A few more moments of that and John came to himself for a brief spell of lucidity: "Dragging you to...the shower after this, fuck." It was half-promise, half-threat, a keening cry that even after he'd come, he would make sure Bobby came too. Heck, they could fuck the whole night away for all that John cared. Another moan, and it felt like Bobby was forcing them out of his throat, making him louder and more wanton with each cry, breaking a lifetime's habit of a certain kind of control.

Thrusting between Bobby's face and his hand in a jerky, incoherent manner, it didn't take long for John to pant out that Bobby could fuck him here or fuck him later, but speaking for himself? He was gonna come soon.

All over the kitchen cupboards. Fuck. That just made him harder. They better start christening all the damn rooms in the house.