(no subject)
Secret Rendezvous
Pairing(s): Jono/Angelo
Rating: R
Author: selena2.0@prodigy.net
Authors Notes: Entirely for Daisey, her song, her fault! Don't even look for it, trust me...
Happiness is where I, I think of you
And we will get together and rendezvous
I'll be on time, you'll bring the wine
And we will lock the door, oh, you'll be all mine
[Angelo, what even IS this?] Jono was sitting on his couch. His ratty, broken couch. Springs poked out of it like razor wire ready for trench warfare in Germany. Stuffing piled out like the couch’s lifeblood, as if from terrible wounds. Jono sat perched on one of the still-intact cushions, holding in his hand a green bottle, half-full of dark, syrupy crimson liquid. [I’d be surprised if you could tell me two KINDS of wine, much less choose a decent one.]
Alone in my room, thoughts of you in my head as I wait
The time is soon, you'll arrive
Together then we'll escape into the night on wings of love
And do the things that we once dreamed of
All aboard in a surrey, a first class ticket to ecstasy
“You’re like fucking Tiny Tim sometimes, you know that?” Angelo was bent over, rooting through the boxes piled against the far wall. “So humble, so thankful. Sweet like--- fuck.” The clear, bright note of broken glass rang through the air, and Jono winced.
[If tha’ was one’a my crystal…] Jono held very few material possessions sacred in this world; his coat, his guitar, his boots, and his champagne flutes, stolen from a very exclusive, A-list hotel in London. He’d taken very few things from hotels over the years, in comparison with the average Joe. But those glasses… He’d had his first taste of champagne in them, and considered them his introduction to the world of finer things. Angelo’d be waiting ‘till his next birthday to get laid if one of those glasses was lost.
When the boy turned, his eyes gave him away instantly.
[ANGELO!!!!]
It won't stop, it don't stop
A nonstop secret rendezvous
It won't stop, it don't stop
A nonstop secret rendezvous
Hey he-hey, oh oh-oh (oh oh)
“Do you forgive me yet?” Angelo looked up at Jono from between those long, elegant legs. His lips were swollen, a hint of pink appearing on the lower one. For a man who was usually invisible on a foggy morning, this was a change of drastic proportions. He looked tired; the clock had swung it’s hour hand around twice now. The first hour had been him begging, yelling, reasoning, fuming, turning, walking up the stairs, running back down again, apologizing again…. The second hour he had fallen to his knees, in hopes of earning his absolution some other way.
“Jono…” He whispered softly, knowing how his lover went crazy if he breathed on while he was hard. The man may not have said a word, may have avoided his eyes for every moment since he first realized what he’d done, but he hadn’t pushed him back. Angelo didn’t want to rissk trying to lift or move him, but he’d unzipped his fly, knowing the man wouldn’t have worn boxers this afternoon. He bent his head, and lapped gently at the very center of Jono’s world, took in just the tip and sucked, reverently, too gently to give any real satisfaction.
He was rewarded with a pulse in his hand; Jono’s body was much less stubborn than he was. Angelo closed his eyes and breathed once through his nose, knowing he’d have to suppress his gag reflex in a moment. One swift plunge, and he had him surrounded, swallowed whole and hot and throbbing. A low, soft note in his throat, sustained for about ten seconds, would on any other day have Jono begging; in the palm of his hand, so to speak. Today he tasted the sour sort of tang at the back of his throat; the man’s pre-come trickling from him involuntarily, but he got no words, no rough fingers in his hair, no desperate moan. But when he glanced up, for the first time, Jono was looking at him, with a … a softer glare. His eyes smoldering like banked coals.
[Go get the other glass.]
Angelo barely repressed the urge to nod; the hard length in his mouth, pressed back into his throat, pulsed; reminded him just in time. He puled back slowly, running the tip of his tongue along the underside, and watched Jono’s eyes roll back, his eyelids fluttering closed. He knew better than to press his advantage, and rose on his cramped legs, licking his lips. The box still held a glass, now short it’s mate, and Ange had to admit it looked a bit lonely. This time when he picked it up, it was with his whole palm; he brought it to Jono like an injured bird, handed it to him like a surgeon would handle a heart at the operating table.
