Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 MM oral

   "So, when are you gonna let me return the favor?" Tim asks.  John's
still got his head rested on Tim's thigh, slumped on the floor at the foot
of the bed, and he doesn't have to look up to know Tim's lighting a
cigarette.  John wonders if this is a no smoking room.

   "Probably never," John says, lifting his head, and yeah, Tim has his
lighter out and he's flicking at it, trying to get it to light.  Tim sucks
down the first drag, holds it in, sighs it out.

   "How come?" Tim asks.  His free hand brushes over John's hair, and John
rests his chin on Tim's knee.

   "Because I don't want you to," John says, figuring that's enough of an
answer.  Tim tilts his head, narrows his eyes.  John can tell Tim wants to
press further, ask for a real reason that's not a cheap excuse.  Not that
John's lying.  He genuinely doesn't want Tim to blow him.  He's just
omitting the part about <i>why</i> he doesn't want Tim to blow him.

   "But why?" Tim asks.  John doesn't say anything.  He looks down at his
lap, legs folded awkwardly under him to try to get as close to the edge of
the bed as possible, as close to Tim as possible.  "John."

   "S'fine," John says.  He sits up a bit, rolling back off his legs and
onto his butt, and Tim doesn't push it further.

   "C'mere," Tim says, mouthing his cigarette and helping John up off the
floor.  He stumbles a little getting up, and Tim pulls him onto the bed. 
"I'm fuckin' tired." John mumbles noncommittally, tucking himself under
Tim's arm.  Truth be told, he's a little wound up, kind of antsy.  He could
probably go back to Manson's room for another hour or two, weirdly enough.
He could busy himself looking after Ginger or something.  Then again, he's
laying on Tim, his shirt unbuttoned and pants undone still, and that's
certainly not a bad place to be.

   "Wanna put a movie on?" John asks.  Tim reaches over John to flick his
ashes in the tray.  Good, it <i>is</i> a smoking room.

   "Yeah, sure," Tim says.  "You pick though.  M'probably gonna fall
asleep."

   "In typical Skold fashion, passing out after you cum," John remarks,
grabbing for the remote.  Tim bats a hand at him lazily.

   "Don't be fucking rude," he says around his cigarette.  He blows smoke
at John and John laughs, coughs once.

   Sure enough, Tim passes out almost immediately after he finishes his
smoke.  John finishes the whole film, but he's tired afterwards, and he
goes to the bathroom to take a leak.  Before he gets into the bed with Tim,
John takes his jeans off, because he figures Tim will be too sleepy when
they wake up to notice anything.  He gets under the covers in his
underwear, wraps an arm around Tim's middle, and goes to sleep.

   //

   John wakes up in the morning with Tim's face in his neck.  There's light
spilling in through the crack between the blackout curtains, and it streaks
across the bed in a wide yellow line.  John hums, and Tim kisses his jaw,
hand under John's shirt.

   "Hi," John says drowsily.

   "Hi," Tim says.  His voice is quiet, raw.  "You have morning wood.  I
can fix that."

   John's eyes open and he looks at the ceiling.  He shouldn't.  He peed
before bed, and he doesn't remember dreaming - there's no reason why he
should be hard.  But he is.  He makes a very tired noise.

   "It's okay," John says, trying to shift away from Tim's hand, his mouth,
but he can't bring himself to get up.  "I can do it.  I need to shower
anyway."

   "So do I," Tim says, biting at the spot below John's ear, and John
accidentally lets a whine slip out.  "Please.  I want to get you off. 
<i>Please</i>." John can hardly bear to say no.

   "I just," John says, trying to string the right words together, which is
really difficult when Tim's toying with his nipple like that.  "I don't,
uh. Want you to be.  Y'know."

   "Hm?" Tim asks, lifting his head.  He looks genuinely concerned.  Shit.
John rubs his eye.

   "It's me," John stutters out.  "I'm just.  I'm." Tim furrows his brows.
"It's not you!  It's not that I don't <i>want</i> you to, I just-"

   "John," Tim says.  John stops, suddenly very awake.  He shifts a little
under Tim, uncomfortable but sort of stuck now.

   "It's small," John says quickly, spitting it out like a bad taste. 
"That's it." Tim's face hardens a little.

   "And?" Tim asks.

   "And," John says, pausing for a long moment to get the words in the
right order, "I thought you wouldn't like it because it's small."

   Tim doesn't say anything.  He sits up next to John in the bed, looking
down at him.  John's face is burning with embarrassment and Tim hasn't even
seen it yet.  Tim just sits up and pulls the blankets back, and John tries
to cover himself instinctively, but Tim pushes his hands away.  John
whines, but when Tim's fingers hook under the waistband of his underwear he
lifts his hips to let him pull them down anyway.  John's sort of gone half
soft from the panic, and he looks even smaller than usual, and the shame
twists in his stomach.  He looks at Tim's face, and then Tim looks up at
him.

