#and Jon deserves a bit of a wallop

[mitchasaurus-r3x]

If we do get a physical jm reunion in tmagp (which I doubt) I hope Martin gets to sock Jon in the face. As a treat.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Kitten; Part Ten

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley[Dean Ambrose]/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Happy Thirst Party Saturday everyone! Tagging our finest, @tox-moxley, @hardcorewwetrash, @oraclegazes, @actualamyautopsy and @iwannadiehere. Enjoy!

The worry started setting in about a week before Valentine's Day. She never wore pants to bed. Shit, she hardly ever wore anything to bed and now all of a sudden she was wearing more clothes than a nervous bride. To say he was confused would be an understatement.

“Kitten? Y’ gettin’ sick again or somethin’?” He asked finally after the third night of this new…interest in long sleeves and sleeping pants and the whole ‘not being naked beside him’ thing. Which wasn’t that big of an issue, really it wasn’t. They were both adults and if she wanted to wear clothes to bed that was definitely her right. It was just…it was a deviation from the norm and that was always a little scary for him.

She didn’t necessarily look guilty, but she sure as shit was cagey about the subject. “I’ve been kind of chilly.���

That was it. That was all he got. And hell, he wanted to press the matter, but at the same time he didn’t want to be that guy. So he just shut his mouth, accepted his good morning kiss (that he was still pretty sure he didn’t deserve) and headed in to work as usual. He was a good boyfriend and refrained from asking the questions that might make her upset.

Simple Mox, good Mox.

...

Callihan of all people was the one to suggest he ‘tidy up’ for Valentine's Day, wiggling his eyebrows at Moxley in a way that made Jon want to wallop him. “Chicks ain’t into body hair anymore, man. Ya’ chest is literally revolting. I would know.” Callihan gestured at his own hairless torso. “Keep a little bit of the trail, sure. Give ‘er somethin’ to follow. But get rid of that fuckin’ pelt. Trust me. She’ll be all over ya’.”

“The last time I trusted ya’ fuckin’ scrawny ass I got beaned in the back of my fuckin’ skull with a steel chair.” Mox snorted with laughter, unable to keep it in when Sami looked let down. “Fuckin’ douche, tryin’ to kill me and shit.”

“I didn’t know the chick had a boyfriend, man. Will ya’ let it go?” Sami groaned. “I said I was sorry an’ everythin’.”

Mox rubbed a hand thoughtfully over the stubble that plagued his face daily. “I don’t think she cares, Callihan. I mean, I’ll take it under…advisory or whatever th’ fuck, but I’m pretty sure she don’t care?” Mox's voice rose at the end of its own accord, turning his previously firm statement into a question. A doubt, starting to worm its way in. “Why would she care?”

“Hey I’m jus’ sayin’, man. It never hurts to at least look like ya’ makin’ an effort.” Sami pointed out.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. “Shit.” He said finally. “I always look like a damn hobo next t’ her, man. D’ya think that would help?”

Callihan shrugged. “Special occasion, ain’t it?”

…

This was a goddamn terrible idea. Shit, he didn't even know if she wanted this or not. He didn't really want to ask, either. How much of a fucking jackass would he look like if he just walked up to her, opened his mouth and said something like, “hey babe, sugarplum, apple of my eye, you ever thought about me not looking like a stray dog for once?” The wild idea of him pulling off being a dashing son of a bitch haunted him, especially while looking like that guy from the cover of that book he definitely wasn't supposed to know she had stashed in her nightstand.

She was still wearing the damn pants to bed. Shit, she wasn't even letting him put his hands in said pants anymore, usually rolling over or catching his hands and kissing his knuckles in that way that made him melt.

Finally, early in the morning on the fourteenth, after Callihan daring him for half the damn night in between fights and at least seven shots of Jack Daniels lining his empty stomach, Mox sacked the fuck up and walked into the twenty-four hour Walgreens down the street from the CZ. He'd mopped himself off a little so he wasn't a total bloody mess, just an emotional mess. He didn't know when this had turned into such a big fucking deal (but he was relatively certain it was Callihan's fault), or when he had decided that this was obviously a great idea and it was definitely what Kitten wanted and he really needed to just go through with this before he lost what little nerve he had.

So he strode in, made his way to the shaving aisle, glanced over numerous wax kits with terrifying-looking pictures, grabbed a tube of some cream that promised 'pain-free results!' and stormed the cashier like he was on the beaches of fucking Normandy. I am the man who is going to make my girlfriend happy on Valentine's Day and nothing on this planet is stopping me.

In hindsight, maybe applying the shit once he had sobered up would have gone better. Or maybe applying it after his chest had healed from the fights. Or maybe just not slathering the shit on while finishing the bottle with Sami and then falling asleep next to the sink in the CZ bathroom. He only conked out for about forty-five minutes or so, but according to the tube that was forty minutes too long. The burning sensation was what woke him and Mox flew into a drunken panic, flailing and damn near knocking himself out on the underside of the sink before he managed to stumble to his feet.

