✮ }} deni {{ ✮

your plans are interrupted when you feel a familiar tingle in your jaw and spit gathering under your tongue. 

you lurch toward the corner of the wall, just out of sight, but you get about two hurried steps in when your stomach is forcing it out of you. your throat burns with alcohol as you paint the concrete in front of you with vomit. 

“someone got too cocky in there, huh?”

you look up, still blinking away tears, your expression pointedly unimpressed. your eyes catch the cigarette first, then drift upward.

“what?” you haphazardly wipe the corner of your mouth with the side of your hand.

as the blur in your vision clears, it gives way to what’s in front of you- a sturdy man with stark silver hair pushed up in a wild fashion, thick glasses framing dark eyes. he’s older than his voice let on. he brings a hand to his mouth, taking one last drag, before flicking the cigarette to the ground. 

he’s stepping toward you before you can register it. already pulling a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans. he doesn’t pay mind to the mess at your feet. 

“here, let me.”

the next several seconds pass in an instant; he’s tilting your head toward him with one hand, dabbing at your mouth with the other, wiping one last dribble from your chin. you were too wrecked for the lingering smell of tobacco on his fingers to nauseate you any further. you considered stopping him, telling him you’re fine and to knock it off. the thought alone exhausted you.

he crouches to your level and you fight through half-lidded, dazed eyes until you can meet his gaze.

“think you can sit for me?”

you shake your head. “i'm fine.”

“you threw up,” he presses. his voice hasn’t wavered since the first time he spoke.

"i know.” you glare at him through your eyelashes.

"then humor me."

you want to argue with him. tell him you're perfectly capable of getting yourself home, that you don't need some stranger babysitting you outside a bar. the words die in the back of your throat.

he nods toward a weathered bench a few feet away beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. "just five minutes."

with a sigh, you push yourself away from the wall. that task alone is laborious. the walk isn't more than a handful of steps, but it feels considerably longer, each foot carrying the weight of your whole body. he follows close enough that you catch him in your periphery, a hand hovering near your elbow without ever quite touching you. you sink down onto the seat of the bench. your legs are grateful for the respite.

“don't go anywhere.” it comes out more of a request than an order.

you let out a tired huff. “wasn’t planning on it.”

he takes in the sight one more time, as though debating whether to leave you alone, and then he’s making his way back toward the bar.

"be right back,” he calls over his shoulder.

the heavy door shuts behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet.

it settles strangely.

the cold replaces the space he'd left behind. your elbows find your knees, forehead dropping into your hands with a long exhale. god. you hadn't realized how much of your attention had been spent on the stranger, this random guy, until he wasn't standing beside you anymore.

for one brief, embarrassing second, you worry maybe he wouldn’t return. the door creaks open again before you can dwell on the thought.

silver hair catches the light first, followed by the familiar broad frame. he strides toward you from the bar; a bottle of water and a handful of napkins in hand as he approaches.

"here." the cap’s already off when he pushes it into your field of vision.

you murmur a reluctant thank you and reach for the bottle, only for your fingers to fumble around smooth plastic before finally getting a grip. your face burns. the corner of his mouth twitches- amused.

you lift the bottle anyway. the first sip never quite makes it, water dripping down your chin before you can swallow. you close your eyes with a quiet groan.

a soft sigh escapes him.

"here." before you can protest, he's crouching in front of you all over again, taking the bottle into his own grasp, tilting the front ever so slightly toward your lips.

"small sips," he instructs.

you really should be scolding him, telling him you can take care of yourself. but here you are instead, parting your lips without thinking, letting him administer bits of water like you’re some helpless animal.

the water is cold against your tongue. it tastes better than anything you've had all night.

• protective bf final boss

• matching tattoos OF COURSE

• would be the one to teach you how to skate and would be very patient with you

• low key would steal some pieces of your jewellery and outfits

• the brattiest man to exist, especially in bed.

• loves to be kissed on the neck and his hair pulled

• april LOVES YOU, you both get along so well and it makes Bam’s heart so happy.

• during filming he’d make sure your always there to watch his stunts and skits. always sure to make you laugh.

• you can debate this. but god i’m so sure this man is a munch. this man would die between a pair of thighs. but he also loves to receive, he would def be a head pusher

• you’re the only one that’s allowed to yell at him and call him Brandon when your really mad, and tell him off when his being a dick.

“Brandon Margera stop acting like an asshole it’s not funny anymore”

• walk him like a dog diva 💅

• He likes total physical proximity. hands under your shirt, and keeping a firm grip on your waist or thighs whether you're sitting in bed or standing around on set.

• would call you babe, sweetheart.

• also definitely an ass man. always finding a way to sneak a feel whenever he can.

• hickeys, scratches, and visible bruises are a constant theme. He loves leaving a mark on your neck or collarbone right before you both have to go out into public

• Bam drives fast and he drives constantly. Dates often involve getting in his Lamborghini at midnight

. . .

The coal mine had been converted into something between a game-show studio and a torture chamber.

Steel beams stretched toward the high ceiling, intersecting beneath rows of grimy windows that allowed late-afternoon sunlight to spill across the concrete. Rusted machinery and elevated walkways remained from when the building had still been operational, but production had installed bleachers, cameras, lights, and several ominous workstations around the open floor.

Above Johnny’s podium, an enormous arrow outlined in bulbs pointed toward a faded sign reading PAIN AUCTION.

Y/N sat among the remaining contestants, rubbing her palms against her thighs while Ethan stood at the electrical station across the room.

He had won the first item by bidding getting electrocuted ten seconds at one hundred volts.

Johnny stood beside the equipment in a deep burgundy suit, a crisp white shirt beneath it and a black tie patterned with small white dots. His silver hair was swept upward, black-framed glasses sitting across his face while he watched Ethan grip the two metal prongs.

Y/N should have been focused on her friend being electrocuted.

Instead, an unhelpful part of her brain kept returning to how obscenely good Johnny looked in that suit.

It was difficult to reconcile the composed game-show host standing before them with the man who had been disheveled in her bed the night before, glasses abandoned on her nightstand and silver hair tangled beneath her fingers.

Johnny caught her looking.

Only briefly.

His eyes met hers from behind his glasses, and the faintest smirk touched his mouth before he redirected his attention toward Ethan.

Then the electricity continued.

The voltage slowly climbed high. From ten volts to twenty to thirty…

Ethan’s entire body seized.

His arms shook violently as he struggled to maintain his grip, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut while some of the contestants shouted encouragement from the bleachers.

The ten seconds felt much longer from where Y/N was sitting.

Then Johnny announced he was reaching one hundred volts. 

Ethan screamed. Loudly.

Y/N flinched. That finally tore her attention away from Johnny. 

It was a horrific sound to hear. Pure pain.

When the machine finally shut off, Ethan released the prongs and stumbled backward. Contestants clapped for Ethan as Johnny awarded him the thick plastic Fear Factor coin guaranteeing his safety from elimination, dropping it in his pocket.

Ethan returned to the bleachers looking pale.

“That was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” Ethan said, dropping down beside Y/N, his hands still trembling. “Oh my God.”

Y/N caught one of his wrists before he could hide his shaking fingers against his thighs.

“You did it, though.”

“I can still feel it in my teeth.”

“…You didn’t die though.” 

He let out a soft laugh as held up the coin with an unsteady hand. “But I got my Fear Factor coin.”

“You earned it.”

Ethan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do not bid on anything electrical.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“But get a coin.”

“That was the plan.”

He nodded and dropped his head into his hands.

Y/N looked toward Johnny when he returned to the wooden podium and picked up the gavel.

Goddamn, he looked hot in that suit.

He struck the podium once, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Our next item up for bid is hot melted wax,” Johnny said. “You will bid on the amount of times you have hot melted wax poured on you by a ladle.”

“Oh, my gosh. That sucks,” Blake said from behind her.

The contestants exchanged uneasy looks.

Across the floor, a production assistant removed the lid from a heated metal container. A long ladle rested inside it, surrounded by tall white candles melted into thick, uneven shapes.

“It will be dipped on your bare arms, legs, and tummy,” Johnny continued. “So let’s start the bidding at two ladles.”

Y/N raised her paddle.

So did Blake, Zach, Rob, Lance, Chelsea, and Jayleen.

Ethan turned toward her sharply. “What are you doing?”

“Bidding.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“You just watched me get electrocuted!”

“Wax isn’t electricity.”

“It’s hot wax. That sounds worse.”

Y/N shrugged, still holding her paddle above her head. “I’ve had a bikini wax before.”

“They don’t pour it on you with a soup ladle.”

Johnny’s gaze moved across the raised paddles before pausing on Y/N. “We have lots of people with two ladles. Do we have three ladles?”

Every paddle shot up again.

Y/N kept hers raised without hesitation.

Johnny noticed.

His brows lifted slightly above the frames of his glasses, but his expression remained professionally neutral for the cameras.

“Do we have a four?”

Rob, Lance, and Jayleen dropped out.

Only Chelsea, Blake, Zach, and Y/N remained.

Y/N felt Ethan staring at the side of her face.

“You’re not serious,” he muttered.

“Completely.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not going home.”

“You could wait for something less painful.”

She glanced toward the board displaying the remaining possible items: hot peppers, needles, ice water, a bug zapper, and snake bites.

Nothing up there looked especially appealing.

Besides, six ladles of hot wax meant one challenge, one coin, and guaranteed safety. She wouldn’t have to gamble against the others during elimination.

More importantly, Johnny would be the one holding the ladle.

