Honors' Night - Part Four of Four
Aug. 21st, 2011 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Russ, Hannibal/OMC
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of child abuse
Summary: Part four of a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
We see lots and lots of stories about families. Face/Murdock/BA where their family past is traumatic.
Let's see Hannibal have his share...
/insanely long prompt
When Major Russell Morrison drops by his high school, John Lewis realizes his life might not have to be as worthless as he’s constantly being told it is...
Nerves churning his stomach, John stares at his backpack in the corner of their tiny New York City hotel room.
It’s all that’s left of his life. All he has with him. All his library books were returned. Tony agreed to hold onto his gear, just in case he can use it in the future. He threw all the second-hand clothes away, keeping one set of jeans, a few shirts, just to get him to the gates tomorrow. He never owned much anything else.
His boots are in there. Running shoes. His suit, folded down from tonight’s dinner, packed carefully. A clean package of stationary and pens they bought downtown today. The packet of stuff he has to present tomorrow for in-processing at West Point. His coin. A little roll of bills, about four hundred buck. That’s it. That’s all he has with him.
It doesn’t really matter. Basics aren’t allowed to own anything. Freshmen, plebes, aren’t allowed to own much else through the first year.
Everything else he’s allowed will be issued to him tomorrow anyway. Clothes, socks, underwear, toothpaste, haircut, hell, even the airplane ticket that brought him here today, the train ticket that’s going to carry him from Central Station to West Point tomorrow, Reception Day, it’s all on the Army from here on out...
“You okay kid?” a soft voice asks, and a soft hand falls on his shoulder from behind. “You doin’ okay with all this?”
He shakes his head, unable to find the words. John doesn’t understand why he’s so emotional about all of this. He said all his goodbyes this morning, out front of the store, Tony and Samantha and even Brett, who seems to be very affected by the arrest of his father three weeks ago. John’s half-siblings are staying with their aunt now. Jeff’s looking at ten years, if convicted, and Morrison’s promised that’s going to happen. He went to see mom yesterday. The doctors said she’s doing good. She’d cried a little - Morrison had been to see her a few times. Stories about his dad, no doubt...
“It’s okay to be nervous, kid,” Morrison says, moving a little closer, close enough for John to feel the officer’s body heat. “I damn near threw up on R-Day, back in ‘72...”
Fuck, John thinks to himself, and tries not to lean back into that warmth, into those arms. Tries not to touch. Tries not to think about touching. Morrison’s already made it quite clear how he feels about that. About them...not doing...that...
Even though he did kiss him back.
So, if orientation isn’t an issue here, what’s holding the older man back?
What’s holding himself back?
“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” John replies, still staring at his backpack, trying not to think that dangerous, dangerous thought.
“Nerves,” Morrison agrees, and then his other hand is on John’s other shoulder. “It’s going to be overwhelming, kid. It’s supposed to be...”
Despite himself, John closes his eyes, lets the Ranger take a little bit of his weight as steely fingers start kneading, just a little bit.
“...but you’re going to make it through. Believe it. You, you can do this...”
That you, it hitches a bit in Morrison’s throat. John hears it, but he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Not sure what he’s supposed to do with any of this, with this man.
He sighs. “I still don’t really understand why you’ve got so much faith in me.”
There’s a long, long pause.
And then the Ranger presses all the way against his back, letting one of those hands circle around, rough palm resting right against his adam’s apple.
“I see the man you’re going to become, John,” Morrison growls in his ear. “I wish you could see him, too. He’s beautiful...”
“B-beautiful?”
"Yeah, kid. Fucking. Gorgeous."
Beautiful.
Gorgeous.
It’s bouncing around John’s brain. Those words, those words...
“He’s a brave man, a man who doesn’t take shit off anyone, a resourceful man,” Morrison says, his fingers brushing up and away against the sensitive stubble of John’s throat, closing down again, as he lays his other hand on the younger man’s belly. “A man who knows how to survive through the worst of the shit life throws at him.” That hand opens, pressing in, pressing John back, flush to the Ranger, and he shivers as teeth scrape his neck, as he feels the definite and growing hardness in the other man’s jeans. “He’ll be a master of his craft, he’ll understand the art of war...”
John whimpers a little bit at that, hands limp at his sides, feeling his body respond to Morrison’s touch, gentle and rough at the same time. He can feel the power in the man, the strength, the authority he has over his own flesh, over his...
“You like that, John?” Morrison whispers in his ear as John’s head falls back against the older man’s shoulder. “You like thinking about that? About how powerful you’re going to be one day?”
Not yet, he thinks, and remembers his fantasy, the Ranger holding him down. Fucking him hard. Taking control, taking his virginity, taking him, body and...
Mouth suddenly bone dry, he has to swallow before he can answer. A single, shaky “Major...” that’s held back by one finger sliding up and across his lips, holding them shut.
“It’s Russ,” that voice commands, low and husky now, and he’s being pulled back now. Encircled. Enveloped. “If we’re going to do this.”
John’s eyes slide shut as those teeth touch back, nipping now. “Are...are we?”
That gets him a laugh, an echo, a rumble, that reverberates right into the younger man. “Oh, John,” Morrison - Russ - tells him. “You have no idea, the things I’d do to you.”
Something in that, something like the same need he’s feeling right now, maybe, and John finds himself again, just a bit. Enough for him to reach back for the older man’s hip, his ass, pull them closer together. “Oh yeah?” he asks, and with the way his voice is shaking, John knows he doesn’t sound nearly as brave as he’d like. “Like what?”
Russ chuckles again. “Like this,” he says, and then John’s spinning, falling, hitting the bed...
He catches himself on an elbow, heart beginning to speed, sprawled out on the hard hotel mattress. His mind is spinning still, refusing to settle, refuseing to make sense of any of this, wondering how in the hell Russ did that, what he wants, why the sudden turn-around like this...
And then he looks up.
Sees it.
Sees him.
Major-select Russell Morrison, US Army Ranger. Naked, like his was naked that night when he was breaking Jeff’s jaw. A raw, feral hunger in the man. That spare, lean, fluid violence he’d seen that night. The way big cats look in the zoo or nature documentaries.
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t really understand why. But it’s beautiful.
And, as Russ stands there, appraising him with unsated lust, John shivers.
Is that, that, what the Ranger sees in him? Is that what he’s going to become?
John finds himself pushing up, pushing up towards it. He wants it. Wants everything he can get from this man, and he feels right now, more certain about this than anything ever before...
But that slight movement gets Russ down on top of him, knee on the bed and hand sliding up it, all the way up John’s body. Lightning fast and aching slow, all at once, it paints a hot line, right up through the center of him, up his jeans and the thin t-shirt, spreading wide over his heart, pausing for just a moment.
“You. Beautiful,” he says again, and swings his other leg up, straddling John’s thighs, holding him down with that blazing hot palm. “Goddamn perfect...”
And that’s way, way to much for John to take in, far to much for him to process right now, to respond to, to say anything in return, so he does the only thing he can.
He grabs up and drags Russ down into a hard, hard kiss.
