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Johnny found himself in awe of you. He has never met anyone who has made him feel so.. good. He’s never met anyone who has made him feel so needy. Every touch of yours lingers on his skin, burning into his memory whenever your fingertips brush against his arm, just to past by him in a tight space. You always capture one hundred percent of his attention whenever you part your lips to talk, and he hopes that his staring at the curve of your lips isn’t too noticeable. Johnny went for a long time with no distractions, with no one to think about late at night, until you came along.
The first time he thought about you in a less than platonic way, he felt dirty—and wrong. He was laying on his bed with his hands covering his face, feeling the heat on his cheeks increase by the second as his mind is running miles per second, pointing out details about you. Your smile, your facial features, your body, everything. But he began to feel worse—and aroused—when he imagined your hand around his throat with your lips to his jaw, sucking a visible and dark hickey into his skin. He got so hard in his boxer briefs that it fucking hurt.
Johnny knows it’s a bad idea, he knows it is, but that exact thought has been coming back to him every time he thinks about you. Your lips on his neck, claiming him in the form of marks and bites. He can’t help but imagine the faint feeling of you sucking on his skin, pulling it between your teeth and sending shivers down his spine. It’s got him dizzy when he thinks about it, and it’s absolutely down right horrendous when he thinks about you muttering possessive phrases in his ear. Johnny wants to be yours, wants you to show him that he’s yours. He later sits there and quietly curses himself out because nothing has ever happened between you two; he’s getting so attached to this.. idea, an idea that’ll never happen because you haven’t even kissed..
So imagine his surprise when you have him against a wall a week later. Your hand is wrapped around the base of his throat with your lips against his jaw. Johnny’s lips are parted and a soft noise leaves him, his heart jumping out of his chest as his own hands immediately grab onto the back your shirt, his arms wrapped around you in an attempt to pull you closer. You drag your tongue against his skin before sucking on the skin right below his jawline—it’s a horrible idea, a way too obvious spot, but it’s clear that Johnny doesn’t care when he lets out a breathy and drawn out, “FuuuuUck—“
His hands grasp at your shirt again, unable to keep still as you chuckle against his neck, slowly trailing to a different spot on his neck while dragging your tongue. You teasingly give the spot a sloppy kiss and slightly suck on the skin before letting go, murmuring, “You want people to see, don’t you? That’s why you aren’t stopping me.” Johnny nearly whines when you don’t follow through with giving him another hickey, barely hearing you. He swallows spit as he processes your words, head fuzzy already and he nods quickly. “Don’care if they see, wan’em to.”
He’s slurring his words as one of his hands moves from the back of your shirt to the back of your head and he doesn’t necessarily push you against his neck, but he doesn’t know where to keep his hands. Johnny can’t help it, either; he never thought this would happen, he never thought you’d give him what he wanted—no, what he needed. The thing is, receiving a hickey or a lovebite isn’t exactly pleasurable. It’s arousing and even a bit painful at times, but Johnny is chasing that pain—he’s chasing the feeling of your lips on his skin everytime.
Johnny’s body melts when you suck his skin between your lips again, the hand around the base of his neck tightening. He subconsciously pushes his hips against yours as he begins to babble from something so simple. “Mh, need this, I need this—need ya t’mark me. Want ta’belong to ya—“
You bite down on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, sinking your teeth into his muscle; not enough to break skin, but enough to hurt and leave a mark, and that’s enough for him. Johnny lets out a moan from the bite, the pain radiating up his neck and down his arm, but it only makes his cock twitch in his pants. He’s probably leaking and staining his boxers again, but he doesn’t mind. Not when you borderline laugh at his reaction. You pull away from his neck to look at him. “You like that? Like when I bite you, Johnny?”
Johnny immediately nods as he makes eye contact with you and boy does he look as wrecked as he feels. His mohawk is out of sorts, his clothing is jostled around and his eyelids are lidded while his cheeks remain flushed. His lips are parted to complete the look, and the just want to swallow him whole like this, especially when he looks at you with such adoration, want, and attraction. Your hands move to under his shirt, slowly trailing up his torso, causing him to press into your touch. “Please..” He sputters, begging—and he’s not even sure what he’s begging for completely.
You tilt your head to the side wordlessly as your hands press into his hips, his waist, right below his pecs, groping him until you hear Johnny whine. “Please, Bonnie.” His voice is more insistent and you have a good guess of what he wants when he tilts his head to the side, baring the side of his neck that doesn’t have any hickeys or bites. “I don’t know what you’re asking for, Johnny.” You murmur. your fingers go to his waist band of his pants and you tease him by pulling his pants down just enough for air to brush against his v-line, causing him to shiver. Johnny pushes his hips against yours again as he looks at you with a increasingly reddening face. “Please bite me, mh? Want everyone to see it, feels good when ya do it..” He’s breathless and grunts out when you grab his hips and hold him against your own hips firmly, and Johnny nearly starts rutting against you—but you quickly dig your fingers into the skin of the top part of his exposed hips.
Light pain pricks at his nerves when you do so, and you speak in a low voice. “Keep your hips still or I won’t bite you ever again.” Johnny’s eyes widen when you say that and he nods quickly, putting all of his brat-ish antics to rest. You hum in approval and you lean near his jaw, tracing your lips against his skin. You whisper, “Good boy. Keep yourself still and I’ll leave marks places that you’ll feel for days, hm? Maybe I’ll make you cum, too.”
Johnny’s eyes roll back in his head for a moment at your near-promise, a soft noise leaving his lips as you suck a hickey into the side of his neck, nodding once again—but to be fair, anything you say is something he would nod about. You could promise him that you’ll give him a treat if he’s good and he’ll sink to his knees in front of you, or you could slap him across the face and Johnny would whine for more.
It’s safe to say that he often asks for you to renew your marks on him, getting addicted to the feeling of your touch.