Perhaps her priorities had become slightly corrupted.

“Do we have five ladles?” Johnny called.

Chelsea lowered her paddle.

Then Zach did the same.

Blake’s remained in the air beside Y/N’s.

A murmur went through the contestants.

Johnny looked between them.

Y/N met his eyes across the floor, refusing to betray any nerves.

The corner of his mouth moved.

“Oh,” he said. “Interesting. Six ladles?”

Blake’s paddle immediately dropped into his lap.

Y/N kept hers raised.

Ethan exhaled a curse beside her.

Johnny stared directly at her now.

“Y/N going once…”

He raised the gavel.

She smiled sweetly.

“Twice…”

The gavel hovered above the podium.

Johnny’s gaze lingered on her for one extra beat, as though offering her a silent opportunity to reconsider.

Y/N didn’t move.

“Three times! Sold!” The gavel struck the wood. “The hot melted wax to Y/N. Come on up, beautiful!”

The contestants clapped and shouted as Y/N lowered her paddle.

Ethan stared at her. “Six?”

“Blake would’ve gone for five.”

“Good luck. You got this.”

She squeezed his shoulder before stepping away from the bleachers.

Johnny watched her approach, one hand resting against the podium.

“Six ladles,” he said a bit quieter when she reached him.

“You counted.”

“I’m trying to decide whether you’re brave or dumb.”

Y/N smiled. “…If you’re gonna be dumb, better be tough.”

His eyes held hers as he smiled slightly at that.

A smile. Not his damn cocky smirk.

“Damn. Wise words.”

“Yeah, I heard them from somewhere.”

For one dangerous second, neither of them appeared to remember the cameras.

Then Johnny cleared his throat and gestured toward the table. “Take your shirt off and lie down.”

Y/N’s eyebrows rose. “Buying me dinner first would’ve been polite.”

Johnny looked down, pressing his lips together as though trying not to encourage her. “We fed you pizza last night.”

“That counts?”

“I brought wings too, didn’t I?”

“Fine. I’m convinced.”

Y/N grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, leaving herself in her bra and shorts.

The room felt cooler against her newly exposed skin. She folded the shirt and placed it on a nearby chair before climbing onto the table.

Johnny’s gaze flickered over her.

Quick.

Professional enough that nobody watching would necessarily notice.

Y/N noticed.

She lay flat on her back, extending her arms along either side of her body while a production assistant adjusted her position. Her bare legs remained straight, her shirtless stomach exposed beneath the overhead lights.

Johnny moved behind the wax station and took hold of the long metal ladle.

The white wax shifted thickly as he stirred it, steam barely visible beneath the studio lights. He lifted the ladle once, watched the excess drip back into the heater, then glanced toward Y/N stretched out across the padded table.

Her arms rested along either side of her body. Her bare legs extended toward the end of the table, and the removal of her shirt had left her stomach completely exposed beneath the lights.

Johnny’s eyes traveled over her once.

Quickly enough to pass as checking her positioning.

Slowly enough that she noticed.

“Things are heating up,” he announced. “All right, here we go.”

Y/N watched him bring the first full ladle toward her right arm.

“Joke’s on you, Knoxville. This is my kink—”

The hot wax poured across her skin.

“—oh, shit!”

Her entire arm tensed as the thick line of wax traveled from beneath her shoulder toward her wrist.

Laughter broke out across the bleachers.

Johnny’s mouth split into a wide grin.

“Well, that sentence took a turn.”

Y/N sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “It was supposed to sound hotter than that.”

“It sounded pretty hot from here.”

Johnny dipped the ladle back into the heater before she could answer. He stirred it once, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye.

“You good?”

It sounded casual.

Only Y/N recognized the actual question underneath it.

She flexed her fingers against the table and nodded. “Keep going.”

“That’s what we like to hear.”

Johnny lifted the second ladle and moved toward her left arm.

“Number two.”

The wax spilled down her skin.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her shoulders lifting before she forced them back against the table.

“God—”

“There she is.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re smiling.”

Johnny looked directly toward one of the cameras while grinning. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Y/N laughed breathlessly, although it came out closer to a wince.

He returned to the heater.

There was no dramatic hesitation or offer to let her quit. She had bid six, and Knoxville understood better than most people that once someone committed to doing something painful and stupid, the best thing he could do was help them finish it.

But before raising the third ladle, his gaze met hers again.

Still with me?

She gave him the smallest nod.

Johnny carried on as though nothing had passed between them.

“Moving down to the legs.”

“Oh, good,” Y/N muttered. “I was worried this might become pleasant.”

“Can’t have that on Fear Factor.”

He poured the third ladle along her fleft thigh.

Y/N’s head fell back. “Oh, fuck me—”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot upward. “Careful, now.”

Her eyes snapped toward him. “That wasn’t an invitation. Yet.”

“Good. We’re busy.”

Y/N stared at Johnny.

The bastard looked completely composed behind the black frames of his glasses, but she saw the satisfaction tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Only she knew why that particular choice of words amused him so much.

Johnny returned with the fourth ladle. “Right leg.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“They pay me by the ladle.”

The wax streamed across her opposite thigh.

Y/N cried out, fingers digging into the padding as the hot sting spread across her skin. “Okay…fuck…that one sucked.”

Johnny grinned, but his eyes moved over her face, checking the color in her cheeks and the steadiness of her breathing. He didn’t ask whether she wanted to stop. He knew she didn’t.

Instead, he tapped the metal ladle lightly against the edge of the heater.

“Four down, two to go.”

Y/N tested her arms and immediately felt the hardened wax resisting the movement. “I can’t feel half my body.”

“That’ll save you money on anesthesia.”

“Do you rehearse these?”

“No, ma’am. This is natural talent.”

Johnny filled the fifth ladle.

When he returned to the table, he positioned himself beside her exposed stomach.

Y/N watched the wax swaying near the rim.

“That seems like an unnecessary amount.”

“You bid on it.”

“I was trying to impress a guy.”

“Sounds handsome.”

“Debatable.”

Johnny laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little excited…”

“Of course you are,” Y/N panted.

“For the coin…”

“Sure, Knoxville. That’s what you mean.”

He looked at her over the top of his glasses, his grin broadening.

“It’s going on the tummy…once!”

The wax hit beneath her ribs.

Y/N’s body jerked against the table. “Fuck!”

Her stomach contracted instinctively beneath the heavy heat, but the hardened wax across her limbs kept her from curling inward.

He leaned closer as he returned the empty ladle to the heater. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

The word was quiet enough to get lost beneath the contestants cheering her on.

Y/N inhaled shakily through her nose. “That one felt personal.”

“You didn’t compliment my suit.”

“I did.” 

“No, you didn’t.”

“In my head.”

He laughed as he filled the ladle one last time.

The room grew louder as the contestants realized she was almost finished.

“One more, Y/N!”

“Come on!”

“You’ve got it!”

Ethan leaned forward on the bleachers, clapping his still-unsteady hands together.

Johnny returned to her side. “And that last one!”

He tipped the ladle.

The final pour landed across the other side of her stomach.

Y/N cried out, her head falling back against the table as her entire body tightened. Her toes curled, hands balled into fists, and for several seconds she could only breathe through the sharp wave of heat.

Johnny emptied the ladle and immediately set it aside. “That’s six!”

The coal mine erupted into applause.

Y/N released a long, trembling breath, body sinking into the table as the wax cooled and hardened across her skin.

Johnny clapped along with the contestants as he crossed toward the podium.

“That was six ladles of hot wax, folks. She didn’t move, she didn’t quit, and somehow she still found time to sexually harass the host.”

Y/N lifted her head. “You loved it.”

He retrieved the thick plastic Fear Factor coin and returned to her.

“There you go, gorgeous. A Fear Factor coin.”

Johnny held it out above her.

Y/N tried lifting her arm.

The hardened wax pulled tightly across her skin, preventing her from raising it more than a few inches. She let it fall back against the table with a frustrated exhale.

Y/N lifted her head from the table and opened her mouth.

Johnny’s grin changed immediately.

No surprise.

No question.

Just instant, unmistakable understanding. 

He stepped closer and lowered the coin toward her lips.

Y/N kept her eyes locked on his as he slid the edge between her teeth. She bit down slowly, taking it from him without breaking eye contact.

Johnny didn’t release it right away.

His fingers remained on the opposite side of the coin, leaving them connected by the thick piece of plastic between her mouth and his hand.

The cheering around them blurred.

His gaze dropped to her lips wrapped around the edge.

Something hotter flickered behind his glasses.

Then he let go.

Y/N sat upright carefully, the wax cracking over her stomach as she moved. She kept the coin clenched between her teeth, smiling around it while the contestants clapped and shouted.

Johnny remained beside the table.

His eyes followed her mouth again before sweeping over the hardened trails of wax covering her arms, legs, and stomach.

He gave a low, approving whistle. “That’s one way to collect your winnings.”

Y/N removed the coin from between her teeth. “My hands were busy.”

“I noticed.”

The answer came too quickly.

Her smile widened.

She swung her legs over the edge of the table but couldn’t lift her arms enough to balance herself properly. Johnny reached out and took hold of her waist, steadying her before she could slip.

The gesture looked entirely practical for the cameras.

Only Y/N felt the way his fingers tightened briefly against her sides.

“Easy,” he murmured.

“I thought you liked watching me suffer.”

“I like watching you win.”

The words were low and gone almost as soon as he said them.

Then Knoxville released her, stepping back into his host persona with a bright clap of his hands. “Somebody help our wax figure back to the bleachers!”