For a moment, the world’s gone.
There’s nothing but this, the heady sensation of those lips on his once again, the scratch of whiskers, the power there, fighting with him, pushing back against him. But it’s John who has the upper hand, John who caught Russ off balance, and he shoves his tongue up into all that warm, wet heat, trying to take in as much as he can. Kissing Chris was never like this, the young man thinks, mind reeling, never felt like this, didn’t get his blood hot like this, didn’t...
But John’s control over the older man lasts exactly as long as it takes Russ’s hand to catch up in his hair and jerk him back so hard his eyes water.
“Need to learn to watch yourself, Johnny,” Russ grins, holding his head still even as his body fights it, trying to relieve the pressure. “Need to learn to take orders.”
John bites his lip, back arching up of his own accord. Pinned. Pinned down by the weight on his thighs, a rock-hard cock digging into his own groin, that hand in his messy chestnut hair, those eyes, boring into him, smiling a predator’s smile. And he has no fucking idea why his arousal’s spiraling now, why that, that little hint of danger, that sensation of being overpowered, of all things, is what’s driving him out of his mind with need.
“W-what orders?”
Russ’ smile softens, just a touch, and that hand loosens, just a little bit. With agonizing slowness, with no loss of that control at all, he lays full down on the younger man, muscles hard and flexing beneath his shirt. He nips at John’s jaw, getting a gasp in return, and tilts his head back further.
“This order,” he says softly, their mouths almost touching again, and John can feel himself starting to shake. “Let me in, John. Let me have you. Let me show you who you are...”
He sucks air, hard, and realizes his hands are creeping up from where they’ve fallen on the sheets to the waistband of the older man’s jeans, further up.
One kiss, one more, achingly gentle this time, far too fleeting, and then Russ grinds roughly down into him, exerting a not inconsiderable amount force into it. His thighs smash down around John’s, iron hard, and John can hear himself cry out a little. It’s too much, not enough...pure torture. And fuck, he’s hard, he’s so, so hard. He can feel that heat building up. Already. Shit, no, no, not that...
“How about it, kid?” the Ranger asks, hips rolling lazily, as if they have all the time in the fucking world.
“R-Russ, Russ, I...please...” he groans, balls starting to draw up, cock leaking in its prison of damp cotton and denim. He’s sweating in his clothes. His body’s matching that rhythm, fighting him to fight up into it. “Please...”
“Please what?” the Ranger whispers into his ear, letting his free hand roam up and down, up and down, John’s side as he continues rutting into him. “Need to hear you say it, kid...”
He groans again, body screaming. “I’m gonna come...” he chokes out.
“For me?” Russ slips a hand under his back, pulling closer, thrusting harder, and he’s trapped. Held. Slammed together with the Ranger now, no space at all between them, no quarter, no relief. John whimpers as that coil in his belly, driving higher by his own pathetic attempts to thrust up as Russ is thrusting down, wars with the fading shreds of his better sense. The voice that’s telling him he can’t, that he has to go report in in these clothes in the morning, and if he... “You gonna come for me, John?”
“Russ...” he sobs, hands nevertheless locking down hard around those hard shoulders, body chasing climax of its own accord, begging for it, begging with every hard jerk upwards. “Russ, please, not that...”
“Orders, John,” the older man growls in his ear, dark and low and so very, very sexy, hips fast and brutal now, the friction on John’s groin unbearable. “Come for me, kid. I wanna see it. Come for me...”
“Russ...”
“Now, John!”
And that’s when he loses the fight he never really wanted to win.
That’s when he cries out, and slams up and grips tight and freezes up, back lifting clean off the bed as everything explodes inside. He can feel it, the rush out of him, cock pumping over and over and over again, coating the inside of his jeans in hot, sticky fluid, vision whiting as it goes and goes.
It feels like it goes on forever, that all there is is Russ and heat and sweat and the scent of the older man’s skin exotic and new and wonderful in his nostrils, that feeling of being emptied. Most of all that feeling, like he’s lost something, or is coming back to something he never knew he'd left...
He feels his back hit the mattress again, and as the light shifts and his skin prickles cold, John realizes Russ has stripped the bed free of its comforter and him free of his clothes.
The older man’s smiling, that same smile from before. The hungry smile. He’s rolled off to the side, knelt up on the white, crisp sheets, unbuttoning his own shirt, collar to waist. The white fabric is damp, almost see-through, dark around where his nipples are. His blue eyes are dark with lust.
John shakes himself, his spill cold and drying against his skin, and he’s still half-hard. He pushes up, wanting...not really sure what he wants, but wanting... “Russ.”
That smile grows wider, that mustache twitiches, and that shirt falls away in silence.
“Russ...” he repeats, heart hammering in his ears, wondering if, if they’re really going to...
Those wonderful hands are at his belt, unbuckling, and as the leather slides out of the metal, as that first button snicks open, John swallows.
They are.
They really, really are.
He edges closer as Russ’s cock springs free, a little hiss of relief from the older man. John’s right at eye level as that reddened, erect column of flesh smacks up against that expanse of hard, tanned belly. The head’s plump, dark, one white drop gathering right at the slit. He can’t help it, remembering all the times he’s wondered about this, about how it would feel it inside him. Mouth, ass...and, shivering, John can’t help how he has to touch. Run a palm along Russ’ smooth hip right into short, wiry hair, curl his fingers around that length. How he has to bring his head close, part his lips, take Russ in.
The taste of it, the heaviness, floods his senses, and John moans a little, loving the way it feels. Better than he imagined. So full, so alive against his tongue...
Fingertips brush his cheek, and he flicks his eyes up, seeing pure heat in Russ’ flushed features.
“On...on your stomach, kid,” he rasps. “Can’t wait much longer.”
John pulls off softly, still holding Russ’ gaze, and lets himself fall towards him, falling down, even as Russ is moving back. He settle his throbbing cock into the sheets and lays his forehead on his folded hands.
The weight vanishes.
It’s only gone a second, a heart beat, enough time for John to start getting nervous again, for those nerves from earlier to start attacking him again. What happens, if he does this? Losing his virginity to a man he might never see again after tomorrow? If he loses his virginity to a man a day before joining the military, honestly and truly, an organization that in no way will let him be gay? If he’s found out? If he never gets to feel this again? Can he live with knowing, if he can’t feel this again, with him, with Russ, who has him on fire like nobody he’s ever...
“Stop thinking,” a warm voice growls in his ear, a hand sliding down the bare flesh of his back, playing through the hollow of his spine, thumb pressing right at his tailbone, right above where it should be. “Stop thinking, John.”
He laughs a little, nervous, high. “That...that an order, sir?”
“Yeah, kid. That’s a fucking order.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, rubbing down into the sheets a little more.
A hand cups his ass, pulling it aside. “Smartass,” Russ replies, and his other hand’s there.
One slick, cool finger, sliding up, circling his hole.
He gasps and screws his eyes shut. Oh, oh fuck...
