Break Time II: Smut A Burnt!Te Production 8/98 Disclaimers: If they were mine... Well, you know. Spoilers: Ha! Ha! Summary: John and Ringo go home to play. Archiving: Not right now, thanks. Ratings Note: NC-17 for m/m sex, S for schmoop. Author's Note: CiCi whined about all the quickies... Acknowledgments: Many, many thanks for torch for giving me a little somethin' somethin' that reminded me what "happy" is like. Ha. Try to save your reputation now, missy. Also to MJ for a certain nickname.... And, of course, to the marvelously patient and talented Alicia for beta. Somebody get this chica a medal. Feedback: PLEASE. Break Time II: Smut by Te Daddy793@aol.com ****** Byers moved slowly and carefully down the old cement stairs. He really didn't trust his legs, yet, and blood was pounding in his ears in anticipation. Sometimes his body's reactions to Langly were just this side of terrifying. Hot breath on the back of his neck in just that moment before being spun, slammed against the wall. Knee between his legs, demanding he spread, demanding he rock just that way... sharp little tongue in his mouth. Sometimes he even cared. //What *is* this?// Langly was fucking his mouth, grinding against him, hands in his hair and pulling, eerily silent save for the harsh little sounds of the younger man's breathing. "You want to... take me right here?" Sometimes he thought his throat went out drinking and smoking without him while he slept. Only possible explanation for the sound of his voice. Langly leaned in at the sound, bit him once on the jaw before pulling back again. "Yeah." That hand snaked down, began working John through his pants. "And the back seat of your car..." Moving close again, tongue slipping into his ear and thrusting, thrusting... "And bent over Mulder's couch..." Nothing to do but let your laughter stifle a groan, spread yourself out for the taking, beg with all you are for the gift of your lover's touch. Hope, if distantly, he doesn't slam you too hard against this rough, uneven wall. Or, that if he does, it's only because he's so deep inside you that he wouldn't, couldn't, stop himself from riding you hard. When Langly pulled away John nearly slid down the wall, boneless in frustration. "What *is* it?" Langly shook his head, pulled his lover in for a briefly devastating kiss. "Changed my mind. I want more than this." Byers locked eyes with the other man just long enough to realize, not without some measure of horror, he could stay that way for quite a while, indeed. "Let's go, then." ****** Twelve steps above and approximately fifteen feet to the southwest, Melvin Frohike ordered his own pizza. ****** John's car was in the shop, so they made their way to Langly's in the alley behind headquarters. As entertaining as it was to watch his lover fumble for the keys in the tight --and undoubtedly painful just now--jeans he'd taken to wearing, he couldn't seem to pull his hands away from the body of Langly's car. 1978 Chrysler Cordoba. The younger man had gone on at length about having the paint job redone.... Silver grey and so *smooth*. He ran his fingers over the trunk. Warm day, but the sun didn't actually shine in this dingy little alley. Soft, hazy light. Vague light. Smooth and just this side of cool. Massive boat of a car, really. Why, he could just hop right on the trunk, lay himself out propped nicely against the back window, listen to Langly curse inventively, imagine what it would sound like chuffed against his ear in breathy little pants, maybe adjust himself just a bit. And a bit more. Yes, this Cordoba was really quite a lovely automobile when you thought about it. Growled when Langly revved it. The thought made several spots on his throat tingle... places that always seemed to bring a growl out of the other man. Playful gratuitous bounce. The car was slung as low as those skimpy little towels Langly insisted on stealing from the cheap motels they occasionally frequented... //What is *wrong* with me?// On cue, there was that cavernously powerful creak that announced Langly had finally gotten the door open. "C'mon, Johnboy, we are *not* doin' it on the new paint job." "I always knew you liked this car better than me." Pointedly not looking at the other man. Abruptly, he was being tugged, slid, really, off the trunk and into Langly's arms, into yet another mean-lipped blitzkrieg kiss. "I just want to wait until I get you on that Corinthian leather, baby." "You're a difficult man to argue with." Byers allowed himself to be manhandled //too many cop shows, Ringo...// into the car, forced Langly to nudge him to the passenger seat with his body. Tight, lean body. Humming with low- grade energy, heat. //Don't you dare stop touching me.// It was obvious by the small, twitchily determined smile on Langly's face he knew precisely what John was doing and why, but the older man couldn't seem to find his shame, usually such a faithful companion. It may have had something to do with the bulge in the faded jeans, the outline of the hard cock so clear and tempting in his vision. So easy to nuzzle himself under Langly's arm, rest his head in the crook of shoulder and torso, let himself be moved by the other man's breath... "Plan on staying there?" The tone was flippant, the quickened heave of the lean chest at his experimental shift anything but. "As a matter of fact, yes." John smiled into the fabric of the other man's t-shirt, ran a slow hand up the denimed thigh as they pulled out of the alley. ****** Hands on his body, dragging him out of the jacket, fumbling with the tie, more curses to make him stupider with need, the surprisingly cheerful recognition of yet another trigger. John turned away, began to walk into the bedroom, removing the belt in quick, efficient motions, the air a taunt to his bare chest. He could feel the other man behind him. Shoes toed off, pants and briefs shucked, John bent at the waist to pull back the coverlet, gave a welcoming grunt to the hard, hot flesh pressed against him. He made it a point to brush as much of the other man as possible as he turned, lapping affectionately at the //permanent?