He remembered thinking oh God no, just staring at his reddened, irritated chest coated with now-flaking cream in the mirror for a few wavering seconds before tearing at his jeans and making a mad dash for the showers. He'd wash it off. It'd be fine. This was definitely not going to ruin everything and he was still a good boyfriend.

Sami full-blown shrieked when Jon threw open the door to the showers, “Christ Mox, th' fuck did ya' do?!” He looked horrified, which only added to Jon's panic because Sami never busted out that face around him.

“It'll come off Sami, s'gonna' be okay Sami.” Jon mumbled, almost losing his footing on the slick floor. Callihan caught his arm and slammed his still-clothed ass down on the tile, ignoring Mox's protests as he turned the shower on full blast, freezing cold.

“Y' fell asleep with this shit on? I mean yeah, I done pretty much th' same thing first time I tried it. At least it's up here, right? Mine was on my fuckin' balls.” Sami's rueful grin made Mox start laughing even while he shivered under the frigid spray of the shower.

“F-F-Fuck C-Callihan, m' a f-f-fuckin' fa-failure.” He managed to say through his chattering teeth, essentially climbing his friend to stand again.

“Shut the fuck up.” Sami said bluntly, his hair now lank and dribbling cold hair gel down his face. Mox suddenly wanted to cry for some reason. He couldn't do anything right for fuck's sake and it hurt, way worse than whatever the fuck was going on with his chest. “Don't get fuckin' bitchy on me now, Mox. S' just some hair. You've had way worse'n this shit, man.” Sami continued, sounding almost like he was scolding him as he rung out his shirt.

“M' sorry man, I jus' wanted t' make her happy.” Jon scrubbed furiously at the skin on his chest, trying to avoid eye contact. Most of the paste had already dissolved under the water, taking his chest hair with it, but the redness seemed to be here to stay. Patches were bleeding here and there, and his poor nipples, Christ. Mox felt raw, like someone had exfoliated his chest with a fucking belt sander. “What th' fuck'm I gonna' do, Sami? I...we have a little thing planned tom--shit, tonight.” He realized in horror.

“Fuck that, what about tonight with Gage? Are ya'...I mean, shit man, y' look like y' got skinned.” Callihan, ever the master of tact. Mox teared up and he quickly ducked his head, staring at the floor as Sami shut off the shower.

“I j-jus' wanted t' look good f' her, m-man.” He hiccuped. “She looks like a fuckin' p-princess an' m' all d-d-dirty an' disgustin' an' ugly as shit, fuckin' ruinin' her jus' like Drake s-said--”

Sami whacked him upside the back of his head, making Mox yelp in pain. “Jonathan fuckin' Moxley, listenin' t' somethin' that comes outta' Younger's mouth? Who th' fuck are you, and what the shit did you do with my partner?”

“I dunno', man!” Jon cried, “M' hurt an' still drunk an' I'm fuckin' p-panickin', fuckin' bad dog all over th' fuckin' place, what the hell am I gonna' do Callihan?!”

“Ya' gonna' fight with a shirt on! No shit, genius! Ya' gonna' fuck ya' woman with a shirt on! No shit, kinky! She's gonna' love ya', you ain't gotta' tell her shit, an' you'll be fine!” Callihan was fucking roaring at this point, obviously still pretty hammered himself. “Ya' dick is fine, ain't it?! Chest jus' looks like ground fuckin' burger, y' waited too long an' shit! Now go to sleep, sleep off Jack and then we'll be ready t' fight. Ya' totally got this man, no worries!” The encouraging slap on the back he gave Jon almost knocked him over.

…

Fighting was fucking agony. Mox should have known from the second he stepped into the ring that Gage would take him to task.

“What's with the getup, street dog?” Nick had circled him, taking in the white t-shirt he wore. Jon's prayers that he wouldn't notice the tiny spots of fresh blood seeping through the front of it apparently went unanswered as Gage's opening move was winding up for one hell of a chop. And yeah, he'd fought hurt before. Fought really hurt before, much more hurt than this bullshit chemical abrasion across his chest. Like when Gage had whacked his arm open with a dinner plate, or when Damage had Powerbombed him on the cement beside the ring.

But the shirt just made everything worse. It rubbed and clung to his raw skin; Jon felt trapped and he wanted to fucking scream. There was a damn reason he didn't wear shirts in the ring, too easy to get grabbed or hung up on the wire or whatever the fuck else guys would do to one another. If there was one thing Mox was sure of, it was that he didn’t like it when his opponents got creative.

