"she's definitely pissed about it," ben had grumbled, gathering his over-sized cards in both hands. uno is really the only card game they can play; they're the only brand that has a giant version. "what happened? you didn't hook up with her, did you?"

johnny huffed, not even bothering to deny it. he suspected ben was only asking as a courtesy, anyway; he'd probably known the whole time.

"oh, boy. come on, johnny. you don't one night stand our goddamn publicist," ben chastised, voice gruff as he shook his head. he was still looking at his cards, brows furrowed, trying to figure out what his first play should be. johnny knew not to take this personally—ben is just very serious about his uno winning streak. "for christ’s sake, she lives here. you're a real ass sometimes."

"i didn't one night stand her," he'd stammered, but as he said it he knew he was not helping his case; ben finally looked up from his spread, with an expression of pure disappointment.

"how many times, then?"

johnny sighed. "...three."

"jeez. i should've known! you've been making goo-goo eyes at each other for weeks."

it started last wednesday, the morning after you'd slept over in his room. it had been a while since johnny'd woken to a bed that wasn't empty and he'd forgotten how much he liked it. he was up before you, and took the time to admire how beautiful you looked sleeping. you'd shifted overnight; your back was to him, but you were curled into his open arms, clutching a spare pillow to you like a stuffed animal. he wondered if you usually slept like that, teddy bear held close to your chest. the thought made his heart swell in a way that was almost uncomfortable.

you laid like that for a little while; his fingers brushing lightly against the soft skin on your upper arm, tracing shapes into you, and his name, which he really hoped you wouldn't wake up for.

you'd stirred, stretching, then condensed back into his arms, a little smile on your tired face. johnny's head was clouded with sleepy adoration and he kissed you, for once not caring about his morning breath—oral hygiene is very important to him. the whole thing was quite domestic; thinking about it now makes him feel light-headed.

you'd gone out for an early breakfast, slipping out of the tower before the rest were up and wandering. you were really craving a croissant, and johnny knew the absolute best place to get one. he'd almost reached to hold your hand as you walked down the street together but thought better of it.

it was early enough that you hadn't had to wait in line at the cafe, so you'd taken johnny to your favorite spot to eat in the city—a grassy little knoll with two stone chairs and a very weathered chess table. johnny was quite satisfied with how much you enjoyed your croissant, and you'd even told him he had good taste, which made him smile.

you were telling him a story about almost getting run over when his digiwatch beeped. it was a little unnecessary, as he'd seen the explosion above your head a second before it went off; a building close enough that he heard the screams, but not enough that you were in immediate danger.

"shit," he'd muttered, almost in awe. he stood, eyes reflecting the mayhem, mouth open in disbelief.

the building was crumbling quickly; he was moving too slow, but he found himself scared to leave you. you looked frightened, standing up with him—did he have time to fly you back to the baxter building, just to be safe? but what if whoever had done this decided to target their home, too? the safest place for you was with him but he couldn't fly you into a burning building; he couldn't afford to be distracted with your safety, didn’t know what he’d do if you got hurt.

his head was starting to ache.

"johnny, what are you doing? you have to—"

he saw it before it happened. a craft that had to be alien in nature, hovering high above the building right above you. it was gone in a flash but it was already too late; a deafening strike of thunder sounded, and then everything was silent—a flash of white, and then you screamed, and he was blown off his feet with a gust so powerful he barely registered it hit at all.

then he was waking up on the concrete, ears ringing; his vision was choppy and blurred, chest heaving in an erratic rhythm. smoke and ash billowed through the air, filling his lungs with grey, making him cough.

and then he thought of you. his body filled with such a panic he felt the rattling in his teeth.

he screamed your name, his voice muffled by his shrieking ears. he stood unsteadily, head on a swivel, trying to spot you. there you were—splayed out in the small plot of fenced off grass, eerily still. johnny's legs were moving before he could think; he skidded to his knees beside you, hands frantically reaching for your face, your neck, feeling desperately for a pulse. your eyes fluttered open, and johnny almost sobbed.

he took you in his arms and flew you to the nearest hospital. he tried very hard not to burn you but his emotions were making his flames irresponsive to his commands and he knows he may have made it an uncomfortable flight. once he'd begged the nurses to take good care of you johnny forced himself away, toward the two deteriorating buildings. reed was furious with him for being so late and johnny, in his emotional stupor, had almost cried—they'd let him off the hook after that.

