Beginning Notes: I fell in love with the idea of Juice/Gemma after reading Sweet Thing by hobbitdragon & Thaxted (you can find the story and the writers on AO3 if you haven't yet, and I highly suggest it because it's practically literary perfection). I don't know why, but I can see it - especially Season 7/Season 6 era. Now, I don't know all about the 'mommy kink' (their canon for anything Juice/Gemma), but I do see them together. So… here we are.

Summary: He's just a lowly fuck-up from Queens. She's a fallen Matriarch with marital issues. He's not much, but he's something.

Got It Bad

Everyone in the Clubhouse had heard the argument. Hell, it was quite possible that everyone in southern California had heard the fight - maybe more. It was no surprise that when the King and Queen of Anarchy fought, they were knock down, drag out fights - couldn't be any less, the King had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't let his old lady top him, and she couldn't let him think she had a place to be put in. Hair pulling, slapping, in-your-face screaming - that was just the start. Things often escalated to the point where one or both had to pulled away from the other, because the amount of physical damage being inflicted could've been deadly. Gemma always gave as good as she got, and Clay always made sure she got good.

Most had evacuated as soon as voices rose above indoor voice level - choosing to slink over to Teller-Morrow and put in some overtime - but a few had stuck around to watch. Or clean up the aftermath, either one. Juice had been one of the ones to stick around and clean up the aftermath - having nothing to do at Teller-Morrow, and not wanting to return to his shitty little apartment just because of a fight. He nurses a whiskey and keeps his head low, his ears keened. The things that Clay are saying, Juice knows will hurt the recently fragile Matriarch. Calling her cheap pussy was low, especially since she considered herself the highest of the high.

Gemma said things too, don't get him wrong. But Juice has a natural bias for her - and sometimes it shone through a little more than it should.

Suddenly it goes startlingly quiet, and Gemma exits the back dorm room - where they'd be fighting. Blood dribbles from the corner of her mouth, and her mascara is smeared considerably. Juice is barely noticing the bright red marks around her throat and on her cheek when she storms past him - a slight limp in her gait - out the doors of the Clubhouse. Juice's eyes widen, and he turns to glance at the hallway leading to the apartments. He's surprised when Clay exits - sporting a bruised eye and swollen cheek. The nervous member looks away instantly, but the President has already noticed his staring and is intending to prey on it.

"Juice," he bellows, drawing the younger members attention again. Nervously, the latino peers up at him. Clay is fuming, and he can tell that pissing him off right now would be a bad idea. "What the fuck are you still doing here? Go after her, you fucking moron!"

Confused, but not wanting to argue with the man, he scrambles up from his seat and does as told. It's surprisingly easy to find Gemma. Since most of everyone evacuated to Teller-Morrow - and even that place is deserted, almost everyone has abandoned the fort for the first time in ages - she chose to occupy the swings. She sways lightly on one of them, her feet moving her back and forth on the cobblestone. Her hands shake as she lights a joint and brings it to her lips, and he notices that she has yet to wipe the blood away from her mouth.

Taking several deep breaths, Juice heads over to join her - plopping down onto the swing set and swinging for a bit before stopping and glancing at her. He knows that the last thing she probably wants is to talk to him, and he gives her a few minutes to tell him to fuck off. But she just keeps staring at her heels, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously. He finds that the blood is coming from a split lip that she'd been trying to nurse with her tongue, and the cut bleeds profusely - trailing out the side of her mouth. Juice winces at the sight and pulls his handkerchief from his pocket. It's stained with grease and motor oil, but he uses it anyway - awkwardly leaning over and wiping away the stain of blood dripping from her lip to her chin.

"Don't cry, Gemma," he soothes, but that only gets another sniffle. Another grimace - he hated seeing her like this. Juice sighs and continues to dab at the busted lip. "I honestly don't know how to cheer you up. What do biker wives like?"

