Fic: Make Good On All The Nasty Tricks You Pull (Cash/Johnson)
Title: Make Good On All The Nasty Tricks You Pull
Pairing: Cash/Johnson
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real, didn’t happen.
Summary: Inspired by this video. Cash is annoying Johnson, and gets shut up in the best possible way.
A/N For dreamofthem. Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend. All mistakes are mine.
Cash knows he's pissing Johnson off. He can always tell. It's not that there's any telltale sign, as such, other than the fact that Cash is in the same room, and Johnson is breathing. That's pretty much all it takes for him to annoy Johnson these days. He likes to think that, once upon a time, Johnson didn't turn those dark eyes and dry tone on him, didn't threaten him with the promise of pain, but he suspects he's kidding himself.
So, it doesn't take much for Cash to piss Johnson off, but there are certain things he does that infuriate Johnson even more than usual, things that Marshall refers to as 'being Cash-like'. Which is something Cash specialises in, so he tries to be as Cash-like as possible whenever he's around Johnson. There's something about watching Johnson grit his teeth and roll his eyes, watching his knuckles go white as they tighten on his drumsticks or soda can or cell phone, watching his ears turn red with annoyance, that Cash likes. Alex finds this amusing, although he won't tell Cash why, and Cash is pretty sure Alex is just jealous.
Ian's the only other person who annoys Johnson in a noticeable way, and Cash doesn't quite understand the surge of 'NO' that rushes through him whenever he sees Ian pressing Johnson’s buttons, getting the sort of reaction Cash tries so hard to get, even when it leaves him with a dead arm and a bruise that won't start to fade for a week. Generally Cash solves this problem by jumping in (and sometimes on) which always infuriates Johnson and allows him to steal the rage directed at Ian for himself.
The whole cup thing seems to be really pissing Johnson off. Cash isn't sure why- it's not as ridiculous or annoying or idiotic as half of the things he does, but he can sense Johnson buzzing with annoyance, can see it in the tension of his arm and shoulder as he points at Cash threateningly with his drumsticks. So, naturally, he keeps going on about it, on and on and on until even Marshall, who's in a strangely good mood for some reason, tells him to sit down and shut the fuck up.
Cash, of course, doesn't listen, and is still prattling about it, brandishing the cup as he follows the others out towards the van that they won't let him paint to look like that stealthy black one the Trio had in that episode of Buffy, with the death star on one side.
"We'll catch up," Johnson says suddenly, and grabs Cash by the hand, almost crushing his precious prototype, and drags him around the corner. Cash just has enough time to make an 'erk' sort of sound and see Alex and Ian roll their eyes at each other, before he's manhandled down the hallway and into a storage cupboard.
"Good idea," Cash says, looking around. "Always good to check for more cups, because I'll need-"
"Oh my god, shut the fucking fuck up about your stupid fucking cup!" Johnson explodes, and Cash blinks at him, trying not to let his glee show on his face. He loves it when the vein on Johnson’s temple throbs in time with Cash’s own pulse, speeding up the angrier Johnson gets. "I swear to god, Cash, you're on my last nerve today and if you don't stop being the biggest tool in the known universe I'm gonna-"
Cash smiles, can’t help it, feeling it spread across his face, seeing Johnson's eyes narrow as they watch his lips stretch wider and wider, can practically see the steam coming out of his ears like a Looney Tunes cartoon.
"Gonna what?" Cash asks, even though it's the last thing he should be saying, even though any sensible person would keep their mouth shut. But Cash is well established as not being a sensible person, so he says it and waits. And then,
"Oof," he says, as Johnson grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him back, hard, against the door, jarring Cash's elbow as he does and making him wince.
"Hey!" he says, as Johnson kicks at his shin and forces his knee between Cash's, forcing his legs apart.
"What are you-" he says, as Johnson growls "Shut the fuck up," and leans in and kisses him.
