'John'. Just 'John.'

It hurt, at first. There was no two ways about it. But it didn't hurt as much as John expected, and the stretch of it made John feel full. Full of his boyfriend. Full of Bobby Drake. "You're doing great," he rasped out, shoulders hitching as he took a couple of quick breathes, and then swallowed: "I feel full of you," he admitted, soft, "and it feels good, sweetheart," He sounded, as well as felt, like he was having some kind of goddamn religious experience, lying there with a dick in his ass and his lover looking down at him. "It'd feel better when you start fucking me, though," John managed a crooked grin, and reached up to gently cup Bobby's cheek, thumb stroking over his lips. Sweetheart? Oh, was he gone.