#but sex really isn't my forte so I'm leaving you here - at least for now xD

[silvermoon-scrolls]

Clothes Got Game

Pairing: John Mitchell/Anders Johnson Rating: Mature (no sex. yet at least) Words: 600

For @britchell's Smut Roulette!

When Mitchell entered the kitchen his mouth fell open. There was Anders leaning against the kitchen table with his hands nonchalantly holding on to the tabletop to either side of him so as to not block the view of his body – and he was looking very smug. That of course wasn't the surprising part; what had Mitchell starring were the clothes his frequent bed partner was wearing; Mitchell’s clothes.

Ill fitting jeans, and a once brightly yellow t-shirt with a fading print hung about his frame. He’d even managed to snatch a pair of Mitchell's fingerless gloves. He was looking very pleased with himself. In answer to Mitchell's deliberately unasked question Anders looked down as if pretending to inspect his borrowed outfit. “I thought I should try to figure out what's so appealing about dressing like a homeless person,” he said with a mocking smile that obviously was meant to provoke. Only Anders would think insulting a man’s wardrobe was a good seduction move.

“You look ridiculous,” Mitchell said, perhaps a bit unfairly because he could feel his breath begin to quicken.

“I agree.” Anders pulled off the fingerless gloves and tossed them to the side before leaning back again with an impish smile. “How about now?”

Mitchell held his tongue. ‘Ridiculous’ was the wrong word, but the look clashed so badly with Mitchell’s usual perception of Anders that it looked wrong. Not wrong as in ‘bad’, but as in– ‘indecent’. The washed out, too long t-shirt made him look younger, and that combined with his suggestive pose made him look– well– as if he was selling.

When Anders was wearing his expensive, tailored business suits he looked like an exquisite dinner at a five star restaurant. (A dinner that was ready to devour you rather than the other way around.) The way he was dressed now he looked like a mouthwatering, street food snack – the kind you know is bad for you but is unresistable nonetheless – like he was inviting Mitchell to taste every inch of him and then swallow him whole.

Somehow Anders must have sensed what deprived thoughts were going through Mitchell's mind because Anders’ grin widened and he unbuttoned the top of his jeans. “And now?” As he leaned back again, the large neckline slipped enough to show off a lovely collarbone, and that very, very biteable muscle between the neck and shoulder.

Selling indeed. In three quick steps Mitchell had Anders trapped against the table, one hand on either side of him, his groin pressing into him and his face hovering an inch above Anders’. Anders’ eyes were sparkling with approval.

Mitchell rolled his hips slowly against his trapped partner until twin groans escaped them. “You want me to fuck you so bad,” Mitchell taunted, grinding forth another groan from his prey.

“How– very perceptive of you.” Anders had closed his eyes and his voice was strained by trying to hold back yet another moan. He looked exquisite.

The unbuttoned jeans were already riding low on Anders’ hips and they easily slid down when Mitchell pulled at the waist. Anders kicked them off and began to pull the shirt over his head but Mitchell stopped him. He leaned in and whispered in a heavy voice. “The slutty shirt stays on.”

“It's your shirt,” Anders protested as Mitchell grabbed him around his thighs, lifted him up on the table edge and stepped between his legs.

“And the next time I wear it you can fuck me any way you want. Now shut up and behave so I can give you what you’re so desperately begging for.”

to be continued?