Jono rolled his eyes and accepted the glass with all the grace of royalty, before wiping the inside with a finger, taking off the dust.
[Get on me.] Those dark eyes with their wild silver fire left no room for argument. Angelo took a deep breath and a step forward, only to be greeted by one booted foot pressed just a little too hard between his legs. He felt the urge to leap back, to protect himself, the split-second instinct all men have when something endangers their most precious possession. He managed to control it into a really hard flinch. He watched satisfaction leak into his lovers’ expression, and let out a soft breath. One wrong move here…
Jono glared at him imperially, and sniffed once. He pressed a bit harder, as if he could feel the aching hardness there through his boot, and Angelo had to bite his lip. His hands itched to fall, to reach there and move the boot, but he had to trust. Their eyes met; one set pleading, the other unforgiving… but with the tiniest hint of… enjoyment? One elegant white hand held the glass, wrist cocked perfectly, a grip you can learn by watching Queen Elizabeth in at a dinner setting, but cannot perfect without a little of her imperial blood.
[Without yer bloody pants, you twat.]
From a penthouse view we'll make love, drink champagne by candle light
I'm so glad I'm in your arms, baby, I am yours tonight
To be with you is all I need, so lock the door and throw away the key
No one will disturb this groove, we could not stop it if we wanted to
Angelo whimpered loudly and tried to breathe. He had come down here to fuck, not be fucked. He hadn’t done this in what… was it weeks? A month? Since they’d discovered Jono’s submissive streak, their lovemaking had always been about Jono, and how hard he could take it, how fast. Where he liked to be stroked, and where he liked to be bitten. How much he could take before the psionic screams brought the rest of the house down on them. The other man was only about halfway inside him, and Angelo was breathing hard. He got no help from the older boy, only a shift of his hips that felt like sparks inside him, and drove him to guide Jono deeper. His thighs strained as he lowered himself as slowly as possible, he was as frightened, as his first time, as if Jono would tear him in half. But he forced himself to breathe, and his lips moved silently. for him, for him, for him...
To be continued...
Pairing(s): Jono/Angelo
Rating: R
Author: selena2.0@prodigy.net
Authors Notes: Entirely for Daisey, her song, her fault! Don't even look for it, trust me...
Happiness is where I, I think of you
And we will get together and rendezvous
I'll be on time, you'll bring the wine
And we will lock the door, oh, you'll be all mine
[Angelo, what even IS this?] Jono was sitting on his couch. His ratty, broken couch. Springs poked out of it like razor wire ready for trench warfare in Germany. Stuffing piled out like the couch’s lifeblood, as if from terrible wounds. Jono sat perched on one of the still-intact cushions, holding in his hand a green bottle, half-full of dark, syrupy crimson liquid. [I’d be surprised if you could tell me two KINDS of wine, much less choose a decent one.]
Alone in my room, thoughts of you in my head as I wait
The time is soon, you'll arrive
Together then we'll escape into the night on wings of love
And do the things that we once dreamed of
All aboard in a surrey, a first class ticket to ecstasy
“You’re like fucking Tiny Tim sometimes, you know that?” Angelo was bent over, rooting through the boxes piled against the far wall. “So humble, so thankful. Sweet like--- fuck.” The clear, bright note of broken glass rang through the air, and Jono winced.
[If tha’ was one’a my crystal…] Jono held very few material possessions sacred in this world; his coat, his guitar, his boots, and his champagne flutes, stolen from a very exclusive, A-list hotel in London. He’d taken very few things from hotels over the years, in comparison with the average Joe. But those glasses… He’d had his first taste of champagne in them, and considered them his introduction to the world of finer things. Angelo’d be waiting ‘till his next birthday to get laid if one of those glasses was lost.
When the boy turned, his eyes gave him away instantly.
[ANGELO!!!!]
