Work Text:
Fuck, I hate online dating. More than half of these assholes stand me up. Most of them aren’t a fraction as interesting as their profiles imply, and none of them are the level of hot that would make it worth pursuing them anyway.
Tonight was a run-of-the-mill standing-up. I can handle it, I’m just fed up. With the whole damned scene.
There’s one person here who’s definitely having a worse night than I am. I saw him come in, but then, I’ve been seeing him here, a few subsequent Friday evenings. Couldn’t miss him, really. Tousled blond hair, dark blue eyes, tonight with an understated leather jacket over a brown t-shirt that’s tight in all the right places...he’s absolutely hot enough to pursue, even if he’s the most boring guy in California. (And with a body like that, I can pretty much guarantee he’s not.)
He seems to be on yet another first date. I’ve noticed him here for the same reason a few times over these last weeks, and I haven’t been able to help observing his conversations, his body language. From watching those go down, I’ve catalogued a few things about him.
One. He’s older than he looks, and almost entirely clueless about technology. (Cute.)
Two. He hasn’t kept up with politics or current events for at least the last thirty years. (Fine by me.)
Three. Decent odds the dude hasn’t gotten laid in years. He tries cheesy-ass pickup lines like he just bumped into these women accidentally in some seedy club circa 1990. It should be deplorable, but it’s actually kinda sweet. He keeps it simple. (Aww.)
Four. He strikes out. Consistently and dependably. (Damn.)
Tonight’s been the worst one I’ve seen for him so far. His “date” was this overdone, prissy Encino ex-wife in a cheap animal print dress two sizes too small, who started berating him nearly as soon as she saw him. (Yikes, lady.) She turned on her heel and left not two minutes after arriving.
Now his eyes are downcast, he’s nursing the rapidly-warming dregs of his last Coors, and he’s just pulled out a phone I know he’s not qualified to use. My decision isn’t even hard. I flag down a bartender and order two icy-cold beers, then I approach.
He doesn’t register my presence at first, as he pokes at his phone screen with an index finger. (Nice hands, my unhelpful brain supplies.) I plunk the fresh Coors down in front of him, and plunk myself down on the next barstool. His head snaps up, glancing first at the beer, then at me.
“Rough night?” I ask, taking a long pull from my own bottle.
“Y-yeah,” he stammers a little, surprised, shoving his old beer further away in favor of the cold one. His eyes meet mine over the bottle as he takes a swig too, and there’s some intensity there that I file away as promising . I hold out my hand in greeting, and we exchange names while I appreciate his firm grip (which I’m sure to return in kind).
“So. Johnny ,” I say, testing the feel of his name in my mouth, “no luck with your, ah, date tonight?” He must realize how conspicuous their spat had been; that woman was probably many things, but certainly not subtle.
A self-deprecating grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and his teeth flash briefly. “Nah. I did some work over at her place once, evidently did it wrong. She got pretty pissed.” I lean in, giving him a look that clearly says, tell me more.
Ten minutes and half a beer later, we’re both laughing as he wraps up the story. “Worst part was, she told my boss I called her a bitch. Got me fired.” He takes another sip. “Sure did call her a bitch after that.”
“Jesus!” I say, shaking my head. “No wonder. What a piece of shit.” I look over at him, but he doesn’t seem too broken up about it. Seems pretty relaxed, to be honest. “What do you do for work now, then?”
His eyes light up at that. “Actually I opened a karate dojo over on Victory. Got a good group of kids in there. Super proud of them.” The side of his mouth tilts upward thinking about it, creasing his face endearingly.
“Sounds pretty awesome. I take it you did karate yourself, as a kid?”
“Yeah, yeah. Did pretty well, back in high school. Probably should’ve thought of teaching it sooner. But, y’know. It’s easy to lose some of that stuff, over the years. Anyway, it felt like the right time, and it’s actually going great.” He gives me a real smile-- god, gorgeous-- then tips the last of his beer back, down his throat.
