jamie_dear
in
cabfic
7 Days of Johnson-Baby, Hold On Tight
Title: Baby, Hold On Tight
Author: Moi/ jamie_dear
Pairing: Alex Johnson/Cash Colligan
Rating: R-minor kink if that sorta thing freaks you out
Summary: No coping skills. The need to control. Anxiety. A story where Cash takes care of Johnson in his own little way...
Disclaimer: Don't own anything! This did not happen!
A/N: I got the idea for this story mainly from my own personality which I placed on Johnson in this story. After watching 'Cash's Invention', I thought that Johnson might be the person that gets annoyed and pissed off about little things for no good reason, which is what I do a lot. So... this story is the spawn of that idea... Hope you enjoy! Thank you so much, Ryan (diamondnation) for betaing at last minute! And also to hesmagicandmyth even though I had to post before you could reply, thanks anyway! Darn my procrastination...
Cash begins to notice Johnson’s antics more as the band starts working more. When they start recording Glitz and Glamour, he notices the way that Johnson hits the drums harder when he’s stressed and how he starts yelling and chain-smoking when he’s pissed off. Alex just thinks he has anger problems. Cash used to think that too, until he realizes that it’s probably a deeper issue than that.
He begins to notice how Johnson seems to be getting a lot more stressed out when they got into more recording. He’d always be asking people what the schedule is, and if there wasn’t one, he’d make one. At first, Cash thought “obsessive compulsive disorder’. And maybe it still is.
And then when Pete calls straight to Cash’s phone, he’s the only one who doesn’t completely flip out and starts hyperventilating or screaming, he steals the phone straight away from Cash’s hand and starts asking nervous questions. What day? What time? Where should we meet? Cash sees Johnson curl his hands into fists when Pete just replies with a laugh and “I don’t know. Whatever’s good for you guys.”
*
It gets worse when they start touring. Johnson flips out when he realizes that they didn’t have a driving schedule. Marshall gives him a fearful look and backs away towards the van, saying that he’ll drive. Johnson puts on his headphones, sits in the back, and turns up the volume until everyone can hear that Jimmy Eat World is destroying his hearing. Ian and Alex exchange looks and shrug, lounging out on the benches. Cash closes the van door behind him and crawls to the back carefully, settling beside Johnson’s rigid figure.
When he doesn’t acknowledge him after five minutes, he reaches over and pauses his walkman and gives him a look. Johnson scowls and turns away a little, but Cash doesn’t give up.
“What is your problem? You just flipped out over nothing.” Johnson shrugs half-heartedly and Cash groans. “I can’t talk to you if something’s wrong if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit, Alex. Bull. Shit. Talk to me.” Johnson presses play again, sliding on to his side away from Cash’s reach.
“It’s nothing.”
*
The second concert date they have on RRRGLT, Cash walks into the bathroom to see Johnson hunched over the toilet, dry heaving, fingers curled into the material of his jeans. Cash panics and thinks Johnson’s actually throwing up, but then he sees the red rings around his eyes, the familiar quivering of his back muscles. Cash quietly closes the door when Johnson sees him, defeat written all over his face.
“Shit, Alex. What are you doing to yourself?” Johnson slumps over against the dirty, sex-signed wall and digs the heels of his palms against his eyes.
“Nothing’s going right. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
It clicks then. Seeing Johnson all broken down over something simple. No coping skills. The need to control. Anxiety. Cash sighs and lowers himself down next to him, rubbing his hand down Johnson’s tense back.
“C’mere.” Johnson turns his head and gives him a hesitant look, but finally shuffles over on his knees and Cash pulls him into his arms.
It’s probably the most awkward hug Cash has ever experienced, but he can feel Johnson’s breath start to even out, so maybe it’s not as bad on his side. He remembers how his mom used to hold him when he was upset and he moves his hand up Johnson’s head, pulling his fingers through his messy hair.
“What’re you doing?” Johnson asks, lifting his head slightly. Cash pulls his hand away quickly, biting his lip.
