fic: don't change for me
title: don't change for me
pairing: john terry/frank lampard
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
for inesdelsol just because ♥
After South Africa they don’t see each other for a while, don’t even talk on the phone or send each other messages. John decides to lay low and be with his family, his beautiful baby boy and girl. Frank escapes to paradise islands, travelling with someone he’s falling for out of convenience. They both enjoy their vacations respectively, the failures earlier of the summer forgotten in the moment but ever resonating in the back of their minds.
John likes to think he doesn’t sit around and wait for Frank to get back but he does. He knows exactly when he arrives back at home, when he’s alone. He doesn’t call him or send him a message, just simply drives the path he doesn’t think twice about. Doesn’t have to.
It takes about 27 seconds to get out of his car and walk up to the front door, where he stands patiently for it to open, not heeding to the thoughts running through his head. He waits for about 10 seconds and then another 4 before pushing Frank back roughly as soon as he sees his face. His skin is tanned and he looks refreshed. The need in John’s body suddenly skyrockets.
He had Frank pressed flushed against the stark white walls and cuts off his words/airway with a kiss so brutal it is them. He brings up his hand to frame Frank’s face, tilt his chin to fuck his mouth the way he wants. He murmurs a ‘hello’ though the formality is not needed. It never is. Not between them.
Frank just moans in the back of his throat, his fingers curling into John’s hips. He’ll leave indents, bruises maybe. Little purple-blue reminders that never last long enough.
He’s too fast for his own good, for Frank’s insanity. John slips a hand into his jean and roughly palms him into hardness. It earns him another groan.
“John. John. John.”
It becomes a sort of mantra Frank cannot stop repeating. He pushes against John’s fingers, his cock impossibly hard. He’s ready.
John’s just keeps kissing him though, not caring that his mouth is beginning to ache or that his erection is pushing against his own jeans. He can feel the little whine that Frank pushes into his mouth. He knows he’s desperate. Just like he is.
But he sets the pace. Not Frank.
His brings his other hand to push away the article of clothing, just enough. Without warning he pulls away from the kiss, tearing their lips apart. Frank’s glazed eyes spark up, his lips red and wet.
“Turn around.”
And Frank obeys immediately. He shuffles around and rests his forehead against the cool wall. His eyes flutter shut. His breathing is shallow - minimal.
John teases. Of course he fucking does. Slowly - carefully, he runs his index fingers against the crease of Frank’s ass through the thin material of his underwear. Frank bucks against the soft touch. John just laughs.
He lowers his head to Frank’s neck, his lips caressing the damp skin and soft cotton of his shirt. “Did you miss me?” He presses his finger hard and Frank’s legs widen automatically (though not getting very far because of his jeans).
“F-fuck.”
Again John chuckles before finally peeling away his underwear. Now it’s just skin on skin and when John’s finger slides against him again Frank trembles.
He remains silent however. He knows how this works.
Instead Frank lowers his legs a little, bends his back and is rewarded with the finger now easing into him. Dry.
It’s only for a second however before the feeling retreats. Frank bites the inside of his cheeks and takes a very deep breath. He will be patient damn it.
There’s a jingle, indicating a belt buckle being undone followed up a zip. There’s rustling and Frank closes his eyes. Just a little longer now.
When John presses into him he knows he’s using nothing but his spit to ease his way instead. But this is not new and after the summer they both had Frank wouldn’t want it any other way.
John mould the front of his body to the back of Frank’s and groans when he feels cotton rather than skin. He pulls away, just enough to pull off his shirt and taps on Frank’s arms. It takes a moment for him to understand, to realise they aren’t moving like he wants. He lets John take the shirt off and sighs when he feels familiar skin and definition of muscle.
John brings to move - hard and fast and they both know this isn’t going to last very long. Frank rests one arm horizontally against the wall, his head using it as a pillow. His other hand grasps his leaking cock and he gives as good as he gets.
It would have bothered him that Frank is getting himself off if John isn’t so desperate for his own orgasm. It’s been far too long - too long without feeling Frank around him, too long without fucking him like he wants, too long without being skin to skin. His thrusts begin to get faster, sloppier and John can feel the end nearing. He leans down and tongues Frank’s shoulder, the salty taste of his sweat bursting against his tongue. When he comes, deep inside Frank’s quivering body, his teeth sink into him, breaking skin.
Frank comes with a shout of ‘fuck!’ that is far too loud but neither man cares right about now. He paints the wall, his hand not able to catch it all. John wraps his arms around his middle and breathes against his skin, heavy and content.
