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zappedbyzabka · 6 months

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In TKK era, after every thing is over does Kreese have a moment of clarity that he fucked up? Does he keep track of Johnny? Or does he assume Johnny is safe in that big house in Encino Hills, not realizing that Sid's will kick him out as soon as he can? Does he panic when he loses track of him? Does Kreese find Johnny ? Does he grab him probably drunk off his head, takeshim back to his apartment to sleep it off? Desperately strategizing for a way forward. It's not the way he'd hoped to get Johnny in his apartment, definitely not the way to get him into his bed. But he sleeps on his couch, or in a chair, ready to get him water, or an aspirin or a snack when Johnny wakes up. He'd thought maybe it'd be nice to make a quiet home one day. A simple home. Johnny's suspicious when he wakes up, hungover and tired, maybe he doesn't have anywhere else to go and Kreese jumps at the chance to offer, seems real genuine, to let Johnny stay. And he does, but he keeps his guard up. But he's lonely and eventually he agrees to go with Kreese to a bar, they have dinner and play pool and it's almost like it didn't happen. Almost like Johnny had expected it to be. Kreese's hand falls on his shoulder, close to his neck though and he flinches and then he waits for Kreese to berate him. And Kreese almost does, old habits are hard to break, but that's his fault. So he doesn't, because that hurts Kreese's heart, drags up all the sour feelings of having pushed it too far. So he tries something instead. Asks after Johnny's love life. Johnny is so relieved not to have to defend himself, that there's no fight over his flinch that he thinks maybe Kreese truly has changed and they talk. He'd had Ali but then hadn't and then...well. Things weren't so great. Kreese gets that, mentions that in the army, in the war, sometimes a bud would help a bud out. It's thrown out like it's nothing in the bar watching a game eating peanuts but Johnny is still stunned. Especially with the nonchalant way Kreese asks if he's ever tried it. If he wants to? And Johnny thinks of the cobras, thinks of Daniel and nods quietly into his beer. When they go home Kreese offers to get him off. Least he can do he says and Johnny believes him, especially when Kreese sucks him off. But once doesn't seem to be enough. He's got more apologizing to do and he asks what else Johnny's tried, not much he realizes, and then Kreese has got him all curled up, almost a stretch he remember from the dojo, legs all spread and his toes almost touching the mattress above his head, but able to watch as Kreese eats him out, until he's practically sobbing. He tries to hide it. No flinching, no crying, all banned in the dojo. But Kreese likes it, likes that Johnny's crying from pleasure from his tongue, opening up for him the way he'd hoped. He decides he'll do that more. Whenever he can. Hell, Johnny can sit on his face whenever he wants, he decides. Maybe he'll buy him cute outfits. But he has to explain something and he pulls his tongue out and looks over and down at Johnny. "Is this the dojo?" "Huh?" "Is this the dojo Johnny?" "No." "The rules in the dojo don't apply at home do they? Not with just us. Let me hear you cry when you come." And he does. And Kreese keeps going. Tongue and mouth and fingers until Johnny looks at him with glassy teary eyes and asks if he's going to put it in. Kreese declines. Even though he's hard as hell and doesn't remember the last time he was so hard. No, not yet. And not the next time. He knows how to play his games. He's got a strategy. He'll wait till Johnny's begging for it and then he'll ensure it's so good, that every night Johnny will ask him for it, and he won't stop until Johnny can't come any more, and maybe past that, until he can't move, and then he'll know, when he gets up and goes about his day, exactly where his golden boy is.

YASSSS anon. im so sorry for the late reply. I am awful😩.

He keeps track of Johnny because he didn’t have much to do without Cobra Kai, he realized. He got thrown into the war with no time for hobbies—no time for much at all. Before that, he was trying to pay the bills, and that's where his days went, but there was Betsy. He was sure he knew what true love was when he met her—innocent and beautiful inside and out.