“I’m gonna prep you, John,” that smooth voice tells him, lips close to his ear, and John realizes that Russ is laying next to him now. “I’m gonna get this virgin ass of yours good and open for me. It won’t hurt. You tell me if it hurts, okay?”
He nods into his hands.
“Okay,” Russ murmurs, and kisses the back of his neck, moving back again.
It’s strange, the first push of intrusion. He tenses up. John’s never felt anything quite like it, and he’s not sure if he likes it at first. But for all his previous aggression, Russ goes this slow and careful, almost gentle, and it’s not long before that finger turns into something welcome, something amazing, and John sighs into it.
Right before that finger delves deeper, the pad hitting something deep inside, and his vision explodes.
He jerks up a little, crying out.
“You like that, kid?”
“Fuckyes,” he groans.
It gets him an affection stroke across his ribs and a second finger.
John can feel himself opening, loosening, the longer Russ works him, fingers scissoring, thrusting deeper and deeper, always avoiding that spot. But he’s getting nervous again, too, the longer he has to wait, the questions starting to creep back in now. He’s fully hard again, cock leaking into the white linens below him, almost uncomfortable...
And then those fingers are gone.
He whimpers a little, and then that slicked-up hand is pressing out on his knee.
“Spread ‘em wide, kid.”
John complies, one knee pulling up a bit. The younger man lifts himself up on his elbows, craning his neck around as Russ settles down between them, stroking his ass with both hands, his cock heavy, still swollen, and John wonders suddenly if that’s really going to fit...
The Ranger throws him a big smile. “What did I tell you about thinking, John?”
He flushes, and turns back around, burying his burning face. Fuck. There are too many things going on right now, too many things pulling at him right now. He can’t keep it straight. He just needs Russ, needs him... “To not?”
“Damn straight,” and the older man drops to nip his neck, one hand moving away from his ass. He takes his own erection in hand, slicking it, and John gasps as the head presses right against his stretched and ready entrance. “I’m gonna take you now, John. Gonna make you mine...”
“Please,” he whispers back, need firing through his body, blood boiling in his veins. Yeah, this, this man, this night...
A hand slips under his bicep, Russ’s arm sliding under his, their skins pressed together again, and that head is just laying against the ring of muscle, tight. So fucking tight. He knows it’s going to be tight, tight and hot and...
Teeth scrape his neck again. “All mine,” Russ growls against him, quiet, those words just for them, even though they’re alone. “You’re so beautiful, John, so strong...”
“Russ,” he pleads, mind swimming already, body on fire, breath fast, heart faster. “Russ, please...”
“Fucking gorgeous,” the Ranger whispers to him again. “My boy...”
And that blunt pressure against him breaches.
And John cries out, loud and gutteral and long, giving voice to that overwhelming sensation of being taken, being filled, being claimed by another, wanted and held...
That cock slides in, impossibly thick, eased by the slick, eased by Russ’ careful ministrations and self control - the hard, ragged breaths against the short hairs of his neck testify to the struggle the older man must be having, not to just force in and fuck him hard. It’s incredible, absolutely...and the tip of Russ’ cock catches that nub, deep inside.
John gives out a noise that’s half-scream, half-sob, Russ’ other arm hooking through his as they join fully, as Russ’ abs meet his ass, as Russ buries himself to the hilt.
Those lips, teeth, tongue are back, kissing the straining veins of his neck as they lie like that for a moment, adjusting, panting, heat slicking their skins with sweat. It’s only a moment, but John thinks it might be the best goddamn moment of his shitty life thus far. Connected to another human being. For the first fucking time, really feeling somebody else. Being with somebody else. Being wanted, unconditionally...
“My boy,” Russ tells him again, breaking the moment apart, making it better, rubbing his cheek against John’s shoulder, and those hips pull back, that cock sliding out just a little. “My beautiful, brave boy.”
The inward push, when it comes, is light, shallow. As is the next, and the next.
“Harder,” he gasps, remembering his fantasy, wanting to feel it for real, before tomorrow. “Please, Russ, harder.”
The next one’s deeper, a bit faster, more strength behind it.
“Harder,” he begs.
“John, tomorrow...” Russ says, his pace picking up despite the warning in those words.
“Harder, please god, fuck me harder...”
So the next one’s hard. Deep. Hitting that nub hard. Crackling pleasure straight up through him, igniting every nerve. He can feel it in his molars. Hard and deep and oh-so-very perfect.
“Like that?” his lover growls, nipping his shoulder, mustach tickling, running a hand under his chest to rub one of his nipples, budded into itself, a tight little nub now.
John nods frantically, feeling the echoes of it fade as that cock slides out again on its backstroke.
So Russ does it again.
And again.
And again.
The sound of flesh smacking off flesh fills his ears, the mingled scent of their own sex, musky and earthy and right fills his nose, and John’s mind is whiting to nothing, to that thoughtless, wordless state Russ has ordered up for him, every drive inward taking him deeper into that sensation, the sensation of being emptied and being filled all at once. Something he’s never known before. Something almost like...
He doesn’t dare think the word, but he feels it implications, and his toes curl, knees pull, and John bucks up, hips off the sheets as the it all explodes in him and he’s coming again.
He shudders through it, drooling and fighting for air, not able to bring himself back to the surface while Russ is still pounding into him, harder and harder. He feels it as if from very far away, but close up at the same time. And it’s not long after that Russ, surprisingly quiet until now, groans against him and shoves in deep and holds and pumps, flooding him with warm pulses of semen splashing up to his very heart...
Russ doesn’t so much lower himself down as collapse, falling down on top of John’s sweaty back, into his sweaty hair and sweaty shoulder, and only that heartbeat against his skin lets the younger man know his lover’s still alive.
One breath, two, three, and Russ groans again, slipping out and falling on his back. John moans a little as that softening flesh leaves him, but his belly’s still warm, still full. He’s sore, though. He can feel that much already. An ache starting up in his ass, wonderful but deep, deep in.
His forehead hits the sheets, and he rolls it around to look at where his lover’s breathing hard, hand on his naked chest, cock resting where it’s fallen against his thigh, and John smiles at the sight. At this amazing man, bared so completely for him.
Russ lets his head flop over, and he smiles back, reaching over to run weak fingers through John’s hair. “My boy,” he murmurs, roughing his damp, curling locks. “I can’t believe...”
“Can’t believe what?” John asks softly, watching his new lover with soft eyes, wondering at it all.
But whatever it is, Russ doesn’t seem like he’s ready to talk about it. He pushes up instead, all the way to his feet, and leans in a bit, holding out a hand to John.
“Come on, kid. Shower time,” he says gently. “Come on. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“But...”
And Russ grins. A weary, sated, happy grin. “That’s a fucking order, Cadet Smith,” he says.
John looks up, meets his eyes. “Your cadet?” he asks.
Russ nods and grabs his wrist, hauling him up. “And my lieutenant, someday, John. Always mine. As long as you want me.”
Mine, John thinks, hearing that word, really hearing it, and lets his lover lead him away to the bathroom and twenty minutes of sinfully hot, pounding water.
+++++
Russ pushes John ahead of him, through the gates as they walk on to campus. On to post.
