Chapter Text
A soft noise outside your bedroom door rouses you from sleep. Blinking blearily, it takes you a few tries to rid the sleep from your eyes enough to read the time on your phone. Just past three am.
You raise yourself up on your forearms, wondering if maybe you’d just dreamt the noise, but as soon as the thought occurred, you heard it again. A soft scuffling noise, the sound of your refrigerator opening and closing, a sniff.
All at once you’re awake and on your feet, nearly tripping over the blankets that tangle around your legs. A pause at the door allows you to school yourself, and you open it to find the light in the kitchen on, a small smile pulling at your lips.
His back is to you, clad in a dark blue hoodie that shows off every lean muscle that flexes under it. From what you can see, his mohawk’s been trimmed since the last time he was here, dark hair buzzed on both sides. He sniffles again, stretching his arms out on the countertop to rest heavily on them, the exhaustion setting in his shoulders.
“Johnny?” You call quietly, sleep still evident in your voice. He twists with wide eyes and a sheepish look on his face, which is black and blue on the right side with a bandage over his temple.
“Did I wake ye?” He asks, watching you move around the kitchen peninsula toward him.
“It’s alright.” You say with a sleepy smile, twining your arms around his middle—catching the slight wince as you did—and burying your face into the smell that was uniquely Johnny, “Usually you call.”
“Phone’s dead.” He offers by way of explanation, face twisted with guilt, “I shoulda waited till tomorrow te stop by.”
You hum in disagreement, turning your head up to look at him, “It’s okay, Johnny, seriously. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”
“Kinda want te get yers in one though.” He grins, and you roll your eyes despite the way your heart soars.
You step away from him just slightly, taking his face in your hands to turn it this way and that, inspecting the bruises mottled across his tan skin, “What’d you get yourself into this time?”
“Nasty fuckin’ shiner from a cell in New York.” He says, picking up the sandwich you’d interrupted the construction of, and taking a bite. Through his mouthful he continues, “Got the drop on me while I was haulin’ one of the Armies out. Clocked me good on my ‘ead. Took a grenade to my side too.”
“A grenade?”
He hums, swallowing, “Aye, but I held one of the sumbitches doon in between us. Perfectly safe.”
“Your version of safe is a lot different than mine.” You mutter, pulling up the hem of his hoodie to inspect, and gasp, “Jesus, Johnny, should you even be up right now?”
If you’d thought his face was bad, his body was ground zero. His entire right side was riddled with dark bruises, spidering across his chest and abdomen. A rash that looked like it had barely stopped bleeding wrapped around his upper half, no doubt from the blast he was supposedly safe from. You couldn’t help but suspect there was a little more to the story, but Johnny never did tell you much about his injuries. It looked unbelievably painful, and had anyone else sustained it, you imagined they’d be laid up in the hospital for at least a couple days. But Johnny never was just anyone else, and being in the hospital seemed to be an allergy of his.
“Ach, cause o’ this?” He looks down at it and shrugs, “Nothin’ te fuss over. I’ve had worse, hen. Ye saw me after I got shot in the hip.”
Involuntary, your hand travels down to his waist, thumb brushing over the puckered scar of said bullet wound, “Yeah. Wouldn’t stop bitching about it.”
“Call me next time yer dick nearly gets shot off, an’ not do a wee bit of complaining.” He says pointedly, leaning his hip against the counter. The action is a normal one, but you can see the exhaustion from earlier creeping back into the weight of his shoulders, the circles under his eyes, the slight shake of his hands.
You sigh, wrapping an arm around his lower back and saying, “Let’s get you to bed, cowboy.”
Second sandwich in tow, he allows you to pull him in the direction of your room, staring up at you in sleepy reverence when you sit him down on the edge of your bed. Bending down, you unlace his boots and pull them off one by one, along with his socks, and try not to wince too much at a blister on his heel. Next you wrangle the bottom of his hoodie, gently pulling it up over his head and tossing it into your hamper.
His calloused hands are around your waist before you can reach for his pants, pulling you into the warmth of his skin, sandwich abandoned on the nightstand. He holds you there for a moment, staring up at you with those cobalt eyes that were your undoing in the first place. Gentle lips press to your sternum, brushing low to your clothed breast, his breath warm even through the fabric of your tank top.
