Daylight
by northern

Joey was on the other side of the hotel door when JC opened it.

"Are you going to let me in?" he asked after a while, rubbing the back of his head.

JC couldn't meet his eyes. He stood, frozen with his hand on the door handle, wondering how much Joey remembered. Joey gently touched his arm and he released the door handle as if it had grown hot under his fingers, quickly stepping back and turning away. Joey closed the door quietly behind him as JC paced across the room to stand at the window, breathing. The light was too bright. It hurt his eyes.

He wondered if Joey remembered the way he'd been so desperate for it. Almost crying with his need to get as much of Joey as possible inside his mouth. Choking and still pulling Joey's hips closer. Joey had been stretched out drunk on the bed, head slowly rolling from side to side, moaning deep and laboured with each breath.

Joey's hand touched his shoulder and JC twitched, even though he hadn't meant to. The hand faltered, but then Joey's grip tightened and he turned JC around. There was guilt and determination in his eyes as he pushed JC a few inches backwards, making him catch himself and lean against the window. Joey looked at him, and he could feel the sun burning, heating the parts of his back not pressed against the glass.

Joey started to sink to the floor and JC's hands came up to stop him before he realized what he was doing. There was a pointless struggle where Joey leaned more of his weight and JC wouldn't let him fall, but then Joey looked at him again.

"Let me. Let me do this." Joey had a shuttered look in his eyes. "I don't want it to hang between us."

He sank to his knees, unhindered, and JC breathed in and stared at the space between the door frame and the ceiling across the room while Joey determinedly undid his pants.

He wasn't hard, and Joey must have been confused about it, because it felt like a long time he stood there bare from the waist down. Then he felt a finger, just touching him gently. He didn't have the energy to protest and come up with arguments. If this was the first time Joey touched another man's dick, and JC thought that was a very real possibility, then so be it. Hopefully, he'd be discouraged and let it be, let things lie as they were.

But Joey didn't stop. He touched and touched some more and soon JC felt himself harden. The sun was heating the back of his neck, even through his hair.

Joey's mouth was warm and slick. JC couldn't suppress a shudder when he felt it closing around the head of his cock, slowly, hesitant tongue, as if Joey didn't really know if he would like the taste.

There were more sloppy sounds as Joey figured out how to make things good. JC stared holes in the wall while Joey sucked on his cock as if he were trying to taste everything at once. His tongue pushed up suddenly to slide almost roughly and JC closed his eyes and shuddered, clenching his jaw in reflex. His hands smoothed down his own thighs in an effort not to grab and hold and force.

He looked down instead, as if seeing Joey's head with its short, sleek hair move back and forth would calm him down. All it did was make his heart beat faster, heavy tension rising at the back of his throat. He swallowed. The sound of it was too loud, and he breathed in quickly. His eyes burned, but he couldn't bring himself to close them.

Joey finally settled into a rhythm, squeezed the part of his cock he couldn't get into his mouth with one hand, fist meeting mouth with a wet, soft sound. JC looked down at Joey's closed eyes, his concentration, and breathed, making a small sound of distress that surprised him in its urgency. The pain was unbearable, rising quickly through him, and he unclenched a fist he hadn't know he was making to put one hand on Joey's head. The feeling of it — the bristly, sleek fur of it — was enough to connect it all and light his whole body up. He watched Joey's rhythmic movements and he opened his mouth, intending to say... but there was no air to speak with and his fist spasmed closed around nothing and there was too much light to see and the back of his throat tasted like blood and it was the only orgasm he'd ever had that felt just like crying.