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Soda had kissed him like he always did—messy, a little too eager, breath caught between laugh and moan. Johnny let him. Hell, Johnny wanted him like that. Always did. But tonight felt different.
They’d been at it for a while—clothes mostly off, Johnny already squirming under him with flushed cheeks and slick skin. Sodapop had one hand trembling against Johnny’s thigh, the other fumbling for the nightstand drawer. Condoms. They always used them. It wasn’t a question.
Except Johnny reached out, grabbed Soda’s wrist, and stilled him.
Soda blinked, lips parted. “You okay?”
Johnny nodded slowly, holding his gaze. “Yeah. Just—” He swallowed. “You don’t gotta.”
For a second, Soda didn’t get it. Then his eyes dropped to Johnny’s hand still around his wrist, still keeping him from reaching for the box. He froze.
“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight now, serious. “Like… sure sure?”
Johnny nodded again, sslower this time. “I trust you,” he said, soft as anything. “I want to feel you.”
That broke something in Soda.
He leaned down and kissed Johnny like it hurt not to. His hands were shaking worse now—too careful, too reverent—like he thought Johnny might disappear if he moved too fast. And when he finally pushed in, skin to skin, no barrier between them?
Soda gasped like he’d been stabbed.
“Jesus Christ,” he choked, the sound already breaking into something wet. His hips stilled, eyes blown wide. “Johnny…”
Johnny just smiled, relaxed underneath him like he wasn’t the one getting stretched open raw for the first time. “Feels good, huh?”
Soda nodded, helpless. His arms were trembling on either side of Johnny’s ribs.
“Go slow,” Johnny said gently, hands on Soda’s waist. “But don’t hold back.”
And Soda tried. He really tried. But the heat, the slick tightness, the closeness—it was too much. Every time he moved, Johnny clenched around him just right, and every time Johnny moaned, Soda sobbed. Real tears now, rolling down his cheeks.
Soda let out a sound that barely qualified as human—somewhere between a sob and a groan—and started moving again, hips jerking forward like he’d been starving for this exact moment. His whole body was shaking now, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, mouth open and babbling without a single filter left in him.
“So warm,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “Fuck—baby, you’re so warm—so wet—I can feel everything—”
Johnny let out a high whimper, just enough to let Soda know he did feel it too—that he wasn’t made of stone down there. But still, his voice was steady, teasing. “You’re louder than me,” he panted, rolling his hips a little, making Soda cry out again. “Didn’t know it’d hit you this hard.”
Soda didn’t answer right away—too busy rutting into him, breath hitching with every stroke. “Tight—so fucking tight—Johnny, I—god, I can’t think—feels too good, feels too good, I can’t—” His hands were gripping Johnny’s waist like he was afraid he’d disappear again, knuckles white, nails digging in.
Johnny’s thighs trembled around his hips, stretched wide and starting to ache, but he didn’t complain. Just arched his back a little and watched Soda fall apart. “You’re losing it,” he murmured, grinning through the flush on his cheeks.
Soda nodded like he meant to. “I—I don’t care,” he stammered. “You’re so—fucking perfect—feels like you were made for me, I swear—every time I move, you—you just—”
He lost the thread entirely, hips stuttering, tears dripping off his chin and onto Johnny’s collarbone.
Johnny winced a little, breath hitching. “Shit—okay, that one—” He squirmed under the sudden pressure. “You hit something that time, Soda.”
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—do you want me to stop—?”
“No,” Johnny huffed, his voice light, cocky even as he writhed. “Just don’t go thinking you broke me. You’re the one crying.”
“I am crying,” Soda moaned, his voice cracking all over the place. “Because it’s too fucking good, Johnny—feels like I’m inside your whole body, like you’re pulling me in everywhere—how are you so tight—fuck, I can’t—”
Johnny groaned, a little louder this time. “God, you’re dramatic.”
But then he clenched down just to hear the sound Soda made—some kind of gasping whine, like he was being wrung out. It was delicious. Addicting. Johnny bit his lip, grin breaking wide.
“You like it that much?” he asked, voice all smoke and satisfaction.
Soda nodded frantically, still thrusting, still mumbling. “Wanna stay inside—never wanna pull out—gonna cum, Johnny, I swear, I—”
Johnny leaned up, lips brushinngg Soda’s ear again, gentle and commanding all at once. “Do it. Come inside me.”
Soda’s rhythm faltered all at once.
His hips jerked mid-thrust, but instead of chasing the high, he froze, still buried to the hilt, eyes wide and wet, blinking like he didn’t just hear what he thought he heard.
“You… want me to?” he panted, chest heaving, curls dripping sweat. “Like, for real?”