“Sorry. It’s what my mom used to do.” He feels ridiculous saying that. Johnson lowers his head again.
“It’s okay.” Cash takes that as a green card and continues, smiling for what he tells himself is no good reason. He feels Johnson shift closer and sigh quietly, like he’s embarrassed.
*
He didn’t realize that by comforting Johnson that one time meant that Johnson would keep coming back. Not that he minds, really, it’s just that he’s surprised. He never thought he would ever see him that vulnerable again. It’s kind of scary.
Johnson suffocates himself into Cash’s shirt collar, fingers curling tightly around his forearms. Cash can’t really do anything but flex his hands to keep the circulation going. He hisses when he feels a sharp pain of Johnson’s nails digging in. Johnson jerks back and stares down at the suddenly bloody crescents adorning Cash’s arms. He curses softly, giving him an apologetic look.
“It’s fine.” Johnson bites his lip and bows his head, pulling his hands away. Cash grips his shoulder, kneeling down to look him in the eye.
“You okay?” He gives a short nod and exhales slowly and shakily. “Sure?”
“Yes, Cash,” he grits out.
“Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m actually worried, okay?” Johnson shoulders sag a little and he nods.
“Sorry.” Cash smiles and hugs him briefly and pats his back.
“We gotta get back to the van.”
*
On the van, Cash can tell Alex is pushing Johnson’s buttons in all the wrong ways. He watches Johnson scowl and repeatedly hit Alex across the forehead, but the teasing never lets up. Cash finally groans and turns around in the passenger seat, grabbing Alex’s collar and tugging him back.
“Fuck off, Singer. Leave him alone.” He can see Johnson give him a look of appreciation and his nostrils flare slightly as he forces himself to calm down. Singer gives Cash a confused look, but quiets down a bit.
At the hotel, Johnson shuffles his feet awkwardly and opens his mouth several times, but no words come out. Cash raises an eyebrow and rolls his wrist, signaling him to continue.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Johnson swallows.
“For, you know. For helping me.” Cash smiles and shrugs.
“No problem.”
~
It’s later that night when Cash can’t sleep that he finds himself thinking the weirdest thing he’s thought in a long time. He glances down at his arm where he can see the crescent shaped barely-there scars in the moonlight streaming through the crack in the curtains. He can still remember the sharp pain that ran up his arms when Johnson’s nails pierced his skin.
Cash swallows hard, finally realizing what exactly he’s thinking about and what affect it has on him suddenly. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly rolls on to his stomach, like if Ian next to him would wake up and immediately know what was going on. He buries his face into his pillow and ruts gently against the mattress. His brain goes fuzzy for a split second and he bites down hard on his lip so he won’t let out a gasp.
It’s so wrong, he tells himself, repeating the thought in his head. Rubbing against a mattress while thinking about one of your best male friends diggings his nails into your skin. It’s so wrong. But the more he tells himself that, the more thoughts flood his imagination. He glances at Ian quickly when he jerks his hips down, glad that he hasn’t moved. He can see Johnson on the other bed, chest rising and falling evenly, and he closes his eyes and turns his head back against the pillow, exhaling hard and biting down on his arm.
He rolls his hips against the mattress two more times before he’s coming, the mental image of Johnson biting his neck and scratching down his back fresh in his mind. He quickly turns to the side, grimacing at the feeling of the sticky come cooling inside his boxers. He wipes his forehead against the sheets and he squeezes his eyes shut, still not believing that he actually did what he thought he did. His thighs quiver in the slight aftershocks and he groans softly, tugging the comforter up around his shoulders, face flushed with embarrassment.
~
The next day is so awkward for Cash. He can’t even look at Johnson without his dick twitching his jeans, the images of his imagination still fresh behind his eyelids. He hides out in the back of the van, listening to Marshall’s iTunes library. He can see Johnson giving him confused looks when he barely speaks to him, and he know it must look bad, but every single time Cash meets his gaze, it’s just embarrassing.
He finds himself having to face him later that night though, after the concert. He’s in the bathroom, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt when he hears the door open and closer behind him. He turns quickly to come face to face with Johnson. Cash swallows and takes a step back.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s difficult for Cash to pinpoint the emotion in Johnson’s voice.
