"Fuck yes," John swears at the first breach, welcoming him in, revelling in the slutty feeling of using someone else's cum as lube, the puffed up ache of his hole as it stretches again.

John takes the whole length of him, but it's only dizzying for a moment before Danny fucks it in again, rapid as a stabbing, and the consistent rhythm overloads John's nerves into white noise, easy to tune out and relax into. His body heals too fast for the wall to really grate him open, but he can still feel every thrust all the way up his spine.

But just because getting pounded is mundane doesn't mean he isn't fucking loving it. Danny is a turn-on all on his own, all that pretty machismo, the wet neediness of him. The strong muscle under John's hands as they explore, wanting to feel the flex of him as he works towards orgasm. The anger. The teeth that keep stopping short of doing actual damage.

"It's okay, you can bite," he encourages condescendingly, feeling them gritted against his skin. What does divinity taste like? Mostly salt-sweat.