you were discharged by the end of the day; you had a slight concussion and a bruised rib, but other than that and a few scraps you'd escaped fortunately unscathed. sue picked you up. johnny did not go see you in the hospital.

when he was getting his injuries treated, he kept thinking of your unconscious face—of how sickeningly similar you'd looked knocked out in the street, and peacefully asleep in his bed. he thought of how easily he'd almost lost you, of how easily he'd collapsed into himself, unable to do his job because he was so worried about you.

so, johnny has done his absolute best not to speak to you since then. the worst was the first two days, when you were still trying to engage him, but now you're returning his chill with a vengeance.

i'm an asshole. he thinks this, when he walks into the kitchen to see you standing there, chopping some vegetables for dinner. you're dressed down, big shirt and jean shorts—sue's encouraged you to take it easy, and though johnny feels like you could be taking it easier, you're at least trying. he knows it's hard for you. working makes you feel good.

instinctively, you look up at johnny when he enters. when you catch his eye you immediately avert your gaze, focusing on the task at hand. you try not to turn your mouth up in a scowl at his mere presence but it proves difficult.

he stands there in the archway, like he's forgotten why he was coming in at all. you feel like you're going to explode with anger just being in the same room as him. you cut the zucchini with a little less finesse than usual and almost nick yourself on the final slice.

before you can properly reach your limit, sue saves you, wandering in from the other direction with a flourish—she's dressed quite fancily, must be going somewhere. reed follows behind her, and you connect the dots; they’re going on a date.

good for them. you envy the health of their relationship. you wish you could be attracted to good, loyal men like reed, instead of men that slept with you like you were married, and then pretended you didn't exist.

"you're really letting her do all the work? she's still concussed, for christ's sake," sue scolds, shaking her head as she walks past the kitchen, toward the door. well, so much for your savior.

"it's okay," you blurt, almost a little too suddenly; you force a soft smile when sue gives you a suspicious look. "i like cooking alone."

you think you're being unconvincing but it seems your words placate her—at least, enough for her and reed to leave a few moments later after a hug and an excited suggestion that you and her make dinner tomorrow. johnny stands there like an idiot for the minutes after they're gone, checking his watch, his phone, looking around the room. you can't stand it anymore and you're worried you'll burn the food if he's here distracting you for a second longer.

"can you stand around somewhere else?" you finally say, your back to him. you're tossing the zucchini in ben's famous marinade, eyes on the food and not daring to look up at him.

johnny doesn't say anything. you think maybe he's determined to keep his ignorance streak up—you gamify his actions, because that's what this all is to him, a game—but then he's moving closer, almost taking a seat at the barstools across the counter from you.

"how, um... how's your head?" his voice is so weak and unsure you almost feel bad, but it turns into anger before it can settle.

you decide to stay silent, pretend he isn't there. this is the closest you've been to him since it happened, the longest you've spent around him without either one of you making a shitty excuse to run off. (he's the only one that really bothers with excuses—you just walk right past him). you want to make him hurt the way he's hurt you but you doubt he has any feelings to hurt in the first place.

johnny says your name, and it almost gets you, but you just move to the stove. you turn the heat on and begin sautéing the vegetables, hoping you won't be able to hear him over the sizzle.

"so," he starts—unfortunately, his voice is still loud and clear— "reed told me you're healing up well. which is good. and... sue says you're not working as hard. that's also good. you're not supposed to look at screens too much when you have a concussion, you know."

the concern in johnny's tone pushes you over the edge.

"spare me. i don't need you to pretend like you care," you say, cursing yourself for how upset you sound, even as you're trying to sound flat.

johnny is silent because he knows there's nothing he can say. why would you think he cared, after he dropped you off and then proceeded to ignore you, like a child? he wishes it were easier to just tell you all the things he feels. he wishes he weren't so scared. he's fought aliens and monsters and just regular, fucked up people, but he's more afraid of you than any of them.

"look, i'm—i'm sorry, i didn't mean for... shit. i'm just sorry, okay? and i do care. i get why you don't think i do, but i just... want you to know that. i do care." too much.

you finally turn to him. his heart drops into his ass at the look on your face. you look like you might cry. johnny has done a lot to you but he's never made you cry.