“Uh, I just. I needed to think about some things,” he mumbles, though he really is telling the truth. Johnson leans against the door, blocking Cash’s way out and crosses his arms.
“What things?” Cash doesn’t know how Johnson knows it’s about him. He picks at the hem of his shirt and looks away, feeling his face heat up. He remembers the night before and closes his eyes as he clears his throat.
“Well, I was just… thinking. That you, uh, you need to be in control of things, right?” Johnson shrugs a little, still eying him expectantly. “So, I thought, that if, if you need to be in, uh, in control of…of someone. That… I’m here.” He really hopes that Johnson knows what he means and that he won’t have to explain it.
There’s a long pause and when Cash dares a glance, Johnson’s grinning maniacally.
“Did you just ask to be my bitch?” Cash feels himself blush deep red and he fidgets.
“Well, when you put it like that, it just seems weird.” Johnson laughs softly and pulls Cash in, smirking when his half-hard on presses against his thigh.
“You’ve obviously thought about this hard, haven’t you?” He’s teasing and Cash scowls.
“Shut up.” Johnson clicks his tongue and dips his head down until their lips are barely brushing. Cash’s breath is caught in his throat and he’s going cross-eyed trying to keep Johnson in focus. Johnson bites down on Cash’s bottom lip and tugs gently, testing the waters. Cash shivers and his eyes flutter closed.
“So what exactly did you have in mind?” he asks, straining to hear if the rest are waiting for the bathroom. Cash clenches his fingers in Johnson’s shirt and shrugs.
“I didn’t really think that far,” he lies quickly. He knows Johnson knows, but he doesn’t say anything. Johnson reaches up and circles his fingers around Cash’s wrists, pulling them down to his sides. Cash’s pulse races and he’s starting to sweat.
Johnson nudges him back with his leg and steps around him, pinning his wrists together behind his back. Cash tenses his entire body, hating his tight jeans more than anything at that moment. Johnson pulls and Cash has to arch his back so it doesn’t strain. Johnson’s looking down at him thoughtfully, the signs of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You’re really serious about this aren’t you?”
“Alex,” Cash murmurs, head tilting back to hit Johnson’s chest.
“Hm?” Cash fights the hold Johnson has on his wrists, but Johnson just holds tighter. He whines softly, bucking his hips slightly in the air. Johnson glances down and smiles, tightening his hold and pulling down until Cash gasps loudly, back bowed uncomfortably. Johnson lets go suddenly and Cash stumbles back into his stomach, panting quietly. “What is it?”
Cash stares down at his wrists, light, finger shaped bruises are beginning to blossom and he feels his dick throb in his pants. He feels Johnson’s hands on his hips and wonders when the hell this started being hot to him. He looks up at him and lets out a strangled noise before reaching up to tug at Johnson’s shirt. Johnson grabs his wrists again quickly, grinning when Cash whines in the back of his throat.
“Don’t be whining, now. You just asked to be my bitch; this is what you signed up for.” Cash licks at his lips subconsciously, the blood rushing in his ears. He knew Johnson wouldn’t take it easy on him. He’s never been more turned on in his entire life.
“Please.” Johnson raises his eyebrows in interest. “Touch me.” It comes out in less than a whisper and at first Cash thinks that Johnson might make him beg. Not that he’d complain, really, but it’s not like he had his hopes up. But Johnson just smiles and pushes him up against the counter, pressing himself up against him, grinding his leg between Cash’s. Cash groans and his head falls back against the mirror with a thud, his fingers twitching in their holds between Johnson’s.
“Fuck, you really want this, don’t you?” Cash nods quickly and spreads his legs wider, like that’ll make everything move faster. Johnson releases Cash’s hands and reaches down to his belt, making it clink loudly when he pulls it open. Cash swallows audibly and Johnson looks up, a hint of worry in his features. “You okay?” Cash nods quickly, laughing softly.