Your hands cup the back of his head, playing in the tapered strands of his mohawk, as he pushes the satin tank top you’re wearing over your head. He lets it fall haphazard to the floor, too enamored with the breasts in his face to really pay much attention to the hamper.
The heat of his mouth against your nipple has your lips parting, eyes fluttering closed as his tongue swirls around it and he sucks. At your back, one of his arms snakes around your waist in a firm grip, the other holding you between your shoulder blades. Teeth pinch your nipple, and you arch into him in surprise, peeking down at his little smirk as he does it again.
“I was trying to put you to bed.” You say quietly, “You look exhausted.”
He kisses your breast, glancing up at you and saying, “Let me have ye, bonnie. Please?”
You say nothing as his mouth, hot and wet, brushes sweetly across to your other breast, and you grip his shoulders tightly as he gives it the same treatment. Nice and slow. Like he had all the time in the world. It’s how Johnny’s always been when it came to this, unhurried and unbothered when your body and the way he could please it was on the line.
It drove you fucking crazy.
But then, Johnny himself drove you crazy.
“Come on, Johnny, it’s late.” You whine halfheartedly.
“Don’t tell me yer tired, hen.”
“You woke me up, remember?”
“Ye want me te stop?” He mumbles against your tit, eyes tipping up to yours. As you watch, his tongue swipes out to flatten to your nipple.
“Fuck no.” You scoff, “But I’m not in the mood for teasing. It’s been long enough since the last time—”
His arms tighten around you, and the room tilts as he flips you around onto your back, his hips pinning you down into the mattress. No matter how many times he did it, you’d never fully be able to get over how easily he was able to maneuver your body. The strength he possessed. Like you didn’t weigh a thing.
You don’t even get a moment to think before his lips are smothering yours, stealing the breath from your lungs like it was his to survive. His hands find your wrists, maneuvering them above your head and pinning them there, one-handed. The other reaches down to tug at his sweatpants, not quite freeing himself of them as they catch around his knees.
His fingers then move to delve between your legs, thumb pressing to your clit to rub circles around it. You gasp at the suddenness of it, and he smirks as his tongue takes the opportunity to curl with yours.
“So wet already.” He murmurs, fingers slipping inside you for a few strokes, before pulling out to slick up your clit. He knew all your vices by this point, knew you got off to stimulation of your clit rather than fingers buried inside you, “Did ye miss me that bad?”
“It’s been ages since you were last here.” You huff, “Give a girl a break.”
He chuckles softly, pressing more firmly against your clit until your hips buck into his hand, “You know ye don’t have te wait fer me, hen. Ye can take whoever ye want to bed.”
You knew. You were keenly aware of what this was. You’d done it at the beginning—slept with other men in between Johnny—but somewhere along the line, no one else seemed to matter. The thought should worry you, but it was hard to think around his fingers on your pussy.
They pull away with your climax nearly in sight, but before you can utter your dismay, the head of Johnny’s cock presses against you. Compared to the rough fingers of a Special Forces operative, his cock is like velvet against your oversensitive clit, his hands helping it rub circles like his thumb had.
A breath catches in your throat, and he smirks against your shoulder, where his lips leave bruises against your skin. Your back arches off the bed, hands struggling faintly in his grip, aching to touch him. You were so close—
“Johnny.” You whine, hips canting up into him.
“You gonna come, hen?” His voice is low in your ear, sending something hot and sweet shivering down your neck and between your legs.
You nod, just as he tips you over the edge. A gasp fills your lungs, your thighs shaking, and you think your orgasm can’t get any more blinding until Johnny’s cock is pushing into you, filling you in one deep thrust.
An honest to god scream leaves your mouth, and Johnny snakes an arm underneath your arched back to steady you as you clamp down around him. He pulls out to the head of his cock, and then slams himself back in, your body rocking forward as a moan chokes past your lips. He finally lets go of your wrists as he fucks hard and fast into you, and you cling to him for dear life as you come down from your orgasm, sensitive and hot for him all in one.
