Hot as a fever, Rattlin' Bones
A/N - This is so heinously self-indulgent, but it got in my brain and I couldn't get it out. These are the ramblings of a madman. This scratched the same itch in my brain as writing a 10 page research paper in 3 hours. - Tequila
NSFW ---------- MDNI ---------- 18+
She should have known better when he said he would be nice, that he would control the flames that are constantly broiling under his skin. They’d known each other since they were kids, he’d been reckless before the cosmic storm, before he could light himself on fire and walk away. Now that he considers himself practically invincible, knows that all of his closest friends are as well? She really should have known better.
It was only a matter of time before they fell into bed together. It’s impossible to place what has kept them apart. Maybe it’s fear of hurting each other, of ruining a friendship. Maybe they’re scared that it will work out, that it will end well. Whatever it was became obsolete after Galactus almost destroyed earth. All of the worry, all of the fear about the unknown paled in comparison to never knowing. To dying without knowing what their hands felt like on each other, without knowing what it would be like to love each other wholly and completely. So it really was no surprise when not even a week after Galactus was defeated she found herself pushed against the wall of his room.
She has lost track of how long she's been pressed to the wall, his body unnaturally hot against hers, his mouth working his way from her mouth to her collarbone just come back up again. When he pulls back to take a breath, to simply stare at her swollen lips and messed up hair, she can think clearly just long enough to mentally thank Reed for soundproofing the entire Baxter building and every room in it. She absolutely does not want her friends hearing the noises she is sure to be making tonight.
“Maybe we should take this to the bed.” His voice is little more than a low growl pressed against her skin. It kills her to know she affects him this way, that just having his mouth on her has made him sound this wrecked. Her hands are in his hair before she can stop herself, pulling his face to hers and slamming their lips together. His hands run down her body, the heat causing her to shiver before he grabs the backs of her thighs and lifts her until her legs wrap around his waist. She’s too focused on the feeling of his mouth on hers to notice they are moving until he pulls back, lowering her to the bed and climbing on top of her. She winds her hands down his back and he groans at the feeling of her nails through his shirt. He breaks the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head before pressing his mouth to her collarbone, pressing open mouth kisses up her neck. He stops right next to her ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispers.
“You sure you want this? Cause once I get this shirt off, I’m not stopping.” His hands run up and down her sides, hands inching closer to her bra, but pausing to wait for an answer.
“What makes you think I'm gonna tell you to stop? Why in the world would I want you to stop? I have been in love with you for ten years, I might just kill you if you stop.” She’s rambling, they both know it, it’s breathless and broken. She breaks herself off with a moan as his hands unclasp her bra, pulling it over her head along with her shirt.
“You asked for it, sweetheart.” He slides off the bed, unbuckling his pants and kicking them across the move in one solid motion. It is fluid, it shows off the years of practiced movement, of hand to hand combat. But there is something intense about it, something that he can see reflected in her eyes as she lifts on her elbows to stare at him. She looks like she's trying to memorize every single line of his body, like she's scared she'll never see it again. She is somehow so focused on the light curls leading to his cock that she doesn't notice him grabbing her ankles until he yanks her to the edge of the bed, stripping off her jeans before she can react.
“Christ Johnny.” It’s gasped out, shock filling her voice, she breathes like she plans to say something else but is cut short by the sound of Johnny's knees hitting the ground, by the feeling of his mouth on her. She knows it’s stupid, but all she can think is that he eats pussy the same way he eats everything else, like a man starving. Which, with a metabolism so high, he probably is. But honestly, it's worse, or maybe better. He eats her out like it's the one thing that will stop the hunger, like if he can bury his face far enough in her, in her pussy, the fire in his bones, the constant burning of calories, will stop. Not like it's the hottest thing ever, like it is the only thing that can cool down a man engulfed in his own flames. It barely takes a minute before she is gasping, her voice broken and desperate as she begs.
“Please, please Johnny, wanna cum, please make me cum.” Her hands wind into his hair, trying to find purchase. His mouth is so hot that no matter how long his mouth stays on her, she can feel it, a heat she will never get used to. And she never wants to.
“Already? You wanna cum so bad you're begging already.” Despite the fake shock in his voice, he drags a hand up her thigh, sliding two of his fingers inside of her and smirking as her back arches off the bed. “Go ahead sweet girl, cum for me.”