“Yes, Jesus. I’m fine.” Johnson shakes his head and tugs down the zipper of Cash’s jeans. Cash moans weakly and lifts his hips as Johnson tugs his jeans down to his knees, excruciatingly slow. “Fuck, hurry please?”
“I thought I was the one in charge? Or did I not hear the question ‘can I be your bitch?’ correctly?” Cash scowls, but before he can comment, Johnson presses up against his again, kissing him hard. He gasps into it, their teeth clicking and mouths open and messy. But it’s all too perfect for them.
He moans loudly when Johnson palms him through his boxers. He reaches up to hold on to his arms, but Johnson pulls his mouth away from his, biting hard on his bottom lip.
“Keep your hands down.” Cash curses in his mind, but lowers his hands, gripping the edge of the counter and the side of the sink instead. Johnson tugs down his boxers quickly and finally, it’s felt like forever in Cash’s mind, wraps his fingers around his dick. He moans again, fingers clenching hard. He’s sure the others can hear everything that’s going on, but fuck if he cares right now. Johnson jerks his wrist, lowering his head to bite at Cash’s neck.
It’s over all too soon for Cash’s liking, but with all that teasing before hand; he thinks he did pretty well to hold back. Johnson bites down hard on his collarbone and Cash yelps, pretty sure that Johnson just broke skin, and bucks his hips. Johnson pumps his wrist quickly, making Cash writhe against the counter, babbling out a mix of curses and moans. It only takes a couple more flicks of the wrist and Cash is gone, moaning out and jerking his hips as he comes all over Johnson’s hand and the bottom of his t-shirt. Johnson grinds up against him, panting into his neck, his spare hand tightening on Cash’s hipbone.
“Fuck, Alex,” he groans, unclenching his hands slowly, fingers stiff. Johnson lifts his head, still grinding against Cash’s leg. His eyes are glazed over, his lips wet with spit. “Fuck.”
“Cash,” he moans, come covered hand reaching up to pull Cash in by the back of the neck. Cash winces at the feeling, but forgets about it briefly while Johnson kisses him again, hard and dirty, tongues pressing together. Cash reaches up hesitantly and places his hand on Johnson’s hip, pulling him in closer. Johnson groans out and his hips stutter as he bites down on Cash’s lip hard enough to draw blood and he comes in his jeans.
They pant into each other’s mouths as they wind down, spent and liquid-boned. Johnson pushes himself up, stumbling a bit as he straightens himself. His lips are swollen and red and Cash knows he must look twice as wrecked. He smiles, laughing softly and Cash does the same, arching his back off of the mirror he made sweaty.
“Well, fuck.” Johnson nods and washes his hand off, wiping off on his t-shirt. Cash slides off of the counter and pulls his jeans up, wiping his sticky neck off with his hand. He glances in the mirror, and yeah, he looks wrecked. But he’s smiling all the same, breathing heavily.
There’s a small knock at the door, and they both realize how awkward it must be on the other side. Cash’s eyes go comically wide and Johnson curses under his breath.
“Um, yeah. When you’re done in there,” It’s Marshall. “Uh, I need to, uh, take a shower… You guys can go first.” There’s a shuffling of feet fading and Cash catches Johnson’s gaze in the mirror. After a pause, Cash laughs awkwardly, feeling his face flush.
“Yeah, we should definitely take a shower.”
Before Cash can reach down to pull his shirt off, Johnson catches his wrist. Cash looks at him worriedly when he sees that he’s biting his lip.
“Uh, I just… Thank you,” he says quietly, voice sincere. Cash smiles and pulls him in, glad he’s not so stubborn as to resist. He’s tilts his head up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the most gentle they’ve been with each other in ages.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, his dorky grin slowly infecting Johnson’s features. It’s the nicest thing he’s seen all day, he decides, seeing Johnson this happy. It’s also nice to think that he’s the one that makes him so happy in the first place. “Alex Johnson.”
“Cash Colligan.” Cash grins even wider and kisses him again, trying to pinpoint when he got so sappy. But it’s a nice feeling none-the-less.
