Now who wasn't so cocky? Well. Literally yes, metaphorically no. As he adjusted, he also felt it more, with the pain subsiding, and that first thrust of Bobby's, as unsteady as it was, causing a 'Ohhh' of sound to emerge from his mouth. Followed by another, softer one, as Bobby thrust again, his head tipping back a little as he managed a ragged rhythm in turn.

He wasn't able to do much more than rock, hearing the bed creak under them, and his hand dropped to tangle in sheets as he just took each breath in turn, chest heaving...just focusing on how to breathe. The full feeling was near-overwhelming, and then when Bobby's dick found his prostate, John took in a large, sucking breath, hand coming up to feel Bobby's back like that touch was an anchor to stop himself from coming too soon, his dick now fully hard and leaking against his stomach.

Recognising after a few more moments of adjustment (always adjusting, because wow, he had not been fucked like this, not sober, not ever) the puffs of frosty vapor, John managed a shaky half-breath, half-chuckle, pulling him in for a soft kiss like he could catch some of that chill between his lips. Bobby's powers had always been a marvel, and while it was not the first time Bobby had gone cold on him (so to speak), the idea that he had this effect on his boyfriend was something he wanted to savour each and every time.