You Spit in Soap's Mouth (18+)
Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content Warnings: Light dom/sub play, voyeurism, objectification, PIV sex, spit eating, she/her reader Word Count: 4.6k
Service Dog Johnny Part 12 (full part list here)
It’s just one of those things.
You know when you’re a teenager doing dumb stuff with your friends at night, and something goes a little wrong? Somebody gets too drunk, or your car won’t start, or someone’s boyfriend cheats on them, and all of a sudden the evening switches to damage control, but it’s somehow still fun as hell?
That’s what it’s like, going to dinner with Simon and Johnny while you’re all turned on. You know it, they know it, you’re all trying not to think about it, and it’s actually kind of hilarious.
Considering you don’t have quite the same incentive to calm your body down that the guys do, you decide to drive. It’ll help take your mind off your puss*, and maybe distract you a little from the fantasies that keep playing in your head like a highlight reel — disgusting, detailed hallucinations of hot, heavy bodies, and getting your hands pinned above your head.
You’re trying really hard to stop thinking about it, as you drive across town. Well, okay, it’s a moderate effort. Everyone’s still a little jumpy and shifty-eyed, even though you’re wearing the most oversized, unsexy clothes you could find in the closet. Every movement from the seat beside you just reminds you that there’s a body there, and a sexy one at that. You reason with yourself that you shouldn’t be objectifying either of them, that you need to f*cking get a grip and stop it.
But then you’re idling at a stop light, and amid a break in the conversation between Simon and Johnny, you feel a curious finger running down the side of your neck.
“Jesus, Johnny!” you practically shriek, shouldering his hand away and then blindly reaching back to smack at him.
“What? You’ve got a pretty neck.”
“I’m also driving,” you growl, turning your attention back to the now-green light and the gas pedal.
“LT’ll stab me if I do it to him, though.”
In your peripheral vision, you watch Simon turn his head towards the backseat, before murmuring a low, “Maybe I won’t.”
Jesus christ, you’re not even halfway there yet and they’re flirting.
“Don’t fall for it,” you warn Johnny. “That means he’s definitely going to stab you. Only I get to do this.” Keeping your eyes on the road, you reach over and try to stroke your hand down your boyfriend’s cheek, but two of your fingers accidentally poke into his mouth instead.
Simon decides to hold your hand after that, as a precaution.
When you get to the restaurant you’re a little worried that Johnny will be handsy, but he’s not, not at all. Even when he shares one side of the table with you, your f*ck buddy seems to understand what’s at stake when it comes to PDA.
You hadn’t really thought about it until now, but if anyone sees you being too friendly with Johnny, anyone who knows any of you, there goes your respectability. Without Simon there, it’ll just look like you’re cheating, and with your boyfriend, even worse assumptions could be made.
Sort of… maybe a little bit accurate assumptions, but still.
As sobering of a thought as that is, it’s still not enough to have you forgetting the neglected parts between your legs. You really should have changed your underwear before you left, because the damp stickiness is equal parts uncomfortable and distracting. Everything these guys do feels sexy right now, and what’s worse is that Simon is sitting right across the table from you, and he’s thinking about you.
It’s like he’s hit that sweet spot where he’s not so much in his head anymore, but he’s still a little turned on from what happened. You can feel it in his gaze, how it keeps wandering down the line of your shirt collar, keeps tracking the motion of your fingers while you hold your straw to drink.
You wish you could force yourself into his head right now and take a peek at what he’s thinking, the mental pictures he’s going over. Is he imagining what happened earlier, when he fingered you while you were bent over the table? Is it some other scene from the times you’ve been naked with him, or maybe something from some p*rn that he likes? Or is he imagining something he wants to do to you, because at this point, you think there might be some things.
You’re convinced now that he does want to f*ck you. It seems like he’s really been enjoying himself lately, and becoming quite affected by your sexual explorations. It’s exactly what you’ve needed, honestly. It’s flattering, first of all, and it helps you relax, knowing that he likes watching you enjoy yourself. It hasn’t scared him off so far, or disgusted him, or made him look at you like you’re a pervert. He still seems to view you as he always has — as a person, with varying needs and tastes, and org*sms sometimes.
You find yourself staring at his eyes, while he and Johnny talk about something work related. They’re just so pretty in the glow of the hanging lights, painting his iris darker than normal, but making them extra sparkly every time his lashes raise and he lingers his eyes on you. You wonder if you look pretty to him right now, if he’s also tracing the softened lines of your face in the dimness, and finding them nice to look at.
