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Juno slams Nureyev up against the wall and slams his lips into his, revelling the delighted noise Nureyev makes into his mouth. He wastes no time at all getting his hands on him, either – it’s been way too long, he’s spent far too much daydream airtime on what he would do when he saw Nureyev again. How he’d squeeze his ass and grind their hips together. How he’d trail his fingers up his ribcage to make him gasp and writhe, a vulnerability he won’t expose to anyone else. How he’d palm at the growing erection, feel the solid length through whatever fancy pair of pants Nureyev’s poured himself into this time.
Soon, though, even that’s not enough. Juno growls, wordless with want, and bites at Nureyev’s bottom lip before he tugs his shirt up out of his waistband, fumbling at the buttons. Nureyev gets the idea and helps him, equally eager, and then Juno’s kissing down his bare chest, biting on his nipples – Nureyev yelps, but Juno doesn’t stop as his hand comes up to tangle in his hair. Instead he bites down hard on his collarbone, licking and sucking and nipping there until his pale skin is dark and marked. Good, he thinks. Mine.
Then he breaks away to take in Nureyev’s face again. He shakes his dark hair out of his eyes and smiles down at Juno, dazed by the treatment. It’s a good look on him. Juno’s hands tighten in Nureyev’s open shirt. He wants to utterly fucking debauch the man.
It must show on his face, because Nureyev’s eyes widen just a fraction before Juno slips his hand around Nureyev’s throat.
“Show me what to do,” he says, barely recognising his own voice. Nureyev nods as much as he can with Juno’s hand right under his chin, and brings up a hand to tap three times on Juno’s shoulder. “Good,” Juno says.
Then he squeezes.
He presses in and up, just a little, not quite lifting Nureyev but enough to make him strain against it, and he watches as his face starts to flush, an enchanting shade of red blooming in his cheeks and spreading down over his chest as he struggles to draw a full breath. After a few moments admiring this colour Juno relents, loosening his grasp but keeping his hand wrapped around Nureyev’s throat. Nureyev gasps in a grateful breath before Juno sweeps in to kiss him again, slipping his tongue right into his mouth to swipe over his sharp teeth and feel his desperate breathing up close.
Then he pulls back to repeat the process.
Nureyev’s beautiful like this, pliant and heady on the lack of air, flushed with lust. As Juno squeezes he can feel his pulse flutter under his fingers, strong and vital but nowhere near enough to overcome Juno. The power he feels in moments like this is a hell of a thing; scratches an itch Juno didn’t know he had for a long time, but it means a lot for Nureyev to literally put himself in Juno’s hands like this, to know that right now, he’s in control of making them both feel incredible. In such a chaotic world and life, it’s good to know that some things are as simple as cause and effect.
He loosens his grip again and this time, as Nureyev coughs and splutters and wheezes, he works his pants open, sliding into his underwear to palm his cock, enjoying the feel of the hot, soft skin there as a ragged moan falls from Nureyev. Juno gives him a minute to recover and make as much noise as he wants while he tugs at his dick, tight and rough.
But when he’s finally gathered himself enough to speak, Nureyev just whispers, his throat working under Juno’s hand, “Juno.”
And suddenly Juno’s aware of how fucking hard he is, how riled up he’s gotten from choking and touching Nureyev, from having him here, right in front of him to kiss and bite and fondle. He’s aching with it; hell, he has been since the second he got Nureyev in the room and closed the door behind them. They couldn’t even make it to the bed.
Well, there’s always time for that later. Juno fumbles at his own pants, freeing his cock before tugging down Nureyev’s pants and then they’re skin to skin, sliding across each other sweet as sugar, the friction unbelievably good after all this time apart.
But Juno needs even more. He wraps his hand around both of them, pressing their lengths up against each other hot and tight. Nureyev’s head falls back and his chest heaves, tiny little moans escaping on each breath as Juno pumps them together. Fuck, he’s so close already. Nureyev has such a terrible and wonderful effect on him.
He’s close too, his cock twitching and leaking precum liberally, slicking up the glide of their cocks against each other. So Juno locks eyes with Nureyev, who gazes back, begging wordlessly, and Juno gives him what they both want. He squeezes, shutting off Nureyev’s air one more time as he jerks them both off, twisting his wrist at the end of each stroke.
Nureyev’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly, and he ruts up into Juno’s hand.
Juno barely has time to say “Come for me” before Nureyev’s cock is pulsing under his palm, ropes of semen shooting out to paint his belly. Some lands on Nureyev’s shirt; Juno thinks dimly that he’ll be fielding complaints about that later, but the thought’s gone quickly as the feel of Nureyev coming right against his dick makes him tumble over the edge of his own orgasm. He finally lets go of Nureyev’s throat to slide that hand behind his back, to grab his shoulders for stability as the waves of pleasure leave him trembling, hardly able to keep standing, he’s so weak in the knees. They’re pressed together from head to toe, Nureyev’s heaving shoulders grazing at Juno’s cheek where he’s collapsed against his chest, their legs tangled together, their cocks pressed in between their bodies, still hard and twitching and sticky.
They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other’s arms and leaning on the wall as, slowly, their breathing steadies.
“I missed you too,” Nureyev murmurs, and Juno huffs out a laugh.
“You asshole, you’re the one who left.” But he can’t hold back the smile, and he pulls back to press a kiss to Nureyev’s lips again – here, and in the flesh – sweet and slow.
“Well, if this is the welcome I get, perhaps I should go away more often – ah!” Juno’s dug his thumb into the new hickey.
“Don’t even think about it. You’re staying in my bed for a week.”
“If we ever actually make it there.”
Which they do. Eventually.