Ethan hurried down while laughing. “You kicked ass.”

“I have a coin.”

“You didn’t look like you were having.”

“No shit.”

Ethan collected her shirt and carefully draped it over her shoulders before guiding her toward the bleachers.

As she sat down, Y/N glanced back across the open floor.

Johnny had returned to his podium with the gavel in one hand. He looked composed again, burgundy suit straightened, glasses in place, ready to auction off the next form of suffering.

But before striking the podium, his gaze found hers.

Then it lowered briefly toward the coin still held near her mouth.

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as that crooked Knoxville grin returned.

Y/N smiled and bit the edge of the coin again.

Johnny shook his head once, clearly entertained, then brought the gavel down as he moved back onto the pain auction.

. . .

Chelsea went next.

She bid on eating five habanero peppers and attacked them with the kind of determination that had everyone shouting encouragement before she had even swallowed the second.

By the fifth, her entire face had gone red.

Tears streamed from her eyes as she paced in tight circles, hands hovering uselessly near her mouth. An EMT approached and guided her toward the exit of the mine for fresh air and medical attention.

“She did great,” Y/N said, watching Chelsea disappear through the doorway.

“She’s fighting for her life,” Jayleen replied.

“She can do both.”

Johnny returned to the podium after production confirmed Chelsea was okay.

The next symbol illuminated on the auction board was the tongue beside the lightning bolt.

The bug zapper.

Nearly every paddle went up.

Compared with the needles, snake bites, and tub of ice water still waiting on the board, licking an electric bug zapper seemed almost reasonable.

Lance won the auction at twelve.

He approached the circular station while the others cheered. Bright orange bug zappers surrounded its edge like the petals of some deeply stupid flower, each numbered across the mesh.

Johnny stood beside him, still looking unfairly good in the burgundy suit he’d worn all afternoon. His jacket fit neatly across his shoulders, and his silver hair had somehow remained perfectly disheveled despite hours spent watching people voluntarily hurt themselves.

Y/N shifted carefully on the bleachers.

Most of the wax had been removed, but her skin still felt tight and tender. Every movement reminded her of the six ladles Johnny had poured over her and the way his eyes had followed the coin when she took it from his hand with her teeth.

Lance bent toward the first zapper and stuck out his tongue.

A sharp electrical crack echoed through the mine.

He shot upright.

“Oh. Okay. That was loud.” He stared at the display with considerably less confidence. “Now I’m kind of scared though.”

Johnny grinned. “Only eleven more.”

Lance leaned down again.

Another crack.

Johnny rotated the display, bringing the next zapper into position. Lance followed it, wincing before pressing his tongue against the mesh again.

By the fifth lick, Johnny was no longer looking at the machine.

He was staring at Lance’s tongue.

Lance pulled back with it extended nearly to his chin.

Johnny burst out laughing. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

The contestants erupted.

Y/N laughed along with them, eyes remaining on Johnny as Lance pointed accusingly at him before continuing.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Each zap cracked loudly enough to make Lance flinch, but he kept circling the display while Johnny rotated it for him.

By the eleventh, his eyes were watering and his tongue had probably stopped functioning, but he was still smiling.

Johnny straightened beside him.

“One more and we’ll do it together.”

The room immediately became louder.

Contestants shouted and clapped as Johnny moved around to the opposite side of the station.

Y/N leaned forward and cupped one hand beside her mouth. “Do it with eye contact!”

Johnny’s head turned.

His eyes found hers across the bleachers.

The cameras would make it look as though he were glancing over the entire group in response to the cheering. Only Y/N knew his gaze had landed precisely on her and stayed there.

His smile sharpened.

It wasn’t the broad, ridiculous grin he had been wearing with Lance.

It was the smaller one.

The one he gave her when they were sharing something nobody else in the room understood.

Johnny crouched opposite Lance.

The contestant leaned over the final zapper, tongue already extended.

Johnny lowered himself toward the one facing him.

But instead of looking at Lance, he looked past the circular station.

Straight at Y/N.

Her laughter faded.

The surrounding contestants continued yelling, unaware that Johnny’s attention had narrowed entirely to her.

Lance pressed his tongue against the final racket.

The zap cracked.

Johnny touched his tongue to the mesh of his own.

Another electrical snap rang through the building.

He should have pulled away.

Instead, maintaining eye contact with Y/N, he slowly dragged his tongue down the face of the racket.

Her stomach tightened.

There was nothing accidental about the pace.

Nothing comedic about the way his tongue flattened against the mesh before extending far enough to brush the neighboring zapper.

To everyone else, he was putting on a show.

To Y/N, it felt like a private demonstration.

The contestants lost their minds.

Johnny finally pulled back, still looking toward the bleachers as he straightened. His mouth curved when he saw the expression on Y/N’s face.

She leaned closer to Jayleen without taking her eyes off him.

“The way he licked that kinda turned me on.”

Jayleen followed her stare. “Kinda?”

“I’m trying to preserve what little dignity I have left.”

“You took him upstairs during the party.”

“Shush. Keep your voice down.”

Jayleen laughed into her hand.

Johnny awarded Lance his Fear Factor coin, and Lance practically skipped back to the bleachers, holding it above his head like a championship trophy.

“Twelve,” Y/N said as he sat down. “I’m impressed.”

“My tongue is numb.”

“At least it’s still attached.”

“Barely.”

The cameras followed Lance, zooming in as he described the sensation to Blake next to him.

A producer stepped toward Johnny to discuss the next setup. The primary camera turned with her, leaving him momentarily outside its frame.

Johnny glanced toward Y/N again.

She checked the camera first.

Its lens remained pointed toward Lance.

Good.

Y/N lifted her hand near her mouth, low enough that the contestants in front of her blocked the gesture from view. She locked her index and middle fingers into a tight V, pressed them against her lips, and flicked her tongue between them.

Johnny’s eyebrows rose.

His grin came immediately.

Not stunned this time.

Delighted.

Y/N repeated the motion, slower, letting the tip of her tongue trace between her fingers while she held his gaze.

Johnny glanced toward the camera operator.

Still distracted.

Then he leaned one hand against the bug-zapper station and tilted his head, studying her with open amusement. He slowly ran his tongue across his upper lip, catching the corner before biting lightly against his lower one.

Y/N’s thighs pressed together.

His eyes dropped just enough to notice.

The grin widened.

Johnny lifted two fingers toward his own mouth, mimicking her gesture without fully committing to it. Instead, he tapped them once against his lips and crooked them toward himself in a tiny, unmistakable invitation.

Come here.

Y/N smiled and shook her head.

Not here.

He made a disappointed face that was theatrical enough to be Knoxville but subtle enough that no one else seemed to notice.

Y/N pointed at him, then toward herself, and mouthed: Later.

Johnny’s gaze darkened.

He adjusted the front of his suit jacket, though nothing about the movement hid how pleased he was.

Then he mouthed back: Promise?

Y/N bit her lower lip and nodded once.

A producer called Johnny’s name.

He held her gaze, sending her a wink before returning to the podium.

“All right,” he announced, collecting the gavel. “So far, three of you have Fear Factor coins. Remember, not everyone’s getting on.”

Johnny raised the gavel.

Before striking the podium, he glanced at her over the top of his glasses.

His tongue pressed deliberately against the inside of his cheek.

Y/N gave him her sweetest, most innocent smile.

The gavel came down harder than necessary.

“Let’s sell somebody else a terrible decision.”

. . .

The Pain Auction finally ended with everyone exhausted, sore, and clutching their Fear Factor coins like they had survived a war.

Production called for an hour-long break before filming resumed for the endgame challenge.

The contestants scattered almost immediately. Some headed toward the catering tables. Others found places to sit inside the mine, comparing injuries and complaining loudly about what they had volunteered to endure.

Y/N slipped away from the group.

Her skin still felt tender from the wax, especially along her stomach and thighs, but the worst of the pain had settled into a lingering warmth. She moved carefully through the industrial corridors toward the rear exit, following the dull glow of daylight spilling through the open doors.

Johnny stood outside near the loading area.

Alone.

Or pretending to be.

One hand rested in the pocket of his burgundy trousers while the other held a can of sparkling water. He stared toward the tree line with an exaggerated air of casualness, occasionally glancing back toward the exit as though he weren’t waiting for anyone in particular.

Y/N slowed.

A smile spread across her face.

He didn’t hear her approach over the distant machinery and chatter inside.

She came up behind him and lightly smacked his ass.

Johnny jumped, nearly dropping his drink. “Jesus—”

He spun around.

Y/N stood behind him wearing her sweetest expression. “Looking for someone?”

Johnny stared at her for half a second before laughing. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw that at you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You sound awfully confident.”

“You like me too much.”

His eyes moved over her slowly. “Debatable.”

Y/N stepped closer. “Then why were you standing out here checking the door every ten seconds?”

“I like doors.”

“Knoxville.”

“And fresh air.”

“You were waiting for me.”

He lifted the can to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to appear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Y/N reached out and hooked one finger into his tie.

Johnny lowered the drink.

The joking remained in his expression, but his attention sharpened immediately. “You’re a terrible liar,” she murmured.

“And you’ve been sexually harassing the host all afternoon.”

“You poured hot wax all over me.”

“You bid on it.”

“You called me beautiful in front of everyone.”

“I was being supportive.”

“You licked a bug zapper while staring at me.”

“That was for television.”

She pulled lightly on his tie, bringing him closer. “Was this for television too?”