It’s keeping you a little bit wet, the way his midnight gaze seems to find you every time he takes a drink of beer.
When the waitress leaves to put in your food orders, and Johnny excuses himself to the bathroom, you reach your hand out across the table towards your boyfriend. It’s just a little extension of your fingers, not even halfway across the space between you. Just enough for him to know that if he wants some contact, then so do you.
Simon takes your fingers in his big, rough ones, running his thumb slowly against your knuckles. You smile at him, pressing your palm to the same fingers that felt so life altering just a little bit ago.
“I loved it,” you tell him quietly, “just so you know.”
Simon’s face smoothes into a relaxed expression, which for him is practically a smile. “Good.”
“I don’t tell you that very much, because I don’t want you to feel like I need it. I don’t need it, baby.” You swallow, caressing your thumb against the side of his finger. “But I do want it.”
He squeezes your hand. “You’re too sweet for me.”
“That’s right,” you agree, tilting your head in emphasis. “And you’re going to keep being selfish, and having me all to yourself, and making me sleep in your bed every night to keep it warm for you, okay?”
He gives you a half smile that’s more eyes than lips. “Okay.”
“Good.” You pull your hand out of his to take another sip of your drink. “Wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you, now would we?”
“How unfortunate are we talking?”
“Mmm… Decapitation.”
Simon leans back in his chair a little, stretching his legs out. “Best be as selfish as possible, then.”
You nod, as if discussing his murder is the most normal thing to talk about at dinner. How else would he know you love him?
“You’re never going to get rid of me, darling,” he promises you over the rim of his beer.
“Okay,” you agree
You sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, before you finally glance at the empty seat beside you, and muse, “I wonder where Johnny went, he’s taking forever.”
Your boyfriend chuckles, like the answer is obvious.
“No,” you breathe in disbelief. “You don’t think?…”
“I’d put money on it.”
Sure enough, it’s another five minutes before Johnny finally returns from the bathroom, appearing quite relaxed, as if some physical discomfort had been recently alleviated.
“Hi… Johnny,” you greet him in a threatening purr.
“Hey, you. Ahh, look, here’s the food.”
You impatiently wait for the waitress to set everything down and leave, before you round on the betrayer at the table.
“I can’t believe you cheated!” you hiss.
Johnny just laughs, shoving some fries in his mouth.
“We were supposed to be in this together.” You lower your voice to a faint whisper. “Do you know how wet I am right now?”
“You know,” Johnny shoots back, quickly swallowing his bite, “they have a place here for that. There’s a wee room in the back.” he points casually, raising his eyebrow at you. “Has a door that locks. Just turn left that way, and you’ll see toilets—“
“Har, har.” You turn to Simon for support. “You’re not going to abandon me, are you?”
Simon makes a disgusted face, picking off the greens he doesn’t like. “f*ck, no.”
Johnny has the nerve to wink at you while he takes a gulp of beer. “You’ll be thanking me later.”
Of all the—
An expression of sudden understanding crosses your face, and you turn your upper body fully to face Johnny. “Ohhh my god… You’re right. I didn’t even think…”
Johnny raises a smug eyebrow, glad you finally see his point.
“Johnny, thank you,” you gush, reaching over to grab his knee and squeeze it gratefully. “You’re so thoughtful. Do you—“ You blink up at him with a look of innocent confusion plastered on your face. “Do you need to go to the special room one more time, maybe? Before we leave? I could help you.”
“Pffft, no,” Johnny frowns like you’re being dumb, and doesn’t seem to notice the way Simon is studiously chewing his food to avoid laughing.
“I have some nudes in my phone,” you babble, reaching for your bag and talking over Johnny’s wordless protests. “Hold on, let me find it, it’ll just take a second—“
“Come on, that’s not—“ Johnny starts, sounding a little peeved that you’re not listening to him.
“No, no, I can help, oh here it is.” You lift your hand out of your bag, glaring at him while you flip him a firm middle finger.
Simon’s knowing chuckle is delightful background music to the flash of annoyance that crosses Johnny’s face. “That’s quite enough of that,” he grumbles, turning purposefully back to his food.
“She’s warmed up to you,” Simon explains. “Means she likes you.”
“Yeah, alright,” Johnny mutters, and you try not to feel bad, but you do a little.
“I’m not really mad, Johnny. I was just messing with you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
God, he is embarrassed. He’s trying not to show it, but that actually got under his skin.