Johnny gave a breathless little laugh beneath him, low and smug despite the way his thighs were trembling. “Jesus, Soda. You’re already halfway there.”
“I know, I know, I just—fuck, Johnny, I—” His voice cracked as he pulled back slightly, the stretch making Johnny twitch and whimper.
But Johnny didn’t let him go far. He locked his ankles behind Soda’s back, pulling him in deep again. “I told you,” he said, slower now, voice soft around the edges. “I want it.”
Soda let out a desperate, ragged breath. “You’re sure?”
“Dead sure.”
Johnny reached up and cupped Soda’s cheek, brushing his thumb under one of those tear tracks. “S’okay, Soda. I want to feel you stay in me. I want you to fill me up.”
That did something to him.
Soda made a noise—some kind of whimper-groan hybrid—and dropped his head to Johnny’s shoulder. He started moving again, slower now, deeper. Like he wanted to feel every second of it. One hand slid down, resting flat over Johnny’s lower belly, fingers splayed like he could already feel it.
“Gonna breed you,” he whispered, breath hot against Johnny’s skin. “Gonna fuck you full—real deep—leave it all in…”
Johnny shivered, biting back a moan at the sudden change in tone. “Yeah?” he teased, voice thin. “That what you want, golden boy?”
Soda nodded into his neck, voice pitched high now with wrecked adoration. “Wanna see you dripping with it. Wanna keep you full all night. God—fuck—gonna make you mine, make your body remember it—”
Johnny couldn’t help the soft, whiny sound that left him at that.
“Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna break me,” he muttered, nails curling into Soda’s back. “Shit—go ahead, do it. Fill me up, Soda.”
“Y-Yeah?” Soda’s hand pressed down on his belly again, eyes glassy with the image of it. “Gonna cum so deep—gonna stay inside after, keep it all in—don’t want it to go to waste…”
His thrusts sped up, losing rhythm again, the slick sound of it making Johnny gasp. Johnny locked his legs tighter, clenching down until Soda wailed into his neck.
“Please,” Soda choked. “Please let me—Johnny, I need to—”
“Then do it,” Johnny hissed, breath catching. “Give it to me. Breed me. I can take it.”
That was it.
Soda came with a cry, hips jerking wildly, cock buried as deep as it could go. He stayed like that, trembling and gasping as warmth spilled into Johnny in thick, pulsing waves. Johnny held him through it, rocked his hips just slightly, milking him for everything he had.
Soda didn’t stop crying.
Soda was still buried in him,. still whimpering, breath hitched and broken as he pressed his palm over Johnny’s lower belly like he could feel himself leaking out inside.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “You’re still so tight—fuck—I came and you’re still clenching—”
“Yeah,” Johnny panted, voice strained now, but grinning. “You’re not the only one who gets to finish, you know.”
Soda blinked down at him, dazed, flushed, pupils blown out. “You—wait—you're not—?”
Johnny shifted under him, groaning as he rocked his hips just right, dragging his cock against that soaked friction between them. “I’m close, but you got so caught up babbling about how warm and perfect my cunt was—kinda forgot I still need mine.”
That pulled a broken, desperate sound from Soda’s throat. His hand slid between them, reaching down to rub slow, wet circles against Johnny’s swollen clit, but Johnny batted his hand away.
“No,” he muttered. “You just stay there and look pretty.”
Soda whimpered, visibly aching. “Can’t believe I made it look like this,” he mumbled, dazed and filthy. “All pink and puffy and dripping, god—can see where I filled you up—fuck, you’re so pretty, Johnny, fuck—”
Johnny groaned loud, spine arching. His hand was between his legs now, rubbing fast, hard, chasing that edge with Sodapop still twitching inside him.
“Keep talking,” he gasped. “Shit—don’t stop.”
Soda didn’t even think. Just obeyed.
“Your cunt’s a mess,” he breathed, still petting Johnny’s hip with trembling fingers. “Dripping all over me—slick and hot and mine—looks so good stretched around my cock like that. Like it wants to keep me in.”
Johnny cried out, bucking up harder. “Fuck, fuck, gonna—”
Soda kissed at his throat, dazed and half-delirious. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna see how pretty you look when you break.”
And Johnny did—his whole body seized, hips jerking up as he moaned sharp and loud, falling apart with Soda still deep inside him, locked there as he rode it out. Slick poured between them, and Soda nearly sobbed again, watching the way Johnny clenched around him, milking the last few twitches out of his spent cock.
He didn’t even think about moving. Just pressed his lips to Johnny’s jaw and whispered, “Don’t make me pull out yet.”