"save it, johnny. save it for someone who doesn't know you well enough to know they can't trust a word you say."

it's pure venom when you speak, and he feels the burn, acid sinking through his clothes and clawing at his skin. johnny thinks he would rather have never met you than know he's hurt you like this. he steels his brow; he lets the childish, emotionally immature part of his brain shield him.

"hey, i basically saved your life, sweetheart. i'd be a little nicer." ouch. it's been a while since johnny's said something so callous and it stings a little when it comes out.

your eyes flash bright with rage. you pace toward him, only the countertop between you, forgetting the food cooking on the stove. "fuck you. and don't fucking call me that."

it hurts. johnny knows he has no right to feel that way, but it hurts, just in the way he's been trying to avoid this entire time. he realizes, in that moment, that ignoring you has done just about as much good as flying directly into the sun. maybe he should do that, right now. just to escape that searing, disgusted look on your face.

then, your eyes squeeze shut, and your brows furrow. one of your hands come to your temple and you wince, the other flat on the counter for support.

johnny stands, and he looks like he might be trying to move around the bar to you, but you hold up a shaky hand, trying to breath through the ache in your head.

"don't come any closer. please, johnny... just leave me alone." your voice breaks and johnny falters, like he's weighing his options. then, he sighs, lingers a second more, and walks off into the hall.

the smell of burning vegetables makes your headache worse, so you turn the stove off. looks like you'll be ordering in again tonight.

another week passes. you're all but healed now, achey spells not as intense and much further between. you spend more time alone; you hadn't realized johnny was occupying so much of your day, and without him each hour feels much, much longer. not that you're eager to have him back in your life like that. in fact, it's really you ignoring him now, and not the other way around.

it's as though a switch has flipped, and now johnny's like a puppy dog, lingering in a room when you come in, nervous eyes trailing you in the hall, working up the nerve to try talking. you walk past him every time, gaze trained straight ahead, not even getting close enough to brush past. you're sure everyone has picked up on it now—sue's asked you about it, but you just say you had a falling out, and refuse to explain further.

what else can you say? your dickhead brother made me fall in love with him and then broke my heart.

it would be quite unprofessional to gossip like that with what is essentially your boss, but at the same time, you haven't really been concerned with professionalism in a while.

you're content to go on this way (at least, you say you are). you can't ignore johnny forever; you do have to interact eventually, considering your job, but you decide you'll talk to him in those situations only, and never otherwise.

you're sitting in your bedroom, thinking about just that, when you hear a timid knock on your door. it surprises you—reed interacts with you only on a professional level, sue would never bother you this late, and ben is off doing a press run for his new animated show. so, it can only be one person, but that one person wouldn't have the gall to show up at your door, would they?

johnny calls your name, softly. "i know you're awake," he says, a bit brashly, and then seems to regret it— "if you're too tired to talk, that's okay, that's totally okay. just... at least open the door. please."

he really just wants to hear your voice directed his way, even if it's to say fuck off, or something closely related. he doesn't expect you to open up, but a moment after he's spoken, the door swings on its hinges, and you're standing there.

you're wearing pajama shorts he's never seen; they've got a cartoon character on them that he knows you like. your tank is a little too tight, probably because it's old.

johnny came here to beg your forgiveness and he's already getting distracted—he wants to say it's your fault, but he knows that even if you'd been covered head to toe he might've had the same problem.

"yes?" you say, hand on the doorframe, keeping it open only about halfway. you don't sound as hateful as you did the last time you spoke; more just tired. johnny swallows hard and forces himself to look into your eyes.

"can i... can we talk?" he almost asks to come in, but figures it's better for you to invite him.

you consider him for a second. he's wearing a tattered graphic shirt and the human torch theme flannel pajama pants that ben got him for his birthday. you're almost so hurt by him that you're able to ignore how good he looks. almost.