// light blush of beard-burn before settling himself on the cool, smooth sheet. Langly was nearly purple with need, and when he ran his fingers through Byers' hair he anticipated the pull and began lapping at the weeping head. "God, John..." There weren't many pleasures in the world that could even begin to compare to this. The tremble in the younger man's fingers as he tried so desperately to avoid yanking out his hair by the roots, the shockingly familiar taste, the raw sensuality of his lover's cries.... John groaned, slipped to the floor, //always better on my knees// grasped Langly by the hips and impaled himself as best he could. The hoarse cry made him thrust uselessly at the air, dig a thumb into the pelvic hollow and tug in encouragement. The bucks were short, quick, ruthless things, moving with them a task of pure focus. Losing himself in this was a joy, the iron in his mouth a victory. He could feel that telltale, nearly imperceptible thickening on his tongue and immediately forced Langly out a bit. It was almost a reflex at this point, the last step on the road of desire, any nonsense at all would do so long as he could taste it when his lover came. Lapping him clean, gently and for as long as it was allowed. In a combination of fall and crawl they eventually managed to land on the bed. John indulged himself in a slow, thorough nuzzle of the other man before reaching over to dig in the bedside table. "Jesus, Byers, give it a few." "Wha-- Oh." *There* was the missing blush. "I wasn't digging for *that*." Pointedly ignoring the lazy quirk of the other man's eyebrow. "Although it really couldn't hurt to have it handy..." Slick and condoms landed on the bed, and Langly heaved a sigh. "Are you trying to give me performance anxiety?" Byers only chuckled and continued to rummage for another several moments before closing his fist around his prize. He brandished it triumphantly. "You bought... Slim-Jims?" Langly's voice was almost dreamy with joy. John was as carefully nonchalant as he could be. "Well, I remembered how... perturbed... you were when 7-11 ran out... and that adorable impression of Machismo Boy--" "That's *Macho Man*, princess." "Hmmph. Whatever, Hairboy. I really don't know what I'd do without your lessons in pop culture. *Anyway*, I just thought you might like--" He was cut off by a positively assiduous exploration of his mouth by Langly, already salt-tangy with his jerky. Deep, lazy wave of arousal.... He wondered what he'd get for sweet-tarts. Langly pulled off with a short bite at his obscenely swollen lower lip. "Mmm... Thanks, baby. But don't call me Hairboy." No chance to respond to that, not with Langly tugging at the spare thatch on his chest with his teeth, not with those hands giving the world's least soothing massage to the twitching, jumping muscles of his abdomen. John slipped his fingers into the soft, damp strands of yellow and closed his eyes. Sometime later he found himself sobbing at the sadistically thorough attentions to his nipples, dark rose and spiked, too deep in his haze to interpret the sensations as pain. Langly was muttering between sucking bites. "Love you like this, John... so fucking hot..." Hot hand teasing his balls, heavy with need. Another bite and he was arching off the bed, sobbing. "Christ yeah, make that sound again..." A squeeze there, another bite and he had no choice but to oblige. "Tell me what you want." The hand slipped around his cock with simple, confident possession, stroked far too slowly. "Langly--" Another stroke and he was heavy with it, desperate. "Say it, John. C'mon." "I... I need you inside me. Please--" Another victory to be able to get the words out, shaky and rasped and that tongue was in his mouth again, natural to suck on it, nothing but good to feel the hot stickiness slide over his hip and belly as Langly groaned into his mouth. Dim mental note to further study the effect of nitrites on the younger man and then he was being flipped on his belly. Up on his knees again and he couldn't stop rubbing his face into the damp pillows, adjusting himself for the best position and waiting, waiting. Harsh pants and he could picture the younger man's struggle to keep control while slipping on the condom but every lovely image was burned away at the first cool touch to his ass and he moaned. Spread himself a little wider, a demand of flesh, and he was bound up and caught by the heat covering his back, the dirty little whispers in his ear, the fingers in his ass. No crime to be a whore for this man, not when each rake across his prostate was the promise to be used precisely the way he needed. Another slice of eternity, the shock of loss immediately ameliorated by the blunt nudge of Langly's cock. The younger man slipped in with a sigh and held him there, letting them both savor the delicious thrill of being joined. Too good to stand. "Please..." Torturous pull as Langly pulled out nearly all the way, grinding control not to follow but the first slam made him howl, dig his fingers into the mattress and shudder. He never disappointed, not in this, fast and hard and loud. He could only presume his neighbors were far too convinced they were hallucinating to complain. Somewhere between a heartbeat and forever and he was losing it, bucking hard into Langly's thrusts and tearing his throat to shreds. The younger man kept on, driving him far beyond the point of his own orgasm into animal rut, cursing and crying his name just like Byers knew he would. Awkward, messy time of rearrangement and sticky cuddles. A shared, rueful look confirmed that neither of them would be heading to the shower anytime soon. There was no way the smell of sex would ever fully dissipate from his bedroom. He could live with that. ****** End. ******