He doesn't realize he's wondering aloud until Gemma gives a snort of laughter and swipes at a tear that had been threatening to spill over the brim of her eye.

"Leather, lace and assholes who don't appreciate us," she whispers bitterly. "You fucking men, I swear. I just-"

"I appreciate you," Juice says weakly, cutting her off. She glances to him, but he's nervously fiddling with the handkerchief in his hand. He looks away when he leans in to clean the corner of her lip again. "I know I'm not someone like your husband or your son, but… I appreciate you a lot. My favorite part of the day is when you come into the office, and you give me a hug and kiss. You're always really hot - and I admire that you take such good care of yourself."

"But not just that either," he continues, knowing that he shouldn't just like a lady for her looks. He was raised and taught better than that. "I appreciate you doing the paperwork for us because I don't know what I'd do if I had to sit behind a desk and work that shit all day. Probably die of frustration. And I appreciate you lookin' out for us 'cause I didn't really have much of a ma growin' up - she was always workin'. So having you around is really nice. And I appreciate you tendin' to us after fights or scuffles or just plain trouble. I appreciate you, Gemma."

Juice realizes that he's not much. He's an awkward little fuck-up from Queens with an out of this world hacking ability and shitty haircut. But he so desperately wants her to like and approve of him, so he doesn't care about any of that other stuff. He twists the handkerchief over his index finger and peers up at her shyly, noticing that she's staring at him - slack jawed.

Gemma beams at him, and he smiles sheepishly back. He expects a lot of things to happen next. He expects her to have a renewed confidence, and go to fix things with her husband. He expects her to hug him and kiss his cheek in a thank you. He expects her to maybe be a little upset that he'd been watching her so closely.

He does not expect for to cup his face and pull him in for a kiss. And not one of her little motherly pecks at the corner of his mouth that just almost push the brink of maternal sexuality - a tongue kiss that pulls him right down into the abyss of just sexuality. It sends blood rushing straight south because he chubs up a little when she runs her tongue along his and nips his bottom lip, her actions begging for him to react - to do something instead of just sit there like a fool. He eventually does - suckling on her tongue gently and running his along her bottom lip, effectively wiping some of her lipstick from it. The sharp tang of the blood from her cut somehow doesn't make this worse… it makes it better, and he hates himself for it.

Gemma doesn't pull away and neither does he. In fact he gets a little bold with it - tossing the handkerchief aside and resting his hands on her jean clad thighs. The swings make it difficult for him to get real lewd with her, but he does his best - massaging her thighs through her jeans, sending a hand up to tug at the hem of a bra before it comes skittering back down to her lap. His aren't the only ones getting busy - she massages his crotch through his work pants, her nail occasionally running up his shaft.

It's not until Juice remembers Clay that he breaks away and sends a fearful glance to the Clubhouse. Gemma was every one of his wet dreams smashed into one unbelievably sexy woman, but he couldn't bear facing the President if he fucked his wife.

"Why'd you stop?" the woman herself huffs, her hand still on her lap. "That was hot."

"I-" Juice spares a glance to the woman. The running mascara, smeared lipstick, and busted lip gets his dick tugging - begging to be let free and rampant. There was something about a sad woman that made his white knight complex ache, and not to mention that this particular woman was as hot as a June summer's day. Albeit, everything about Gemma made everything about Juice ache and a part of him hates that weakness. "What if we get caught?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," she snorts, rolling her eyes. He shivers to think that he wouldn't be her first affair - and the shivers get worst at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be her last. "Look, his dick goes on a cheerleader hunt from here to New York. You don't think I deserve a little side piece too?"

It crushes the little Puerto Rican to think he would just be that - a side piece - and shatters his dreams of becoming a regular occasion. He would be a quick fuck - one time thing to boost her confidence, maybe her own little piece of revenge against Clay. Nothing more. But he takes one look at her rack and decides that it would be worth it - better something than nothing, right?