"about what?" you counter, deciding to torture him just a little more. he takes a sharp breath in, looks guilty. "johnny, it's late. i don't know if i can talk right now."

johnny sighs, hangs his head just the slightest bit. "i get it, i get it—it's just, i need to talk to you, okay? and you haven't really been available, so..."

you scoff. "you expect me to be available for you?"

silence. and then, you're stepping aside, wordlessly letting him in. you know you're going to regret it.

counting this, johnny's been in your room a total of three times. the other two were brief, and he wasn't exactly welcome—moments of extreme boredom in the awkward hours between afternoon and evening, where he'd stopped by unannounced and goaded you into spending time with him.

seeing him in your space is unsettling to you. you've spent a good amount of time decorating and making it your own; you do your best to keep mess from piling up and you clean your bathroom regularly. it's your safe haven, from the sometimes-overwhelming world that exists right outside your door; from your reality, that you live with four metahumans, that you can be outside and a building can just explode and you can die, just like that.

and now johnny is invading that safe space. your arms are crossed over your chest as you regard him coolly. he's looking around like he just gained sight for the first time and you're getting annoyed with his inability to just say what he wants to say. does he even know what he wants to say? does he even know what he wants?

johnny clears his throat, turning to face you. his hands are at his sides and if he was wearing jeans they'd probably be stuffed in his pockets.

"how've you been?" he starts, and you groan in frustration, moving so you can sit down on your beanbag.

"johnny, quit the bullshit. you wanted to talk, so talk."

he pauses, like he's weighing his options. then, he inches closer, taking a seat on the floor in front of you. you like that you're sitting higher up than he is—it gives you the illusion of control. really, you know that if he says the right things, acts the right way, you're going to end up in his arms again.

yet, here you are.

"listen," johnny says, hands wringing themselves in his lap. "i fucked up. i know i did."

you stare back at him, unmoved. you want to make him squirm.

he swallows hard, looks away. "ignoring you was really stupid. and childish. and i... i can't stop thinking about how much i've probably hurt you. i can't imagine how you feel... after everything."

it echoes his previous confession—i can't stop thinking about you. you hear it but you just keep watching him, waiting for him to say something to make any of it make sense. you've always known johnny was an asshole but his actions in the past two weeks have confused you so much you're not even sure you know him anymore.

"so." johnny shifts; he's nervous. "i thought i'd... i can just tell you how i feel. and then maybe... you can tell me how you feel. if you want to. really, i'm just asking you to listen to me, so if you wanna kick me out right after i'm okay with that. well, maybe not okay, but—" he sees the slightly amused look on your face and cuts himself off. "right. anyway."

johnny stands suddenly, like his anxious energy won't allow him to stay still. he paces slowly, taking a few steps one way and a few the other. your eyes trail him; your heart is pounding, but your face reveals nothing.

"i know i'm a dick," he begins; not the best opener, but you want to see where he's going with it, "and if i was you, i wouldn't think i cared at all, about you. well, about me. if i was you. sorry."

you sigh. "johnny. slow down.”

it's like you haven't said anything at all. he won't even look at you, just staring at the ground as he moves almost frantically from side to side. you've never seen him like this and it's becoming a little difficult for you to remain so standoffish.

"i'm not—used to this, you know? it sounds so stupid to say out loud, but.. i'm really not. i honestly didn't think—" he pauses, inhales deeply, like the words are heavy and require much physical strength, "—didn't think... it was possible for me. to care about someone, the way i care about you."

you swallow hard, feeling yourself falter. johnny finally stops moving, brings his eyes to yours, and to your surprise and utter elation, he slowly approaches you, then falls to his knees. he's right in front of you, hands flat on either side of your body; trying to be close, without encroachment.

"when i saw you, lying there," his eyes flash, brows twitching, like he's watching the memory play out, "i mean, you looked—you looked dead."

his voice shakes just slightly as he says it. he's got this tender look on his face that makes you want to reach out and hold his head between your palms.

"but i wasn't," you say, and your voice is the softest it's been in a week. johnny's adam's apple bobs and he braves a few more inches, one hand now wrapped carefully around your ankle.

"but you could've been. and i got so fuckin' scared—i swear, i've never felt fear like that in my life," he's almost whispering now, other hand now resting on your shin, just gently, like you're a frightened animal that could bolt any minute.

it's not lost on you that johnny's life has been full of scary things up to this point; deep space cosmic rays that mutate his DNA, aliens, monsters, near-death experiences. it's not lost on you that despite all of that, losing you is the worst johnny can imagine.