Cash has kissed less people than he tells the guys (although more than they probably think he's kissed) and he's never kissed Johnson before. It's a little bit terrifying, the way Johnson seems to be eating his mouth and biting his lips and molesting his tongue in a thoroughly indecent way while keeping Cash's arms pinned at his sides so he can't move, can't touch, can't do anything but vaguely attempt to kiss Johnson back.
Johnson grinds his hips forward suddenly, and what little air that’s left in Cash's lungs rushes out of him as he moans. The friction’s not right, not quite in the right place to do anything for him, but the idea of it is enough for him to tear his mouth away from Johnson's long enough to bite at his chin, his jaw, his ear, and say,
"You know, if you get down and blow me, I can use my special cup and enjoy a refreshing beverage while you get me off."
It's precisely the wrong thing to say, which is why Cash says it, and Johnson steps back, face red, hands clenched.
"Fuck your fucking cup," he says, and snatches it from Cash's fingers, crumpling it in his fist, tendons in his neck bulging out as he makes a grr face to rival the Hulk’s, and then drops it on the ground, grinding it beneath his foot like a discarded cigarette butt.
Cash pouts. "That was my prototype. I might not remember how to make it again. It was a very complicated process, you know, and you've probably just cost me a million bucks-"
"Argh!" Johnson explodes, and kisses him again. "What will it take to shut you up?"
Cash smirks, cocks an eyebrow and looks pointedly down between their bodies.
Johnson gets an evil look on his face. "Good point," he says, and puts his hands on Cash's shoulders, pressing down unto Cash gives in, lets his legs buckle, until he's kneeling on the ground, looking at Johnson's crotch.
Cash has seen Johnson naked before, because they're that sort of band where they live on top of each other, and also Cash doesn't understand personal boundaries so he's prone to bursting in on people in the shower or taking a piss or getting off, getting an eyeful, and disappearing off again. So he's seen Johnson's dick before, but never up this close, never from this angle, and he's certainly never had Johnson's hand on his chin, opening his mouth as the other feeds the head of his dick between Cash's lips.
"If you try and take," Johnson says, voice gritty and a little breathless, "a bite out of anything besides your stupid fucking cups, you'll live to regret it, okay?"
Cash just nods and lets Johnson's dick slide over his tongue.
Cash has sucked more dick than he tells the others, (certainly less than they all probably think) but it's not like he has much of a chance to show off his technique right now anyway. Johnson's hands are in his hair, moving his head, pushing him back until his head hits the wood of the door as Johnson fucks his mouth.
Cash's head is tipped back too far. That's something he hates, which was the whole point of the cup in the first place, but he's not about to complain. Not like he can, anyways, when he's being effectively gagged by Johnson's dick thrusting in and out of his mouth, holding his tongue down.
Cash coughs and swallows when Johnson comes, mainly because he doesn't have much choice, but also because it'd be kind of gross to spit it out. And also, Johnson might not let him do it again if he hacked it back up over his sneakers.
"In conclusion," Johnson says, zipping himself up and opening the door Cash is still resting against, not waiting for Cash to finish jacking himself off frantically, hand thrust into his jeans without even bothering to undo them, "shut the fuck up more."
Cash comes at the sound of Johnson's growl, then wipes his hand clean on his boxers, scrambling to his feet and hurrying after him.
The van's loaded and surprisingly still in the parking lot, probably only because it's Johnson's turn to drive.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Ian asks, and Cash slides into the passenger seat, turning the rear view mirror to look at himself, scowling as Johnson slaps his arm hard and turns it back. It was only a quick glimpse but Cash could see how bruised and puffy his lips looked, like he'd taken a fist to the face.
"I kicked his ass," Johnson announces, and the others barely look up from whatever it is they're doing in the back, although he's pretty sure he hears Alex try to stifle a giggle.
"Licked my ass," Cash mutters under his breath, and Johnson raises a warning eyebrow in his direction, which Cash instantly sees as challenge. He wonders how annoying he'd have to be to get Johnson to lick his ass, and sets about attempting it immediately. It's a long drive home, and he's got a few ideas on how to drive Johnson up the wall along the way.
