Work Text:
If Adam hadn’t asked for company, John wouldn’t be outside. A storm blew in the night before, leaving the air dense and sticky with humidity. It knocked their power out for a few hours and scattered a shit ton of tree branches all over their backyard. John suggested they call a service to remove them, but Adam — who does yard work for fun — took the task upon himself.
Which means John gets to do his favorite thing in the world and watch his husband move heavy objects.
When John first met Adam, he was a scrawny nineteen year old and had arms that a firm handshake would snap in half. Now, at thirty two, Adam is broad and solid, with muscled shoulders and tattooed biceps that John has to make a conscious effort not to sink his teeth into all the damn time. He fixes things around the old farmhouse that they bought together. He puts things up on high shelves specifically so John asks him to get them down.
Most importantly, he can pick John up with dizzying ease. And he does so. Constantly. Which John has absolutely zero thoughts or opinions about.
The humidity is very, very worth it. John sits on the steps of the back porch, eyes locked on his husband as he hauls fallen branches to the wood pile in the corner of their yard. Adam is sweating so profusely that his skin is literally glistening in the pale April sun. Over his drenched t-shirt, he’s wearing the denim vest that makes John feel like a rabid animal. His long, wild hair is tied up and John thinks about running his hands through it, knotting his fingers in the damp strands. He thinks about Adam encircling him in his capable arms, lifting him off the ground just to prove that he could. He feels a little lightheaded and it probably isn’t because of the weather.
Once satisfied with his handiwork, Adam wanders over to where John is perched and sits down next to him, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“You smell like a bootcamp,” John says, leaning into his husband’s touch nonetheless.
“You’re into it. You think my natural musk is sexy,” Adam teases as he rubs a stubbled, sweaty cheek against the side of John’s face. John wrinkles his nose.
“Well, you’ve definitely smelled worse.”
“Hey!”
“You forget that I lived in a van with you when you were twenty,” John points out. “How about some water?”
“That would be wonderful,” Adam says, relinquishing John so he could fetch a glass from the kitchen. When he returns, Adam flashes him a smile warmer than the sun.
“Thank you, handsome man,” he purrs, kissing the fingers wrapped around the glass before taking it. Despite being a grown ass man with a mortgage, John blushes at the gesture.
“Anything else you need while I’m up?” he asks, shifting a little from foot to foot. He loves doing things for Adam, but offering still makes him sheepish, even after all these years.
Adam’s eyes flicker, something burning and hungry in his gaze.
“Do you want to clean my boots for me again?”
John feels his heart rate tick up.
The last time he cleaned the mud off of Adam’s boots, he’d gotten his mouth fucked so hard he had bruises at the back of his throat for a week.
“Yeah…yeah I can do that,” he breathes.
Slowly, as if John might bolt at any movement too sudden, Adam stands and moves to situate himself in one of the deck chairs.
“Go inside, get what you need. You know where I keep everything,” Adam says.
John doesn’t need to be told twice.
With a bowl of soapy water, a rag, and Adam’s stupid fancy boot care kit in his hands, John goes back out on the porch, making sure not to let the screen door slam behind him. The shift in his demeanor when he places himself at his husband’s beck and call is always palpable. He moves quicker, quieter. Adam becomes the only important thing in the room, in the entire universe, and John feels the need to make himself smaller in response. He likes to feel small. To be used and not seen.
He kneels down in front of Adam and reaches to lift one of his feet, but Adam stops him with a finger under the chin.
“Ah, you start when I tell you to. Patience, darlin’.”
John nods and swallows hard. He’s already salivating just from looking at where Adam’s hard in his jeans, a strange pavlovian response that lingers even with his nine years of experience in sleeping with Adam.
Adam leans back in his chair, eyes dragging hungrily over John’s body.
“Look at you, so eager to please me. You’d do anything I told you to, wouldn’t you?” Adam says, teasing a thumb over the seam of John’s lips. He resists the overwhelming urge to suck it into his mouth, because Adam hadn’t said he was allowed to.
“You’ve been working so hard all day, sir, it’s the least I could do,” John says softly, enamored.
“Well, I wouldn’t want you doing any of the heavy lifting, baby. You’re much too delicate for that. We can’t have those pretty hands getting dirty, can we?”
