Johnny doesn't sleep much, partially a prison habit, partially the way it's always been. He's had night terrors long before they all morphed into dreams of waking up sick again in some backwater town, no dealer, no lily, withdrawal setting in. A few years clean and he still can't sleep sober— not without getting himself off— even then sometimes his chronic guilt kills the urge and turns it into something repulsive. You sniffed Johnny out as a walking, talking raw nerve the moment you met him. You knew there was no way he'd slam a door in your face, you just had to get in the room.
Three months on tour with the Relentless as the frontman of their opening act, you’ve observed that Johnny has this way about him: a high and mighty "look-don't-touch" at all the vices that float round a rock band on tour; he’s clearly hanging by a thread. No booze, no sniff, no skag, no women, but he gets this twist in his brow at every scantily clad barely-legal trying to flash her way on the bus. It could be mistaken for mournful if you miss the way he wets his lips.
It's a long elevator ride from the 3rd floor hotel room you're sharing with your bandmates to the penthouse. In the time it takes to get to his floor, you watch yourself in the mirror on the elevator wall. The bits of show makeup left under your eyes, your sleepwear on, your ragged breathing: you look dishevelled enough for it to be believable. He wastes no time answering the door when you knock. You knew he'd be awake.
"What." He barked before the door was fully open. He didn't soften up much when he saw you, but recognition eased his shoulders.
"Can I come in?" You sound apologetic, timid, like you'd never dream of asking unless you really needed it. He steps aside, still looking reluctant and digging in his pocket for a cigarette to get him through whatever this is. You waste no time finding a seat at the end of his bed, delicately the way one does when they're trying to be polite. The perfectly good chair in the corner of the room paints this as a calculated move, but men don't catch on to these things, rarely can they tell when a trap is being set until it’s too late.
"Can I help you?" he says. Johnny's half dressed, no shirt, no socks, a pair of loose sweatpants, it’s a far cry from the god on stage who can move crowds of thousands with a wave of his hand. He almost doesn't look like himself at all. You watch the way he keeps his distance, part courtesy as he takes drags from his cigarette, part standoffishness and a desire to let you know you aren’t welcome here. You turn on the fragility, the wide shy eyes that can’t meet him, the nervous hands, the apologetic tone.
"How many times have you gone through withdrawals, Johnny?" You say to the floor. You can’t see his face but you can tell he stands a little straighter by the way his feet shift.
"What?"
"Before getting clean. How many times did it take" That harshness he carried about him at the door is gone making way for confusion and defensiveness. His breathing quickens, there's a twitch of his head and a flare to his nostrils that says the seeds of panic are setting in. It’s the right moment to look him in the eye, to hammer home that dread of being seen. You let him look at you for a moment before speaking. “I detoxed three times before it stuck.” You say, close to tears. His face morphs into a pitying and horrified expression.
“I didn’t know you—” He swallows thickly. “You’re so young.” His concern is palpable, there’s a ghost of grin you have to clench the bedsheets to restrain.
“Not much younger than you were when you started.” He scoffs, incredulous.
“It’s a big jump from 19 to 22— fuck.” He sighs, sitting next to you on the bed, leg jittering, lost in thought. A long and loaded silence passes before he speaks. “So what are you doing here then?”
“I keep having dreams.” You let your voice get thick with shame. “Of getting sick again. Like— Like when it got so bad I couldn’t walk, and my fucking bones hurt I just—” You feel the hot tears fall easy, the hard part is looking like you’re fighting them. “I wake up and I can still feel it. I can still fucking feel it.” His chest heaves before he pulls you into a hug, not knowing what else to do. His bare skin cools your heated cheeks, and his large frame swallows your own. You hope he feels your breath shuddering, you hope it makes his heart clench.
“I do too.” he says, sounding distant and empathetic “you’re going to be okay.”
“I haven’t slept in days.” You sniffle. God he fucking smells good, if you had half a mind you’d lick a stripe up the expanse of his chest and get yourself kicked out before you can even get what you came here for. His hand comes up to stroke your hair.
“You just gotta find ways around it, tire your mind out. Get it when you can, even if it’s unbearable.” You feign a few hitches of your breath and pull him in closer like you really need this— like Johnny fucking Faust is finally doing some good with his miserable life by letting a pretty girl cry in his bed. You pull away, making sure he sees your face, eyes puffy, lip quivering, pretty as sin even when you cry.
“How… How do you do it?” You tilt your head looking up at him. He grapples for an answer, eyes shifting as he tries to choose his words carefully.
“I um— everyone has their own way of…”
“c'mon.” You whine sounding utterly pathetic, like a dog awaiting to get kicked to the curb, he can’t stand the way it makes him feel. In your face he suddenly sees every woman he’s ever hurt, Gretchen, that eighteen year old virgin, his fucking mom, it eats away at his gut.
Johnny breathes deep and laboured, wrestling with himself. “I uh. I get off.” You put on a contemplative look.
“Really?” Your voice is gentle, inquisitive, it goes straight to his dick and he resents himself for that. It’s been months since he’s let himself be alone with a woman who isn’t his girlfriend, he can’t fault his body for wanting.
“Yeah, um.” He clears his throat. “Some times work better than others, I don’t always sleep through the night but…” He looks like he’s just become aware of how much you two have drifted into each other’s space. Your lips are lips so close you can almost feel each other’s breaths, his arms still slung around your body, legs touching where the bed dips.
“Johnny.” You say, just above a whisper, tinged with need. “I’ve never been able to… I don’t know how to make myself cum.”
His teeth touch his bottom lip in a barely audible “fuck.” His gaze gets heavy. “I think you should leave.” He whispers, but his body doesn’t move. His eyes dart to your lips, wet, shiny, swollen from crying.