Pairing: Cash/Johnson
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not real, didn’t happen.
Summary: Inspired by this video. Cash is annoying Johnson, and gets shut up in the best possible way.
A/N For dreamofthem. Wonderfully betaed by mintyfiend. All mistakes are mine.
Cash knows he's pissing Johnson off. He can always tell. It's not that there's any telltale sign, as such, other than the fact that Cash is in the same room, and Johnson is breathing. That's pretty much all it takes for him to annoy Johnson these days. He likes to think that, once upon a time, Johnson didn't turn those dark eyes and dry tone on him, didn't threaten him with the promise of pain, but he suspects he's kidding himself.
So, it doesn't take much for Cash to piss Johnson off, but there are certain things he does that infuriate Johnson even more than usual, things that Marshall refers to as 'being Cash-like'. Which is something Cash specialises in, so he tries to be as Cash-like as possible whenever he's around Johnson. There's something about watching Johnson grit his teeth and roll his eyes, watching his knuckles go white as they tighten on his drumsticks or soda can or cell phone, watching his ears turn red with annoyance, that Cash likes. Alex finds this amusing, although he won't tell Cash why, and Cash is pretty sure Alex is just jealous.
Ian's the only other person who annoys Johnson in a noticeable way, and Cash doesn't quite understand the surge of 'NO' that rushes through him whenever he sees Ian pressing Johnson’s buttons, getting the sort of reaction Cash tries so hard to get, even when it leaves him with a dead arm and a bruise that won't start to fade for a week. Generally Cash solves this problem by jumping in (and sometimes on) which always infuriates Johnson and allows him to steal the rage directed at Ian for himself.
The whole cup thing seems to be really pissing Johnson off. Cash isn't sure why- it's not as ridiculous or annoying or idiotic as half of the things he does, but he can sense Johnson buzzing with annoyance, can see it in the tension of his arm and shoulder as he points at Cash threateningly with his drumsticks. So, naturally, he keeps going on about it, on and on and on until even Marshall, who's in a strangely good mood for some reason, tells him to sit down and shut the fuck up.
Cash, of course, doesn't listen, and is still prattling about it, brandishing the cup as he follows the others out towards the van that they won't let him paint to look like that stealthy black one the Trio had in that episode of Buffy, with the death star on one side.
"We'll catch up," Johnson says suddenly, and grabs Cash by the hand, almost crushing his precious prototype, and drags him around the corner. Cash just has enough time to make an 'erk' sort of sound and see Alex and Ian roll their eyes at each other, before he's manhandled down the hallway and into a storage cupboard.
"Good idea," Cash says, looking around. "Always good to check for more cups, because I'll need-"
"Oh my god, shut the fucking fuck up about your stupid fucking cup!" Johnson explodes, and Cash blinks at him, trying not to let his glee show on his face. He loves it when the vein on Johnson’s temple throbs in time with Cash’s own pulse, speeding up the angrier Johnson gets. "I swear to god, Cash, you're on my last nerve today and if you don't stop being the biggest tool in the known universe I'm gonna-"
Cash smiles, can’t help it, feeling it spread across his face, seeing Johnson's eyes narrow as they watch his lips stretch wider and wider, can practically see the steam coming out of his ears like a Looney Tunes cartoon.
"Gonna what?" Cash asks, even though it's the last thing he should be saying, even though any sensible person would keep their mouth shut. But Cash is well established as not being a sensible person, so he says it and waits. And then,
"Oof," he says, as Johnson grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him back, hard, against the door, jarring Cash's elbow as he does and making him wince.
"Hey!" he says, as Johnson kicks at his shin and forces his knee between Cash's, forcing his legs apart.
"What are you-" he says, as Johnson growls "Shut the fuck up," and leans in and kisses him.
