Work Text:
Several empty glasses, a few flirty jokes, and a hand on John’s thigh. That’s how they got here.
Clothing was stripped faster than John could recognize what was what, hungry, heavy kisses pushing him back and against a bed that wasn’t even his, a desperate heat consuming his entire body as his breath faltered under Mafioso’s hand on his chest. Even through his drunken haze, Mafioso’s touch seemed to carry a reverence, as if he knew he was about to fuck a married man and didn’t care, simply grazing over both John’s soft and corrupted skin alike with the same loving care. Friends, they called themselves, good friends… and yet John laid beneath Mafioso, both men stripped of all clothing, looking at each other with something more than lust in their eyes.
John knew exactly what he was doing. He knew he was making the same mistake again. But, his body wanted it more than his mind hated it. In fact, a deep part of him wanted it just as much as the uncontrolled desire between his legs, simply just for a single, brief moment of pleasure, where he could feel loved, cared for…
Mafioso placed his lips against John’s in another long, deep kiss, the warmth of his lust seeping into John’s mouth through the tongue that creeped past both of their lips. John’s remaining hand rose up to Mafioso’s back, feeling the muscles and the way his spine curved to bend down, letting out soft whimpers into his “friend’s” mouth. John could go back at any moment. He could say no, and Mafioso would stop. Mafioso wouldn’t even ask any questions about it until they were both sober. That was just the kind of man his “friend” was, and yet, somehow, knowing this only made him want this more. Mafioso was more than what a corrupted, cheating hacker deserved. John wanted to savor him while it lasted.
John felt Mafioso hands wander down xyr body, tracing xyr scars with wordless appreciation, running his fingers down xyr corrupted ribs, making out with xym with the same fervor as if the corruption didn’t sting— perhaps, Mafioso only kissed xym deeper and messier because of it. There was something blissful about knowing that Mafioso accepted and enjoyed the corruption as simply a part of John, rather than avoiding it like an infectious cancer the way Jane did. She never touched xyr blackened, toxic skin. Never.
Mafioso’s hands wandered down further, down to John’s hips, then xyr legs. He coaxed them open, lifting one over his shoulder and massaging xyr thigh. The kiss finally ceased, Mafioso slowly pulling away, a string of saliva connecting their mouths, their breathing heavy, the warmth of lust overcoming the coldness of the cabin. Yet, Mafioso seemed to hesitate. His hand creeped up John’s thigh, but at a certain point, he couldn’t go forward. Not without confirmation.
At first, John lifted his head to see why he didn’t keep going, only to be met with an unreadable look in Mafioso’s eyes. He couldn’t understand what he was trying to ask, a moment of heavy silence squeezing the heat in the room, allowing the memory of Jane to slip through into John’s mind. That moment of hesitation was enough to make him feel cold, empty, a stiffness in his throat that hinted at what he truly felt.
Finally, Mafioso asked, softly, “...Are you sure about this, Johnny?”
John hesitated in his answer, but he soon provided a nod and weak words, quiet to hide their true weight. “Please… Just do it…”
Xe set xyr head back down on the bed and closed xyr eyes so xe didn’t have to look at Mafioso’s concerned expression. He cared too much, he always did. Xe just wanted to destroy xymself.
Another moment of hesitation passed before Mafioso’s hand finally slipped between John’s legs, a finger steadily pushing inside of him, a warm, soft place that welcomed it with enthusiasm. John couldn’t help but tremble, a shaky moan clawing out of his throat, perhaps reassuring Mafioso that John was at the very least enjoying this. Another finger pushed inside, Mafioso’s thumb positioning itself at the base of John’s hardened clit, stroking it every time he flexed his hand to coax John into moaning again.
There was sure as hell no turning back now.
Every time the guilt began to vignette John’s mind, another wave of pleasure jolted through him, pushing it away just as fast as it came, and Mafioso was only using his fingers. A smile crept onto John’s face, even if a sadness was concealed only by his eyelids, his insides instinctively tightening around Mafioso’s fingers to beg for more friction. Yet, just as it seemed Mafioso would oblige, he pulled his fingers out, leaving John empty once more.
Desperate whimpers preceded the loud, strained moan that came when Mafioso thrust himself into John, pushing in as deep as he could before pausing to look down at him. He was pleasured out of his mind, more drunk on sex than he was on alcohol, both doing a rather wonderful job at numbing his emotions and keeping guilt at bay. Mafioso’s name hung at the edge of his lips, a barely intelligible mumble, a whimper full of lust and something else— something neither could really quite discern. Slowly, Mafioso began to move.
The guilt was now gone, the pleasure of movement both in and out snapping and shattering its dirty fingers with its own dirty grip on John’s psyche. Without it, the room was silent other than John’s moans and the squelch of every time Mafioso pushed back inside. Mafioso was silent, grinning, leaning over John to see every little facial expression, hear every little noise that no effort was made to conceal, John’s eyes rolled back into his head and staring at nothing in particular; it was as if he was barely even there behind that gaze, high and numb, reduced to much more primal state.