“Not gonna last long, bonnie.” He breathes, chuckling, “Ye feel so fuckin’ good.”
“And you made fun of me for getting so wet over you.” You say, moaning on a particularly long stroke of his cock.
“I dinnae do no such thing.” He straightens to throw your legs over his shoulders, bending until you can’t anymore. At the new angle, he sinks deeper, punching out moans on both of your behalf, “Just made an observation.”
“Maybe if you weren’t fucking me like this was your last day, you’d be fine.”
“I fuckin’ missed ye, lass.” He says, voice quivering with the effort it takes to thrust into you at the head-spinning rate he is, “Haven’t gotten a good fuck in weeks.”
You open your eyes with some sort of retort on your lips, but the look on his face steals every thought from your head. His lips are parted as he pants his exertion, eyes half lidded and a dark blue that you only ever see when he’s like this, face tinted a red that seeps down his neck and into his chest. Sweat beads on his brow, and you have the sudden inexplicable urge to lean up and lick it away.
Once again, even in the throes of ugly rough sex, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
“Mm.” He hums, pinching his eyes closed as his hips lose the steady rhythm, “Fuck I’m close.”
“You gonna come all for me, Johnny?” You ask sweetly, and he makes an amused strangled noise in his throat, thrusts stuttering.
“Christ, since ye asked so nicely.” He says, crushing his mouth to yours and moaning into it as he comes. Your legs flop to either side of him as he falls onto his forearms, groaning into your kiss as his hips hump into you with each wave of his orgasm.
He keeps his forehead pressed to yours after he’s done, panting against you until he has the energy to gingerly pull out. Almost immediately you can feel the product of his release gushing between your legs, but before you can squeeze them shut and head to the bathroom, he kisses the tip of your nose and says, “Stay here, hen.”
You do as you’re told, and when he comes back with a damp washcloth, that fluttery, sickly-sweet feeling you’ve been getting recently comes back full force. This time it does concern you, especially because you knew Johnny didn’t feel it in return.
The terms of your relationship together were simple: no stings attached. Because in Johnny’s line of work, strings were just another loose end.
You know you’re a bit distant as he cleans you up, and when he climbs into bed next to you. You roll away from him, but he chases your warmth and presses your bodies together, nose burying itself at the nape of your neck.
He falls into the sleep he looked like he desperately needed, but not before pressing a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, and you fall harder for him still.
It hasn’t always been this way between you and Johnny. It started out as acquaintances meeting up every now and then for a quick fuck, something to get your rocks off whenever you needed.
You’d met him on complete happenstance. It had been an overcast day, sprinkling here and there, and you’d taken the break between showers to let your cat, Buggy, out on your balcony. He liked the fresh air and basking in all his fluffy glory for the peasants on the street below to observe but not touch. Buggy didn’t like just anyone, you had to work for his love.
You’d opened the door to the balcony a few minutes later to let him in after the drizzle started back up, and nearly jumped out of your skin when a man’s face peered up at you from the other side of the railing. His hand was between the bars, frozen in the place it had been scratching Buggy between the ears, even as the cat trotted back to rub against your legs.
He’d smiled sheepishly, pulling his hand back between the bars to mess with his mohawk, “Ach, sorry I just…canna help myself when I see a wee fluff ball like yer lad there.”
The Scottish accent took you by surprise, but you’d have been lying if it wasn’t endearing, “You make it a habit to trample people’s bushes to pet their cats?”
A sly grin twisted his lips at that, and he’d chuckled, “No, but I would yers if ye know what I mean.”
You laughed at his brazenness, not quite knowing what to say other than, “Shameless.”
“Always have been, lass.”
“Buggy doesn’t usually like new people.” You say, steering clear of that conversation and looking down at the cat rubbing against your shins, “You must have the magic touch.”
His grin widens, “Now I canna be blamed, yer just handin’ ’em te me fer free. Dinnae worry, though, I won’t offer fer ye te find out whether I have magic hands or not.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an offer.”
“And that sounds suspiciously like ye want it te be.” He shoots back, eyebrow raised.
“What’s your name then?”
“John.”
“John what?”
“What’s it to ye?”