As he rammed his knee into Nick’s midsection Moxley found himself wondering whether anyone in the crowd was here for Valentine's Day. Like this was someone’s idea of a hot date. “Hey babe, wanna’ watch a human dog fight? Bet that’ll get your motor running.” Jon shuddered, cringing in pain when Gage landed another slashing chop across his chest. But he forced himself back up, forced himself past the next one to wrap his fists in Nick’s worn basketball jersey and hoist him high, almost tipping them both out of the ring. Gage strangled the ropes, kicking wildly and knocking Mox flat on his back.

Nick lunged on top of him and Mox could barely hazard a guess at how fucked he might have been if he hadn’t gotten his feet up in time. As such he ended up catapulting the other man over his head, and Nick slammed into the plywood on his back. Mox got up, wiping the blood from his split lip off with the hem of his shirt. The collar around his neck jingled quietly, and Jon felt some of the tension ease out of him. She’s waiting for me.

“Gage, can we speed this up?” He rasped, slumping back into his corner. “I got a cute chick dyin’ t' see me at home, man.”

…

He was lucky. He knew he was lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have a friend like Sami, lucky to have his Kitten. Jon showered, shaved and changed after the fight, stripping off the now-pinkish white shirt and putting on a fresh one beneath his button-up. Hopefully it would keep the blood from soaking through and staining his (somewhat wrinkled but very clean) dress shirt. Normally Mox was master and commander of all things Band-Aid, but there was just too much surface area for him to fix this problem efficiently. Gauze was out of the question, too bulky and obvious. She would ask, or worse she’d be fucking worried about what had happened and he’d kill any mood that might have already existed.

Jon let Sami help him fix his hair a little, Callihan clearly holding back his laughter at how slowly and carefully Mox was moving. “Ya’ like a grandma or some shit man, loosen up.”

“Can’t help it, Callihan. M’ sore. Nervous.” Jon admitted. “I mean, she’s been actin' funny. Wearin’ more clothes and stuff. I just don’t wanna’ wreck what good thing I have here by showin’ up looking like I-”

“Th’ fuck do you mean, ‘wearing more clothes’?” Sami asked, tipping his head to the side. “Is this like that shit from before where ya’ were both bein’ fuckin’ idiots when you coulda’ been idiots fuckin’?”

“No no, she still lets me hold her and shit. She’s…I mean she’s a hot sleeper, y’know? It’s just weird, all of a sudden she’s wearin’ pants t’ bed an’ long sleeves.”

Sami ‘hmm’ed softly, looking like he was thinking hard. “Shit man, I dunno’. I’m assumin’ you ain’t, y’know, asked her about why she’s doin’ it, right?” He snorted when Jon nodded. “’Course not. Ya’ prefer drivin’ y’self fuckin’ nuts.”

“It’s harder than that, Callihan.” Mox said, annoyed. “I don’t wanna’ look stupid. I already look like a fuckin’ deadbeat. If she catches on that I don’t know what I’m fuckin’ doin’ when it comes t’ her, I’m fucked. I never had t’ do any of this fuckin’ Valentine's Day crap before man.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you ain’t never whipped out a little TLC on a chick before, Mox.”

“Bein’ soft…isn’t really somethin’ that I am, Sami.” Jon mumbled. “I pretend for her, but I’m always lost n’ shit. I thought it’d get easier, fake it ‘til I make it. Everyone else before her, it’s usually been a contest t’ see how quick they can get what they want outta’ me. My mouth or my dick or my fists, whatever the fuck. An’ I went along with it because shit, I was poor an’ lonely so fuck it.”

Callihan had gone strangely quiet. His fingers fidgeted in Mox's hair. When he spoke again, his voice was a little kinder than Mox was used to. “I didn’t know, man. I always figured y' had a kinda’ normal love life, aside from the weird collar bullshit. I’m…I’m sorry ‘bout that, Mox.” After a second he punched Jon in the shoulder, that familiar grin back on his face. “Sorry I been sweet-talkin’ all them chicks into my pants, that is!”

Jon smiled gratefully at his friend. There was only so much sugary-feel-good bullshit he could take from Sami at one time. “Yeah yeah, someday you’ll find a nice girl an’ she’ll take ya’ V card an’ leave y’ heart in the dust. Don’t cry t’ me Callihan.”

“Take my fuckin’--how dare y’ fuckin’-” Callihan sputtered with rage. “Insinuatin’ that I ain’t--the balls on you, Moxley!” He finally managed to say, tossing Jon his hoodie. He then grabbed him in a headlock and gave him a vicious noogie, thoroughly ruining any work he had put in to the other man’s hair. “Y’ lucky we’re friends, you fuckin’ cocksucker.”

...

The bus ride over to the stop near her apartment gave Jon ample time to worry and half-crush the bouquet of orange roses he’d picked up. They were out of red ones, go figure, and the orange ones were the least ragged-looking in the group. So orange it was. He wished for a second that he knew what orange roses meant in that flower language bull, before deciding that it was probably better that he didn’t know. I hope she likes them, shit.

