send.

game over

     The familiar sound of electronic music and buzzing game machines greets you as you push through the doors, Jonathan at your side. The man behind the counter is occupied with something on his phone, so you guide your guest along to the change machine. After a bit of digging for stray bills and scraping for quarters (aided by a kind stranger who left a few atop the machine), the two of you wind up with a hefty load of tokens, which you promptly dump into the pocket of Jon's jacket. Satisfied, you turn to him expectantly, determined to lift the mood again after the day's previous antics.
     "What're you feeling?" You ignore the waggle of his brows and continue on unphased, if a little red-faced. "Pac Man, Donkey Kong - I'm pretty sure there's DDR in the corner."
     Jon scans the room curiously before his eyes widen, something childish and gleeful lighting up on his face. "I see it. The superior. Let's go." He tugs you along behind himself with newfound resolve, and you can only laugh and let yourself be towed to a neglected machine next to an air hockey table: Galaga.
     "The space game. Nice."
     "Don't pretend you didn't love this shit," he scoffs, pulling out a token and diving into the game. You shrug as the space is filled with the sound of tiny spaceships exploding and electronic bullets whistling across the screen.
     "Never played this one, actually," you chirp, raising yourself onto the edge of the table and swinging your legs absently. Jon gives you a look of disbelief and horror, his hand still moving expertly over the joystick.
     "You're kidding me."
     "Nope."
     "That is a real and actual sin. Oh my god. As soon as I die, you're up."
     This, however, proves to take a rather long time, since it seems Jon is actually somewhat of an expert with this game. You get so bored that you wind up waiting at the side of the machine, leaning against it to peer over at the display without getting in his way. When he finally explodes for the last time, swearing under his breath, he seems to remember that you're present. He looks bashful as he steps back to motion you into place, raising a brow.
     "Your turn. Prepare yourself for an epic journey."
     You roll your eyes and step into the place where he previously stood, your hands falling into place atop the controls. Jon drops the token into the slot and you begin your pitiful attempt. Unsurprisingly, you die much earlier than he had, sticking out your lower lip with a sigh. You begin to turn away before you hear a soft "here, let me show you", and then Jon is pressed against your back.
     His fingers slide another coin into the slot before settling over your own, guiding your hands through the proper procedures to reach victory. You're pretty sure you're supposed to be learning something from this, but all you're learning so far is that this is a very lovely position to be in. Jon smells like pancakes and cinnamon and he's warm against you and your focus starts to drift as you lean back against him. Your eyes wander from the screen as you tilt your head back, gazing at his head above you, and you stretch onto your toes to press your lips to the bottom of his chin. He grumbles softly.
     "I figured you'd wanna play the game."
     "This is good, too," you murmur, letting your lips brush across his jaw before turning away from the game completely. Your arms link around his neck as your lips ghost over the column of his neck, and though his hands are still on the controls, you know you've stolen his attention by the sound of another failure from the machine behind you. A soft smirk tugs at your lips as you let your teeth graze his skin. He shudders under your touch.
     "Wasting a token," he mumbles, though one of his hands leaves the controls to rest on the small of your back, pressing you against his chest. You let out a soft coo of mock disappointment before laughing softly, your breath dancing over his skin, teasingly gentle.
     With a final shiver, his resistance falls, and Jon's arms wrap firmly around you. He tugs you against himself as he lowers his head, catching your lips. You make a sound against his mouth when he backs you up against the machine, your fingers curling tightly in his shirt. Cautiously, you open one eye and lean back a bit, trying to get a peek of what the man behind the counter is doing, but he seems to have disappeared entirely. Good.
     You don't have time for any more worrying, anyway, because Jon lets out a small growl and pulls your chin back towards himself, snagging your lower lip between his teeth. The action earns a gasp on your part, making him chuckle under his breath before he's kissing you again, hard and deep. He tastes like syrup and warmth and you're dizzy as you crush your lips against his.
     You have to admit that you're caught entirely off guard when Jon shifts and his leg winds up in between your own. His body is completely pressed against yours, and the new angle sends electricity throughout every inch of your body. Every movement, every shift, every attempt to pull him closer to yourself, results in you practically grinding against his thigh, and it's not long before a breathy whine has worked its way up your throat. It's tumbling out of your lips before you can choke it down and the soft sound you receive from Jon tells you just how much he likes hearing you. Probably not a good thing right now. After all, who knows when that guy could come back? What if he's watching the security cameras? What if someone walks in? They could-
     Your thoughts all die at once as his lips leave yours to attack your neck, trailing messy kisses down your jugular. Your head lolls to the side with a wavering sigh, fingers twitching against his shoulders. The rolling of your hips is practically subconscious when he curls his fingers into them, slipping up under the hem of your shirt to press into your skin and oh god the callouses and rough spots only make your chills even more intense. You bite roughly at your lip as he nips beneath your jaw, but you feel a hand on your cheek and hear him softly clicking his tongue. His mouth brushes beneath your ear, letting out a breathy command that makes you tremble.