I smile widely in return. “Sometimes the right place, the right time...that’s all it takes, isn’t it?”
He nods, and reaches into his back pocket. “Hey, you want another?” He gestures to my empty bottle.
As he goes to open his wallet, I place my hand on his forearm. “Johnny. I’ve been here drinking for an hour and a half, waiting for a date that didn’t show. What do you say you and I just...get out of here?”
He leans back a little, and for a second there’s a look in his eyes that I recognize. He’s nervous . He takes command of that quickly, though, and I see some heat enter his gaze as his tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip. He looks at me, and it’s a question-- one echoed by his next word. He simply asks, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply, standing up off my stool and offering him my hand. He throws a few bills on the bar, then takes it.
In the parking lot I allow myself to catch his elbow, relishing the supple leather of his jacket under my fingertips. “Hope you’ve got some wheels. My car’s in the shop, so it’s been cabs for me lately.” It’s not a lie, much as I wish it was, but it’s certainly convenient tonight.
He smiles at me again, and I swear my breath catches a little. For all that I thought he looked good when I first saw him a few weeks back, being on the receiving end of his smile is something else entirely. “Sure do. Right this way.”
He stops next to a Dodge Challenger with an... impressive paint job, and gestures to it, sort of proudly, but also with some humor. I walk around the car, taking it in and nodding appreciatively. It’s been years since a guy tried to impress me with a car, and to be honest, it’s kind of sweet. “Wow. Okay.” I take in the vanity plates and the detail work, then meet his eyes again. “I gotta know, what’s Cobra Kai?”
“My dojo,” he says, still smiling like a kid showing off a trading card collection. “I went a little overboard with the paint job, but...it’s been a while since I’ve had a decent car. Thought I’d have some fun with it. Plus, it’s free advertising.”
“I like it,” I say, smiling back. He opens the passenger door with a flourish, and I climb in.
When we’re both seated inside, he starts the car, revving the engine for effect. I can’t help laughing, because it’s ridiculous, but it’s also sweet, and sexy, and damn it’s been ages since I’ve had this kind of fun. He leans his head over toward me. “Where to? My place? Your place?”
I bite my lip a little and look out the window. It’s a nice night, and pretty clear for southern California. “How ‘bout we just...go for a drive?” I turn to meet his eyes, one eyebrow cocked in mischief.
He smiles and looks ahead, grasping the snake head shifter and pulling the car into gear. He’s understood me perfectly, and it’s incredibly satisfying. We peel out of the parking lot, and into the night.
He hits the freeway first, and he’s gunning it, absolutely showing off. While he enjoys putting the car through its paces, he maintains easy conversation with me, in that way you sometimes get to talk with a stranger-- discussing all kinds of deep things without delving too far into personal details. It’s freeing and refreshing, and it feels like only a little while passes before we’re leaving the freeways for highway 1, cruising along the Pacific coast.
He puts the windows down, and we don’t talk then for a little. It’s too dark to see much of the ocean, but the breeze smells of salt spray as it tangles in my hair. Classic rock tunes are playing on the radio, at pretty low volume, since we’d been talking. He’s still driving fast, but here on the empty highway it feels luxurious, without the edge of anxiety it had back on the freeway. I relax into the seat, and let him take me where he will.
When he turns right, back away from the ocean and steeply uphill, I turn to him and give him my best voice impression of an Old Hollywood starlet. “Johnny. Where are you taking me?” The hills around here are littered with pull-offs and overlooks, but despite how they’re featured in movies and TV shows, parking there at night is heavily discouraged.
A smirk plays across his face. “I know a place.”
I consider for a moment, then reach over and give his thigh a squeeze through his jeans (not too high, but maybe just high enough). I see him draw in a breath, and smile to myself. “Sounds perfect,” I say.
