wingborne | you're going to catch a cold;

Hit the power button, start up the beat, slide up the pitch with fingers on the vinyl and the warm skin. Hot mouth heavy breathing, sweaty and messy, taste like other white meat and love. Hands sliding over his body and the song waited, John waited naked and wanting with his mouth gaping and the song had a motif and the motif was him, but had to wait for his blood to pool into his stomach, fingers digging into soft round thighs and sharp hip bones pressed against the table brushing against the cold needle and this was a goddamn mix tape, elegy honoring the fleshy mass of cock half-hard hidden in bristly hair and then John says dave and everything comes crashing down and he pressed his nails to make half-crescent marks on the bony parts of his hips like a fucking bastard and

he ran his nails over John’s flushed belly and his hard nubs to the sharpness of his shoulders up his chin, thrusting inside, slow and smooth like a jazz piece but this wasn’t a goddamn jazz lesson these were sick beats and he picked up the rhythm carefully, but he faltered when John started vocalizing because John always messed up his beat his meter his tempo John sang a hymn of soft moans growing in his throat, needing groans, record scratches with his fingers half-buried in his hair and it was a mess of dave dave dave but only he could make the name its own beat, and the internal rhyme should have been chaotic but it played out so perfectly and his breathing took the quarter notes the fourth the fifth and they hit the bridge and the shit took off and he fucked him with the deep intensity vibrating in the bass all slick and red skin and John’s wet cock pressed against his ample stomach and John was humping him and they reached the crescendo and he pressed his teeth deeply into his neck and the rhymes hit perfect timing and they were all wove together lines about need and want and desire and John always John and every single nerve pounded to the percussion a terrifying exercise in electrifying strength and the tightness felt so good and the grand finale came spurting out, running down between his thighs, and he milked out his orgasm with a few final humps but those were just lingering notes before the full stop and he collapses onto of him harder than he needed and John’s laughing and burying his nose into his chest and this was his lovesick song to John that he could never pass through his mouth, only press against the bumps on his spine and soft kisses to the eyes.