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zenellyraen · 9 years ago

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JohnDave Week 2k16, Day 6: NSFW

“I think,” John says, looking down at you with a fond gentleness, spread out and loose and warm, “that it’s time you get what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You don’t quite sob, but it’s a near thing.

John smiles at you, catches your hands as you reach up towards him, and he kisses your fingers gently before placing your hands, folded, on your chest with a particularly pointed press that says “Stay here.”

You do. You don’t unfold your hands. You don’t reach for him again. You let him stroke a hand down the side of your face, and if your breath is coming a bit hard? If your legs are shaking because of the tease of his thigh between yours, pressing with just the right amount of pressure to give you nothing but a faint brush of sensation?

It’s just what John wants you to have.

“What a good boy,” you hear him whisper, and you turn your head into his hand, nosing against the sensitive, soft skin of his inner wrist and palm because you are. You try to be so, so good, you just want someone to notice, to know and love you, and here he is, with a calming pet down your flank and a hand wrapped just the right side of tight in your hair. “How in the world anyone can think you aren’t good is a mystery to me.”

So many people.

So many people think you aren’t good, but you are.

“You do everything I tell you do just right, don’t you, Dave?” John asks, and you nod, even though it pulls against the hand in your hair. The sweet bite of pain makes it even better. Even better as he wraps long, clever, wonderful fingers around your leaking erection for a single, wonderful stroke, as he bends his head to kiss your folded hands. “You’re such a good boy. So obedient. So caring. So I’m going to let you pick. What do you want, Dave?”

You breathe in.

It shakes on the way out, catching as a sob when John’s wrist twists a bit and his hand curls around your cock again.

“You, John. I just. I want you. Please, just,” you gasp, biting your lip when no more words come, the curve of your mouth already sore from you gnawing on it.

John leans down and kisses you, coaxes your mouth open as he does, gentling your bite so you can kiss him back, eager. Your legs strain, heels pressed flat against the bed where John put them earlier, and you rut in short jerks, trying to get anything, anything at all from John’s leg or hand. You just want him.

“Okay, Dave,” he says when he finally pulls away. “Okay, I can do that. You’re so good, you deserve whatever it is you want.”

You almost, almost shake your head to deny that.

(You don’t believe you deserve anything, but in these moments, it’s easier to allow John than it is to believe yourself. After all, John wouldn’t lie to you, but yourself, on the other hand. You can’t be trusted.)

“Hands wherever you want them, Dave,” John orders, scooting down your body, and you whine at the sudden loss of his hand, his thigh, his weight over yours, grounding down your static skin. But that’s soon replaced as he kisses, warm and wet, around your hips, the sensitive crease of your thigh, as he spreads your legs from their instinctual tightening.

As he slides his fingers inside of you and his mouth down your cock.

You almost come right then, but you want to be good. You want to enjoy this and let John spoil you, and he does. God, he does, with the suction of his mouth and the curl-press of his fingers as he takes you apart, moment by shivering moment. He holds you in place, even when you buck towards him, one arm just. Pressing you back down without even breaking his stride.

Your hands are in his hair, against his jaw, feeling him as he goes down on you, and it shouldn’t be a surprise when he pulls back for just a second, removes his fingers and coaxes yours inside yourself instead.

“Come on, Dave, I want to see it. I want to see you fuck your own fingers, come on,” he murmurs, sucking dark bruises into your inner thighs.

You heave in a stuttering breath, but you do as you’re told. You press your fingers against the slick ring of muscle, loose already from what feels like hours of play, from John’s mouth and fingers, and John watches avidly as you go for two immediately, stroking your trembling legs.

“Good boy.” John breaths in shakily. “Good boy, Dave.”

You groan, because he’s bent over again, mouthed lower, and lower still, until it’s your fingers, but John’s mouth, opening you up as he slowly strokes your cock, as the grip on your hips encourages you to roll your hips down, tentatively at first and then faster when John urges you further. You undulate into the stroking of his tongue and your fingers and white-bright tension lines you from your toes to your shoulders, from your abdomen that is sticky and slick with sweat and precome to your throat until finally, finally, it’s enough.

John pulls his mouth away, which would be awful is he didn’t immediately replace it with the gentle pressure of his fingers as he watches you come, shaking, crying. If he didn’t rest his forehead against yours and whisper what a good boy you were. If he didn’t nuzzle you while you shake down from the bright heights of orgasm and gentle his hands and yours and hold you until your mind quiets.

If he didn’t tell you how much he loves you and how wonderful you are.

And if you didn’t absolutely, one hundred percent, believe him.