Then again, he felt that way when he met Terry too. The man who shook in his boots and was thin as a stick. Pissing his pants and sniveling in that cage, making Kreese feel so much pity for him that he got up and put his life on the line for him. He had no mom, and he had no girl to go home to. Nothing.

But he realized nothing didn’t have to be death, but freedom. A strength—absolutely no one and nothing to hold him back. He despised his sergeant, so he killed him, and that felt like breaking a chain.

Cobra Kai became his everything, and he cared for it like it was his baby. He kept it clean and bright, full of life. That’s how he shows his love.

Then there was the boy who had the same name as him—lanky with a rainy-day demeanor and bags under his eyes. Demure and knobby- kneed like a lamb just out of the womb. Kreese felt protective indifference then. Perhaps he’d been a little impatient to make Johnny progress; making him train for hours every day after class was probably too much for a little boy. Kreese was only trying to help him get better—in case someone attacked his mother. In case the stepdad he cried about decided to try more than verbal abuse on him, in case some older kid tried to steal his headphones again, He was trying to raise him, but he was never a father to Johnny. He was so precocious, and his crush on Kreese was terribly apparent; he was sure everyone must have known.

He always cared about Johnny, he refused to let anyone say otherwise. However he could allow, he loved him. Loves him. He wanted to be someone he could rely on and always fancied himself a steady rock; he supposes putting someone in a headlock and not letting go until they’re fighting for their life isn’t the best, maturest way to do that.

He freaked out, he does that. He has flashbacks and nightmares and fits of blind rage.

He couldn’t handle the thought of losing his dojo. Its integrity down the drain. He was seeing red, panicked about Cobra Kai's loss, and wanting his champion all to himself—it made him vicious.

Who the hell was Johnny to be acting merciful to that waste of space runt? Who was he to accept defeat so easily?

He didn’t know how to tame Johnny anymore when he was seventeen, nearly eighteen, and defiant. snapping, “Screw you.” at him with his bruised face flushed in emotion. He had never dared to bite the hand that fed him before then, and it’s engraved in Kreese’s mind. He was perfect.

He always enjoyed it when Johnny fought back to some extent. He loved it when Johnny hurt him too much. Encouraged him to go all out and attack him when sparring—kick and punch him, get his face if he can. (Who cares if any of it is illegal contact?) That was all under order.

Johnny must have forgotten he was still small. Taller than other boys his age but an ant under Kreese’s shoe. He showed him that.

He never contacted Kreese again.

Finding Johnny swaying on his feet outside a bar was a blessing. He looked so vulnerable and sad—so easy to snatch up, he might as well have worn a red hood and been carrying goodies. Anyone could have taken him. Kreese’s mouth watered at just the freckles on Johnny’s shoulders the closer he got—even some spattered on his cheeks, but few. The smell of alcohol was so potent that he could taste it.

Johnny fell into him and allowed himself to be put in Kreese’s car. He slurred something about being sorry to the “taxi driver” because he doesn’t have any more money with real guilt before drifting off, sniffling like a bunny.

Kreese knows himself. He knows men. They take pretty things and violate them. There’s a root of evil there that Johnny never really had. He hurt people, but could never tear away from that desire to be good in the back of his head. He’s soft inside, and Kreese tried to make him callous like himself.

“Ingénue,” Terry muttered, staring at a photo of Johnny a few days before the tournament.

“He kicks high?”

“Yes, real high. He’s a lot like you with that. Used to cry a lot like you did too.”

Terry shrugged dismissively. “When are you going to let me meet him and see how flexible he is myself?”

Never. He never let him.

He’d have had the same vile thoughts Kreese had about the expanse of that sun-kissed skin and long lashes shading big eyes. He’d wonder if those pouty lips were the same color as that surely sweet boycunt in his jeans.