Keeping the roses safe until he got to the apartment was priority number one. He ended up cramming them under his hoodie so they would stay a decent temperature while he made the slow, slippery walk from the bus stop to the apartment building. It had been raining most of the day and now everything was covered in a sheen of ice. Mox breathed a sigh of relief when he finally got in out of the elements, carefully knocking the ice and slush off his boots then heading down the hall.

Upon opening the apartment door, he was confused for a second at the lack of lights on. Was he too late? Too early? Shit, did he get the wrong day? His panic was short-lived however, once he caught sight of the candles flickering in the living room. Oh. Why the fuck didn’t he think of that?! Nothing was more romantic than fucking candles. Christ, he was awful at this.

Jon struggled out of his hoodie and boots, clutched the flowers a little tighter. He had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “Kitten? Y’ home?” He rasped.

“In here, Jon.”

Of course she was in the bedroom. Stupid, stupid! Jon half-wished he was still drunk, at least to give his body a fucking reason to be so slow and clumsy. He didn’t want to open the bedroom door. He didn’t want to be the one to ruin the little daydream life he had, the one where everything was okay and he wasn’t fucked up and helpless when it came to this romance bullcrap. So much for looking like the guy on the cover of that book that I’m not supposed to know about, he thought wryly.

He had to fight the urge to knock before he pushed the door, hearing the latch click softly as it gave way. He felt almost like he was a stranger, like this was the first time he'd ever come home. Maybe even like the first time he'd seen her laid out on the bed, as if she was a beautiful surprise just for his greedy body to devour, for his stupid, weak fucking heart to latch onto.

There were a few more candles placed here and there in the room, but it was the sight of her that caught him. She was on her back, arched in a way that his brain quietly informed him was probably pretty uncomfortable but did absolute wonders for his dick, wearing a little see-through number that Jon had never seen before. His mouth went bone fucking dry. “Ki...”

“I've been waiting for you, Jon.” She murmured, and God damn, if she didn't sound every inch the sultry fucking vixen. “Missed you. Happy Valentine's Day.”

“H-Happy...I g-got. These.” Jon forced the words out, extending the bouquet. “F-For you.” She rolled over onto her hands and knees (that was a wince, that was definitely a wince, what the hell?), accepting his flowers with a happy noise that shot through his body. “Kitten, y' look fuckin'...wow. Christ.” Jon said softly, hoping that the fucking reverence he felt was properly vocalized. “You're so fuckin' pretty, I...” He wasn't sure what happened inside him. It was like something broke, shattered into a million pieces. The next thing he knew he had lurched toward her, hands shaking as he pressed her back to the bed and drew them over bare skin that seemed so hot, fever hot and smooth, smooth like silk.

Kitten squirmed and whimpered under his touch. Normally that would have lit Jon up like a firework, but something about her reaction seemed...wrong. Too sharp, like she was in pain. “Kitten, y' alright?” He asked cautiously. Did something happen to her? Is there a bad reason she's been wearing all those clothes? His stomach twisted in fear. Did I hurt her somehow? Does she not feel safe around me anymore? “Sound a little iffy.” Don't you dare fucking start bawling, Moxley.

“I-I just missed you.” The hesitation, the fucking hesitation in her voice hit him like a punch to the gut. Jon really wanted to cry.

He sat back on his haunches, running a hand through his hair and sucking in a breath. “Kitten, if y' don't wanna' do this anymore, all you have to do is say it. I...you ain't been lettin' me do much lately, an' that's fine, but draggin' this shit out hurts me. I love you, Kitten, but if y' don't wanna' do somethin', if you don't want me around anymore, ya' gotta' let me know.”

Kitten's fists clenched at her sides. She grabbed a pillow and covered her face with it, screaming into the thing with a vengeance. Mox watched, wide-eyed in confusion. She finally seemed to be finished, chucking the pillow at the wall. Her face was wet with tears, but she didn't look sad, she looked fucking livid. Jon swallowed hard, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. “Kitten...?”

“J-Jon, I got...I got f-fucking waxed. And it hurt. My skin is apparently really sensitive. I'm all...I'm all red and everything from the waist down feels like it's on fire but I just wanted this t-to be good so I figured I could suck it up because it's our first Valentine's D-Day.” She made an infuriated sound. “I hate this! Why can't one thing go right?!” Jon was helpless to stop his raspy laugh, quickly holding up a hand to deflect the pillow aimed at his face. “This isn't funny, Jon! I spent most of today with a fucking ice pack between my thighs just trying to bring down the swelling!” She snapped.

“Kitten, m' so sorry. I ain't laughin' at you. But y' gonna' laugh at me when you see what I did to myself like a fuckin' doofus.” Jon struggled to unbutton his dress shirt, nervous giggles still escaping his mouth. “Oh my God, you ain't even gonna' fuckin' believe this, Kitten.”

“What's those spots on your...Mox are you bleeding? Did you fight today?”

