This is won't be a storyline fic, I just need to get some of these random ideas out of my head.
Things of note: reader is asexual but *not* sex averse, will come up. Ghoap will be a side thing but they are all end up loving reader in different ways.
If you have any ideas or scenes you would love to see in this world please feel free to drop them in the comments or hit me up in an ask. I fucking love this work I have created and if it never ends like a sitcom aiming for syndication.
Companion Series: Hell's Spawn
Ceiling, Floor, Door
Meeting Soap
Sore Loser
Gotta Go
Batter Up
Hugs That Heal
Charmed
Grocery Delivery
Iced Coffee & Scary Movies
Something Stupid
Coffee Orders
Sweet Girl
New Glasses
Stutter
When Did It Change?
Really? You'll Wear It?
Nosey Nancy's
Ten Minutes Please
Job Offer
Frozen Toes
Three Small Squeezes
Scorched Earth
Finding Normal
Bed Snatchers
Sober Up
John, You're Buying A House
Sit Down
Ovulation is a Bitch™ - SFW (Tumblr exclusive)
Charcuterie
Cat Distribution System
Birthday Present *Has slight sexual content
Lover and Love
Witching Hour Wishes
If AO3 is more your jam, chapters will only posted in order as they are completed over there though so Tumblr will have the most and most up to date parts.
Masterlist
Shout out to @saradika-graphics for the so cute dividers.
Johnny followed you from task to task today. Every time you turn around you step on him. He would catch you as you stumbled over his feet, pull you into a hug, and drop a kiss on your lips.
“Ah bonnie, falling for me already?”
The first two times you smiled and rolled your eyes. By the fifth time, you were getting annoyed. You did love Johnny, loved spending time with him and chatting about the random topics you could bounce from. Today though? You needed a tiny bit of space and there was no way to ask for it without causing distress.
The open dishwasher door caught you in the leg as you avoided Johnny, again.
“That’s it,” you snap at him, “Go and sit on the couch. I will be right there.”
Johnny blinked down at you, shocked.
He did as you demanded though. You found him, face pinched in concern as you reappeared with a bag of markers in hand.
“’m sorry lass. I should have given you more space since today is your day off,” his fingers twist together as he stares down at them.
Settling down on the floor next to his feet you let out a sigh.
“You’re okay Johnny. You are needing some love and affection. I can do that but if you keep following me, I am going to start yelling.” Unzipping your bag, you set it next on the couch, markers spilling out of it.
Grabbing his left hand, you stretch it out to rest, palm down on the couch cushion.
His brows go up as he stares at you.
“What’s the plan here?”
“My dude, if you’re following me like a puppy, you need more stimulation, so I get to color your tattoos in. Now tell me about the scariest time you’ve had disarming a bomb,” you grab a dark green and start to outline the tattoo on his arm.
Johnny stares at you, face a mass of confusion. His eyes flick from the hand holding him steady to the lines of green already tracing his tattoo.
“What? Tell me already, you love to tell me about being a demolitions expert so tell me the scariest and then you can tell me the one you had the most fun with.” You lift your brows in expectation and then focus back on Johnny’s arm.
His words started slowly, painting a scene of terror without sharing any state secrets. His third tale takes you through finishing his arm tattoo.
“Feel better?” You cap the pink you had used last as you glance up at him.
Pulling his arm closer to his face for a better look Johnny smiles softly.
“A little. I have a thigh tattoo, wanna color that too?”
Glancing to his jean-clad legs and up you give him a smirk.
“How slutty of you Sargent MacTavish. Does Simon like it?”
Johnny pinked in the face as he pushed you over by your forehead.
“Brat. Do you want to color it or no?”
You laugh as you reply, “Of course I do. Now drop trou.”
His face got pinker as he stood and settled his pants around his knees before sitting again.
Tracing a finger over the Celtic scrawl that bands around his thigh you waffle on how to color this one in. Finally deciding to do a color gradient you set about your work.
It is nearly an hour later when John and Simon come in through the front door and see you and Johnny. Johnny is now asleep face down on the couch pants around his ankles. You are still seated on the floor, elbow in his ass as you stretch his skin slightly as you color.
“What happened here?” John gestures to the sleeping Scotsman.
You shrug one shoulder, the marker never leaving contact.
“He pissed me off.”
Simon and John share a speaking glance before leaving you to your artistry.
