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“Distracted are we, Johnny?” The tone that Ghost takes on makes it hard to place as the man in question’s head races miles ahead of him.
MacTavish decides that a grunt should suffice as he continues to lace his boots, the rough tugs very much unneeded but the grit of the cord through his palms helps to alleviate the noise in his head.
It’s not usual for Johnny to brush off his lieutenant as he does and immediately guilt wriggles through his blood stream and only tightens the muscles in his face as he finally straightens and rolls his neck with a controlled exhale.
He can still recall the argument with painful vividity. The shrill of your voice as your anger gripped you and the underlying emotions that Johnny is far from ready to address with himself, very aware that it would be the final tug to his very fast approaching unravelling. He had not been on the receiving end of your yelling and as much it relieves him to a certain degree, it only further claws at him.
You’re a wee quiet thing. Johnny had sat down across from you with a broad grin in hopes that it would entice you to, at the very least, entertain his shit. The man might as well have been pulling teeth for all that you had offered him that first hour. And still, he was not deterred. You had a sharp look about you, eyes that he knew missed very little but pouty lips that never went so far as to retell all that you saw. Your attitude could have very well been standoffish and if he has to be crass, bitchy, but then Johnny had caught the sight of the smile you had offered to the waitron, eyes softening and lips mouthing a soft ‘thank you’ that he could have easily mistaken for the caress of a feather on the shell of his ear. That was it, you had sealed your fate and well, his, when you revealed the molten centre just waiting to be unearthed.
Johnny quite enjoyed that process. He couldn’t lie to himself, his approach was heavily motivated by the biting attraction he had to you and despite it settling into a close friendship between the two of you, he’s just content to have you in his life. It’s a smug sort of satisfaction that he holds a piece of you that only a very select few are privy to. You’re reserved, more private than some of his comrades and that speaks volumes, and yet he cracked that safe. Through tenacity and determination as well as your reception, of course.
It’s a good complement of personalities; your mellow, quiet and think before speaking mindset to his gregarious, jovial and act first, think later approach. There is balance there and you have proven time and time again that you being quiet did not make you a doormat for anyone’s leisure. You’re not shy to call Johnny out on his bullshit and every time you do, you are greeted with that very broad grin that brought you both back to your very first encounter.
That being said, you are always civil first. The rupture of your rage takes quite a bit to aggravate and that reminder only gathers more tension between the sergeant’s shoulders. For you to be yelling at your shite roommate on almost every second call with him is telling.
God, he wants to wring that fucker’s neck. Every complaint you had rambled off to Johnny had been scored down in detail. He’ll get that problem out of your hair at the first opportunity presented to him, even if he knows that every violent action he currently plays out in his head like a wet dream will have you seething at him. Fucking hell, he can already hear the exact lecture he’d receive. Try as he might though, it gnaws at him slowly and then grows with a sudden vigour every time he recalls the frustration and exhaustion in your voice.
Yes, maybe his attraction to you has not been fully eradicated (quite the fucking opposite if he were to be truthful) and there is a very real danger of more… intimate feelings brewing beneath the surface that only spurs his concern for you further, but he’s not that kind of man. Johnny refuses to manipulate your friendship because of his own impediment, if you will. He could not let his actions be dictated by his feelings for you and use the guise of it being due to your friendship.You deserve honesty in his motivations and intentions.
And yet, this did stem from the concern of a friend. Right? What kind of tube would witness the distress of their friend and not feel inclined to help if they had the chance to? Some friends are prone to violence, people are diverse and that is all he needs to justify having the twat swallow a couple of his own teeth. Simple as that. Johnny just wants to offer you a solution. Of sorts.
Christ.
There’s silence and he can feel Simon looking down at him in waiting, air tight around his head as if he were at a higher altitude than in the change rooms.
“Am sorry, Lt. My mind is.. elsewhere.” It’s all he can manage because Johnny is not entirely sure he is ready to get into the grit of it now with the complicated mess of emotions.
A heavy hand falls onto his shoulder and he looks up at his behemoth of a lieutenant. “If your head is two days ahead of you, I’ve got a thing or two to tell ya.”
He can only blame himself. Johnny is not very conspicuous in matters that involve you. Outside of the very well needed covertness that comes with his livelihood, he cannot stop himself from talking about you to the men he calls his brothers. After all, they hold his life in their hands and he theirs so it only feels right for the two very tender cores of his being to be somewhat knowledgeable of each other. Shit, if he had it his way, he’d be parading you right here, letting them witness firsthand the gem he kept stowed away like some age old dragon with its hoard.
Of course, if anyone is going to pick up on his non vocalised inclinations towards you, it would be this man before him with the slightest hint of teasing to his voice.
“A’d rather you didn’t.” He carps, finally standing to his full height and rolling his shoulders. The chuckle that leaves Simon almost turns him into a petulant child with all that his head keeps throwing at him. The last thing he needs is his superior pointing out a blaring truth for him to finally acknowledge.
“All I’m saying is if you aren’t going to voice it, Johnny, your body is going to betray you before you can help yourself.”
The cheeky smile is easy to conjure, blue eyes catching their usual light again, “Some frisky thoughts you’re entertainin’ there, Lt.”
Finally, a grunt from Simon that accompanies his own chuckle this time as his lieutenant quips, shoving him through the door, “Get your ass to the helipad before I ship you in pieces back to your bonnie thing.”
He chuckles at Simon’s attempt at his accent as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, appreciating how easily the larger man had helped him to screw his head on right for the next few gruelling hours. “Aye, let’s go blow shit up.”
A sigh from behind him and then a second shove towards the door, “Just start walking, MacTavish.”
The next 59 hours are a blur.
Be it due to having to focus or risk fatality, or the bleeding of his over anxious thoughts into the dead silence of having a job to do before he can piss off of base and give reign to the rampage in his head, Johnny doesn’t know but his duffle bag is slung over his shoulder and his feet find themselves to be the weight of concrete. This is supposed to be the easy part; where he gets onto the plane and spends his time off in your company. But that’s also the very hard part. Getting onto that plane with all this anticipation and longing that he’s isn’t all too sure just a friend should be feeling. You had called him the second he had let you know that he had returned safely from the latest assignment and he was packing for his trip to you. It was late, just nearing 4 in the morning and he could have purred at the breathy murmur of your voice letting him know that you could not wait to see him, whispering how the excitement and anxiety would not let you sleep.
“You need to sleep, sweets, you barely do as it is.”
There’s a hum on the other end and then, “I’ll take it into consideration.”
You’ll be the right death of him. “Sleep, bonnie. I’m not playin’ around with ye.”
“And I thought Price was the Captain.” You quip, but he hears it. The smile in your voice and God, he must truly be in over his head because he can picture that soft smile, eyes closed and the sweet state of you tucked away under covers-
and now there is a vicious throb between his ribcage. “I’ll try, only because I’ll need all of my energy about me with you around.”
“Sweets, you have no fuckin’ idea.”
He isn’t sure anymore. If these two weeks will be the happy ending every sorry sod in this world secretly longs for, or if he is going to completely fuck it up and leave no semblance of the hearth you place at the centre of his soul and only have himself to blame for the gaping cold emptiness that follows.
“I’d have thought you’d be forward stroking across the Atlantic at this hour.” Simon sneaks up beside him in the way that he’s grown accustomed to; where the jump is bodied more by his internal organs than him showing any outward portrayal of his surprise.
“I’m fucked.”
A throaty chuckle that Johnny usually takes pride in igniting now does nothing for the natural disaster equivalent state of himself. “I’d be a crude bastard out of humour but I’m not sure that’s the peptalk you’re in need of.”
Simon claps Johnny on his back and signals for him to take a seat with him in the commons to their right and he cusses at his feet in order to get them to cooperate. His superior grunts as he settles his weight on the two seater and allows for his tree trunks-for-legs to ease out in front of him. Johnny cannot mimic that ease for the life of him and can only manage a perch at the end of his seat as he sets his bag down at his feet. Elbows rest on his thighs and he allows his hands to dangle between his legs as he takes stock of their surroundings. It’s quite lively, a good number of staff choosing to remain at base, what with the short break, choosing rather to accumulate that time for a longer extension later on. A wise train of thoughts, but Johnny has a paradoxical urgency to his choice. The urgency that nags at his chest despite the.. fear that grounds his feet.
“Talk to me.” It sounds a lot like a command; it’s been said to Johnny many times before following his callsign, but he knows there is more heart to it here on this dingy couch.
He sighs, a frustrated hand scrubbing at his brows as he tries to weave through all of his thoughts for the correct wording, “These feelings I have- They’re sprouting up a whole lot of mess in my head and on top of the fuckin’ twat that I’d very much like t’make disappear.. The bonnie thing is important to me, Simon. And a lot can go wrong in these next 14 days to ruin any chance I stand to have.”