Johnny’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “No cameras out here.”

“Exactly.”

Y/N kissed him.

He responded immediately, one arm circling her waist as he pulled her against him. She smiled into his mouth, pleased by how quickly the last traces of his host persona disappeared once nobody was watching.

Johnny backed her toward the exterior wall beside the open door, careful not to press her too roughly against the metal siding.

His hand settled at her hip.

Y/N slid both arms around his neck and kissed him harder, fingers finding the silver hair at the back of his head. His glasses bumped lightly against her cheek before he tilted his face, deepening the kiss.

“You know,” he murmured against her lips, “you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am.”

“This doesn’t feel restful.”

“You’re old. Maybe your stamina’s going.”

Johnny pulled back just far enough to look at her. “Is that so?”

Y/N smiled. “Just making an observation.”

His hand tightened at her waist. “You’ve got an awful lot to say for someone who could barely walk after the last time.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she refused to let him win. “You seemed proud of yourself.”

“I was.”

“Cocky.”

“Accurate.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, his lips lingering near her ear.

Y/N’s fingers curled into the lapels of his jacket.

“You looked so hot up there,” she admitted.

“In the suit?”

“In the suit. Holding the gavel. Ordering everybody around.”

Johnny’s laugh was low against her skin.

“And here I thought you were focused on the competition.”

“I can multitask.”

“I noticed.”

She kissed him again, slower now, letting herself enjoy having him pressed against her without cameras or contestants nearby. His thumb traced a small circle over her side, careful of the tender skin beneath her clothes.

“You hurting?” he asked.

“A little.”

His expression shifted, concern briefly overtaking the teasing. “Shouldn’t be climbing all over me, then.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That’s been your answer to everything today.”

“It keeps being true.”

Johnny brushed his knuckles gently along her cheek. “You were good in there.”

“I know.”

“Now you sound like yourself.”

Y/N grinned. “You liked the coin thing.”

He exhaled through his nose, trying unsuccessfully to appear unaffected. “I had no opinion.”

“You held it there.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t use your hands.”

“And you were the one who was staring at my mouth.”

“I was making sure you didn’t swallow it.”

“Very professional.”

“Always.”

Y/N slipped her fingers beneath the knot of his tie and loosened it slightly.

Johnny looked down at her hands. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you relax.”

“I look tense?”

“You looked pretty tense after I did this.”

She raised two fingers between them, forming the same tight V she had made from the bleachers.

Johnny caught her wrist before she could bring them to her mouth.

His grin turned dangerous. “You have any idea how much trouble you’re causing me?”

“That was the idea.”

He pressed a kiss against the inside of her wrist, eyes fixed on hers.

Y/N’s breath caught. “You’re the one who wanted to show off your tongue,” she reminded him.

“I was helping Lance.”

“By dragging it down the zapper like that?”

“I’m a committed host.”

“Show-off.”

“You enjoyed it.”

She leaned closer until their noses nearly touched.

“Very much.”

Johnny’s gaze dropped to her lips again.

Y/N glanced toward the open doorway. Nobody had come outside. The contestants’ voices remained distant, and production appeared occupied with resetting equipment inside.

“We have an hour until filming again,” she said.

“So I’ve heard.”

“And everybody’s distracted.”

“Also true.”

Her fingers moved slowly down the front of his suit jacket.

Johnny watched them descend before catching her hand again. “What are you suggesting, young lady?”

Y/N tilted her head. “You spent all afternoon showing off that tongue.”

His eyebrows rose.

She stepped closer, pressing herself fully against him as she lowered her voice. “I think you owe me a private demonstration.”

Johnny stared at her.

The amused little smile returned first, followed by a slow heat in his eyes that made her stomach tighten.

“Do I?”

“Mhm.”

“And where exactly were you planning on holding this demonstration?”

“…I saw some empty offices upstairs.”

“You’ve been scouting locations?”

“I’m prepared.”

“That’s concerning.”

“You followed me upstairs last time.”

“And look what happened.”

“Exactly.”

Johnny glanced toward the doorway, checking that they were still alone.

Then he looked back at her. “We’re supposed to be back in an hour.”

“I don’t need the whole hour.”

His laugh came out rougher than before. “That confidence is going to get you in trouble.”

Y/N took hold of his tie again and began walking backward toward the door.

“Are you coming?”

Johnny allowed himself to be pulled one step.

Then another.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping as he followed her inside, “you’re going to be the one coming.”

The way he said that made her stomach tighten and thighs clench briefly together.

. . .

The office door had barely clicked shut before Johnny had her against the wall.

Y/N’s breath caught as the cool metal pressed into her back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body crowding into hers. One of his hands landed beside her head while the other closed around her waist, careful of the tender skin beneath the remnants of wax but firm enough to pull her flush against him.

“So much for taking a break,” he murmured.

“You followed me.”

“You were pulling me by the tie.”

“And you liked it.”

Johnny’s crooked smile appeared for half a second.

Then he kissed her.

There was nothing slow or careful about it this time. His mouth covered hers with all the pent-up tension they had been trading across the mine, the looks over his glasses, the coin between her teeth, his tongue dragging shamelessly across the bug zapper while his eyes stayed fixed on her.

Y/N gripped the lapels of his burgundy jacket and dragged him closer, kissing him back with equal urgency. His glasses bumped against her cheek, and she pushed them higher onto his nose without breaking away.

Johnny laughed against her lips. “Bossy. That’s how I like my women.”

“You’re wasting our hour.”

“We haven’t been in here a minute.”

“Exactly.”

His hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, holding her there while his mouth moved over hers again. Y/N hooked her fingers into his silver hair, ruining what little shape it had left after a day of filming.

He made a quiet sound in the back of his throat when she tugged. “There it is,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That noise. Hot.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “You’re awfully pleased with yourself.”

“I usually am.”

He caught her lower lip between his teeth, pulling lightly before letting it go.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“Still pleased?” he asked.

“Very.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

His mouth left hers and found the side of her neck.

Y/N’s head tipped back against the wall as he kissed beneath her jaw, slower now, letting his lips linger over every sensitive place he discovered. The scratch of his jaw against her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

Her shirt was still draped uselessly over her shoulders from the wax challenge, leaving her in her bra beneath it. Johnny pushed the loose fabric aside, exposing more of her neck and collarbone.

“Convenient outfit,” he murmured.

“You’re the reason I’m still dressed like this.”

“I poured wax on you. I didn’t hide the rest of your clothes.”

“I couldn’t lift my arms.”

“And yet you managed that little gesture from the bleachers just fine.”

Y/N smiled, breathless. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.”

His lips moved along her collarbone.

The teasing disappeared from her expression as Johnny kissed lower, his hand sliding up her side with unexpected gentleness. His thumb skimmed the band of her bra before his mouth followed, pressing warm kisses across the exposed curves of her breasts above it.

Y/N’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Johnny.”

He looked up at her through his glasses, mouth still near her chest. “What?”

She swallowed. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t sound like nothing.”

“Keep going.”

His grin returned.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Johnny’s lips traced the edge of her bra, unhurried and deliberate. Every kiss felt like an answer to the way she had teased him earlier, each one placed with the knowledge that she was trying desperately not to make enough noise for anyone passing outside to hear.

Her breathing became uneven anyway.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

“You weren’t this quiet five minutes ago,” he said against her skin.

“There were people around.”

“And that usually stops you?”

“Not remotely.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Y/N pulled him upright long enough to kiss him again, hungry and impatient. Johnny let her take control for a moment, allowing her to tug his loosened tie and press him back before he caught her wrists gently and pinned them against the wall above her head.

Her pulse jumped beneath his fingers.

Johnny stared at her.

The humor was still there, it always was with him but something darker had settled beneath it.

“You spent all afternoon trying to distract me,” he said.

“I succeeded.”

“Nearly got me fired.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You told me to make eye contact while licking an electric racket.”

“And then you put on a show.”

“Thought you might appreciate the technique.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to his mouth. “I did.”

Johnny released one wrist and slid his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Very much.”

His thumb dragged lightly across her lower lip.

“Then I guess I ought to put my tongue to better use.”

The words sank straight through her.

Y/N’s back pressed harder against the wall as Johnny kissed her once more, deep and slow, before lowering his mouth to her neck again.

He followed the same path downward, her throat, her collarbone, the exposed skin above her bra, taking his time now despite her earlier complaint about wasting the hour.

His hands settled at her hips.

Johnny lowered himself gradually in front of her, his lips trailing over the center of her chest before reaching the soft skin beneath the band of her bra.

Y/N looked down at him.

His silver hair was disheveled from her fingers, his glasses slightly crooked, burgundy suit still perfectly absurd for what he was promising to do in a dusty office hidden inside an abandoned coal mine.

He glanced up at her, reading every thought on her face.

“Still think I was showing off?”

“Yes.”

Johnny smiled against her skin. “Good.”

Then his mouth moved lower, kissing along her stomach toward the tender places where the wax had been, his hands tightening around her hips as he sank to his knees.

Johnny sank lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the center of her stomach, tongue flicking over every spot the wax had touched. His hands slid up her sides and back down again, gripping her hips tight enough to leave faint marks.

He reached the waistband of her shorts and worked the button free with one hand, then dragged the zipper down slow. The denim parted under his fingers. He hooked both thumbs inside and tugged the shorts down her legs, letting them pool at her ankles before she stepped out of them.

Y/N’s breath hitched when his mouth returned, this time brushing over the thin cotton of her underwear. He kissed her through the fabric, slow and deliberate, letting the heat of his breath soak in. His tongue pressed flat against the damp spot growing there, tracing the outline of her folds without pushing the material aside yet.

