fic: tailored
title: tailored
pairing: john terry/frank lampard
rating: nc17
disclaimer: fiction
based off this photo and and entirely for inesdelsol
It takes John all of seven seconds after the door to his place closes for him to jump Frank. Literally. He knows he has to be a little more careful what with Frank’s surgery and his own lingering injury. But tonight, touches that started off innocent turned into something more, eyes stayed on each other longer than necessary. They did their best however with everyone around to camp their desires.
“Fuck”
John laughs against the Frank’s lips as he slams their bodies against the wall, causing the other man to call out. His hands are everywhere: rubbing Frank’s nipples through the thin material of his black shirt, slipping into the waistband of his nicely cut trousers. John slips a leg in between Frank’s.
“Take off that hideous suit.”
Frank nips at his bottom lips. “Oh fuck you.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
The rest of their banter is cut off when John hooks his arms under Frank’s legs and carries him into the living room, not caring that he is being sworn at - though Frank is laughing while doing so.
With a soft thud, Frank lands on the sofa. He’s not laughing anymore. No his eyes are now glazed over with want, with lust when he sees John staring down at him like he’s ready to rip his clothes off and fuck him as hard as he is able to.
And that’s exactly what he does.
The shiny black shirt is pulled out of his trousers roughly that the bottom button pops off. John however doesn’t adhere to it; instead, he tries to shake off his coat while unbuckling Frank’s belt. Sometimes clothes are really a nuisance. Luckily both articles of clothing comply easily enough and John grins in triumph.
“Been way to fucking long.”
“And yet you keep wasting time.”
John growls at Frank’s response. With both hands, he shoves him over, rolling him on to his stomach, not caring that he isn’t being as careful as he should be. He yanks down the trousers unceremoniously and slaps Frank’s ass, smirking when he sees the skin pinking up immediately.
“Impatient lad.”
But in actuality he is too. It’s been too long; too many injuries, too many other engagements that have prevented them from spending time with each other, on each other. He cannot wait until Frank is back and health and they can get back to their routine.
Time isn’t wasted further on fully disrobing. No John forgoes that step and just pushes his own trousers down out of the way. A few strokes to his hardening cock with spit as lubrication suffices. And then he pushes into Frank.
“Still wasting time, eh?”
But Frank can’t answer; he’s too busy biting the cushion as John fucks into him relentlessly. He doesn’t even bother to pretend he isn’t eager. Frank presses back hard, moaning when John hits his spot repeatedly.
Fingertips attach to his still clothed sides, now sticky with perspiration but both men are close and do not particularly care. John even bends down and moulds himself against Frank’s back, his hips picking up the pace. He slams in hard once, twice, three then four times and then he comes with a shout, his vision blurring ever so slightly.
Except for taking a few deep breaths however John doesn’t let up just yet. He flips over Frank so quickly that he just laughs when Frank looks up at him with surprised etched all over his face.
Looming over his body with a devilish smile on his lips, John wraps his fingers around Frank’s damp cock and strokes him - down slowly, up quickly. And Frank, poor Frank, just moan and whimpers the entire time, his pleas falling on deaf ears.
But John’s not that much of a bastard. When he’s close he brings his mouth and replaces his hand. With enough pressure against head, Frank comes. John lets the first spurt to hit his tongue then finishes him off with his hand, spilling Frank all over his shiny shirt.
“Fuck.”
John laughs before he leans down as places a kiss to Frank’s damp forehead.
“Burn the suit, Lampsy.”
pairing: john terry/frank lampard
rating: nc17
disclaimer: fiction
based off this photo and and entirely for inesdelsol
It takes John all of seven seconds after the door to his place closes for him to jump Frank. Literally. He knows he has to be a little more careful what with Frank’s surgery and his own lingering injury. But tonight, touches that started off innocent turned into something more, eyes stayed on each other longer than necessary. They did their best however with everyone around to camp their desires.
“Fuck”
John laughs against the Frank’s lips as he slams their bodies against the wall, causing the other man to call out. His hands are everywhere: rubbing Frank’s nipples through the thin material of his black shirt, slipping into the waistband of his nicely cut trousers. John slips a leg in between Frank’s.
“Take off that hideous suit.”
Frank nips at his bottom lips. “Oh fuck you.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
The rest of their banter is cut off when John hooks his arms under Frank’s legs and carries him into the living room, not caring that he is being sworn at - though Frank is laughing while doing so.
With a soft thud, Frank lands on the sofa. He’s not laughing anymore. No his eyes are now glazed over with want, with lust when he sees John staring down at him like he’s ready to rip his clothes off and fuck him as hard as he is able to.
And that’s exactly what he does.
The shiny black shirt is pulled out of his trousers roughly that the bottom button pops off. John however doesn’t adhere to it; instead, he tries to shake off his coat while unbuckling Frank’s belt. Sometimes clothes are really a nuisance. Luckily both articles of clothing comply easily enough and John grins in triumph.
“Been way to fucking long.”
“And yet you keep wasting time.”
John growls at Frank’s response. With both hands, he shoves him over, rolling him on to his stomach, not caring that he isn’t being as careful as he should be. He yanks down the trousers unceremoniously and slaps Frank’s ass, smirking when he sees the skin pinking up immediately.
“Impatient lad.”
But in actuality he is too. It’s been too long; too many injuries, too many other engagements that have prevented them from spending time with each other, on each other. He cannot wait until Frank is back and health and they can get back to their routine.
Time isn’t wasted further on fully disrobing. No John forgoes that step and just pushes his own trousers down out of the way. A few strokes to his hardening cock with spit as lubrication suffices. And then he pushes into Frank.
“Still wasting time, eh?”
But Frank can’t answer; he’s too busy biting the cushion as John fucks into him relentlessly. He doesn’t even bother to pretend he isn’t eager. Frank presses back hard, moaning when John hits his spot repeatedly.
Fingertips attach to his still clothed sides, now sticky with perspiration but both men are close and do not particularly care. John even bends down and moulds himself against Frank’s back, his hips picking up the pace. He slams in hard once, twice, three then four times and then he comes with a shout, his vision blurring ever so slightly.
Except for taking a few deep breaths however John doesn’t let up just yet. He flips over Frank so quickly that he just laughs when Frank looks up at him with surprised etched all over his face.
Looming over his body with a devilish smile on his lips, John wraps his fingers around Frank’s damp cock and strokes him - down slowly, up quickly. And Frank, poor Frank, just moan and whimpers the entire time, his pleas falling on deaf ears.
But John’s not that much of a bastard. When he’s close he brings his mouth and replaces his hand. With enough pressure against head, Frank comes. John lets the first spurt to hit his tongue then finishes him off with his hand, spilling Frank all over his shiny shirt.
“Fuck.”
John laughs before he leans down as places a kiss to Frank’s damp forehead.
“Burn the suit, Lampsy.”