[He rubs and rolls and soon his legs are working together with the rest of his body to match Dave's peeps, meeting them peep for full-body, off-the-couch thrusts most of the time. Erratic movements stop abruptly and John has a pace going fast, god how is it not too fast, and he tries to keep up with the peeping because that is the only thing his mind can latch onto, now. He breathes through his mouth and whimpers from the back of his throat, desperation echoing and banging all around his muddled, dazed consciousness. His voice is too gentle for grunts and growls, he's overwhelmed by pleasure and losing his mind to it is just so easy.]
[John is only a little aware at the awful angle his body has curved into, now. His back is pressed into the couch, mostly at the shoulders, while his feet stay planted on the floor and his hips have risen above the cushions to rut against Dave. His body is going to be sore later from all the muscle uses he's never even considered to be possible, but now the adrenaline and hormones and invigorating pleasure are fueling him and it's making anything possible to reach the end. He hasn't a clue how this is going to end, what he should be expecting when the coils in his stomach spring apart, when holding Dave down against his crotch by a firm, desperate grip on his thighs is the only thing in his comprehensive timeline.]
[He cries out briefly, almost softly, into the open air before he starts to put his face in the crook of Dave's neck, making sporadic sounds into him. He's aching and aching for more, and the feelings are honestly too much for him. He's never been this pumped, this high on life or anything else like it. This is almost scary, and yet there's nothing in his voice and whimpers and delighted shocks of moaning that tell of anything but how good and wonderful this feels. He's hard and something is catching and his body wants more, more of whatever caught, to thrust inside it and be engulfed by it, to just be closer than anything. John doesn't understand it, why he wants to practically merge with Dave right now, and when he gets over that first bout of insecure desire, his head falls back against the couch, teeth digging into his lip with a strange new concentration. So close, so close to something, anything, so damn close...]
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[John is only a little aware at the awful angle his body has curved into, now. His back is pressed into the couch, mostly at the shoulders, while his feet stay planted on the floor and his hips have risen above the cushions to rut against Dave. His body is going to be sore later from all the muscle uses he's never even considered to be possible, but now the adrenaline and hormones and invigorating pleasure are fueling him and it's making anything possible to reach the end. He hasn't a clue how this is going to end, what he should be expecting when the coils in his stomach spring apart, when holding Dave down against his crotch by a firm, desperate grip on his thighs is the only thing in his comprehensive timeline.]
[He cries out briefly, almost softly, into the open air before he starts to put his face in the crook of Dave's neck, making sporadic sounds into him. He's aching and aching for more, and the feelings are honestly too much for him. He's never been this pumped, this high on life or anything else like it. This is almost scary, and yet there's nothing in his voice and whimpers and delighted shocks of moaning that tell of anything but how good and wonderful this feels. He's hard and something is catching and his body wants more, more of whatever caught, to thrust inside it and be engulfed by it, to just be closer than anything. John doesn't understand it, why he wants to practically merge with Dave right now, and when he gets over that first bout of insecure desire, his head falls back against the couch, teeth digging into his lip with a strange new concentration. So close, so close to something, anything, so damn close...]