「my boy」 | Johnnyboy

Drunken Mistakes.

( descriptive NSFW at the end. all characters are of the age of consent, as stated in the prologue! )

Giggles filled the room, intoxication becoming the new trend for the night. Ponyboy was currently situated on his fake boyfriend's lap, his hips moving in sync to the music that boomed throughout the house. Johnny shifted his head up to capture his lips with his own, his hands hungrily gripping at Ponyboy's frame. The two were both drunk off their asses, though somehow they'd ended up in this situation.

It wasn't long before they were heading upstairs to find an empty bedroom, a drink in either hand, spiked fruit punch sloshing from the sides clumsily. Thank god no one owned carpet-covered stairs anymore. Clothes were tossed away like last week's news, and soon enough, the two were messily rolling along the bed like they owned the place. They were dead to the world at this point, completely unaware that anything or anyone existed except them and this moment.

***

Johnny's eyes squinted at the sunlight shining in through the window, his hand rising to shield his eyes. Confusion filled him. Where was he? A bedroom, it appeared, but he had no idea how he got there. The memories were slowly coming back, but not at the speed he needed them to. His mind wasn't working the greatest right now.

His confusion only strengthened when he turned to see Ponyboy asleep beside him. The boy's bare chest shined in the light, causing the raven haired male to glance down and see that he was missing a shirt, too. Fuck. What happened? He slid from beneath the blanket, a cringe filling his entire body. Oh, god. He was completely naked, and he had a feeling the male still in bed mirrored him in that department. But, he wasn't sore. That was one thing he noticed, and was thankful for. He moved around the room in a daze, searching for his underwear and pants at least. He couldn't go home completely indecent, but he had to get out of here as soon as possible.

He shot cautious glances at Ponyboy, hoping he didn't wake up, and as flashes of the two making out and grinding on one another came to his mind, he hoped even more that he had no recollection of the previous night's events. Maybe he was an even bigger lightweight than himself, and had blacked out. That would be the best thing.

So why did a part of him want him to remember?

Finally, he found his underwear. They'd seemingly been kicked under the bed at some point or another. Shaking them out just in case any sand had gotten in them, he threw them on, along with his black t-shirt and skinny jeans. He didn't worry about shoes, instead making a quick beeline for the front door. On his way out, he spotted Caroline and Cherry passed out on one another, a little closer than he'd place two acquaintances. Maybe the boys weren't the only ones to drabble in new things last night? He shook the thought away. He couldn't care less about any of these people. Hell, he barely cared about himself.

When he made it home, his father was already drinking again. He stepped into the house quietly, trying to make it to his room before he noticed but — there it was. He'd noticed him. His face showed that he was clearly annoyed, and he was avoiding eye contact.

"You smell like sex, boy. Is that what you've been up to all night?" He clapped a hard hand on his son's shoulder, and it took all of Johnny's might not to pull away. He was pressing so hard he thought his arm might fall off. "You really are my son." His father cracked a small, clumsy smirk. "Who is she?" His words were slurring, and spit was flying from his mouth every time he spoke.

"Don't you think you've had enough, dad? It's only," he glanced at the clock on the wall. He knew better than to pull out his phone in front of him. "it's like eight in the morning." As soon as the words spilled from his mouth, he knew he'd chosen the wrong thing to say. Mr. Cade's face snarled up with anger, the hand that was placed on his shoulder now squeezing even harder before he twirled the petite frame around and slammed his body toward the hallway.

"Never tell me what I've had. You don't know nothing, Johnny." He took a few menacing steps forward, causing the teenager to jump back in fear. He knew that look.

"Okay, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm tired, can I just... can I just go to bed?" He was trying desperately to keep his distance. He didn't rough him up as badly as he used to, but he still could if he chose to, and that was something Johnny was trying to avoid at all costs. If that meant begging at this disgusting man's feet, then so fucking be it, he was willing to do anything it took. Silence filled the gap between them before his sperm donor offered a dismissive hand motion and some drunkenly muttered strings of words. No one could exactly call them coherent sentences.

As soon as he laid down, he sighed, his arms bending to allow his hands to rest behind his head. He found himself thinking about Ponyboy, and trying to remember, in detail, what had happened. It seemed like a fifty-fifty chance that he'd remember, as only bits and pieces were coming to him now. But, they were descriptive pieces. Ones that, as ashamed as it made him, kind of managed to excite him. He tried to ignore the extra tightness in his pants, turning on his side and closing his eyes. He was just tired, that was all.

Though these thoughts weren't going away, and sadly neither was his little 'issue.' He let out a frustrated huff, finally prying himself from the bed to head toward the bathroom. There was a tiny one in his room; it was about the size of a closet, only with a toilet and a stand up shower in it, too. He turned the hot water on first, then added a little cold, making sure it was the right temperature before he removed his clothes. Ugh. His dad had been wasted, absolutely, but admittedly right — he smelled like booze, sex, and old sweat. Gross.

He stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind him before letting the water wash over him. He imagined Ponyboy, and how pretty his lips were; or, perhaps how pretty they'd look when he was inside of him. He bit his inner cheek, letting out a slow, deep breath. He was already disgusted with himself for what he was about to do, but nonetheless, his hand wrapped around his member, slowly beginning to pump, the water making it increasingly easier. He tossed his head back, the water drops scattering his face as his eyes closed instinctively. He let out a little moan, his hand's speed continuing slowly.

"Fuck—" He cursed under his breath, lips parting into the shape of a small 'o.' His hand sped up again, lapping loudly against the water, another low moan leaving him. Precum had already dripped from the tip and he wished desperately that it'd been the younger male to clean it up instead of the water. He imagined how good it'd feel to pound into Ponyboy's ass while they were sober, or how sexy it'd be to hear him calling out his name. The mere thought of the younger male's v o i c e was sending him over the edge, he was so close. He lasted a few more moments until, alas, he came, his breathing quick and heavy. Now, he focused on the actual shower part of the moment, washing to rid himself of the stink that'd been following him around since last night.

He glanced down at himself, mildly disappointed that he'd been able to reach his climax so early. Jeez. What was this boy doing to him?