So he's been watching a while — that makes John grin, or maybe it's a grimace, a sharp flash of teeth pressed together tight. "Never met him before. Shit lay, I'm not here to be anyone's babygirl."

This guy, though, this guy touches him like he actually knows what the fuck he's doing, and John's hips snap forward to get another stroke of that fist, setting up a slow pace, slower than he'd masturbate. It leaves his hands free to grope at Danny, first his hip and then between the legs, humming low approval when he finds the hard shape of him, rubbing there over the leather. "Mm, do you think you can do better?"

His other hand cups the back of Danny's neck, warm and firm, keeping him close, John's beard brushing his skin as he turns to catch his eyes again, since that got an interesting reaction the first time. "Bet you wouldn't be so uninspired, hey." Kiwi accent layered with the kind of chummy, amused manipulation that Danny probably hears in his own voice all the time.