“Alright, let’s start with this twat you speak of first,” his friend motions for him to elaborate and he does. It diffuses out of him like steam off of a kettle and at some point, Johnny can feel his legs tensing enough that he almost stands to pace the length of the couch, but he stops himself. Well, until he concludes with the last argument he had overheard and the details of it that you had shared with him. Your roommate had been slowly invading more and more of your privacy. Entering your room in the early hours of the morning while you were sleeping, trying the door handle while you were in the bathroom as well as the oddest of articles of clothing going missing.
Just the thought of it again gets Johnny to his feet as adrenaline sets in, the urge to tear apart the distance between the two of you with his bare hands now so he could stand as the formidable barrier between you and the perverted bastard. It doesn’t fucking matter that you have been roommates with this prick for well over two years and he’s only been catching this type of shit recently. God, had it been going on for longer, he’d have hauled your ass into his own residence ages ago. His hands are fisted at his hips as he turns to look at Simon for his input.
“If you end up killing him, call me for cleanup.” Johnny’s laugh is of relief, not only that his friend and superior would go to such lengths for him but also, that Simon feels the same as he does about the situation, the simple reassurance that his emotions are not driving him towards being a stupid fuckin’ alpha male.
“Outside of that, I get the fear. Occupational hazard or not, it’s normal to not want to lose the people that matter to us, especially the people we are only beginning to love.” The look his lieutenant gives him along with his statement feels like a physical blow to the lungs. “But that fear can easily become the catalyst to its own root. Don’t let the fear of losing your person be what inevitably makes you lose them.”
A curt nod is all he can manage before he lets out, “Steamin’ Jesus, I’m a wreck.”
The steel tip of a boot kicking out against his own makes him look at Simon again, “Go. And remember, you call me.”
Johnny grins, gathering his bag and finding his momentum again. His heart races with a different type of rhythm this time and his muscles feel like they’re a millisecond ahead of the rest of his bodily functions.
“Aye. Keep me in yer prayers, Lt. Fuck knows am gonna need ‘em.”
“I’ll be praying, but it won’t be for you.”
This time, his feet can’t carry him fast enough, it’s a brisk march that teeters onto a jog to the government issued vehicle that takes him to the airport. There is no thinking after his talk with Simon, he’s moving as if on autopilot in hopes that it will speed up the process, the travel. The tedious crawling to your feet. By the time the seatbelt sign turns off, Johnny has made up his mind. He’s a solutionist. By no means an exceptional one, but one nonetheless and your roommate, his feelings and your reaction to both of these oncoming confrontations, he can find solutions to. He doesn’t have any of them just yet, but he will. Right after he feels the softness of you pressed against him and the sound of his name right from his favourite source.
It’s only natural that he set up a plan of action, and holding you to his chest is at top priority.
He feels like he’s been shot with adrenaline with the restlessness that does not leave him, he feels he knocks out only from necessity and he only awakens to the jolt of the aircraft's wheels on tar and then the steady announcement.
Johnny thinks that his manners must have burnt away between the clouds because he shoves past with barely an apology, in such a haste that it’s almost embarrassing. His leg bounces in the Uber to your address. He barely had a chance to freshen up, fuck, he had been so out of it this morning that he’s wearing a standard training uniform. He could have changed in the airport bathroom, he thinks but, well, Johnny thoroughly enjoys the way your eyes drink him up when he’s in uniform. The little quirk of your eyebrow that tells him you’re impressed and the warmth in your cheeks when he teases you about it. Strictly fuckin’ friends, he thinks with a wry laugh.
Maybe his brain had done him a favour this morning.
When the car pulls aside the double storey home nestled into a usually vibrant suburb, he can feel his chest hacking for breath. MacTavish is fucking suffocating at the thought of seeing you. It’s dramatic. It’s pathetic. It’s a spiritual awakening.
The second puff of a laugh leaves him before he thanks the driver and all but troops towards your front door.
“Get it together, Johnny. Fuckin’ hell.” He breathes to himself before he lays three sharp raps onto the wood and then leans his hand against the frame. His bag is at his feet and he feels like he’ll keel over from sheer anxiety and it’s so disorienting that he feels the need to knock himself out with a powerful bang of his head against the brick wall.
The man is a bloodhound because he swears he can already smell your favourite fragrance wrapping around him, and it nudges at his body to go, go tuck her into your chest and never allow room for escape.
Frivolous thoughts are brought to a screech as the door swings open and instead of looking into your gorgeous face, there stands the man with the reaper’s mark on his brow.
And fuck him if a phantom scythe doesn’t come to rest at his shoulder as his eyes lock with the prick’s.
“Oh, it’s the army rat,” is Hayden’s greeting and it takes every last bit of Johnny’s willpower to not just plough through the bone structure of his face.
“Away and take yer face for a shite. Where is she?”
And Christ must favour him because just as the words leave his mouth, you come down the hallway with a speed that has Johnny already bracing for your impact, a smile so damningly hard to fight off taking over his face as he pushes himself off of the door frame.
He could laugh at the way you basically bulldoze Hayden out of your way with barely a sign of acknowledgment of his presence as your eyes lock onto him and shut the world around you down into the background.
You’re in his arms, hands clawing for grip like a feral cat as you let out a breath that he empathises much too deeply with.
“There ye are, sweets,” he doesn’t care that the two of you have an audience, if anything, he’s happy for it. Let Hayden see the effortless manner in which he has you up high enough to wrap your legs around his hips, the grip of his hands on your waist that has your shirt bunching between the gaps of his fingers. Let the fud see his death in the face that rests in the crook of your neck with a pleased groan.
“I missed you,” you whisper into the skin of his neck and the man barely stops his hands from squeezing into your flesh with the visceral impact your lips on his neck has on him. An award, that’s what he deserves for the sheer will he puts into pushing his thoughts far from where else he’d like to feel your pretty mouth whisper words against him. This is meant to be a tender moment. He could keep to that.
“That much is clear with the way you climbed me like a fuckin’ tree, lass.”
God Almighty. Johnny’s going to crumble to his knees, because of course your response is to take the skin beneath your lips between your teeth, nipping. Hard. Any hope of keeping this moment tender is shredded to absolute pieces. In the back of his mind, the man holds the hope that you might actually do the same with the skin you have pinched between your teeth. Ruin him, he wants to beg of you, even as he is well aware that you already have.
“Naughty little thing, sinkin’ yer teeth into me like I’m some kind of chew toy.” He can only pray that there is none of the heat that burns through him compressed into his words and the playfulness he is aiming for is what sticks the landing.
There should be gratitude that your answer is the slow scrape of your teeth before you let the skin slip away, but that sentiment is quite hard to come by when he feels the need to readjust himself in his pants.
You pull away from his neck to look at him, and he feels your hands relax their grip to splay out at the nape of his neck and he watches pretty eyes scan his face slowly, taking stock of every feature until you are satisfied and then focusing solely on his eyes. Johnny can almost fool himself into taking that simple act of accounting for all of him to be possessive, territorial but then again, you did drive the poor man half delirious.
“Hi.” You say with the sweetest smile, like nothing could deter you from this, here.
“Hi yerself.” His smile matches yours like symmetry.
“I should probably get off of you,” you laugh but Johnny can see the heat crawling from your neck to your cheeks, your eyes flutter away from his own and it only broadens his smile into a grin.
“Yeah? And I was under the impression you were just gettin’ comfortable.” It’s instinct, to crawl under your skin. Payback even, because you now lived in his bloodstream.
Your glare is playful at most as you slide one leg down to the ground to steady yourself back onto your own feet and Johnny has half the mind to catch you by the thigh before you bring the other down as well, but he doesn’t. Not yet. He still has two weeks to wear you down onto him, if you allow it.
Once you find your feet, you lean back in for another squeeze like you can’t help yourself and damn, if he isn’t going to lick at the fingers that feed him crumbs, purposely flexing almost off of his abdominal muscles as you lay your head on his pec with loose arms around his waist.
“Get your stuff inside before you say something else to piss me off and you’re kicked to the streets.”
Johnny chuckles and scoops his bag up as you step back into the doorframe, your audience now gone and clanging around in the kitchen with an aggression that makes him preen. He also has two weeks to do some much needed weeding, and he is all too happy with his headstart on that front.
It plays out like a fucking movie before his eyes, you pulling him into your home, leading him to the room that’s been empty for a just over a month now to set his bag down before you’re dragging him to the living room. You don’t even speak, but your eyes keep looking back to him, as if it’s taking you a bit to process that he is actually here. Being honest, it hasn’t caught up with him yet either, despite the way every sense of you has now embedded itself into his skin, as if not a single thing he does has you close enough, real enough to tamper down the excessive energy within his body.