Simon knows how it started. This...superstition that leads to his men feeling safe. It involves you. Of course, it does. You have crept into every other aspect of his life, as slowly as squash vines fingering their way up bushes and houses. He doubts you even know you've done it, infiltrated his peace.
Johnny, in his ineffable suaveness, kissed you on the cheek one time as he said his goodbyes before a mission. The man got blown clear through a wall with nary a scratch. The only thing different he could remember doing had been kissing you. Bastard couldn't keep his mouth shut about it. None of the other guys had met you yet. Ghost knew that would change. Johnny wouldn't shut the fuck up about how he had to test this again, to see if a kiss from you turned out to be a lucky charm.
Military men were more in tune with spirits, vibes, cosmic entities than most religious leaders, witches, or charlatans combined. They had to be. There were no atheists in foxholes after all.
They did meet you, Price, then Gaz, then Roach. Ah, Roach. Always the last to be let into a new dynamic. A capable solider, a solid member of the 141, but still a guarded, protected member, to those on the outside. You welcomed him with a warm smile and a surprise knowledge of sign language.
"This is Roach," Gaz clapped him on the shoulder. "He doesn't speak."
Roach had glared at Kyle over his shoulder. The heat in the stare had been clear even behind his sunglasses and surgical mask.
You squinted up at Kyle from your place at the coffee table, mid-game of cribbage with Johnny. (This was the only game he had a chance of winning since luck could sway a hand in either direction).
"Does he not speak or does he not communicate with you because you're kinda an asshole?"
Kyle's nose scrunched down at you. Price laughed into his drink and Simon wouldn't help a small chuckle. He opened his mouth to defend himself but you turned to look at Roach. You moved your hands quickly, one brow lifted in question. Simon recognized only one of your moves as sign language.
Roach did a little head shake before replying, hands flying as fast as yours did.
You laugh at whatever he signs, "I am not calling you roach. My friends will not let me live it down if I make another friend with a weird name."
You glare at Johnny who grins in reply.
Roach signs more as Kyle slips into the kitchen for a drink for everyone.
"My brother is deaf. I learned to sign before I could speak, my mom taught me by virtue of signing with my brother." You sign along as you speak, telling everyone your half of the conversation at least. "We still talk regularly even though he moved to Australia to be a professor at one of their colleges."
You and Roach had hit it off, becoming fast friends. Signs flew back and forth. At one point Simon watched your brows draw together before snapping to glare at Johnny and then back to Roach. Simon watched it all with a slight fascination. Roach had never taken to anyone so fast, let alone a woman. You slid into the dynamic of the 141 as if you were molded for it.
When the guys had readied themselves to leave you ducked under Johnny's attempt to plant a kiss on you again. Instead, you dragged Roach off to the bathroom and sent him out askew. Sunglasses pushed into his hair, mask sitting wonky on his face, and several kiss marks in pink lipstick covering from ear to ear. Several were only half covered by his mask.
Johnny glared at him for getting kisses that he needed to test for luck. Gaz clapped him on the shoulder.
"Guess I'm not the only asshole here today. Better luck next time Soap. But at least we know that if Roach comes through an impossible situation then she is definitely a good luck charm."
Everyone laughed as they trailed out of the building. Simon had seen you, leaning on the railing on the top of the stairs. You sent him a two-fingered salute, he nodded and shut the door behind him.
Roach had taken a shot to the side, missing his liver by millimeters. That had confirmed it for the team, you were a good luck charm. That is why Simon had popped back to the flat, for a smidge of that luck.
He found you asleep on the couch. Peaceful. The couch would hurt you if you stayed on it too long. Simon knew from experience. He slid a hand under your knees and upper back, lifting you into his arms. You blinked sleepily up at him.
"Hi Ghost. Why are you carrying me?"
"Can't sleep on the couch," he grunted back.
"Oh," came your sleepy little reply. "Do you need a kiss?"
Only the training of years and years kept him from freezing up at your question. He pushed into your room through the cracked door, sitting you upright in your bed. He knelt on one knee at your feet. You rubbed your eyes as you looked at him.
"Yes."
He had a solo mission. This one scared him. Something in his bones told him that he wouldn't make it home in one piece.
You lift both hands to his masked face. Leaning forward you place two gentle kisses over the eyeblack of his eyelids. It wasn't enough. Ghost shifted the mask up to sit over his nose. He watched your gaze flick over his scars, moving like a dragonfly.