You leaned your elbows against the rail, gazing down at him, “I want to know who to bill for my new shrubbery.”
“Oh come off it, lass. You an’ I both ken ye rent the place.” He’d grinned one more time, “John MacTavish.”
You told him yours, and then as quick as he’d come, he was gone. It was a shame you’d not gotten his number.
***
The shame was short lived though, because the next night John was back in your bushes, a joke you’d share later on. This time he had a mouse toy in tow, asking if Buggy might have it after peppering your window with pebbles until he’d gotten your attention.
“You know you could have come to my door instead of being a creep, right?” You’d asked him, watching his nose wrinkle and deciding you liked it. He was handsome every which way, and you had a feeling flashing those blue eyes around got him his way more often than not.
“And be a creep who found yer flat number?” He arched his eyebrow, “Ah’d much rather be a creep out’ere and hope maybe ye’d invite me up yerself.”
“You would, huh?” You smiled and fiddled with the balcony door, watching him bat his pretty ocean blues that messed your stomach all up, “Mm, maybe check back tomorrow.”
He barks out a good-natured laugh, “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.” You confirm, but squat down to pluck the mouse toy out of his hand, “But Buggy would love to play with this tonight, so.”
“Yer a cold, cold lass.” He says, and you wink at him as you close the door.
***
The next day found John wrestling through your bushes with a bouquet of roses, which had you laughing at the railing, “What’s this?”
“A peace offering.” He puts a hand to his chest, “I realized only gettin’ something fer yer cat isn’t the best way to woo a girl’s heart. I’ll even carry them up to ye, free of charge.”
“Well,” you rested your chin in your palm, elbows on the railing, “I do love free shit.”
He perked up at that, eyebrows risen and blue eyes like a puppy’s. You didn’t think you had it in you to deny him another night, so you flashed eight fingers for your flat number, and turned to saunter back inside.
But Johnny was Johnny, as you’d come to find out, and rather than take the stairs, he’d climbed right up your balcony and plopped down with a thud on his feet.
“There’s a thing called the front door, you Neanderthal!” You’d said, but laughed despite yourself.
“Ye’ve had me strung along enough, lass, just let me fuckin’ kiss ye.” He sighed, putting a very warm, very large hand on your hip. It threatened to sear right through your pants.
“Oh,” you looked up at him, feigning surprise, “that’s what this was about?”
He looked momentarily surprised, before utterly crestfallen, accent getting just a tad thicker, “I—what’d ye think this was aboot, lass? I was flirtin’ and everythin’.”
“That’s what you were doing?”
“Steamin’ Jesus,” A hand raked through his mohawk, “I, uh, I apologize, lass.” It moves over his heart, “I hope I dinnae make any offense to ye—”
You’d bursted out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer, which only served to make his face even more ablaze than it already was, “I’m joking, John.”
“Yer—” He sighs, shakes his head, and smiles, a hand reaching out to pull you into him, “that was cold, lass.”
“Need warming up?” You’d asked.
“Aye, wouldn’t mind tha’ one bit.” He answered, and then kissed you until your head spun.
You’d pulled him through your balcony door at that and gave him something to warm up with.
***
Buggy was significantly more affronted by John the first few times he came to your flat now that a balcony wasn’t separating them, hissing and pinning his ears back against his head. If John got too close, Buggy would bat at him with a clawed paw, spitting his ferocity and then darting down the hall under your bed. He’d gotten a few good scratches in, in which you attended to John’s injuries with your bathroom first aid kit.
“Cheeky lad.” John had said, undeterred, “Talked a big talk on the balcony, but the minute I fuck his mam he gets all bent outta shape.”
You’d nearly snorted water through your nose at that, earning a grin from where John had knelt on the floor with a slice of ham to woo Buggy.
In the end, John crawled under the bed and drug the hissing cat out from underneath, holding him through his fit until he begrudgingly gave up and hung limp in John’s embrace. After a few attempts at petting him, John tried a slice of ham now that Buggy wasn’t challenging him to a duel to the death, and that finally sealed the deal. The epic conclusion to the ultimate battle.