When the two of you fall into the cushions of your couch, there is a pregnant silence, with just your eyes locked. Johnny douses himself in the warmth of yours for a selfish second longer before he lifts his arm up in an invitation you barely process before you’re leaning into him.
Maybe he is truly sleep deprived and crazed for it, because Johnny can almost swear that he hears a click as you fit into his side like a missing part finding its whole.
“I missed ye too, bonnie.” He says, your words having echoed in the cavity of his chest since he stepped over the threshold of your door. Yes, maybe taking these two weeks to be in your company has made that sentiment clear enough, and yes actions do indeed speak louder than words, but he needed to say it. Needed you to hear it. You voiced it so many times to him and he felt like a dick for making a joke of it outside, and yeah he could just be overthinking it, but he needed to say it.
There are already too many things he can’t say as it is.
You look up at him, emotions, as rich as the irises that haunt his fitful nights of sleep, swimming in those very eyes and he’s patient, giving you the time you need to sift through those emotions to find your words. He knows you, God does he know you because he can almost count down the seconds to you peeking your tongue out to prepare your lips for your words and you do exactly that just as he thinks it. Too deep, Johnny is in far too deep.
“When I called you last night.. I wanted to be selfish and ask you to stay on that call with me until you boarded your flight.”
He wants to kiss you. Can he kiss you? Because for the life of him he cannot think of a response that would be any level appropriate for the title of friends that you both have been claiming to remain at. So instead of grabbing you at the jaw and devouring you as he thinks so often of doing, he replies without thought.
“You should have, because I would ’ave.”
Your face brightens, the corners of your mouth betraying you for all the twitching they do. Johnny has the stray thought that he wants to lick at those divots until you give up fighting that smile.
“Oh? But I was under strict orders to sleep.” You push away just enough to turn and face him more without losing too much contact with him, and it does not escape his notice how you keep touching him in any way possible.
He takes the risk, fortified by your hand that has come up to entwine with his own on the backrest of the couch. He leans down ever so slowly until the tips of your noses are mere millimetres from brushing and he drops his voice into a whisper, “I would’a lulled you to sleep with ease, Sweets and still ‘ave remained on that call until you woke up.”
There’s a slow release of a deep breath that brushes his face and only then does Johnny realise that you have been holding in your breath since he drew closer and it sets him alight. His wee bonnie, just as affected as him. Land-fuckin’-slide.
“You in the business of reading bedtime stories now, MacTavish?” False bravado when your eyes are telling him to have you laid out on this couch for his eating. Two weeks, he had convinced himself he would need to crack at you, and now you were practically on his lap, teasing at his leashes. Who was he to not give you a taste of his want at its rawest?
The dark chuckle slips from him before he can control himself, “Not any of the kind yer used to, sweetheart.”
It has him thrashing within himself to see your eyelashes flutter with the heavy lidded look you get before you catch yourself, rolling your eyes and pushing at his chest to sit up straighter. He could throw his head back, moaning with what this push and pull is doing to him, seeing you fight yourself when it’s so clear. So transparent. You’re his for the taking. If only he fights off whatever ridiculous part of you is putting up that resistance. And yet, your hand remains interlocked with his.
Cute, foolish little thing.
“Right, wouldn’t put it past you to spin up some X-rated version of a classic fairytale.” You say with a forced scoff, turning away from him to inspect some imaginary thing beside the TV stand.
Johnny only supplies you with a noncommittal hum, knowing that you are as well aware as he is that your front might as well be made of fuckin’ straw. Call him the big bad wolf, the way your touch has him ready to huff, puff and blow that shit down.
The rest of the day is spent right on that couch, conversation that takes on a quiet tone between the two of you, so intimate it makes his teeth ache. The both of you keep erring on the edges of platonically appropriate before you take another step back within that boundary. Johnny is frustrated, frustrated for you because he can only imagine the turmoil you are putting yourself through to keep reeling yourself back when you are so clearly receptive to the advances he dares at.
If the man could just understand why, why you stop yourself right at the ledge of the cliff like some sort of sick game to torture yourself.
It doesn’t bother him, not when he can see it in your eyes, your open body language and feel it in the warmth of your touch that never strays too far from him as the sun descends. Johnny has never known himself to be particularly patient, but with you? With you, he’ll wait at those borders until they open up to him with zero inhibitions.
Of course, that’s not to say he won’t take your cues to keep brushing against the barriers with you like a twisted dance.
At some point in the early evening, you’ve managed to get him to lay his head down in your lap as you play with his hair, teasing comments about the length claiming the only thing he has going for him, a stupid mohawk. Naturally he pushes his head up and back to nip at your fingers until you’re laughing and nagging at him to let go of the three fingers between his jaws.
You’re in your own little bubble, the two of you. No background noise, no distraction, just the ebb and flow of your voices within the living room. It’s enough to convince Johnny that this is what coming home would be like. Hours of catching up like the phone calls were not enough. Hands that reach for any measly excuse to be on each other. Eyes that keep locking and promising so much more.
It only swells at his chest more knowing you’re not naturally much of a talker. But with him, you practically babble and the man cannot get enough of it. You give him pieces of yourself and he barely chews before it’s digested, gluttonous for what you offer to him.
So he lays on your lap, gazing up at you as you talk with one hand attempting to animate whatever is going on in that pretty head of yours and the other combing through his hair.
It’s domestic bliss. Until it’s not.
Hayden waltzes in, just as you are leaning over Johnny’s face to inspect his nose as he tells you a story of how he had broken it when he was younger, and throws himself onto the neighbouring armchair with his full focus on the two of you. His posture and facial expression tell Johnny more than enough. He’s here to taunt the reaper.
“I’ve taken the liberty of moving your things to my room.” Hayden is addressing him, a cold smile pulled over thin lips. Johnny can feel the way your entire body goes rigid beneath his head and it pisses him well off. For the past couple of hours, you had been at ease, soft beneath his fingers and head and there was warmth radiating off of you and now, that had been swept away with a brisk and cold wind.
He doesn’t give the shithead the satisfaction of a reaction, instead, Johnny reaches for the hand that has stilled in his hair and nudges for you to continue with a small groan. Once you begin to stiffly comb through his hair again, he brings his eyes lazily back to Hayden with a smile to match, “And where do you get off thinkin’ you can touch my things? It’s not enough you’re stealing your roommate’s clothes like a fuckin’ pervert, you’re going to wank off to my briefs now too?”
It’s almost comical how red and round his face gets and if Johnny wasn’t talking himself down from putting Hayden through the window, he would have laughed.
Your sick headed roommate only clears his throat and sits up straighter like somehow his posture will assert any dominance over a man that has broken weak spined spoons like him for laughs in training. He glares at Johnny with condescendence before he opens his ass again to speak.
“I don’t trust you or your intentions with her so I think it’s best that you sleep down the hall in my room. I’ll take Bianca’s old room for the duration of your stay. We’re all safer that way.”
The silence that follows is heavy, and Johnny finds himself trying that counting shite Gaz had convinced him was meant to help ground him. No shit, it doesn’t work.
“Aye, is that right?” Johnny slowly brings his body back into a sitting position and settles his eyes on Hayden.
The man makes the mistake of breaking eye contact with him and turning to look at you with a raised eyebrow and a haughty, “You’ll thank me for this eventually.”
Johnny is across the room before he has fully finished his sentence, he towers over Hayden before crouching just enough to get close enough to the fucker.
“Here’s what’s about’a happen, Hayden. Yer going to stand up from this here chair, apologise to the lady for yer ma not using that umbilical cord of yers as a noose to fix her mistake before ye march yer pathetic wee self up those stairs to get all’ye belongings out of that room. Do that and I’ll spare ye a fraction of the hospital bills currently being racked up under y’name.”
He’s seething, chest rising and falling beneath Johnny’s gaze and he can see the second Hayden makes the decision to get himself killed.
“You want to march in here with a government issued uniform as if it gives you the right to fuck what I’ve been waiting years to claim as mine and I’m not going to le-”
Hayden doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Johnny spits into his face and has him at the collar of his shirt, raising them both before throwing him against the wall, his fist shortly following to break Hayden’s nose until blood sprays. It’s rage, white hot and mind numbing that has Johnny on top of him as he crumbles to the floor. A slew of insults spill from him but he barely registers that he has his mouth moving with the way his body goes into autopilot of the most lethal degree. The only thing that shakes at the grip the rage has on him is your voice, hoarse and shouting for him to stop.