West Point.
The major hides a shiver as he sets foot on the main road that leads up to John’s future, and his past. He didn’t exactly...like it, here. He hadn’t been lying that night, Honors’ Night at Provo High. John’s going to hate it most days. He’ll want to quit at least a couple times a semester. Hell, ten years on, and Russ still gets the chills, coming here.
Not that it wasn’t worth it.
Not that it won’t be worth it for John, if John makes it through.
The Ranger’s pretty goddamn sure that’s going to happen. The way the kid looks right now. Glowing, practically levitating. Excited. Thrilled. Scared and eager. Russ just wants to grab him and...
They aren't alone, though. There are people all around them, moms and dad walking with their sons, and a few walking with daughters. Not everybody’s here with their families, and Russ left it open with John, whether or not he wanted the company walking up to intake.
“I don’t have to be there, kid. We can say goodbye right here. I’ll see you on Acceptance Day...”
But John had shaken his head. “Russ, please...come with me.”
He’s wearing new jeans, his boy. After he’d bundled John into the shower last night, gotten him cleaned up and dried down and into bed, after the kid had fallen asleep against his shoulder, Russ had managed to get the phone off the nightstand and call the front desk. He’d caught the size off the tag on John’s pants as he’d torn them off, and the concierge was more than happy to arrange a pair in that size be sent up to their room. It’d cost him, but hell, Russ figures he’d ruined the kid’s pants by making him come in them. Owed him a new pair, and these frame his truly delectable ass much better than the old ones anyway.
And, of course, the look on John’s face, when he'd realized what had been done for him, had been worth it. Entirely.
He’s got his hands shoved in his back pockets, nose in the air, lost in thought. Kid does a lot of thinking, he’s noticed. Loses himself in his own brain. There’s a species of laser-focus in there somewhere, Russ knows. Has to be, if the kid’s done half the shit rock-climbing that he says he has. But it probably only comes out when his life could be in danger, or he’s really interested in something. As beautiful as he looks like that, it’s going to be a big fuckin’ problem for him here if he doesn’t learn to get it under control. So many rough edges on him, really...
“What are you thinking about, kid?” Russ asks, trying not to think right now about what John’s going to be like in four years, six, ten. Polished. Pure.
The teen shrugs, and smiles a bit. “You.”
Russ stops.
Fuck.
And, grabbing the kid’s arm, drags him off the main path.
They already said their goodbyes. Their goodbye to each other as lovers, anyway. Waking up together, John snugged in close to the older man’s lean frame, a warm body against his for the first time in a long, long time. Slow morning kisses. An affectionate slap of his ass as he was getting dressed. Another kiss, hard and long, Russ slamming John back into the wall right before they left their room to head up to Central Station and make their train.
He couldn’t resist. Not this morning, not last night. Russ thinks he’ll never be able to resist this kid. He’s delicious, sweet but not saccharin like so many men are, aggressive and unafraid, bold and brave but not cocky, incredibly humble. But the last thing in the world Russ wants is to have fucked this up for him, by taking him like that, by taking his virginity the night before sending him off to six weeks of pure hell.
They stop just off the concrete, under a spreading tree, leafy and green, and Russ sighs a little, arms folded, voice low to avoid any undue attention. “John, you do fully grasp what you’re here to do today? What’s happening here?”
Those pale blue eyes are begging, like they were last night. “Russ, yeah, but...”
“This is serious shit, Beast. The next six weeks. You can’t let your concentration slip over something like...”
“My first time?” the teen asks.
And...oh, fuck.
Russ doesn’t answer right away.
Then he shakes his head and lays a hand on John’s shoulder, wondering what he should say. What he can say. He wants John Smith. Wants him bad. In his bed, in his unit, by his side. However he can get him.
But this? He doesn’t want it like this. Doesn’t want to have shattered the kid’s focus.
“John, last night...I meant what I said. About...us. Together. But this, here, it’s not about that. It can’t be. You have to...”
...be present in the moment in order to succeed...
That was what he was going to say.
But John?
John takes it in a completely different direction.
“Russ, come on,” he says, clearly trying to make it sound as if this doesn’t matter to him when it clearly, clearly does. “I’m not so desperate that I’d come here just to make you love me...”
Love.
There’s an interesting idea.
And John must think so, too, cause his cheeks are flaming red and he’s got one of those big hands over his eyes.
“Aw, fuck,” he groans. “Russ, fuck, I didn’t mean...”
Russ tugs that hand down, and tightens his own fingers on the kid’s wrist, feeling that strong pulse thudding fast. “Tell me why you’re here, John.”
A moment passes.
And then those eyes harden, that jaw sets, and John’s doing his damnedest to stare him down. The effect’s ruined a bit when he swallows. Hard.
“I’m here cause I fuckin’ want to be,” John says. “’m doing this for me. I...I want to be part of this. I want to do something good with my life.”
Russ smiles, and looks back over at the stream of kids flowing towards intake, towards vaccination lines and uniform issue and that one classroom where they will all raise their right hands and take the oath that takes them into civilian life into the military. Towards all that comes next. Towards all that’s waiting.
He lets John go.
“Then get to it, kid,” he says.
A smile tugs up the corners of the kid’s handsome mouth, and he shakes his head. “That an order, sir?”
“You don’t gotta take my orders unless you get your ass in there and sign on the dotted line,” Russ tells him with a shrug, like it doesn’t matter to him if John does that, and reaches for his cigarettes and Bic. “So, really, it’s your choice,” and he lights one up. “Isn’t it?”
Clever fingers snatch the smoldering Camel away from the older man and takes a deep, deep lungful, blowing it out through his nose, that pensive look on his face again.
“Yeah,” he finally says, handing the cigarette back, hefting his backpack anew. “I guess it is.”
Russ smiles back, rolling the cigarette as he takes it back. “Then why the fuck you still standin’ here, Smith?”
John smiles wide, and lunges forward, wrapping the older man up in a hard, hard bear hug, even daring, in their little bubble of half-privacy here, to place an unobtrusive kiss on Russ’ neck. “Thank you,” he whispers, tears in his voice. “Thank you for finding me. Thank you for getting me out of there.”
The major can’t not respond to that, the outpouring of emotion he feels there, how happy John is, how guilty he still feels over it all. So Russ hugs him back, touches his hair, just a bit, just as much as he can with the kid's classmates walking by, trying not to think about how it felt last night. Promising himself it won't be the last time.
“You found yourself, kid, you got yourself out of there,” he replies fiercely, holding him tight for a moment. But he has to let go, can't keep the kid, and pushes John back, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. “Get goin’, John.”
“Acceptance Day?” he asks, blue eyes questioning again. "Will I see you then?"
Russ nods, and smirks. “If you make that far, I'll be there.”
John starts laughing as he walks off, one hand on his backpack strap, the other swinging free, and Russ can hear him yelling back over his shoulder.
“I’m going to make it through Ranger training without breaking a sweat, old man!”
Russ chuckles at that and takes another drag on his cigarette.
John Smith, a Ranger.