He drives us up further into the hills, and it’s extra fun the way the road twists and curves with the folds of the land. Sure enough, the shoulder is littered with little pull-offs and spots where secreting one car isn’t actually too difficult. Johnny knows a particularly good one, it turns out, where the car is barely visible from the road, though it’s just a few feet away.
We come to a stop at last, and Johnny unbuckles his seatbelt, exiting the car and then calling back to me, “Come on, come see.” I follow him out.
A tiny path leads up from where the car is, just a few yards, to a spot not obscured by brush and trees. I follow him up there, and we gaze out over the city spread below us on this unusually clear night, looking like an amplified reflection of the stars above. “Wow,” I say, “a great view, without the cop patrols and on-call tow trucks? You do know the area, don’t you?”
He bumps a shoulder into mine. “Yeah, well. You learn a thing or two, growing up around here.” I turn then, invading his space just as he enters mine, hoping he knows what I’m after, and he does, bringing a strong hand up to cradle my jaw as he kisses me.
Man, if it’s been a while since Johnny’s done this, he certainly keeps that to himself. The guy knows his way around a kiss, that’s for damned sure. He kisses like he’s hungry for it, but also like he’s got all the time in the world. And god, is it ever taking me apart. His tongue does this little curl, right inside my mouth, and both of my hands slide up his chest (wow), winding around behind his neck and coming to rest tangled in that devilish head of golden hair.
He pulls me against him, his chest pressed to mine, and it’s just the best feeling. I let my body lean into his, working over his lips with my own, and damn, I could stay here for a while, doing this.
When we pull apart, breathless and flushed, I give him a bemused look. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
A wide smile spreads over my face. “You’re a damned romantic! Look at you, bringing me up here for a kiss with a view, like this is some kind of date.” I give his upper arm a light smack.
His eyes don’t break contact with mine. “Why shouldn’t it be?”
I smile and kind of lean my forehead against his shoulder, then look up at him. “You make some excellent points.”
It pains me to break apart from him, it really does, but I remind myself it’s in service of bigger and better things. I take one of his hands, leading him back down the little footpath toward the car. He backs me against it, right up against the passenger side, and captures my mouth with his again. This time’s even better, because he’s a little more rough with it-- one hand in my hair, taking some control, another on my hip, bringing it against his. I let my hands explore under his jacket, over his t-shirt, and...yeah, he feels great there. He’s almost right where I want him-- almost.
His mouth moves off of mine, along my jaw and down my neck, and it’s all I can do not to moan out loud. He’s really damned good at this. Those failed dates don’t know what they were missing. I’ve got plans though, and I won’t be held back. I move my hand behind me, searching blindly for the door handle, and open it up. He draws back a little, giving me a look with one eyebrow raised. “You...wanna leave?” he asks.
“No,” I say, smirking up at him. I reach down, releasing a catch, and the passenger seat folds forward. “I just wanna get in. If you’re up for it.”
It’s immensely gratifying, how he nearly dives into the back seat, then reaches to help me in after him. I barely manage to shut the door behind us. We both kick off our shoes (this is rule number one of back-of-the-car etiquette; you don’t scuff a guy’s custom interior), and he leans forward briefly between the seats to switch the radio back on. (It’s that local station that plays long blocks of commercial-free classic hits of the 70s and 80s, every weekend night, and for a guy who hadn’t planned this, he sure is smooth about it.) He’s coming back to me, then, and yeah-- this is exactly where I want him.
This night is making me feel like a kid again, but better , because I’m doing this with a guy who’s got some maturity, who doesn’t push or rush, who’s had plenty of practice. He turns to me and takes a moment, his thumb tracing my jawline just under my ear, fingers threading into my hair, eyes locking with mine-- I could spend some time with those eyes, too. Only then are we kissing again, and those extra seconds of build-up make it much more intense.