“Johnny, stop! Just get the fuck off of him!” You’re behind him and he wants to reprimand you for even daring to get close enough to catch any of the rebound of the scruff but there isn’t much to it when it’s only Johnny laying down hit after hit.
Finally you hook your fingers into the collar of his jacket from behind and give a hard tug, “Enough!”
He gives in, pulling away from the pathetic excuse of a man, but never letting his eyes leave him. And for good reason, because just as he rises to his full height, Hayden rolls back to look up at him with a bruised and bloodied scowl, “Fine, take the bitch, just don’t be surprised when I have her pussy stretched out the second your feet touch base again.”
Johnny’s entire body is shaking as he leans down and grabs the weight of Hayden by his clothes. He moves out of the room with the man uselessly fighting his hold as he calls your name with an eerie calm that has you looking at him wide eyed, “Open the door f’me.”
He doesn’t really think you’re registering but still, you do as he says and he steps outside before he sends Hayden skidding across the paved walkway with a broken cry, following him to bring a heavy blow to his stomach and then another his eye. Johnny can feel the throb in his knuckles after the skin has split on almost all of them, but he is barely present with the way Hayden’s words drum repetitively in his ears.
When the fucker is teetering on unconsciousness, Johnny grabs his dislocated jaw so hard that tears stream down pink and hot over Hayden’s swelling cheeks. He barely makes any sounds now. Praise fuckin’ be. Tugging his face so that he has no choice but to look into Johnny’s eyes, Johnny speaks and it’s barely recognisable as his own voice with the deathly calm in it.
“Once ye’ve licked your fuckin’ wounds and tucked y’tail between yer legs, ye can come back to pack up yer shite to never be seen again. If the bonnie thing even catches a whiff of ye down this street, I can promise you no one will ever find your restin’ place.”
Johnny does not give him the time to respond before he is up and heading back into the house, slamming the door shut and locking it for emphasis. Nevermind that the fud could have his keys on him, it’s more so the message it sends if anything. Only then, does his chest begin to heave, a shout burns at his throat and there’s an itch to his skin that makes him think that maybe he needs to go back outside, finish the job and ring Simon. The man looks around for an outlet or distraction, or fuck just anything to force the humanity back into him and it’s only the glimpse of you sitting on the third last step of the staircase to his left that has him sagging inwards.
You look so tired, exhausted and angry and there’s a defeated press to your lips that makes Johnny want to sink to his knees and crawl to you to seek penance. Fuck. Where had your afternoon together gone? Washed away with the blood and bruises of the parasite that lived within these walls for far too long and only shown its true nature now.
“Is he dead?” The question is asked so monotonously that Johnny lets out a sigh.
“He should be.”
That does it, he thinks to himself and you practically fly off of the steps in a whirlwind of outrage, using that momentum to shove at his chest.
“What the actual fuck, Johnny? Have you lost the damn plot? You cannot just solve any and every problem with the type of violence that leads to a grave.” Your eyes are so wild, so vibrant in colour it’s disorienting to him and he cannot thwart the wriggling admission in his head that you look so heavenly when you live your emotions loudly. It’s almost enough to distract him from your words.
“Don’t tell me you expected me to sit there and smile as he outright admitted to wantin’ to assault you.” He bears his gaze down on yours, the flame in you rekindling the pyre within him.
Your expression morphs between exasperation and frustration. “So your best solution was to beat him up within an inch of his life, is that it?”
“Well it’s a lot better solution than continuing to stay with the piece of shit!”
Something in him pinches as he watches your entire face fall, the limpness to your hands telling him that somehow that singular sentence has seeped all of that fire out of you. Everything is confusing, the situation so sticky and suffocating that Johnny feels the need to take deep inhales just to stay present and lucid.
He doesn’t understand. Not for the life of him, he cannot wrap his head around any of it. Johnny hadn’t imagined that undercurrent fear and anxiety in your anger when you spoke to him about Hayden, and yet every time he tried to get you to kick the swine out, move out or have someone you trust stay over, you’d brush it off. You’re a smart girl, Johnny knows this. Fucking intelligent, with your wits about you at all times, so why? Why did this feel like you were refusing to acknowledge the vile intentions of the man laying in a heap outside when he had voiced it directly?
You don’t answer him, only stand there and look at him with this emptiness that makes him want to claw at his own skin.
“Could you just explain it to me, lass? Because I’ve been goin’ out of my mind trying to understand how you refuse to see the danger. You call me, ranting and raging about that man and yet, here ye are and I just-. I don’t fuckin’ understand.”
The hurt is as clear as day, it cracks across your face like a stone to fine china and before he can even open his mouth again, you’re pivoting on your feet and marching up the stairs. He doesn’t even think before he is following behind you, calling your name to ask you to wait, please, just speak t’me.
Johnny closes your bedroom door as you go to stand at the foot of your bed with your back to him, the rise and fall of your shoulders enough for him to give you just a second. His head is spinning and immediately, he’s back in the change rooms, emotion induced vertigo. MacTavish’s head feels like it might implode with the pressure building both around and within him.
Damn right mess, the lot of it.
He calls your name once more, softer this time, more imploring than anything. You do turn around and it’s whiplash. God, you flicker through emotions faster than he does and all he sees in you is that pyre that burnt away his reason as he had Hayden on the ground beneath his fists.
“I cannot believe that you would even question whether I understand the situation I am in right now. Not only to do that and then to think you throwing your fucking paws around would be the big hoorah to this story. Johnny, I’ve been looking into his face for well over three years and in the last two months, I have been struggling to process the changes in it. And I still haven’t and now you stand there and you tell me you can’t understand as if I’d rather make excuses for the shit that keeps me up at night than try to find safety.”
He dares a step, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to do as you do. Process, think, speak. Not an easy adaptation but necessary right about now.
“You haven’t really voiced that part of it to me, lass. Fuck, I doubt you’ve voiced it to anyone. So just try to put yerself in my shoes, a 5 hour flight away and hearin’ that fear and disbelief and then having you shut me down when I try my very best to find a way to ensure a little more safety for you.”
The anger is still there, though it's not as volatile as it had been when you first turned around to face him. It clicks then, that the anger is easier to latch onto and power through than to succumb to the more fragile state of you and he can’t help but to get even closer. It’s admiration this time, that floods him, to see you cling to that strongest part of you to keep yourself together.
“I did,” you spit out, leaning to get closer to his face as you ball your hands into fists, “I did put myself in your shoes and that’s why I didn’t say anything, Johnny. What use is it for me to talk about it and cause you worry over something that has no easy solution.”
A dry and bitter laugh leaves him, “Sayin’ it or not, I’m going to fuckin’ worry about you! And no easy solution, my ass, Sweets. If ye had just listened to me, we could’a found one that didn’t end like this.”
Alright, so maybe the anger wasn’t too far behind on his end either. But fuck, it’s infuriating how little consideration you have for yourself in all of this, too worried about everyone else to think about the dangers that lingered bare doors away.
“Oh there it is!” A hand is thrown up in exasperation as you glare up at him, “The male arrogance is never far behind, is it?”
Johnny’s trying, God he’s trying to remind himself that with you clutching to anger, you’re lashing out at just about anything but this blow is particularly low. For you to hammer down on the one fear that kept him at base instead of attempting AWOL whenever you called. He knew what it would sound like, for your close male friend to demand you search for alternative accommodation away from your male roommate, and yet he tried to implore it as best he could. To avoid sounding territorial and possessive. Fuckin’ Hayden had pulled that exact move starting this whole mess and here you are, throwing that in his face.
Just like that, he’s back to 100. Like he had never left, because he never ever wanted for you to look at him and see any semblance of the sorry excuse for a human he had thrown out of the house. Johnny had his fair share of skeletons in the closet but fuck, nothing even remotely similar to that which Hayden waited for you to be alone with him to parade.
“It’s not male arrogance.” He snaps, so close to growling like a fucking bear with the way the conversation has him wired up. Johnny can tell that he’s seconds from costing you damage to the drywall behind him.
“So just your own arrogance then,” you feel it wise enough to chirp back as you glower at him, your hand reaching out to fist at his jacket before you give another shove. There’s a flicker there, your movement's so jerky and your body language impossible to read. The push and pull from earlier no longer as playful and airy. No, it’s manifesting in a physical manner now, like you cannot decide if you want to be grabbing at him or knocking him as far away from you as possible.
Johnny’s head is reeling. He can barely find his feet beneath him with his own inner turmoil and to have yours become so tangible… he’s sinking. No, he’s being tossed about in the abyss and closing his eyes for this ride only makes it so much worse.