*
:]
I don't know about you, but I'm really happy about the marathon so far!
Author: Moi/ jamie_dear
Pairing: Alex Johnson/Cash Colligan
Rating: R-minor kink if that sorta thing freaks you out
Summary: No coping skills. The need to control. Anxiety. A story where Cash takes care of Johnson in his own little way...
Disclaimer: Don't own anything! This did not happen!
A/N: I got the idea for this story mainly from my own personality which I placed on Johnson in this story. After watching 'Cash's Invention', I thought that Johnson might be the person that gets annoyed and pissed off about little things for no good reason, which is what I do a lot. So... this story is the spawn of that idea... Hope you enjoy! Thank you so much, Ryan (diamondnation) for betaing at last minute! And also to hesmagicandmyth even though I had to post before you could reply, thanks anyway! Darn my procrastination...
Cash begins to notice Johnson’s antics more as the band starts working more. When they start recording Glitz and Glamour, he notices the way that Johnson hits the drums harder when he’s stressed and how he starts yelling and chain-smoking when he’s pissed off. Alex just thinks he has anger problems. Cash used to think that too, until he realizes that it’s probably a deeper issue than that.
He begins to notice how Johnson seems to be getting a lot more stressed out when they got into more recording. He’d always be asking people what the schedule is, and if there wasn’t one, he’d make one. At first, Cash thought “obsessive compulsive disorder’. And maybe it still is.
And then when Pete calls straight to Cash’s phone, he’s the only one who doesn’t completely flip out and starts hyperventilating or screaming, he steals the phone straight away from Cash’s hand and starts asking nervous questions. What day? What time? Where should we meet? Cash sees Johnson curl his hands into fists when Pete just replies with a laugh and “I don’t know. Whatever’s good for you guys.”
*
It gets worse when they start touring. Johnson flips out when he realizes that they didn’t have a driving schedule. Marshall gives him a fearful look and backs away towards the van, saying that he’ll drive. Johnson puts on his headphones, sits in the back, and turns up the volume until everyone can hear that Jimmy Eat World is destroying his hearing. Ian and Alex exchange looks and shrug, lounging out on the benches. Cash closes the van door behind him and crawls to the back carefully, settling beside Johnson’s rigid figure.
When he doesn’t acknowledge him after five minutes, he reaches over and pauses his walkman and gives him a look. Johnson scowls and turns away a little, but Cash doesn’t give up.
“What is your problem? You just flipped out over nothing.” Johnson shrugs half-heartedly and Cash groans. “I can’t talk to you if something’s wrong if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit, Alex. Bull. Shit. Talk to me.” Johnson presses play again, sliding on to his side away from Cash’s reach.
“It’s nothing.”
*
The second concert date they have on RRRGLT, Cash walks into the bathroom to see Johnson hunched over the toilet, dry heaving, fingers curled into the material of his jeans. Cash panics and thinks Johnson’s actually throwing up, but then he sees the red rings around his eyes, the familiar quivering of his back muscles. Cash quietly closes the door when Johnson sees him, defeat written all over his face.
“Shit, Alex. What are you doing to yourself?” Johnson slumps over against the dirty, sex-signed wall and digs the heels of his palms against his eyes.
“Nothing’s going right. And I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
It clicks then. Seeing Johnson all broken down over something simple. No coping skills. The need to control. Anxiety. Cash sighs and lowers himself down next to him, rubbing his hand down Johnson’s tense back.
“C’mere.” Johnson turns his head and gives him a hesitant look, but finally shuffles over on his knees and Cash pulls him into his arms.
It’s probably the most awkward hug Cash has ever experienced, but he can feel Johnson’s breath start to even out, so maybe it’s not as bad on his side. He remembers how his mom used to hold him when he was upset and he moves his hand up Johnson’s head, pulling his fingers through his messy hair.
“What’re you doing?” Johnson asks, lifting his head slightly. Cash pulls his hand away quickly, biting his lip.
“Sorry. It’s what my mom used to do.” He feels ridiculous saying that. Johnson lowers his head again.
