Work Text:
It starts with the patch.
Bright yellow, thick black font in all capitals; obvious and deliberately hard to miss.
“CAUTION: WILL BITE”
Johnny stitches it onto a mesh top; he wants to see it contrasting against Ghost's pale skin, wants it to stand out. Wants to see it as the warning it is when he orders Simon to fuck him hard and fast and ruin him while wearing it.
He preps just enough for Simon to fuck his cock into him, not allowing him any time to adjust or to breathe; both of them panting messes from the punishing pace.
"Harder, pup; I'd swear you've never fucked before," Johnny hisses. "Was breaking you in a waste of time?"
Simon lets out a low growl, hands hooking behind Johnny's knees and pushes them into a deeper bend; almost braced either side of his head.
His bared teeth are stained red from the savage bites taken out of Johnny's chest; bloody smears dripping across his skin and mixing with his sweat and tears. He doesn't let up, thrusts never faltering despite the burn in his thighs. Following his orders like a good pup.
The collar is next.
The nights the "Service Animal" collar comes out, Simon's stomach drops as much as his cock throbs.
He almost tells it not to bother; these nights aren't about him. He's just a service dog, there to serve his Johnny and make him cum and cum and cum until his cock is soft and dripping.
Johnny doesn't want his pup to cum until he's cumming dry and no matter how much Simon whines and begs, how he fucks him deeper and harder and better so he might be allowed ("Just once, I'll still fuck you, I swear I'll keep going, Johnny- Sir- please-"), he won't give in.
"Droolin' on me like a mutt 'n y'think this is enough to earn yer treat?" he scoffs breathlessly.
No, no it isn't. Not if Johnny can still talk.
He tilts his head down and spits over Johnny's cock, half-hard and already covered in cum and drool. He can't get up to full mast anymore but he's not soft yet either; precum still spilling from his tip as Simon curls his hand around it, fucking the foreskin over the slick head.
"Hah, 'at's better, pup; 'at's fuckin' better," Johnny half-growls his approval, yanking his collar and Simon shivers.
He swallows a whimper as Johnny's hole spasms around him, cock weakly dribbling another load over his fingers. His balls ache, full to bursting and throbbing as they slap against Johnny's ass but he's a good boy, good boy, good boy, good boy-
The vest is the one Simon truly doesn't expect.
He doesn't even know what it is when he first sees it. All he knows is everything that could go wrong, has; hours wasted and work rendered useless, rookies who don't know their ass from the barrel of their gun, he's wound so tight it's leached into his body until everything just hurts.
When Johnny asks him to come to his room (always asking, he always asks before he gives his orders), he almost says no.
He wants to, wants to be good for him so bad he aches with it, but he's given and given all day until he’s been picked clean and he's not sure he has anything left. But Johnny just runs his thumb over the hollow of his throat and asks if he trusts him.
Simon's never been asked an easier question in his life.
Johnny strips him slowly, reverently; kisses each newly revealed patch of skin, massages the tightness out of his muscles until he's a trembling, loose-limbed puddle in his bed. Then he gets up and opens the bottom drawer of his cabinet and that doubt is back, thick on Simon's tongue. He can barely move; he can't give Johnny what he needs, can’t follow his orders, he's a bad do-
"I’ve got something new for us, love," Johnny croons and pulls out a mass of black straps. He brings it back to the bed and lays in Simon's lap, dancing his fingers over his cheekbone and the dark bruises beneath his eye. "Think you can sit up for me, pup?"
It takes more effort than he'd ever admit to work himself up, almost tipping over into Johnny's chest. He just lets out a soft chuckle as he props him back up, cupping his chin to hold up his head and tugs his hand over; silently encouraging him to explore the vest.
Simon turns it over, checking the wide, soft straps and something inside him settles when he sees the "Nervous" patch sewn onto the body of it.
Johnny gives him a questioning look and he nods, letting him fit the thunder vest over his chest. It hugs him tight, snug where his plate armour weighs him down, staining deep set bruises into his bones. The compression is uniform and comforting and Simon already feels himself floating; like the straps are holding him together so he doesn't have to.
Johnny eases him back down and Simon's mind slows as he works him open; first with his tongue, soft wet laps at his hole until he can work a finger in, only adding another when he can no longer feel the stretch.
"That's it, there's my good boy," Johnny coos as he finally feeds him his cock, filling him out and making him so hot. Each deep, slow thrust empties him out little by little until Simon's nothing but whines and broken whimpers. "Letting me do this, letting me help you; such a good pup."
"G-good?" Simon slurs and he leans in close, kissing his slack mouth; peppering more over his face.
"So good, Simon," he promises with each kiss. "The best; my good, perfect boy.”
And how could Simon ever have doubted him? Ever think Johnny didn't know exactly what he needs when he's always known him better than he knows himself?
He pushes his weak arms to wrap around his shoulders, clinging to him as his cock grinds deep inside him and he doesn't know when he starts crying but Johnny kisses them away too as he slowly dismantles him.
The next morning, Simon doesn't remember cumming; doesn't remember his hiccuping cries or how Johnny soothed them away and wrapped a gentle hand around his cock. He doesn't remember his wail as he came all over himself or the warm cloth gliding his skin as Johnny cleaned him up.
He doesn't need to. Those memories are for Johnny to guard close to his heart, just as precious as the man himself.
Simon is his; his guard dog, his pup, his good boy and he'll always look after him the way he deserves.