“Jus' wait.” Jon hauled his undershirt over his head, tossing it to land on the abandoned pillow.

Kitten's anger appeared to evaporate, her hand reaching out shakily to touch the raw skin of his chest. “Jesus Christ, Jon, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Y' gonna' fuckin' cry laughin', Kitten. I...I did this. Callihan told me that girls don't like...they don't like hairy guys. S-So I got some stuff that y' rub on an' it eats th' hair. I figured I'd surprise ya'. I fell asleep with it on though.” Jon was startled when Kitten seemed more upset than amused, the tears streaming down her face. “I was so worried about tryin' t' hide this shit from you, an' it turns out y' pretty much in the same fuckin' boat. God I'm a fuckin' idiot, Kitten. M' so sorry. I ruined Valentine's Day.”

“I think we both did, Jon. I mean, I spent the whole week not shaving so this wouldn't happen, and it still did!” Kitten huffed. “I didn't want to gross you out, that's why I started wearing clothes to bed. I felt like a fucking hairball, it was revolting but I wanted it to be a surprise and everything I read said that I should have at least a week's worth of growth and...and now I look like one of those hairless cats, all pink and pissed-off.”

“Oh my God, Kitten, I don't give a flyin' fuck whether ya' shave seven days a week or seven days a year, or if ya' got more fuzz than a fuckin' Wookie. I just missed the shit outta' touchin' you. How fuckin' dumb are we?” Jon snorted. Kitten laughed through her tears after a minute, cupping his face and kissing him. “M' so sorry, Kitten, fuckin' Christ I'm sorry. Let's get y' outta' that tight little number an' into somethin' of mine, okay? Nice n' loose.” He offered.

Her legs were almost scorching to the touch. Jon was thankful for the dim candlelight of the room as he carefully helped her peel off her clothes. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to see the full extent of her damage. Couldn't trust himself to keep from bawling his eyes out. He definitely didn't want her to see the full extent of his damage, especially the undignified, patchy remains of his happy trail. More like happy fucking hopscotch.

She finally seemed comfortable, curled up on his side of the bed in a loose, hole-filled shirt and nothing else. Jon made sure that all the candles in the living room were extinguished and then slowly trekked back to the bedroom, pleased to find that she'd dragged her laptop up onto the bed and was scrolling through it looking for something to watch. Jon didn't even mind when she picked a mushy romance flick, too preoccupied with how she essentially laid her tits on top of his arm and kept making little noises in the back of her throat whenever he would play with them.

He nodded off with her head in his lap, his fingers stroking through her hair gently while she mumbled something about a, “do-over...”

“I wish you'd just asked me.”

The soft words eased into Jon's consciousness, into the mundane dream he was having. Was it even a dream? He didn't feel achy. He must be dreaming. But all he was doing was being cradled in her arms, one of her legs flung over his and her chest pressed tightly to his back. Jon relaxed against her. It wasn't often that he indulged himself as far as being held went, still a little uncomfortable with letting his guard down. He was the badass, he was the one who protected, and he was the one who did the spooning around here, thank you very much.

“Wish you could talk to me. I promise you won't scare me.” Kisses landed on his shoulder blade. “My poor mutt. I should have told you what I was doing. Just wanted it to be a surprise.” Fingers toyed with his collar. “Why are we so bad at this?”

She sounded sad. Jon wanted to say no, wanted to take all the blame for himself. None of this would have happened if he wasn't such a coward, if he'd only been able to speak to her, like all those normal couples did. But his tongue refused to cooperate. So it was a dream, then. Not much could keep him from talking if he so desired to shoot his mouth off. And if it was a dream...

He burrowed further into the warm cocoon of blankets, securing her arms around his waist and making her snuggle even closer. No harm in indulging a little.

…

Four days went by. Four long, tender days of her wearing as few clothes as possible (mostly his shirts), curling up against him every chance she got and fussing over his chest. Jon had never thought of himself as a man with a great deal of patience, so he considered it a personal triumph that he had lasted this long without bending his sweet, beautiful Kitten over the nearest surface and railing her until she begged for mercy for being such a God. Damn. Fucking. Tease. The best part out of the whole thing (and honestly, this was what really got him going) is that it seemed entirely unintentional. She was no more forward than normal, but her being sweet and gentle with him coupled with her pretty consistent lack of underwear or pants was fantastic.

Shit, maybe he had gone soft and, in turn, maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he thought. He certainly had never refrained from fucking someone out of fear of hurting them before her, that's for sure. He recalled with a wince a few of the marks he'd left on women past, when they would demand or urge him out past any sort of reasonable boundaries, “be rough with me, Mox!” They wanted something different from him, something that their boyfriends apparently weren't willing to give. The crazy, rabid street dog. They didn't want Jon. Not a lot of people did. Getting shoved into that dark, fighting mindset while he was fucking was always a terrifying experience because Jon was never quite sure what he might come back to.