One hand left her hip and slid upward, cupping her breast over the bra, squeezing firmly, thumb circling the nipple through the lace until it peaked.

“Fuck, you’re already soaked,” he muttered against her, voice low and rough. “Been thinking about this since you had that coin between your teeth?”

She tried to answer but the words melted into a gasp when he hooked a finger under the edge of her underwear and pulled it aside. His mouth sealed over her bare pussy in the next second, tongue dragging from her entrance up to her clit in one long, wet stroke.

Johnny groaned into her, the sound vibrating straight through her core. He licked again, slower this time, circling her clit before sucking it between his lips. His free hand kept groping her breast, fingers kneading and pinching while his tongue worked her open.

He shifted her weight, lifting one of her legs and draping it over his shoulder so he could angle deeper. The new position let him bury his face fully between her thighs, tongue thrusting inside her before returning to her clit with quick, focused flicks.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, gripping hard. Johnny didn’t let up. He sucked harder, alternating between broad licks and tight suction on her clit while his hand on her breast squeezed in time with the rhythm of his mouth.

“Goddamn, you taste good,” he said against her, voice muffled and filthy. “Come on, baby. Give it to me right here.”

His tongue pressed flat and dragged upward again, then sealed around her clit and sucked steady and relentless. The leg over his shoulder trembled. Her hips rocked forward against his face without her meaning to, chasing the pressure.

Johnny’s hand left her breast long enough to slide down and spread her open wider with two fingers, giving his tongue better access. He licked inside her again, then back up, sucking her clit with wet, obscene sounds that echoed in the quiet office.

She came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head. Johnny held her steady, mouth still working her through it, tongue lapping up every pulse and twitch until her grip on his hair loosened and her leg slid off his shoulder.

He stayed on his knees a moment longer, pressing one last slow kiss to her oversensitive clit before easing her underwear back into place. His hands smoothed up her thighs, then he looked up at her with that crooked grin, lips shiny.

Johnny held her gaze as he rose, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth without an ounce of shame.

Y/N was still pressed against the wall, breathing hard, one hand braced beside her while the other remained tangled loosely in his silver hair.

He looked far too pleased with himself.

“Still think I was showing off?” he asked.

Y/N swallowed, trying to find her voice. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I just proved myself.”

Johnny stood fully, knees cracking faintly beneath the burgundy suit.

Y/N’s mouth curved. “Careful, old man.”

He caught her around the waist before she could tease him further, pulling her shorts up for her before against him despite the weakness still lingering in her legs.

“That’s awfully brave,” he murmured, “considering you can barely stand.”

“You seem proud of that.”

“Little bit.”

“A little?”

His crooked grin widened. “All right. Very.”

Y/N grabbed his loosened tie and tugged him down into a kiss. Johnny tasted like her and the realization sent another wave of heat through her, though her body hadn’t entirely recovered from the last one.

He kissed her slowly this time, one hand steady at her waist while the other smoothed over her hair.

When they separated, he kept his forehead against hers.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “My world’s a little tilted.”

“That could be the coal mine.”

“It’s not the coal mine.”

Johnny laughed under his breath and kissed the corner of her mouth.

From somewhere outside the office came the metallic crash of equipment being moved, followed by a production assistant calling for someone across the building.

Y/N tightened her grip on his tie. “How much time do we have?”

Johnny checked his watch.

His eyebrows rose. “Less than we used to.”

“That isn’t a number.”

“About twenty minutes.”

“Plenty of time.”

“For you to fix yourself.”

She started to button her shorts again but looked pointedly at his disheveled hair, crooked glasses, and wrinkled suit. “I’m not the only one who needs fixing.”

Johnny glanced down at himself. “Think they’ll notice?”

“You walked in here looking like a game-show host. You’re about to walk out looking like you lost a fight in a supply closet.”

“I won that fight.”

Y/N laughed and pushed his glasses properly into place.

Johnny watched her as she straightened his tie, his hands resting comfortably on her hips.

“You know,” she murmured, “that little bug-zapper demonstration was very educational.”

“Happy to provide a hands-on learning experience.”

“That wasn’t hands-on.”

“No?” His thumb traced the edge of her waist. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Y/N lightly slapped his chest.

He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles, his expression softening for only a second before the familiar mischief returned.

“You’re trouble, sweetheart.”

“And you’re still standing here with me.”

“Best place I’ve been all day.”

The words caught her slightly off guard.

Johnny seemed to realize they had sounded more sincere than intended, because he immediately glanced toward the door and cleared his throat.

“We should get you back before your buddy, Ethan, sends out a search party.”

“Ethan thinks I’m resting.”

“You are.”

Y/N stared at him.

Johnny grinned. “I feel refreshed.”

She shoved him lightly, but he caught her again, kissing her once before finally stepping away.

“Give me five minutes,” he said. “Then come out.”

“So subtle.”

“I’m a professional.”

“Says the one who licked an electric racket while making eye contact with me.”

“Very professionally.”

Johnny reached for the door, then paused and looked back at her.

His gaze traveled over her once, slow, satisfied, and unmistakably hungry despite everything he had already done.

“Later,” he said.

Y/N lifted an eyebrow. “That a promise?”

His grin sharpened.

you're not sure how long you've been holding it.

at least two hours you were sure, that was around the last time the suv had pulled up to a rest stop and you swore you would be fine until you got to the hotel. being a bit of a germaphobe made public restrooms not ideal, and you really thought you could hold it.

sat next to johnny, who was between you and bam, every bump made the liquid in your bladder slosh, little whimpers of discomfort passing through gritted teeth. your thighs were rubbing together incessantly and your sweaty palms smoothed over the denim fitted tightly over them.

“so, uh, how much-” a bump, a small whine, “longer did you say it was ‘til we get there?”

from the driver’s seat jeff shot you a glance in the mirror, it having been your third time asking in the last 20 minutes “like- a little less that 30 minutes.”

from your left johnny leans in, words ghosting over your ear in a whisper, “told ya you should've gone back there.” to anyone else it would sound like a normal teasing jab, but nobody else could feel him turn to face you slightly, his hand snaking to rest under the hem of your shirt against your lower belly.

directly over your bladder.

he traces the skin softly for a few seconds, “i can feel how full you are, bet you like it.”

his fingertips dip into the skin slightly, pressing into your abdomen. the sigh that leaves you is heady and flustered- so clearly getting off on his ministrations, he licks his lips, “ya always were a little pervert.”

every gentle knead into the dough of your stomach urged you closer to flooding the leather seat below you. your ankles cross, pressing your thighs together further, hand cramming into the space between your thighs at a desperate attempt to just hold it in.

johnny's hand paws deeper, “filthy little thing, gonna piss all over the seat aren't ya?” he clicks his tongue, "gonna embarrass yourself in front of the guys?" he's demeaning despite being the one pushing you closer and closer to letting go. but you like it, and he can tell, because with every poke and prod and push against you- you're letting out soft little moans just quiet enough that nobody else noticed.

you can't take it much longer and as your mouth opens to ask again, bam shoots daggers into your face from beside johnny, “why didn't you just piss back there? we're not far out, just hold it.”

just hold it, yeah easy for him to say- if any of them had to go they could just pull out a bottle and go. you were trying so hard.

you guessed about 20 more minutes, that's not bad- except johnny is still slowly working on your stomach, pressing short kisses to the side of your head in between the filthiest words.

“if you can't hold it just let go,” your head dips to rest against his shoulder, “you can change when we get there, i don't mind getting wet.”

because surely the leather seats weren't going to let it soak quick enough that the runoff wouldn't soak the side of his thigh. “c’mon,” it's burning now, stuck somewhere between pain and pleasure, “let go for me.”

you feel it, just a small bit leaking past your folds and into your panties, and it takes everything in you to cut it off at just a small leak.

the squeak you let out only makes johnny aware of what’d happened, and when you look up at him pleading your met only with half-lidded eyes and a dazed smile- his free hand runs subtly over the growing erection he'd made a halfhearted attempt to hide.

it continues for what feels like hours, his palm never easing up against you, little spurts coming out against your will. your face is flushed down to your neck, sweating bullets.

by the time you finally see your hotel just a short distance in the horizon, johnny's no longer giving you the reprieve of drawing back and pushing back again- he give one more drawn out, heavy stroke against the bloated part of your belly.

ears ringing and your shoulders fully slumping, johnny wraps an arm around you for support as wet warmth floods the seat below you, the release is near orgasmic and your blissed out simper reaches not just johnny's ears, but bams next to him- whose eyes immediately catch onto the darkened material of your jeans and the small drips of liquid edging over the seat, and are stuck there.

“you're fucking joking,” you can barely open your eyes to meet his dumbfounded expression, half from humiliation and half from the euphoric, blinding pleasure of release flooding through you.

you can't hear him complaining and berating you, drawing everyones attention to your predicament- all groaning and calling you disgusting. jeffs saying something about needing to take the suv to be deep cleaned, rounding toward the entrance of the building.