“It’s okay.” Cash takes that as a green card and continues, smiling for what he tells himself is no good reason. He feels Johnson shift closer and sigh quietly, like he’s embarrassed.
*
He didn’t realize that by comforting Johnson that one time meant that Johnson would keep coming back. Not that he minds, really, it’s just that he’s surprised. He never thought he would ever see him that vulnerable again. It’s kind of scary.
Johnson suffocates himself into Cash’s shirt collar, fingers curling tightly around his forearms. Cash can’t really do anything but flex his hands to keep the circulation going. He hisses when he feels a sharp pain of Johnson’s nails digging in. Johnson jerks back and stares down at the suddenly bloody crescents adorning Cash’s arms. He curses softly, giving him an apologetic look.
“It’s fine.” Johnson bites his lip and bows his head, pulling his hands away. Cash grips his shoulder, kneeling down to look him in the eye.
“You okay?” He gives a short nod and exhales slowly and shakily. “Sure?”
“Yes, Cash,” he grits out.
“Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m actually worried, okay?” Johnson shoulders sag a little and he nods.
“Sorry.” Cash smiles and hugs him briefly and pats his back.
“We gotta get back to the van.”
*
On the van, Cash can tell Alex is pushing Johnson’s buttons in all the wrong ways. He watches Johnson scowl and repeatedly hit Alex across the forehead, but the teasing never lets up. Cash finally groans and turns around in the passenger seat, grabbing Alex’s collar and tugging him back.
“Fuck off, Singer. Leave him alone.” He can see Johnson give him a look of appreciation and his nostrils flare slightly as he forces himself to calm down. Singer gives Cash a confused look, but quiets down a bit.
At the hotel, Johnson shuffles his feet awkwardly and opens his mouth several times, but no words come out. Cash raises an eyebrow and rolls his wrist, signaling him to continue.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” Johnson swallows.
“For, you know. For helping me.” Cash smiles and shrugs.
“No problem.”
~
It’s later that night when Cash can’t sleep that he finds himself thinking the weirdest thing he’s thought in a long time. He glances down at his arm where he can see the crescent shaped barely-there scars in the moonlight streaming through the crack in the curtains. He can still remember the sharp pain that ran up his arms when Johnson’s nails pierced his skin.
Cash swallows hard, finally realizing what exactly he’s thinking about and what affect it has on him suddenly. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly rolls on to his stomach, like if Ian next to him would wake up and immediately know what was going on. He buries his face into his pillow and ruts gently against the mattress. His brain goes fuzzy for a split second and he bites down hard on his lip so he won’t let out a gasp.
It’s so wrong, he tells himself, repeating the thought in his head. Rubbing against a mattress while thinking about one of your best male friends diggings his nails into your skin. It’s so wrong. But the more he tells himself that, the more thoughts flood his imagination. He glances at Ian quickly when he jerks his hips down, glad that he hasn’t moved. He can see Johnson on the other bed, chest rising and falling evenly, and he closes his eyes and turns his head back against the pillow, exhaling hard and biting down on his arm.
He rolls his hips against the mattress two more times before he’s coming, the mental image of Johnson biting his neck and scratching down his back fresh in his mind. He quickly turns to the side, grimacing at the feeling of the sticky come cooling inside his boxers. He wipes his forehead against the sheets and he squeezes his eyes shut, still not believing that he actually did what he thought he did. His thighs quiver in the slight aftershocks and he groans softly, tugging the comforter up around his shoulders, face flushed with embarrassment.
~
The next day is so awkward for Cash. He can’t even look at Johnson without his dick twitching his jeans, the images of his imagination still fresh behind his eyelids. He hides out in the back of the van, listening to Marshall’s iTunes library. He can see Johnson giving him confused looks when he barely speaks to him, and he know it must look bad, but every single time Cash meets his gaze, it’s just embarrassing.
He finds himself having to face him later that night though, after the concert. He’s in the bathroom, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt when he hears the door open and closer behind him. He turns quickly to come face to face with Johnson. Cash swallows and takes a step back.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s difficult for Cash to pinpoint the emotion in Johnson’s voice.