They’d been friends ever since, and the nights John would stay later than usual, Buggy would wedge himself between you in bed for scritches from the other man.
***
John opened up to you slowly, explaining his life in the military due to his rather erratic visits. You’d known he was a soldier due to the dog tags he kept under his shirt, but that was about it.
The first time he disappeared on you, you thought he’d ghosted you like friends with benefits sometimes do. You hadn’t been exactly mad at him, but you’d be lying if it hadn’t left you a little self-conscious.
It was stupid, looking back, to get so hurt about it. His visits weren’t exactly regular normally. He’d text you on any random day at any random time and ask if you had any plans. For a while it was fine, back when you didn’t know much about him, when he’d come, fuck your brains out, and go. As a college student, you didn’t have much time or energy for a meaningful relationship, but you had your urges, and John had satisfied them the way you wanted. Until the way you wanted began to change shape.
But then you’d gotten a text on a random Tuesday afternoon after a months-long hiatus asking if you wanted him to come over. You’d been rightfully a little pissy about it, but he promised to explain. That story was one for a different day, but to find out that the guy you’d been sleeping with was Special Forces? Blindsiding to say the least.
Explained his otherworldly strength and stamina though.
The rest of the bits and pieces of his life came after that, shared in the heartbeats between sex and him leaving.
Eventually he started staying, though, sleeping in till you had to go to class in the morning, and later when you didn’t. You don’t even remember when that started. You can’t find it in you to care.
And then he started coming back to you full of scars and bruises and bullet holes, and suddenly your heart wasn’t yours anymore. It belonged to a soldier who didn’t know fear, wedged behind his Kevlar vest to beat with his own. It went with Johnny wherever he dared, traveling around the darkest parts of the world and returning just as bruised and battered as he did.
You were compromised, as the military would put it. In your head and in your heart, Johnny filled both.
If only you did his.
You wake in the morning to something warm and wet between your legs, coming-to as pleasure lights up your awareness. Lifting your head, you have the absolute pleasure of meeting Johnny’s eyes as his face buries itself between your legs.
“You’re insatiable.” You sigh, head falling back against the pillow.
“Haven’t eaten ye out in weeks, hen.” He says, “Been thinkin’ about it that long. Do ye know how not-fun that is on ops.”
“Oh no, what ever do you do?” You ask, and feel a huff of air against your pussy.
“Ye really wanna know?”
“Kind of, now.”
“I’ve jerked off at my position a few times.” He says, then licks from your hole to your clit, fire curling up your thighs, “At safe houses. Even in the corner of my helo home, once.”
“Jesus.” You say, a little laugh choking itself off when he gathers your clit in his mouth and sucks, “Like a horny teenager.”
“Can’t help myself when I’m thinkin’ about you.” He says after releasing your clit, and you will yourself not to take that any certain way, “Came too many times imagining myself wakin’ ye up like this.”
A finger pushes its way into your hole, and while it wouldn’t make you come, it still felt divine. It curls inside you as his tongue does the same around your bud, and your moan up to the ceiling is nothing short of obscene.
“My neighbors, Johnny.” You say halfheartedly, reaching down to tug at his mohawk.
“Yer the one soundin’ the alarm, hen.” His voice is muffled between your legs, “But fuck if I care. Let’s make ‘em jealous.”
His tongue stiffens along its path circling your clit, hitting the spot that he knew was your melting point. Your other hand flies down to join the other in his hair, tugging as he gets you closer to your release.
“Fuck, right there, Johnny.” You moan out, grinding your head back into your pillow and hips into his face.
He presses harder, the lone finger stuffed in your pussy curling again and finding the spot that, hit just right, made your orgasms that much better.
You whine up to the ceiling, caught between a moan and a cry as the telltale numbness sets in your thighs, and babble, “Fuck! Rightthererightthererighthererightthere, Johnny!”
Another curl of his finger and you’re coming on his face, back arched off the bed, fingers pulling his hair. Your entire body trembles, the sheer ecstasy he’s got flowing through your limbs enough to have you near screaming.
You watch him straighten as your body twitches out the last little bits of pleasure, a new fire rising in your gut as he sucks the finger that had been inside you into his mouth.