"C'mon Juice," she purrs, her hands splaying out flat against his thighs. "We can do it - right here, on the playground. No one will ever have to know. Just… just fuck it out of me. I don't wanna think about him. I know you could do better than him any day, baby. You would do better right, Juicey?"

"Anything for you, Gemma," he gasps out, before he can think about anything else. Clay and the MC is shoved to the back of his mind, because he knows he'd put her happiness before the Motorcycle Club on any day of the week, month or year. His brothers could be bleeding out from multiple fatal wounds, but if she chipped a nail, he knows he'd be right there for her. He knows this and yet still… still, there's gnawing guilt in the back of his consciousness that he can't shake. This was a married woman. This was a woman married to the President of his Club - one of his most precious things. This was his sponsor's wife.

Despite that, he still bows in and gives the older woman what she wants - pressing his lips against hers with only minor hesitation. Juice attempts to be as slow and perfect as possible at first - Gemma was so much more important than the sweetbutts and croweaters that warmed the indent of his bed every night, he had to make this good for her - but then she gives a frustrated huff and bites down on his bottom lip… hard. At first he whines at the surge of pain, but Gemma's hand massaging him through his jeans makes the throbbing in his lip seem insignificant.

It takes a long while for Juice's big head to catch up with his little one, but when it does, he breaks away from the kiss and pulls her to her feet - tugging her towards the spot behind the slides. One reason being because they couldn't exactly fuck on the swings without causing some sort of injury. Another being that if Clay did come in search of them, he'd come up empty. It was get dark enough that his dark boots and her latex heels wouldn't be spotted in the moonlight anyways.

He lays her tenderly on the cooling red concrete and carefully goes about giving her what she likes. Kissing first her lips gently - his lips pulling away from her stickily, her red lipstick glued to his - and then running his mouth along her jaw. Down her chin to the hollow of her throat, where he begins to nip at the skin. Gemma writhes beneath him, her knee running up and down his inner thigh.

He stops right above her breasts - delicately pulling her shirt over her head before continuing. He hardens considerably at the sight at her breasts resting high and full on her chest, sitting encased in an ebony lace bra - his semi-erection hitting full mass and straining against his boxers. Juice inhales sharply, and forces himself to calm down a little. This wasn't about him, it was about-

"You gonna sit there starin' at my tits all day, baby?"

"I wouldn't mind," he exhales before he can think.

"Well, I would. Get down here and treat me good - I'm all wet for you, and that just can't go to waste," she huffs. Juice shudders again and presses his lips against hers while simultaneously lifting her hips. He wiggles her jeans down to her ankles - it's certainly a job, they're like a goddamned second skin - and glances down to the spot between her legs.

She wasn't lying when she said she was wet. She soaking through her panties - when he presses his two fingers there, he draws away dripping. He expects her to be shy or embarrassed, but she's staring up at him with lust-filled eyes. So instead of blushing like a virgin schoolboy, he pops his fingers in her mouth. Gemma is certainly an expert - she swirls her tongue around his fingers as he slides her panties down with his free hand. The wet hotness of her mouth leaves him aching for release and dripping precum against his boxers, and she can see the imprint through his pants.

"Oh baby, look at you," she whispers when he removes his fingers from her mouth, reaching up to massage his cock through the material. It's already standing at half-mast and rapidly getting harder. "You wanna fuck my cunt, don't you?"

Juice replies by slamming his mouth onto hers again - tasting the sweet, slightly sour tanginess of her pussy. It's all so erotic - her dirty talk, the strain of arousal in his pants, the fact that they were practically fucking in public. It's all a bit much, not to mention that each word, gasp or moan that falls from her lips sends blood rushing straight towards his dick. The last thing he needed was to come in his pants.

He tugs her panties over her hips unceremoniously and is about to slip a finger inside when her hands push his pants and boxers over his hips. His dick springs free like an eager puppy, the tip grazing his stomach before resting between his legs. Gemma's hand is quick in wrapping around his cock and stroking him as gently as possible whilst simultaneously guiding him towards her folds.

