#gary johnson

The ride back from dinner had been quiet, but not the comfortable kind. You could feel the weight of unspoken things sitting between you in the car, as if every stoplight stretched the silence longer. Gary kept one hand steady on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes forward. 

You figured it was just a spillover from his day. Gary had wrapped up another case earlier that afternoon, and you knew those always took something out of him. Slipping in and out of personas, especially Ron, couldn’t be easy.

So you didn’t press when he drove in silence, one hand steady on the wheel, jaw set. You assumed he was still half lost in that world, shaking off Ron’s tailored swagger and sliding back into Gary’s gentler skin.

But the longer it went, the more you noticed what wasn’t there. He wasn’t worn down and didn’t seem tired. He seemed…charged.

By the time you both stepped into your apartment, the static of it clung to the air. You slipped off your shoes, tossed your bag onto the counter, and finally broke the silence.

“I’m going to miss him, you know,” you said, glancing back with a wry smile. You thought maybe you could get Gary out of whatever funk this was by distracting him.

That pulled his eyes up from where he leaned against the doorframe. “Miss who?”

“Ron.” You tried to keep your tone light. “That ridiculous confidence. The hair. The whole ‘I could ruin your life and you’d thank me for it’ energy. Kind of hot, actually.”

That earned you a look. Not Gary’s usual soft, amused smile. This was sharper, heavier, almost daring. He shifted, bracing a shoulder against the wall with the kind of lazy posture that wasn’t accidental at all.

“You think that was just Ron?” he asked, voice lower than usual, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“I mean…yeah,” you admitted, laughing lightly to cover the sudden heat creeping up your neck. “That’s the job, right? You put on the mask, you play the role. Ron’s this whole…confident, charming, dangerous thing. And you’re–”

“Not that.” He finished for you.

“Gary,” you said, softer now, crossing your arms even as if to anchor yourself. “I love you. You. The man who grades papers at the kitchen table and makes coffee too strong and double checks every lock before bed. That’s the man I’m with.”

His eyes softened at that, but the stance didn’t falter. He looked like Ron soaking up a compliment, waiting for the rest.

“But,” you added, shifting your weight, “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t…kind of hot, watching you be so sure of yourself. No hesitations, no second guessing. Just…you, owning the room.”

The silence stretched, heavy and alive. Finally, Gary tilted his head, that slow smile spreading across his face. 

“So you want me to be more like him.”

“No,” you said quickly, though your voice wavered. “I don’t want Ron. I want Gary. But…” Your breath caught as his gaze sharpened. “I wouldn’t mind if Gary borrowed a little of Ron’s confidence now and then.”

He pushed off the wall then, just a step closer, and the air shifted with him. The casual lean, the measured pace, the way his eyes never left yours. It was all Ron’s confidence layered over Gary’s warmth.

“Maybe that wasn’t Ron,” he murmured. “Maybe that’s me when I stop holding back.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you realized you weren’t entirely sure anymore where Gary ended and Ron began.

“Gary…” you warned, though your voice didn’t sound as steady as you meant it to.

He smiled at that, the kind that wasn’t entirely Gary’s usual shy grin. This one was sharper, edged with amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You like this,” he said simply.

Your brows lifted. “What?”

“The way I look at you. The way I stand here.” He gestured vaguely to his posture, his smirk deepening. “Confident. Sure of myself. You said it was hot.”

Your pulse jumped. “I didn’t say it like that.”

“Yes, you did.” He closed another fraction of space, until you could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand lifted, brushing along the edge of your jaw, fingers tracing featherlight down your throat. “You like the game of it. The teasing.”

You swallowed hard, fighting to hold his gaze. “Maybe I do. Doesn’t mean you have to use it against me.”

“Against you?” His thumb paused at the hollow of your throat, pressing just enough to make you aware of his touch. “No. For you.”

The line landed with more weight than you expected. A promise disguised as a tease.

You tried for levity, though your voice came out thin. “So this is what I’m signing up for? You bringing Ron home with you?”

“Not Ron,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Just me.”

He leaned in then, close enough that his breath brushed your ear. He didn’t kiss you. Of course he didn’t. He hovered just shy, dragging it out like he wanted to prove his point.

You exhaled, shaky. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”

The smirk was pure Ron, but the warmth in his gaze was all Gary, and that combination sent heat racing under your skin.

Your hand lifted, fingers curling lightly into the front of his shirt, grounding yourself. “You know this is cruel, right?”

“Not cruel.” He bent closer again, lips a breath away. “Careful.”

Finally he leaned in and kissed you. Slow at first. Almost tender. His mouth brushed yours once, twice, and then deeper, pulling a low sound out of you before you could stop it.

Your fingers clenched the front of his shirt, leaning into him, ready to pull him closer. But just when you though you had him, he pulled back. Not far. Enough to make you chase the taste of him though.

