Johnny gazed up at her, vision soft around the edges without his glasses, allowed his lips to part when her fingers combed through his hair before dipping lower, holding either side of his face. She looked at him. Gazed. Her eyelids heavy and her lips parted and-
"Hm ... go on, baby."
Johnny held her thighs and allowed his tongue to slip out. Grazed the tip of the silicone and dipped, lower, just slightly, to lick the entire length in one stroke. Aisha groaned, the combination of the erotic sight and the vibration against her clit enough to have her hips swaying. Rocking to her own little beat. The movement made her perky tits bounce and Johnny's simpler mind enjoyed the show from his little vantage point.
Encouraged, Johnny allowed saliva to pool in his mouth. He took the tip between his lips and suckled. His cheeks barely hollowing and head only slightly bobbing. He pulled away. Then gently lapped at the tip again, almost teasing. A smirk on his lips.
Aisha suddenly gripped his head with more force, no longer a gentle caress. So hard and close that Johnny could smell the lotion she'd applied half an hour ago.
"Open."
He forced his lips shut, playfully resisting. Turned his head away when she pushed the strap forward and slathered his saliva across his lips. He knew what would follow this treatment, could feel it in the excited tremble of his hands and the interested stirring in his pants.
She tipped her head to the side, brows raised, the little beads on the end of her braids clacking together in the quiet.
"Don't make me ask again, Johnny."
Johnny persisted. Made direct eye contact as her manicured thumb prodded at his lips. It pushed forcefully until he allowed his jaw to give away and accept it. The gap between his lips was small, yet Aisha greedily accepted it. She forced her thumb inside but Johnny had other plans. He clamped his jaw shut, hard enough to hurt yet not to wound, biting down on her thumb, shocked at his own restraint.
Aisha reacted almost immediately, gasping at the disobedience before pulling her thumb out and, in one smooth motion, backhanding him hard across the face. Johnny's head snapped to the side, her rings catching against his skin and cutting. Anger boiled up in his chest, taking her bullet and firing one back.
"Fuck you-"
Slap!
Again, the other side this time, her palm gracing his cheekbone instead of her harsh knuckles. A Saint through and through, she knew how to hurt, and Johnny damn near busted at the thought, anger kicked down and stomped into the curb for good measure. And Johnny needed that, craved that, wanted that more than anything. Would greedily cling to the way his cheeks burned or the way his bad knee ached for hours after.
He'd zoned out for just a second. Aisha was tapping his face insitedly, not a full slap but a repetitive tap tap tap that had him blinking irritatedly in her direction. When his gaze met hers she swapped the harsh treatment for an almost maddeningly slow caress. Rubbing the pain away as if it were never there, only her, everything and nothing and her . Directly contradicting the barefoot forcefully nudging toward the erection still trapped in his jeans.
"You're enjoying this aren't you?" she laughed, genuine and sexy, and Johnny hoped his eyes weren't too glossy when he gazed up at her and grinned back. "Fucking slut."
A natural part of Johnny bristled at the name. Instinctively. They'd discussed this before, of course, in their own messed up version of 'adult conversation' which Aisha was always better at. But it still stung, like glass in his chest from bullets on windshields, and in his detached shock Johnny allowed his mouth to hang open for too long.
But she was stroking his cheek, telling him it was going to be okay when it wasn't, never was. Fucking and fighting and lies.
"You alright, baby?" she meant more than she said, even someone as socially fucked as Johnny could figure that out.
He nodded.
Slap! Again. Johnny groaned, dazed, unable to orient himself before Aisha grabbed his jaw again and pushed her thumb and the thick ring she wore on it between his teeth, forcing his mouth to stay ajar no matter how hard he bit down.She shoved the cock between his lips, into his mouth and further, further . Johnny gagged at the halfway point, wet and drooling, spit pooling past his lips and dribbling onto his jeans, barely having time to prepare before her hips jutted forward, pushing him further and waiting there with his throat full and his face against her.
His eyes were blurry, tears and poor eyesight merging into one cocktail of sensations that had him holding her hips in death grip. Disgusting and utterly debased. He tried to swallow around the intrusion, instead gagging, coating it with another layer of thick spit.
Aisha's thumb was still in his mouth, fingers gripping his jaw in control and dominance. Johnny's shoulders shook, adrenaline spiking with the instinct to fight. But he wouldn't, not with her, never with her. He'd sooner tear his throat out with his fingernails then fight what was coming next. That weird sense of equilibrium, relaxation in submission. He wasn't Johnny, or Ji-Hoon or some street kid thug.
Aisha. Aisha. Aisha. Aisha.
She hummed, low and deep. Johnny could feel it in his head, rattling his brain in his skull. Seeing her and hearing her and feeling her.
