Current mood:	horny
Entry tags:	fic: x2

Some people go to church on Sunday mornings...
...I write porn, evidently. Hey, we all worship in our own way, okay?

This is actually all hackthis's fault. She wrote a story with this line: Sometimes he finds himself watching Johnny play with his lighter: the thick fingers rubbing the slick surface, sliding it along a lined palm, slipping it into fitted jean pockets only to extract it seconds later.

and then hinted to *me* that she wanted porn. This is what happened. So blame her. Or, you know, thank her.

c


Bobby thinks he might be developing a fetish--or at least an unhealthy obsession--with John's Zippo.

This is because lately, it's all he can think about. He can't stop staring at it in John's hands, and it's *always* in John's hands. He fiddles with it in class, caresses it at the dinner table, toys with it while watching TV. He's always slipping it into a jeans pocket, a shirt pocket, twiddling it between his fingers, or--and this never fails to make Bobby's mouth go dry--sliding it against his lips.

Bobby wants to know what the lighter feels like. Is it always warm from constant contact with John's skin? ("Guh," goes Bobby's brain.) It looks so smooth, but is the texture different where those shark teeth are painted on? When John's tongue idly flicks out to taste the metal (which he only does when he's concentrating really hard, like on a math test), how does it taste?

Bobby can feel his dick stir at the scent of lighter fluid when John lights a contraband cigarette while they're hiding out behind the gym. Yes, he knows this is insane. But he can't help it.

It all started innocently enough. He started off staring at John's *hands*. Which makes sense because John has great hands, and they can do amazing things to Bobby. He particularly likes it when they're standing in line to get lunch or dinner and John slides one hand up under his shirt and rests it against the small of Bobby's back.

So he was staring at John's hands (a lot) and fantasizing (a lot), when one day he noticed that John *always* had his Zippo in them. Well, it's not like he hadn't noticed it before, but before the lighter was just a part of John. Like Linus' blanket, only far more flammable. Maybe this had started because now Bobby knows what the hands that hold that lighter can do. How they can make him pant and sigh and moan. And since Bobby would really like them to be doing that to him *all the time*, he's jealous of anything that gets more attention from those hands than he does.

So yes, he's jealous of an inanimate object--a hunk of metal--and now he's apparently sexualizing it, and this is ridiculous and--

--and is someone talking to him?

"Hellooo? Bobby? Wake *up*!"

Yes, someone is talking to him, and it's John, snapping non-Zippo holding fingers right in front of his nose.

"...what? Uh, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Nothing, lunch is over. It's time to go to class. Where the hell were you?"

Bobby looks around and realizes he must have been daydreaming for at least fifteen minutes. Lunch is definitely over, students are filing out of the lunch room, and Kitty and Jubes are long gone. And John's sitting there looking at him with a half-amused, half-curious expression.

"Sorry," he says again, really not wanting to explain exactly where his mind was. "I was..er..."

"Yeah, I bet I know what you were thinking about." John smirks at him with that *look* in his eyes, and Bobby hears the click of the lighter from under the table. He feels the tips of his ears start to turn red and curses to himself. He's pretty sure John just thinks he was thinking about sex in generic, John-related terms, not specific, Zippo-related ones, but still. He doesn't know what to say at this point, so he just smiles back and gets up. As they head toward the hall he feels John's hand slide up under his shirt and rest against the small of his back, and it's good.

***

Later that night, long after lights out and John has crawled into bed with him, John is sitting on Bobby's thighs and leaning over, pressing Bobby's wrists into the mattress next to his head.

"Hey, Bobby," he whispers softly into one ear. "I have an idea. Close your eyes for a second."

"What? Why?" Bobby mutters, squirming at the feel of hot, moist breath against that sensitive spot just below his ear.

"Just do it, okay? I want to try something. Don't worry, I promise you'll like it." And John's voice is that deep, smoky tone he only gets when they're together like this, and Bobby's completely helpless against it.

"Okay," he says, and obeys.

One of John's hands leaves his wrist for a second and then Bobby feels something cool and smooth and--oh god--metallic against the inside of his wrist. He shivers. It moves slowly up his arm, gaining warmth rapidly and Bobby sucks in a breath as it caresses the soft skin of the bend of his elbow. It keeps moving up the inside of his arm, along his shoulder, over his collarbone--and now Bobby's biting his lip to keep from crying out--into the notch at the base of his throat. Then it disappears and John says, "You can open your eyes now." And when he does John his holding his Zippo right in front of Bobby's eyes and grinning.

"You thought I didn't notice you staring at this all the time?" he drawls. "If it was anybody else I would have assumed you wanted a cigarette, but you don't smoke. So what is it, exactly, that you find so fascinating about my lighter?" As he speaks, John takes the lighter in question and runs it along Bobby's jawline, starting just below his ear, over his chin, and up to his lips, where he leaves it. Bobby has to close his eyes against the onslaught of sensation, and concentrates on not actually whimpering like a puppy.