You’re practically baring your teeth at him, daring him to push you past your precipice, but then your eyes are begging him for something else. The heat isn’t scalding him, the flames of it dance around him as if the goal is to hypnotise him and fuck him if the heat that licks at him doesn’t sizzle deep into his thighs and upwards. What are you asking from him, he cannot tell and Johnny’s so close to boiling over.
The anger cuts its sharp edges into his muscles, anger not at you but for you, and anger that bathes in hatred aimed at Hayden. Johnny understands you, because this too is much easier to grab hold of than the underlying tension, anxious need to put more precautions in place for the hours that are sure to follow.
And now, you’re presenting another feeling to cling to. One he has been suppressing for so long that you cannot possibly understand what you are doing by coaxing it to the surface with how unstable he is feeling.
By no fucking means would he ever resort to the shite Hayden had been entertaining in that demented head of his. No, Johnny’s biggest fear with the lust the two of you had been toying with all day, that you now sharpen down to a weapon to poke at him with, is that you were far from okay enough to make such a decision. Never will he belittle you and think himself better to tell you how to feel, but fuck the two of you are standing knee deep in shit and he cannot think that getting his back on your mattress will have the happy conclusion he had been dreaming up on his way to you.
Maybe you’re a sadist, or maybe you’re just as twisted up in the head as he is, because you take two steps further into him, your chest now pushed into his own in a challenge. You’re waiting for him to respond, impatient to see his next move if the haughty raise of your chin is anything to go by, taut nipples now visible and brushing against him.
The man is irrevocably fucked. If he doesn't have his fist through your bedroom wall, he’ll have you pinned to it as he paws at you like some sort of starved animal. Nevertheless, Johnny eyes the wall behind you with every intention of becoming well acquainted with it one way or the other. And he’s heavily leaning for the other, practically going off kilter for it.
God he wants every edge of your anger pressed against his own so that the two of you can work on relieving it together. If you need to use him to distract from everything, to feel in control, he is but a puppet on a string. He’d offer you anything to get back some of that light in your eyes, telling him you are here, you are present.
He doesn’t fully know how conventional your method of choice is, but he stands there, hand snaking around you to pull you flush against him.
“Call it what you want, but don’t get it twisted. There is no room for my arrogance when you have me on my knees for ye with just one word. I’m your weapon to wield, Sweets.”
Words have never felt so raw, like jagged shards crawling up his throat and there is physical pain there, as he looks at you begging. For what, Johnny is not entirely sure, but he hopes for his own sake that you do.
You make a gargled sound of disbelief, eyebrows furrowing and head reeling back just enough to look up into his. The both of you are fucked, because of course you look as lost as he feels.
“You beat him half to death,” you breathe angrily, hands coming up once again but this time, when they fist into the stiff cotton of his jacket, they don’t shove at him. Progress, he thinks.
“Aye, and if he does die, I have a man waiting for the phone to ring to make it all better.” The scowl you give him incites something wayward in him than what he is sure you were hoping for. He makes you aware of this by the way he slides his hand higher to cup the back of your neck.
“Sweets, you’re going t’have to tell me right now what you want. I’m fraying at the edges trying to understand if I’m reading ye right or being an absolute bastard when you’re clearly more vulnerable. So please, just tell me what you need and you’ll have it.” Johnny leans down to brush the tip of his nose against yours, his eyes falling closed as he allows the heat of your skin to ease him down.
“Johnny,” it’s a breathy thing, your voice, like you’re only just coming up for air and the look you spare him, tells him you might just be. Your microexpressions flip through a myriad of muscle movements before your lips start to tremble. “I need you.”
He can’t help it, he’s shaking his head. Call it fear, call it disbelief, call it what ever the fuck sticks to the wall, but he hadn’t been prepared for those to be your words. “There is a lot happening here, bonnie, I don’t want yo-”
Johnny had never stood a chance. You hit him like an air strike. The impact is immediate and it shatters him to dust, specks refracting the light that radiates from you. He was certain he knew a thing or two about explosives, but that certainty meets its maker in your kiss, the force of you meeting the ends of him.
It takes him a millisecond to understand, to fully grasp that your soft lips are on his and your hands are trying to be everywhere, so indecisive and feverish that it rips a groan from him. He understands, he does, because he can’t get close enough to you without feeling the need to crowd you into a corner and there, hello wall, nice to finally fuckin’ meet ye.
Johnny slaps one hand beside your head, the other cushioning your skull from the hard surface he has you up against, praying quietly to himself that if he’s about to wake up on that damned plane, it could at least wait until he was inside you before it stole him away to reality. It bugs him still though, that this feels so real and yet it doesn’t and his head, God it’s whirring and he hates to do it, but he has to, has to, has to be sure.
“Sweets, please, I need you to explicitly say that this is what you want, that this is- Fuck.” He’s suffering, truly, he’s just about writing his own obituary in his head because your lips are back at his neck, tongue peeking out to kitten lick the smallest trail before your lips are back there, ruining him.
He pulls away with the same disappointment you vocalise with a whine, eyes somehow both pleading and demanding him as you look up at his face. “Words, sweetheart. I need words, please, Jesus.”
It takes a second but he can see the moment you actually understand how distressed he is, the restraint he has on himself and some of your softness returns to your face. Hands he’s been growing so accustomed to in mere hours cup the sides of his neck, thumbs stroking as you find your words. The patience this time feels so much easier on him when the stroke of your fingers speak sentences on their own.
“Regardless of the shitshow, of the blood on your hands and the… mess we’ll have to face for it tomorrow, I want you, Johnny. And not as a distraction or anything of the sort. I’ve been wanting you, I just have fucking incredible timing.”
The noise he makes is somewhere between amusement and pain, laying his head on your shoulder for a breath. Your words are sinking into his bones and changing the very composition of him. There is a whole damn conversation to be had about this, but for now, he can only stick to short rapid words.
“God, you drive me insane.”
“I’m sorry.”
He’s possessed, with the way he whips his head up and his lips are pressing into yours with a force to eat away your apology, a fevered and crazed whisper, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
When you don’t acknowledge his words, Johnny has no issue getting your plump bottom lip between his teeth and biting until a keen escapes you and you’re nodding excessively, nails digging into his neck. Of course your acquiescence would come with claws. It has him hardening in the stupid khaki pants that almost immediately suffocate him.
“We can’t go back from this, Sweets, I won’t ever be able to be anything less than yours after this.” It’s a promise, maybe it teeters on a sweetened warning, but he needs to be clear. Taking him apart as you are, there would be no way of putting him back together.
You smile against his lips, pressing away from the wall to arch into him, “Mine.”
A grunt is all Johnny can manage, kissing down your jaw to the column of your neck and settles a more tender kiss at the base as you let out a satisfied breath, “Precisely that, sweetheart.”
“I like that. Love it, really.” He barely manages a chuckle, so lost in you and that bubble that the two of you have so carefully curated as it returns. He wants so much, and yet he is careful, way too mindful of the events of the evening, of the past month really, that he cannot throw himself at you with all that he has been suppressing.
Hips buck and grind into his as you hike up one of your legs to haphazardly wrap around him. Johnny does not get to witness your resolve crumble little by little, instead it all burns away in one swallow of the flame. Like straw. It digs up another chuckle from him, because he knows you, maybe even better than you know yourself or in a way he cannot wait to introduce you to.
“And I’d like to have you keep makin’ those pretty sounds f’me. Love it, really.” You laugh just a little before he accomplishes exactly that with a languid thrust of his own hips and all Johnny can think is that you must be part animal for all the fight you give. Fight not in defence, but offence, an eagerness that is so primal, the man is tempted to check the phase of the moon.
The house is so quiet outside of the panting between the two of you and the friction of clothes rubbing against each other and of course, the sounds he is desperate to coax out of you, but there is the roaring of blood in Johnny’s head. He’s used to being in survival mode where that very same rush will come over him just before he sets foot on mapped out territory, but this is not survival mode.
This is… this is free fall and the rush of eternity coming at his face. This is his soul finally escaping the confines of his body. This is death’s rebirth of Johnny MacTavish. And death has her nails scratching into his skin, his name on her lips and his body cradled between her hips.
You’re a fine death, he decides as his hand finally dares to crawl beneath your shirt, the shudder of your body as he skims your stomach to the cup of your bra so exquisite that he draws a gasp with you. He had every hope before this very moment that he would ravish you, get all of you into his mouth until he was so full it tore him apart at the seams but now, his body is called to worship. Every morsel that you offer him is sanctified and praised. His knees ache to meet the ground before you and he is almost sure that if you look at him through your lashes again, he’ll start speaking in tongues.
“Undress me, please?” He’s actually shaking and there is not an ounce of shame in him, because he wants you to know just how much he is at your mercy.