     "Let me hear you."
     The request alone is enough to draw another quiet, strangled sound out of you, and it's not helped by the hands travelling steadily up your sides. Without the fabric of your shirt to separate his touch from your skin, you're practically writhing beneath his fingers, and you know he's absolutely loving it. Every wiggle sends you grinding against his thigh once more, and it feels like no time at all before you're sweating and whimpering, lips swollen from the attention, neck spattered with rapidly darkening spots. Your voice is weak and shaky, just like your legs beneath you, but you do your best to speak up anyway, panting heavily between words.
     "J-Jonathan... please..."
     He sounds interested as he nibbles at your earlobe, letting his hips press into your own, finally giving you some sort of fair friction by rolling them against you.
     "Please what?" You're not sure what you want, honestly; this is feeling pretty fantastic, but you feel like there's something you need, something this isn't giving you. You muffle another whine, Jon's responding low growl making you rock your hips needily against him.
     "I don't... I-I don't know, I just-"
     Your words are cut off as the bell above the main doors jingles, signaling that someone else is entering the arcade. You press your hand over your mouth to muffle your squeak, Jonathan quickly lifting his face from your neck and taking a step away from you. Despite the obvious danger, you almost whine at the loss of contact, your body aching for relief. You try to look through the randomly-spaced machines to get a look at whoever's just interrupted one of the most intense experiences of your life and find a middle-aged man with two kids in tow. His eyes scan the arcade, eventually meeting yours, and you find yourself embarassed as you remember your flushed face, swollen lips, wild hair, and likely very obvious collection of marks along your neck. You offer a shaky smile and turn your head away, looking up to Jon with a wave of panic.
You see the conflict on his features as he looks at you, then towards the corner of the arcade. Following his gaze, you spot a sign that says "Restroom", immediately understanding the option he's considering. He doesn't look too sure, though, gnawing at his lower lip. You, however, are unsatisfied, strung out, still trying to catch your breath and aching for some kind of release. Despite the many horrible possibilities to doing something so risky, you reach out and curl your fingers in the sleeve of his jacket. His attention turns to you and you let your eyes lock with his for a moment before speaking, a small, breathy noise, more desperate than you've ever heard yourself sound, your eyelids fluttering and fingers shaking just slightly against his wrist.
"Please."
That seems to solve Jon's conflict instantaneously, his hand closing around yours and towing you towards the back of the arcade. You keep your head down as you pass the family, knowing the father probably has a pretty good idea of what's going on. You just hope they stay the hell out of the bathroom.
You take a small breath as Jon holds the door open for you, stepping through and giving him a brief glance. You barely have time to open your mouth, though, because the second the door swings shut, you are immediately pushed up against it. A pair of frantic, determined lips are working over your own as hips rock roughly against yours, keeping you pressed in place. All you can do is moan into his mouth as Jon holds your sides, fingers splayed out over your sides, adding to the flood of electricity rushing through your veins.
The music is muted here, and the acoustics make your own desperate, wavering moans echo back into your ears. Every gasping breath ricochets back at you, every growl and grunt from your counterpart filling your ears three times over, and the feeling of doing something so insane in such obvious circumstances is driving you absolutely wild.
As his lips leave yours to place a trail of rough bites along the column of your through, your fingers tighten against his forearms, head lolling back. Your words are not your own anymore, beyond your conscious control, flying out of your lips without thought as your body screams for more, more, more attention.
"Please, god, j-just- ah, just, just touch me, please, Jon, I-I'm-" Your voice is choked off as you feel a rough hand over the front of your jeans. You see stars and your head falls back against the door with a thud, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves. Your hips rut uselessly against his hand, the low chuckle blowing over your ear not helping. His palm is pressed in place, but his thumb creeps up, brushing over the skin of your stomach, tracing over your waistband, pushing just underneath and resting there, warm and rough and so teasingly close to where you need it to be. You're practically drooling as you writhe under his hands, babbling about where exactly he needs to move his hand to, until finally, thankfully, he lets his hand slip beneath your waistband.