A hand snaked around, dark skin and purple acrylics, Johnny could see it in his peripherals despite his firm unspoken promise to not allow his eyes to leave hers. Aisha touched the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair and stroking his nape as he adjusted to the size, breathing hard through his nose.
Stroke, smile, touch, Aisha.
A few moments like that, every sense on fire and burning, nerves frayed. Eye contact constant. Her grip adjusted slowly, moving her hand once every few seconds until she found that perfect placement. His jaw and head and mouth in her entire, total control. Johnny shivered at the thought.
And then, as if to pour gasoline on his fire, those damn words.
"You're so good for me, Johnny."
Not a question. A statement. As true in the bedroom as it was out. She meant it. Johnny moaned. He needed to touch himself, needed to, his hand slipped over his fly.
"Don't you dare. You're good for me."
Johnny paused. Then he moved his hand back to her hip and she exhaled a cute little laugh.
She moved her hips back and forth, slowly. Johnny gagged and choked, lips swollen and broken and bruised.
"You're good for me, Johnny." Again. Thrust. He loved it. He didn't know he was capable of love.
She repeated herself. Her hips moved faster, harder. Johnny's eyes rolled back. Aisha's hand moved from his mouth and grabbed his head, her other moving to tug at her nipple. Harder, harder, harder. He was being used, face being pounded into and unable to slow or stop. Not wanting to. Her hard grip on his head dragged him back and forth over the dildo in time with the slam of her hips. Like a fucking sex toy. All Johnny could hear was his own choked pants. "Ah, you're so good for me, Johnny-"
"So," slam.
"Fucking," slam.
"Good," slam.
Aisha slowed before pulling out entirely. Johnny watched dumbly, covered in drool and snot and tears. She touched herself, one hand still on her nipple, the other holding herself up on his shoulder while she grinded on the vibrator. Johnny wanted to lick the slick from her thighs.
She came, her tits bouncing, gasps and sighs and everything Johnny needed. Drool slipped from his lips where he held his mouth open, eyes glazed and dumb.
She finished, and then her attention was on him. He savored it, sucked it up greedily, wanted to drown in it. Aisha leaned down and kissed him on the lips, wet and heavy. She caught his lip between her teeth and bit down.
"You alright?" she asked again, dropping past endearments and replacing them with a firmer seriousness. A pathetic part of Johnny murmured at the loss. But she stroked his jaw and those pesky thoughts were shoved away. He hated the questions she insisted on asking, the way she never quite forced him to meet her eyes, the fact that she cared. He didn't care for self deprecating, wasn't some loser like Troy, but the fact that she bothered left an uncomfortable, unknown feeling in his chest. One he didn't bother to think about nor decipher. It made him sick, confused, restless. Like his nerves were fried and vibrating and his brain was running faster than Troy's driving.
"John-ny," she caught his attention with a teasing, sing-song, voice. Johnny could hear the smile in it. She tapped his face. "Answer me, baby."
He groaned, sore throat unable to produce words and head too cloudy to think, pushing his face towards hers and carving his consent into her lips with a kiss. Aisha returned it, smiling against him. "Alright," she paused for a second to think, "strip off, on the bed, ass up."
Johnny couldn't help it, he laughed, a warm chuckle as he obeyed. Wiping his teary eyes with his hand, unzipping his aching cock and pulling down his boxers. Aisha laughed too, they always laughed during sex, the ridiculousness of the situation combined with the almost shameful display of trust making them both chuckle.
He placed both hands flat on the bed and pushed himself up from the carpeted floor he was kneeling on, deliberately ignoring the way Aisha held him by the hips when his bad knee gave way. She didn't mention it, some territory didn't need to be touched. Johnny dealt with it in his own way, and she felt comfortable in their little routine. Looping their arms together on day's where his limp was worse, or rubbing her palm over the sore muscles from the passenger side as he drove.
Now her hands were rubbing circles into his hips, sickeningly, as he adjusted himself on all fours, face down and knee supported on a cushion. Johnny blamed the comforted feeling in the fact that his head still felt floaty.
"It's almost funny," Aisha started as she grabbed lube from the bedside cabinet, "Only time I can get you to shut up is when I want to hear you."
Johnny laughed.
"Unwilling to gag me? Ah, ah," Johnny shifted, voice strained in its fight to retain its even hoarseness as lube dripped between his cheeks. He cleared his throat, "not very sexy of you."
Aisha slapped his ass and then rubbed at the sore spot, always keeping up with him. Content to follow in the new banter as they moved away from their serious roles into a more casual companionship. Treating the whole situation as what it was: silly and sexy and everything.
"Hmm… nah, I wanna hear you. It'll happen soon enough."
"Cocky bitch."
"You gonna be a bad boy?"
Johnny laughed. Forced his face into the sheets so she wouldn't catch his smile and laugh too.