"and then i started thinking about you, and—and how fucking terrified i am, that one day something will happen, and i won't be there. and i just kept getting more and more scared, because, if i'm being honest, the fact that i was so scared to lose you was almost scarier than anything else."

johnny inches even closer, and you let him, all your anger melting away with what you think is a pathetic quickness. he's bearing himself open to you, showing you his bleeding heart. you can see it pumping vigorously, nervously, opening its gates despite history saying it will only bring him pain.

you lift one hand to hold his cheek. he leans into your touch, in a restrained sort of way, like he doesn't really want to but can't help it. your eyes are a little glossy, darting over his face as you wait for him to continue. you're not sure if you forgive him yet but you certainly don't want him to stop.

"i almost let a whole building of people burn just so i could make sure you were safe. what kind of hero am i, if i'd do that? and what kind of man am i, if i know i'd do it a million times, but i still can't tell you how i feel?"

you want to cry, just looking at him. it's not fair. it's not fair, that he can say this to you, after the two weeks you've spent convincing yourself he means nothing, that you don't need him, even though you need him so much you can't breathe, even though he means more to you than you thought possible. it's not fair.

"i'm sorry. i don't know how to make it up to you. i just... i was doing what i always do, putting up walls, icing you out so i could feel safe again. but i can't do that, not with you. not this time." johnny's voice is hushed and watery. you stare at him with a gentle gaze, trying to subdue the war inside you. you don't want to forgive him so easily, but all you want to do right now is kiss him.

"you really hurt me," you finally manage, hoping you don't sound as pathetic as you know you do. your hand falls from his cheek and his eyebrows turn up at your words, at the clear damage in your voice. "you made me feel—disposable. like i meant nothing. that felt like shit, johnny. i thought at the very least we were friends."

johnny looks like he's been stabbed. "we are friends. we're—we're more than friends, you know that. we've always been."

you sigh, turning away—johnny chases your eyes, hands sliding up to rest on your knees, and then your upper thighs. he's almost kneeled between your legs now, and you try to ignore the memories of the other times he's been in this position.

"let me make it up to you. let me prove it. i swear, i'll do anything. i'd set the moon on fire if that's what you wanted."

you almost laugh, but a little smile breaks through, despite your efforts to remain stoic. johnny sees it, and it's like someone's fangs have been removed from neck, like he's been slowly dying and suddenly he's gotten a fresh dose of life-saving medication.

"is that what you want? i'll do it, right now. it might cause some issues, but i'm sure it'll be okay." he's teasing you. you want to hate it but it feels like a return to normalcy; you didn't know how much you were craving that, normal, until right now.

you look at him again, little tears making clear paths down your face. you're smiling though, something soft and disarming. it makes johnny's body tingle, like he's got pins and needles all over. you don't know what to say, so you just stare, and he stares back. it feels like he's trying to tell you something with his eyes but you're not yet fluent in that language.

johnny says your name, under his breath. almost like a curse.

"i think i'm in love with you," he mutters, and the air goes still. you stop breathing. "and i don't think i've ever been in love before—i thought i had, thought i knew what it felt like, but clearly i had no fucking clue what the real thing was, until now. until you." johnny stares at you like you're both his angel and executioner; the meat of his flesh rendered invisible so he can show you his gaping, lovely wound. there's an unspoken plea in his confession, but you hear it—please don't break my heart.

"johnny," you whisper, and your voice is boneless, breath stolen from your lungs. "don't say that if you don't mean it."

"but i do," johnny sputters. "i do. i didn't mean to say i think—i know, that i'm in love with you, and i don't know if i can say it again unless you say it back, so... please," he lets out a deep exhale, chest deflating with his words, "please, say it back."

he waits a moment, lets his prayer sink in; his hands rise to hold your cheeks, slowly scooting forward so your legs are around his torso.

his face is now close to yours, so close that it would only take a single movement to be kissing him again. you want to. you've never wanted to kiss anyone so much, and it feels like his skin is full of magnets, lulling you forward (almost) against your will.

you kiss him, finally—it takes johnny no time at all to return your gift with reverence, lips sculpting against yours like it's all they've been made to do. your fingers rake into his hair, dragging him closer, into you. his arms fall from your face, caging your waist, holding him up as he lets you bring him toward you.

you pull away, panting; johnny is halfway on top of you, and the glazed over look in his eyes makes your stomach drop. you smell him; the slight musk of burnt wood, mixed with the lavender laundry detergent he likes.