Johnny, still breathless and twitching, let out a soft laugh. “Didn’t plan to.”
Sodapop collapsed onto him like his strings had been cut.
One second he was whimpering against Johnny’s throat, and the next he was just there—all weight and warmth and muscle, pressing Johnny into the mattress like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space between them. His breath came in ragged gasps against Johnny’s skin, and he didn’t say anything at first. Just breathed—open-mouthed, hot and uneven—and started mouthing at the curve of Johnny’s neck like he was trying to say thank you without words.
His lips brushed sweat-slick/ skin again and again. Kisses, then lazy licks. A broken hum.
“Y’did so good,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and trembling. “So fuckin’ good. Felt like heaven—like I was inside heaven—”
Johnny laughed, soft and shaky, his arms curling loosely around Soda’s back. He stroked fingers through the mess of curls at the nape of Soda’s neck, still warm, still tangled with sweat. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re perfect,” Soda whispered, barely above a breath. “So wet, so tight, fuck—I can’t believe you let me—”
“I wanted to,” Johnny interrupted gently, tilting his head so Soda could nuzzle in closer. “Told you. Felt good, didn’t it?”
Soda let out a noise that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh but couldn’t quite get there. “Good doesn’t cover it. I saw god. I bred god.”
Johnny snorted, shoulders shaking under him. “Christ, you’re full of it.”
Soda just kissed his neck again. And again. “M’not joking. I think I blacked out for a second. You broke my brain.”
Johnny cooed, just a little, the sound teasing but fond. “You were such a good boy,” he whispered, nuzzling back. “Came so hard. Stayed inside so sweet. You’re still leaking, y’know.”
Soda whimpered quietly and squirmed, trying to press in deeper despite the overstimulation. “I wanna stay,” he said, voice all scratch and softness. “Just like this.”
“You can,” Johnny murmured, thumb brushing over his spine. “I’ve got you.”
And they stayed there, tangled together—sticky, spent, still joined, breathing in the same hot rhythm—Soda mouthing silent kisses to Johnny’s neck while Johnny whispered praise into his curls.
Eventually, the heat settled into something sleepy. Sticky. Warm in the worst and best ways.
Soda let out a breathy groan as he finally—reluctantly—eased out of Johnny, flinching at the overstimulation and immediately looking like he regretted it. Johnny winced too, but he was already smiling, eyes lidded and flushed, stretched out like a satisfied cat in a sunbeam.
“Shit,” Soda murmured, staring between Johnny’s legs as slick and cum trickled out. “That’s… that’s a lot.”
Johnny tilted his head back and laughed. “You’re proud of that, huh?”
“Are you kidding?” Soda blinked, voice still breathless. “That’s, like… proof. Darry’s gonna kill me.”
Johnny snorted. “What, for not pulling out?”
“For not using a condom!” Soda half-whined, grabbing a nearby shirt—his, maybe Johnny’s—and gently dabbing between Johnny’s thighs. “He’s gonna know, Johnny, I swear. He’s gonna smell it on me.”
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “That’s disturbing.”
“I’m serious! He’s got that dad radar.”
Johnny just rolled his eyes, letting Soda fuss, even as the towel-to-shirt ratio was questionable at best. He was sweet about it though, rubbing slow, careful circles along Johnny’s inner thigh, eyes darting up like he was waiting for a wince.
“Relax,” Johnny muttered, grinning. “I’m fine.”
“Still,” Soda mumbled. “You—you sure you’re okay?”
Johnny smiled, eyes playful now. “Yeah. Real okay. Might already feel a kick.”
Soda froze.
Johnny had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look on his face—wide-eyed, stunned, like someone just told him he won the lottery and got drafted in the same breath.
“I—I know you’re joking,” Soda said slowly, blinking hard. “Like, I know that. But also if that happened I would be so good at it. Just saying.”
“Oh yeah?” Johnny teased, folding his arms behind his head and stretching shamelessly. “You’d be a good baby daddy?”
“The best,” Soda nodded seriously, grabbing a clean towel this time and gently pressing it between Johnny’s thighs, still trying to clean him up. “I’d go to every appointment. Read books. Make you milkshakes.”
Johnny wheezed. “You’re still leaking, and you’re already planning milkshakes?”
Soda flushed, grinning helplessly. “Can’t help it. You looked so pretty taking it, babe. My brain’s stuck.”
“Well, maybe if you clean me up faster, I’ll let you knock me up again,” Johnny drawled, teasing thick in his voice.
Soda perked up like a golden retriever. “Really?”
“Still joking, Soda.”
“…Right. Yeah. Of course.” A pause. “But if you weren’t…”
Johnny just laughed and threw the towel at him.