“Music te my fuckin’ ears.” He says, climbing over you, “Love it when ye scream my name like that, hen.”
His dog tags fall to the dip of your throat, and you reach up to wind your fingers through them, pulling him down into a kiss that’s all tongue and spit, breaths huffing hot against each other’s mouths. You can taste yourself on him, a notion that shouldn’t make your head spin, but does.
You break away to push him back until he’s laying against the pillows, pupils blown and dazed as he watches you press kisses to his chest, peppered with dark hair. You mouth down his abdomen, to his navel where more hair trails down to his neatly trimmed cock.
Your tongue does a swipe from the base of his cock to the tip, leaving behind a trail of saliva for your hand to work around. His legs spread wider, letting you settle between them more comfortably, and he hums, just slightly, when you slip the head of his cock into your mouth.
Johnny sighs your name, head thudding back against the headboard when you take him further, sinking down all the way until he hits the back of your throat. You bob your head a couple times, pushing him further and further each time and enjoying the little sounds it draws out of him.
When your jaw starts to ache, you pull off to jerk him with your hand, tongue rubbing circles on the underside of his head where you know he’s the most sensitive. Your mouth covers him again after a moment, sucking him off while your hand strokes the bottom of his dick.
“Fuck, bonnie. Feels so fuckin’ good.” He says, lifting his head to take yours between his hands, “Can I?”
You let go of him with your hand, nodding as you hollow your cheeks and suck. His hip jolt a little when you do, and satisfaction swirls in your chest.
Holding your head steady, Johnny fucks himself into your mouth, watching his dick thrust into your throat with an enraptured gaze. You gag on him when he presses past the tightness, tears running down your cheeks to mix with the saliva dripping down your chin. The gurgles coming out of your mouth are filthy as they fill the room, joining Johnny’s grunts.
He pulls out of your mouth with a gasp, pulling you up to his mouth by your head. His kiss is searing, demanding, hungry in a way that makes you feel like you’re his prey.
You straddle him long enough for him to reach behind you, lining his slick cock up to your pussy. He presses you down onto him by your shoulders, stretching you open thick and sweet as he sinks in. You both exhale at the same time, foreheads grinding together as you buck your hips in his lap.
“Feels so good, lass.” He says against your throat, head tucked into your shoulder, “So tight on me.”
You don’t have any words in your head to respond with, moving your hips slow to enjoy the feel of him slipping in and out of your pussy. He plants his feet behind you, thrusting up to meet every backstroke you give him.
His hands grip your waist tightly, urging you to ride him faster, to which you comply. Using your legs, you half thrust, half bounce yourself on his cock, head thrown back as profanities spill from your lips. Below you, Johnny pants with every stroke, stomach clenched and heaving.
He slams up into you hard just as you come back down on him, pitching you forward. You catch yourself on his chest, planting your hands on him to keep from falling, right over the bruises that looked somehow worse since last night. He gasps, pain contorting the pleasure on his face, and you immediately cover your mouth with your hands and stall your movements.
“Oh my god, Johnny, I’m so sorry!” You say in a rush, “Are you okay?”
But his eyes are wide in surprise, and he ignores your worry to wrap his hands around your wrists. Moving them back to his chest and side, he presses them to his mottled skin and says, “Do that again.”
“What?”
“Press there again.” He repeats.
“But,” You frown, “you’re hurt, Johnny.”
“Just do it, bonnie, please.”
You do, leaning some of your weight onto your hands, pressing against the black, blue, yellow, green bruises. Johnny groans, but when you flick your eyes up to his face, his mouth is slack, eyes dazed in bliss.
“You like that?” You ask, not sexually, but Johnny shutters nonetheless.
“Keep going.” He says, “Harder. Just like that. Good, bonnie.”
You press more weight into him, tentatively thrusting your hips forward, and Johnny whimpers. Some primal part of you purrs at that—at having a big bad Special Forces operative whimpering and practically begging for you, buried so far in your pussy it made him see stars.
“Fuck. Fuck, bonnie,” He meets your gaze, rising up to wrap his arms around your waist. Using the insane core strength he has, he grinds himself up into you, panting into your breasts.