"You really like that, don't you?" John murmurs, and he seems to be fascinated himself. His eyes are locked to the lighter as he runs it over Bobby's skin. Down over his chin, his throat, to his chest. He runs one edge down Bobby's sternum, around and under his left nipple, over to the right one, circling around and around it, closer and closer. Bobby's hands are gripping the down-filled pillow next to his head so hard he can feel individual feathers, and his back would be arching if John weren't still sitting on his thighs. He feels the lighter brush over his nipple, which hardens instantly, and he strangles a groan in the back of his throat. A soft laugh comes from above him and he opens his eyes and tries to glare at John. John only laughs more, though, so he's apparently not doing so well with the glaring at the moment.

"Oh yeah, you do. You love the feel of this don't you? How smooth it is, how it feels when I run it over your skin. You're so hard, do you know that? How does it feel when I do this?" and as he speaks, he draws the lighter down Bobby's torso and runs it lightly up his cock, brushing it gently over the head.

Bobby loses it, his hips buck up, nearly knocking John off and he shouts "Oh! God!" And suddenly John is draped over him like a rug, a hand in his hair pulling Bobby's face to his, and he uses his lips and tongue to muffle any other sounds Bobby might be making. He kisses Bobby hard at first, and then softer, gentling him until Bobby can breath somewhat normally and his hips only twitch occasionally. When John finally pulls back he takes a deep breath, looking rather ravished himself, actually, and then grins.

"So, Bobby Drake has a kink. I think I like this."

Bobby is largely non-verbal, but he manages to muster up a rather breathless if ineloquent "Fuck you." The impact of this is perhaps undermined by the goofy smile he can feel spreading across his lips.

"Maybe, but not tonight," John replies wiggling his eyebrows outrageously. He grins again, kisses Bobby hard and fast, and then sits up, straddling his thighs again and looking so mischievous that Bobby starts to get nervous. The Zippo is still in John's hands and he has a feeling the torment is far from over.

"What are you--" he begins, but John reaches over and puts a finger on his lips.

"Shh. Don't talk. And try not to scream."

And he starts running the Zippo over every part of Bobby, his arms, his shoulders, his neck--which causes near uncontrollable shudders--back over his torso, down around his navel. Bobby writhes and squirms and makes lots of little noises but thankfully manages to keep from screaming, although he nearly does when John opens the top of the lighter and then closes it against one nipple, sending a short, sharp shock of pain straight to his groin. His back does arch, though, and he gasps, eyes flying open and staring in shock at John's face. He pants and tries to say something, anything, but John just smiles at him, puts a finger to his lips again and shakes his head. "Shh? Remember?" Then John is kissing him again and Bobby's arms go around him and hold him to him, tight, wanting him to stay right there for a very, very long time. But soon--far too soon--John is pulling away and sitting up again. Bobby just moans, pitifully, and squirms again. His hands are moving over John's hips and thighs restlessly and he wants to ask, to beg, for something but at this point he doesn't even know what he'd be begging for.

John must see in Bobby's face that he's desperate, and oh so close, because he seems to take pity on Bobby's plight. He leans over and kisses Bobby's chest, sucking one nipple, then the other, gently into his mouth. Bobby raises his hands and rests them on John's head, running his fingers through the soft hair. He leaves them there as John moves his mouth slowly down Bobby's body, dipping his tongue into Bobby's navel, mouthing a hipbone slowly, and finally, finally, dear *God* finally, running a tongue up Bobby's aching, swollen cock and gently tonguing the slit at the top. Bobby's hips are moving pretty much continuously now, and he's discarded the whole "no talking" rule, whispering quiet, secret things as he watches John lavish attention on his poor neglected cock. He keeps his hands on John's head, not guiding, but enjoying the added sensation of the soft, smooth strands against his palms.

John looks up at him and smiles, a secret smile that Bobby never sees anywhere but here, and loves oh so much because of that. "Good. You're watching. Don't stop," says John and holds up the Zippo once more. He flicks it open, and as he takes the head of Bobby's cock into his mouth and sucks, he runs the rough edge of the wheel up from the base of his cock, gently, just enough to add a hint of pain, and that's all it takes and Bobby is coming, shooting into John's mouth, hips jerking, vision fogging over. He thinks he's talking. He thinks he's babbling, actually, about God and Christ and fuck and zippos, but he can't hear anything except a rushing in his ears so maybe that's all in his head.

When he comes back to himself who knows how many minutes later, John is leaning over him, watching him, eyes smiling and tongue peeking out from between his front teeth. Bobby can feel him still hard against his hip and he wraps one arm around his back and slides the other down between them to take hold of John's cock. And John must be pretty far gone himself because with the first touch of Bobby's fingers he throws his head back and bites his lip, groaning. Bobby doesn't tease or waste any time (although he plans on paying John back for his torment with interest some other night), and strokes, firmly, thumb brushing over the head the way he know John loves. John's eyes meet his and he pants hollowly, and then he leans over and kisses Bobby, fiercely, their tongues fighting each other for dominance. Bobby lures John's tongue into his mouth and then closes his lips around it, sucking lightly. John moans and comes, hot and wet, into Bobby's hand, and then collapses against him, breathing hard.

***

Some time later he raises his head from Bobby's chest and grins, wiggling his eyebrows again. "So, was it good for you, too?" he asks.

And Bobby laughs, and it's good.

--end--