Still holding his face you pull him close, angling him for a kiss. The softness of your lips against his rough ones zaps at his soul. He can't help but put both hands on the bed, bracketing your hips, and pushing up into the kiss. Your thumbs slip beneath the edge of the mask, rubbing streaks in the hollows of his face.
Taking the barest part of your lip between his teeth he pulled. You breathed a moan into his mouth before pulling back. Avoiding his eyes you pull the mask down, shifting it to sit just so. Going so far as to tuck it into his hoodie you still avoid his eyes.
When your hands are settled in your lap again you look at him.
"Good luck Ghost, Simon."
He looked at you a moment more before slipping from your room and the flat altogether.
Upon waking you knew something in your life had shifted. Sitting upright in bed and feeling a gush of fluid pool in your underwear answered the question of what had changed. Waddling awkwardly out of your room a dubious feeling settles low in your gut.
The bathroom door is shut.
At least two male voices rumble from further down the hall. Fuck. One of the guys had to be in the bathroom. Knocking you pray it will open.
“Busy,” comes Simon’s gruff reply.
Double fuck. Simon would be in there for a while. Digging your fingers into your body you decide how to deal with the growing problem that is now sticking your loose pajama bottoms to your legs. Johnny’s laugh and the sound of a kitchen chair scraping against the floor fling you into a decision. Reaching up your fingers find the long thin key to release the simple twist lock.
Simon doesn’t have time to yell at you before you are through the door and locking it behind you.
“The hell do you need?” He snaps at you from the toilet.
“I need you to cover up and let me get in the shower without asking questions,” you stare at the grain of the door as you strain your ears to listen for how he might be feeling about this.
A beat of silence longer than you can comfortably handle passes. You open your mouth to plead with him when Simon’s voice reaches you.
“Why are you bleeding?”
He doesn’t sound alarmed, only vaguely concerned.
“Wouldn’t you know it this is a pretty regular process for me?” The sarcastic reply slips out.
Fabric rustling behind you alerts you that he isn’t going to kick you out.
“Come on then, I can’t start the shower from here, but I can take your clothes when I am done and start a load of wash for you.”
Turning and seeing compassion on Simon’s face has your lip starting to quiver. He holds out a hand to you. Crossing the long bathroom, you take it gratefully.
“I’m really sorry,” you wipe a hand under your nose, “that I had to bust into your bathroom time.”
Simon lifts and drops one shoulder.
“Not like Johnny wouldn’t do the same if I didn’t lock the door.”
The truth of the statement startles a laugh out of you.
Squeezing your hand in his Simon uses the other to jerk the shower curtain open for you.
“Milady,” the seriousness in his tone causes you to burst into giggles.
Stepping in, you pull the curtain shut and quickly strip. Folding the bloody portions of your pants into themselves you set all of your clothes in neat bundle on the floor just beyond the shower. Starting up the water you focus on getting the water in the pipes to a self-indulgent level of heat. When you are clean and refreshed, and you can somewhat manage the day ahead, you turn off the flow. The silence in the room beyond the flimsy barrier taunts you.
Holding the curtain tight in one hand you shift it enough to find the room empty of Simon. Instead, a candle is burning on the counter and a stack of your softest folded clothes sits on top of the toilet seat. Drying off you get your period situation dealt with as best you can for the first day of your flow and get dressed.
The underwear and bra are absolutely yours but the sweats in the pile look suspiciously like Kyle’s and the shirt could be either Johns. You accept the offering of them claiming you, but also the subtle hints of them and their laundry soap soothed you.
Cramping didn’t hit you until you stood at the sink, trying to wash up your breakfast dishes. The dual stabbing at the base of your spine came as a surprise. Your finger curled over the edge of the sink as your vertebrae did their best to pull away from one another. Breathing got hard; short gasping sucks of air were all you could manage.
John materialized behind you. His hands roam down your back, he knows he hit the right spot when your hips jerk forward and bang against the cabinet. You let out a sharp whine.
“Touch or no?”
“Push,” you gasp out.
When his thumbs dig into your pain point you are granted the most exquisite type of relief. When it eventually subsides, and the pressure of John’s fingers begins to hurt again you shift to dislodge him. John pulls you into a hug before dropping a kiss on your forehead and sending you off to do something else.
“Go and rest, I will take care of these,” his beard tickles against your face.