"W-what… don't you want…?" Juice fumbles for words, but it's hard - ha! - for him to concentrate with her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his cock. Gemma rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"Baby, we don't have time for you to treat me like your bike," she explains, as if it's almost painstakingly apparent. Her hazel eyes briefly float towards the Clubhouse, where only three motorcycles remain - pointedly Juice's, Half-Sack's and Clay's. His stomach does somersaults at the insinuation - they didn't actually have very long before Clay came in search of them. He hates how a part of that danger is kind of hot, the idea of getting caught giving his a member a few promising twitches.

Juice gives her a shy apologetic smile before following her lead, sliding into her as gently and smoothly as possible - despite the fact that she's so wet it's barely an effort - while maintaining a small sense of urgency. Gemma sighs in contentment as he begins to fill her up, and the young man gives his own releasing groan. She wasn't particularly tight - he supposed that two children would do that to a woman - but there was something satisfying about having her closing around his length.

Gemma's nails dig into his biceps as he grinds his hips forward and pushes into her - attempting to get as deep as he can possibly get. That seems to do something, because the grip on his arms becomes almost painfully tight.

"Ah, fuck!" Gemma pants, her mouth falling open. "Right there, baby, right there for me."

"Yeah?" Juice asks, his voice thick. He has to admit - the praise feels overwhelmingly good, it's a definite ego stroke that he'd been needing lately. Not to mention the plus that it comes from someone like Gemma - someone who was usually on top and very rarely submitted to anyone else. He decides that showing off isn't so bad.

"Yeah, baby."

He smirks proudly at her before drawing out slowly and thrusting forward again - this time with a little bit more force than the last. Gemma pushes her on hips upward to meet his thrusts, and he takes advantage of the action to cup her ass and pull her just that bit closer. Each time his hips roll backwards and push forward, it seems to bring him that much closer to the edge. The younger Son can only pray that he doesn't come before she does, as he doesn't think he could take that embarrassment.

"Gemma, god-" he groans, burying his nose into her sweaty hair. "Goddamnit."

The sex seems to be having a similar effect on the woman beneath him. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, and her teeth are worrying her bottom lip. Sensing a perfect moment, he dips his head down to press his lips against the corner of her mouth. Gemma turns her head eagerly to capture his lips with hers, and her teeth decide to pull at his bottom lip instead. Juice groans in pleasure at the pain, and thrusts up into her harder.

She moans into the kiss, and with each forceful thrust it gets harder and harder to control their volume. Juice know she's close to coming too, because the grip she has on his arms is almost deathlike, and her gasps are becoming close to hyperventilation.

Gemma breaks with kiss with a cry of, "Fuck-" and a loud yell. Juice quickly clamps his hand over her mouth to keep their tryst safe and hopes to high hell that Clay is getting too drunk to notice her shouting. He follows in his peak soon after, thrusting up into her and pumping her full of his seed. It leaks stickily out of her folds and dribbles down his shaft, and he winces at the mess - he hated going back to his apartment sticky.

"Ugh, asshole," she whines, when she comes down from her climax - although there's nothing but dreaminess to her tone. It's obvious that he did somewhat of a good job, and he preens a little at the thought.

After simply enjoying the sight of her thoroughly fucked and starry-eyed, Juice pulls out and rolls over onto the concrete beside her.

"Least of our worries," he mutters, fumbling his boxers back up. Now that the high of fucking her is gone, the guilt is slowly starting to darken the edges of his consciousness. He'd just committed adultery. He'd just fucked his Sponsor's wife - his President's Old Lady. That had to be one - if not the - biggest sin of being a member of SAMCRO.

He was going to so many different levels of hell.

Gemma peers up at him before grabbing him by his cheeks and planting a kiss on his jawline.

"Quit worrying sweetie. He already knows."

"What?!"

End Notes: *spends damn near a month writing this* *it still sucks* FML. C&C please because god knows I need it.