It won't stop, it don't stop
A nonstop secret rendezvous
It won't stop, it don't stop
A nonstop secret rendezvous
Hey he-hey, oh oh-oh (oh oh)
“Do you forgive me yet?” Angelo looked up at Jono from between those long, elegant legs. His lips were swollen, a hint of pink appearing on the lower one. For a man who was usually invisible on a foggy morning, this was a change of drastic proportions. He looked tired; the clock had swung it’s hour hand around twice now. The first hour had been him begging, yelling, reasoning, fuming, turning, walking up the stairs, running back down again, apologizing again…. The second hour he had fallen to his knees, in hopes of earning his absolution some other way.
“Jono…” He whispered softly, knowing how his lover went crazy if he breathed on while he was hard. The man may not have said a word, may have avoided his eyes for every moment since he first realized what he’d done, but he hadn’t pushed him back. Angelo didn’t want to rissk trying to lift or move him, but he’d unzipped his fly, knowing the man wouldn’t have worn boxers this afternoon. He bent his head, and lapped gently at the very center of Jono’s world, took in just the tip and sucked, reverently, too gently to give any real satisfaction.
He was rewarded with a pulse in his hand; Jono’s body was much less stubborn than he was. Angelo closed his eyes and breathed once through his nose, knowing he’d have to suppress his gag reflex in a moment. One swift plunge, and he had him surrounded, swallowed whole and hot and throbbing. A low, soft note in his throat, sustained for about ten seconds, would on any other day have Jono begging; in the palm of his hand, so to speak. Today he tasted the sour sort of tang at the back of his throat; the man’s pre-come trickling from him involuntarily, but he got no words, no rough fingers in his hair, no desperate moan. But when he glanced up, for the first time, Jono was looking at him, with a … a softer glare. His eyes smoldering like banked coals.
[Go get the other glass.]
Angelo barely repressed the urge to nod; the hard length in his mouth, pressed back into his throat, pulsed; reminded him just in time. He puled back slowly, running the tip of his tongue along the underside, and watched Jono’s eyes roll back, his eyelids fluttering closed. He knew better than to press his advantage, and rose on his cramped legs, licking his lips. The box still held a glass, now short it’s mate, and Ange had to admit it looked a bit lonely. This time when he picked it up, it was with his whole palm; he brought it to Jono like an injured bird, handed it to him like a surgeon would handle a heart at the operating table.
Jono rolled his eyes and accepted the glass with all the grace of royalty, before wiping the inside with a finger, taking off the dust.
[Get on me.] Those dark eyes with their wild silver fire left no room for argument. Angelo took a deep breath and a step forward, only to be greeted by one booted foot pressed just a little too hard between his legs. He felt the urge to leap back, to protect himself, the split-second instinct all men have when something endangers their most precious possession. He managed to control it into a really hard flinch. He watched satisfaction leak into his lovers’ expression, and let out a soft breath. One wrong move here…
Jono glared at him imperially, and sniffed once. He pressed a bit harder, as if he could feel the aching hardness there through his boot, and Angelo had to bite his lip. His hands itched to fall, to reach there and move the boot, but he had to trust. Their eyes met; one set pleading, the other unforgiving… but with the tiniest hint of… enjoyment? One elegant white hand held the glass, wrist cocked perfectly, a grip you can learn by watching Queen Elizabeth in at a dinner setting, but cannot perfect without a little of her imperial blood.
[Without yer bloody pants, you twat.]
From a penthouse view we'll make love, drink champagne by candle light
I'm so glad I'm in your arms, baby, I am yours tonight
To be with you is all I need, so lock the door and throw away the key
No one will disturb this groove, we could not stop it if we wanted to
Angelo whimpered loudly and tried to breathe. He had come down here to fuck, not be fucked. He hadn’t done this in what… was it weeks? A month? Since they’d discovered Jono’s submissive streak, their lovemaking had always been about Jono, and how hard he could take it, how fast. Where he liked to be stroked, and where he liked to be bitten. How much he could take before the psionic screams brought the rest of the house down on them. The other man was only about halfway inside him, and Angelo was breathing hard. He got no help from the older boy, only a shift of his hips that felt like sparks inside him, and drove him to guide Jono deeper. His thighs strained as he lowered himself as slowly as possible, he was as frightened, as his first time, as if Jono would tear him in half. But he forced himself to breathe, and his lips moved silently. for him, for him, for him...
To be continued...