"you're trying to distract me," he rasps, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

you give him a little grin back, but your lips remain sealed. you need him to drag it out of you, you think; you've buried it and now it's too far down for you to reach on your own. you think you may be scared, too—you're not entirely sure. you feel so much at once you almost feel nothing at all. almost.

johnny understands, somehow. he knows it's not that easy. he's hurt you, made you feel like you don't matter. sometimes words aren't enough—sometimes, you need to be shown. he's happy to provide that for you.

nsfw below

"ok, fine," he breathes, head dipping down to lay dutiful kisses on the slope of your neck. his arms snake around your waist and hold you closer to him, his thigh falling between your legs. "i'll prove it to you. i promise."

you sigh, hands wrapping around johnny's shoulders, palms dragging against the cotton of his shirt. the friction on his skin makes him shiver.

"tell me what you need. whatever you want, just tell me." johnny's breath is hot on your neck and you suddenly know what to ask for.

"i want your mouth," you say, a little taken off guard by your own boldness. johnny is too, but if the little grunt he lets out is any indication, he seems to like it. "and your fingers."

"yeah?" he lifts his head to look at you, eyes sparkling with gentle playfulness. "feeling greedy, huh?"

but he's already touching you, and kissing you—hands squeezing your breasts over your tank, calloused fingers soothing the skin he pinches. his tongue is in your mouth, burning you up, molding to your mouth as though it's the last time he'll ever get the chance. when he pulls away, you let out a heavy sigh, like you won't be able to breathe without him.

"that's okay, baby," johnny says, in a hushed tone; his warm hands slide under the thin fabric of your shirt, his fingers splaying across your ribs. "i'll always give you what you want."

he kisses you again, a little softer, hands trailing down your stomach, and then to the edge of your shorts, dipping beneath the fabric with an ease that makes you shudder. his eyes flicker down as he carefully pulls them off, tossing them gingerly on the floor. he sinks to his knees, palms of his hands a little rough when they slide from your hips to your thighs, positioning himself between them.

"you really are so beautiful." johnny whispers it, like he's trying to convince himself he really has you in front of him. "you're beautiful all the time. even when i'm not between your legs."

you smile, even though you don't want to, and hit him gently over the head. he laughs, and you realize you haven't heard that in a while. you realize how much you like it.

johnny runs a finger through your folds, spreading you apart. his dark blue eyes watch your face as he dips his head, licking a flat stripe over your exposed cunt, smiling when you let out a high-pitched gasp. your hand is already in his hair, tugging him back when he pulls away—he lets you, moans into your heat, grip so tight on your thigh it almost hurts.

you sigh dreamily, writhing a little against his tongue. he loves the way his name sounds from your mouth, especially like that; he rewards you by sliding two fingers inside your twitching pussy, tongue kitten licking at your clit.

"oh—johnny," you moan, and johnny's eyes flutter shut; he forces his mouth off of you for just a moment, replacing his tongue with his calloused thumb.

"there's that pretty voice," he says, and when you look down at him you see his glistening mouth, blown pupils, lidded eyes—the sight makes you whine, feeling his fingers pump out of you at a steady rhythm. "feels good, honey? this what you wanted?"

"y-yes—" you manage, voice jumping when his lips find your clit again. "so good."

johnny licks into you like he's worshipping at an altar, the swipe of his tongue reverent and desperate, hips twitching at every sweet sound you make. before, you would catch glimpses of adoration, but now it's written all over his face, eyes darting lazily over your body as if though he's reminding himself you're all there, and you're really giving this to him.

you let it go on for just a minute more; then you're suddenly pulling hard on his shirt, forcing him up—the groan that leaves him is almost disappointed and it makes your vision blurry.

"what is it, sweetheart?" he exhales, palm coming up to wipe his chin quickly before he's dipping down to kiss your neck.

"i need you," you blurt, eyes fluttering shut as his lips find the spot below your ear; it spreads heat across your skin, prickles goosebumps. you'd never really thought about how warm he was, but you guess it makes sense that he runs hot.

johnny knows what you mean. of course he does. maybe it's his incessant, seemingly impulsive need to see you flustered; maybe it's because he really needs to make sure you mean it, that this is actually happening and that it isn't all some big misunderstanding.