If disloyalty was a crime, then why did it feel so good? John felt tension build up in his thighs, his stomach, his inner walls, every thrust bringing him closer to a vague edge. He could feel the heat of energy spent on his own skin, the sheets moist beneath him, bunching up under the movements, his grip on Mafioso the only thing grounding him to this current moment. Without it, he felt he might float away, far above his body, far above this horrible world— perhaps he wanted to, and this was the closest he could get. He couldn’t even think like this. He moved his hand, clasping it around one of Mafioso’s wrists and raising it, placing the other man’s hand on his own throat; he wanted him to squeeze, just like Jane used to. With a chuckle, Mafioso obliged, John’s head tilting back as delicate moans turned to desperate cries.
John didn’t know when it happened, but the rhythm of jolts of pure pleasure had grown so fast, so rough that it stung, just a little, every time Mafioso’s hips met his skin. He could feel his insides tremble, wet friction and slick force meeting a soft, sensitive place deep inside of him every half-second, backing him further and further towards his cliff of self-destruction, a moment he was too desperate for to truly dread it for what it was. It seemed Mafioso yearned for it too, with the way his pace was so unrelenting, destroying the body beneath him just the way it wanted.
Suddenly, John was thrown off that cliff, a scream bursting through his throat, his fingers clawing desperate into flesh as his body trembled and shook with a fervor he hadn’t felt in so long. The pleasure was almost too much, his brain short circuiting on the spot, a tense feeling running through his veins as he rapidly fell through the air of his own orgasm— it felt like he might just die from how good it was. Sometime during the descent, he felt a warmth fill his insides, a vague, blurred feeling at the edge of his perception— at least, until he hit the end of his climax with a crash.
John stared at the ceiling, panting, the dark tendrils of guilt, shame, and disgust taking over his conscience faster than he could realize what was going on. As he sat up, he felt Mafioso pull out of his broken and trembling body, a sensation that made him so sick to his stomach that his hand shot up to his mouth from the sudden nausea. There he sat, vulnerable, a puddle of the mistake he just made beneath him, panting in exhaustion from what his body had just been through. Whatever words he wanted to say choked in his throat, tears prying at his eyes as he looked down at the mess he made.
“...Johnny?”
Xe didn’t look up until xe felt Mafioso’s hand on xyr cheek, gently lifting xyr head to look him in the eyes, something xe just couldn’t do. Xyr gaze stared down at Mafioso’s exposed chest, looking at the sheen of sweat that covered it, a sight that only confirmed that what xe thought had happened did happen. Xe wanted to push him away, but xe craved his touch so badly that xe didn’t. Xe closed xyr eyes, a tear running down xyr cheek.
“John— John, John, please…” Mafioso begged, both hands moving to hold xyr head. “Don’t cry… Why are you crying? It—...”
The words only made the guilt sting more. The cold of the cabin felt like daggers in John’s fingers, hard shivers running down xyr spine, xyr eyes opening only to look at the expression Mafioso had. Concern, panic, remorse, all of them burned through the man’s beautiful amber eyes, emotions that had no place there, especially not for a disgusting hacker like xym. The filth wasn’t just on xyr skin, it was inside of xyr body, fluid that belonged to someone other than the woman xe’d committed xyr very being to. She’d already been through so much… how dare xe violate her trust, not just once, but twice?
John gently moved Mafioso away, standing up on shaking legs, picking up his clothing off of the floor and slowly beginning to cover his body with it once more, even if his underwear had the cold wetness of spent lust still. What did it matter? His mistake was inside him. He hadn’t come down from his sin fast enough, he was still so deep in it that he didn’t tell Mafioso not to go forward. Fuck, he wanted Mafioso to go forward in that moment— that was the worst part. He enjoyed it. He loved it. And a deep, dark part of him wanted more.
Before Mafioso could protest, John left and shut the door behind him. He didn’t deserve comfort or care; he didn’t deserve the warmth of a man so good, so gentle, so honest. If he couldn’t stay faithful to Jane, how was he supposed to stay faithful to Mafioso? He stumbled in the hallway, not just from the alcohol still reigning over his system but rather the soreness in his hips, yet another reminder of his sin as he leaned on the wall for support. At least his room wasn’t far.
The moment xe made it inside, xe collapsed onto xyr own bed, finally able to take xyr weight off of xyr aching legs and look back up at the ceiling, xyr muscles finally relaxing as sleep prodded at xyr thoughts. Xe still felt sick. Jane was… Xe didn’t even know where Jane was. Likely still at their house, oblivious to what xe had just done, waiting, still hoping that xe would come home. She had no idea how many xe’d killed, how xe was trapped and forced to do it again, and again, and again. She didn’t know how xyr memories faded with every injury, how xyr body barely resembled what it used to look like. She didn’t know about the sweat, the slick, the moans xe shared with someone other than her. She didn’t know xe wasn’t coming home.
John bit down on his wedding ring, slipping it off his hand with only a slight struggle. He didn’t deserve to wear it; not anymore.