“Uh, I just. I needed to think about some things,” he mumbles, though he really is telling the truth. Johnson leans against the door, blocking Cash’s way out and crosses his arms.
“What things?” Cash doesn’t know how Johnson knows it’s about him. He picks at the hem of his shirt and looks away, feeling his face heat up. He remembers the night before and closes his eyes as he clears his throat.
“Well, I was just… thinking. That you, uh, you need to be in control of things, right?” Johnson shrugs a little, still eying him expectantly. “So, I thought, that if, if you need to be in, uh, in control of…of someone. That… I’m here.” He really hopes that Johnson knows what he means and that he won’t have to explain it.
There’s a long pause and when Cash dares a glance, Johnson’s grinning maniacally.
“Did you just ask to be my bitch?” Cash feels himself blush deep red and he fidgets.
“Well, when you put it like that, it just seems weird.” Johnson laughs softly and pulls Cash in, smirking when his half-hard on presses against his thigh.
“You’ve obviously thought about this hard, haven’t you?” He’s teasing and Cash scowls.
“Shut up.” Johnson clicks his tongue and dips his head down until their lips are barely brushing. Cash’s breath is caught in his throat and he’s going cross-eyed trying to keep Johnson in focus. Johnson bites down on Cash’s bottom lip and tugs gently, testing the waters. Cash shivers and his eyes flutter closed.
“So what exactly did you have in mind?” he asks, straining to hear if the rest are waiting for the bathroom. Cash clenches his fingers in Johnson’s shirt and shrugs.
“I didn’t really think that far,” he lies quickly. He knows Johnson knows, but he doesn’t say anything. Johnson reaches up and circles his fingers around Cash’s wrists, pulling them down to his sides. Cash’s pulse races and he’s starting to sweat.
Johnson nudges him back with his leg and steps around him, pinning his wrists together behind his back. Cash tenses his entire body, hating his tight jeans more than anything at that moment. Johnson pulls and Cash has to arch his back so it doesn’t strain. Johnson’s looking down at him thoughtfully, the signs of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You’re really serious about this aren’t you?”
“Alex,” Cash murmurs, head tilting back to hit Johnson’s chest.
“Hm?” Cash fights the hold Johnson has on his wrists, but Johnson just holds tighter. He whines softly, bucking his hips slightly in the air. Johnson glances down and smiles, tightening his hold and pulling down until Cash gasps loudly, back bowed uncomfortably. Johnson lets go suddenly and Cash stumbles back into his stomach, panting quietly. “What is it?”
Cash stares down at his wrists, light, finger shaped bruises are beginning to blossom and he feels his dick throb in his pants. He feels Johnson’s hands on his hips and wonders when the hell this started being hot to him. He looks up at him and lets out a strangled noise before reaching up to tug at Johnson’s shirt. Johnson grabs his wrists again quickly, grinning when Cash whines in the back of his throat.
“Don’t be whining, now. You just asked to be my bitch; this is what you signed up for.” Cash licks at his lips subconsciously, the blood rushing in his ears. He knew Johnson wouldn’t take it easy on him. He’s never been more turned on in his entire life.
“Please.” Johnson raises his eyebrows in interest. “Touch me.” It comes out in less than a whisper and at first Cash thinks that Johnson might make him beg. Not that he’d complain, really, but it’s not like he had his hopes up. But Johnson just smiles and pushes him up against the counter, pressing himself up against him, grinding his leg between Cash’s. Cash groans and his head falls back against the mirror with a thud, his fingers twitching in their holds between Johnson’s.
“Fuck, you really want this, don’t you?” Cash nods quickly and spreads his legs wider, like that’ll make everything move faster. Johnson releases Cash’s hands and reaches down to his belt, making it clink loudly when he pulls it open. Cash swallows audibly and Johnson looks up, a hint of worry in his features. “You okay?” Cash nods quickly, laughing softly.
