John moved his arm from Bobby's thigh to around his shoulders, tugging him in for a squeezing hug. "Well, this is our bedroom, so I couldn't say you were snooping anyway." He teased, a bit sharply, because only Bobby could get embarrassed at looking at what was his own room, really. "I don't have anything to hide from you. What's mine is yours, and all that stuff." Communal living was definitely John's way to go, as long as he was in charge of the commune, anyway. The only thing that was really his was his lighter; he knew Bobby wasn't about to burn the house down, anyway. Freeze the house down? Whatever.
"So all this is yours, too. I mean, if you want." No pressure. Except Bobby couldn't be entirely apple pie and vanilla, could he? Not deep down. Not if he'd chosen John to be with. Picking up the crop, he drew it through a curled hand and gave an involuntary shiver at the feel of it across his palm. "I was Mr. Kinky Dominant Guy, back in New York. A lot of people liked me that way." And John had liked himself that way, which was why he'd been so worried (and still was, a little) at what a pushy little switch he'd become. "You should have seen the parties," he mused, shaking his head at the memory: "A bunch of college kids displaying what style of handcuffs they preferred, like our folks throwin' a tupperware thing."
He was being salacious here, wasn't he? A little? That was the fucking point, anyway. Open-minded and sexy and engaging and pushing Bobby just that little bit further. Comfort zones, after all, were for sissies. Drake had saved people's fucking lives, he could deal with a little kink.
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"So all this is yours, too. I mean, if you want." No pressure. Except Bobby couldn't be entirely apple pie and vanilla, could he? Not deep down. Not if he'd chosen John to be with. Picking up the crop, he drew it through a curled hand and gave an involuntary shiver at the feel of it across his palm. "I was Mr. Kinky Dominant Guy, back in New York. A lot of people liked me that way." And John had liked himself that way, which was why he'd been so worried (and still was, a little) at what a pushy little switch he'd become. "You should have seen the parties," he mused, shaking his head at the memory: "A bunch of college kids displaying what style of handcuffs they preferred, like our folks throwin' a tupperware thing."
He was being salacious here, wasn't he? A little? That was the fucking point, anyway. Open-minded and sexy and engaging and pushing Bobby just that little bit further. Comfort zones, after all, were for sissies. Drake had saved people's fucking lives, he could deal with a little kink.