“please, johnny. c’mon,” big doe eyes peer up into his as you shake his sleeve pathetically, jutting your lip out into a pout as the cherry on top. the bar was hazy with cigarette smoke and the uninhibited chatter of alcoholics and casual drinkers alike. it wasn't unlike the bars you'd typically frequent with the guys after filming, drowning the stunt-induced bruised ribs and scrapes from the day- or in your case, much to your chagrin, picking at bar food and sneaking olives from their drinks.

being the youngest, and the only girl no less, in a group of rowdy older men was usually fun, made you feel special- but being the sole person under the legal drinking age? not so much. johnny turns to you, finally facing your relentless begging and shakes his head with a smirk, and you're almost hopeful he’d give in.

the finger he'd previously been tracing the rim of his glass with was now raised to your lips, poking your bottom one back into place and dissipating your pout into a small frown, “and risk my career? no can-do, sweetheart.”

across the booth, pontius lets out a giggle that is certainly ornery and certainly pointed at you, “you're not winnin’ this one kid.”

you jut your tongue out at him childishly, flicking your middle finger in his direction. he just grasps his chest as he all but doubles over in laughter, already tipsy, and wipes a stray tear- “you wound me.”

you stamp your foot under the table childishly, johnny's smirk sweeps into a full blown grin peering down at you as you attempt to rationalize him buying a 20 year old a drink in a public bar. hands waving in a frenzied fashion, you're near-yelling now, "it's not like i've never drank before! i've been to house parties a-and raided my parents liquor cabi-"

his raucous laugh cuts you off, a heavy calloused hand grasps both your wrists simultaneously and gently lowers them to your lap, “then do that again! s’not happening.”

his attention swiftly turns back toward jeff on the other side of him, further discussing an idea for a stunt. your glower burns holes in the side of his head as you watch him raise his glass to his lips again, as if he were intentionally showboating his ‘over the age of 21’ privilege.

next to you bam flicks your arm with a chuckle, drawing your attention from johnny, “ya only got a few more months, what's the rush?”

at that your eyebrows furrow, and in a last-ditch effort to join in their fun you reach to snatch the beer from his hand, unfortunately unsuccessfully as he pulls it towards his chest, “nuh-uh! someone get the klepto a drink, she's on one.”

of course this pulls johnny’s focus toward him, only long enough to give him a pointed ‘nope,’ seemingly insistent that you suffer in your sober state watching the other guys have their fun; liquor splashing the red pleather table cloth as they nudge each other giddily, swapping appetizers, and comparing bruises with glazed over eyes.

a sigh leaves your lips, eyes drawing to your lap as you pick at loose denim threads on your skirt listlessly. it shouldn't matter so much to you, you know you could always go nuts on the mini bar in your hotel room later on mtv’s dime, but it did.

half listening to chris and steve-o’s tangent about dick-related stunts, your eyes find johnny beside you, slowly crawling over his features; dark, expressive eyes visible with the lack of his signature frames, tongue poking between his teeth as he snorts, somehow charming, at whatever tremaine is saying- you don't hear it, you aren't listening.

how can you when he's so- ugh.

you're less bothered by his stubborn insistence on not letting you drink, but you still desperately wanted it even as the anger ebbs away and is replaced by a subtle heat blooming in its place- deep in your chest.

your soft, manicured hands slowly come to a halt in your lap. the left softly thudding against the booth, resting for only a moment before it starts inching closer to johnny's jean-clad thigh next to you.

this was a bad idea, you knew that.

on one hand, he laughs in your face and pushes you away- humiliating.

on the other, he obliges. but, he's 34. you're only 20. sure your friends wouldn't bat an eye, some of ‘em would probably find it hot- but the media?

what if someone saw you? snapped a picture, sent it off to tmz wrapped in a pretty little bow, and now you're a whore and he's a predator.

even if nothing came of it, even if it stopped at groping your way into a drink.

was it worth it? you chewed your bottom lip in deliberation, scratching at the fabric of the booth seat, before internally shrugging- french-tipped fingers continuing their trek towards johnny's leg.

"blah blah blah bull, blah magicians hat, blah blah milk," you barely catch his sentence, still yapping away to jeff who’d just ordered another round of drinks for the table, as your fingers finally graze the outer sweep of his thigh.

“d’ya want some more fries?” bam nudges your arm, your hand shoots back into your lap and you turn to meet his eyes a little too quickly, a little too nervous.

his forehead creases between his brows, rubbing his hand up and down your arm slightly, “sorry, didn't mean to scare you- you good?”

“yeah, ‘m fine! i’m uh- i’m good on the fries,” he nods suspiciously but is too drunk to dwell on it so his hand slips away from your shoulder and he turns back to ryan.

now feeling more self conscious about your idea, and maybe even slightly more rushed to go through with it, you take a leap and gently place your hand on johnny's thigh.

he turns to you with a sweet, unknowing grin. his hand settles over yours and giving it a small reassuring squeeze before going to turn back to jeff and chris who has now joined their conversation.

except he doesn't get the chance, because the moment his eyes leave yours, your fingers wiggle free of his grasp and travel inward- anchoring on his inner thigh just high enough to not have innocent intentions.

you don't see it but his eyebrows raise before he even moves to face you. when he does, ones cocked slightly higher than the other and an incredulous smirk taking over his lips, “watcha doin’?”

your simper matches his boyish knowing look, eyes trailing up from where you hand meets his thigh to meet his- your thumb does a small stroke against his inseam, “nothin’.”

he hums, gives you a nod that says he doesn't believe you, and brings his glass to his lips with a steady hand.

his eyes never leave yours, adam’s apple bobbing as he finishes the glass and motions to jeff he needs another. and he definitely needed another if his intuition was right about the little game you we're trying to play.

“well,” your fingers tentatively knead into the soft flesh beneath them, “i was just wonderin’ if maybe you'd reconsider buying me that drink?”

the groan that leaves his throat is half disbelief and half something you can't fully place, like maybe he's giving in or maybe he likes it.

what gives him away is the subtle shift of his hips under your touch, trying to push closer or escape? even he wasn't sure.

“and what would make me do that?”

you huff out a sigh as pitiful as you can muster, playing it up as much as you can manage.

though it certainly doesn't feel like an act now.

“dunno, what would make you?” your fingertips edge dangerously close to the teeth of his zipper now, palm hovering over the forming erection he didn't even attempt to hide.

yet despite his obvious arousal, a boyish giggle leaves his lips and you smell the mixture of whiskey and albuterol on his breath as he teases, “you're a little pervert.”

a pretty blonde waitress places a fresh glass in front of him and your hand stutters against him for a moment, palm pressing down into the denim covering his bulge. he smiles unabashedly, staring you down as a small groan slips through his pearly grin and like a switch flipped your desperation for a drink has turned into desperation for him.

and he knows.

he sees it in the way your eyes glaze over, the way your lips part subtly, and the heave of your chest pauses for a moment at the sound.

but instead of giving in to exactly what you now want…

“alright you win,” he takes a quick swig of his drink then turns to jeff, “let me out?”

jeff nods and slides from the booth, drink sloshing in his hand slightly as he stands, and johnny follows suit. clasping his hands together he looks back down at you, at the almost disappointed furrow of your eyebrows despite finally getting what you asked for, and he loves it.

“what’ll it be, little lady?”

when you don't answer, simply staring up at him with a flushed face and a small pout, pontius lightly kicks your under the table giving you a bright smile, his own cheeks flushed from having his fair share of drinks and giggling as he speaks, “tell him what you want, before he changes his mind.”

“something strong.”

he whisks away toward the bar, and you take this moment to attempt to calm your racing heart. you shake your head slightly and pat your face, turning to bam in hopes of fizzling the tension built up in your muscles.

“didja see that? i won,” you fake a giddy clap and he laughs at you, amused by your antics.

he leans his face down to yours, eyes narrowing as he smiles, “i hope he comes back with water.”

you poke him hard in the ribs, earning a yelp, and stick your tongue out at him feeling the heat leave your body and a sense of normalcy coming back to you as you join in on his conversation with ryan and steve-o- picking at the fries in front of him and actually feeling a bit excited about getting that drink now.

when johnny arrives back at the table with your drink, as well as a couple shots so you could play catch-up with the rest of the guys, you down them quickly in attempt to shake off the weight of his eyes on you. his half-hearted conversation with pontius slowly halts as his attention is stuck on you, the shots and half of whatever fruity drink he'd picked out for you quickly hitting you and giving you a delightful buzzy glow.

“so, how's it feel,” you peek up at the sound of his voice, lips wrapped around your straw as you suck down the second half of your mixed beverage, “best you've ever had?”

you snort and smile hazily up at him, humming out what sounded like a ‘yes’, the innuendo striking a chord in your belly- veins thrumming and heart rate picking up a bit again, though not from nerves but arousal this time around.

but insecurity rears its ugly head just as it always does and your smile turns sheepish, setting your drink down you struggle to meet his gaze and your eyes fall to your lap.

you turn slightly in the booth and the words ooze out in a slightly slurred cadence, “johnny, d’ya really tink ‘m just a kid?”

his head bobs side to side in mock consideration and you lightly slap his chest, a genuine smile cracking through your unease, and he laughs, “nah, sweetheart. just think you're still young in all the ways it counts.”

“what's that s’posed to mean,” you absentmindedly lean your shoulder against his, the alcohol slowly turning you more loose and lifted.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head before throwing back the rest of his drink, the glass hitting the table just hard enough to startle you, “well for one, you're a lightweight.”

you slightly sway in your seat, bumping arms with bam who doesn't seem to notice in his drunken stupor, “nuh- hic -uh.”

“oh, uh-huh, kiddo.”

you grimace at the word, “quit callin’ me that.”

body sliding deeper into the booth seat, you glance up at him, “well, where else- hic -does it count?”

he sips the miller lite in his hand that seemingly appeared out of nowhere, “ mm, you can take a bit more than the rest of us, still got the energy for it.”

