love is alright

it's not question, it's not up for debate, and even if it were, you don't think you would go against him.

that's the thing about you and johnny. you could pretend to not like him as much as you wanted. you could avoid this shed and your closest friends to try and push down your feelings for him. but you always ended up right where you belong, pressed up against him as a slower, more sensual song roars throughout the small space.

with johnny, there's a discordance to the way you move together. his hips move right, and yours hesitate before moving left. not because he's an incompetent leader, but because you don't want to follow. you resist and resist and resist, because it gets him here. flaring his nostrils and glaring down at you, shaking the sweat-soaked strands of chestnut out of his face and moving so close that the tip of his nose bumps against yours.

"stop," he tells you. he doesn't have to yell over the music, not only because of his vicinity but because you know what his line is. he didn't even need to say it. this right here is a routine in and of itself, one you know as well as you can merengue.

you don't say anything. your lips tug up and your hands dangle from his neck. his arm around your waist hooks you tighter, he pulls you closer, he moves you both slower. and you can feel so much.

the muscles of his thigh confined in his slacks pressing against your bare leg under your dress. the taunt feeling of his abs pressed against your abdomen. his cock, poorly concealed beneath the unforgiving material of his pants, probing at your hip.

in a swift movement he sinks down, palms gliding along your body and taking in copious amounts of handfuls. his lips brush against your knee, and you assume it to be accidental. nothing but a light touch that wasn't intended to make your head spin, but it does. that's until he keeps his lips there, sticks his tongue out just enough, and glides back up with a warm and wet patch in his wake. your dress has already been ridden up from your grinding, which gives johnny easy access to slip his head underneath and continue his path until he settles on the edge of your bottoms, right beside where you want him most.

it really isn't any surprise when the song ends and johnny has your hand in his, pulling you away from the crowd which cheers as another song—a crowd favorite as it appears—gears up.

outside, the weather isn't much better. hot in the same ways the shed were, but the breeze gently blowing across your stripped body is severely appreciated. you need as much cold as you could get right now, or else you might collapse and ruin a moment that has finally came to fruition.

johnny is in a position similar to before—kneeled in front of you, his head beneath your dress, but nothing is stopping him now. under the light fabric, you're bare. above it too. the straps of your dress have been long pulled down by johnny's overeager hands, even if you don't understand why it's necessary for your tits to greet the night. not when his eyes and hands and lips are all down south.

his lips part as his tongue works you in ways you wouldn't have expected from him. johnny is messy. he licks and slurps and sometimes pulls back to spit on your cunt, only to flatten his tongue out and clean up his work. through the wall pressing against your back you can hear another track playing, one of your personal favorites, and you almost whine for johnny to hurry up and make you cum so you can go back inside. almost.

johnny moves a little lower, he throws your leg over his shoulder, and he sticks his rounded tongue into your entrance and jesus, how could you ever even consider rushing an artist when he's so devoted to his craft?

you lift your dress with one hand, keeping it bunched against your waist while your other hand pushes through johnny's hair. he's let it grow out a bit, and you don't fail to notice how it's the perfect length for this. your fingers easily curl around the strands and you pull him closer to you, moaning when his nose bumps against your clit just right. you expect him to chastise you for trying to control him, just like he did earlier in the night. but he doesn't do anything other than wrap his hand around the knee that dangles on his shoulder and continue his work with more vigor, if even possible.

it doesn't take much longer for you to cum. not when you've been specifically holding out in hopes that something even similar to this, with him and only him, would happen this summer. when you do cum, your legs shaking and the heel of your foot digging into the center of johnny's back, he helps you through it. he leads you, just the same as he does when you're dancing together. he doesn't stop and just when you think he won't stop at all, he does.

he stands, stares at you long enough for you to notice the glisten on his pretty lips and along his chin, and then he kisses you. his lips move along your mouth the same way they did on your cunt.

he presses his tongue into your mouth, gliding it along yours, letting you taste yourself and the flavor isn't unenjoyable when it's coming from him. he pulls back, his nose bumping against yours again as you breathe together.

he gears up to say something, probably something smug if the look in his eye is any indicator, but he's interrupted by the clear sound of music and two voices, one distinct and the other unrecognizable.

johnny presses his lips to yours one final time, this kiss much softer and leaving more to the imagination, and then he realigns your underwear, pulls your dress down, and puts his hand in yours.