Johnny is a snake as much as he’s the golf club you use to kill one. Every time he walks past Kreese in the apartment and gives him an eyeful of that round ass in his tiny briefs is another swing to the skull. Every time he falls asleep in Kreese’s lap, so warm and clingy. Every day Kreese wakes up to the smell of bacon and eggs and a plate ready for him on the table, and Johnny’s red cheeks with a shy pride in his gaze while Kreese eats every single bite. Even with all Johnny’s defiance, Kreese is metaphorically dead at this point.

When he’s got Johnny laid out like a sacrifice and supper on their shared bed wearing the outfit Kreese bought him, he licks and worships his little hole lazily, like the world could never end. Eats him like the birthday cake he never had growing up. It takes every bit of military discipline in him every day to not bend him over and take him. It’d be easier to give him everything he wants without making either of them admit anything.

But he can make his boy wail and arch his back like a bow with just a single hand.

He never let Johnny touch his dick or see it. He pulled back and waved away those grabby hands from his clothes. Steeled himself whenever he’d get a frown in return. He figured the less he gave him, the more likely Johnny would be to come begging on his hands and knees.

But then he let Kreese cover his mouth with his hand and wrap the other around his throat while Johnny rubbed on whatever part of him he could. That was a big, big step forward. Johnny had said he didn’t want to be afraid of it anymore. He didn’t want it (him) to have that power over him. Demanded that Kreese restrict his breathing, a fire in him Kreese was glad to see. He’d fuck him with the trauma he gave him if he asked.

After the first panic and useless struggle, Johnny started to get off on it, or maybe he already was. He squirmed and got so worked up that he wasn’t able to stop his hips from bucking against air as he was strangled until Kreese practically laid on top of him. Made choked sounds behind his palm and looked up at him, all helpless and needy, ever the depraved little soldier. Johnny had earned the privilege, so Kreese made an exception and let him watch him wring one out the next night. See him naked instead of keeping himself covered up like he had been since he decided to work Johnny up to a breaking point.

And that’s how they end up with Johnny set out on the coffee table, the heels of his feet hooked on the edge, and his puckered pussy on display for inspiration. Kreese’s stolen shirt hanging off his shoulders, and his pink lips parted as if he’s in awe as he watches the up and down of Kreese’s fist on his prick. His own cute cock dripping at the sight, pearly wetness dribbling down flushed flesh.

“Nice to have that pretty thing crying for me. You need something, don't you, dollface?”

Johnny nods quickly.

“Didn’t I teach you to speak up?”

He swallows. “Not to you.”

“No? Bullshit. You’re always running your mouth.”

“So are you, Dickhead.

“Attaboy.” Kreese leans in. “Is there something specific you have in mind? Something you’re dying to have?”

The younger man ducks his head. “Stop messing with me.”

Kreese sighs in exaggerated disappointment and gets on his knees, grabbing the back of Johnny’s to pull him closer to the edge so he can burrow his face between those peachy cheeks. He digs his tongue into that delicious heat and suctions his mouth on it, shaking his head back and forth like a lion with fresh meat.

Stubble scraping Johnny, who tangles his fingers in Kreese’s honeyed curls.

Johnny used to dream about things like this and wake up ashamed and wet all over—images of hairy hands, deep voices, and barrel chests pressed to his. “Just like that—mmm—just like that.”

Kreese stuffs his tongue in as far as it’ll go, curling it and thrusting it in and out, circling the ring occasionally.

He spanks a cheek harshly, then again on the other, smirking at Johnny’s groan and grabbing two handfuls to jiggle, sitting back with a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to the soaked opening. He caresses it with his thumb.

“Yeah? You like that? Want something a little thicker?”

Johnny sniffles, tears welling prettily. “I want you to stop pulling away.”

Kreese ignores that, probing him with his calloused thumb and tugging down on the rim a little. “Did. You. Like. That?”

Johnny’s foot slips off the table, and he grips the edge. “Yes, sir…”

Kreese smiles with warm satisfaction in his chest. “That’s my boy.” He kisses the inside of Johnny’s thigh. “Taste like heaven and look it.” Kiss. “Always make me so fucking hard.” Another kiss. “and I belong in jail for all the vile things I’m gonna do to you.”