You both move together, grinding your bodies like the thought of being any less close seemed impossible. One of his hands snakes between you, thumb rubbing harshly on your clit, and you return the favor by digging your fingers into the meat of his side.
He bucks a few more times before he stills, grunting against you as he comes, trembling under you. You go with him, hips circling in his lap to rub your clit on his twitching thumb as you come for the second time that morning.
Buggy threads himself through Johnny’s legs as he brews himself a coffee later on, meowing until the Scot crouches down to give him attention.
“Was I ignorin’ ye lad?” He scratches him behind the ears, “Dinnae look at me. Yer mam is the one who locked ye outta the bedroom.”
Buggy meows in offense.
“Don’t turn him against me.” You say, taking the cup of coffee Johnny had made you, “You’re already his favorite.”
“And dinnae ye forget it.” He says, sticking a pointed finger in Buggy’s face before rising back to his full height to turn back to his coffee.
The broadness of his shoulders, the way he caries himself, his pure masculine silhouette has always been one of his most attractive attributes. You could stare at him all day, at the dip of his spine, the curve of his back, the swell of his ass, even the taper of his mohawk.
Johnny was all man, and you were weak for it.
“Going back out?” You ask, leaning against the counter. You both knew what you meant.
“Not fer the time being.” He says, leaning against the opposite counter to sip his own coffee, “Usually get a couple days to recoup after an op before shippin’ back out.”
You hum, barely holding back an offer to come back before he does. You wouldn’t have done it before.
“Why?” He waggles his eyebrows, “Wan’ me te come back fer another round?”
“Don’t you have another girl to get back to?” You ask, avoiding his flirtatious gaze to keep from saying yes too fast.
The amusement leaves his gaze, and he looks at you with a genuine smile, “Just you, hen.”
“Aren’t you the one who always tells me not to wait for you?” You tip your head, “It goes both ways, you know. You can shack up with someone on base if it’s easier.”
Johnny frowns, “Ye breakin’ up with me?”
“We’re fuck buddies, Johnny, you don’t break up if you’re fuck buddies.”
“Ye dinnae answer my question.” He crosses the small space, putting a hand on the counter on either side of you, leaning down so your faces were level, “If ye wan’ me te stop comin’ round here, all ye gotta do is say.”
“Right.” You offer him a small smile, “Like you’d stop feeding Buggy treats from the balcony even if I kicked you out.”
“‘M serious, bonnie.” He sounds like he is, “I can leave right now an’ ye won’t see me again.”
The thought makes you nauseous.
Your eyes flick between his, searching for the joke and finding none, “Where’s this coming from?”
“Just don’t wanna be a burden.”
“Johnny.” You take his face between your hands, “Who’d look after you then?”
“Can take care o’ myself.” He says.
“Then who’d keep your balls empty?”
A wry smile finally twists its way to his mouth, “Ye do do a good job o’ that.”
“No I’m not ‘breaking up with you’. I actually like you, believe it or not.” You give him a quick kiss to his lips, “Even when you show up unannounced at three am.”
“Dinnae hear ye complaining when I had ye comin’ at three am.” He grumbles, straightening and pulling you into his chest, “If ye ever change yer mind about you an’ me, bonnie, just let me know.”
“Pinky promise.” You squeeze him tight before letting go, knowing all too well he could get an assignment and ship out before you saw him next. And from the state he’s in, the dark thoughts creep in—that this could be the last hug ever.
“K, I gotta head out. Price wants my report on his desk by the end o’ the day, and I got some recruits to whip intae shape.” He grins, a sadistic twinkle in his eye, and gives you a quick kiss to your temple, “I’ll text ye if I can get back tonight.”
“Don’t sweat it, hot stuff. And don’t be too hard on those recruits.” You call as he heads off down the hall to your door, a fresh pair of black tac pants and skin tight undershirt from the stash he kept in your closet on.
“Ach, instilling fear is the fun part!” He laughs, and you smile with him, “See ye later, hen.”
“Bye Johnny.”
Buggy is none too happy when Johnny does indeed return later that night, takeout in tow and head pats galore, only to be locked out of the bedroom as Johnny fucks you into next week.