TITLE: On The Mating Habits of Middle Aged Action Heroes
AUTHOR: Kita
RATING: NC-17. Entirely PWP.
PAIRING: John McClane/Matt Farrell
AUTHOR NOTES: This is "Die Hard" Porn. Yea. I don't know either.
     

*


On The Mating Habits of Middle Aged Action Heroes

John is sort of drunk.

Sort of, because he’s only had five or six beers since the game started.

He can still track the current plays while following the tiny scrolling text at the bottom of the TV screen, and that’s gotta take some kind of higher brain function. He can still feel the ache in his hip that hasn’t gone away since the Fire Sale. Much like the text at the bottom of his screen, it’s persistent and annoying when he pays it attention, dull and out of focus when he doesn’t.

He has to be sort of drunk, though, because the heat coming off Matt’s skin as he leans against John’s shoulder isn’t strange. Instead, it feels comfortable, familiar.

Matt himself is familiar; the junk food and soap smell of him, the steady clack of his fingers against the keys of his laptop, the even weight of him along John’s side. And yeah, John’s got to be sort of drunk to be having deep thoughts about the kid.

All of which explains why when the clacking stops, and one of Matt’s hands comes to rest lightly on John’s knee, John doesn’t move. He raises one eyebrow, but stays otherwise still, waiting to see what will happen next.

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at the kid’s face, but then, he doesn’t really need to. John can hear the hitch in his breath, can see the blush spreading across Matt’s cheeks, out of just the corner of one eye.

Matt’s hands are smooth but his touch stutters, stumbles over John’s leg on the way up to his parted thighs. John inhales, sharp and through his nose, when Matt’s knuckles brush over his crotch.

As seduction techniques go, it pretty much sucks. But John is sort of drunk, and he’s a grown man, and he doesn’t need to be fucking seduced, especially not by a boy with hero worship in his eyes and daddy issues between his ears.

“You goin’ somewhere with this, kid?” he says, finally looking at Matt.

Matt’s hair is a mess; it covers most his face, like always. Like always, John feels the itch in his palm to brush it back. And John is sort of drunk, so he does.

Which Matt takes as an invitation to crawl in to John’s lap and press his hot, open mouth against John’s.

There’s an edge of beer on Matt’s breath; so maybe he needed to be just a bit drunk to do this too. But his tongue is syrup sweet, like those stupid energy drinks of his, the ones that taste like ass straight from the can. On Matt, somehow they don’t taste too bad.

Matt doesn’t actually kiss like a kid. He’s all hungry teeth and eager exploration, hands scrabbling over John’s shoulders, neck, face, as if he’s trying to grab every part of John he can, before John figures out what he’s actually doing here and makes him stop.

He presses John further down into the couch with a body that feels much more substantial than it’s always looked. Muscle and bone, long legs and ready cock settling against John in all the right places. And when Matt shifts- denim, friction and sweet sweet surprise- John can’t help the moan.

Then he’s kissing back, just as hard, just as hungry, because he’s a little bit drunk, and because he wants to, and because it’s been a long fucking time since he’s been able to simply take what he wants.

That soft, stupid hair tangles in his fingers, and Matt’s pulse jumps runner fast when he presses his thumb against the side of the kid’s neck. He holds Matt’s head still with both hands. Matt opens his mouth wider to take more of John’s tongue inside.

The kiss is sloppy, greedy, relentless; a lot like sex already.

“Oh god,” Matt whispers, finally twisting away to gulp down air.

John looks at him: mussed up and shiny, staring back at John with a kind of amazed adoration, and rocking his hips forward in John’s lap like he can’t help it. The fact that he doesn’t seem to be aware he’s doing either one makes the whole damn thing all the more surreal.

All the more appealing.

Matt leans in closer. John puts a hand on his chest. Feels the thud of his heart; quick, desperate, so young, through the thin layer of cotton.

“You have done this before, right?” John’s voice is gravel and gun powder.

Matt blinks at him a few times before nodding. “Fooled around with guys, yeah. Fooled around with guys who could kill me with their little finger, no.”

John shakes his head. “Shove off a second,” he says.

Matt obeys, immediately, no hesitation. As if he was trained to, which John supposes, he kind of was. And John’s just sick enough that the thought makes his dick jump in his pants.

Only Matt looks almost scared now; eyes wide and wet, an anxious puppy waiting to be scolded. Like he thinks John’s about beat the shit out of him, despite having just kissed him so thoroughly his bottom lip is swollen red enough to be a girl’s. John rubs his thumb over it.

Matt shivers, and his eyes drop closed. The scared look slip-slides into dazed and needy. John lets himself stare for another second or two, lets himself imagine all the things he could do to this kid. All the things Matt would let him do.

He pushes Matt against the wall and drops to his knees.

“Oh, god,” Matt repeats.

He tugs Matt’s jeans down around his thighs, not particularly surprised to find the kid goes commando. Matt’s prick is hard in the way only twenty year olds get hard, leaking a little at the tip. It jumps when John brushes his fingers around the head. Matt’s legs are shaking.

John looks up. It’s possible at this point that the kid isn’t actually breathing.