John pulls out much later when silence fills the room, when their breathing eases into something comfortable. He doesn’t however take his arms away and Frank doesn’t complain. He doesn’t have a reason to.
pairing: john terry/frank lampard
rating: nc-17
disclaimer: fiction
for inesdelsol just because ♥
After South Africa they don’t see each other for a while, don’t even talk on the phone or send each other messages. John decides to lay low and be with his family, his beautiful baby boy and girl. Frank escapes to paradise islands, travelling with someone he’s falling for out of convenience. They both enjoy their vacations respectively, the failures earlier of the summer forgotten in the moment but ever resonating in the back of their minds.
John likes to think he doesn’t sit around and wait for Frank to get back but he does. He knows exactly when he arrives back at home, when he’s alone. He doesn’t call him or send him a message, just simply drives the path he doesn’t think twice about. Doesn’t have to.
It takes about 27 seconds to get out of his car and walk up to the front door, where he stands patiently for it to open, not heeding to the thoughts running through his head. He waits for about 10 seconds and then another 4 before pushing Frank back roughly as soon as he sees his face. His skin is tanned and he looks refreshed. The need in John’s body suddenly skyrockets.
He had Frank pressed flushed against the stark white walls and cuts off his words/airway with a kiss so brutal it is them. He brings up his hand to frame Frank’s face, tilt his chin to fuck his mouth the way he wants. He murmurs a ‘hello’ though the formality is not needed. It never is. Not between them.
Frank just moans in the back of his throat, his fingers curling into John’s hips. He’ll leave indents, bruises maybe. Little purple-blue reminders that never last long enough.
He’s too fast for his own good, for Frank’s insanity. John slips a hand into his jean and roughly palms him into hardness. It earns him another groan.
“John. John. John.”
It becomes a sort of mantra Frank cannot stop repeating. He pushes against John’s fingers, his cock impossibly hard. He’s ready.
John’s just keeps kissing him though, not caring that his mouth is beginning to ache or that his erection is pushing against his own jeans. He can feel the little whine that Frank pushes into his mouth. He knows he’s desperate. Just like he is.
But he sets the pace. Not Frank.
His brings his other hand to push away the article of clothing, just enough. Without warning he pulls away from the kiss, tearing their lips apart. Frank’s glazed eyes spark up, his lips red and wet.
“Turn around.”
And Frank obeys immediately. He shuffles around and rests his forehead against the cool wall. His eyes flutter shut. His breathing is shallow - minimal.
John teases. Of course he fucking does. Slowly - carefully, he runs his index fingers against the crease of Frank’s ass through the thin material of his underwear. Frank bucks against the soft touch. John just laughs.
He lowers his head to Frank’s neck, his lips caressing the damp skin and soft cotton of his shirt. “Did you miss me?” He presses his finger hard and Frank’s legs widen automatically (though not getting very far because of his jeans).
“F-fuck.”
Again John chuckles before finally peeling away his underwear. Now it’s just skin on skin and when John’s finger slides against him again Frank trembles.
He remains silent however. He knows how this works.
Instead Frank lowers his legs a little, bends his back and is rewarded with the finger now easing into him. Dry.
It’s only for a second however before the feeling retreats. Frank bites the inside of his cheeks and takes a very deep breath. He will be patient damn it.
There’s a jingle, indicating a belt buckle being undone followed up a zip. There’s rustling and Frank closes his eyes. Just a little longer now.
When John presses into him he knows he’s using nothing but his spit to ease his way instead. But this is not new and after the summer they both had Frank wouldn’t want it any other way.
John mould the front of his body to the back of Frank’s and groans when he feels cotton rather than skin. He pulls away, just enough to pull off his shirt and taps on Frank’s arms. It takes a moment for him to understand, to realise they aren’t moving like he wants. He lets John take the shirt off and sighs when he feels familiar skin and definition of muscle.
John brings to move - hard and fast and they both know this isn’t going to last very long. Frank rests one arm horizontally against the wall, his head using it as a pillow. His other hand grasps his leaking cock and he gives as good as he gets.
It would have bothered him that Frank is getting himself off if John isn’t so desperate for his own orgasm. It’s been far too long - too long without feeling Frank around him, too long without fucking him like he wants, too long without being skin to skin. His thrusts begin to get faster, sloppier and John can feel the end nearing. He leans down and tongues Frank’s shoulder, the salty taste of his sweat bursting against his tongue. When he comes, deep inside Frank’s quivering body, his teeth sink into him, breaking skin.
Frank comes with a shout of ‘fuck!’ that is far too loud but neither man cares right about now. He paints the wall, his hand not able to catch it all. John wraps his arms around his middle and breathes against his skin, heavy and content.
John pulls out much later when silence fills the room, when their breathing eases into something comfortable. He doesn’t however take his arms away and Frank doesn’t complain. He doesn’t have a reason to.