Your lips parted in protest. “Gary–”

“Mm,” he cut in, eyes gleaming. “Not yet.”

Your pulse skittered. “Not yet?”

He tilted his head, his hand sliding to the small of your back, keeping you pinned close. His voice dropped lower, velvety, deliberate. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about you?” His thumb traced lazy circles at your hip. “How many ways I could touch you…where I’d start…where I’d finish?”

Your throat went dry. “You’re just saying that.”

“Am I?” His smirk curved wicked, and he leaned to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I could lay you down right here on the counter, make you beg before I ever let you come. Or–” His lips brushed just under your jaw, the faintest scrape of teeth that made your knees wobble. “--I could pin you against this wall, fuck you slow until you can’t remember your own name.”

A shiver ripped down your spine. He hadn’t even touched you anywhere indecent, but his words painted it too vividly, heat pooling low in your stomach.

You clutched at him, tried to close the distance, but again he drew back, just enough to make you ache.

“Gary,” you warned, breathless.

“Yeah? You like when I talk like this?” His lips hovered just above yours. Teasing and tormenting. “Tell me you don’t want it. Tell me you don’t want me like that?”

Your hands slip up his chest, grounding yourself. He was grinning. Damn him. He loved watching you unravel without really even having to touch you.

“Stop teasing me,” you breathed, voice sharp with frustration, “and do it.”

The smirk that appeared on his face when you said it was nothing short of wicked. He didn’t hesitate this time. Didn’t tease. Didn’t hover. He surged forward, pressing his mouth to yours, hard and deep. The sudden force of it stole your breath. His hand clamped at your waist, tugging you flush against him, while the other slid up into your hair, gripping just enough to tilt your head back. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, tongue sliding into your mouth with a hunger that was all heat, all command.

It wasn’t Ron. Not really. Ron was an act. This…this was Gary. Just Gary without brakes. Unmasked and unrestrained. A man who’d spent too long second guessing himself and had finally decided not to anymore.

Your hands curled at his shoulders, clinging, because the way he kissed you, like he owned the air you breathed, was intoxicating. This wasn’t a role he’d picked up for work. This was something buried in him all along, waiting for the right words to drag it out.

His lips tore from yours only to find your throat. Hot, open mouthed kisses trailed down your neck, sucking gently at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You gasped again, the sound spilling free without your permission, and that seemed to please him. His grip on your hair tightened, holding you in place while his mouth worked lower.

“Gary–” you managed, but the rest dissolved in a broken moan when he bit just hard enough to make you shiver.

Then his hand left your waist, sliding down, gripping firmly at the back of your thigh. Before you could process it, he lifted, setting you on the counter in one seamless motion. The cold surface shocked your skin through your clothes, and you let out a surprised sound, half laugh, half gasp.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough. “That’s what I want to hear.”

And then his mouth was on you again, trailing kisses down the line of your throat, tasting every inch he could reach while his body pressed tight between your knees, anchoring you to the spot.

His mouth left your throat only long enough for his hand to find the zipper at the back of your dress. A sharp tug, and the sound of it sliding down made your stomach flip. He eased the straps off your shoulders, tugging the neckline lower until the fabric bunched around your midsection.

“God…” he murmured, lips dragging down your chest, hot and insistent. 

He lingered at the curve where your dress still covered, kissing along the swell of your breasts where the cups didn’t hide skin. When you arched into him, he rewarded you with a scrape of teeth and a low hum that vibrated against your sternum.

Then he moved lower, his mouth trailed down your ribs as his hands tugged the fabric further. The dress slipped down your hips, and he pulled back just far enough to murmur, voice husky, “Lift for me.”

You obeyed without thought, lifting your hips, and he slid the dress away in one smooth pull, discarding it somewhere unseen. His hands caught at the band of your panties next, and in the same breath, those too were gone, leaving you bare and spread across the counter with his gaze devouring you.

“Perfect,” he said simply, and then he was on his knees in front of you.

Your breath stuttered as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, his grip steady as he leaned in. He didn’t rush. Of course he didn’t. His lips pressed hot, lingering kisses along your stomach, then lower, tracing the line of your hips. Down your thighs, the slow burn of anticipation leaving you trembling before he’d even touched where you needed him most.

When his mouth finally reached the inside of your thigh, you gasped. Half at the heat of his lips, half at the rough scrape of stubble against the delicate skin. He lingered there, teasing you with kisses just shy of where you ached, until you squirmed.

“Patience,” he murmured against your skin, the word a tease and a command all at once.

Then his tongue flicked, just once, against your clit. You jolted, a broken sound leaving your lips. He took his time with it. Long, languid strokes up and down, then a side to side motion that had your thighs trembling. Circles came next, slow, steady, until you were gasping for air.