Not one to miss out on not doing dishes, you squeeze John tight and leave the kitchen. The stirrings of your normal period cramps start. Spotting Johnny reclining against the arm of the couch you decide. Johnny is sketching away in his notebook. You really should look at getting him a real art book when the café starts turning a bit more profit and can cover all the back pay you are owed. Tugging lightly on one of his crossed ankles you get Johnny’s attention.
“Can I lay on you?” You try and look pitiful.
He would have said yes either way but it made you feel better about asking for help.
“Course,” he places his book face down and scoots down until his feet rest against the other armrest. “Come here.”
Collapsing on top of the hot-running Scot you settle down. Using him as a personal hot water bottle is the best idea you had all day. Johnny runs a hand down your back a few times before resting his sketchbook on your back as he continues to work. You wake to the feeling of your period overcoming your precautions.
Leaping off of a snoring Johnny you rush to the single bathroom in the flat and find it locked. Again.
“God dammit! John!” Your shout wakes Johnny up as he rushes up from the couch and John from your room where he must have been resting if the pillow demarcations on his cheek are any clue.
“What? What’s wrong?” John questions you.
“John, you’re buying a house.” Before he can ask stupid questions such as why, you point to the bathroom. “This is the second time I have to change my outfit because there is only one bathroom, and my period will wait for no man.”
The door opens, every pair of eyes in the hallways snapping to a now concerned Kyle who pulls out one earbud and tucks his phone into his pocket.
“What did I miss?”
Shoving past him into the bathroom you reply as you slam the door closed.
Leaning on John is one of your favorite positions to chill on the couch. All the guys were muscly, a side effect of their jobs, but something about John brought a layer of softness the others were lacking. Tucked up under one arm with his hand resting on your bent knee, you relaxed for probably an hour.
John watched something on his phone, one headphone in. You scrolled through shorter videos volume low, but loud enough to still hear.
“Today we are making –“
Swipe.
“You may have heard about the newest gadget –“
Swipe.
Ad.
Swipe.
Thirst trap. Ooh, you might watch, you feel John turn his head to look down at your screen. You pause before anything too sexy gets on screen, send it to a friend so you can find it later, like the video, and swipe on.
Your favorite, healthy, couple appears on your screen.
“What’s one thing we do to help keep everything from going off the rails even with four kids?” The husband asks.
“We say I love you. A lot. Sometimes when we can’t speak, we give three quick squeezes.” His wife picks up the telling. “Sometimes in the middle of a kid screaming a hand on yours with three quick squeezes saying I love you helps.”
Before you can scroll John pulls your phone from your hand.
“What the fuck John?” You tip your head back and glare up at him.
He smirks down at you and drops a kiss on your forehead. After messing with your phone for a second, from what you can see he sent the video link in a text, he hands it back.
When his hand settles back on your knee he gives you three quick squeezes. Curious about who he sent the video to, you leave the video app and open your messages. There at the top of the chats is your group chat with all the guys.
Firing off a follow-up text you tell them John sent the link from your phone.
>Sorry about the random video. John stole my phone and sent it.
A chorus of hearts appeared on your message.
Every one of them started doing it though. Simon would give your side three small squeezes with his hand when he pulled you into a side hug. Gary would drop three kisses on your hair or the back of your hand before he left the room. Kyle would tap you three times with a finger to get your attention. Johnny would grab your hand for the sole purpose of giving you three squeezes before pulling you into a hug or onto the couch for a cuddle.
You worried they might want more than you could provide but soaked in the love nonetheless. These men had a hard enough time telling you much about their jobs or lives beyond your observation. Each of them told you ‘I love you’ with three touches at least once each time you saw them.
@backseatsoldier sending loves and kisses your way.
Simon had texted you that he had gotten home from Mexico about midnight. When you finished your night at the café you were careful to enter the flat quietly. You might still wake him with how jumpy he could be after jobs. Wincing as you lock the front door you remove your shoes as softly as you can, setting them on the floor instead of letting them flop like you normally would. Turning on the flashlight of your phone you dim it as much as you can and still cover it with your fingers to not disturb anyone that might have slid home with him.
More and more often the guys would come home with Simon. You were about to suggest everyone going in on a house rental together because at least then you were always guaranteed to have somewhere to lay down after work. Glancing into the living room you see a lump of a body on the couch. Stepping lightly into the room you think it’s John. A raucous snore rips through the room. Yep. That’s John.