Imagine that.
Rating: R
Warnings: mentions of child abuse
Summary: Part four of a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
We see lots and lots of stories about families. Face/Murdock/BA where their family past is traumatic.
Let's see Hannibal have his share...
/insanely long prompt
When Major Russell Morrison drops by his high school, John Lewis realizes his life might not have to be as worthless as he’s constantly being told it is...
Nerves churning his stomach, John stares at his backpack in the corner of their tiny New York City hotel room.
It’s all that’s left of his life. All he has with him. All his library books were returned. Tony agreed to hold onto his gear, just in case he can use it in the future. He threw all the second-hand clothes away, keeping one set of jeans, a few shirts, just to get him to the gates tomorrow. He never owned much anything else.
His boots are in there. Running shoes. His suit, folded down from tonight’s dinner, packed carefully. A clean package of stationary and pens they bought downtown today. The packet of stuff he has to present tomorrow for in-processing at West Point. His coin. A little roll of bills, about four hundred buck. That’s it. That’s all he has with him.
It doesn’t really matter. Basics aren’t allowed to own anything. Freshmen, plebes, aren’t allowed to own much else through the first year.
Everything else he’s allowed will be issued to him tomorrow anyway. Clothes, socks, underwear, toothpaste, haircut, hell, even the airplane ticket that brought him here today, the train ticket that’s going to carry him from Central Station to West Point tomorrow, Reception Day, it’s all on the Army from here on out...
“You okay kid?” a soft voice asks, and a soft hand falls on his shoulder from behind. “You doin’ okay with all this?”
He shakes his head, unable to find the words. John doesn’t understand why he’s so emotional about all of this. He said all his goodbyes this morning, out front of the store, Tony and Samantha and even Brett, who seems to be very affected by the arrest of his father three weeks ago. John’s half-siblings are staying with their aunt now. Jeff’s looking at ten years, if convicted, and Morrison’s promised that’s going to happen. He went to see mom yesterday. The doctors said she’s doing good. She’d cried a little - Morrison had been to see her a few times. Stories about his dad, no doubt...
“It’s okay to be nervous, kid,” Morrison says, moving a little closer, close enough for John to feel the officer’s body heat. “I damn near threw up on R-Day, back in ‘72...”
Fuck, John thinks to himself, and tries not to lean back into that warmth, into those arms. Tries not to touch. Tries not to think about touching. Morrison’s already made it quite clear how he feels about that. About them...not doing...that...
Even though he did kiss him back.
So, if orientation isn’t an issue here, what’s holding the older man back?
What’s holding himself back?
“I don’t know how I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” John replies, still staring at his backpack, trying not to think that dangerous, dangerous thought.
“Nerves,” Morrison agrees, and then his other hand is on John’s other shoulder. “It’s going to be overwhelming, kid. It’s supposed to be...”
Despite himself, John closes his eyes, lets the Ranger take a little bit of his weight as steely fingers start kneading, just a little bit.
“...but you’re going to make it through. Believe it. You, you can do this...”
That you, it hitches a bit in Morrison’s throat. John hears it, but he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Not sure what he’s supposed to do with any of this, with this man.
He sighs. “I still don’t really understand why you’ve got so much faith in me.”
There’s a long, long pause.
And then the Ranger presses all the way against his back, letting one of those hands circle around, rough palm resting right against his adam’s apple.
“I see the man you’re going to become, John,” Morrison growls in his ear. “I wish you could see him, too. He’s beautiful...”
“B-beautiful?”
"Yeah, kid. Fucking. Gorgeous."
Beautiful.
Gorgeous.
It’s bouncing around John’s brain. Those words, those words...
“He’s a brave man, a man who doesn’t take shit off anyone, a resourceful man,” Morrison says, his fingers brushing up and away against the sensitive stubble of John’s throat, closing down again, as he lays his other hand on the younger man’s belly. “A man who knows how to survive through the worst of the shit life throws at him.” That hand opens, pressing in, pressing John back, flush to the Ranger, and he shivers as teeth scrape his neck, as he feels the definite and growing hardness in the other man’s jeans. “He’ll be a master of his craft, he’ll understand the art of war...”
John whimpers a little bit at that, hands limp at his sides, feeling his body respond to Morrison’s touch, gentle and rough at the same time. He can feel the power in the man, the strength, the authority he has over his own flesh, over his...
“You like that, John?” Morrison whispers in his ear as John’s head falls back against the older man’s shoulder. “You like thinking about that? About how powerful you’re going to be one day?”
Not yet, he thinks, and remembers his fantasy, the Ranger holding him down. Fucking him hard. Taking control, taking his virginity, taking him, body and...
Mouth suddenly bone dry, he has to swallow before he can answer. A single, shaky “Major...” that’s held back by one finger sliding up and across his lips, holding them shut.
“It’s Russ,” that voice commands, low and husky now, and he’s being pulled back now. Encircled. Enveloped. “If we’re going to do this.”
John’s eyes slide shut as those teeth touch back, nipping now. “Are...are we?”
That gets him a laugh, an echo, a rumble, that reverberates right into the younger man. “Oh, John,” Morrison - Russ - tells him. “You have no idea, the things I’d do to you.”
Something in that, something like the same need he’s feeling right now, maybe, and John finds himself again, just a bit. Enough for him to reach back for the older man’s hip, his ass, pull them closer together. “Oh yeah?” he asks, and with the way his voice is shaking, John knows he doesn’t sound nearly as brave as he’d like. “Like what?”
Russ chuckles again. “Like this,” he says, and then John’s spinning, falling, hitting the bed...
He catches himself on an elbow, heart beginning to speed, sprawled out on the hard hotel mattress. His mind is spinning still, refusing to settle, refuseing to make sense of any of this, wondering how in the hell Russ did that, what he wants, why the sudden turn-around like this...
And then he looks up.
Sees it.
Sees him.
Major-select Russell Morrison, US Army Ranger. Naked, like his was naked that night when he was breaking Jeff’s jaw. A raw, feral hunger in the man. That spare, lean, fluid violence he’d seen that night. The way big cats look in the zoo or nature documentaries.
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He doesn’t really understand why. But it’s beautiful.
And, as Russ stands there, appraising him with unsated lust, John shivers.
Is that, that, what the Ranger sees in him? Is that what he’s going to become?
John finds himself pushing up, pushing up towards it. He wants it. Wants everything he can get from this man, and he feels right now, more certain about this than anything ever before...
But that slight movement gets Russ down on top of him, knee on the bed and hand sliding up it, all the way up John’s body. Lightning fast and aching slow, all at once, it paints a hot line, right up through the center of him, up his jeans and the thin t-shirt, spreading wide over his heart, pausing for just a moment.
“You. Beautiful,” he says again, and swings his other leg up, straddling John’s thighs, holding him down with that blazing hot palm. “Goddamn perfect...”
And that’s way, way to much for John to take in, far to much for him to process right now, to respond to, to say anything in return, so he does the only thing he can.
He grabs up and drags Russ down into a hard, hard kiss.
For a moment, the world’s gone.