“pfft, please you guys aren't that old-”

“didn't say we were old-”

“did she call us old?” mock offence is written all over steve-o’s face as he flings a discarded straw in your direction.

“haha, no man-” he shakes his head, “but, not old, just more beat up from doin’ stupid shit longer than you have.”

“alright, well one more?”

his brow raises, “drink? no-”

you cut him off, shaking your head and grabbing his arm, “no another, uh, y’know- plus of me being young.”

resting his elbows on the table, lips pressing to the neck of his beer bottle, he side-eyes you and grins impishly.

your brow raises quizzically, “what?”

he laughs you off, waving his hand, but you catch it in the air and bring it to rest in your lap, “no. what is it?”

leaning in slowly, the look on his face is devilish and enticing all in one, and low enough for only you to hear he sighs, “well, i’m sure you can keep up a bit better im bed than half these fucks,” he uses his bottle to wave haphazardly in the other guys direction.

your face burns hot, and the soft thrum of arousal instantly pools directly into your panties.

a soft “hmm,” is all you can muster as you grab bams unguarded beer from table and take a swig. he's too out of it to notice, yelling at dunn for something you didn't care to listen to.

johnny notices your withdrawal and your shifting thighs against the booth seat and is on your case almost instantly with a short snicker that draws your eyes back to him, “what's with the little shy act?”

the way he leans in closer is almost imperceptible, but you feel his hand land on the soft flesh at the hem of your skirt and squeeze, “you’ve never been one to back down from something you want.”

his hand slides up the meat of your thigh, fingers grazing so close to where you needed him and you're sure if anyone cared enough to look in your direction- or were sober enough to notice, they'd see you flushed and sweating like a whore in church.

the tips of his fingers meet the edge of your panties under your skirt and your hands shoot down to grip his wrist, not moving him particularly closer or further away, and your eyes quickly scan the other guys all lost in their own worlds apart from jeff who’d been in the bathroom for so long now you're pretty sure he retired back to the hotel for the night.

“or am i reading this wrong?” he goes to move his hand back a few inches and your unrelenting grip gives him his answer, pulling his fingers back toward where you needed them. they trace small circles at the edge of the lacy fabric of your underwear, your head dipping towards his chest in anticipation and need.

he gets the message and wraps his free arm around your shoulders, his fingers venturing further toward your heat and you grind forward softly as he finally makes contact through the material, “johnny, please.”

shushing your sweet whimper of his name, his thumb presses firmer against the damp fabric, clicking his tongue when he finds you're already nice and wet for him.

the bar still buzzes around you, your own group only becoming more raucous and unruly, the thumping beat of some rock ballad droning on in the background but all you can focus on is the steady pace johnny has set on your clit.

feeling your slick pooling, coating his fingers through the fabric you let out a dry huff and johnny chuckles lowly into your ear. you can't help the involuntary push against his hand that slowly becomes more and more apparent as you teeter closer to the edge.

johnny pauses to push your panties to the side and you nearly whine at the loss of contact before you feel his fingers glide through your folds and sink into your waiting hole.

the low groan that leaves him at the wet warmth is near-pornographic, and you’re having trouble holding back the sweet mewls and murmurs of his name.

“johnny, more,” you keen, “please, more.”

much to your disdain, his fingers sink into you only one more time before he pulls away completely save for the arm wrapped around you.

“no, john-”

your complaint is cut short as you watch his mouth sheathe the fingers that were just inside of you, sucking them clean and popping his lips off with a face so full of satisfaction you aren't sure if you want to punch him or pull his dick oit of his pants and ride him right there.

“you're much too vocal to be an exhibitionist, princess,” he reache down only to pull your underwear back over your exposed center, patting it softly once he's done- your hips bucking at the brief contact.

though the man was a sadist, he couldn't torture you for too long and nodded his head toward the entrance of the bar, “lemme go pay my tab and we can, uh, finish this up in the privacy of my hotel room,” he winks and at your emphatic nod, helps you to stand and pulls you toward the bar without so much as a goodbye to your inebriated friends.

he makes quick work of sliding his card into the reader and hastily pulls you toward the front of the bar and out the doors.

the ride back is hell.

tension so thick you could slice through it like a hot knife in butter, a throbbing erection on his part, and a soaked passenger seat on yours. you could only rock against the seat to keep some semblance of sanity. when he noticed your desperate ministrations, his foot hit the gas like lead- his hand kneading his cock through his jeans, struggling to keep his eyes on the road.

reaching your room, the only room not shared between groups of two mtv was willing to pay for, was a god-send.

jamming the key into the slot at least four times before the door finally unlocked, you pushed through the door and barely made it three steps inside before johnny's mouth was on yours. tongue gliding over your teeth and tangling with your own as he walked you backwards toward the bed.

the back of your knees meet the mattress and you're all but knocked back onto the cushy white sheets, johnny only pausing your heated makeout for a moment to look down at you- eyes raking across every inch of your unfortunately still-clothed body.

“fuck,” you were so young, all smooth skin and soft plush places to grab onto and squeeze.

you’d be the picture of innocence to him if it weren't for the stunt you’d pulled at the bar and the gentle sway of your knees from intoxication.

hands settle on your waist, and you lift your hips in anticipation of being undressed, but he just pushes you back down- his palms sweep over the exposed skin of your waist where your shirt rode up, then slide down over the denim of your skirt to your supple thighs all while you just watch him growing hotter by the second

he squishes the pliant fat, watching it mold between his fingers, before working his hands down over your calves and to your ankles.

“you're so pretty for me like this,” he delicately raises one of your ankles to his lips, ghosting soft kisses from the sole of your foot, over your calf, and up to your knee.

you giggle blearily, his breath tickling against your skin, though you love the attention you’re growing restless. your own hand carefully slides down your stomach, popping the button of your skirt and pushing your hand under the waistband.

johnny just watches, your ankle still rested on his shoulder, as you clumsily grind yourself up against your hand- soft, unsatisfied pants slipping from your mouth. your eyes say what your voice cant manage- pleading with him to give you more.

he finally comes to hover over you, chest pressing against yours as he wraps a hand around your wrist and removes it from your pants, pressing it into the bed above you. with his free hand, he tugs on the bottom of your skirt.

“lift up for me,” his fingers free your wrist, moving to assist his other hand to pull your skirt from your hips, and tosses them along with your underwear to the floor aimlessly.

after stripping you down completely, he rids himself of his own jeans and whatever choice of graphic tee he’d worn that day, leaving him in only his boxers.

he grasps at your hips again, squeezing and prodding his fingers into the soft weight, pulling you toward his body.

he lets out a low grunt as he grinds his clothed shaft through your folds, rutting softly and pressing into your clit in a way thats euphoric.

your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself despite being on your back, “johnny, need you,” you simper, “no more teasing, i need you.”

your eyes are glossy with tears, and your hips frantically move up to meet his. you look pathetic and beautiful and so perfect.

he eyes you like prey, a dull softness likened to affection muddled with sheer need in his dark irises. unrelenting, he keeps his hips paced against yours in a slow grind.

“beg.”

shockwaves shoot through your veins, groin rising to meet his as he finally pulls back making you cry out in defiance. you had never been more desperate, your arousal reaching a clawing, insatiable precipice.

“i said beg,” he snides, “beg for my cock,” his mouth had turned filthy and greedy, ploying with your aching desperation for his own entertainment and pleasure.

“please, johnny,” you hips rear upward again, yearning for his touch, “please, please fuck me.”

tears stream from the corners of your eyes, his thumb swiping over one- sucking it into his mouth, chest rumbling at the salt of your need. his hands finally push the low-slung elastic of his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free against his abdomen.

it was solid, the head ruddy and leaky and so enticing you felt drool flooding your mouth.

with a few firm strokes he presses the head through your lips, slipping through your folds and skimming over your clit. he has to hold your shuddering hips still when he finally breaches your hole. so tight and warm and sucking him in he nearly collapses over you.

you can't help the sounds leaving your lips as he sheathes himself, filling you so perfectly as his head presses slowly into that spongy spot deep inside.

“oh, god,” your words come out ragged, grasping his wrist and pulling it up to your breast, he kneads at the flesh as he finally feels confident enough to move without immediately cumming deep in your guts.

his thrusts are fervent as he continues prodding the meat of your tit, hunching to meet your collarbone with his lips, leaving a slimy trail of opened mouth kisses up your next and to the side of your face- his breath hot in your ear.

over and over and over again he pushes into you, ushering closer to your climax but not close enough for how hard he's trying to hold back his own. his fingers trail down your belly, dipping at your navel, and pushing past your folds to meet your throbbing clit.

“fuck, please, ‘m so close johnny,” your chest sweels with every ragged breath, thighs tremoring with every buck of his hips and tentative circle of his fingers over your clit.

pleasure meets pain as you feel your muscles tighten around him, the overwhelming stimulation burning and throbbing as your slick spills out around his cock.

“let go, i’m right there with you,” his surges become sloppy, his strokes undignified, white-hot pleasure comes to a head as your orgasm shatters through you. hot spurts of liquid splash against johnny's abdomen as he rocks into you, groaning at the feeling.

when your moans turned to pained whines at the overstimulation, johnny pulls out of you and strokes himself frantically- his groans halting and turning to whimpers as he fucks into his own hand once, twice, then coats your belly in thick white ropes.

he crumples over you, head resting against your chest and your fingers instinctively come to run through his hair- further mussing up the gelled style, though neither of you could even begin to care how you looked in this moment.

your eyes cracked open as he slowly moves to lay beside you, turning you towards himself so your cheek presses against his chest.

he presses soft kisses to the top of your head, breathing in your scent, fingers ghosting up and down your spine.

you're beyond sober at this point, insecurity rushing back to you about what you’d just done. about how he wouldn't think about this nearly as deeply as you. how he thought you were still so young and how he'd surely never take you seriously.

