Roses in December

Thirteen

It was warm out the following day, with winter officially over and spring finally sprung. Gone were the chilly snow days that kept their backyard completely covered and out from the ground came the gorgeous roses that John had told him about. Apparently, Roger had them planted after John bought the house, to give the garden a bit of life to it. Roses were John's favorite flower and Roger wouldn't want anything but them.

Sleep had come easy to both the men, especially after how vigorous their night had been. Roger hadn't imagined being intimate with someone the way he was with John, but now it was all he could think about. To John, it could have been the thousandth time he was inside of the blond, but for Roger, it was the first of many more to come.

The two had fallen asleep wrapping up in one another, both feeling utterly and completely fucked in the best sense of the word. The way he felt when Roger first began to stir in the early morning wasn't something he could easily describe. They had slept naked after taking a shower. Roger stayed under the spray, cleaning himself up as John switched the sheets on the bed. They didn't have sex in the shower when John finally joined him, though the thought did pop into his mind a time or two.

They shared a kiss here and there, both far too blissful to care about the water running cold over them. When they returned to their bed, climbing onto the crisp sheets, Roger was quick to pull John into him. They had slept alone for far too long and while Roger had no real idea of their sleep position situation, he easily found himself wrapping his arms around the man for a comfortable spoon.

Roger found that he slept more peacefully than ever and that for the first time in weeks he hadn't been dreaming of that mysterious lover that haunted his mind. Roger found that he no longer needed to dream of that person as they were sleeping comfortably right there in his arms.

They stayed like that until the sun began to rise. Something else began to rise as well and John took a quick note of it, slowly rubbing back against John as the two began to stir away.

"Is that a drum stick in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" John teased, his voice heavy from sleep.

"Cheeky bastard," Roger muttered, pulling John in closer.

They were slow and lazy with their lovemaking. Last night had (technically) been a whole new experience for Roger and they took their time to make sure the man was completely comfortable with everything they were doing.

Now it was Roger's turn to take control and while the biology might have been a bit different, Roger knew easily enough how to make someone feel good. He wasn't nervous when he fingered John until he was open (especially since the bass player was more than happy to suck on his fingers to moisten them), nor was he worried he was doing something wrong when he was wrapped his lubricant covered hand around his cock.

John didn't turn around as Roger had done, and while the blond would have liked to have faced the man and kissed him as they did this, the chest-to-back position worked out just fine for the two. Roger had no recollection of doing it on his side as a dumb teen, but his adult self seemed to know the position all too well.

He offered slow, deep thrust that seemed to work out for the two of them. Roger proved himself last night to be a bit of a screamer, but John was pretty vocal himself, making the sweetest sounds that Roger had ever seen. He angled his hips ever so slightly, causing the brunet to cry out in a way that nearly made the man finish right then and there. But he held on strong, keeping a firm grip on John's raised knee while his lips left the tiniest of marks along John's neck.

Due to their secrecy, Roger was sure they had some rule about hickeys and whatnot, but he just couldn't be bothered to care. They were so long in the moment that none of that bullshit mattered up to that point.