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He feels ridiculous, actually, now that he’s committed to it. It all feels wrong against his skin, strange and foreign. He might regret saying yes, if it had been anyone else who’d asked.
John hadn’t really asked about it directly. The subject had just come up naturally, in conversation.
“I used to like buying girls lingerie sometimes,” he’d said, when they’d been idly talking about kinks they’d indulged in the past. “You know, buy her an outfit, look at her in it, take it off her. You ever do that?”
“Not really,” Rúben had told him. “I mean, it’s hot when girls wear it, obviously. I never chose it, though, I just let them do it. Wouldn’t know what to buy.”
John had hummed at that. “That’s half the fun of it. Like picking out a present for yourself, and then you get to unwrap it.”
“Do you ever miss it?” Rúben had asked him.
“What, girls? Course not, I’ve got you,” John had said, and Rúben had had to kiss him, just for how open and sweet his face had looked.
“Besides,” he’d said when they’d broken apart, “I could always dress you up.”
He’d meant it jokingly, but that’s not how it landed. Rúben had felt some expression make its way onto his face, and John had seen it too and smiled.
“Yeah?” he’d asked, and it hadn’t even sounded like he was trying to be sexy. There’d just been surprise in it, and happiness, and a little bit of excitement.
“Yeah,” Rúben had said back, and he’d felt sort of embarrassed about admitting it because it was hardly something normal for a professional footballer, but John’s smile had got wider, and he’d pulled Rúben towards him and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. He’d felt the gratitude in it, the feeling behind it. Thank you, that kiss had said, for doing this for me.
No thongs, he’d said, and no shoes. He hadn’t thought they’d be comfortable. He’d drawn the line at makeup, too, although John hadn’t suggested it in the first place. It had just seemed a step too far. Admittedly he’s wearing lip balm, but then he does that anyway. It’s nothing to do with this, with whatever it is that they're doing.
John had made careful note of his specifications, though, and a week or so later there’d been a package delivered for him. Rúben hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, not until a few days afterwards. They’d been lazing about at home, a rare day off from training after a disappointing loss and some shoddy defending from Rúben the day before. He can’t claim he hadn’t still been sulking over it.
John had managed to distract him, though. He’d asked him to grab something he’d left on his dresser, and Rúben had walked in to their bedroom to see a bag left on the bed. A red bag, right in the middle, standing out like a bruise on skin. It had stopped him in his tracks.
John had come up behind him, then, having followed him in, and wrapped his arms around his waist. Rúben had automatically folded his own over them, interlinking their fingers, and John had kissed his neck.
“Do you want to dress up for me?” he’d said, low and gentle in Rúben’s ear. Rúben had just nodded. He hadn’t been able, in that moment, to come up with anything to say.
“You don’t have to,” John had reassured him. “We can do it another time, if you want, or we don’t have to do it at all.”
“I know,” Rúben had told him. “I want to.” And he had. He’d do anything for John, anything to make him happy, and they’d both known that. John’s his baby, and what he wants from Rúben he almost always gets. He’d wanted it sort of for himself too, though, just to see.
So John had made up an excuse to go out for a bit, kissed him very long and slow, and left him to get ready. It had been a little awkward trying to work out how to put everything on. But he’d got it done, and now he’s sitting on John’s bed in knickers and stockings and a weird little bra, feeling like an idiot.
It’s not that he thinks he looks bad. He works incredibly hard on his body, on training it to do everything he wants, and he knows the results are obvious. He’s proud of it, all muscle and sinew, a tool he’s honed over the years almost to perfection. It’s just- not the kind of body that works with what he’s wearing.
It works on women, because they’re smaller, softer, built for it. Rúben’s not. He’s a big man, all straight up and down, no curve to him. It might work better on John, honestly, John and his long limbs and slim waist. Rúben’s always thought he’s unfairly pretty. John hadn’t said he wanted to be the one dressing up in lingerie, though. He’d asked Rúben to do it.
He’d thought about meeting John at the door, before he’d put everything on and immediately felt stupid. Now he doesn’t think he’s got quite enough nerve for it, so he’s just sat on their bed, biting his nails and worrying at the sheer fabric of his stockings where he can see his leg hair underneath. It’s flattened, pushed against the grain. It doesn’t look right.
