Archive of Our Own

The room hummed with an eerie silence, the kind that wraps around your ribs like a noose. The walls were too close, the air too stale. And John sat across from him.

John. 

John Walker. 

The man who introduced himself to Bob as the new neighbour seven months ago. The man who wormed his way into Bob's heart two months after they had met. The man who Bob thought he'd be willing to spend the rest of his life with just this morning. 

Bob was ready. He had the rings.

It was night now.

John's sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He looked relaxed. Like they were having a conversation, not a standoff. The nagging thought behind Bob's mind noted John's posture as if this was nothing new for him.

"You’re not tied down," John said, his voice a smooth hush. "No handcuffs. No chains. Just you and me."

Bob, too exhausted to speak, kept his back pressed to the wall. His breaths were shallow. His thigh was hurting again, but he didn't dare to care. If he directed his focus to that, he'd be too distracted. He couldn't afford to be distracted right now.

John tilted his head. "You’re scared. That’s natural. But this…" He gestured vaguely toward the way Bob shakes, the way his fingers clutched the edge of his sleeve. His eyes lit up from seeing the fire behind Bob's eyes. "This isn’t about pain. This is about honesty."

He stood up slowly. No threat in his movements, only intent in every step. He walked over, crouched low so they were nearly eye-level. Close enough for Bob to smell the faint wave of soap and pancakes.

John's voice dropped lower. Gentle now. Almost… kind.

"And you–" He smiles now, slow and animalistic "– you're just aching for someone to be honest with you, aren't you ?"  

The words hit like a knife pressed gently against his throat – no blood, not yet, but the threat sat there, humming. Bob drew in a shaky breath, jaw tightening as John leaned in, his nose brushing Bob's cheek. 

"I see it. That look in your eyes. People talk to you, but they never see you. Never tell you the truth. You wanted this your whole life, didn't you? That's why you accepted me.. You were hoping for something more , am I right? No– I know I am right."

A pause. 

John withdrew a fraction, that animalistic smile turned soft and sure.

"See, there, that," he murmured. "That silence… That’s your yes." 

John’s hand moved slowly and deliberately as he reached up to touch the hem of Bob’s shirt. Not removing it. Not yet. Just resting fingers there, like he had all the time in the world. Bob tensed from the soft pressure of John’s palm against his stomach, the heat passing through the fabric of his shirt. 

“You’re going to let me,” he cooed. “You don’t know that yet, but I do. Because I see it. Right there–” His hand travelled up to Bob’s chest. “–under that fear there's a part of you that wants to surrender. For someone else to take control.”

He smiled, small and quiet, as if it were a kindness. “I can do that for you.”

And then his hand slid just a little higher.

Bob finally moved, shifting back, hitting the wall behind him. But John followed, close now, crowding him gently, unhurried, like a lover easing into familiar territory.

“There it is,” John whispered, his fingers wrapping around Bob’s neck. “That little flicker of fight. That’s what makes this mean something.”

He leaned in, mouth barely brushing Bob’s lips. “But let’s not pretend, hm?” His fingers are tightening now. “You never had a chance to walk away.”

Bob didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His breath stuttered, caught somewhere between fear and something far more confusing. The kind of tension that lingers when you can't tell if you're prey or something being worshipped.

John smiled like he could taste that hesitation. “This doesn’t have to be cruel,” John whispered, voice dipping into something almost tender. “Not unless you make it that way.”

Bob was still, but not frozen. Simply just listening, trapped in the space between fight and fall.

John’s grip loosened slightly, taking Bob’s silence as yet another yes, his other hand sweeping Bob’s hair away from his face, slow and careful. “That’s what I like about you,” he said softly. 

Then finally, his hands slid under Bob’s shirt, palms dragging slowly up his torso. He leaned in again, brushing his lips along Bob’s jaw, then lower, mouthing at his throat. “You know what to say,” he whispered, one hand moving to cup the back of Bob’s neck. “Let me.”

The shirt was gone before Bob realised he’d lifted his arms.

John stepped back just enough to look at him – eyes dark, greedy, but soft around the edges – before taking off his own shirt.. “God, look at you,” he murmured, like it hurt. “I must be the luckiest man alive.”

He leaned in again, kissing him this time. It started slow, then consuming. He kissed like a man drinking from something sacred, and Bob’s body reacted before his brain caught up. His lips parted. His breath hitched. His hands curled into John’s hair, not to push him away, but to hold on.

And that was all John needed.

He guided him down towards the lone mattress, careful, slow, hands always touching – chest, hip, thigh – his voice a low murmur between kisses, feeding reassurance with every motion. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just let go.”

When John finally pressed against him fully – skin to skin, warmth against tension – Bob arched into it, startled by the sensation, by his own response. John caught the sound he made with his mouth, swallowing it whole. He deepened the kiss, slow and thorough, drawing reactions out of Bob piece by piece.

John’s hand slid lower, dragging across his skin teasing with anticipation, until he cupped Bob between the legs. He felt him twitch beneath his palm, and his lips curved into a quiet smile mid-kiss. John’s hand worked at the button of his pants, each movement laced with intent with every brush of skin designed to overwhelm. He pulled the fabric down and Bob gasped from the sudden exposure to the cold air – and then, slowly, with every peck to his neck, to his chest, to his stomach, John’s lips finally reached him .

John didn’t stop. He worked him slowly, like a man tasting a delicious meal, then savouring it entirely.

If the mattress was any softer, Bob would’ve sunk right in. He could barely hold onto anything as he was. John’s mouth was warm and wet, and the pressure that his tongue provided was dragging moans from him like a myriad of sinful confessions. Bob tried to focus on something, anything – the ceiling, the flickering light, his own thumping heartbeat.. But John wouldn’t let him. Not with the way he moved, relentlessly as every stroke of his tongue brought a new wave of sensation. Bob’s hips twitched without permission and his thighs began to tremble beneath the steady hands that pinned him down. It was too much. Not enough. No, overwhelming. John never broke rhythm. Bob praised, no, cursed him for not giving a moment to catch his breath. Every muscle pulled taut, straining between surrender and something that felt dangerously close to begging.

And then it hit him.

Sharp, fast, devastating.

His whole body jerked, shuddering as release tore through him, spilling into John’s mouth with a gasp that mirrors pain, ecstasy, relief.

John didn’t pull away. He held him still through every pulse and aftershock, his hands stayed firm, as Bob becoming undone in every sense of the word.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. Clearly spent, uneven in its draw and ragged in its release. Then finally, John moved. Lifting his head with a satisfactory grin, licking the corner of his mouth and swallowing his hard work.

“Good bo–”

“Did you just swallow it?!” Bob cuts in.

“Uh..” John’s expression shifts into confusion. “Yeah, I did..?”

“Oh my god, are you– is it– doesn’t it taste bad?” Bob shifted, pulling himself up with his elbows. John leaned back, sitting crossed legged across Bob.

“Well, it’s a bit bitter but– Wait hold on, if you’re worried about that, I can assure you, I do not mind it. I love every part of you.” John assured, leaning closer as he grabbed Bob’s hands. “Now, do you want to continue or are we going to discuss the taste of your cum?”

Half a beat passed, then Bob replied. “Okay. Let’s continue..”

“You remember your safe word?”

“Yeah, Cucumber .”