mercyrobot: (roadtrip kiss)
[personal profile] mercyrobot
Title: I'll Learn Eventually
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: NC-17!
Words: 2342
Notes: This is Roadtrip shower porn, actually a missing scene from One Day We'll Look Back And... itself that occurs between the last two sections. Which means there is rimming. And irresponsible quoting of the Smiths. Fair warning.
Happy Porn Monday, and happy late birthday to [livejournal.com profile] evil_kingdom, happy actually-on-time birthday to [livejournal.com profile] ftw302, and happy early birthday to [livejournal.com profile] perplexed_angel! It's like, here, I got you a copy of my own favorite record, and you all have to share it! XD But better than nothing, right? And it is actually 300% pornier than what I usually manage, so hopefully there's enough to go round. Thanks for being born, pretties. <3

Masterlist for this universe is here.



Even with the shower running, it still seems eerily quiet without Jones's breathing. Feels quiet without the extra heartbeat against his ribs. It's the music stopping and finding suddenly that you're shouting-- his arms are too light and move more easily than they should now that there's no caution against waking Jones. Dan might have slept for a few minutes, but he's mainly been watching shadows on the ceiling and the occasional twitch of Jones's eyelashes and pondering a faint scar on Jones's shoulder. He edged out of the bed only meaning to use the toilet, but felt sticky and unpleasant by the time he got here.

Dan raises his hands to scrub them over his face and finds his nails are tinged pink. Something does a weightless flip in the pit of his stomach.

He shreds the damp paper off the miniature bar of soap, but stops short of lathering his hair because Jones knocks at the door. "Dan? C'n I come in? I need a piss."

"Yeah." He hears the door open and the whisper of bare feet on tiles, and the obvious water-on-water sound of Jones using the toilet. He nearly laughs at the comical sigh of relief.

"What're you doing in there?"

"Origami."

Jones at least has the decency not to flush the toilet. He pokes his head through the shower curtain, and then Dan has to laugh because his hair has dried into a lopsided peak that resembles nothing so much as a pink cockatiel. "D'you have a vacancy for a back scrubber?" Jones asks.

"That your idea of a chat-up line?"

"I been saving it for you special." Jones grins and steps in without waiting for an invitation. "That your idea of shampoo?" He nods at the bar of soap in Dan's hand, still halfway raised to his head.

"It's what I always do." Dan can't help but stare. He's not really had a chance to yet. Jones is all bones and angles and taut boyish muscles, tiny sprinklings of dark hair over his chest and nipples and the centre of his lower abdomen that defiantly mismatch the sleep-wild candyfloss on his head. He's taken off most of the wires from his neck and wrists, but a couple of silver bead chains still remain, along with a thin, delicate gold one Dan hadn't seen under everything else. It's got a St. Christopher medallion hanging from it. He doesn't bother to wonder about it for long because he's distracted by Jones's cock, half-hard amid dark damp curls.

"No wonder your hair's so dodgy."

"You should talk, Animal."

"Here." He watches Jones's arse appreciatively as he turns and reaches back out the shower curtain and grabs one of the bottles of the back of the toilet. Jones squeezes some into his hands and reaches up. It smells of strawberries.

Dan bows his head and lets Jones massage the fruity lather into his scalp, unable to suppress a moan or two as Jones kneads at muscles he didn't know existed.

"Aw, you like that, huh?" Jones says with a low laugh in his throat.

Dan's eyes are closed but he knows he's more than half hard. He can feel the throbbing in his groin. "Yeah," rumbles out of Dan's chest as Jones steps a bit closer and the tip of his cock (also more than half hard now, and feeling far hotter than the shower water) bumps against Dan's leg. He slides his hands down Jones's back to his hips and pulls him closer still, and it's all he can do not to grind himself into Jones's warm wet skin.

"Randy fucker," Jones laughs. "This ain't the best angle."

"It's clean." Dan raises his head and catches Jones's grinning mouth in a kiss, soft and sloppy and a little bit soapy, and Jones splutters away from him as Dan stumbles them back under the spray.

"Don't fuckin' drown me while you're at it," Jones says, but it doesn't really look like much of a complaint. He picks the bar of soap up out of the dish. "Anyhow, I think I got a job to do. Turn round."