I work my hands along his shoulders, pushing his jacket back a little, and he’s right with me, shucking it off and tossing it up to the front seats for safekeeping. I take mine off too, then climb into his lap, straddling his legs while he sits back in the seat. It’s a squeeze, but worth it-- he’s got his hands on my ass as my fingers sneak under the hem of his t-shirt, and the sounds he’s making as I mouth my way down his neck are really primo stuff. They’re just small ones, like he’s trying to hold back, but the way they kind of fall out anyway is thrilling.
His shirt is all shoved up now, and I’ve got a damned good view. He’s got broad shoulders, a well-built chest, a little softness at the waist-- he looks perfect to me.
“Come on, let’s get this off,” I say, and he obliges, pulling the brown tee over his head and tossing it aside. The full picture is even better (see, I’ve always had a thing for shoulders, and boy has he got some). He’s not wasting time either, running his hands up my sides, just under my top, skimming it over my skin as I raise my arms a little, helping him pull it over my head.
“Fair’s fair,” he says when it’s discarded somewhere in the footwell. He’s looking me over, like I’m something good to eat, then his arms wrap around me and he tips me back. I grab onto his shoulders (god) as his mouth moves down my neck, over my chest, until he’s kissing along the top edge of my bra. I’m breathing hard, and as he pulls down the cup and tongues over my nipple, I can’t suppress a moan, my hips angling for friction against his, not really finding what I need. He’s relentless, giving little touches with the tip of his tongue, occasionally swirling over it, and all of that makes my back arch because fuck , by some magic of neuronal wiring I can feel it between my legs at the same time.
His hand on my back sends goosebumps over my skin, stroking up and deftly unfastening my bra, letting it fall aside. His eyes rake over me, and he presses a kiss between my breasts before meeting my eyes.
“Like what you see?” I ask, and I’m trying for coy, but it comes out a little shy.
He looks up at me, with a face like I’m torturing him slowly, but also like he’s loving it. His hands run down my sides, coming to rest on my hips. “ Fuck yeah.” And god, does it feel good to hear him say that.
I lean in close to his ear. “So do I.”
I press him back against his seat, working my hips more deliberately against his, and yeah, there’s some of the friction I need. He’s bridging up a little to meet me, pulling me down toward him too, and the teases of pleasure I’m getting from it are deliciously frustrating, nothing close to enough. I slide back, palming gently over him, and he groans a little, clearly constricted in his jeans.
I’m reaching to undo his pants when his arms encircle me again, lifting me to the side, helping me recline across the back seat. His roaming hands stall out at my hips, fingers stroking at the waist of my jeans, and he takes hold of the fastener there, asking “Want some help with these?”
My head is nodding before I’ve processed the thought, and he’s pretty quick to tug my jeans down and off. I’m reaching a hand toward him to return the favor when he distracts me, running his fingers from my ribs down to my underwear. His thumb slips under the edge, and my mind is suddenly hard-wired to his touch, anticipating each of his fractional movements. He takes it so slowly, just ghosting over where I’m already aching for him, giving me just a little there, a few light passes over my opening. Then he’s drawing back, and I can’t help the broken little sound that comes out of my throat at the loss.
He’s doing all the right things though, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his jeans, and then he’s on his hands and knees above me. I reach out to palm over him, and get an agreeable little growl for my effort as he lowers himself toward me.
Then he’s kissing me while we grind together, and my mind might go blank for a moment. The fabric separating us there is flimsy at best, and so much of his skin is against mine...I’m consumed by it. I’m drinking in the feel of him under my hands, slipping them down his strong back, over his ass, enjoying how the muscles tense and relax as he moves against me.
At last he draws back, leaning his forehead against mine briefly before kneeling up. His hands are on my hips, thumbs teasing at the fabric of my underwear, and then he’s pulling them down slowly, looking at me like it’s a question, like he’s making sure I’m right here with him, and I am.
