With his legs around Danny's waist John's contributions to the pace are mostly keeping himself hitched in place and occasional timely squeezes of his inner walls, tight as a fist. So there's nothing he can do when Danny stutters and slows, wedged deep in him, and that gets a moan, thick lashes sweeping low for a lost moment.

He pulls Danny closer by the nape, arches his own neck forward, mouth to the throat like some kind of vampiric horror. But then, working on evil instinct, he presses a soft kiss to the pulse, another one right after, poisonous affection up the line of his neck to his jaw, where he sucks a little mark.

"You wanna hurt?" he offers, right by his ear, a touch amused. "You're such a nasty boy. Careful who you offer your throat to in this place, someone might just tear it out."