He knew he was lucky, leaving a trail of nothing more than crisp-edged hickies and the occasional too-hard bite that made chicks squeal in pain or ecstasy.

He knew he was lucky because Kitten was still pressed to his side, fingers ghosting over the almost-healed skin of his chest. There was food in his stomach. He was warm and safe, camped out on a couch with the woman he loved. She never pushed him, never forced him past his boundaries. And yeah, he'd fucked up Valentine's Day but they'd had a pretty good Christmas, a few fun birthdays between them.

“Kitten, d'ya think we can try again?” He asked, hand rubbing over the smooth skin on her calf. She had been more and more receptive to touch as the days went on, slowly returning to some semblance of normalcy. Which was a damn good thing. “For Valentine's Day, I mean. Maybe next week or somethin'?”

She shook her head, suddenly swinging her leg over his thighs. “I was thinking maybe...” She trailed off, biting her lip.

It had been almost two weeks between the build up to the almighty V-Day and the subsequent healing time. Eleven days of not being able to stroke his Kitten, eleven days of keeping his hands to himself. But here she was now. Offering without words, straddling his thighs and shifting her hips back and forth. No panties, nothing between them but his jeans.

Jon swallowed hard. “Are you sure, Kitten?” He had to ask. God only knew how bad it could be if he didn't.

She nodded eagerly, taking his hand and pulling her shirt up (technically his shirt) so he could touch her thighs. Jon's eyes narrowed and he grabbed a handful of the shirt, dragging her in for a hungry kiss. “Lean over the couch arm.” He demanded breathlessly, thrilled when she obeyed. Easy. There she was. Spread out, waiting for him. Jon wasted no time, all but pouncing on her and quickly breaching her cunt with two fingers.

She cried out, arching her back against him and circling her hips as he curled his middle and ring fingers roughly inside her, his index coming up to tease her clit. She was already wet, already fucking soaked and so damn tight around his fingers and Jon wondered briefly how long she'd wanted him to do this but hadn't asked. The idea of her needy and achy made his dick all but crush itself against the zipper of his jeans, his brain (as usual) going into fucking overdrive and imagining her whimpering and fingering herself on the couch, wishing it was him the whole time.

He groaned and pressed his chest to her back, pinning her to the couch arm. “Jon's got you, Kitten.” He whispered in her ear. “Y' little tease, walkin' around with no panties on like you don't know what you fuckin' do to me. Makin' me hard as a fuckin' rock, makin' me wanna' bend your naughty ass over an' fuck ya' until y' can't see straight. It would be so fuckin' easy, so fuckin' easy. Just tug this shirt up a little, slide this fat fuckin' dick into you. You'd love that shit, wouldn't you?” Jon asked, spreading her pussy lips to tease his middle finger over her entrance in a mockery of penetration.

“Y-Yeah-” Kitten sounded almost frantic, her hips rocking up into his touches.

“Y' like me when I'm desperate, don't ya' Kitten?” Jon leaned back and unzipped his jeans, lazily stroking his cock and winking when she looked back at him. “Y' like it when I just say all the shit that's on my brain, instead of keepin' it in. Shit, y' might even like me bein' in charge, huh?” Kitten whimpered pitifully. “Jesus Christ Kitten, you made me so fuckin' hard, damn. Could come just from this. What would y' do if I came right now, fuckin' coated y' stomach?” Jon cupped his cock and pressed it to her slit, rubbing himself slowly back and forth across her dripping opening.

Kitten dug her fingers into the couch, moaning needily and trying to shift her hips so he would slide his cock into her.

“Mmm, someone's been a naughty fuckin' Kitten. I think y' can wait me out.” Jon murmured. He'd never gotten himself off quite like this before, but it definitely had merit. He really was too wound up, the waiting and her willingness completely ruining his endurance. Jon felt no shame though. He was  perfectly willing to go multiple rounds, if that was what it took for him to satisfy her. He pressed his forehead to the small of her back and came with a soft grunt after a few more tugs on his dick.

Kitten made a whining noise, seemingly in disbelief that he'd come so soon. “J-Jon...?”

“I toldja', y' been fuckin' naughty.” Jon panted, smirking. “Gettin' me hard all the time, rubbin' ya' tits on me like y' trying t' titfuck my whole fuckin' body. Can't tell me at least some of it wasn't intentional, Kitten. Y' must like me all riled up an' achin' t' fuck you.” The blush that spread over her body was answer enough.

“I...I like it when you take charge. I've missed you.” Kitten said quietly, her honesty surprising Jon. “God, Jon, please. Please.” Her fingers slid down her stomach to touch his dick, stroking him gently. He hadn't exactly wilted when he came and she apparently realized that, if her sharp intake of breath was anything to go by.

“Oh that's right, I'm still good t' go.” Mox grinned, softly biting her shoulder blade through the shirt. “I've been fuckin' waitin' for this, Kitten. No one an' done tonight.”