#johndave #davejohn #davejohnweek #johndaveweek #a wild zene uses write #HAHA DAY 6

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kurugaya63 · 8 years ago

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davejohn genderbend <3 day freeeeeeeeeeeeee

#pepsicolaweek #pepsicola #davejohnweek #john egbert #davejohn #johndaveweek #dave strider #day5 #fanart #yuri

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zenellyraen · 9 years ago

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JohnDave Week 2k16, Day 4: Hurt/Comfort

Sleep pulls at the edge of your vision, gritty and draining, and you blink through it, carding your fingers through the knots in John’s hair. You cannot sleep.

Not yet.

John whimpers, turning in his sleep, and his edges fuzz slightly. You hold onto him just a little tighter, hoping beyond all hope that he’ll feel you right here with him, that he won’t phase through you and into another reality altogether. That he wake up scared. That you won’t either.

“’ve.”

“Mm.”

A hand paps your face, uncoordinated and vague, and you let out a huff of laughter. John opens one eye. Pats you again. “D’ve. Go t’sleep.”

“I can’t, dude,” you say quietly, and he shifts, pressing you back down onto the mattress, laying his legs over yours, his arm across your chest, his head on your shoulder. You can feel him, like gravity. Unavoidable. It stops the spinning in your head. The constant clanging of metal and iron soothes out into the whistle of John’s quiet half-snores.

He is solid on top of you.

You close your eyes, and sleep takes you, gentle.

When you wake, John is still there. Your hand is in his hair, and he’s drooling all over your neck and shoulder, and it’s gross and wonderful and you’ve never been so in love.

#johndaveweek #davejohnweek #johndave #davejohn #a wild zene uses write

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zenellyraen · 9 years ago

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JohnDave Week 2k16, Day 5: FREE SPACE

((A DAY LATE BECAUSE I’M A DUMB AND FORGOT TO WRITE IT YESTERDAY OTL so have a weird semi-swan lake au?? idk man i just went with it))

When the night comes, so does he. When the day breaks, so does he.

This is a cycle that you’ve, unfortunately, gotten used to over the course of several years.

You sneak out of the castle on quiet footsteps, holding your breath tight within your chest as the guards pass you by. As you have for the last three years, you are not caught as you make your way silently across the parapet, down the rough surface of the wall, into the lower city. Then further, out into the woods, into a clearing long since made a meeting place.

Patient, you track the rising of the moon.

It breeches the tops of the trees.

There is a step, the break of branches beneath feet.

A pale-haired boy walks into the clearing, eyes wide and dark in the moonlight, and you smile, wave, stretching unnecessarily onto your toes. Straining, like a magnet, towards him. “Hey!”

He smiles back, waves as the two of you find your way towards each other. You sit in the soft grass, pat him to sit down beside you. “How’ve you been?” you ask him.

“Fine, fine, you know how restful the life of a woodsboy is,” he says, grinning wryly, his teeth bright against his dark skin. You grin back, reach out, place your hand on his, and feel a thrill in your bones when he does not move away.

This, too, is something you have done for the last three years.

Before you knew him, he was skittish, nervous. Hovering around the edges of the clearing or actually running away. You had stumbled across him one night, and since then, you....

Well, you haven’t really stayed away. You wooed him close to you, just to talk, nothing more, you swear, because even though you are the heir to your kingdom, you really just. Want to have a friend. Someone who knows nothing about your rank and just knows you as a person. Someone you can talk to about anything, and everything, without worrying about the ramifications of your speech.

Someone like him.

You don’t even know his name.

(Not because you haven’t asked, mind you, but rather because he gets a pinched, tight look around his mouth when you do and just shakes his head until you drop it.)

The moon tracks across the night sky as you two talk, and the shadows change on your friend’s face. His head jerks up as soon as the first hints of blue-red light start lightening the sky, and you know that you’re about to lose him again for another night.

“When can I see you again?” you ask.

It is a long time before he answers, but finally, he says, “Tomorrow still works fine for me, but we’ll need to take a break after that. After all,” and he smiles, the expression self-deprecating and sad, “I can’t have you get too much of me all at once, right?”

“Right,” you say.

If you could, you would have him live with you. If you could, you would see him every day. You can’t, but oh, you wish.

His skin is warming as the light grows, and he stands quickly. You feel his absence at your side as a physical ache. He waves goodbye as he darts into the trees, and as the sun breeches the clearing, there is the rush of wings.

As they have every morning you have seen your friend for the last three years, a flock of crows burst forth from the trees as day breaks.

You stand, brushing off your pants as you sigh.

One day, maybe, you’ll get to know what his name is.

Maybe, one day, you’ll get to know everything there is to know about him.

#johndave #davejohn #johndaveweek #davejohnweek #a wild zene uses write #i can never remember which it is SO BOTH #day 5 #eat me alive i'm so sorry

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