“quit thinking so hard, you're giving me a headache,” he dips his head down, pulling your face by your chin when your eyes wouldn't meet his, “‘m not going anywhere tonight, we can talk in the morning- just rest. you need it.”

"That doesn't mean he knows, sweetheart."

"He's your best friend, Johnny. He knows you. He knows me. If he puts it together-" I stopped, pressing my palms flat against the table to keep my hands from shaking. "He'd flip. It would ruin your life and mine."

Johnny picked up his fork again. Took another bite of spaghetti. Chewed slowly, deliberately, like I hadn't just laid our whole world on the table between the salt shaker and the pepper mill.

And then he didn't say anything.

I waited. The clock on the microwave ticked over. 7:42. 7:43. He kept eating, methodical, clearing his plate the way he always did, like a man who'd learned the hard way that meals weren't guaranteed.

"Johnny?"

"Let's finish dinner first, baby."

So I sat there while he finished his spaghetti. Drank the last of his water. Wiped his mouth with a napkin. Stood up and carried both our plates to the sink, rinsing them even though we had a dishwasher, running his hands under the water for a long moment before turning off the tap.

I followed him upstairs, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. He went into the bathroom first, and I heard the sink run again, heard him splashing water on his face. When he came out, his hair was damp at the temples, and his eyes had that look, the one that made my stomach drop, and my thighs press together at the same time.

He walked past me into the bedroom. Didn't turn on the overhead light, just the lamp on the nightstand, casting everything in warm gold.

"Sit down, darlin'."

I sat on the edge of the bed. He stood in front of me, looking down, and the silence stretched long enough that I started to fidget with the hem of my shirt.

"You think I don't know what's at stake?"

His voice was low. Rough. The kind of rough that came from something deeper than his throat.

"I think about it every time I touch you. Every time I'm inside you. Every time I watch you fall asleep on my chest, and I wonder if this is the night your dad shows up with a shotgun." He crouched down in front of me, hands landing on my knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles through my jeans. "You think I don't know I could lose everything? My best friend. My reputation. My goddamn life if he takes it that far."

"Then why continue this?"

"Because I can't stop." His hands slid up my thighs, gripping, pulling me forward on the bed until I was right at the edge. "I've tried, baby. Lord knows I've tried. I've told myself a hundred times this is wrong, she's off limits, she's your best friend's little girl. And then you look at me with those eyes, and I forget every single reason I had to stay away."

He stood up, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one motion. The lamp light caught the lines of his chest, the hair trailing down his stomach, the waistband of his jeans sitting low on his hips.

"Get undressed."

Two words. I listened.

I fumbled with my shirt buttons. My hands weren't working right, and he watched me struggle for a couple of seconds before he knelt on the bed and batted my hands away, working each button loose himself. Slow. Deliberate. His knuckles brushed my stomach with every button he freed, and by the time he reached the last one, I was holding my breath.

He pushed the shirt off my shoulders. Trailed his fingers down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my jeans and tugged, and I lifted my hips without being asked, letting him peel them down my legs along with my panties.

He sat back on his heels, looking at me. Just looking. My skin flushed under the weight of his gaze.

"You have no idea what you do to me." He said. "Walking around this house in my shirts. Biting your lip when you're reading on the couch. Falling asleep with your head in my lap during movies." He shook his head slowly. "And I'm supposed to just... stop? Because someone might find out?"

He leaned forward, hands planting on either side of my thighs, caging me in. His mouth hovered over mine, not quite touching.

"I'd burn this whole life down for you, y/n. You know that?"

I kissed him before he could say anything else. Hard and desperate, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until there wasn't any space left between us. He groaned against my mouth and pushed me back onto the mattress, his body covering mine, all that heat and weight pressing me into the sheets.

Something about him not caring made me want him even more.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, chest heaving, eyes dark.

"I'm not letting you go. I don't care who finds out. I don't care what happens."

"Okay."

"I love you."

The words hit me square in the chest. He looked almost surprised he'd said them, like they'd slipped out without permission, but he didn't take them back. Just held my gaze, waiting.

"I love you too." The words came out with more emotion then they ever have before. I was scared of losing him. I was terrified my father would find out and I would never see Johnny again. There was also a hint of lust finding behind the words. I needed him right that moment.

His mouth found mine again, slower this time, like he was memorizing the shape of it. His hand slid down my side, over my hip, between my legs. Two fingers sliding through my slick folds, gathering the wetness I'd been holding since the moment he'd said let's finish dinner first.

"Jesus, baby." His voice cracked. "You're already soaked."

"I've been thinking about it all night," I admitted, heat flooding my cheeks. "While you were eating. While I was watching your hands. I kept thinking about what you'd do when we got up here."

"Yeah?" He pushed one finger inside me, and I gasped, my back arching off the bed. "What was I doing?"

"Touching me. Like this."

He added a second finger, stretching me, curling until he found the spot that made my vision go white. I cried out, grabbing at his shoulders, and he smiled against my neck.

"Good guess."

He worked me open slow, watching my face the whole time, reading every flutter of my eyelids and every bitten-off moan. His thumb found my clit and pressed, circling, and I was already so close I could feel it building behind my ribs.

"Johnny-"

"I know, baby. I know." He didn't speed up. Didn't change a thing. Just kept that same torturous rhythm until I was trembling, until I was begging, until I was right there on the edge.

And then he stopped.

I made a sound that was half-protest, half-sob, and he laughed softly, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. His eyes never left mine as he licked them clean.

"Want to taste you proper first."

He didn't give me time to argue. He was already gone, sliding down the bed, positioning himself between my thighs. His breath was hot against my core, and I propped myself up on my elbows to watch, needing to see it.

He looked up at me once. Just once. And then his mouth was on me, and I forgot how to think.

His tongue was broad and flat at first, dragging from my entrance to my clit in one long, unhurried stroke. I fell back onto the mattress, both hands fisting in his hair, and he groaned against me like I was the best thing he'd ever tasted. The vibration traveled straight through my clit, and I bucked against his mouth, chasing it.

"That's it, baby. Ride my face."

His words were slurred against my skin, barely intelligible, and the filth of it, the casual demand, sent a fresh wave of slick dripping onto his tongue. He lapped it up like a man starved, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks to my clit that had me seeing stars.

He wrapped his lips around my clit and sucked, and I screamed.

Not loud; I caught it in my throat, turned it into a ragged gasp. But the sound still bounced off the walls, and I still couldn't shake off the fear of someone finding out about this.

Then Johnny slid two fingers back inside me, crooked them just right, and I stopped thinking entirely.

The orgasm hit me like a freight train. One second I was climbing, the next I was falling apart, my body convulsing against his mouth while he kept licking, kept sucking, kept pushing me through it until I had to push his head away because I couldn't take anymore.

He surfaced grinning, chin wet, eyes blazing.

"That's my good girl."

I was still panting, still trembling, when he crawled up my body. His jeans were gone. I didn't remember when that happened, and his cock pressed against my thigh, hot and hard and leaking. He lined himself up, the tip nudging at my entrance, and I could feel how much I needed him, how empty I was without him inside me.

"Look at me."

I did.

"I love you." He pushed in, just the head, and we both gasped. "I love you so fucking much."

He sank into me in one slow, aching thrust, and I felt every inch. The stretch. The burn. The way my body opened for him like it had been waiting its whole life.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust. His forehead dropped to mine, and we breathed the same air, sweaty and desperate and so tangled up in each other that I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.

"Don't stop," I whispered. "Don't ever stop."

He answered by pulling out and slamming back in, and the sound I made wasn't human. It was something raw and broken, the sound of a girl who'd found exactly what she was afraid to need.

He fucked me like he was trying to brand himself on my insides. Hard and deep and relentless, every thrust pushing me further up the bed until I had to brace my hands against the headboard. His hand found my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, and I moaned at the weight of it.

"You're mine." He said it between thrusts, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips. "You understand me, y/n? I don't give a shit who finds out. I don't give a shit if your dad shows up at this door right now. You're mine, and I'm not letting you go."

"Yes! fuck, yes!"

He shifted angles, and the head of his cock hit that spot inside me that made my vision tunnel. I came again, sudden and violent, my walls clenching around him so hard he swore and dropped his forehead to my shoulder.

"Fuck, baby-"

He kept thrusting through it, chasing his own release, and I was so sensitive I could barely breathe. Every movement sent sparks through my nerves. Every drag of his cock against my oversensitive walls made me whimper.

He pulled out right at the end, stroking himself twice before coming across my stomach. Hot ropes of cum painted my skin, and the sight of it, him above me, face twisted in pleasure, marking me, made me feel like I was floating.

He collapsed beside me, chest heaving, one arm thrown over his eyes. We lay there in silence, catching our breath, the lamp casting our tangled shadows across the wall.

After a long minute, he rolled onto his side and traced a line through the cum on my stomach with his fingertip.

"Told you I'd take care of you."

"We'll figure this out," he said quietly. "I don't have a plan yet, but I know I'm not doing this without you."

"Promise?"

He pulled me into his chest, and I went willingly, pressing my ear to his heartbeat.