“Yes.” She sounded thrilled and it made Jon laugh.

He spread her legs open even wider, taking a moment to appreciate the effort she'd put in. “I know y' probably ain't too keen on waxin' ever again, so if y' don't mind I'm just...” Jon paused, thrusting his fingers back into her and then mercilessly hooking them over her spot. Kitten's back arched, the woman pressing her cheek to the couch arm while she moaned and writhed underneath him. “Mm, Kitten y' sound a little close t' creamin' all over my hand. Smooth little pussy tryin' so hard t' come on me.”

“Please, Jon, I--” She begged, her voice cracking as she came. “It's been awful, could tell I was making you hard but I couldn't do anything about it, wanted to fuck you so bad but I was too sore.” Kitten admitted jerkily when she could speak again, “wanted you so much, so fucking much, Jon, please.”

Her confession hit him like a sack of bricks. Even though she'd been in pain, she still wanted him. Him! Jon was a little exasperated with how quickly his eyes welled up. How fucking soft could he get, really? But for her...

Shit, for her he'd fucking melt away if she asked for it.

“No more waitin', Kitten.” Jon rasped, blinking the tears back. “No more hidin'. I'll be careful. I promise. Won't hurt you. Good Behavior.�� He felt a shudder roll through her body that had nothing to do with her orgasm. He vaguely recalled coaxing her onto the worn-out mattress he'd had at the CZ warehouse with those same words and a fervent promise of no biting.

Good Behavior, Best Behavior.

It felt like a lifetime ago that he'd been that guy, the one who'd wanted to go dark because it was usually better than being around inside his fucked-up head. A lifetime since she'd been so small and scared, willing to do anything just to feel safe for a little while. She'd hauled him out of his destructive cycle and he'd slowly given her a sense of security.

They'd come so far together.

Jon shook his head and pressed another kiss to her shoulder blade, easing his fingers out of her. “Hey, turn over, okay?” He asked softly. She had a shy expression on her face when she obliged, tugging the shirt down like it would cover her completely. He caught her hands, mouthing soft kisses on her knuckles. “No more hidin' from me, Kitten. My beautiful fuckin' princess.”

“Only if you promise to do the same.” She replied, her voice just as soft. The protest was on the tip of his tongue, he didn't hide--

But he recalled the hellish week he'd spent agonizing over something as pointless as whether she liked his body hair or not, and he finally nodded. A smile lit her face and she slid a finger through the D ring on his collar, pulling him into a kiss that was so tender it hurt. “My strong mutt.” She crooned to him when they finally parted. “I love you so much.”

Shit, he might be totally fucking broken at this point. He quickly ducked his head and began fumbling with his jeans in an effort to keep her from seeing how hard those words still hit him. She cupped his chin though, tipping his face back up so he could meet her eyes. “I'm serious, Jon. I know it's difficult for you. I don't expect one night of me tying you up to be enough to work through a lifetime. But...I'm going to keep saying it until you're okay with it.” She whispered.

He had no idea why she was being so quiet. All it did was add another layer of intimacy to the situation. Jon could handle yelling, frantic movements, demands and orders and hits that landed. When it came to the gentle stuff though, the romantic shit like they had in the movies she liked to watch, he was at a total loss. It always sat heavy in his chest and made his throat tighten, his longing quickly slapped down by the reality of who he was.

“M' sorry Kitten, I don't mean to...I jus'. It's jus' a hard thing for me to handle. M' okay.” Jon mumbled, “Bad at this shit.”

“Do you still want to, or should we stop?” She asked cautiously, searching his face. “I totally understand if you would rather just snuggle.”

Jesus Christ, Kitten, you aren't even fair. Jon shook his head, not trusting his voice as he laid his head on her chest and wrapped his arms around her. He could hear her heart rate pick up while he slowly, slowly slid his cock into her, could hear the moan she tried to bite back. Her hands cradled his head. “Who says I can't do fuckin' both, huh?” Jon challenged shakily, biting down hard on his lower lip when she whimpered. “I'll snuggle the fuck outta' ya', Kitten.”

“Mm, yes-” She sighed, stroking his hair. “God I love you. Love you so much.”

Jon couldn't answer, just gripped her as tightly as he dared. He may like to talk, but his words failed him at times like these. His body would have to do the talking for him. No candles here, no cute lingerie or bouquets of roses (though not for lack of trying on either of their parts). Just all his damn feelings, all his soft fucking bullshit feelings that he couldn't articulate so he had to resort to this, holding her close and easing their bodies together like he was never going to do this again so it had to last.

Maybe she'd get an inkling. Maybe she'd hear the 'I love you so much' that was what he meant when he clumsily said she was beautiful. Maybe she might understand he had never done this with anyone else and it was fucking terrifying and he didn't know what the fuck to do.