John’s face burns. He isn’t delicate, not really. He’s nowhere near as physically strong as Adam, but he’s perfectly capable of doing almost everything he does. But he loves when Adam talks down to him, treating him as if he couldn’t manage even the simplest of tasks.
“You know I’ll always take care of everything. All you have to do is look pretty and let me take what I need at the end of the day. You won’t ever have to lift a finger. You won’t even have to think for yourself. Not that you’d be able to, anyway.”
John is so turned on that it hurts. He shifts a little, though it proves impossible to get comfortable with his cock straining against his shorts and the wetness starting to soak substantially through his briefs. The discomfort is worth it, though. Anything is worth it for Adam.
“I think I’m ready for you to start, honey. Left one first, go on now,” Adam says.
John does as he’s told, wiping off the clumps of mud stuck to his husband’s boots with the rag. This is a form of worship, to him. He is nothing if not a devotee to Adam, a loyal follower at his feet. He can feel Adam’s eyes on him, watching his every move, ready to intervene if something isn’t to his liking. Adam can be picky sometimes, and John doesn’t mind one bit.
“You always act so smart, darlin’. Talkin’ like you know everything. But I know the truth. You ain’t got a single thought in that pretty head, huh?”
The southern drawl that Adam has spent so many years confining to the stage seeps like molasses into his voice. John whimpers and stops his task to rest his head against Adam’s knee, completely overwhelmed.
“Aw, what’s the matter? Can’t even clean my boots without me tellin’ you how? You really aren’t too bright, are you? That’s okay, I’ll help you. Go ahead and wash that rag out, it’s getting too muddy to do much good.”
John submerges the cloth in the bowl of water and wrings it out. He sits back on his heels, patiently awaiting his next instruction.
“Now, wipe down the right one. That’s it,” Adam croons, running his fingers through John’s hair. “If you do a real good job, maybe I’ll fuck you like you need. Think you can do it, sweetheart?”
John doesn’t say anything, too busy scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot of dirt.
The toe of Adam’s now-clean left boot presses hard against his crotch and he gasps.
“Answer my question,” Adam says sternly.
“Yes, sir. Anything for you,” John whimpers.
Adam smiles down at him, confident and gorgeous.
“Good. Keep going. You’ll be done soon if you focus. Get the conditioner out of the kit, now.”
John does so, though every movement sends shockwaves through his body. Adam hasn’t moved his foot, and the pressure is almost too much to bear.
It’s agonizing, the way Adam keeps him holding on. He’s been this way as long as John has known him. He does what he wants, when he wants, and you’d be a damn fool to try and stop him.
It’s not until he hears a snap next to his ear that John realizes he’s been spaced out, rocking his hips mindlessly against the weight of Adam’s boot.
“I thought I told you to focus,” comes Adam’s rough, commandeering voice. John freezes.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll do better,” he says quietly.
Trying not to move anything except his hands, John finishes rubbing the leather conditioner into Adam’s right boot, then waits for him to lift the other from its current position, whining involuntarily at the loss of pressure, but wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible so Adam would fuck him.
Adam inspects each boot thoroughly, and John waits, heart pounding, for his verdict.
“That’ll do just fine, sweetheart,” he says, petting John’s head affectionately. “You did so well, I think you deserve a reward.”
“Thank you, sir,” John says quietly, smiling to himself for making Adam proud.
Adam leans down and kisses John hard, and then stands, hauling John with him.
They stumble through the door and into the kitchen, tongues down each other’s throats like teenagers and barely breaking apart. When John hits the kitchen island, Adam turns him around roughly, pulling his arms behind his back.
“Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk right. You’ll be limping for days,” Adam purrs, sending a shiver up John’s spine. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’d have to carry you everywhere. Such a delicate lil’ thing.”
Adam puts a hand on between John’s shoulder blades and pushes him down roughly, drawing a loud whine out of him.
“Please,” he whimpers, though he’s not even sure what he’s begging for. He can feel Adam’s hard cock pressed against his ass and suddenly both of them are far too clothed. He whines again, as sweet and pretty as he can muster, trying to get Adam’s attention.