There’s nothing but this, the heady sensation of those lips on his once again, the scratch of whiskers, the power there, fighting with him, pushing back against him. But it’s John who has the upper hand, John who caught Russ off balance, and he shoves his tongue up into all that warm, wet heat, trying to take in as much as he can. Kissing Chris was never like this, the young man thinks, mind reeling, never felt like this, didn’t get his blood hot like this, didn’t...
But John’s control over the older man lasts exactly as long as it takes Russ’s hand to catch up in his hair and jerk him back so hard his eyes water.
“Need to learn to watch yourself, Johnny,” Russ grins, holding his head still even as his body fights it, trying to relieve the pressure. “Need to learn to take orders.”
John bites his lip, back arching up of his own accord. Pinned. Pinned down by the weight on his thighs, a rock-hard cock digging into his own groin, that hand in his messy chestnut hair, those eyes, boring into him, smiling a predator’s smile. And he has no fucking idea why his arousal’s spiraling now, why that, that little hint of danger, that sensation of being overpowered, of all things, is what’s driving him out of his mind with need.
“W-what orders?”
Russ’ smile softens, just a touch, and that hand loosens, just a little bit. With agonizing slowness, with no loss of that control at all, he lays full down on the younger man, muscles hard and flexing beneath his shirt. He nips at John’s jaw, getting a gasp in return, and tilts his head back further.
“This order,” he says softly, their mouths almost touching again, and John can feel himself starting to shake. “Let me in, John. Let me have you. Let me show you who you are...”
He sucks air, hard, and realizes his hands are creeping up from where they’ve fallen on the sheets to the waistband of the older man’s jeans, further up.
One kiss, one more, achingly gentle this time, far too fleeting, and then Russ grinds roughly down into him, exerting a not inconsiderable amount force into it. His thighs smash down around John’s, iron hard, and John can hear himself cry out a little. It’s too much, not enough...pure torture. And fuck, he’s hard, he’s so, so hard. He can feel that heat building up. Already. Shit, no, no, not that...
“How about it, kid?” the Ranger asks, hips rolling lazily, as if they have all the time in the fucking world.
“R-Russ, Russ, I...please...” he groans, balls starting to draw up, cock leaking in its prison of damp cotton and denim. He’s sweating in his clothes. His body’s matching that rhythm, fighting him to fight up into it. “Please...”
“Please what?” the Ranger whispers into his ear, letting his free hand roam up and down, up and down, John’s side as he continues rutting into him. “Need to hear you say it, kid...”
He groans again, body screaming. “I’m gonna come...” he chokes out.
“For me?” Russ slips a hand under his back, pulling closer, thrusting harder, and he’s trapped. Held. Slammed together with the Ranger now, no space at all between them, no quarter, no relief. John whimpers as that coil in his belly, driving higher by his own pathetic attempts to thrust up as Russ is thrusting down, wars with the fading shreds of his better sense. The voice that’s telling him he can’t, that he has to go report in in these clothes in the morning, and if he... “You gonna come for me, John?”
“Russ...” he sobs, hands nevertheless locking down hard around those hard shoulders, body chasing climax of its own accord, begging for it, begging with every hard jerk upwards. “Russ, please, not that...”
“Orders, John,” the older man growls in his ear, dark and low and so very, very sexy, hips fast and brutal now, the friction on John’s groin unbearable. “Come for me, kid. I wanna see it. Come for me...”
“Russ...”
“Now, John!”
And that’s when he loses the fight he never really wanted to win.
That’s when he cries out, and slams up and grips tight and freezes up, back lifting clean off the bed as everything explodes inside. He can feel it, the rush out of him, cock pumping over and over and over again, coating the inside of his jeans in hot, sticky fluid, vision whiting as it goes and goes.
It feels like it goes on forever, that all there is is Russ and heat and sweat and the scent of the older man’s skin exotic and new and wonderful in his nostrils, that feeling of being emptied. Most of all that feeling, like he’s lost something, or is coming back to something he never knew he'd left...
He feels his back hit the mattress again, and as the light shifts and his skin prickles cold, John realizes Russ has stripped the bed free of its comforter and him free of his clothes.
The older man’s smiling, that same smile from before. The hungry smile. He’s rolled off to the side, knelt up on the white, crisp sheets, unbuttoning his own shirt, collar to waist. The white fabric is damp, almost see-through, dark around where his nipples are. His blue eyes are dark with lust.
John shakes himself, his spill cold and drying against his skin, and he’s still half-hard. He pushes up, wanting...not really sure what he wants, but wanting... “Russ.”
That smile grows wider, that mustache twitiches, and that shirt falls away in silence.
“Russ...” he repeats, heart hammering in his ears, wondering if, if they’re really going to...
Those wonderful hands are at his belt, unbuckling, and as the leather slides out of the metal, as that first button snicks open, John swallows.
They are.
They really, really are.
He edges closer as Russ’s cock springs free, a little hiss of relief from the older man. John’s right at eye level as that reddened, erect column of flesh smacks up against that expanse of hard, tanned belly. The head’s plump, dark, one white drop gathering right at the slit. He can’t help it, remembering all the times he’s wondered about this, about how it would feel it inside him. Mouth, ass...and, shivering, John can’t help how he has to touch. Run a palm along Russ’ smooth hip right into short, wiry hair, curl his fingers around that length. How he has to bring his head close, part his lips, take Russ in.
The taste of it, the heaviness, floods his senses, and John moans a little, loving the way it feels. Better than he imagined. So full, so alive against his tongue...
Fingertips brush his cheek, and he flicks his eyes up, seeing pure heat in Russ’ flushed features.
“On...on your stomach, kid,” he rasps. “Can’t wait much longer.”
John pulls off softly, still holding Russ’ gaze, and lets himself fall towards him, falling down, even as Russ is moving back. He settle his throbbing cock into the sheets and lays his forehead on his folded hands.
The weight vanishes.
It’s only gone a second, a heart beat, enough time for John to start getting nervous again, for those nerves from earlier to start attacking him again. What happens, if he does this? Losing his virginity to a man he might never see again after tomorrow? If he loses his virginity to a man a day before joining the military, honestly and truly, an organization that in no way will let him be gay? If he’s found out? If he never gets to feel this again? Can he live with knowing, if he can’t feel this again, with him, with Russ, who has him on fire like nobody he’s ever...
“Stop thinking,” a warm voice growls in his ear, a hand sliding down the bare flesh of his back, playing through the hollow of his spine, thumb pressing right at his tailbone, right above where it should be. “Stop thinking, John.”
He laughs a little, nervous, high. “That...that an order, sir?”
“Yeah, kid. That’s a fucking order.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, rubbing down into the sheets a little more.
A hand cups his ass, pulling it aside. “Smartass,” Russ replies, and his other hand’s there.
One slick, cool finger, sliding up, circling his hole.
He gasps and screws his eyes shut. Oh, oh fuck...
“I’m gonna prep you, John,” that smooth voice tells him, lips close to his ear, and John realizes that Russ is laying next to him now. “I’m gonna get this virgin ass of yours good and open for me. It won’t hurt. You tell me if it hurts, okay?”