For all the things I have already done to you.

He throws Johnny’s calves over his burly shoulders and sticks another rough digit inside that scorching canal, diving back in for more, spreading his fingers to try and sneak his tongue right in the middle.

Johnny keens, arms tired from holding himself up but too desperate to see Kreese’s eyes and figure out what he’s thinking about at the moment.

Johnny always came second. Cobra Kai’s gone. Should he ask, “What do you love most now?”

Hot slickness swirls vigorously between his legs, and everything melts away.

“Kreese,” He whimpers, yanking the older man’s hair, watching his sparse lashes flutter as if he likes the pain.

Kreese falters—wary of pushing too hard and causing Johnny to run off like before. He attempts to move away, but Johnny keeps him there with his heels digging into his back. “Where are you going?” He whines.

Kreese goes still, cock twitching as he continues to massage Johnny with his talented tongue and an aching jaw. Like he’s submitting. Who else can say they’ve had him like this? Subdued happily. Suffocating as he deserves.

Johnny rolls his hips and rides, going until Kreese’s lapping slows and his lungs burn, pushing him to his limit because he can. Like Johnny was always forced to.

He pulls him back to admire his saliva and lube-slick face—giving the impression he really could have been indulging himself in some drenched pussy. It gets Johnny off like nothing else to see him like that. He cups Kreese’s cheek. “John,”

Kreese’s brows furrow as he heaves. Johnny’s never called him that before. He’s only ever caught him tracing the name scribbled on old photos, gazing at them with too much understanding and too much care.

“You’re sweet as pie, cowboy,” he responds simply, and Johnny grins, his angelic face lighting up as he leans down to kiss him tenderly. Too gentle. Kreese prefers the feist, the hurricane of feelings turned physical. Yet he needs to have that mushy side of Johnny, so he’ll learn to be gentler too. More than he has been.

But right now, he needs him kicking and screaming.

Kreese nudges Johnny’s legs off his shoulders and grabs his little waist to heft him up, laughing at his surprised yelp and throwing him on the couch like a ragdoll before getting on top of him.

“Put your ankles together and up.”

Johnny does as he’s told, biting his lip as his ex-mentor then grasps his ankles in one big hand over his own thinner ones and folds him in half, his knees now pressed to his chest and his legs as straight as they’ll go. It hurts a little—a small strain for the proud look on the older man.

Kreese prods Johnny’s rosy hole.

“Gonna play with your sweet little cunt till you squirt all over yourself like a mutt in heat.” He rasps, sinking two fingers into the blond roughly, liking how he squeals.

“Yes!”

Johnny’s almost at his end. Almost ready to give in and beg. He wants to be used by Kreese. Rammed into like a toy. Just the thought of it makes him clench up excitedly.

Kreese buries his fingers to the knuckle and twists his wrist, stroking the spot that makes Johnny shake. “Hah! Oh. Pleasepleaseplease—”

“Nasty little bitch. Look at the mess you’re making.”

Johnny looks down, his ears growing hotter at the sight of pre cum in small droplets on his stomach. “Give me another, c’mon. Stretch me out, I can take more.”

He wants to prove himself. He wraps an arm around the back of his legs to keep himself presented.

“Relax. Let me do what I want to you.” Kreese orders, pressing in a third finger insistently and plunging them in and out with no remorse.

Johnny arches his back and digs his nails into Kreese’s thigh, leaving crescent-shaped marks that will last for days.

“Give it to me, pussycat, come on. Show me how you love it when I play with your hungry cunt. Thank me for it.”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, and he cries out, twitching as he spills on himself with the realization that even his body can’t help but listen to his old sensei. “Thank you!”

Kreese stares down at him appreciatively.

“Good fucking boy.” He praises. The fact that Johnny’s legs are still obediently where they were put not going unnoticed.