And she does. She thinks she can hear herself screaming, but it's muffled by the blood rushing through her ears. Everything goes white for a moment, the only thing she can feel is white hot pleasure and his mouth on her. She is gasping for air trying to breath through what is probably the best orgasm she has ever had, and he isn’t stopping. It’s just this side of too much, his fingers inside her, his tongue flicking her clit, his fucking stubble on her thighs. It’s heaven.
When he finally pulls back and meets her eyes, she’s about to cum again, and sobs at the loss of his mouth. His face is soaked, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips, staring at her, taking in the way she is completely laid bare for him. He smirks, climbing back onto the bed, using her hips to push her further up until her head is resting on the pillows. A moment of softness in the chaos that is Johnny Storm. The room is at least ten degrees hotter now, the heat radiating off of his body would be concerning if she wasn't so wrapped up in his warmth, wrapped up in him. He kneels above her for a moment to let her catch her breath, watching her chest rise and fall.
“Last chance, are you sure you want this?” There is a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, like he's genuinely concerned she would say no. Like he doesn't know she would say yes even if she knew it would kill her. She would do anything, give anything for him, he is everything to her.
“Johnny, I’m sure. I want this, whatever you’re willing to give me. I can take it,” She’s still breathless, but the sincerity in her voice is clear.
“Oh yeah? Whatever I’m willing to give, you’ll take it?" His voice is low and rough, sharp in a way that sends a chill up her spine.
“I can take it Johnny, so please, give it to me.” She drags her hands to rest on his shoulders, her nails biting into the meat of his back.
He doesn't respond, simply lowers his head to her neck, inhaling her scent as one of his hands drags down her body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He lines himself up and pushes in, not stopping for even a moment before he pulls bakc out and sets a rough, desperate pace. Each thrust is shifting her further up the bed, but her hips move barely an inch away from his before his hands are on her waist, grabbing her and pulling her down onto him at each thrust. His hands are hot and his grip is tight, for a moment the only thing she can think is whether or not he will leave bruises or burns in the shape of his hands on her. She really hopes it's both.
There are tears running down her cheeks, her moans high and broken. She cries out at one particularly sharp thrust, her walls clenching so tight around him that his teeth clench around her shoulder. He pulls back, not breaking his rhythm at all. One hand comes up to wipe her tears and she can already feel the bruises forming on her hip, the room cold in comparison to his hands. She almost smiles, knowing she was right, there will be bruised and burns in the shape of his hands, his fingertips.
“I thought you said you could take it sweetheart. You told me you would take whatever I wanted to give you, and this is it. This is exactly what I want, what I've dreamt about. You, screaming underneath me, your nails leaving clawmarks on my back. So you're gonna take it, youre gonna let me fuck you until you cum on my cock and I fuck my cum so far into you you’ll never forget the feeling of me. I’m gonna fucking ruin you, no one else will ever be able to touch you without you thinking of me. You’re fucking mine.” His voice comes out rough, cut off by groans every time she clenches around him, every time her nails break skin. As his hand returns to her hip, he speeds up, but that’s not what does it. It's the claim, the pure possessiveness in his voice that sends her over the edge. She cums, screaming his name, every muscle in her body tensing so hard she’s shaking. He never stops talking. He never stops moving.
“Good girl, you cum so pretty on my cock, sound so good screaming my name. Could do this forever, just live the rest of my life fucking you, watching you fall apart beneath me.” His voice trails off, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum sweetheart, and I want you to look at me, I want you to watch what you do to me. Want you to look me in the eyes as I fuck my cum into you, mark you inside and out. Fucking claim you.” His brain goes quiet, for what might be the first time in his life. All he can think about, all he can see or feel is her. HIs hips snap forward one last time as he tightens his grip on her hips, his head falling back as he pushes as deep as he can inside of her. The constant stimulation, the sight of him, has her cumming again. It hits her so fast she can’t even scream, there is no air in her lungs as she arches off the bed getting impossibly tighter around him.
Johnny rolls his hips a few more times, working her through her third orgasm of the night before pulling out and rolling to lay beside her. He can feel the heat under his skin calm for a moment as he pulls her into his arms, wiping her out of her face and the tears off her cheeks. It is so drastically different from his touch mere moments ago, it’s soft and caring. It’s the nicest thing she's ever felt, the most loved she has ever been.
Maybe she did know better when he said he would be nice, maybe she simply chose to do it anyway, to let him ruin her. But she would let him do it over and over, every day, forever. Because here he was, keeping his promise, as he always will.
