he meant to be; he smiles brightly so Jon knows that Ryan isn't, like, making a serious aesthetic statement, or anything. It's just been weeks and weeks since they've seen each other, and Jon hasn't cut his hair, and Ryan likes it. That's all.
Jon makes an affirmative sound, and doesn't seem to take note of Ryan's internal monologue. He doesn't see Ryan's smile, either, because he's lying on his back on the couch next to Ryan, his head in Ryan's lap and his eyes closed with a mellow, contented smile on his face. His hair is curling over his forehead a little, clean and shiny and soft-looking, seeming to invite touch.
He cracks an eye when Ryan does reach out and thread his fingers through Jon's bangs, and then he laughs, because Ryan is still smiling his ridiculous not-serious smile. Ryan feels the vibration against his thigh, under the pleasant feel of Jon's head resting there, the soft hum of the drug under his skin. It feels nice, nice like Jon's hair under his hand.
Belatedly, Ryan realizes that he's kind of petting Jon like he's a cat in Ryan's lap, and he stills his hand for a second while he ponders that, trying to remember if he's ever met a cat whose fur felt like Jon's hair, or if he's even ever met a curly-haired cat.
"Hey," Jon says, and Ryan looks down to see Jon blinking up at him.
"Can cats have curly hair?" Ryan wonders.
Jon laughs again, eyes bright but unfocused, happily blazed. "I don't know," he says, and then arches a little, pushes his head up against Ryan's hand. "Don't stop."
"Not the boss of me," Ryan says airily, just for the sake of being contrary, and then pushes his fingers into Jon's hair again.
It really does feel good under Ryan's hand, thick and soft, curling just at the ends. Ryan's hair does that, too, but Jon's hair isn't as fine as Ryan's, the texture more substantial and interesting than Ryan's own. He catches himself twirling strands of it around his fingertips, tugging little bits of it in different directions, watching in fascination as it slips back into place on the next pass of his fingers.
Jon's eyes dropped shut when Ryan started petting him again, but they fly open when Ryan pulls a little too hard. His mouth opens, too, shaping a quiet little oh sound that sticks in his throat.
"Sorry, sorry," Ryan says, stroking over the spot lightly in apology. He didn't mean to get carried away.
"Not." Jon turns his head to rub his cheek against the wash-worn softness of Ryan's cords, looking up at Ryan again through his lashes. His nose is almost poking Ryan's thigh. "Don't stop," he says again. He doesn't sound as sure as before, the lilt of his tone almost turning the words into a question, but Ryan didn't really want to stop, anyway.
He gathers up a handful of Jon's hair, noting once again how good it feels between his fingers, and pulls gently enough that Jon could move his head with it so it wouldn't hurt.
Jon's hands spasm at his sides, and he moans, but he doesn't drop his head back, just stares up at Ryan from where he's half-hiding his face against Ryan's lap.
Ryan doesn't really know what's going on, but it fascinates him all the same. He tugs on Jon's hair again, harder this time, and Jon gasps and arches his back a little, one of his hands scrabbling at the front of his jeans. A third tug, and Jon's actually cupping himself through his jeans, pressing a hand against his cock through the denim.
"Jon?" Ryan asks, staring, his fingers still tangled in Jon's hair.
For answer, Jon turns onto his side, curling in on himself a little. The sound of his fingers fumbling open his jeans is almost lost under the sound of Jon's moan, or of the one Ryan answers with, because Jon's nose is kind of poking at Ryan's crotch, now, breathing hot against his cock through the material of his pants.
Ryan's breath catches, because this is kind of weird, but then he unconsciously tightens his fingers in Jon's hair, and when Jon cries out again it's accompanied by the sharp smell of precome as Jon finally gets his dick out, and it's kind of pointless for Ryan to pretend that he's not getting hard from this. It's really pointless once Jon's obviously jerking off; there's no reason for Ryan not to reach down with his free hand and undo his pants, shove his hand inside to curl around his cock.
Jon is still panting against the placket of Ryan's pants, making soft little sounds every time Ryan tugs on his hair. He noses the zipper aside and then just stares at Ryan's hand for a second, at the way Ryan's curling his fingers around his cock; Ryan cries out high and desperate when Jon cranes his neck so he can press his mouth against Ryan's hand. He looks up at Ryan again, eyes dark through his lashes, and presses his tongue against Ryan's fingers.
Ryan can barely even feel it, Jon's mouth too clumsy and Ryan's hand moving too fast, but it makes him moan, anyway, makes him pull harder on Jon's hair and arch his hips up off the couch, pressing against Jon's face. And that just makes Jon shudder and come all over his hand, groaning against Ryan's skin, the sound of his strokes getting slicker, dirtier as he shakes through it.
He finally goes still, resting his head in Ryan's lap, but his tongue is still fluttering over Ryan's knuckles, his breath still hot on Ryan's cock. And as Jon keeps looking up at Ryan, lazy and sated, Ryan can't stop himself from coming, from spilling hot and white over his fingers, smearing some of it over Jon's mouth as he strokes himself through it.
"Shit," he breathes, when his come is cooling on his skin and his heartbeat has slowed down a little bit. They both kind of reek of come on top of the smell of the pot smoke, and Ryan doesn't really want to wipe his hand on his shirt.
Jon, however, doesn't have a problem with doing just that; then he makes a happy little noise and rubs his cheek against Ryan's pants some more.