Jones doesn't so much scrub Dan's back as rub soap over it and dig his fingers into vertebrae and shoulder blades and laugh at the noises he's making Dan make, which at first feel like they're being wrung out of him by force, but Jones's murmured encouragements stop Dan worrying what he's going to sound like. Then Jones presses himself up against Dan's back, the hard length of his erection maddeningly hot between the backs of Dan's thighs, and slides soapy hands in teasing circles over Dan's chest, squeezing Dan's nipples in the spaces between his fingers and scrubbing ticklishly in Dan's armpits until Dan squirms and swears and tells him to get on with it. He lathers up Dan's cock with slow strokes that make Dan have to brace a hand on the wall to stay upright, but that makes Jones stop.

"'F you even fuckin' knew what you look like, Dan," Jones says when Dan looks back over his shoulder in question. He's got pink rivulets trickling down his shoulders and his eyes have gone hooded and sex-sultry.

"What do I look like?" Dan tries for playful but it comes out gruff and wanting, with maybe more of a plaintive note than he'd like.

"Like you don't know. I never seen such a fuck-me-now pose."

Dan knows he's gone bright red, if he wasn't already, but fuck, Jones is rubbing a soapy hand over his own cock and biting his lip. A minute ago he was entertaining thoughts of gently washing and teasing Jones's body, but now.... "Go on, then," Dan chokes out, even though he's not got much idea what he's letting himself in for. He can imagine it, sort of, and if Jones wants it then he does too.

Jones closes his eyes for a moment, but then he opens them and shakes his head. "Fucking in the shower ain't all it's made out to be. 'Specially not for a first go."

Dan's not sure if Jones means their first go, or just Dan's, and Jones has worked out that he's never done this beyond an awkward sixth-form fumble. He pushes off the wall and picks up the soap and tries to make it even half as nice as Jones did, kneading at muscles that are stronger than they look and smiling in triumph when Jones's eyes fall closed again and he murmurs and moans and sighs at every place Dan touches him. He puts one foot up on the edge of the tub when Dan gets to his cock. Dan's too fascinated to be as much of a damn tease about it as Jones was, now free to stare unwatched with open curiosity at the way Jones's foreskin stretches and retracts under his touch, how Jones's balls look and feel in his palm, the wavy lines of the tattoo on one thigh and another mystery scar on the other. When he slips one nervous tentative hand back to the cleft of Jones's arse, Jones's eyes and mouth snap open and he's so spread and debauched that Dan doesn't even think before he drops to his knees and closes his lips over the tip of Jones's cock.

That lasts all of half a second before he's coughing and spitting soap and Jones is laughing. "Don't think Travelodge keep the edible kind in."

"Fuck off." Dan feels like an idiot as he stands up and rinses his mouth out.

"Aw, don't be like that." Jones wraps his arms round Dan's waist and gives him a long, slow kiss that's still over too soon. "'Sides, you reminded me I missed a spot." He scrapes some of the strawberry foam off Dan's hair and Dan just manages not to actually yelp when Jones's finders press over his arsehole, though he does flinch.

Jones stops. "No?" There's something in his eyes like disappointment.

"No-- I mean, yes. It was just... go ahead."

Dan can't help flinching again, when the fingers return, but Jones smiles up at him. "Shhh. You need to relax, Dan. It ain't a big deal. Sex is fuckin' hilarious if you do it right."

All Dan can really do is groan and bend his head down to rest on Jones's shoulder. Maybe he's doing it wrong, because he's not finding it so hilarious that he's pretty sure he'd promise Jones anything to keep doing that, or to do more, to slip his fingers or his cock inside. It's not hilarious that he's about to ask for any or all of the above. "Jones--"

"Rinse off, yeah? We'll be better off in bed."

It does turn hilarious then, Jones wrestling him for the water and splashing him and slapping his arse, but even then Dan wonders about Jones saving up the back scrubber line, whether he might've thought to try it when Dan used his shower before they left, what he might've done if Jones had, whether they'll do this when they go back. 'I like it here, can I stay?' floats into his head, but he tells himself the timing's too late to say it now.

