“No worse than you, “grunted John, pulling off the undershirt and posing for the genius’s roving eyes, flexing the considerable muscles of his arms. Their mouths met again, John leaning back on the sturdy table, pulling Harold against. John wrapped his long legs around Harold’s waist, his shining leather boots scratching against the rough-spun fabric of Harold’s shirt. Harold’s head spun as all of his blood seemed to rush to his groin as those boots pulled him against John. The organs that had seemed almost useless to him now replaced his brain as his driving force, ordering his body to thrust hard against the man below him as their kisses grew more frantic. John pushed Harold up, just long enough to open the fronts of their pants and bring their cocks together. Hands, slick with spit kept them rubbing, the friction provided by John’s strong body rocking them both until they come together.
John, panting, cradled Harold’s head against his chest – for the moment, perfectly happy.