He hears John’s key in the front door, and tenses up automatically, and hates that he’s done it. He’s not used to feeling so uncertain, so anxious. Usually he thrives when he’s challenged, goes out there on the pitch with the drive to prove everybody who’s doubted him wrong. This is different. He’s very far out of his comfort zone.
The door shuts, John’s keys hit the counter in the hall, and his shoes thunk against the wall as he kicks them off, even though he knows doing that gets on Rúben's nerves. Rúben chews at his lower lip. It’s not that he’s worried John will laugh at him, not really. Rationally, he knows John wouldn’t do that, that he’d be sweet about it even if he did think Rúben looked ridiculous, that he loves him. It doesn’t stop his mind from working overtime imagining it. He hears John’s footsteps in the hall, and imagines it, John opening the door and seeing him and laughing at how blatantly stupid he looks.
John does open the door, then, but of course he doesn’t laugh. He was never going to.
“Hi,” he says, eyes fixed on Rúben.
“Hi,” Rúben says back, and tries very hard to keep his face neutral.
John walks over to him slowly, like maybe he’s not sure he’s allowed to approach. Rúben looks up at him as he stands in front of him. He always likes looking at John from this angle. It makes him look so tall.
“Stand up, then,” John says, voice hushed, like something special’s happening. “Let me get a proper look at you.”
Rúben obligingly takes John’s offered hand, and lets himself be pulled to his feet to be studied. John takes a good long minute for it, too, stepping back for a better vantage point as his eyes dart over satin and lace and mesh, looking his fill. He even pushes gently at Rúben’s shoulders to get him to turn around. Rúben lets himself be turned, and John hisses through his teeth as he sees what Rúben looks like from the back. He can imagine. The knickers are cut to cover about half of his arse, and there’s a seam down the middle that makes them cling to him. It’s the sort of thing he thinks he’d appreciate on a girl, or even on John. It’s not them wearing it, though. It’s him.
John turns him back around then, just as gently, and goes to say something before seeing whatever look is on Rúben’s face and stopping abruptly. Rúben tries to force it back to normal, but it’s too late, John’s seen. He’s spoiled it.
“What’s wrong?” John asks, cupping his face gently with one hand, the other taking Rúben’s. “Do you not like it? We can stop if you want, honestly.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he insists. “I want to do this for you. I just... I just feel stupid. I look stupid.” It’s a level of neediness, of self deprecation, that he very, very rarely allows himself to reach. Usually he’s so supremely confident. Something about this is sort of suppressing that in him.
“Nooooo,” John says, immediately. “No, no, no. Come with me, come on.” He twines their fingers together, so they’re holding hands properly, and Rúben squeezes his hand. John squeezes back, and drags him gently over to the big mirror in the corner of their room.
Rúben’s been trying very hard not to look in it. But John pushes him until he’s right in front of it, and then presses his long body up against Rúben’s back, leaving a possessive hand over his stomach and hooking his chin over his shoulder so they can both look at him together. The warmth of him against Rúben’s mostly naked skin is a comfort. It’s one he badly needs.
“Have a look at yourself,” John says, warm and soft where they’re so close together. “Tell me what you see.”
Rúben looks, then, forces himself to look properly, because John’s asked him to.
He hasn’t seen everything he’s wearing in its full glory until now. It’s certainly a sight to behold. He’s not sure at all that that’s in a good way. The translucent black stockings throw his leg muscles into sharp relief, the lace band at the top straining against his thick thighs. The soft lace bra sits flat against his chest with nothing to hold. And the satiny fabric of the knickers he’s inexplicably wearing stretches over his soft cock, hugging his balls gently, tanned skin and body hair barely visible through the lace at the edges. It's all black, standing out starkly against the tan he picked up on the last international break. It all just seems incongruous, like maybe it was meant for someone else and he put it on accidentally.
It wasn’t meant for anyone else, though. John picked all of this out, specifically for him, because it’s what he wanted Rúben to wear. Everything in this situation was deliberately chosen. He just doesn’t quite get it, doesn’t see what John seems to like about this.
“What do you see?” John prompts him.
“I don’t know,” he says, not entirely sure what it is he’s being asked. “I just... see myself.”
“Well, don’t sound so miserable about it,” John chides him. “I like seeing you.”
It does make him crack a smile, and John smiles at him in the mirror, and his mood suddenly feels just a shade lighter. He might still feel stupid and self conscious and exposed, but it’s not so bad, because it’s only John he’s feeling that way in front of. He still feels vulnerable, but he knows he’s never been safer.