Johnny gives a stiff nod, before his fingers are curling at the edges of your shirt and pulling it up, exposing more of you. His eyes immediately follow the movement, taking his time to drink you in. When the article of clothing finally clears your head, he lets out a broken breath and kisses you with reverence, physically flinching with what he plans to do next.
He takes a step back, forcing his body to at least start to pull away from you but he gives you one more chaste kiss when you let out a cry in outrage of his retreat. “Just a second, Sweets. I am not touching you with that wankstain’s blood on my hands.”
You have the nerve to glare accusingly at him but he decides to ignore that as he finally pulls away and heads for your en-suite, looking back over his shoulder just as he turns the light on.
You’re still against the wall, the only light touching you coming from your open curtains, looking at him with a hunger that feels both tender and deadly and it’s this image that Johnny knows will be at the forefront of his mind for all his days to come.
“Fuck,” he whispers to himself as he rushes on to get soap onto his hands at the sink and the tap running. Johnny scrubs, ignoring the blinding sting from his split knuckles and puts all his focus on getting the sticky, drying blood off of him. He wants it off, wants it draining away from the both of you so that when he finally touches you again, it’s pure. It’s him and only him.
Johnny knows it does not undo his actions, he’s aware that you are not too pleased with his methods and that is yet another discussion to be had and something wriggles within his head that maybe it should be had now. It’s guilt, that much he can tell, that brings his shoulders to a bunch and has his scrubbing at his hands even harder.
Lost in his own thoughts, he doesn’t register that you’ve crept in behind him until your hands are running down his forearms and gently easing his ministrations until he stops. He’s not brave enough to look up into the mirror before him to see you tucked away at his back with only your arms coming around. Instead, he looks down at smaller hands that stroke down to his fingers with delicacy. You’re comforting him and he could draw a weapon against himself for the irony of it.
“It’s all gone, Johnny. You’re okay.” It hurts, so fucking much for you to be standing behind him, talking him down when it should be him cradling you and being the voice of reason. He finally lifts his eyes to the mirror and his skin prickles, there’s a shift, some cog in the machine slipping into place. He cannot explain it, but just the reflection of your arms encircling him is enough for Johnny to come to the conclusion. This is his summit. Every single decision, right or wrong or neither, has led up to standing in this en-suite with his death, life and universe wrapping her arms around him.
Conscious of how cold his hands are, he flips his palms up in asking and you need no other cue to slide your fingers between the gaps of his, stepping closer as they lock into him. That’s the click he heard earlier, the sound of the world righting itself by making him whole again. “You make me okay. I need to know that you’re okay.”
The shake of your head is all he feels before what he suspects to be you placing a kiss to his shoulder blade and suddenly he has a grudge against his jacket. He should burn it later. Or maybe he’ll keep it as a memento, for the sake of this very moment. Whatever, either way it is coming off soon and its fate will be a concern for later.
“You’ve asked me that a number of times already.” It’s his turn to shake his head, albeit not as endearingly as you had.
“Not like this. I’m not askin’ if you’re okay with me having you, bonnie. I’m askin’ if the lass standing behind me right now needs to sit down and process, if her mind and body are still in sync enough for the decisions she’s making. I need to know where you are mentally, Sweets.”
The silence that follows tells him that you are mulling over his words, he can feel it in the way your spine straightens and you gather your weight to balance it evenly across both feet. A deep breath leaves you and he squeezes your hands to let you know he’s here.
“I think,” your voice is soft but it holds conviction, “that this entire thing has scared me so much, left me feeling so out of control and vulnerable that all I longed for was to have you here. Not because you’re strong and capable and I see you as a shield, but because you remind me of the healthy balance of fear and vulnerability. It took me a while, Johnny. To realise that there is no other person that makes me feel polar emotions in tandem as you do and that I want it. So yes, my mind and body are in sync, no I do not want to sit down and let my head drown me on dry land. Mentally, I am clinging to the only good thing I want solely for myself, and I am hoping that he doesn’t see me reaching out for him as a need for distraction.”
He’s scrambling for words, anything to encompass how he will never feel good enough for you but fuck, if he won’t try, won’t burn the obstacles before him down, crawl through blood and dirt to earn you. So all Johnny can think to do is turn around in your arms and all but get your limbs tangled around him as he returns to your bedroom.
You go down onto your mattress like a goddess and he’s already tearing out of his clothes with a panting breath and emotions so thick, it almost makes him nauseous. You’re smiling at him, golden and glittering as you reach to undo your pants, shimmying out of them without breaking eye contact once. Johnny laughs softly at the way you kick your left leg to get the thing to fall to the floor and free you entirely and he bends to give you a helping tug, not strong enough to resist pressing a kiss to your thigh before he looks back up at you.
“You remember what I said, bonnie thing?” His mouth is dry, it’s a fleeting thought as he crawls up the length of your body in nothing but his briefs, thoroughly enjoying the heat of your eyes taking him in. He knows the look, you get it in the sweets aisle of the grocery store when you’re craving sugar. Eyes struggling to decide on one thing to indulge in, like you’re completely overstimulated and yet still left wanting. The fact that he is now the subject of your want, your craving is enough for him to press against your bed for a lick of friction to his hardening cock.
“Still perfectly content with you being mine,” you whisper with haste, hands circling his neck and tugging. He goes with ease, eager to be at your beck and call. Johnny hums in his kiss to the corner of your mouth as his elbow comes beside your head to balance himself, “And what’s the verdict on you bein’ mine, sweetheart?”
He can’t help it, he wants to savour you and you might read the tongue licking at the seam of your lips as teasing, but so be it. He’s spoiling himself just a little. Although it feels more abundant when you whine and wrap your legs around his hips, simultaneously lifting your head to have his mouth again.
“You leave me hangin’, I’ll do the same to you.” This time, there is an accompanying smirk as he keeps his face just out of reach. His left hand is now drawing mindless patterns up your ribs before his pointer begins to skim below the band of your bra. His movements are paced, controlled but he cannot say how long they will remain that way with the restlessness of you beneath him.
“I didn’t think it could be much more obvious, Johnny.” God, the slight impatience in your voice is enough to make his head spin. “I thought I made it clear that I like it when you use your words,” he whispers back, eyes dropping from that pretty face to the chest that heaves up and down and attempts to hypnotise him. And it’s working.
Johnny pushes the cup of your bra down with a tug and has his mouth on your breast before you can open your mouth. You’re muted sugar, floral and citrusy on his tongue and it makes him moan. He could lick and suck at you until he had cavities. Your nipple turns taut in his mouth and he suctions it between his lips, the tip of his tongue flicks at it imploringly until you’re answering him with broken words and higher pitched moans. When he scrapes his teeth just slightly around your nipple, you practically kick out at him.
The man pulls away with a slight chuckle, more than pleased that your pleasure is so aggressive, so demanding that he’s already getting ahead of himself to test out all of your responses to his ministrations.
He pulls your other breast free but stops just a breath away from welcoming it to the feel of his warm mouth, eyes flicking back up to see you looking down at him as if you’ll cry if he doesn’t suck your tit between his lips soon. “Am still waiting, lass.”
Your eyebrows pull together in a picture of sexual frustration that has him close to coming in his damn briefs. The flutter of your eyelashes, the part of your lips and the breast straining to reach him with your heavy breathing. This is a sinner’s heaven.
“I’m yours, Johnny.”
His head goes blank, mouth coming down on you with a fever that hadn’t been so tumultuous minutes earlier, he forgoes balancing himself above you and instead, thinks up a better way to be suckling at you. Johnny gathers your thighs to lock around his legs behind his knees, rolling over until you’re on top of him, gasping out his name. Much better, he thinks as he has you sprawled over his chest, his other hand now free to grope at your abandoned breast, wet with his spit against his palm. There’s no tactic here, this is solely to give him a taste before he has you coming undone for him.
“Fuck,” you breathe, hands now caging in his head and your pussy positioned right onto his cock. Johnny felt the wet circle of him leaking before he got you on top of him, now the wetness of your panties introduces more heat to his cock and he bucks into that feeling. Another strangled sound leaves as he does so and he nips at your nipple before he’s pulling back.
“You’re in control here, Sweets. You’re going to take what you want and nothing less, ye hear me?”
Clearly not, because your eyes are closed and your face is pinched in need as your hands fists the comforter on either side of his head, hips gingerly grinding against him. It’s torture. It’s bliss.
Snaking down, Johnny gets his hands to grab at your waist and help you into a stronger grind, your name on his lips calling for your attention and when you open those pretty eyes, you are drunk with lust. “What?”