"you want me to fuck you?" he says it so casually you almost laugh, but you're subdued by the very serious look on his face, and the way his bulge presses against your exposed heat. "is that it?"

you reach down, palm pressing flat against his stomach before you palm his dick through the worn pajama pants; his breath stutters against your neck.

"hurry up," you whisper, leg bending so your knee is brushing against his hip. "before i change my mind."

johnny's moving before you can finish—first, he's moving you both to your bed, and then your shirt is off, his next. he looms over you for a seconds, warring between playing with your tits a little more and fulfilling your request, but then you're sitting up, tugging at the drawstring of his bottoms, and he finds his answer.

he lets you pull them off, and can't help the wince he hisses out as the air hits his cock; he's so hard he swears he's a little lightheaded, and when your hand wraps around him he almost slumps forward, hips angling toward your touch.

johnny slowly crawls over you, heart pounding so violently he's sure you can hear it. he swallows, trying to subdue the nerves rising in his stomach. your sparkling eyes lock onto his and you lean in for another soft kiss.

neither of you can say anything now. you guide him to your heat, sighing into each other's mouths as you grind against his length. you feel like you're in a bubble, sealed off from any of the world's cruel and unbiased horror, protected by his arms, his heat, his loving gaze that makes your breath tremble.

he rolls his hips forward slow, catching your clit as he moves up; your nails scratch at his shoulderblades, and he rests his forehead onto yours, lips slanting affectionately against your own.

his tip nudges into you, forcing a huff straight from johnny's chest. he wants to look at you, into your eyes, but he's overwhelmed—his head slinks to the crook of your neck when he pushes forward slowly, rocking all the way out only to slide back in, deeper, deeper. you feel him in your stomach when he's finally bottomed out; you can't help how you're clenching down on him, even as he's whispering, pleading with you to stop.

"sweetheart," johnny croaks, voice achy and saturated. "let me start moving, at least."

your hips grind down on him in response, thighs tensing as you feel him against that spot, the one you can hardly reach on your own, the one that brings tears from your eyes. johnny bites down softly on the flesh of your neck at the way you squeeze around him.

"fuck," he mutters, and then his hips draw back carefully, rocking forward, setting a steady pace. each drag forces a soft gasp from you—it feels like molten lava, searing you so deliciously, heating you up from the inside. "you feel so fuckin' good. like you were made for me."

johnny's tongue goes flat against your jugular, licking a soft stripe from the space right above your collarbone to right behind your ear. you tug at his hair, pulling him up and to your lips—his hips stutter, and then they begin to pick up speed, tongue tangling with yours, hands squeezing at the flesh of your hips, your waist.

he bites your bottom lip, dragging it out just a little before he kisses you hard again—you can hardly breathe, but you just hold him closer, heels digging into his hips to push him deeper, faster.

"you think you can cum like this?" johnny rasps, finally lifting his head from yours to watch your face. his skin is flushed from shoulders up, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, lips parted in a permanent gasp. "i want you to cum so bad, baby. wanna feel it."

you nod almost frantically, and johnny sits up suddenly, hips slowing; he scoops his hands under your thighs, pushing them so your knees are resting on his shoulders. he leans down, putting a slightly uncomfortable strain on your hamstrings, but the way he slides even further inside you makes up for it—you keen, hands digging into the sheets as he starts rolling his hips again.

johnny's hands are planted firmly on your calves, rubbing in a manner that is almost shockingly soothing compared to the unrestrained way he's now fucking you. you feel yourself on the brink of something so intense you're almost scared, trying desperately to move your hips to the same rhythm as him.

"c'mon, honey—" he cuts himself off with a ragged gasp, hips twitching before he forces himself to slow to a more steady pace. "tell me how bad you wanna cum. i know you want it."

you shiver, trying to catch your breath. your hand slithers down your body to play with your clit, but johnny's hand slaps you away, and his palm smooths down your stomach. he presses down on your lower stomach, thumb circling your throbbing bud—your legs begin to tremble, and pressure starts building in your core, gasp catching in your throat.