John stops hunching over his shoulder then, and stands up straight, pressing gently where his hand’s still laid over Rúben’s stomach to pull him closer into him. Rúben’s reminded abruptly that John, for all that he’s narrower and slimmer and lighter than him, is also just a fraction taller. There’s a difference of maybe a centimetre or two between the two of them. He feels it right now, every millimetre of it.
“Do you want to hear what I’m seeing right now?” John asks him, voice low and quiet, maybe just a bit deeper than usual. Rúben does want that, very badly.
“Yeah,” he says, and he knows he sounds needy even as it leaves his mouth, but that’s okay. John won’t mind, won’t ever hold it against him. He knows that.
John meets his eyes in the mirror. Rúben can’t look away.
“I’m seeing... my boyfriend, dressed up in a sexy little outfit I bought him. He’s doing it all for me, because he knows I like it. Because he loves me, which I’m very grateful for. And he looks so pretty.”
Rúben scoffs at that, looking away. It’s just so clearly untrue that it’s weird for John to have said it at all. Not the part about loving him, obviously. That goes without saying. But Rúben’s not pretty. He’s a big manly man who spends hours every day in the gym and plays sport for a living. He’s not even pretty like men sometimes are, doesn’t have John’s big eyes or full lips. He’s got a beard, for god’s sake. It’s just not the right word for him.
“What’s that about?” John asks, sounding all surprised, as if he’s got no idea why Rúben might possibly think he isn’t pretty. “Come on, look at yourself.”
He curls a hand around Rúben’s jaw, gently guiding his head back so he faces himself again, and runs a thumb over his lips. Rúben kisses it reflexively, and John smiles at him.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, and even if Rúben doesn’t believe it it certainly sounds like John does. “I’ve always thought that.”
He lets his hand trail down to Rúben’s chest, running his fingertips down the gap between his pecs before cupping one through his bra, worrying his nipple between two fingers.
“You fill this out so nicely,” he comments. “It all looks so good on you. I thought about this, you know? How it would look.”
“Is it better or worse than you imagined?” Rúben manages to ask, even though he’s having trouble keeping his voice steady.
“So much better,” John says reverentially. “You look perfect, Rúben, honestly.”
He’s still not convinced, but that doesn’t mean it’s not nice to hear. And it’s nicer to know that John appreciates it, that he’s done something special for him. John deserves this, and more, and Rúben will happily make himself look like an idiot every day if it makes John smile.
“Honestly, you really don’t get it,” John continues. “This is, like... the dream for me. You love me enough that you’ll do this just for me. That’s mad. And you look so fucking beautiful doing it.”
He can’t deny that all this, John’s warm body against his back, touching him and talking lowly in his ear, saying all these nice things, is having an effect. He can feel his cock starting to harden, can see the evidence of it in the mirror. His face is getting faintly pink. John’s been hard almost since they started, pressed up against his arse, but Rúben’s been too distracted by his thoughts to fully appreciate it.
John takes his hand away from his chest then, and Rúben briefly misses it before he realises he’s moving it to his cock, ghosting his fingers unbearably lightly across it. Rúben goes to look down, to watch, but John stops him, nudging him gently before he can do it.
“Look in the mirror,” he says, and Rúben does. It looks really hot, actually, John’s long fingers drifting over his half hard cock in his satin and lace knickers. “You see that?”
Rúben nods mutely, eyes fixed on it. “Now you get it,” John says, and Rúben isn’t looking at his face but he knows he’s smiling.
He keeps doing it, grazing Rúben’s cock ever so gently with the backs of his fingers, and Rúben has to reconcile the frustrating, barely there feeling of it with the visual. It’s somewhere between John touching him and John touching another man and John touching a girl, and it might be confusing but it’s really, really hot. They swirl together in his mind until he can accept what he’s seeing.
John’s leaning down to kiss his neck, grinding his cock lightly against Rúben’s arse, one hand still cupping his chest and the other playing with his rapidly hardening cock. Rúben lets his head tip back onto John’s shoulder as he watches it all in the mirror, and it’s overwhelming, like being wrapped up in him, surrounded on all sides.
“John,” he says, and John looks up from what he’s doing immediately, eyes sharp on Rúben’s face in the mirror to make sure he’s okay. He is, though, he just needs something more.