Feeling to be a little more mischievous, Johnny gets his feet planted onto the bed to give a purposeful thrust against your cunt that has you almost falling into his chest again. You give the most sorry excuse for a slap to his pec and it’s almost like you’re rediscovering him. Eyes dropping to his chest and sinking down until you’re watching yourself dry hump him. He doesn’t fail to notice the hiccup in your breath when you see what a mess you’re making of the two of you. You drag your eyes back up his chest and then your hands are grabbing and feeling at him, fingertips kneading at the muscle beneath you. Johnny’s revelling in the way you are exploring him, with hunger, with the knowledge that it is all yours and there is no need to rush a good meal when it’s not going anywhere.
He reminds you of this again, “That’s it, Sweets. Yours for the taking, however you want it.”
The groan you let out is so guttural, head thrown back momentarily and your hips canting against his just a bit harsher. Johnny takes this opportunity to let his fingers play at the elastic band of your panties, each little tug and swipe beneath it has you whimpering. Best thing man’s heard all his fuckin’ life.
“Want it off,” you finally plead, hands coming to get his beneath the offending material as you lift yourself off of him briefly like he needs a visual cue.
“Just yours, sweetheart? Or you wanna grind down on my cock some before I get my mouth on that pretty cunt?” He gives you options, fully sticking to his words of you remaining in control, but Johnny can’t help the little nudging when you’re struggling to form full sentences. The sound you make is like gospel. If he closes his eyes, he can see golden gates opening for him.
Another keen from you as his hands finally pull down your panties over your hips, “I don’t know, just wanna-”
But you’re not finishing your sentence, no instead your wee vixen self now has his hand right where you want him, nevermind that your panties are strangling your thighs and limiting the access you’re giving him.
Johnny hisses as his fingers brush against your folds, so soaked that he slides through them and meets your clit with minimal effort, “Jesus sweetheart, pussy’s weeping for it, eh?”
“Yes! There, there Johnny.” Your voice is almost hoarse with lust and you give him this pleading look that has the man just about ready to do anything for you. There’s the stray worry about how you’re hovering above his crotch, elastic digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, but it’s so hard to concentrate when you’re giving him an eyeful of your pretty pussy, so soft and wet with the juice of you that his jaw is slack with the need to get a mouthful.
It’s a visual he’ll remember for nights to come when he’s alone in his bunker, dick throbbing in his fist and your name leaving his lips like a fervent prayer. A raspy, deep moan burns from Johnny’s throat when you look down at yourself and your eyes grow heavy lidded at the way you writhe against his fingers. Hair falls in your face and Johnny is quick to push it back, wanting no hindrance in this image of you that will burn itself into his memory with vivid detail.
Johnny lets two of his fingers leave their pursuit of stroking your clit to delve between your lips again, eager for the wetness. The blunt of his fingers circles your entrance, eyes watching your face with rapt attention to witness what exactly makes you tick for him. He dips in with such shallow thrusts that you grab at his wrist and meet him halfway.
“That’s a good pet, take it just as you are. It’s yours.” He praises and you reward him with a wobbly whimper as you sink down as best you can on his two fingers, testing your own limits. You pause at the second knuckle, a tremor going through you.
“Too much, Johnny, can’t take it all yet.” There’s a devilish smile on his face at the use of the word ‘yet’, satisfaction blooms in his lungs as he sits up and knocks you back onto his thighs, fingers leaving your needy pussy.
He offers you a mocking pout at your protests, hands stroking at your hips as he gets into position to finally rid you of those pesky panties, “There there now, Sweets. I’ve got you. Let me ease this little cunt into my plans for her, yeah?”
You’re nodding excessively and it’s tugging at his heart. So sweet, and yet so incredibly sure of what you want, it has him throbbing and he can only give a sharp squeeze to his cock before he gets you situated on your back. It feels like the two of you have been doing this for years, the way you fall into rhythm with him, he’s reaching for your leg and it’s already being draped into the bend of his arm, your body shifting higher onto the bed to give him room to lay down on his stomach between your thighs. It’s so effortless, fingers digging into the soft flesh of the leg bent at his head, your own combing through his hair to find your grip.
When he looks up at you between the valley of your breasts, you’re meeting his gaze with bated breath, licking at your lips and clutching at his hair in urging. With a smile to thank you for the meal, his broad tongue is flattening against the seam of you, parting your lips and finding the molten core of you as you cry out his name. He can’t help himself, lapping at your cunt with the vigour of a man in need of nutrients. Johnny can barely think while his tongue curls through you to press against your clit, flicking it with quick motions before his lips are engulfing it in apology for the haste.
It hits him then that this is the answer, the next time his head gets too loud, he’ll have you wrapping your beautiful fuckin’ thighs around it to muffle any thoughts into white noise as you give his mouth something to do.
The man is so lost in the taste of you that it takes a couple of tugs to his hair for him to look up at you again, and yet that tongue is back at your entrance, coaxing more wetness into his mouth and down his chin. When he turns his head to nip at the tender skin of your inner thigh, he sees the redness there, the friction of his stubble leaving you with abrasions.
“More, please Johnny? It aches.” God, your pleading has him pressing his hips flush to the mattress to abate the pulsing need.
“Sorry sweetheart, not my fault you’re very much livin’ up to that pet name of yours. Could eat this pussy for days, might have to dedicate some of ‘em to exactly that. What you say, Sweets? Would you let me have all my meals in bed?”
The way you pull at his hair is the only answer he needs, two fingers meeting his tongue for the briefest second before he has them sinking into you. Your legs tense around him and the arm that’s thrown across your stomach presses down lightly, “Let’s see if you can take it now like the good pet you are. Cunt’s greedy, Sweets, I know she can take two fingers, one’s only going to nag at the itch more than anything.”
You’re panting, head digging into the pillow beneath you as your back arches off of the bed, but you do exactly as he says, his two fingers crook inside you just as he gets to the last knuckle and you’re bucking, chanting his name at the rhythm he sets. You squeeze his fingers with a grip that makes Johnny see stars and he cusses as his hips writhe against the bed, the friction of his briefs on the wet and throbbing cockhead almost too much for him. He bends his head in order to distract himself, lips, teeth, tongue reacquainting with your clit and Johnny’s worried that your moans, your cries for him to both stop and give you more will have cops knocking at the door sooner than he’s anticipating.
“Fuck, fuck.. Johnny, I’m gonna come.” It sounds so pleasurably pained, your voice is strained and breathless and it makes him preen.
“Then come, sweetheart, you’re meant to take it, aren’t you? Show me how good you’re takin’ it and come on my fingers.”
It feels like you shut down for a millisecond, your body going so lax before you’re sobbing through your release, the wetness on his chin, in the cup of his palm running down his wrist is evident to the way you’re trembling, spasming around his still thrusting fingers, the tips just brushing shyly against that rough, spongy nook inside of you. When your walls flutter weakly against his fingers, he licks down your seam as he slowly pulls them out of you, kissing lovingly at your swollen, messy lips.
“So fuckin’ good, sweetheart. God, that’s addictive, you’re going to have to fight me off of this sweet cunt. I’ll be diabetic by the end of the night.” The kick you land at his bicep is enough to make him laugh, sitting up on his knees and bringing your leg from the crook of his arm onto his shoulder. Your eyes are hazy with pleasure, pupils dilated and cheeks flush with heat.
Johnny finally allows himself to cup at his dick, squeezing and tugging over his underwear as he takes in the sight of you post orgasm. He sort of wishes he had any artistic inclination because he’d paint this state of you on every possible canvas. Instead, he remembers that technology is god sent and he’ll need to mention the possibility of a keepsake to you. Once he feels like his cock is quite ready to spear through the cotton, he pushes the waistband down to free himself before it becomes entirely too suffocating and he’s kicking it off to fall to your bedroom floor.
Your eyes immediately fall to his shaft and you make a needy sound, already pulling yourself up to get closer to him, eyes flicking between his cock and his eyes and it’s enough for him to pump his fist around his girth. You watch, almost transfixed and it has him restraining himself from picking up his pace, because he promised you the lead in this and his desperation will not get in the way of that.
“Can I taste you?” The rush of the words is what has him pausing his fist, tightening just enough to gather himself as he lets out a grunt so strangled, you look up at him wide eyed.
“You get that pretty mouth on me now and I’m not goin’ to last.” It’s a regrettable confession, but if he’s going to come down your throat, he’d rather it after he felt your cunt clench down on him.
“Later then?” You’re already moving, your back meeting the comforter once again and one hand pulling at his bicep as the other knocks his fist away. Johnny’s barely processing, the way you spit into your hand and then lather it over his cock in a downward thrust of your fist has him almost toppling on top of you. You barely gave the poor man a chance to let your words sink in before you took his length into your fist with a sure and firm grip, offering some much needed relief.