He doesn’t stop fingering him. “That all you got?”

Johnny sobs and turns his head to hide.

“What a diva,” He huffs, rutting his cock against Johnny’s plump asscheek. “Be a good girl and open your legs now.”

The blond obeys sluggishly, languid as he clutches his knees and spreads himself wide. “Yes, s-sir…” he hiccups.

Not a single protest.

Kreese searches for that sweet spot again, grinning like a shark when he finds it and starts massaging it relentlessly.

Johnny jerks. “A-ah! Ah!”

“Does it hurt?” He hovers over him, grabbing Johnny’s face and squishing his cheeks together. He whimpers, shaking his head, a small but lovely gold curl moving with it.

Kreese raises his brows, hand sliding down to grip his neck. “No?”

Johnny wheezes and shakes his head again. Gazing up at him with shimmering eyes.

“Then I’ll do it until it does.”

The younger man’s face crumbles, a devastated noise leaving him. “Please, just…just—“

“Just what? Just keep going? Just stop?” Kreese coaxes.

Silence.

He pulls his fingers out to scoop up the milky fluid on Johnny’s belly and taste it, never breaking eye contact. “Don’t be so troublesome, Lawrence.”

“Oh god. Fuck me.” Johnny breathes.

There it is.

“Wasn’t I?” He teases, adoring the flustered expression he gets in return. His boy is absolutely delectable when he’s embarrassed.

“Not…not with your fingers. You know, man.”

“Specify for me, exactly, what you want me to fuck you with, if not my fingers.”

Johnny glowers—but it's weak combined with his overall debauchery. Lashes wet and sticking together, tears streaking his cheeks and a small bit of clear snot leaking from his elegant nose.

He just looks precious. Why did Kreese ever feel the need to hurt him so brutally? What if…he still likes hurting him?

He fondles one of Johnny’s thick thighs, striking one, then caressing the hot skin. “Maybe I’ll make you press these together so I can have some fun. I think all the pancakes have gotten to them, babydoll, and I can’t say I’m upset.”

Johnny's jaw ticks. “No…your dick.”

“Hm? What was that?”

“Your fucking dick! I want you to put it in me, you lousy bastard!”

Kreese almost pats himself on the back. What a victory. What a high. Having this catty thing shouting at him for his dick.

“Or maybe I should stuff that disrespectful mouth since you forgot to ask Daddy nicely.” Johnny looks distinctly interested in that, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “After I plow your pretty little ass into the couch,"

Johnny closes his eyes in relief, going boneless.

Kreese spits into his hand, which was already damp with sweat, and slicks up his dick, lowering his head to spit on Johnny’s open hole and enjoy the way it gets swallowed up.

He slightly dips the tip of his length in, enough to make Johnny shudder and hold his breath. He’s just torturing them both at this point. This has all been a long time coming. Inevitable. “Tell me you want it.”

Johnny peers up at him, dewy and captivating. “I want it. I want you to fuck me, sir.”

“Yeah, you do. I bet you just can’t wait anymore.”

Kreese pins him down by his hips and continues to press in, cramming in half an inch before Johnny tightens up instinctively and winces. He feels like he’ll be split open—and he wants it so badly.

“Easy does it; there you go.” Kreese murmurs like he’s in a trance, easing in the whole inch and another half when the smaller man manages to loosen up.

Johnny’s toes curl. “Kreese!” His heart thumps in his chest like a squirrel’s. “Oh god, are you real? It just keeps going."

“I’m not even halfway in.” Kreese chuckles breathlessly. “Call me my real name again.”

He bends down to nose at Johnny’s neck, inhaling the musk on him and feeling his dick pulse at the scent. He wants to lick him everywhere like a goddamn lollipop. “Fuck,”

“John…” Johnny nuzzles against him, pleasure building the deeper Kreese gets. It’s like he can feel every vein and ridge on that thick cock. He thinks it’s in his guts, he can’t possibly imagine how he lived without this before when it fits so well with everything else inside him. “Break me. Break me with your cock. Do it." He babbles.