“John, kiss me,” he says, and the concern that had briefly flashed across John’s face disappears to be replaced by one of his big smiles. He drops a soft little kiss at the edge of Rúben’s jaw, before dropping his hands and letting him turn around so they can kiss properly.
He hadn’t realised before how badly he’d missed this, the simple pleasure of John’s lips against his. It’s long overdue, though, and he surges forward, pressing himself up against John to feel the heat of his body against his mostly naked skin. John sucks on his bottom lip, and Rúben makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat, heat curling in his stomach. They’re both still hard, but he chooses to ignore that for a minute, focusing exclusively on John’s mouth, on how much he enjoys it, how good it feels against his.
John pulls Rúben closer into him with a hand at the small of his back, and after a moment that hand dips down just a little further, under the waistband of his knickers. John’s fingertips stroke gently over Rúben’s tailbone, and it makes his hips jerk and his hands flex on John’s hips. John knows how much Rúben likes being touched there, for whatever reason, how weirdly horny it makes him. It works as intended, and he presses himself into John to kiss him harder, and John matches him as he kisses him back.
He breaks away after a moment, resting his head in the hollow of John’s neck and breathing heavily. John strokes the short hair at the back of his head, pulling very gently at it.
“Come to bed with me?” he asks, and Rúben nods and lets John take him by the hand and pull him over to their bed, tugging his clothes off in a desperate rush before lying down and pulling Rúben gently down next to him.
He expects John to get straight back into it, but he takes a minute instead to just touch Rúben’s face, skating over his eyelids and his cheekbones, hand curling around his neck. Rúben feels uncharacteristically flustered by it. He has to look away, just for a moment.
“I love you,” John tells him, very quietly. He seems to understand that what Rúben needs right now is a little bit of gentleness, some careful handling.
“I love you,” Rúben tells him back, because he does. He says it as often as he can, but he never feels like it’s enough.
“I know,” John tells him, and smiles, and leans in to kiss his way across his jaw and down his throat.
John seems fascinated by the underwear, running his fingers under the edge of the bra, feeling out the silky fabric of the stockings against the back of his thighs. He’s touching the knickers, too, running his fingers over the edges where lace meets skin. John’s familiar kneading grip on his arse feels different when he’s got them on, in a way he finds he sort of likes. And then John moves his hand to his cock, curling his fingers around it through the fabric and pressing down with the heel of his palm, and Rúben likes that even more.
He can’t feel John’s hand on him the way he wants it, his knickers an annoying barrier between them. The satin against him is an interesting replacement for it, though. The fabric stretches over him, pulled taut, shifting and moving over his cock with John’s movements, a strange new feeling. It’s doing more for him than he’d expected.
John, apparently enthralled by the sight of him in a bra, moves to his chest then, playing with one nipple through the lace and sucking on the other, flicking his tongue over it. If the knickers limited the feeling of John against him, the bra’s enhancing it. His nipples have never been especially sensitive, but the way the lace rubs against them is lighting up some obscure hidden nerves in him, making his breath come just a little more quickly.
It’s a good visual to sit back and watch too, John playing with him over his knickers and sucking on his nipple through his bra like he’s a girl. Rúben mourns the loss of it when John pulls back after a minute.
“You’ve got such nice tits,” John tells him, and it should sound ridiculous but it doesn’t, not at all. Not when he’s looking up at Rúben so earnestly, like he’s willing him to believe him. Rúben doesn’t say anything in response, can’t think of anything, so he just runs his hand through John’s soft curls, scratching gently at his scalp. John’s eyes drift shut for a moment, and then they snap open and he shakes his head a little like he’s coming out of a daze, and he starts to kiss his way down Rúben’s stomach.
Rúben just watches, hand still in his hair, as John makes his way down his body. He rubs his cheek against the inside of Rúben’s thigh, the skin and hair, lace and mesh, like an affectionate cat. The skin there’s sensitive, and Rúben can just feel the faint beginnings of his stubble.
“This is meant to be for you,” Rúben protests weakly. He doesn’t want John to stop, he just feels sort of guilty about it. It should be him doing all this for John.
John shakes his head. “I’ve got everything I want. This is what I want to do.”
There’s a wet spot forming on the front of Rúben’s knickers, the satin sticking to his cock. John leans down to run his tongue over it, and Rúben can’t help the groan that escapes his throat. It’s the feeling of it, the visual of John doing it, the combination of the two. John does his best to get his mouth around Rúben’s cock, drags his lips and tongue over it, all through the fabric, wet from his spit. Rúben tries very hard to keep his breathing under control. It’s maddening, the half sensation, the ghost of John’s mouth around him and the wet fabric clinging.