“Christ help me, Sweets. I won’t ever recover from you.” The confession is filled to the brim with emotion and you smile up at him in a way that says the feeling is entirely mutual, because you whisper, “Then don’t,” and you’re guiding his dick to your entrance, lips parting on a wet gasp at the head of him nestles between your folds.
Johnny spares you a look, asking if you’ll allow him to take over and your nod is all he needs before he brings his chest down onto yours being mindful of his full weight with an arm at your head to support him as the other helps him into the snug fit of your weeping cunt, his saliva and your orgasm still messy between your thighs. When he’s just short of bottoming out, keeping an eye on your face to let him know it’s not too much, he kisses at the corner of your mouth. “All yours, every last inch of me.”
Your answer is hands gripping his face and bringing his lips squarely to your own, the kiss both yielding and giving in equal measures as you let his tongue meet yours with an openness that speaks volumes. Johnny lets his tongue push into your mouth at the same moment he sheathes himself completely between your legs and the effect is immediate. You drop your head to the pillow and tense your legs with the need to squeeze him. The moan he lets out is swallowed by you, your body becoming so pliant beneath him, he feels like he’s sinking into your bones.
“I’m all yours, Johnny. Wouldn’t be anything else.”
The fever consumes you both with zeal, the confessed words allowing for the tenderness to burn hot, boiling into a brittle state that shatters the last of any reservations. His thrusts are deep, impactful and needy and they have your walls clinging to his cock with each retreat, chasing the fullness as he rushes back for the pressure that engulfs him. The room feels humid with ardour, your slickness ringing out the wet slap of skin on skin and then the symphony of your watery voice and the gruff of his answering moans.
Nails are dragging down his shoulder blades, as you alternate between throwing your head into the pillow and lunging for his neck, kissing and suckling at the straining sinew there. Johnny has crept his hand up to grope at your breast, squeezing it every time you tighten around him until the edges of his vision blacken. It’s too much and not enough all at once, his body not yet coming to terms that you’re calling out his name with jumbled words of pleasure and yet his mind is already seeking it out all over again.
Lips press against his jaw and then your tongue licks down his throat until his arm beside you starts to shake with the adrenaline shot through his muscles, straining and begging like every other nerve inside of him. “Keep licking at me like that and I’m going to cream your little cunt, sweetheart.”
Your walls close around him enough to throw him off of his rhythm, pelvis tilted until he’s grinding against you until you’re mewling at the friction on your clit, whispering for him to keep going, Johnny, God please, shit- keep going. And he does, hand deserting your breast to angle your legs wider, getting you to dig your heels into the back of his thighs as his cockhead brushes your cervix until your eyes are pinching closed.
“Keepin’ me in tight, baby, that’s a good pet. Love the feel of you on my cock.” You’re nodding, chin tucked into your chest as you pant, sweat slicken and muscles bunched as you try to fight the approaching climax in lieu of keeping Johnny right where he is, throbbing and burrowing between the muscles of your pussy.
“It’s too good. Gonna come again, Johnny. Need to come, please, please.” You beg too prettily for a man that’s wrapped around your finger, foolish in thinking that there is a need to be so polite with your gratification.
Johnny gets back onto his knees, repositioning you with a pillow beneath your hips and then your legs are thrown over his arms again, and he’s leaning into you, kissing your lips as his dick pushes into you, much deeper in this position and you make that known with a shrill whine, biting down hard on your teeth. This time, there is haste in his bucking, angling himself to brush that very spot he has already stamped his name on and having your voice crack as you cry out for him. His hands are dangerously pressed at your waist, one gliding over your sweat sheened stomach to your mound, eyes looking up to show you that his release is scorching through him, climbing up his thighs and taking hold of his jerking hips. Once his thumb gathers some of your slick, it’s rubbing tight circles into your clit until you're pushing and pulling at him with the extra stimulation.
“Can feel that, Sweets. It’s okay, make a mess of my dick, I’ll beg you for it, even. Come on my cock, love, please make an honest man of me and take it.” He’s barely rambled the words off when you lock up around him, your orgasm so strong that your pleas go silent but for the small squeak you manage to let out. Johnny mouths at the tender spot between your neck and shoulder, talking you down as your cunt spasms with such intensity that he writhes above you, losing more and more of himself as he guides you through the crests of your release. He finally pulls his thumb away from your clit when tears begin to pool in your eyes and you choke out for him to stop.
The praise falls off of his tongue without thought, reaffirmed with wet kisses to your skin and the scratch of his short beard as he nuzzles into you. “Sweetest thing, taking your pleasure like a champ. You had me seeing stars clenching around my cock like that. Gonna come so hard for you- where do you want me?”
Nothing prepares MacTavish for the slurred mumble of your words as you look up at him, entirely cock drunk, “Inside me.”
He whimpers, a sharp thrust that makes you scratch your nails down his chest with a flutter of your walls. “Bonnie thing-”
“It’s safe, I promise Johnny, please. Come inside me.” It’s the urgency in your voice, the way you lock up around him as if you’re afraid he’s going to deny you that makes his balls ache for spend, body going into overdrive as he lets out the most incoherent string of words of which half is just your name, revered.
You want his end, he’s sure of it, because you push up against his, breasts against his chest and hands crawling up his neck until your lightly scratching his scalp, succubus lips swollen and glossy as you whisper for him, “Come for me, MacTavish, give me what I want.”
It’s the world ending and being born again, he can feel himself being remade as he cries out your name into your neck, body tensing and falling apart as your needy pussy milks him dry. With every spurt of him, you’re clenching to draw more out of him, keeping him trapped in the sticky, hot mess the two of you have accomplished together and he doesn’t miss the breathless murmur against his skin, “Thank you.”
“Yours,” is all he can get out, because that’s all the reason he needs to give into you.
The energy within your bedroom falls down like mist on his clammy skin, each breath a bit deeper than the last as two of you come back to earth, different and yet whole. He has yet to pull out of you and you don’t seem to mind, with the way your legs stay wrapped around him, the arch of your foot brushing up and down his calf even as your body gives sporadic trembles.
When the spend of passion begins to become heavy on Johnny’s eyelids, he pulls back to look at you, inspecting every inch of you with both his eyes and his lips, “Alright, Sweets?”
You hum, the sound so content, so sated that it makes Johnny’s body liquidise. “Heavenly.”
He chuckles, gathering you into his arms as he lays you both on your side so he can face you better, hands rubbing circles into your back and legs locking in with yours. The exhaustion sinks in with the weight of drying cement but he fights it, wanting to be here with you, certain that as you come back down, none of the rest of the evening falls down on top of you. And you must see that concern in his eyes, because your eyes soften and you wriggle closer into his chest.
“No regrets, Johnny. All I feel right now is the buzz of two mind-blowing orgasms and the reassurance that when we wake up in the morning, you’ll be next to me for the storm.”
God, you’re impeccable. A force to be reckoned with and yet he still can’t fight the need to keep you clutched to his chest, for whose benefit, he couldn’t be arsed to decipher. “I meant it, ye know?”
Another hum, “Which part precisely?”
“All of it. I’m yours to the point that I’m not entirely sure if there’s any left for me to belong to m’self. Been givin’ you bits of me for so long that I’d only realised it when I looked in the mirror and all that my mind could see was everything I was too scared to give you. Scared it would chase you away, and still that was not enough to fight it off. Fight the need to be yours for the keepin’.”
You smile against his skin and the way his heart rate picks up from just the feel of it tells him that there truly was no semblance left of the man he was before you.
There is so much that still needs to be voiced, a world of concerns that the two of you need to work through but he knows that you’re well aware of that as well and he’s happy to give the two of you these hours to settle into the newness of this. The oneness that is just coming into being.
Johnny has to admit to himself that from all the solutions he could have conjured on his way here, this one, well two birds one stone, is so far from the realm of reality he had believed in, that he cannot stop the chuckle that escapes him. He’s just thankful that you don’t question him about it. The chuckle, that is. He is willing to bet however, that you will be questioning his tactical skills with the first rays of sunlight on your bedsheets.
“I’m happy to be yours, Johnny. You have more of me than I’d care to admit.” Your voice is gilded dreams breaching reality with a featherlight landing. This sorry sod somehow found a way to make it happen. It could have done without you being terrified in the very place you’re meant to be at ease and safe, or the fucker that brought that terror upon you or the legal matters that the morning light will bring, but he’s sure that the pair of you will handle it much better than he previously hand. If not, there’s always Simon on speed dial.
A lingering kiss, one that keeps you both together until the need for breath steals you away and the smile that creeps on his face at the state of you lulls his head back into the softness of your bed, far away from everything else.
“About fuckin’ time, Sweets.”