Aisha grinned and pushed a finger in, the other hand alternating between touching his thighs and rubbing his spit and lube along the shaft of the strap. Johnny inhaled sharply against the sheets, smelling the fabric softener, feeling her finger.
"You got a cute ass," she said. Johnny didn't realise he hadn't stopped smiling.
"Better than yours?"
"I think the fuck not, this ass won a Grammy."
As if to punctuate that sentence, she slowly pushed in a second finger. Johnny gasped at the stretch, clenched his muscles until his knee spasmed.
"Relax, baby." Johnny did.
"Why dontcha prove it, eh?" Johnny said eventually, "put on those little shorts I like and dance around the living room."
"Lotta talk for a man who was slobbering on my dick like some whore ten minutes ago."
"And you busted at the fucking sight."
Aisha spanked him again. Johnny tried not to groan because she'd never live it down. The dirty language made his stomach flip.
She carried on fingering him open, rocking and curling her fingers until Johnny arched his back and panted like a dog. Embarrassment forgotten long ago.
"Eesh, c'mon ah … this is taking too long."
"Greedy boy." Aisha had three fingers in him now, in and out, tearing him apart and stitching him together, joking voice but fingers serious. Johnny couldn't take it.
She pulled her fingers out, guiding the slick cock up and circling it around his needy hole. But then her hips seemed to pause, seemed to slow to a torturous twitch that had Johnny backing up, desperate for friction.
"Beg for it."
Johnny froze. Pushed himself up on his forearms and glared at a spot in front of him, hyper aware of how hard and leaky his cock was. Johnny Gat didn't beg.
"No," he grunted, gnawing his lower lip between his teeth and forcefully stilling his hips.
"You gonna say the word, baby boy?"
No joke now. Aisha would stop if he wanted her to, no matter how weird and mushy the thought made him. Words, words, words. Johnny was never good with them. But this one was important, one he needed to remember, needed to absorb like a sponge to bleach.
Johnny was battling internally, the urge to grab his jeans from the floor and run colliding with the need to get off.
"No." Because, really, he didn't want this to end.
"Then beg for me. Go on."
Johnny clenched his jaw, forced his forehead down into the sheets and tugged his hair. The cock remained, constant barely-there stimulation, teasing him.
"Please."
The word felt foreign, like a language he'd never learned. Johnny felt every syllable, every flick of tongue against teeth.
Aisha leaned over his back, moved her hips until just the head breached him and he whimpered.
"Please what, baby?"
Fuck.
"Please," Johnny shifted, ran his hands over his face and then through the sheets and back agan. "Please fuck me, Eesh. God, I can't-"
I'm falling apart.
"You can, baby."
And then, slowly, she pushed the cock in. Johnny felt reflex tears escaping. Only for her. Only ever her. And now he was babbling, not knowing when he started or how he would stop. Her and the cock and every sensation clashing. His skin burned.
"Please, please, please, please-"
She thrusted gently, the cock only half way in, pulling away and pushing back and setting Johnny alight. Then she pushed further. Sounds of his panting and distant squelching filling the heavy air. Before he could adjust she was fully inside, hand rubbing his thigh again.
Johnny kept his head flat against the mattress, but reached up with his dominant hand and gripped the sleek black headboard.
Aisha moved, adjusted, found the spot and oh fuck.
Johnny cried out, unashamed. Aisha began at a brutal pace, hard and fast. The headboard thumped rhythmically against the wall. Johnny wondered if his grip would splinter it.
"Let me hear you."
He yelled. Half way between a moan or a groan or a fuck. As if to reward him, she reached forward, placed her palm over his mouth in an offering. He stuck his tongue out, slathered her palm in spit, and then she pulled away, reaching down and gathering the precome dripping from his dick as well before encompassing him and pumping short, quick strokes in time with her hips. Aisha knew what he liked, touched him how he wanted.
Johnny came with a sob, gasping for air. His knee cramped and gave way, in a way so unsexy and them. He collapsed, dragging Aisha down on top of him.
There was a silence as both of them caught their breath.
Then, a laugh.
Aisha kissed him on the shoulder blade, next to his tattoo. "Fuckin' old man."
Johnny laughed.
Johnny laughed because of the stupidity, the high, the odd feeling that came from being with her. He laughed into the mattress, carried on laughing when the mattress morphed into a hardwood floor, when the weight on his back disappeared. Or perhaps transferred into the weight of a gun in his hand. He could still smell her but he could smell blood too. On the walls and in the carpet.
A weapon moved. And Johnny watched as Aisha's throat sliced. A clean cut. Her body collapsed and gurgled and spat, twitching as died in the restraints.
Johnny woke up screaming.
Knock knock.
Johnny felt uncomfortable.
The pain was there, ever present and ugly. But pain was normal, accepted even, ever since that Vice King shot to the kneecap.
Aisha was dead.