But Gary wasn’t just about your clit. He spread his attention everywhere. Soft kisses against your labia, tongue swirling around your entrance, even a brush lower, where the pressure made you keen. Every movement of his mouth felt deliberate, a map he knew by heart, and all the while his nose pressed just enough against you to add that extra edge.

You were already close when he slid one finger inside, curling it expertly as his mouth worked above. When he eased a second in, your head tipped back, a sharp moan spilling free. His fingers pressed, curved, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

“Gary,” you gasped, hips bucking, but his arms slid up, wrapping firmly around your thighs, holding you open and still against his mouth.

You tried to fight the rising wave, tried to hold on, but there was no chance. not with his tongue flicking your clit relentlessly. The rough scrape of stubble, the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his grip, it was all too much.

Your climax crashed over you, hard and sudden, a cry tearing from your throat as your body clenched helplessly around his fingers. He didn’t let up, not until you sagged against the counter, shuddering and breathless, your thighs trembling against his hold.

And when he finally looked up at you, lips glistening, eyes burning with pride and hunger, he smirked like a man who knew he’d only just gotten started.

Gary rose from the floor in one fluid motion, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His lips glistened, his stubble damp, his expression nothing short of feral satisfaction.

He didn’t give you a chance to recover. His voice came low, rough: “Take off my belt.”

Your breath caught, but you slid from the counter on shaky legs, obeying. Your fingers fumbled at the buckle, nerves shot and body still trembling from the orgasm he’d just pulled out of you. The metal clicked open under your hands.

“Now the jeans.” He murmured, watching you closely.

You popped the button, tugged the zipper down, and eased the denim over his hips. The heavy fabric pooled at his ankles, and he stepped out of it with calm precision, never breaking your gaze.

Before you could catch your breath, his hands were at your thighs, lifting you with effortless strength. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist. He groaned at the feel of you clinging to him, then reached down, shoving his boxer briefs low until his cock sprang free, hard and heavy against your bare skin.

Your back hit the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. The impact made you gasp, but his mouth was on yours in the same heartbeat. Hot, claiming, swallowing every sound you made.

“Yeah,” he rasped, pulling back just enough before sliding in again, deeper this time. His forehead dropped to yours, sweat slick at his temple. “I told you…I’d pin you here…make you forget everything else.”

His pace was deliberate, torturously slow. Each thrust drove you higher, his grip on your thighs tightening to hold you in place. You whimpered, trying to move faster, but he pinned you firmly, controlling every inch of your body with his own.

“Look at you,” he groaned, watching your face twist with pleasure, your lips parted around broken sounds. “Already so gone for me.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked moan. Your head tipped back against the wall, the rhythm of his body dragging wave after wave of heat through you.

“That’s it,” Gary whispered, voice thick, the words brushing your ear. “Don’t fight it. Just let me fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.”

His thrusts grew heavier, deeper, each one grinding perfectly against the spot that made you keen. His lips found your throat again, biting, sucking, marking you while your body clenched tighter around him with every stroke.

The pressure built fast, overwhelming, every muscle trembling. Your nails scraped down his back, your cries filling the room as the world narrowed to nothing but the feel of him.

And when you came again, body clenching and voice breaking, it was with his name on your lips, your mind stripped clean of anything else.

Gary followed you over the edge, holding you pinned against the wall, his low groan muffled against your neck as he spilled into you, thrusts slowing.

You stayed there for a moment, bodies pressed together, your legs still tight around his waist. Your head dropped to his shoulder, every muscle trembling with the aftershocks. Gary didn’t move right away. He just held you, his hand splayed across your back, steadying you as if he knew you’d need the anchor.

Gary took a few steps and set you gently back on the counter. The cool surface pressed against your skin, grounding you. He stood between your knees for a moment, thumb brushing along your thigh as he looked at you.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse but careful now, the edge gone, replaced by the softness you knew so well.

You nodded, but your throat was dry, your voice a whisper. “Y-yeah.”

A smile flickered across his face. Not Ron’s cocky smirk, but Gary’s warm and genuine smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Stay here,” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair back from your face. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before slipping away.

You listened to his footsteps, the sound of the fridge opening, the faint clink of glass. When he came back, he handed you a bottle of water. “Drink.”

You took it, sipping gratefully, watching him as he settled beside you on the counter’s edge. His arm slid around your waist automatically, tugging you closer until your head rested on his shoulder.

After a while, you tilted your head up, studying him. “So…that’s what happens when you stop holding back.”

His mouth twitched, a flash of that same dangerous smirk returning for just a second. “Told you I could be more like Ron.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “No. That wasn’t Ron.” You traced your fingers along his arm, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. “That was you.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he leaned down, kissing you soft. Softer than he’d been all night, more like a promise than a claim.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Guess you’re stuck with both sides of me now.”

You laughed, tired but light, your fingers curling into his shirt. “I think I can handle that.”

His hand rubbed slow circles against your back, and you felt the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. The storm of him had passed, leaving only warmth in its wake.