He nods into his hands.
“Okay,” Russ murmurs, and kisses the back of his neck, moving back again.
It’s strange, the first push of intrusion. He tenses up. John’s never felt anything quite like it, and he’s not sure if he likes it at first. But for all his previous aggression, Russ goes this slow and careful, almost gentle, and it’s not long before that finger turns into something welcome, something amazing, and John sighs into it.
Right before that finger delves deeper, the pad hitting something deep inside, and his vision explodes.
He jerks up a little, crying out.
“You like that, kid?”
“Fuckyes,” he groans.
It gets him an affection stroke across his ribs and a second finger.
John can feel himself opening, loosening, the longer Russ works him, fingers scissoring, thrusting deeper and deeper, always avoiding that spot. But he’s getting nervous again, too, the longer he has to wait, the questions starting to creep back in now. He’s fully hard again, cock leaking into the white linens below him, almost uncomfortable...
And then those fingers are gone.
He whimpers a little, and then that slicked-up hand is pressing out on his knee.
“Spread ‘em wide, kid.”
John complies, one knee pulling up a bit. The younger man lifts himself up on his elbows, craning his neck around as Russ settles down between them, stroking his ass with both hands, his cock heavy, still swollen, and John wonders suddenly if that’s really going to fit...
The Ranger throws him a big smile. “What did I tell you about thinking, John?”
He flushes, and turns back around, burying his burning face. Fuck. There are too many things going on right now, too many things pulling at him right now. He can’t keep it straight. He just needs Russ, needs him... “To not?”
“Damn straight,” and the older man drops to nip his neck, one hand moving away from his ass. He takes his own erection in hand, slicking it, and John gasps as the head presses right against his stretched and ready entrance. “I’m gonna take you now, John. Gonna make you mine...”
“Please,” he whispers back, need firing through his body, blood boiling in his veins. Yeah, this, this man, this night...
A hand slips under his bicep, Russ’s arm sliding under his, their skins pressed together again, and that head is just laying against the ring of muscle, tight. So fucking tight. He knows it’s going to be tight, tight and hot and...
Teeth scrape his neck again. “All mine,” Russ growls against him, quiet, those words just for them, even though they’re alone. “You’re so beautiful, John, so strong...”
“Russ,” he pleads, mind swimming already, body on fire, breath fast, heart faster. “Russ, please...”
“Fucking gorgeous,” the Ranger whispers to him again. “My boy...”
And that blunt pressure against him breaches.
And John cries out, loud and gutteral and long, giving voice to that overwhelming sensation of being taken, being filled, being claimed by another, wanted and held...
That cock slides in, impossibly thick, eased by the slick, eased by Russ’ careful ministrations and self control - the hard, ragged breaths against the short hairs of his neck testify to the struggle the older man must be having, not to just force in and fuck him hard. It’s incredible, absolutely...and the tip of Russ’ cock catches that nub, deep inside.
John gives out a noise that’s half-scream, half-sob, Russ’ other arm hooking through his as they join fully, as Russ’ abs meet his ass, as Russ buries himself to the hilt.
Those lips, teeth, tongue are back, kissing the straining veins of his neck as they lie like that for a moment, adjusting, panting, heat slicking their skins with sweat. It’s only a moment, but John thinks it might be the best goddamn moment of his shitty life thus far. Connected to another human being. For the first fucking time, really feeling somebody else. Being with somebody else. Being wanted, unconditionally...
“My boy,” Russ tells him again, breaking the moment apart, making it better, rubbing his cheek against John’s shoulder, and those hips pull back, that cock sliding out just a little. “My beautiful, brave boy.”
The inward push, when it comes, is light, shallow. As is the next, and the next.
“Harder,” he gasps, remembering his fantasy, wanting to feel it for real, before tomorrow. “Please, Russ, harder.”
The next one’s deeper, a bit faster, more strength behind it.
“Harder,” he begs.
“John, tomorrow...” Russ says, his pace picking up despite the warning in those words.
“Harder, please god, fuck me harder...”
So the next one’s hard. Deep. Hitting that nub hard. Crackling pleasure straight up through him, igniting every nerve. He can feel it in his molars. Hard and deep and oh-so-very perfect.
“Like that?” his lover growls, nipping his shoulder, mustach tickling, running a hand under his chest to rub one of his nipples, budded into itself, a tight little nub now.
John nods frantically, feeling the echoes of it fade as that cock slides out again on its backstroke.
So Russ does it again.
And again.
And again.
The sound of flesh smacking off flesh fills his ears, the mingled scent of their own sex, musky and earthy and right fills his nose, and John’s mind is whiting to nothing, to that thoughtless, wordless state Russ has ordered up for him, every drive inward taking him deeper into that sensation, the sensation of being emptied and being filled all at once. Something he’s never known before. Something almost like...
He doesn’t dare think the word, but he feels it implications, and his toes curl, knees pull, and John bucks up, hips off the sheets as the it all explodes in him and he’s coming again.
He shudders through it, drooling and fighting for air, not able to bring himself back to the surface while Russ is still pounding into him, harder and harder. He feels it as if from very far away, but close up at the same time. And it’s not long after that Russ, surprisingly quiet until now, groans against him and shoves in deep and holds and pumps, flooding him with warm pulses of semen splashing up to his very heart...
Russ doesn’t so much lower himself down as collapse, falling down on top of John’s sweaty back, into his sweaty hair and sweaty shoulder, and only that heartbeat against his skin lets the younger man know his lover’s still alive.
One breath, two, three, and Russ groans again, slipping out and falling on his back. John moans a little as that softening flesh leaves him, but his belly’s still warm, still full. He’s sore, though. He can feel that much already. An ache starting up in his ass, wonderful but deep, deep in.
His forehead hits the sheets, and he rolls it around to look at where his lover’s breathing hard, hand on his naked chest, cock resting where it’s fallen against his thigh, and John smiles at the sight. At this amazing man, bared so completely for him.
Russ lets his head flop over, and he smiles back, reaching over to run weak fingers through John’s hair. “My boy,” he murmurs, roughing his damp, curling locks. “I can’t believe...”
“Can’t believe what?” John asks softly, watching his new lover with soft eyes, wondering at it all.
But whatever it is, Russ doesn’t seem like he’s ready to talk about it. He pushes up instead, all the way to his feet, and leans in a bit, holding out a hand to John.
“Come on, kid. Shower time,” he says gently. “Come on. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”
“But...”
And Russ grins. A weary, sated, happy grin. “That’s a fucking order, Cadet Smith,” he says.
John looks up, meets his eyes. “Your cadet?” he asks.
Russ nods and grabs his wrist, hauling him up. “And my lieutenant, someday, John. Always mine. As long as you want me.”
Mine, John thinks, hearing that word, really hearing it, and lets his lover lead him away to the bathroom and twenty minutes of sinfully hot, pounding water.
+++++
Russ pushes John ahead of him, through the gates as they walk on to campus. On to post.