You glance towards Simon, but he just shakes his head a little in a way that conveys, ‘best leave it alone and let him sort himself out.”
f*ck that.
You wrap your hand around Johnny’s upper arm, resting your cheek on the front of his shoulder to whisper, “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with your body, and I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it. I do like you.”
You finally get to see his eyes, when he angles his head to glance down at you. It’s a look you know so well, because you’ve felt that same way countless times — kicking yourself for being unnecessarily dramatic, but unable to halt the spiral of self loathing and hurt once it’s started.
“Your food’s goin’ cold,” he mumbles, flicking your nose, but you can tell you did the right thing. He’ll be alright now.
------------------------------
You groan into Johnny’s mouth, intoxicated by the feeling of his hand tightening in your hair while he curls his two middle fingers inside you. You’re technically on top, but you aren’t under the illusion that you’re in any way in charge. You don’t have control over anything, not the kiss, not the angle of your head, not your puss* that’s helplessly clenching around his fingers.
He seems really into this, almost hungry to have you to himself, which you assume means Simon’s done experimenting for the night. When you stop to think about it, Johnny’s always had something holding him back until now. He’s been either caught up in getting to know you, or trying to give Simon a decent shot at you. You haven’t really experienced what it’s like to just f*ck Johnny — at least, not until tonight.
Simon may be in his usual spot against the headboard, but his friend gets to do whatever he wants with you now, and you’re absolutely okay with that.
Your head gets cranked backwards a little by your hair, fisted so close to your scalp that it’s all pleasure and no pain, and you relax into Johnny’s silent direction. You let him expose your throat, and then shudder above him when he gives it a long, slow lick.
“You want marks?” he mutters against your wet neck, dragging his chin across it.
“Not there. Anywhere else, yes.”
Johnny makes a low sound that goes straight to the depths of your belly, and two hands wrap around your bare waist to move you farther up his chest. One hand is dry against your skin, and the other is noticeably sticky and wet.
You steady yourself with an arm braced on the mattress, as Johnny finds your breast with his lips. You curl your fingers around the back of his neck and let him drag your vulnerable skin between his teeth, mouthing at you until he finds the perfect spot to decorate. Your eyes spring open and your puss* clamps down on nothing, when you feel that exquisite pull on your flesh, the capture, and the refusal to let go. The act is purely a psychological kind of pleasure, but no less thrilling.
Eyes half lidded with bliss, you watch Simon’s fingers move on his belt in the dim light, carefully unbuckling it so as not to make any noise. Poor thing’s been hard on and off for a few hours now, you imagine. It must feel nice to let it breathe a little. Maybe he’ll take it out, and finally let you see it.
Before you can anticipate the movement, you’re suddenly getting caged in and rolled, until your back meets the bed. How Johnny managed to do that with a medical boot, you have no idea, but your legs are still around his hips, and the thrill of feeling him suddenly lined up to your puss* has your mind going perfectly blank. This is what you’re for, in this moment in time and space. You’re for Johnny to f*ck.
sh*t, he’s asking you something.
“Yeah, it’s good,” you mumble vaguely, hoping that’s the correct response to whatever-it-was. Everything feels good, you want it all. He’s all the way inside now, slowly pulling back out and getting you used to being stretched around him.
“Is that what you needed?” he asks you in a low voice, when he presses his hips to your thighs and your head lolls back on the blanket.
It’s mean of him to talk to you like that, right as he’s making your toes curl by grinding into the very back of your aching c*nt. All you can do is make a pitiful little sound in reply, flexing your hips up in an effort to get him to move faster.
His answering groan sounds almost pained, and it’s just enough to shove you back to reality, with the realization of the position you’re in.
“Johnny, your shoulder.”
“Eh, it’s alright.” You can feel him shifting his weight onto his good arm, finding a rhythm to f*ck you right.
“I don’t mind being on top,” you remind him.
“I know you don’t. But that’s not what you need.”
What you need? What you need…
You’re getting exactly what you need. You’re getting f*cked steady and hard now, and it’s too overwhelming to allow a rational thought to poke through. You can barely keep up with breathing, when your puss* wants him so bad, and he’s rolling his hips exactly where you need it.
Johnny collects your wrist in his hand, pinning it beside your head and running his thumb up the concave of your palm. You can feel his lips against the shell of your ear, his hot breath ghosting through your hair, and then a rough, “Christ, you feel good.”