Cash has kissed less people than he tells the guys (although more than they probably think he's kissed) and he's never kissed Johnson before. It's a little bit terrifying, the way Johnson seems to be eating his mouth and biting his lips and molesting his tongue in a thoroughly indecent way while keeping Cash's arms pinned at his sides so he can't move, can't touch, can't do anything but vaguely attempt to kiss Johnson back.
Johnson grinds his hips forward suddenly, and what little air that’s left in Cash's lungs rushes out of him as he moans. The friction’s not right, not quite in the right place to do anything for him, but the idea of it is enough for him to tear his mouth away from Johnson's long enough to bite at his chin, his jaw, his ear, and say,
"You know, if you get down and blow me, I can use my special cup and enjoy a refreshing beverage while you get me off."
It's precisely the wrong thing to say, which is why Cash says it, and Johnson steps back, face red, hands clenched.
"Fuck your fucking cup," he says, and snatches it from Cash's fingers, crumpling it in his fist, tendons in his neck bulging out as he makes a grr face to rival the Hulk’s, and then drops it on the ground, grinding it beneath his foot like a discarded cigarette butt.
Cash pouts. "That was my prototype. I might not remember how to make it again. It was a very complicated process, you know, and you've probably just cost me a million bucks-"
"Argh!" Johnson explodes, and kisses him again. "What will it take to shut you up?"
Cash smirks, cocks an eyebrow and looks pointedly down between their bodies.
Johnson gets an evil look on his face. "Good point," he says, and puts his hands on Cash's shoulders, pressing down unto Cash gives in, lets his legs buckle, until he's kneeling on the ground, looking at Johnson's crotch.
Cash has seen Johnson naked before, because they're that sort of band where they live on top of each other, and also Cash doesn't understand personal boundaries so he's prone to bursting in on people in the shower or taking a piss or getting off, getting an eyeful, and disappearing off again. So he's seen Johnson's dick before, but never up this close, never from this angle, and he's certainly never had Johnson's hand on his chin, opening his mouth as the other feeds the head of his dick between Cash's lips.
"If you try and take," Johnson says, voice gritty and a little breathless, "a bite out of anything besides your stupid fucking cups, you'll live to regret it, okay?"
Cash just nods and lets Johnson's dick slide over his tongue.
Cash has sucked more dick than he tells the others, (certainly less than they all probably think) but it's not like he has much of a chance to show off his technique right now anyway. Johnson's hands are in his hair, moving his head, pushing him back until his head hits the wood of the door as Johnson fucks his mouth.
Cash's head is tipped back too far. That's something he hates, which was the whole point of the cup in the first place, but he's not about to complain. Not like he can, anyways, when he's being effectively gagged by Johnson's dick thrusting in and out of his mouth, holding his tongue down.
Cash coughs and swallows when Johnson comes, mainly because he doesn't have much choice, but also because it'd be kind of gross to spit it out. And also, Johnson might not let him do it again if he hacked it back up over his sneakers.
"In conclusion," Johnson says, zipping himself up and opening the door Cash is still resting against, not waiting for Cash to finish jacking himself off frantically, hand thrust into his jeans without even bothering to undo them, "shut the fuck up more."
Cash comes at the sound of Johnson's growl, then wipes his hand clean on his boxers, scrambling to his feet and hurrying after him.
The van's loaded and surprisingly still in the parking lot, probably only because it's Johnson's turn to drive.
"What the fuck happened to you?" Ian asks, and Cash slides into the passenger seat, turning the rear view mirror to look at himself, scowling as Johnson slaps his arm hard and turns it back. It was only a quick glimpse but Cash could see how bruised and puffy his lips looked, like he'd taken a fist to the face.
"I kicked his ass," Johnson announces, and the others barely look up from whatever it is they're doing in the back, although he's pretty sure he hears Alex try to stifle a giggle.
"Licked my ass," Cash mutters under his breath, and Johnson raises a warning eyebrow in his direction, which Cash instantly sees as challenge. He wonders how annoying he'd have to be to get Johnson to lick his ass, and sets about attempting it immediately. It's a long drive home, and he's got a few ideas on how to drive Johnson up the wall along the way.