The night had gotten steadily more dreamlike as they'd trooped up the stairs: no, not dreamlike, sharp, almost too real. He'd noticed the creak of the stair, a slight shadow in the paint on one of the walls, even the way he breathed, in small puffs that had nothing to do with the temperature. Anything, to not look at Bobby, to not focus on Bobby.

And then when Bobby drew him close for a moment, it hit John, that old, aching fear: will he ever like me the way I like him?. With a small smile, he leaned forward to cup Bobby's face in both hands and kissed him, messy and hungry, taking a few steps backwards as he did so, cautious not to trip over any of his junk. He broke the kiss to toe off his shoes and tug his socks off one by one, flashing a softer grin at Bobby even as his thoughts continued: He's about to be the first man he's ever slept with, what do you think? was the question he spat at that still, tremulous voice in the back of his head, and found for the first time there was no answer.

"Strip," he suggested, tucking thumbs in his sweatpants and easing them off his hips, then his boxers fell in a puddle of clothing as well. "As much as I like the idea of fucking you clothed in the some bathroom on campus one day." Yeah, John was happy to let Bobby know that wanting him was never not going to be an option.

The absent tug to his hard cock was probably more than enough to demonstrate that.