Letting a pip of light peak through your fingers you see he has no blanket on. Once that problem is resolved you head toward your room. The door is cracked. Must be more than John who came home with Simon then.
Pushing the door open you see two bodies sprawled across your bed. Letting a tad more light shine from your phone you squint and see Kyle and Gary almost fighting for space on your bed. You let the smile that forces its way to your lips stay. Leaving the men to their sleeping battle you grab a set of pajamas and head into the hall bathroom.
Leaving the lights off, your phone light reflects off the bowl of the sink as you change. Dropping your clothes into your basket in the bathroom you move to knock on Simon’s door. Tapping lightly you wait. He would wake.
Less than twenty seconds later the door pops open, and Simon blinks in the dim light.
“The couch and my bed are both taken, can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Johnny is here, but there is room.”
Rubbing your eyes you follow Simon and turn off your flashlight. Simon puts a hand on your elbow, leading you into the bed before him. Pulling up the blankets you slide in until you run into Johnny, then back up slightly.
The touch must have woken him. Johnny reaches out and pulls you close.
“Ah, bonnie, no Simon.”
He is not wearing a shirt. You had never seen Johnny shirtless, but he felt warm and lightly covered with hair.
Simon climbs in behind you, settling an arm across both of you. Something about that tickled something in your brain but sleep already lulled you with her melodies.
When you woke it was because you were too warm.
Tucked tight to Simon’s chest you watch his hand drift across Johnny’s still-sleeping face.
“When did that happen?” You whisper, careful not to wake your sleeping friend.
“This last mission. Mexico was…hard.”
“I’m happy for you.”
You really are, even if part of you yearns for every one of these crazy men to be yours always. That would be entirely too selfish. You were lucky to have them as you did, sharing kisses for luck and driving business to your shop. Selfish wasn’t a thing you could ever allow yourself to be. You didn’t dare ask for anything from them.
You had learned in your early twenties that you were asexual, much to the frustration of every partner you had. After a while you had stopped looking for any kind of romantic love, it was too twined up in sex for so many people that staying single was easier.
Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“Thanks. When are you going to end up happy?”
The question stabbed you between the ribs.
“Who says I’m not?”
“You don’t have a partner, don’t most people want that?”
“Most people aren’t okay that I only want sex when I’m ovulating so, no I guess I don’t want that,” your voice rose a bit.
Johnny’s eyes slid open, taking in you tucked into Simon’s arms. The softest smile you had ever seen on the man warmed your heart to the point of pain.
“Morning lass, how did you end up here?”
His voice, morning-deep, taking some extra work to decipher.
“Kyle and Gary were sleep fighting in my bed. Simon at least has a king-sized mattress.”
“What time did you get in?” He blinked at you as if fighting waking.
“Three.”
He reached out and pulled you across the bed; Simon’s hands drifted with you.
“Simon is an earlier riser, stay here and sleep with me.”
Settling against Johnny was different than with Simon. Johnny didn’t seem to mind the full body contact, twining of limbs, or manhandling you until you sat just right in his arms. Snug against him, in the darkness of the blinds, you slid back to sleep, but not before feeling the bed dip as Simon placed a kiss against your temple and Johnny’s lips. He left the room quiet as a mouse.
John had found a property that would fit everyone. The original house had an addition added sometime in the last ten years. The extra space roughed out to a room per person, minus Johnny who would be sharing with Simon. They took the largest room since it would be housing them both. You got the next largest room despite all arguments. John put his foot down as the ‘owner’ and assigned the rooms out. The kitchen, dining space, and living room all ran together from the front door, two bedrooms extending behind the kitchen. The other
The last of the moving boxes were getting broken down and put in the bin. Moving had been quite a process, trying to decide which of the several options of everything everyone owned you had taken Kyle aside to beg him to convince John to buy a new set of everything for the new house to avoid the headache of trying to find where to store three couches, four kitchen tables, and five separate kitchen sets. John always listened best to Kyle.
Lord only knows how but Kyle convinced everyone (but they wouldn’t let you offer up even a single piece of money) to pool in and buy the biggest couch you had ever seen and a TV to match. If your opinion on the choice of color or which table to bring home held greater weight? Well, you wouldn’t fight them on this front.
Simon would be cooking and Johnny, who was not allowed to touch the stove after the last incident, would rotate around him prepping things for Simon to cook no matter what it was. Finally, after stepping on his lover a few times Simon would pin Johnny to the counter by the hips, kiss him firmly on the lips, and send him to sit next to you as you smirked into your coffee cup. Watching those two dance around each other in the kitchen became one of your favorite pastimes.