John pulls back after a while to tug at the sides of the knickers, and Rúben lifts his hips up so he can pull them off. He takes his time, though, dropping a kiss just above Rúben’s cock as he uncovers it, and dragging them slowly down his stockinged legs, leaving them dangling from one ankle.
John runs his hands very slowly up his legs, feeling out the muscle under the thin fabric, and Rúben shivers. He’s not normally this careful, this methodical.
John finally takes his cock in hand then, properly, and the relief of finally being touched without anything in the way makes Rúben exhale in a long, slow sigh. He guides it to his lips, wrapping them around it to suck gently on the head, and starts to move, reaching just slightly deeper every time. The wet heat of his mouth feels painfully good, and Rúben finds he’s letting out these rough, low groans every time John moves, without ever meaning to.
It’s an impressive image. John between his legs sucking his cock isn’t something he’ll ever get tired of seeing, but it’s a familiar sight at this point. John’s head being bracketed by Rúben’s thighs in lace topped stockings is something very new. It’s throwing the whole thing into new light, making him reconsider it all, making it new and unfamiliar and exciting again.
John’s hand kneads his arse, fingertips finding their way inward to graze over his dry hole, and Rúben wants. He hadn’t really thought about where this might be going, but suddenly he’s eager for it, to have something in him.
“Yes,” he says, answering the question John hasn’t even had a chance to ask yet, and stretches a hand out to the bedside table to grope around for the lube they keep there, tossing it down to John when he finds it.
John doesn’t waste time, just slings one of Rúben’s legs over his shoulder, running his wet fingers over his hole before pressing very gently in with one. Rúben tries his hardest to relax, to open up, and John waits patiently, trailing kisses over the shaft of his cock to distract him.
They don’t do this very often, since they both usually prefer it the other way around, but Rúben does like it. There’s something special about having John’s attention so laser focused on him, being so carefully opened up by his long fingers.
John works in a second after a while, and then a third, scissoring them gently to stretch him out and occasionally, deliberately, grazing over Rúben’s prostate. It sends a jolt through him every time, like it always does, heat building in the bottom of his spine, warming him up from the inside. He never stops moving, keeps it constant, building something up in him.
John’s mostly abandoned his cock to focus on fingering him, and if Rúben can’t get it sucked properly he at least wants to be kissing John instead, so he reaches down to pull him back up the bed. John goes easily, leaving his fingers where they are, leaning into Rúben’s space to kiss away the noises he’s pulling out of him. They stay like that for a long moment, Rúben’s leg slung over John’s hip, long fingers still working inside him.
He lets it go on as long as he can, savouring the feeling, the strange comfort of it, until he can’t bear to go any longer without getting John in him properly and pulls back just slightly.
“Fuck me, John,” he says against his mouth, and John kisses him for it.
“How do you want to-”
“Just like this,” he says, holding John’s gaze. “I want to stay like this.”
“Okay,” John says, and he brushes Rúben’s hair off his forehead and smiles at him almost shyly. “We can do it like this.”
He pulls his fingers out of Rúben then, and he barely has a moment to feel empty before John’s replacing them with his cock, easing it gently into him, the stretch of it so warm and welcome. He waits there for a moment, letting Rúben get used to it, making sure he’s okay before he starts to move in earnest.
Maybe it’s just the fact that Rúben’s never done this with anyone else, never let anyone else do it to him, but he’s always thought John’s cock is the perfect size. It just fills him so perfectly, stretches him out without ever being painful.
They’re so close like this, pressed together along their entire bodies, breathing into each other’s mouths, legs tangling as John rocks gently into him. He can’t really move properly, can’t get very deep, but Rúben doesn’t mind that right now. It’s enough just to have John moving inside him, feeling the warmth of him and the gentle friction. His cock brushes against John’s stomach, pressed between them, and he feels so comfortable and peaceful and loved he never wants to do anything else.
After a while, though, it does start to get frustrating. Getting fucked slowly and shallowly is nice, but it’s not enough, not when he needs it so desperately. He’s thrusting back into John, trying to get him deeper, but it’s not going anywhere. John notices, though, and his movement stills as he pulls away, his cock slipping out of Rúben, which he misses immediately.