You believe him. From the way he practically groaned it into your ear, the way his arm has a slight vibration running through it, you believe him. He likes the way you feel beneath him, the way your skin tastes when he nibbles on it. You shudder at a fresh wave of arousal, and your body melts as you give up control to the man inside you.
He’s right, it’s not a want anymore — it’s a need. You’ll go insane if you don’t get to finish this time. You’ll crawl on your hands and knees to chase it, if necessary. Nothing matters but the fire burning low in your belly, the dam he’s about to break.
You’re pulling your knees up higher in preparation for it, curling your fingers and surrendering to what you are, and what you’re about to feel. You’re for f*cking, and you’re about to get your reward for patiently waiting for it.
Except Johnny’s arm must get tired, because he shifts his weight again, this time onto his injury. You feel him do it, and you hear his distinct grunt of pain, sending a shock of anxiety through you. It’s so at odds with what your puss* is experiencing that it’s almost painful, prickling discomfort across your skin and attaching worry to any spare nerve ending.
“Johnny,” you gasp.
“Shh, you’re okay.” His hand smoothes up your palm to intwine your fingers, and you gasp again when your puss* flutters around him in anticipation of release.
“Johnny,” you whine, desperate to get him to stop hurting himself. You need to stop enjoying this, you need to focus on his pain, but he’s making you forget yourself. He’s f*cking you and holding your hand to the bed, and despite your best efforts, he’s making you need to cum. He’s making you hate your own pleasure, as it brings him more and more pain.
You don’t know what to do. He’s not listening to you, he’s just hurting himself, and you need him to stop.
“JOHN,” you choke out, digging your fingernails into the hand that’s trapping yours.
That gets his attention. That makes everything stop.
You lay there panting heavily, knees trembling against his hips, and Johnny finally pulls his face back to look at you.
“Get— on the— bed,” you say between gulps of air. “And get off— your stupid shoulder.”
He’s breathing hard, staring down at you for a few heartbeats, and then to your relief, he pulls out and flops down to the bed beside you.
Propping yourself up on weak arms, you throw your leg over his hips, and once again straddle the stubborn idiot.
“Johnny.”
He looks a little hurt, you can tell by the shut-out expression in his eyes. You lean down to kiss him on the lips, then on the cheek. “Johnny, it’s okay to need accommodations.”
You’re distinctly aware of Simon’s presence in the room, as you stroke shaky fingertips over Johnny’s forehead, and watch the fight leave his pretty eyes.
“You’re still fun,” you tell Johnny, hoping that if you keep it light, he won’t argue. “And you’re still very f*ckable, MacTavish. If you need it to be more kinky, I can… I don’t know… spit in your mouth, or something, but don’t hurt yourself for me.”
That was the right thing to say, you can tell by the sudden spark in his eyes. You barely see the smile beginning to curl at his lips before he’s opening his mouth and just holding there for you.
You laugh, certain he’s joking around, which is a good sign. You do really need to cum, so you’re pretty desperate to get back to sex.
Johnny raises one of his brows, as if goading you to keep your word. sh*t, he really is serious.
“Fine,” you mutter. You’ve never done this before, but it can’t be too difficult. You frame his open jaw with your hand, bringing your mouth down like you’re going to kiss him, but instead depositing a gross glob of spit onto his tongue.
Good boy that he is, Johnny instantly closes his mouth and swallows it down, giving you the most delightful, self-satisfied grin. “Cheers.”
God. Very f*ckable, this guy.
You’ve just begun to consider pushing your hips back in search of his co*ck, when he tucks his fingers into the backs of your knees. “So you’re on top, hmm?”
“I guess.”
His eyes trace over your body, thumbs rubbing against the side of your thighs. “Lean back a wee bit.”
Okay, but that’s not how you f*ck in this position. A little confused, you do what he’s asking and push your upper body up to just sit on his stomach. Where’s he going with this?
“Bit more.” He puts his hand on the middle of your chest to guide you back farther, making you blindly reach for his thigh to steady yourself. “Grab your ankles, like this.”
Sucking in a sharp breath, you feel him pull one of your hands to your foot, wrapping your fingers around your ankle, just like he said. You’re still straddling him on your knees, so it’s definitely a little vulnerable to lean back like this, but you do. You brace yourself on your own legs and come to terms with it, hoping this is headed somewhere good.