“Problem?” John says, tone neutral.

“N- no. No problem.” Matt answers quickly, and John tries not to smile. Tries and fails. “It’s just- you’re on your knees.”

“Uh, yeah. You know for a genius you’re kind of a moron. It’s not like I can blow you standing up. You ain’t that tall.”

When he sucks Matt down, the kid slams his palms back against the wall behind him.

It’s been a while since John last went down on a guy, but from the noises Matt’s making, there are apparently some things you never forget how to do. He digs handprints into Matt’s hipbones, and lets the wet, dirty sounds of giving head spill out around Matt’s dick along with his spit.

“Oh, god,” Matt says again, “I’m gonna-“

“No you’re not,” John says, tugging at Matt’s balls.

Matt nods, throat clicking as he swallows. The instant obedience thing does a repeat trip through John’s gut, ending between his legs. He stands up, tugs the fly on his jeans away from his own aching dick.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, and Matt’s chin trembles. “You good with that?”

The kid shakes his head yes so fast his hair whips across his face, and John has to practically hold him up as they stumble into the bedroom.

The sight of Matt hopping up and down while trying to strip out of his shoes and jeans at the same time is strangely endearing.

“Get horizontal before you kill yourself,” John tells him.

If he finds that Matt’s blush has suddenly also become endearing, hey, he’s still sort of drunk.

Then Matt is naked and sprawled across John’s sheets; a late night ad for gay porn, with one knee up and bedroom eyes at half mast. Matt’s cock is thick and wet, it shivers a little every time he inhales. The way he looks lying there, sharp angles wrapped tight in pale and pink-

He’s- well, he’s too fucking pretty, really, and John would like to tell him that, except John also thinks things like explosions are pretty, so he figures Matt might not actually appreciate his perspective. He settles for staring some more at the kid instead, while he strips out of his own clothes.

Matt watches him back without blinking once. As soon as John undoes his fly and drops his pants, Matt’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip, and now this entire evening has officially become a hand job for John’s ego.

The first press of skin on skin makes Matt gasp, and John grin. Then Matt’s got his legs wrapped around John’s hips and he’s pulling at John’s arms and grabbing at his ass, pouring little whimpery noises that sound like begging into John’s mouth.

He keeps up those same noises when John works wet slippery fingers down the seam of his body, when he presses two of them inside, when he presses Matt’s knees back behind his ears.

Jesus, kids today were bendy.

For the past too many years it had only been Holly. Even after she left him, it was usually her behind his eyes, whether his partner was his fist or another woman. John has to blink a few times to clear his vision, sliding balls deep into a very different body. And he’s grateful, suddenly, for big hands and straight lines, for grunts and –

Matt’s forehead is scrunched up, teeth buried in his bottom lip. John props himself on both elbows, and freezes. “You son of a bitch.”

Those eyes pop open, huge and shiny. “What? What’d I do?” No one spread underneath John McClane should be able to wear an expression that innocent.

“You fucking lied to me, that’s what. You said you’d done this before.”

“Nooooo, I said I’d fooled around with guys before. I never said I’d actually had penetrative sex.”

John has no idea how Matt can look right at him and say ridiculous shit like that.

“Penetrative- who the fuck- Jesus, Matt, this is-“

“Look, I didn’t- I didn’t want you stop, okay? And I still don’t. And I was wrong not to tell you, and I’m sorry and you can berate me about it all you want, but- maybe later? You know, say when your dick isn’t up my ass.”

Certainly, John would like to argue with him.

But the kid’s got a point with the whole dick/ass thing, and John is man enough to know when he’s been beat.

He frowns and pulls back a bit instead. Fear and uncertainty skitter across Matt’s face. John tugs a pillow down, slides it under the kid’s body.

“Just- “ trust me, he wants to say, but Matt does. He already does.

John goes to his knees, puts his hands back on the kid’s hips, and pushes forward once, hard. His spine tingles all the way up to his skull at the tighthotslide, but Matt winces. So John shifts his weight and does it again. Twice more, before Matt’s mouth opens in the perfect “oh-“

“-god?” John finishes for him, smirking.

“Yeah,” Matt breathes. “Yeah, yeah, do it again.”

“Planning on it.”

Again and then again, until Matt is clinging and panting, mixing John’s name up with god's; please John please John please, over and over, out loud and without shame.

John pins one of Matt’s arms over his head at the wrist, covers Matt’s body completely with his own, fucks the kid right through the god damned mattress, dizzy, drunk, high with the obscene power of it.

Maybe he can’t be a decent husband or a good father or even much of a human being most days, but he can make Matt’s back arch and he can make him shake and he can make him scream his name. He can make Matt come.

And it’s been a long damn time since he’s felt like someone’s hero without having to kill for the honor.

“Wanna see you,” Matt is saying. He’s wrung out, covered in sweat and sex, reaching up to bite at John’s lips and neck. “Do it, wanna-“

Matt’s still talking, still watching, as John comes.

“Wow,” Matt says, in the silence of after.

John grins. “Should try me when I’m sober next time.”

He likes the sound of Matt’s laughter, following him down into sleep.


-End




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