gaffsie asked me to "describe what John and Woolsey got up to on Valentine's Day".This is more what John and Woolsey did last Valentine's Day, because by now, they've clearly absconded back to Pegasus. Possibly they took Daniel with them. IDK, IDK.
But anyway, that Valentine's Day was sort of low-key for them, because their whole relationship is sort of low-key, which is really just what both of them need.
John got him a bottle of brandy that was, frankly, just ridiculously nice, especially because John is the kind of guy who drinks Bud Light.
From the bottle. Because he likes the taste.
It's worrisome, to say the least.
Richard gave John cigars- he's forever giving John cigars, because, to be perfectly honest, he doesn't really understand John. They've been involved for quite some time now, but sometimes he feels like he hardly knows anything about John at all. He's very, very happy that John sees whatever it is he sees in him, but Richard really has no idea what it is; he doesn't really know what John wants from him.
But, he knows John gets really excited over a good cigar, in the way that only someone who's gone without any luxury at all for a very long time can; he smokes with barely contained glee, grinning around his cigar like the cat who got the cream.
He believes the expression is, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."
So, they have a quiet dinner in, and they drink a little brandy, and he hesitates when he asks John to stay over, just like he always does, because it's always in the back of his mind that this will be the time that John says no.
It isn't, though; John gives him a lingering kiss as Richard goes off to change, but he keeps it at that- John has long since learned that, while Richard very much appreciates his enthusiasm, he very rarely appreciates it all over a five hundred dollar suit.
Alone in the bathroom, he frowns when he smells cigar smoke; it's too strong to be coming in from outside, where the breeze usually carries it away. He doesn't hold with smoking in a non-smoking area, especially in his bedroom, where there are a hundred things that could easily catch on fire and trigger the unbelievably dangerous fire suppression system that he still hasn't received funds to replace.
He slips into his pajamas and walks back into the bedroom- or, at least he intends to, but he stops short in the doorway, immobilized by the sight before him.
John has stripped down to his boxers and his dog tags, and he's sitting up in Richard's bed, smoking his cigar. His eyes are shut, his cheeks hollowed as he takes a good, hard pull on it. As attractive a sight as it is, it's still on the tip of Richard's tongue to tell him to put it out before he burns the whole City down.
Except that that's when John slides his other hand down, palming his hard cock through the thin material of his boxers. He strokes himself slowly, so lazily that it's like he's not even trying to get anywhere at all, just amusing himself while he waits for Richard. He moans, soft and pleased, muffled by the thick cigar in his mouth; and when he tilts his head back to blow a set of lazy smoke rings, he looks absolutely, perfectly content.
It's very crass, but all Richard can think, as he climbs into bed to kiss the taste of tobacco and brandy out of John's mouth, is let the motherfucker burn.