West Point.
The major hides a shiver as he sets foot on the main road that leads up to John’s future, and his past. He didn’t exactly...like it, here. He hadn’t been lying that night, Honors’ Night at Provo High. John’s going to hate it most days. He’ll want to quit at least a couple times a semester. Hell, ten years on, and Russ still gets the chills, coming here.
Not that it wasn’t worth it.
Not that it won’t be worth it for John, if John makes it through.
The Ranger’s pretty goddamn sure that’s going to happen. The way the kid looks right now. Glowing, practically levitating. Excited. Thrilled. Scared and eager. Russ just wants to grab him and...
They aren't alone, though. There are people all around them, moms and dad walking with their sons, and a few walking with daughters. Not everybody’s here with their families, and Russ left it open with John, whether or not he wanted the company walking up to intake.
“I don’t have to be there, kid. We can say goodbye right here. I’ll see you on Acceptance Day...”
But John had shaken his head. “Russ, please...come with me.”
He’s wearing new jeans, his boy. After he’d bundled John into the shower last night, gotten him cleaned up and dried down and into bed, after the kid had fallen asleep against his shoulder, Russ had managed to get the phone off the nightstand and call the front desk. He’d caught the size off the tag on John’s pants as he’d torn them off, and the concierge was more than happy to arrange a pair in that size be sent up to their room. It’d cost him, but hell, Russ figures he’d ruined the kid’s pants by making him come in them. Owed him a new pair, and these frame his truly delectable ass much better than the old ones anyway.
And, of course, the look on John’s face, when he'd realized what had been done for him, had been worth it. Entirely.
He’s got his hands shoved in his back pockets, nose in the air, lost in thought. Kid does a lot of thinking, he’s noticed. Loses himself in his own brain. There’s a species of laser-focus in there somewhere, Russ knows. Has to be, if the kid’s done half the shit rock-climbing that he says he has. But it probably only comes out when his life could be in danger, or he’s really interested in something. As beautiful as he looks like that, it’s going to be a big fuckin’ problem for him here if he doesn’t learn to get it under control. So many rough edges on him, really...
“What are you thinking about, kid?” Russ asks, trying not to think right now about what John’s going to be like in four years, six, ten. Polished. Pure.
The teen shrugs, and smiles a bit. “You.”
Russ stops.
Fuck.
And, grabbing the kid’s arm, drags him off the main path.
They already said their goodbyes. Their goodbye to each other as lovers, anyway. Waking up together, John snugged in close to the older man’s lean frame, a warm body against his for the first time in a long, long time. Slow morning kisses. An affectionate slap of his ass as he was getting dressed. Another kiss, hard and long, Russ slamming John back into the wall right before they left their room to head up to Central Station and make their train.
He couldn’t resist. Not this morning, not last night. Russ thinks he’ll never be able to resist this kid. He’s delicious, sweet but not saccharin like so many men are, aggressive and unafraid, bold and brave but not cocky, incredibly humble. But the last thing in the world Russ wants is to have fucked this up for him, by taking him like that, by taking his virginity the night before sending him off to six weeks of pure hell.
They stop just off the concrete, under a spreading tree, leafy and green, and Russ sighs a little, arms folded, voice low to avoid any undue attention. “John, you do fully grasp what you’re here to do today? What’s happening here?”
Those pale blue eyes are begging, like they were last night. “Russ, yeah, but...”
“This is serious shit, Beast. The next six weeks. You can’t let your concentration slip over something like...”
“My first time?” the teen asks.
And...oh, fuck.
Russ doesn’t answer right away.
Then he shakes his head and lays a hand on John’s shoulder, wondering what he should say. What he can say. He wants John Smith. Wants him bad. In his bed, in his unit, by his side. However he can get him.
But this? He doesn’t want it like this. Doesn’t want to have shattered the kid’s focus.
“John, last night...I meant what I said. About...us. Together. But this, here, it’s not about that. It can’t be. You have to...”
...be present in the moment in order to succeed...
That was what he was going to say.
But John?
John takes it in a completely different direction.
“Russ, come on,” he says, clearly trying to make it sound as if this doesn’t matter to him when it clearly, clearly does. “I’m not so desperate that I’d come here just to make you love me...”
Love.
There’s an interesting idea.
And John must think so, too, cause his cheeks are flaming red and he’s got one of those big hands over his eyes.
“Aw, fuck,” he groans. “Russ, fuck, I didn’t mean...”
Russ tugs that hand down, and tightens his own fingers on the kid’s wrist, feeling that strong pulse thudding fast. “Tell me why you’re here, John.”
A moment passes.
And then those eyes harden, that jaw sets, and John’s doing his damnedest to stare him down. The effect’s ruined a bit when he swallows. Hard.
“I’m here cause I fuckin’ want to be,” John says. “’m doing this for me. I...I want to be part of this. I want to do something good with my life.”
Russ smiles, and looks back over at the stream of kids flowing towards intake, towards vaccination lines and uniform issue and that one classroom where they will all raise their right hands and take the oath that takes them into civilian life into the military. Towards all that comes next. Towards all that’s waiting.
He lets John go.
“Then get to it, kid,” he says.
A smile tugs up the corners of the kid’s handsome mouth, and he shakes his head. “That an order, sir?”
“You don’t gotta take my orders unless you get your ass in there and sign on the dotted line,” Russ tells him with a shrug, like it doesn’t matter to him if John does that, and reaches for his cigarettes and Bic. “So, really, it’s your choice,” and he lights one up. “Isn’t it?”
Clever fingers snatch the smoldering Camel away from the older man and takes a deep, deep lungful, blowing it out through his nose, that pensive look on his face again.
“Yeah,” he finally says, handing the cigarette back, hefting his backpack anew. “I guess it is.”
Russ smiles back, rolling the cigarette as he takes it back. “Then why the fuck you still standin’ here, Smith?”
John smiles wide, and lunges forward, wrapping the older man up in a hard, hard bear hug, even daring, in their little bubble of half-privacy here, to place an unobtrusive kiss on Russ’ neck. “Thank you,” he whispers, tears in his voice. “Thank you for finding me. Thank you for getting me out of there.”
The major can’t not respond to that, the outpouring of emotion he feels there, how happy John is, how guilty he still feels over it all. So Russ hugs him back, touches his hair, just a bit, just as much as he can with the kid's classmates walking by, trying not to think about how it felt last night. Promising himself it won't be the last time.
“You found yourself, kid, you got yourself out of there,” he replies fiercely, holding him tight for a moment. But he has to let go, can't keep the kid, and pushes John back, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. “Get goin’, John.”
“Acceptance Day?” he asks, blue eyes questioning again. "Will I see you then?"
Russ nods, and smirks. “If you make that far, I'll be there.”
John starts laughing as he walks off, one hand on his backpack strap, the other swinging free, and Russ can hear him yelling back over his shoulder.
“I’m going to make it through Ranger training without breaking a sweat, old man!”
Russ chuckles at that and takes another drag on his cigarette.
John Smith, a Ranger.
Imagine that.
