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‘C’mon, get on up baby.’ Jim’s voice is whisky warm and smooth, his hands running up Plato’s thighs to cup his ass and squeeze, pulling the young man up high in his lap, tugging him close enough that he can place wet open mouthed kisses on the smaller man’s chest. In his arms Plato’s breath hitches and the man bows his head, eyes closed, body loose and pliant and submissive to Jim’s will.
“Jaime-” He croaks out, and Jim’s lips spread into a smile against his breast bone.
“C’mon baby,” He whispers to that thin skin, warm and wet. “Gonna take care of you before Judy gets home. Then gonna take care of you both.”
Jim’s cockhead slips up behind Plato’s balls, snugs up against his hole and Jim uses one hand to hold it there, waiting for Plato to breathe in and take it.
“You got it Johnny, come on.” He whispers the encouragement into Plato’s throat and the man’s whole body bows inwards to get his head closer to Jim’s, to get his lips where Jim’s are.
Jim smiles and that’s warm too, smooth, and he let’s Plato have his kisses like it’s easy to give them up, like he’s happy to give them away, and John sobs out a sigh into his Jaime’s mouth and works himself down on that cock, taking Jim in, taking him in and in and in-
“I got you kiddo, I got you.”
And he does. He always does. He holds onto Plato like its his job, holds tight when every other scrap of his life feels like its spinning off its axis and Plato fucks down onto that cock with a grateful mewl, giving Jim what’s already his. He’s been his since the first second Plato sat shivering in a police office and met those sad eyes with grief of his own.
They fuck hard and sweet and Jim turns them over and holds Plato’s waist and spreads his legs wide with the splay of his own hip bones. He leans close and talks low against John’s ear and tells him how warm he is and how good and how owned.
Plato cries when they fuck like this, when he’s had a bad day and old insecurities rear up and make themselves known again. Jim holds him and tells him he’s okay, tells him he’s a good boy, that he’s got him, he’s got him-
When they finish he holds Plato until the smaller man’s wild daze fades into real tiredness. When he pulls away it’s slowly and with more kisses, squeezing hands, skating fingers.
Plato whines but lets him leave. Then he drowses to the beginnings of wafting cooking smells, sounds of the front door opening and closing, heels on the linoleum, murmurs-
When he wakes Judy is a warm line along his back, mostly naked except for one of Jim’s shirts, her fine arms and long fingered hands wrapped around him, pulling him back to meet her. In front of him on the edge of their mattress Jim sits in only a pair of jeans, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his hair a mess and those stupid-big glasses perched on his face. He’s looking down on the two of them quiet-like. Satisfied.
They sit silent for a while and Judy starts to stroke his arm, her milk-pale leg wormed between his own darker thighs.
“You up to eat something?” Jim asks sudden and quiet in the setting dark of late evening. “It’s not much, but I made some meat and potatoes.”
Behind him he feels Judy shake in a little silent laugh and he smiles too, knowing that it certainly won’t be much but it should be edible.
“Sounds good.” He mumbles back. At his nape full lips press a kiss. At his front a hand pushes into his hair and brushes it off his forehead.
Food-smells sift into the bedroom enticingly, but they stay still for a long time. They linger in the dark.
And Plato feels warm.