It’s not uncomfortable, not at all. Your body weight is all supported, and it’s really not that extreme of an angle. Your spine is fine, and you can still see Johnny quite easily, but… Your torso is completely exposed to him like this, and you’re quite aware of it as his fingers find your sensitive nipple, and all you can do is obediently grip your hands to your ankles while he touches it.
sh*t. He’s really not going to let you f*ck him. Is this what you get for taking over? You were just trying to protect him, it’s not fair if he punishes you for it.
Johnny’s hand wanders down to your puss*, and your inhale is almost a gasp when you feel his thumb gently pushing your outer lips open, revealing your cl*t that’s just barely resting there on his stomach.
Your chest starts heaving with that flash of understanding, and you automatically raise your eyes to Simon’s face, on the other corner of the bed. He’s got his hand in his underwear, his eyes fastened on Johnny’s fingers which have just started exploring your swollen, achy little cl*t.
Overwhelmed by that gentle touch, you wrench your eyes back down to Johnny’s face and push your knees out slightly, offering yourself to him as best you can.
“Good girl.” Johnny’s other hand wraps firmly around your thigh, keeping it warm for you while he deposits some spit between your legs.
Okay, yeah. Yeah, you like this. You’re a big fan of him telling you how to position your body, and making you concentrate on a task while he touches you.
Johnny begins to rub his thumb in a generous circle over your cl*t, and you close your eyes and let out a long, grateful exhale. Your chest rises and falls with your steady breathing, and you keep your hands on your ankles and just let him play.
“Has this been feeling so lonely tonight?” comes Johnny’s voice from below you, making your stomach tighten up with an answering flash of desire.
“Yeah,” you whisper, not daring to open your eyes and psych yourself out of enjoying the dynamic.
His exploring fingers slide down the root of your cl*t to roll it softly between two knuckles, communicating that he’s in charge of this, and you’re absolutely not. It’s simultaneously the most comforting and the most terrifying thing you can imagine.
“What do you need?” he prompts.
That’s such a broad question that you’re not sure what he’s expecting you to say, but you just reply with what feels the most pressing at the moment. “I need to cum.”
“Don’t want to wait any longer? You’ve been needing it for a few hours now, haven’t you, little thing?”
You vigorously shake your head, and then nod, because that’s two questions with opposite answers.
Something about this feels so intimate, the way he’s not really stimulating you as if he’s trying to make you org*sm. It’s more like he’s playing with you just to show off the fact that he can, that he can stroke this most sensitive part of you however he wants, aware of how intrinsically it’s connected to your innermost being.
It feels like he’s got you under his thumb, instead of just your cl*t. A fearful part of you recognizes that and urges you to pull away, in case he hurts you. He could easily do something mean, pinch you or deny you or say something hurtful, which would be ten times worse when you’re in this headspace. It would feel like a betrayal, after he’s set this up so perfectly to make you vulnerable to him. Something inside you protests even giving him the option of breaking your trust.
But what if he’s nice, instead? What if he keeps talking to you in that lovely, patient voice, and he just keeps you like this on his stomach and helps you cum? What if he lets you embrace the pleasure while he feeds you this feeling of safety, and it’s everything you could ever want?
You’re panting for it by the time you make up your mind, and relax your muscles one by one. Your eyes remain closed, and your hands remain where he told you to put them, and as he continues to give you soft circles, you begin to cum.
It crawls through you gradually at first, with how loose you are and how steady the stimulation is. It licks up your thighs and over your scalp, and then everything breaks in a flood throughout your body. Your head flexes back and you cry out that surrender into the silence, letting yourself enjoy every bit of what you’re being given.
It’s not even about Johnny anymore, it’s about you, and how your body is meant to be cared for. You’re meant to be played with and explored, and it’s natural for you to cum for Johnny when he’s touching you like this. It’s easy.
Some time later, after you've f*cked him and gotten yourself cleaned up, you find yourself draped halfway over Johnny’s chest. Your eyes are closed and you’re sleepily breathing in the nice smell of his skin. His hand runs slowly up and down your back, and you feel his face turn a little to press his mouth to your hair.
It’s the first time you’ve been allowed to cuddle with him afterwards.
You blink your eyes open when you hear Simon getting back from finishing up in the bathroom, donning a pair of sleeping pants. Your boyfriend looks down at the two people in his bed, while he ties the strings on his pants, but your eyes slide shut before you can assess the emotion behind his gaze.
Next Part coming soon
Service Dog Johnny Headcanons/Bonus Scenes
Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop
