For many years John had wondered if his own nature was in fact defective -- coaxed into going to a brothel as a coming of age gift, he had slept with two prostitutes, but he had felt neither flame or passion, and it was not until curiosity led him into Hector's bed that he realized that he preferred hard muscle and the masculine scent of musk and sweat, to soft curves and lavender soaps. There had been many times when John would have preferred to be a 'normal' man; his life would undoubtedly be less complicated, but no amount of willpower could change the way he felt when he was in the arms of another man.
Grey had simply nodded when Jon spoke of going inside, and he could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin when the other man returned his lips to his own. If he had any doubt whether or not he should stop -- if he might be taking advantage of his boy now -- those thoughts disappeared when Jon placed his hand on his neck. He found himself smiling against the others mouth when he took the lead, enjoying the sensation that was all too rare, and dug his fingers into the fabric and muscle as he urged him closer. Pulling away until their lips were barely touching, he had to tilt his head up to hold the others gaze, watching the younger man's expression as John slowly slid his hand from the bone of his hip, to his stomach and finally letting it rest on his crotch. Do you still want this? His eyes lowered then as he cupped the hardness he found there, letting his fingers trace the outline over the dark linen between them. It was true that his body wanted this -- his own aching need was all too evident now -- but he would not push Jon either. If there was a sign that he was wary or wished to stop then that would be the end and he would deal with his own desire privately somewhere else, but if he did not...
Lifting his head then, John placed his lips against the curve the others neck and moved upwards until his breath was on the his ear, his tongue tracing the shape as his hand massaged him. His own needs called out in urgency, but he forced himself to move slowly, fingertips brushing dark curls behind his ear as he tasted the exposed flesh there. He bit him there, gently, and the curve of his lips rose in a smile when he loosened the collar of his shirt, pulling at the strings until he the grooves of his collarbone were visible, and he kissed those too. There was a moment where Grey's free hand fumbled, his brow furrowing as he tried to find the hem of his tunic, unable to navigate his way through the crude construction and unfamiliar clothing, and he laughed to himself quietly, before he slowly -- and somewhat shakily -- lowered himself onto his knees. His own experience had taught him that there were few things better than the pleasure of a mouth, but as he returned his hand to Jon's hip and touched his tongue to the swell in his breeches, he knew that this would be the final decider. This would either turn him off and cause him to rethink his actions, or it would not; but that was up to Jon now, and for now Grey merely teased him.