“Aw, you sound so pathetic. What is it, honey? What do you need?”
“Off. Clothes off. Too much,” John mumbles, his ability to form coherent sentences completely shot by how turned on he is.
“That I can do. Good job using your words. You’re doing so well,” Adam says, his voice honey-sweet in a way that makes John crave him like fire craves oxygen. Adam reaches around John’s waist, his tanned arms circling his entire middle easily, and undoes his belt. He works John’s shorts off with a bit of effort, and John immediately sighs with relief the moment his cock is no longer straining against the denim. The front of his boxers are soaked, which always seems to happen with him, and Adam’s fascination with just how wet he gets renders any discomfort it causes completely irrelevant.
“You look so pretty, baby, bent over and easy for me. Maybe I should fuck you like this, let you make a mess all over the counter.”
“Please, Adam. Anything. Just…just want you,” John gasps out as Adam rubs himself lazily against his ass.
“What did I say about patience? You take what I give you, when I give it, understand?” Adam chides. John makes a quiet, frustrated sound.
“Tired of…tired of being patient. I already stretched myself before I went outside. Knew I wanted this to happen.”
Adam groans loudly, his hips stuttering a little. “God, you’re such a slut. My slut,” he nearly growls, suddenly pushing at the waistband of John’s boxers urgently. Once they’re off, Adam runs a large, calloused hand over John’s bare skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. John whines, earning him a light smack on the side of his ass in response.
“I’ve barely even done anything and you’re already this worked up. Poor lil’ thing, how are you gonna be able to handle it when I actually fuck you?”
He reaches around and finally gets a hand on Johns’s dick, and John might actually cry from how good it feels. Adam gives him a few light strokes, just enough to coat his fingers in fluid.
“Always so wet for me,” Adam murmurs. “You just can’t stop leaking, can you, baby? You need me that badly?”
John nods vigorously, dizzy just from the sound of Adam’s voice. Then there’s a hand fisted in his hair and his head is being yanked backwards.
“Words, John. Use your words or you’re not getting anything.” Adam warns.
“Fuck…yes, sir. Need you so bad. Please, I need you to touch me. Need you…” John’s words trail off into a moan as two slicked fingers rub over his hole.
“Finish your sentence, darlin’. What do you need?”
“Need…need you inside me, please. C’mon, you don’t have to prep me any more. I’m good, I promise,” John pleads.
“Mmm…or I could do whatever I want. Who’s in charge here, sweetheart?”
“You are, sir, I’m…oh, fuck.” He braces himself against the counter as his husband’s fingers push into him with dizzying ease. Adam fingering him is always good. Really good. But John needs more.
“C’mon, beg for me. Beg me to give you more than my fingers,” Adam says.
John groans. He always feels a little ridiculous begging and doing the whole dirty talk thing; he’s a thirty six year old grown man, he can assert his needs normally. But, he knows how much Adam loves it. And he would do anything for Adam.
“Please, sir. Please, I need you to fuck me. Be as rough as you want. Hurt me, ruin me, I don’t care. Just…just give me something, please.”
“Good. That’s good. Fuck, sweetheart. The things you do to me,” Adam murmurs. He crooks his fingers upward with practiced precision and John cries out.
“Adam, please. I’m good, I’m ready, I promise. I…I need…”
And, apparently, that’s enough, because Adam finally pulls his fingers out.
“Turn around,” Adam commands. John obeys, if not a little confused.
“Good. Arms up.”
For a moment, John doesn’t fully process Adam’s instructions. He stands stock still, just blinking at his husband.
“Are you really so stupid that you can’t even manage the easiest tasks? Arms. Up,” Adam says, his voice low and dangerous.
John whines at that. He knows he shouldn’t be into it, Adam insulting his intelligence, and he still feels weird about it from time to time. But it just drives John crazy. He raises his arms above his head, allowing Adam to pull his tshirt off. His boxers and shorts get kicked to the side as well, leaving him exposed and Adam still fully dressed.
“Wanna see you, sir…please?” John pleads, though the clear power imbalance is turning him on beyond belief.