“Jesus, doll. You’re gonna take it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna. I’m gonna take it, I’ll be so good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ll feel as good as you taste. Open up for me. Stay open.”

“Yeah, yes. Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir!

Kreese lifts his head, and they catch each other’s lips. He drinks down Johnny’s blubbering until he’s filled him to the brim, hips flush to his ass.

He straightens up slowly and runs his hands down Johnny’s body, pressing a hand to his tummy and wishing he could feel his cock through it. See a clear bump to make him understand just how deep Kreese is. Make him feel owned by the space he’s made for himself in the most private parts of him.

“Tell me how it feels, sugar.” He turns his focus to where they’re connected, slipping out just a bit to see the way Johnny’s delicate pucker spasms like it doesn’t want him to go, and his face flash with hazy panic. “You took all of it. You were born for this. Crafted for my cock, aren’t you, kid?”

Johnny shivers all over. Nothing behind his red-rimmed eyes, like he’s gone to another planet. Dumbed down and high on it. So fucking hot and tight inside.

Kreese slaps him across the cheek, hard enough to sting. Johnny just licks his puffy lips and blinks at him like a happy cat.

“Answer me.”

“I was made for you to fuck me, sir.”

Everything is fuzzy, and that felt good to say. The picture of his mentor’s blissed face above him is unreal. Older or not, his heart would still burn with painful fondness at the sight of him however he changed.

“You’re a little slow there, baby. Just need to get your ass stuffed and you turn into a brainless floozy for me, hm?” He gruffs, pressing his lips to the middle of Johnny’s tits. Flattening his tongue there and slithering it to his nipple, flicking it, then closing his mouth over it to suckle. He leaves no more room for adjustment before he starts slamming into him over and over.

“Uh huh! Oh, my god. Oh fuck. Please!”

He moves his attention to Johnny’s other pec to leave evidence on that one too.

One day he’ll take Johnny to the mountains—after he convinces him to move there. A cottage far away. He can always borrow money from Twig to get one built. Which mountains is the question? He’s sure Johnny would be happy on their very own patio with a view of something wild and alive like him.

Johnny places a hand on Kreese’s chest and buries his fingers in the thick fur there, tugging it painfully in a way that gets Kreese pounding into him violently, like he’s taking his request to break him seriously, biting into the soft part of his breast.

He hisses, gritting his teeth and trying to meet Kreese’s thrusts. Scratching down his chest to make welts, brain floating higher each time the older man hits his prostate. Sick sounds of squelching and the creaking couch—which threatens to skid if Kreese gets any rougher—filling the room.

“Who ruined you? Who’s breaking in this virgin pussy?”

He knows he isn’t exactly a virgin, but isn’t it great to pretend?

No response.

He wraps a hand around Johnny's throat again, and Johnny grasps his thick forearm with both his hands, making no move to stop him. “You need to start answering me, or I’m going to have to discipline you a lot more. Might even pull out and spank you raw." Like he’d ever pull out right now.

“No…please!” Johnny protests, face glowing redder. A pitiful look on it that Kreese will die thinking about. His dick can't get any harder, and he refuses to cum this early.

“Then answer my question: Who popped your cherry?” He Leans his weight into it a little.

“You. Y–fuck—you did.” The blond croaks, feeling ready to burst. A mess of sweat and tears and his own cum.

“I did what?” Kreese squeezes tighter just to be mean, just to watch that pink tongue peek out for a gasp that won't come. Johnny likes it if his swollen prick bobbing adorably is anything to go by.

His lips move but he can’t speak, and he tenses up the longer he’s choked, still doing nothing to stop it even as his vision starts to blur.

Kreese only lets go when Johnny goes cross-eyed and limpish.