"holy shit, johnny," you whine, chest heaving. "i wanna cum so bad—please."

johnny's hips jump forward, and he groans like he's surprised at his own movement, but he keeps the new pace, fucking into you with such a determined expression you would've been endeared, if you had the wherewithal.

"i'm all in your fuckin' stomach, honey. fuck—you feel that? nice and deep inside this greedy pussy," he rambles, sweat making his chest glisten, stomach muscles twitching as he fights off his impending finish. he's never found it hard to last longer than a girl but right now he's a little afraid he's going to break his winning streak.

his words make you whimper, a wounded sort of noise he didn't even know you could make, and then you're cumming, lips parting in such a wanton moan he has to cover your mouth. he fucks you through it, teeth bitting his bottom lip so hard he's sure he tastes blood, hand moving to pin your hips down as you try squirming away from him.

"i—" johnny's eyes flutter shut, voice tapering off into a punctured groan. "fuck, i'm gonna cum. fuck, fuck..."

he folds over you, forearms caging your head, your legs falling from his shoulders and wrapping around his waist. tears prickle at your eyes and fall like feathers against your skin, body on fire with a never-ending pleasure that feels like sparklers going off in your blood.

"johnny," you whisper, hands finding his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours. "johnny, i—i love you, too."

you're not prepared for the way he drives into you then, once, his eyes wide with shock and stomach caving like he's been punched in the gut. he buries his head half into your neck, half into your hair, groaning long and broken, cursing with a trembling voice as he slowly rolls his hips forward, fucking himself through it.

it's silent for a little; johnny slowly eases himself down, resting all his body weight on top of you. it's a bit like a heated blanket and you close your eyes, relishing in the peace of the moment, fingers tracing the contours of his back.

"sorry," he finally mumbles, into your skin. "i did mean to pull out. pinky promise."

he doesn't sound very sorry. you smile softly at his tired voice.

"it's okay. i'm on the pill." you're a little surprised at how raspy and quiet your own voice sounds. your cheeks warm as you think about how loud you might have been being—you can't even let yourself think about if the others had heard, because you don't know what you would even do if that happened.

johnny raises his head, staring at you with dazed devotion, and something like awe. he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, taking a deep inhale, making you giggle softly, scratch his scalp. he slides out of you slowly, coming to rest on his stomach, half on top of you and half on the mattress.

"can you say it again?" he asks, just above a whisper. his eyelashes flutter against your cheek.

"that i'm on the pill?"

johnny grins, huffs against the side of your face. then, he's pulling his head away, so he can look you in the eyes. "yea, sure. just to reassure me. i'm not exactly ready for kids, sweetheart."

he doesn't say anything else, and he thinks about just letting it go, his pride worn but still there enough to keep him from asking again. but then your hand is caressing his cheek like you're holding someone's finest ceramic, and his mouth goes a little dry.

"i love you, johnny. don't ever treat me like shit again."

he smiles so wide he's sure his face is gonna crack in half. you're staring up at him that way he really, really loves—like he's something more, like he's everything, and for once it doesn't scare him. not even a little. he'd pay good money to make you look at him like that the rest of his life.

"i swear on my life, i'll never make you feel anything less than awesome. i'll treat you so good you forget this even happened. well, maybe not this exactly, but, like, everything that lead up to it. not everything, though—we had some pretty good times before this. so... just forget the bad parts, okay?"

johnny winces and you laugh under your breath. "that's not what i meant. definitely remember the bad parts, because... that's healthy, right? but, you know—i'm just trying to say, i'm never gonna make you feel like that again. ever. i'll die before i let it happen."

"alright, enough. i believe you."

you let your eyes shut, the weight of him making your own body feel even heavier. you're still tingling, like stars are swimming through your bloodstream, but you feel like if you try to get up you'll just sink through the mattress.

a blissful moment of silence passes; you think johnny might have fallen asleep; his breathing gets shaky and then even, body completely still atop you. sleep sounds like a nice idea—you can work out all the details of whatever this is between the two of you tomorrow. maybe over a nice cup of coffee and a croissant. you'll definitely have to sit somewhere else this time, though; that spot is ruined for you.

"you think they heard us?" you finally ask, timidly. a beat goes by, and then johnny chuckles into your skin.

"definitely."