It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t so fucking hot.
You were asexual. The understanding of your sexuality sat firm and undeniable in your soul. Except when you were ovulating. The bitch that is your uterus did not care that your soul and mind were finally in agreement, she wanted to be fucked into the mattress and given a baby.
It wasn’t just Simon and Johnny. It was Kyle with his skin that looked so smooth and smelled divine, Gary and his pheromones wafting off him as he slams the front door behind him after a run, and John and his fucking beard that you want to paw through like a cat as he is buried to the hilt in you.
You couldn’t ask that of any of them. The lines you had drawn after they asked you to choose were deep. How did you step over those without confusing the boundaries?
Standing abruptly, you announce to the room you are going on a walk. Kyle and Gary had entered the kitchen sometime while you were sucked into the vortex of your thoughts. Nodding once to yourself of your intentions you leave the kitchen, ignoring all the unspoken communication that must be going on behind your back.
You run into John when you leave your bedroom dressed for your walk. The slight moan that escapes your mouth when you physically slam into him is ignored on both sides.
“Going somewhere fun?” John settles a hand on your back, chest, and stomach flush with the side of his body.
Polyamory as an ace person had been such a delight. You could snuggle with any of them, offer or accept kisses as needed, tickle or tease as needed to help someone out of a funk, and never expect anything more. Right now, though? You fought the urge to rip your flesh off; John’s body against yours fired off every signal in your uterus that you strained to ignore.
“Just a walk,” you smile and step away to retrieve your shoes from the rack next to the front door.
“Sounds delightful, I’ll come if you don’t mind.” John grabbed his own shoes, settling next to you on the couch and skillfully knotting his laces.
Your find stagnates on all the knots he must know that could hold you in place while he makes you feel better. Fingers stilling on your shoes it takes John kneeling before you and replacing his hands with your own to draw you back into your skull and out of your uterus. He handles the task with the competence he does everything before slipping his hand in yours and keeping you close as you leave the house. If your bits throb the entire walk? No one’s business.
The mile loop is enough to take the barest hint of the edge off your desires. John had a way of settling you and making you laugh all at once. It would have been enough if Gary hadn’t come to find you.
Head deep in your closet looking for the vibrator you knew you had packed over from the flat you shared with Simon, you smelt him first. The raw and masculine scent of him called to you, petrichor to your parched lady bits. Biting your lip so hard you nearly drew blood you straightened up.
“Hi Gary, whatcha needing?”
Have you seen my toiletries? I know I moved them over but no one has seen them since we got back from our last mission.
Searching through your memories you can’t recall a single instance of seeing any bottles that weren’t immediately claimed.
“No, but I can show you which ones are mine and you can use those until you get a chance to order some more of yours. Does that work?” You look up at him and smile.
He nods, stepping into your room to offer you a hand up.
Taking it was a mistake.
As you stand you can see the shimmer of sweat across the width of his throat and upper chest and all you want to do is lick him.
You must freeze for too long. Gary crooks a finger beneath your chin and lifts until his questioning face matches yours.
“Gary, I need help,” you whisper.
“Anything-ng-ng,” he whispers back.
“Fuuuuck,” your eyes roll back into your head. He could have said anything but that and you would have been able to talk yourself out of asking.
Stepping around him, you trail your fingers across his abs as you reach for your door, shutting and locking it.
Curling your fingers still on him you hug him from behind, burying your nose between his shoulder blades.
“You know I’m asexual right?”
“Ye-ye-s?” Even his stutter seems to question you.
“Sometimes I still want sex. Only when I’m ovulating, but I swear it’s worse because it only happens one day out of twenty-eight,” you press your nose into him further, taking in a deep breath of satisfying man smell.
He waits. Gary had been government-trained to observe until he could draw solid conclusions.
“The help I need is sexual. I can’t find my vibrator and if I have to look at any one of you deliciously strong, good-smelling men I am going to start to bite like a rabid dog.” Your fingers tighten down on the ribbed tank top and the muscles below them. “Nothing will change in the day-to-day and if that doesn’t work for you, I won’t ask.”
His breath hitches both in your ears and under your touch. The air clicks on, the gentle rush of air entering your room now. Screwing your eyes shut you wait for rejection in the darkness you have created.