The feeling of skin on skin tugs a shameless moan out of your mouth, and your arms wrap around him as you squeeze your hands into fists against his back. It's a blur of sensations, rough and needy and quick, and then you're squirming against the door, finally relieved of the ache in your gut, held in place by Jon's steady grip as he presses his face against your shoulder. When you're finally still, the only sound is the distant electronic music and both of your heavy breathing. Your body is trembling and achy, and you find yourself rapidly slumping as your legs give way to the pull of gravity. Thankfully, Jon catches you and pulls you against his chest before you can topple, running a gentle hand through your hair and pressing his lips into it. He's warm and loving and safe and you can't help but press your face into his shirt, shutting your eyes and letting him hold you up.
"You're so good," he murmurs into your hair. "So good. You looked so good, too. Jeez, Sock..." He sounds surprised as he thinks back on the sudden shift of events, and you have to admit that you're rather surprised yourself. You would think more deeply about that if you weren't suddenly struck with a creeping sensation up the back of your neck, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling very gross inside your jeans. You indicate this to Jonathan with a quiet, displeased murmur, unintelligible but likely to make some sense to him as you shift a bit from side to side. Sure enough, he pulls back to look down at you, still holding your shoulders, and then it clicks.
"Yeah, you... probably need another shower. Can you make it to the door? I can carry you the rest of the way home once we're outside, it's just that those people-"
"I'm okay," you reassure him, offering a wavering smile with your semi-numb lips. He looks hesitant to believe you, but he lets you walk yourself to the door, keeping an arm around your waist for safety. You feel the eyes of the man with the children boring into you as you leave.
Once outside, you convince him to let you walk the rest of the way. However, after a block or so, you start to feel extremely wary. That's how you end up bridal-style in his arms for the second time that day. You silence all of his worries about being too rough - "Are you sure you're okay? What about your hips? I didn't mean to grab you so hard.... Do you think they're bruised?" - or being discovered - "What is your mom gonna say about the marks on your neck? Fuck, that was such a dumb idea. I'm sorry. Are you gonna be able to hide them?" - and just let yourself rest against him, face buried in the crook of his neck.
The walk home is short, and you're relieved to find both cars gone from the driveway when you approach. It makes it easier for you to guide Jonathan down the hall to the towel closet, then into the bathroom. You shut the door for good measure, and then you're sure that you're safe from intrusion. You don't protest as he helps you peel off your shirt, but you insist on him turning around again for the lower half.
"Really? Even after-"
"Yes," you say, glancing back to make sure he's following instructions. Sure enough, despite his complaints, he loyally faces the designated corner.
The warm water relaxes your muscles, and afterwards, you're feeling clean and much more steady on your feet. You still let Jon hold your waist as the two of you make a beeline for your room, and he waits on the bed with an arm over his eyes as you find a comfortable pair of boxers, some sweats, and a t-shirt. It's still relatively early in the day - 3:26, your phone tells you - but you're okay with lazing around for now. You spend a bit longer than you should oogling your newly-earned marks in the mirror, tracing your fingers gently over your neck and wincing a bit. Definitely still sore. You're a little surprised by how much you like seeing something left behind by Jonathan on your own skin.
When you climb carefully into the bed, he's eager to take you into his arms, curling you against himself and running his hand comfortingly through your hair. You let your eyes fall closed as his fingers gently massage at your back and shoulders, treating you gently, like fine china, as if he's afraid of breaking you. You wiggle a bit when he lifts the bottom of your shirt to see your hips, and he sucks in a breath as he spots the darkening marks that lay there.
"Shit, I'm so sorry-"
You hush him softly, opening your eyes just enough for him to see that your smile is genuine. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you press a small peck to his lips before resting against him once more. You feel his hand on your cheek as your eyes flutter shut, and his thumb runs softly across your skin, making your heart thud in your chest. He murmurs softly to you, things about how nice you looked, how fantastic your voice sounded, your eyes and your lips and the way you moved. It's comforting, and the tone of asbolute adoration in his voice is so true and bare that you know he means every word.
Jonathan is your safe place. You know that, no matter what, he would never, ever hurt you.
That thought sticks with you as the two of you lay tangled together, Jon's voice filling your ears, the only thing that matters to you in this empty house.

(note: well this took a turn i wasnt even expecting myself (◠‿◠✿) i wasnt sure if i was even gonna write anything like that for this fic and then woops i did. i hope it wasnt too much or anything like that. sorry if it was really sudden and thats not what you like to see! i hope you guys enjoyed it nonetheless. keep leaving ideas and suggestions in the comments, i love hearing from all of you! thanks so much for reading ❤️)