Hey! They'd had a date. That oneā¦ time. Something about a beach. Maybe it didn't count, since John had given up and taken him home after a rather short period of time, anyway. Also, it wasn't quite a date. Because they'd never said it was.
"Fuck," he says, because he still hasn't mastered eloquence, and it's more likely than not he never will. "Q--" It's delicious, sort of. Rubbing hips and biting kisses. He could probably do it all day, except more is better and this isn't enough.
"I'm going to have you," he murmurs, low and muffled because he's still just sort of kissing, too (look, it's hard to stop). "Right into the fucking mattress."