Gary’s fingers trail over the back of your hands, peeling them from his shirt. You shift from foot to foot, waiting for the embarrassment to start. Instead of him releasing your hands he brings them to his lips and kisses the tip of each finger. When that is completed, he turns and cradles your face, eyes shining as he searches for confirmation.
“Please Gary,” you whine, waiting for his decision.
He crashes into you like a wave meeting shore, lips fusing with yours.
Taking everything you can from him leaves you feeling half-satisfied. Thank all the gods you bought a new pack of condoms on your last shopping trip; the last ones had expired. It had been over a year since you could reliably have a partner, you didn’t dare have anyone over when Simon might appear at any moment. Taking care of your own needs had never been a problem until the plethora of options before you.
Gary drops a kiss on your lips as you rest in your bed. He had already cleaned you using the pack of wet wipes you kept in your bedside table drawer. They were wonderful for when you forgot to wash your face until you were already settled into bed, and aftercare apparently.
Hold on, let me see if I can get you some more help.
“Who?” you glare up at him unsure if you would prefer John or Kyle.
Dressing in his gym-sweated clothes he ducks.
Guess we will see who is home.
Sitting up you hiss at him to stop before he unlocks the door.
“Leave Simon and Johnny alone,” you hesitate to explain your thoughts. They were too new to each other to dare poke at their dynamic.
Gary nods before ducking out the door.
To your surprise, Kyle appears next. He pampers you, leaving your body shuddering. Kyle is a gentle lover. He is the first man to put his mouth to your clit, sending star across your vision and chuckling as you scramble for purchase in his hair.
He sends in John as the day slips closer to night. John comes bearing dinner. After he pulls his shirt off to settle across your body he eats with you.
“Is this why you were so sparky earlier today?” John glances up at you from his plate.
“Sparky?” You ask, incredulous.
“You looked like you wanted to chop yourself in half rather than be touched,” he dipped one shoulder in a shrug. “Sparky.”
Your mouth opens as you run your tongue across your teeth, frustrated.
“Yes.”
The admission costs you. The Cheshire grin that tugs John’s cheeks to his eyes should have told you what you were in for. He edged you for nearly an hour before fucking you like he was trying to touch your brain. At one point you cried out when you had to use both hands to push back against your headboard and further into his thrusts to avoid slamming your head. John had shushed you and lifted you and rolled to his back, so you rode him.
John settles clothes on your body, deposits you in the bathroom, and retrieves you when you are done. He hands you an electrolyte drink and orders you to bed. When you protest about the sheets he takes great pride in informing you that Kyle and Gary changed your sheets while you were in the bathroom.
“But I want to spend time in the living room,” you protest.
“Are you still feeling nippy? I bet Gary would be ready to go again.” John, nonplussed by offering one of his men up for sex, looks at you with an unfathomable expression.
You squeeze your legs together and stick out your tongue at him.
Taking your act of impertinence as an invitation John kisses you, licking into your mouth.
“To bed bird or I might find the energy to fling you around again,” he growls against your lips.
This time you listen.
Someone let it slip while you were sleeping. Johnny lay nose to nose with you when you woke the next morning.
"Why not me bonnie?" The sadness in his voice hurts you.
"I don't want to cause problems with you and Simon. I love you both and watching you in love brings me so much joy," you rest a hand against his face. The appearence of an early morning beard scratches at your hand. The sadness in his eyes lingers. "There is alway next month?"
He pushes forward, teeth and tongue and pretty little moans marking his intentions to take you next month.
A/N: well that got a bit more steamy then I meant for a SFW version...
John finds you reclining on the couch. Bowl of popcorn chips resting on your stomach and mask, cool and slimy, on your face.
“So, we not going on a date tonight?”
The casual way he drops the statement belies the gravity of it.
The moment it takes to process through your exhausted brain is the only moment of peace for the rest of the night.
Jumping to your feet the chips go flying as your mask slides off your face and into the now empty bowl.
“It’s Monday!” You shout as you stare at him in horror. “Fuck, I will be ready in ten minutes.”
Before you can sink to your knees to clean up your mess John takes you by the hand and deposits you at your room. With a smiling kiss to your cheek he promises to clean up the mess and turn off the TV.
You wipe your face with a makeup wipe and panic spin before shouting down the hall.
“John! What should I wear?”
“Closed toed shoes and layers dove,” he shouted back.