Johnny takes in desperate, rattling inhales, still getting fucked into so forcefully that his chest bounces, and he feels like one of those double-D having chicks that complain about back pain.

“You sure you didn’t give that prima a piece of you? Worthless Wimp thought he had a chance; did you give him one? Do some charity?”

He still wants to kill LaRusso. Rip him limb from limb, to be honest. He’s kept up sometimes, wondering if he and Johnny met up at any point during the times he wasn’t keeping track—if Daniel touched what’s his after destroying his life. The thought of Johnny defending him is sickening, but he knows he just might.

“Wha—? N-no.” But he’s thought about it. He wanted it.

“And our silly Cobras? Did you reward them for being such heroes or are they still below me?”

He knows he’s being risky. Johnny was all but a momma duckling to those boys and was sweet on them. It was always more handy than annoying, but he couldn’t help but rile them up. Remind them that he could say whatever, and they couldn't say anything because he’s fucked in the head. He’s sure they got even closer after the incident, and it's hard to believe they never took advantage.

“Do-ah!- don’t talk about them. Don’t talk about them like that. Fuck you.” Johnny fusses, kicking his shoulder. Cloud of lust briefly lifting just to admonish him.

Kreese flips him over before he can say anything else, shoving back inside and getting right back to work.

Johnny pants, shoulders trembling. Tears and spit soaking the armrest. He’s mewling so pathetically that you’d think he was being attacked. Kreese reaches over and jams two fingers past the seam of his lips to pacify him.

“Just lay there and take it, baby. I’m gonna leave you spilling with it. Ha, Maybe I’ll even knock you up if I do it often enough.”

Johnny hums around his mouthful dopily, overstimulation making him feel like he’s buzzing all over.

So much better than a tobacco zing.

Kreese watches a line of drool spill onto the armrest and feels it go down his arm

“Yeah, that’s right, make a mess. Such a sloppy fucking whore for my cock that you drool like a puppy no matter what.”

Johnny’s slutty moans vibrate through his fingers, making all sorts of things go through Kreese’s mind—like what he'd look like gagging on him with his nose smushed against his Kreese's hairy stomach.

He's right there. Right there and ready to jump off the edge, he just needs a little more.

He abandons Johnny’s mouth to hold his clammy nape and rock into him faster. “What are you, Johnny?”

“I’m your boy.” Johnny slurs like he was the night Kreese swept him up and away from the world. like he's drunk and doesn’t know what he’s saying at all but means it.

Your.

“Mine.” Kreese nearly growls, grabbing one of Johnny’s elbows and his jaw, yanking him back against his chest to spear him as deep as possible and get in every drop. Humping into him wildly as he reaches his climax, grunting like an animal.

He saves the happily violated look at Johnny’s face to memory, looking down to see the wet spot Johnny left on the couch as soon as he comes back to his senses.

“Oh. You liked that I came inside you so much that you ruined my couch. What a perfect thing. My little creampuff—“

Johnny breaks away from him with an annoyed sound and falls flat on his belly with his feet up. Kreese just scoots down to rest his cheek on his ass and lap at the bright handprint he left. “I heard laying like that after getting bred is a surefire way to get pregnant.” He mumbles.

Johnny huffs, an image of what his and Kreese’s kids might look like crossing his mind and making him feel such longing that he wants to drown in a pool. He shouldn’t love him, but Johnny would love a stain on the floor for staying.

“You might have to try again just in case it didn’t take.” He purrs, leaning on his forearms and peeking back at Kreese enticingly. Reminding him of his stamina.

Well, if he wants to give Johnny a decorated left hand, then he’ll have to keep up.

He pushes the flannel up and mouths the dip of Johnny’s back, crawling up to mount him again.

And again.

#kreerence #nsft #tw age gap #tw feminization #tw spit #I just adore that Martin called Billy a cowboy #Brief daddy kink #Kreese is into it and Johnny just assumed he was being weird #Liked it too tbh #john kreese #He loves it

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