“Kitten, I...” Jon's voice petered out and he cursed inwardly. Dammit, fucking dammit. She just started stroking his hair and it made some of the strain leave his body. “Fuck.” He muttered, torn between comfort and being more aroused than before. She was so fucking warm around him, whole body wrapping him in an embrace that he never wanted to leave. “I missed you.” He finally said softly, voice muffled by her shirt. “Fuck, did I miss you.” He sloppily licked and nipped at one of her peaks through the shirt, hoping to distract her from how choked-up he sounded. “N-Not just this, obviously.” He cursed the tremble in his voice. “Everythin', everythin' about you. I'll try not t' hide anymore. Don't want ya' t' feel like I do.”

“God, Jon...” She was being so damn tender with him, like when he came back to her walking fucking wounded and it killed him because it meant she was worried. Her fingers buried in his hair, her hips rising to meet his own so gently, her sweet voice moaning praise as he made love to her. He found himself breathing every word that got tangled up in his stupid mouth, pulling energy from all the times he'd fucked up, broke off, never said what he wanted to. All his stupid machismo was shoved aside, like what had happened the first time he'd met Kitten.

The only thing left was that raw love ache that hurt sometimes, burned a little too bright sometimes and left him feeling defenseless. But Jon would do it for her. He would do anything for her. “Oh God, Kitten, please open your eyes.” He begged, propping himself up over her. “I gotta' tell ya' somethin'.” Please, please, before I lose my nerve.

She half-opened her eyes, her hands moving to cling to his midsection. Her breath was coming in shaky little sobs, wanton noises making their way out as he continued to fuck her slowly. “J-Jon--” She gasped, her nails digging into his skin in that way that let him know she was close.

“God, I love you!” Jon fairly exploded, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I love how y' say my fuckin' name, my real name. I love the way ya' fuckin' curl up around me, the way y' take care of me. I fuckin' love ya' happy fuckin' face an' th' kisses you give me an' the ways y' make me laugh and I hate that I had to fuckin' slog through all my hangups jus' so I can fuckin' finally gush 'bout how fuckin' great you are!” The words poured out of him, hot and messy and maybe a little more than he'd intended to share as he felt her walls tighten around his cock. “Y' my Kitten, you're th' most precious thing I fuckin' have, most importan' thing in the fuckin' world t' me an' I love you so damn much, so fuckin' much--”

She grabbed his collar and jerked him down to her face, kissing him for all he was worth. Jon cupped the back of her neck and refused to let go, the two of them locked in a race for completion while he continued to mumble against her lips, all the soft shit he'd always been too scared to say.

I love the way you make me feel, I love the way you touch me, I'm so sorry for making you wait for this, please forgive me, I love you so much, I'm so sorry he hurt you, thank you for letting me love you, thank you for trusting me...

“I love you too, Jon, I love you so much--” Her reply made his heart swell and he swallowed hard, bumping his forehead into hers and looking down at where their bodies joined.

“Come with me, Kitten. Come with me, please. M' fuckin' beggin', can't last much longer.” He pleaded urgently.

She cried out, the sound sending shivers down his spine that went straight to his dick as she came around him. Jon slowed his pace to a gentle rocking, brushing her hair back from her face while she gasped for breath. “O-Oh, Kitten...” He moaned, his own orgasm rolling over him in an all-encompassing wave that nearly made his arms give out. “Fuckin' Christ, Kitten.”

She quickly struck one-two at his arms, successfully dropping him on top of her with a startled 'oof!'. Kitten didn't seem to mind being almost-crushed though, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight while she ran her hand through his hair and made soft noises of content. Exhaustion dragged at his body like a dead weight, but he couldn't in good conscience just doze off after saying all that stuff to her.

“Are y' alrigh', Kitten?” He asked warily, after she hadn't moved for several minutes. Her breathing had evened out, heartbeat still coming back down. She'd fallen asleep underneath him. Jon barely kept from snorting with laughter. So much for being worried about how she would take him essentially fucking his feelings into her, seemed she was handling things better than he was.

He carefully untangled her arms from around his neck, standing and twisting back and forth to work the kinks out of his spine. His whole body ached but in that warm, pleasant way. Jon looked down at her, thoroughly tousled and sound asleep without a care in the world. “Y' have th' best ideas, Kitten.” He said quietly. “Let's head t' bed.”

Her head lolled against his chest when he picked her up and her fingers sleepily traipsed across the bare skin. “Miss your fuzz.” She mumbled as Jon laid her down on their bed.

Jon hushed her, trying not to laugh while climbing under the covers and tugging her close. “It'll grow back, Kitten.” I hope.

“Mm, good.”

Jon laid there silently for a few minutes as she moved around, finally seeming to get comfortable with her face tucked into his neck. “Damn, but ya' sure do know how t' make a first impression on a guy.” He said softly.

Good Kitten.

Epilogue