“Layers and clothes toed shoes,” you mutter to yourself on repeat as you start digging around for a clean pair of jeans and a set of matching socks.
“Oh, and no makeup if you feel comfortable. It will melt off.”
His loud voice and words make you pause.
“What the hell are we doing that would cause my make up to melt off?” You ask the empty room.
Eleven minutes later you are knotting the laces of your shoes and pushing off the couch to follow John to his car. It’s practical, how like him. He catches sight of your small smirk at his vehicle.
“What? Not as fancy as Johnny’s?”
Busting out laughing you drop a hand onto his shoulder for support. Johnny had the oldest, ugliest truck you had ever seen.
He smiles down at you, cheeks pulling up to cause crinkles around his eyes. You loved when he smiled that big, with his whole face. It made your heart so happy.
John walked you to the passanger door, opening it for you with a bow and a wink.
“My lady.”
You give a curtsey with your imaginary skirt before rolling your eyes and climbing in and buckling your seat belt.
“So, John, what is the silliest situation you have ever ended up in because of your job?”
“Let me think,” he focuses on driving as he does. “Had to be the time I told the president of US a crass joke.”
“How the hell did you manage that?” You gape at him from the opposite seat.
“Was playing bodyguard at a conference, there was only one man in the room while we were waiting for the VIP and I made a joke to break the tension.”
“What did he do?” You prompt, there has to be more to this conversation.
“He looked at me odd before busting out in laughter. I didn’t realize my mistake until the meeting started and he got introduced to the room. We made eye contact and I have never felt my face go that red before,” John offers you a hand to hold between the seats.
You take it, enjoying the roughness of his palms and the width of his fingers between yours.
“What about you?” John asks.
“What about me what?”
“Tell me the silliest interaction you have had working as a barista.”
“Whew, that might take all night. Top of mind though, was the guy who showed up at the wrong coffee shop for a first date.”
“How long did it take him to figure it out?”
“An hour,” you emphasize the last word. “He thought he had been stood up.”
John laughed at the man’s misfortune. The drive went on like that, trading stories back and forth until John pulled up outside of a pretty nondescript building with a large overhead door that cars typically went through. No cars would fit through this one though, the opening showed tables and decorative glass pieces.
“You know I didn’t ask before but what are we doing on this date?” You ask as you stare at the beautiful and intricate works of blown glass.
“We are making some blown glass pieces. You can do an ornament for Christmas or a cup,” John steps from the car with a finger up to ask for your patience.
Appreciating the way he moves you watch him round the car. Smiling up at him as he opens the door you take the offered hand, sliding the fingers of your left hand into his. Entering the spacious building you look around at the orbs hanging artfully along one wall.
“Hi guys, welcome in. Do you have an appointment?” A young woman with blonde beach waves greats you, eyes jumping straight to John.
You can’t blame her, he is an attractive man, despite the funny facial hair decisions he makes sometimes.
“We do, the couples hour under the last name Price?”
You almost didn’t catch it but he tilted your hand to so she couldn’t see your lack of ring. Smiling up at him he winks at you when he glances from the receptionist. Two small taps to your nose confirm your understanding.
“Okay, are you wanting to do an ornament or a cup?” The blonde asks in a slightly more subdued tone.
“Cup for me, love?”
John turns to you.
“Cup for me as well please.”
“Okay, you can pick up to two colors and whether or not you want a band on your cup. Al will be with you shortly.”
You pull John to look over your options. The date doesn’t leave a lot of room for talking, but warm glances while standing at the furnace, slowly working with Al to keep the slug of molten glass spinning. Whoever decided on when to have newbies help with this process understood the lack of skill the average John would have.
Glad you avoided putting on make-up on John’s recommendation, you wipe at the back of your neck where sweat has started to collect. Once the cups were settled into the annealing oven, you did find stepping from the studio a startling refreshing experience.
“I had fun John. Thank you,” you infuse as much warmth and honesty into your words as you can manage.
He pulls your interlocked hands to his lips, dropping a kiss on the back of your hand.
“Bonus is that I get to take you out again when they are ready for pickup,” he lifts both brows at you from under his hat.
“All that means is I get to spend more time with you. What a hardship,” you roll your eyes as your sarcasm lands.
John scoops you close with a spin.
“Come on brat, let’s get you some food. I know you didn’t eat enough today.” He nuzzles his beard into the space between your shoulder and chin.
You squeal and pull away, “Hey, I resemble that remark!”