Maybe this was loss
Johnny's eyes shifted to his hands. They had blood on them. He was bleeding. So he rubbed them together, hard and fast, and then shoved them under the shower head.
The water was too cold. He heated it up.
His hair was in his face. He pushed it back.
Johnny felt bugs crawling. Like he was being eaten alive in his skin. He thumped his forehead against his bare knees and that felt right so he did it again.
Knock knock!
"What!" he yelled, and then threw a bottle of something at the door. It hit it with a thump. The movement made his hair fall into his eyes again. He grabbed at his head, tearing his nails through his scalp, grabbing chunks and tugging.
"I can hear you freaking out in there, man. It's two in the morning, why's the shower runnin', eh?"
The Boss. Jamie. Johnny didn't use his first name because it felt weird.
He'd taken him back to his own apartment from the hospital. A small, cramped space. Close to Purgatory but lacking the purple flashing lights. They'd shot many Ronin to get here, it was better to lay low while the Saints kept guard up around the base. He was no stranger to this. Shaundi had even left a bundle of flowers with a joint taped to the stem as a 'welcome home' present. Almost felt normal.
But she wasn't here. Never would be again.
"Being clean is fucking illegal now? You gonna shoot me if I burp to the West?"
It didn't sound angry, or even comedic. More so detached, empty.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck-
Jamie sighed from the other side of the door. "Alright I'm coming in. Hide all your nasty bits if you don't want me to see 'em."
Jamie opened the door. Fuck him for not keeping a lock on it. Squinted as artificial light flooded the dark hallway and then met eyes with Johnny.
Sitting in the empty bathtub. Naked. Scalding water running down his back.
"Eat shit and die."
Johnny was never good with words.
Jamie exhaled, glanced up before remembering that God probably gave up on him a while ago, and then padded into the bathroom and opened the cabinet over the sink. This resigned exhaustion hanging about his every movement.
"You've split your stitches. Gonna have to rebandage them."
"You a nurse now? God help us all."
Johnny didn't bother to comment when he noticed him quietly taking his razors and blades from the cabinet and placing them into his hoodie pocket. Didn't care.
Jamie found the bandages he needed, and then squatted next to the bathtub. Close enough that Johnny could see the burns on his cheeks, disappearing into his hairline. Johnny traced the injury with his eyes.
Jamie reached up and turned the shower off.
"Go fuck yourself, I wanted that on."
"Well, knowing our luck, if I leave it on you'll probably get cholera from my nasty ass garbage water and then I'm left with a dead Lieutenant. Difficult decisions, man."
Johnny just rubbed his hands together, no noise. Jamie bit his lip.
Jamie reached over and grabbed a towel from the hanger close to the shower. Then he threw it over the side of the tub, hands visible and in Johnny's eyeline at all times.
"How about," he started, and then did that little glance up thing again, " you dry off. I'll grab you some clothes, and then we can both sleep."
Johnny shifted, still rubbing his wrists, "sounds like a shit idea."
"Yeah."
"I need a drink."
"I gotta order you not to do that or are you gonna use your common sense?"
Johnny shrugged but grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his shoulders.
The Boss threw him a shirt. One without water or blood soaking the fibers. Too tight on the shoulders and too long in the chest. The fabric made Johnny want to scream.
They were on Jamie's bed, his insistence, dim lights catching on his stubble and cigarette smoke staining the air. The sheets were stained off white and the wallpaper was this ugly nineties floral that made Johnny's head ache. Johnny's gun sat on the bedside table, shiny and silver, kept safe during his hospital stay.
"You've been quiet," Jamie said, focing the shirt up so Johnny's back and sides were exposed, "'s'fuckin weird."
It took Johnny a moment to respond, these heart to hearts were weird and unheard of. Sadness was violence, throwing and shooting and not thinking .
"Ain't got nothin' to say."
"See? Fuckin' weird."
Jamie cleaned the nasty wound on his side, sighing when Johnny twitched and shifted, then patched and bandaged because stitching was off the table.
"And done!"
Johnny missed the pain.
Jamie seemed to sense it, though. Was bad with words yet danced with them anyway. Rough around the edges.
He shifted on the bed they were sitting on, until he was next to Johnny with his legs hanging over the end. Then he reached back, pulling a blanket from the bed and throwing it over Johnny's shoulders. The texture was fine.
"We're gonna kill all of 'em, man."
Johnny knew. It was obvious. But, for some fucked up reason, the words didn't help. Didn't even spike some half hearted, violent adrenaline rush.
Jamie leaned down, unaffected, caught his eyes in a way Aisha wouldn't. " We'll get them." Reassuring but not. And then he allowed his lips to pull up into a tight lipped grin, probably expecting Johnny to return it.
Johnny didn't. Wouldn't.
He pulled his shirt down, pushed himself back onto the bed. Then, he grabbed his gun from his place where it sat and forced it under the pillow.