   "This is what you were worried about?" he asks.  John shifts
uncomfortably.

   "I just," John says, "it's not...  I mean, it gets harder, I just-"

   "It's perfect," Tim says, licking his palm, and John sort of freaks out
for the split second when Tim's hand is moving from his mouth to his dick,
closing around it.  John's breath is caught in his throat, and Tim's hand
completely covers his cock, the length of it disappearing into his fist. 
John's face burns.  "You probably won't believe me, but I like it," Tim
says.

   "Don't," John says, and Tim seems to get that John doesn't want to hear
it.  Still, Tim works John hard again, and somehow, John doesn't have the
heart to stop him.  He pulls John's underwear the rest of the way off with
his other hand.  Tim splays his fingers out, holding John's cock flush to
his stomach, looking him over.  John sort of wonders if Tim has ever had
someone so poorly endowed for a partner before, especially considering Tim
is the opposite.

   "Have you measured it?" Tim asks.  John nods, feeling his whole chest
hot with shame.  "How much?"

   "Four," John says, barely loud enough for Tim to hear.

   "Inches?" Tim asks.

   "Yeah," John says.  Tim nods, lets go, John's cock standing upright,
unencumbered by its own weight -- unlike Tim's: the weight of his length
makes it lay flat when he's on his back.  The thought stings John a bit. 
Tim's probably twice his length, if not more.

   Tim hums.  He rests himself between John's legs, scoots up close,
pushing John's thighs apart.  "Can I?" Tim asks, and John can feel his
breath, hot on his cock.

   "Depends," John says.  Tim looks at him.

   "On what?" he asks.

   "What are you gonna do?"

   "I want to see if I can fit you all in my mouth at once," Tim says, and
John blushes even more, if that's possible.

   "Maybe, uh," John says, "start somewhere else?" Tim glances over at the
curtains, where the angle of the streaks of light across the floor are
starting to shift, and John can practically see the gears turning in his
head.

   "I can do that," Tim says.  He tucks a hand under John's thigh and
pushes it up, his other hand holding John's cock and balls up out of the
way, and John gasps a little before Tim even opens his mouth.  He laves his
tongue over John's ass, wet and hot, and John lets out a shaky breath. 
Tim's licking at him, working him open, and John moans, his head falling
back into the pillow, feeling dizzy.  John can't stand it.  Tim's mouthing
kisses at him and John grabs at his hair, pulling him in deeper.

   "Please," John chokes out.  Tim's hand grips tighter on his thigh and
John swears under his breath as he licks deeper, wetter, thumbing him wider
open.  John tries to buck away from his hold, too sensitive, but Tim's
still, strong and immovable.  "Please," he says again, and Tim lifts his
head just the bit.

   "Please what?" Tim remarks, voice low and rough and turned on, and John
tries to twist out of his grip again.  Tim rakes his teeth over the crease
between John's thigh and his ass, nipping at the skin.

   "Fuck!" John yelps, flushing as his dick jerks under Tim's fingers. 
"Just - more, I don't know."

   Tim seems to consider it.  "Alright," he says, letting John's leg down
off his shoulder.  John barely has the time to let his hips down into the
mattress before Tim takes him down all at once.

   John's first instinct is to shrink away, because it's too much way too
fast, Tim's mouth and his hands big and tight around his hips to keep him
still.  It's overwhelming.  But it quickly goes from <i>too much</i> to
<i>not enough</i>, and John's a whimpering mess, sobbing dryly because Tim
won't move his head.  He's panting and moaning helplessly, his hips rolling
up in some rhythmless motion, trying to get more than just wet heat and
suction.

   "Please," John sobs.  "I'm so fucking close, <i>Tim</i>, don't stop,
don't."

   Tim moves his mouth, and he's definitely doing something with his tongue
that feels fucking amazing but John can't quite tell what it is.  John
grabs at his hair and time seems to stall for a moment, a meaningless blur,
as the heat of John's orgasm finally rips through him and spills out, into
Tim's mouth, over and over till John's just dicking up uselessly against
his tongue.  His fingers fall from Tim's hair as Tim lifts his head,
smearing at his mouth with his hand.

   "Was that good?" Tim asks, his voice quiet.  John doesn't say anything,
too far gone, just grabs at him to pull him up and kiss him, and when he
licks into Tim's mouth he tastes himself.

   "You don't mind it?" John asks, mouth still against Tim's.

   "I prefer it," Tim says quietly.  "S'perfect."

   The light between the curtains is white now, spreading across the floor.
It's probably nearly bus call but John doesn't mention that.

   "We still gotta shower," he mumbles.

   "Want me to blow you in it?" John asks.
   "Definitely," Tim says.