He draws his fingers lightly over me, and I can’t help how I respond, hips arching up vocally. I’m already so keyed up, it’s not taking much. The corner of his mouth tilts up a little as he’s watching me, dismantling me with little touches that shouldn’t be able to do what they’re doing. I can see his eyes clouding over with it, his breaths coming through parted lips...he’s enjoying this.
I gasp a little when he eases one finger inside, curling it forward, and flicking over my clit with his thumb. He works me just like that for a little, gazing down at the way I’m writhing for him, and I let my eyes flutter closed, enjoying it. Then I feel him shift from the seat, though his hand stays on me. When I open my eyes to look, he’s kneeling on the floor of the car, stroking my thigh as he meets my eyes across the plains and valleys of my body.
His hand cups under my knee. “Lift up?”
I do what he asks, and he hoists my leg over his shoulder, turning to press kisses into my thigh. All I can do is throw my head back, fighting to keep my breathing steady while I vibrate out of my skin with anticipation. His lips inch closer, closer, and I draw a forceful breath in as he slides the tip of his nose along the crease above my thigh. My hands are kind of scrambling, looking for something to grab onto, and one gravitates toward his tousled blond hair, settling for a moment before I reel it back in.
He pauses then, his mouth close enough to my core that I can feel his breath against me, and if I wasn’t already soaked, I am now. He finds my hand, bringing it gently back into his hair. “Hey. You do what you want, okay?” He plants a lingering kiss on my thigh, then finds my eyes again. “I want to make you feel good. Want to hear you tell me what you want.” He lowers his head a little, like he’s finally, finally going to do it, but stops again, raising an eyebrow at me, waiting.
A little broken sound escapes my mouth as I make an attempt at stringing words together. I’m too far gone to be embarrassed, at least. “I wanna feel your mouth on me.”
“Where? Here?” he asks, and the teasing fucker kisses my lower abdomen. I growl a little in frustration. “Or...here?” He kisses my other thigh, and I can’t help laughing a little, deliriously, exasperated with him playing these games while I’m so desperate for him.
“Fuck, Johnny, I want to feel your tongue in my slit and that gorgeous nose against my clit. I want you to eat me out and I don’t want you to stop until I come on your face.”
Everything’s quiet then. Hell, that little outburst even surprised me . His eyes are locked onto mine, wide and dark. Then his face breaks into a grin and he speaks, his voice low and rough.
“Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
His tongue touches first, licking into my folds, and my hand in his hair tightens, fingernails grazing his scalp. He moans at that, lips ghosting over my clit, and I twitch up a little against the touch. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s taking me apart. I’m not sure what sounds are coming out of my mouth, only that they’re messy and maybe a little louder than intended. I can’t care, though, because his tongue is tracing indiscernible shapes between my folds and over my clit, making my eyes roll back until I think I forget my name.
When he seals his lips over me, right at my center, it’s intense enough to bring me up to the edge, just before he pulls back. I’m begging, barely coherent, before I even realize it: “Johnny come on, please . I need it.”
He obliges so damned perfectly that I’d swear his face was designed to be ridden. I’ve truly never known I have a thing for noses, but when he buries his tongue deep in me, his slides over my clit so damned perfectly I can barely stand it. He doesn’t back off when my hips rock against him, he just doubles down, pulling me in closer, if that’s possible. Then his tongue curls just right, up inside my opening as his face presses into me, and I’m falling over the edge. My hand clutched in his hair feels like all that’s tethering me to reality as my body rocks with it, and he’s there with me, licking me through it until I come down again.
When speech and thought return, a stream of various profanities leave my mouth. “Damn, Johnny, fuck. You could’ve warned me that you’re some kind of fucking...head-giving prodigy.” He laughs a little, ducking out from under my leg and coming up to kiss me, full and messy on the mouth, where I can taste everything we just did.
“I dunno,” he says, “Better to just show you, don’t you think?”