“Yes, Jesus. I’m fine.” Johnson shakes his head and tugs down the zipper of Cash’s jeans. Cash moans weakly and lifts his hips as Johnson tugs his jeans down to his knees, excruciatingly slow. “Fuck, hurry please?”
“I thought I was the one in charge? Or did I not hear the question ‘can I be your bitch?’ correctly?” Cash scowls, but before he can comment, Johnson presses up against his again, kissing him hard. He gasps into it, their teeth clicking and mouths open and messy. But it’s all too perfect for them.
He moans loudly when Johnson palms him through his boxers. He reaches up to hold on to his arms, but Johnson pulls his mouth away from his, biting hard on his bottom lip.
“Keep your hands down.” Cash curses in his mind, but lowers his hands, gripping the edge of the counter and the side of the sink instead. Johnson tugs down his boxers quickly and finally, it’s felt like forever in Cash’s mind, wraps his fingers around his dick. He moans again, fingers clenching hard. He’s sure the others can hear everything that’s going on, but fuck if he cares right now. Johnson jerks his wrist, lowering his head to bite at Cash’s neck.
It’s over all too soon for Cash’s liking, but with all that teasing before hand; he thinks he did pretty well to hold back. Johnson bites down hard on his collarbone and Cash yelps, pretty sure that Johnson just broke skin, and bucks his hips. Johnson pumps his wrist quickly, making Cash writhe against the counter, babbling out a mix of curses and moans. It only takes a couple more flicks of the wrist and Cash is gone, moaning out and jerking his hips as he comes all over Johnson’s hand and the bottom of his t-shirt. Johnson grinds up against him, panting into his neck, his spare hand tightening on Cash’s hipbone.
“Fuck, Alex,” he groans, unclenching his hands slowly, fingers stiff. Johnson lifts his head, still grinding against Cash’s leg. His eyes are glazed over, his lips wet with spit. “Fuck.”
“Cash,” he moans, come covered hand reaching up to pull Cash in by the back of the neck. Cash winces at the feeling, but forgets about it briefly while Johnson kisses him again, hard and dirty, tongues pressing together. Cash reaches up hesitantly and places his hand on Johnson’s hip, pulling him in closer. Johnson groans out and his hips stutter as he bites down on Cash’s lip hard enough to draw blood and he comes in his jeans.
They pant into each other’s mouths as they wind down, spent and liquid-boned. Johnson pushes himself up, stumbling a bit as he straightens himself. His lips are swollen and red and Cash knows he must look twice as wrecked. He smiles, laughing softly and Cash does the same, arching his back off of the mirror he made sweaty.
“Well, fuck.” Johnson nods and washes his hand off, wiping off on his t-shirt. Cash slides off of the counter and pulls his jeans up, wiping his sticky neck off with his hand. He glances in the mirror, and yeah, he looks wrecked. But he’s smiling all the same, breathing heavily.
There’s a small knock at the door, and they both realize how awkward it must be on the other side. Cash’s eyes go comically wide and Johnson curses under his breath.
“Um, yeah. When you’re done in there,” It’s Marshall. “Uh, I need to, uh, take a shower… You guys can go first.” There’s a shuffling of feet fading and Cash catches Johnson’s gaze in the mirror. After a pause, Cash laughs awkwardly, feeling his face flush.
“Yeah, we should definitely take a shower.”
Before Cash can reach down to pull his shirt off, Johnson catches his wrist. Cash looks at him worriedly when he sees that he’s biting his lip.
“Uh, I just… Thank you,” he says quietly, voice sincere. Cash smiles and pulls him in, glad he’s not so stubborn as to resist. He’s tilts his head up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, the most gentle they’ve been with each other in ages.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, his dorky grin slowly infecting Johnson’s features. It’s the nicest thing he’s seen all day, he decides, seeing Johnson this happy. It’s also nice to think that he’s the one that makes him so happy in the first place. “Alex Johnson.”
“Cash Colligan.” Cash grins even wider and kisses him again, trying to pinpoint when he got so sappy. But it’s a nice feeling none-the-less.
*
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I don't know about you, but I'm really happy about the marathon so far!