They don't dry off, just drip their way to the bed they've already wrecked. It's warm in the room now but Dan shivers at the fluttery kisses on his chest and shoulders and Jones's wet hair reminds him of the rainstorm.

It's actually the easiest thing in the world to suck Jones's cock, mainly because Jones will not shut the fuck up with filthy-toned oh-fuck-yeah-just-like-that-Dan encouragements when he's getting it right, and gentle correction when he isn't, and not laughing at him when he nearly chokes, and petting Dan's hair when he's not pulling at it.

"Dan...Dan, I'm gonna come if you don't stop."

Dan makes as near a noise of assent as he can manage with a mouthful of cock. He doesn't know what it'll be like, having Jones come in his mouth, but he knows he wants it.

"Seriously." Jones forces Dan's head up. "'Less you changed your mind about me fucking you? I gotta be at the club in two hours."

Dan's vision sort of goes for a moment. "No, I... Yeah. I--"

"C'mon, say it."

"Jones."

Jones grins an absolutely wicked grin, fucking sparkling with mischief like one of his glitter-encrusted ornaments. "I'll have you beggin' for it, mate."

Before Dan can come back with anything sufficiently witty, he's being dragged up onto his stomach and Jones is-- "Jesus, fuck!"

Having your very arsehole laughed into is a unique experience. Jones's tongue there is brilliant, and terrible, and Dan's brain can't really understand how to deal with it other than sort of wanting to cry. The warm wet licks, the hot breath, and tongues aren't supposed to go there, are they? But fuck, maybe they are because it's too good to remember that it's weird, with Jones making moaning sounds like he's enjoying the hell out of himself that feel like they're vibrating straight up through Dan, and then his tongue actually goes in and Dan wants to scream and nearly does, but he manages to just shout, "Jones!" and embark on a hazy half-mad train of thought wondering if he ought to be calling Jones by whatever given name he's theoretically got, but this really isn't the time to ask and Dan can't hold onto the thought long enough anyway.

He doesn't want to think about why Jones packed lube and condoms in the bag he dumps on onto the floor looking for them, but he stops caring when Jones pushes a slick finger inside of him. "Just swear your tits off when I've got it," Jones says, his other hand rubbing circles over Dan's back, wriggling his finger about, and maybe this is a bit hilarious.

"Got wha-- Oh, fuck, fuck, you've got it, you're-- god, Jones, that's--"

Jones laughs, the cheeky bastard. "Result! You prudish fuck, ain't you never--"

"Shut up and do that again."

"I bet you're not gonna stand for that kinda cheek when it's the other way round," Jones says, and sneaks another finger in while Dan's laughing in surprised disbelief.

Dan doesn't exactly end up begging, but the 'come on, enough, fuck me,' when Jones has got three fingers jabbing his prostate and is trailing openmouthed bites over his arse and back seems to work well enough.

Even as ready for it as Dan felt and as slowly as Jones eases in, it burns and he tenses.

"Just relax, breathe." Jones's tone is actually soothing and he's rubbing Dan's back and hair, but Dan can hear the strain of him holding back. "Your arse is a zen-master, yeah?"

Dan laughs and Jones pries Dan's hand from where it's clenched in the sheets and holds it, and in a minute it's all right.

"Oh, thank fuck," Jones gasps into Dan's shoulder when he's given the go-ahead to move. When he does, it's like nothing Dan's ever felt in his life. Too full and too intense, and he's embarrassed at first that his cock's gone soft when Jones coaxes his hips up and takes it in his hand, but Jones just kisses the back of his neck and strokes it hard again, twists his hips at a different angle until Dan sees stars and comes with a long string of shouted nonsense. "Fuck, Dan," Jones says, and his movements turn jerky and arrhythmic. Dan's a bit sorry for the condom, somewhere in the back of his mind, because he thinks he might like to feel that heat spilling inside him.

It's a stinging ache when Jones pulls out, and Dan's too boneless to move until Jones rolls him over. There is actually a brief I-have-just-been-fucked-in-the-arse-by-my-best-mate panic, but it passes quickly when Jones curls around his side and whispers in his ear that he's brilliant.

Dan can't make himself say 'so are you' or anything like it, but he holds onto Jones a little tighter and hopes he understands.
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