“Can you- get on top?” John asks, and he sort of laughs as he says it, like he knows how ridiculous it sounds. “I want to watch you.”
Rúben doesn’t think it sounds ridiculous, though, and he’s actually eager to do it, pushing John onto his back and swinging a leg over his hips.
John reaches down to guide his cock back into him, reaching so much deeper than before, and then he lies back against the pillows and lets Rúben do all the work, as he so often does. Rúben’s never minded that. He settles into a rhythm, rolling his hips and taking John into him as deeply as he can, letting the feeling build up in him, in both of them.
“God,” John says, like it’s been startled out of him. “You’re so pretty, Rúben, you look so good.” It makes him smile. He knows John means it, knows it's true.
He’s got time to think about it now, now that he’s in control, the rhythm easy and natural. He’d sort of thought John liked him being a man, liked all the masculine things about him, so when he put on lacey underwear and rode his cock John would be comparing him to women, seeing all the ways he’s not like them, the ways he can’t measure up. That’s not it at all. John’s not looking for tits and long hair and a body that perfectly fills out a set of lingerie. He’s looking at Rúben, and clearly liking what he sees. He can’t be missing pussy that much when he’s so intently watching Rúben’s cock bouncing as he moves, reaching behind him to graze his fingertips over the spot where his own is disappearing into Rúben’s hole.
John’s hands roam over Rúben’s body, unable to stop touching him, over the remaining underwear and everywhere else, one hand around his cock letting him thrust up into the loose circle of it. That self consciousness of before is gone now, a long forgotten afterthought. He feels good. He feels sexy. He’s the centre of John’s attention, all of it focused on him, and he knows perfectly well how good he looks.
He’s really working up a rhythm now, gaining speed as he chases his pleasure, and John’s hands fall away from where they’ve been drifting over him to hold tightly onto his hips. Rúben grinds down as John fucks up into him, slamming together hard, his cock stretching him out so deep inside he knows he’ll feel it in the morning.
He can feel John speeding up too, his face pink, gleaming with sweat, fingers digging hard into the meat of Rúben’s hips.
“Wait, wait,” he says in a rush, and Rúben holds himself up, thighs straining, as John surges forward to sit up, so Rúben’s sitting in his lap.
He feels so deep inside him like this, like there’s nothing between them. John holds him in his arms as if they’re just cuddling, but he’s thrusting up into Rúben as hard as he can manage. He can’t get any real force behind it like this, but it doesn’t matter, not when they’re so close. John’s chest is damp with sweat, and the lace of Rúben’s bra drags against it where they’re pressed together so tightly.
John sucks a bruising kiss into his neck, and Rúben’s head tips back, back arching, and the angle means John’s hitting his prostate dead on with every thrust. John scrambles to get a hand into the tiny gap between them to wank him off, and it’s all too much together, and he comes before he really knows it’s going to happen.
It’s a good, hard orgasm, one he feels like he’s earned, and his mind is perfectly blank but he can still feel the cum hitting his chest, John swearing as Rúben clenches around him and coming himself, jerking and twitching, painting his insides with it.
They don’t manage to stay upright for very long, John losing his balance and tipping backwards onto the bed. Rúben tries to stay up for a moment longer, but it’s in vain.
He flops onto John, barely managing to hold his weight, but John doesn’t complain. He likes it when Rúben does that. He just pets gently at his sweaty hair and over the back of his neck, letting Rúben catch his breath.
John pulls out of him and rolls him gently onto his back after a minute, ignoring Rúben’s groan of mild annoyance at being disturbed, and roots around in their tangled sheets until he comes up with the abandoned knickers. He pulls them delicately on over Rúben’s feet, dragging them up his legs, until Rúben obligingly lifts his hips for John to put them back on him. John's pretty little present, all wrapped up again.
“There we go,” he says, and crashes back onto his back in satisfaction at a job well done. The knickers are still stained with John’s spit and Rúben’s precum, and John’s cum too where it’s starting to leak out of him. It doesn’t matter. He’s perfectly comfortable in them.
John curls up to his side, resting his head on Rúben’s shoulder, where it belongs, and Rúben wraps an arm round him automatically.
“We should probably get up soon,” he tells him. “It’s nearly time for dinner. I’m hungry.”
“Just a few minutes,” John says, muffled into his shoulder.
“Okay. We’ll stay here. Just for a few minutes.” Anything for John, any time.