I run my hand down his chest, over his abs, rolling a little to my side to reach down further. “Anything else you want to show me?” I ask, stroking him firmly through his boxer briefs. His breath hisses in through his teeth, and he’s clearly more than ready. He takes a moment to strip himself down, and climbs back onto the seat, down between my legs where I make space for him.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” I say, my eyes wandering all over him. Usually I wouldn’t talk like that, to a guy I just met. Most of them don’t need their egos inflated that way. But it’s him, and it’s true , and I’ve still got the feeling he hasn’t heard anything like that in a while. He gives me that mouth-twist half-smile I’m really coming to enjoy, and ducks his head a little, and god, he’s actually being kind of shy about it. He’s got no right being so cute at this moment, but there it is.
“Not so bad yourself,” he says. Then he’s grasping my hip with one hand, using the other to align himself at my entrance. He sinks in just a little, leaning over me, and I exhale at the feeling.
“Johnny--” His name falls from my lips, just because it feels so incredible, that tiny little push. Then his hand is cupping my cheek and he’s holding eye contact, letting me see everything he’s feeling as he presses forward, slowly, deliberately. I could write essays about the little catches of his breath, the way his eyebrows raise just a fraction of an inch as he bottoms out inside me. The stretch from it is incredible, and feels so perfect now, when I’m already pliant and sated. He stills there for a moment, our breaths mirroring each other.
He starts to move, and it’s slow at first, building up to a steady rhythm. I can see it’s good for him, and it’s damned good for me, but then there’s this needy look on his face, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back.
I lace a hand into the hair at the back of his head, gently getting his attention. “Hey. Come on. I’m not fragile.”
His eyes kind of darken then, and he thrusts in harder, looking at me like he’s asking if it’s okay like that, and it is. It’s so incredibly okay, and I do my best to show him by the way I react, the sounds I’m making. I wind one leg around his waist for more leverage, and he picks up his pace, and he’s finally pounding into me like he wants to, like I think I need him to.
Listen. ‘Getting railed in the back of a Challenger’ hadn’t been on my list of expectations for today, but I highly recommend it, if Johnny Lawrence is involved.
I give myself over to it, and it’s perfection, letting him use me how he wants. I move with him, as much as I can keep up, but as my pleasure builds up and breaks a second time, it’s all I can do to hang on for the ride. He’s not far behind me, and I’m watching as he lets go, his whole body tensing with it until finally relaxing, spent, his head resting under my chin.
I tune back into the music from the radio that I’ve barely noticed until now, and laugh a little as Eddie Money sings about being taken home tonight. Johnny rouses, and he’s smiling at me. “Guess I’d better take a hint and get you home, huh?”
I shrug. “Whenever. No rush.” He plants a soft kiss to my chest.
It’s not too long until we’re (mostly) cleaned up and back on the road, out of the hills and back in the valley. I give him directions to my place, and we’re pulling up out front all too soon. He parks and gets out with me, walking me to my door. (This guy. I swear.)
I turn to him. “I had a great time tonight.” I’m trying to play it cool, not assuming anything.
He smiles, in that way that takes me apart. “Yeah. Me too.” He looks down at his feet, just for a second, before his eyes are on mine again. “Will I, uh...see you again?”
I smile for real then, and hold my hand out. “Give me your phone.” He does, looking a little confused, and I tap my number into it, storing it under my first name with a little car emoji next to it. I hand it back, saying “Call me sometime?” He nods and pockets it.
His weight shifts a little from foot to foot, like he’s deciding something, and then he clearly does, surging forward to press me against my front door, kissing me into oblivion once again. When we part, he pins me with his eyes and says, “How about dinner? Tomorrow night?”
“Pick me up at seven,” I say, and I swear he’s blushing a little, as he backs away. How is this guy for real? “Goodnight, Johnny.”
“‘Night,” he says, and I unlock my door, then turn to watch as he walks back to the Challenger. He starts it, backing out of his parking space, then guns the engine and speeds away.
My neighbors are gonna hate me. I don’t give a shit.