“Please.” It’s a whimper and the way his shoulders drop tell you that you got him, even if he’s still got some fight in him. “Please.” You say again, your hand creeping up his leg. You invade his space further, bringing your lips to his neck and he doesn’t stop you. “Just enough to fall asleep.” You say against his skin, ghosting your lips against it like you’re still waiting for permission knowing damn well you knew what you wanted the second you crawled your way into this room. “Just wanna fucking sleep, help me sleep, Johnny.” You lift yourself onto your knees and it brings his face close to your breasts. His hands find your ass like muscle memory and you guide one of them between your legs. “You don’t have to fuck me, you can just— Fuck, Johnny.” His fingers begin working your clit through your shorts.
“We shouldn’t. I— I can’t—.” He captures your lips in a starving kiss anyway, fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your ass like it’s the only way he can think of to punish you for needing him like this.
“You don’t have to fuck me.” You whine into his ear before letting go of a choked out whimper when his fingers have found themselves under your panties. You card, your fingers through his hair and tug when he finally slips a finger in. You hold his head in place so he can see his good work all over your blissed out face. “Just make me cum, Johnny please I wanna cum. Fuck. I won’t even touch your dick if you don’t want me to.” You babble. One of your hands finds it’s way over the crotch of his pants, barely a touch, still playing like you don’t know he wants to shove it down your throat. His hand finds yours in an iron grip that scares you a little, you’re reminded that you’re playing with a fire that’s 6’3 and can snap your wrist in his hand if he wants to. Johnny drags your hand to his bulge and presses you against his hard cock through the fabric, rutting against you like it’s what you fucking owe him after the theatrics. The look in his eye says he’ll give you what you need and make you fucking sorry for it.
TW: SMUT, P in V, Fingering, Oral (F. Receiving), Language
Summary: After saving Johnny from the flirty girl, you go home together.
Y/n Pov
After about 20 minutes, we arrive at my apartment building, and I ask, "Would you like to stay?" "Sure," he says, following me into the complex. We go up to my room and go into my bedroom. "I'm gonna change real quick. I'll be right back. Make yourself at home." I go into the bathroom and change into my pajamas before heading back to my bedroom. Johnny is sitting on my bed, waiting patiently for me.
"Hey, baby." I sit next to him, looking into his eyes as I ask, "Do you really want to be with me?" "Yes, Y/n. I love you so much. I've never felt this way about anyone in my life before." "Me either. Johnny, I love you too." I smile at him as he pulls me in for a kiss. He deepens the kiss.
We kiss for a few minutes before having to pull away for air. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he says. "Me too." He starts to kiss my neck, whispering, "I want you," in my ear, as he starts to lift my shirt. I lift my arms so he can pull my shirt over my head. Once my shirt is off, Johnny lays me down on the bed, crawling on top of me. He kisses down my neck and chest to the top of my bra. "Can I take this off?" I nod in response. Johnny unclasps my bra, pulling the straps down my arms, exposing my breasts to him. He leans down and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, massaging the other one with his hand. I start to moan, never having felt like this before. He pulls away for a moment to pull his shirt off, exposing his muscles and tattoos. I knew he was attractive, but he's never been hotter than right in this moment. He leans back down, trailing kisses down my stomach to the waistband of my my pants. He looks up at me for permission. "Yes," you reply, and he pulls down my pants along with my panties. "You're so wet for me, baby girl." He looks back up into my eyes as he licks a stripe up my pussy. He latches his lips around my clit starting to suck, forcing a loud moan out of me. I let out moan after moan of his name as he eats me out like his life depends on it. After a couple minutes, he inserts a couple fingers, starting to scissor them to get me ready for him. "You're gonna feel so good around my cock," he says, continuing his ministrations. I start to feel the familiar tightness in my stomach, about to burst, as Johnny pulls away. "I need to be inside you," he says, pulling his pants down. He grabs a condom from his pocket and slides it on before positioning himself at my entrance. "Are you ready?" "Yes," I say, and he slowly starts to push into me. I moan his name loudly as he bottoms out inside me. He groans as he starts to move. "God, you feel so tight, baby." I respond with a moan, feeling so good. "Johnny," you moan as he thrusts faster. I start to feel the tightness filling my stomach again. "Johnny, I'm getting close." "Me too, baby. You gonna cum all over my cock?" "Yes, Johnny," I moan as he thrusts faster than ever. I yell out his name as the dam bursts, me coming all over his cock. He follows right behind, filling the condom up, deep inside me. He collapses on top of me, both of us breathing heavily.
After a few moments, he pulls out disposing of the condom before going to get a washcloth from the bathroom. He comes back and cleans all of my intimate areas, with the most love and care. When he's done, he tosses the washcloth to the floor and climbs back into bed with me. He smiles at me as he asks, "How was that, baby? I wasn't too rough, was I?" "No, Johnny. It was absolutely perfect," I say, smiling back at him, tiredness finally starting to take over. "I love you, Johnny." "I love you too, Y/n," he replies as I fall into the best sleep, wrapped up in Johnny's arms.
My sight caught the dark ink that decorated his hands and fingers, holding a dirty credit card as he pushed a familiar white power into distinct lines. He startled as I pushed open the door, revealing myself to him. The cocaine lines now hidden beneath a stack of magazines and forgotten as his bloodshot eyes peered up at me, frozen in place.
“I want you to take my virginity,” my voice echoed in my head as if I hadn't even spoken the words myself.
His lips curl, and his brow jumped at my bold statement. “I don't think that's a good idea darlin’,” his deep voice rumbled, yet his statement didn't deter me.
“When I play with myself,” I breathed down upon him, “the only thing that gets me off is you.”
Johnny's intrigued smile faded as he pushed himself up from the leather coach from where he had sat. “Ok, you should go.”