“Alright, baby, but only since you asked so nicely,” Adam says, stripping off his vest and sweat-soaked shirt. Then, he looks down at his lower half and back up at John pointedly. He doesn’t even have to say it out loud for John to know what he means. John reaches out and slowly undoes his husband’s belt, rolling it up neatly and placing it on the counter behind him; a long-standing ritual that they shared whenever Adam took control.
From there, Adam shed the rest of his clothing. John wants to touch him so fucking badly, to caress every part of him and lick the sweat off his tanned skin. But he waits. Adam is in charge. Adam has to make the first move. And he does. He wraps his arms around John’s waist and kisses him hard, practically forcing his jaw open and licking into his mouth.
Before John can figure out what’s happening, Adam’s hands are sliding under his ass and he’s being lifted off the ground. He lets out a small yelp clinging onto his husband’s neck and locking his legs around his waist as Adam walks them over to the wall. John’s back hits the wood paneling, his head swimming from how easily Adam is doing this, carrying him like he weighs nothing.
“Gonna fuck you like this,” Adam grunts. “You hold on tight, darlin’. I’m not gonna drop you.”
John doesn’t even know what to call the sound that comes out of his mouth upon hearing that. This is something they’ve never done, but that Adam has brought up several times. John isn’t quite sure how this works, how Adam’s dick gets in him and stays in him, but the concept is so fucking hot that it might actually kill him. He tightens his hold on Adam, burying his face into his husband’s neck.
“You’re gonna have to take me all at once, alright? It might hurt a little,” Adam says, hefting John’s weight.
“Want it…want it to hurt,” John hisses through gritted teeth.
“Good.”
Adam adjusts their arrangement, briefly supporting John with just one hand as he lines himself up and pushes in. John cries out, completely overwhelmed by how full he is. It does hurt a little, the angle is unfamiliar and he probably could’ve done with more prep or at least lube, but John has never been known for his patience.
For a moment, Adam just holds John, his chest heaving.
“Holy shit, baby,” he grunts. “You feel so good. So fuckin’ tight, Jesus.” From the tone of his voice, it’s clear that this is affecting Adam as much as it’s affecting John, if not more.
“Wanted to do this for so long. You’re so little. Love how I can throw you around so easily.”
All John can do is whine in response. He’s trapped against the wall, completely at Adam’s mercy and he might just die about it.
“Aw, can’t even talk. Bet all you can think about is my cock inside you. Stupid slut,” Adam punctuates the insult with a roll of his hips, and John’s vision whites out.
He can only hold on for dear life as Adam starts to fuck him properly, hitting him so deep that John swears he can feel it in his stomach. Adam seems so much bigger like this, like he could split John in half.
Neither of them talk anymore, and the sounds that fill the room are completely obscene; skin and sweat and heavy breathing. John whimpers uselessly against the crook of his husband’s neck, mouth open and panting. He can feel his orgasm building low in his gut, Adam rubbing against his prostate with every thrust and sending him hurtling towards the edge.
“Cum for me, darlin’. You can do it, c’mon,” Adam says, directly into John’s ear. And John does. He bites down hard on Adam’s shoulder as his whole body convulses.
“Good. Good job. Fuck, baby, so good.” Adam fucks him through it, his movements becoming messy and uneven, before he stills completely and spills deep inside John.
They breathe together for a moment, coming down from the high. Adam kisses John softly, before slowly setting him down. The second that John’s feet hit the ground, his knees threaten to give out, like he’s a baby deer learning to walk. He grabs onto Adam’s biceps to stabilize himself.
“Holy shit,” he says, voice shaking.
“Yeah. That was…really fuckin’ good,” Adam agrees. He laughs softly, rolling his shoulders back and wincing. “You owe me a back rub after all that, my lats are killing me.”
John grins and gives Adam a peck on the cheek. “Alright, Mr. Incredible. Shower first, though,” he says, suddenly very aware of the fact that Adam’s cum is dripping down his thigh. He loves when his husband finishes inside of him and the way it makes him feel claimed, but he can’t say he enjoys the aftermath.
“Shower first,” Adam concurs, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sweaty in my entire life.”
Adam does get his back rub, lying face down on the bed and complaining loudly about how much it hurts when John works out the knots in his shoulders. John calls him a wimp and reminds him that being a big strong man has consequences, but ends up kissing each spot better, anyway.