Jack and John

John waited pensively for his food in the cafeteria. Dagny was away, no
doubt with Hank, and John hated the waiting. He even hated that he hated
the waiting, but love works in strange ways.

A tall man in a long blue military jacket was smiling at him, though.
It was so warm and inviting, and John was somehow intrigued by this
strange man. There was nothing strange about this man, but he was so
comfortable here he was out of place. John was used to being the only
person in the room so comfortable, so sure, and seeing this peaceful
was jarring.

And yet there was an alluring feeling, just the hint of a tingle, the
hairs on his arms itching to stand on end, but only just itching.

"Hello." The voice. That fluid, easy voice, like rich cream, so beautiful,
so much masculinity, such a soft touch. John's hairs were no longer
itching, but flairing up, stretching out of his skin, but not from fear.
This wasn't expected at all. John suddenly realized that this is how Dagny
must feel. This warmth, this glow, this longing. John forgot everything.
Everything. The room vanished, but it didn't vanish. The cafeteria had
never existed, John had always been here, standing. He was standing now,
had never been seated.

All he knew was this mellifluous voice that wasn't really, but that made
nothing else matter. He must have this man. No. He didn't want this man.
He wanted so very badly to be wanted by this man. He would do anything to
feel those strong hands caress his back, his cheek, to feel those lips on
his, slowly parting, to be joined completely with this stranger. But not a
stranger. There were only ever John and this man. Nothing else need ever
have existed.

Jack saw his word had exactly the effect he wanted. John didn't jump out
of his seat when he said "Hello", rather, he dreamed himself to his feet.
Jack knew what that meant. He stood in front of John. He knew who John
was. Everyone knew John Galt here. But no one really knew him. He had his
hideaway in Colorado where he kept his friends, away from the world, and
their secret plans, Jack knew all this. He had seen it before. He was
thousands of years old. And none of that mattered at all. Jack wanted John
for an evening. And Jack wanted John to want him.

Jack succeded. It was quite easy, far easier than many others. John had
never considered anything like this, and Jack knew he would have to go
slowly. But Jack had nothing but time.

Jack brushed his hand on John's cheek. A gentle, sweet, simple caress.
John knew he couldn't resist. Almost instinctively he began explaining
about his plan to stop the world, to take the best minds on strike with
him, and Jack quietly, intently listened for a few moments.

And then Jack smiled even more warmly, his hands slipping gently around
John's. John tried not to notice, but then started to pull back.
And suddenly John couldn't stop himself. He pulled Jack's hand behind him,
his arm around his waist. John pulled Jack into him, his other hand
reaching behind John, grasping his neck.

Jack moved deliberately, easily in, just slow enough to frustrate John, to
increase the burning, the longing. John pulled harder, and Jack only moved
in slower. And then Jack let their lips touch, so gently, sweetly, so
soft. John was so hot with desire, and Jack could feel him through all
their clothes.

Their lips parted, and suddenly Jack wasn't so gentle, or so sweet, and
John was burning up. Jack tightened the embrace, deepenend the kiss,
caressed John's mouth with his tongue, his lips. John shivered, sagged
into Jack, and Jack caught him, laid him down gently on the table,
but firmly.

Jack ripped off John's shirt effortlessly. The buttons scattered like
shrapnel. Jack pulled back, one hand gently on John's chest, pushing John
down so he wouldn't stand up. He slid a silk sash from his coat, and
delicately tied John's hands to the table. John let slip a tear of ecstasy
from each of his eyes, and shuddered, stifling a gasp of pure joy. He had
never longed for this, and yet could not remember wanting anything more.

Jack brushed John's naked sides now. With John's hands bound, his ribs
were exposed, and the tickling of Jack's gentle touch only increased the
burning in his heart, his mind. John needed Jack now, nothing else, no one
else. Jack pulled at John's belt, John pushing his hips up to ease the
pants off his waist. As his pants came off, Jack delicately brushed his
thighs with another sash, slowly down his legs, his calves, and stopping
at his boots. And then John's feet were tied to the bench softly, firmly.

Jack took a knife from his belt and sliced off John's pants. He didn't
want to wait any longer, and boots are a hassle. The pants were neatly cut
and had fallen to the side. They didn't matter.

The feel of the cold steel blade running down his leg was electrifying.
John wanted to be so afraid, but instead only felt the longing build, his
legs tensing and shaking, his breath growing shorter and faster. His heart
was pounding now. There was a glowing sheen of perspiration on his smooth,
hard stomach.

Jack saw the shaking, the glowing, the panting, and gently brushed John's
chest, delicately savoring every angle, every curve. His hand made
passionate love to John's chest, his face, his stomach, never even
approaching his manhood. Jack had all the time in the world, and John
wasn't going anywhere.