𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒; jj maybank ²

X. maybe pope was right

   As if a switch had turned on inside him, the blonde scurries up on his seat again and runs a hand through his messy locks of yellow, "You know what? Sleep's for the weak, am I right lady?"

   Oakley smiles widely, "You're so weak,"

Don't ask how, or why on Earth, but I can assure you no more than six minutes go by after that tiny exchange of words before the ambulance is bouncing and squeaking in the middle of the silent night. Oakley's body is slammed against the wall of the trunk of the ambulance, JJ's arms wrapped around her small naked waist and her hands holding his face like her life depends on it. With nothing but their nurse pants on and the girl in her baby blue bikini top, the two sweat through the breathless kissing session that leaves trails of their delight in every corner of the vehicle.

They occasionally pull their sore lips apart to breathe once or twice, hands reaching for places that escape their control and impulses wanting to remove the cloths that prevent their skins from fully merging into each other. He grabs her boobs, having no kindness handling the bikini, for if it were as he wanted it, it wouldn't even be on her body and neither would her bottoms. Her head rolls back when his lips trail down to her neck, collarbone and the skin above her nipple, making her grab the back of his head tighter.

Heat surrounds them like vapor inside a shower, making her skin slippery and his abs shiny, almost tentative to be touched all over. She wants everything of him, she can't get enough of holding him and feeling him all over her, and watching his veins pop out and his muscles become hard and plump when he leans an arm against the wall beside her head makes it hard for her not to feel wet in areas she shouldn't at this moment. It's how his hair mops on his head, how his head tilts back when he erects and his jawline sharpens, how his breath fans her face. It's how his arms are so large and masculine, but they become so good when they touch her.

   "JJ I want you to punch the living shit out of me," the girl says breathlessly, eyes sliding shut as she feels his hand dig into her pants and her head involuntarily pushes back against the wall.

JJ's breathing is uneven as he massages her soft spot, shushing her as his other hand reaches her neck and his thumb slides across her jaw. He tightens his hold on her throat a bit and she releases a breath, enjoying the pressure his ringed fingers put on her skin and the way her breathing is slightly obstructed but it's because of his hands. She worships the boy so dearly it frustrates her, she wants everything of him, she wants him to do everything to her.

   "Holy shit," the girl pants, hands gripping his hair until her knuckles are white, knees weakening with the mix of his gentle massaging and his rough grip.

He's so unbelievably hot it feels illegal to be the one enjoying him, and as his lips go back to sucking on her skin, she's only proud knowing that she can devote herself to him any day knowing he'll do the same. He'd get down on his knees and scrape them open for her every single day of his life if he needed to, and he'd chose her scent and the softness of her skin and her icy eyes and golden hair every minute without needing to think twice about it. Her body is like a shiver of relief, and her company is his vitamin. She's everything he's ever really wanted and needed, and he could kiss her lips and touch her body forever if it were up to him.

But, of course, there's always something between.

When Oakley's ringtone suddenly booms inside the back of the truck, startling the two, their heads jerk towards her phone discarded on the ground, still panting and with JJ's hand still stuck inside her panties. Oakley holds the back of his head and tries to control her breathing, noticing a horrible picture of Pope with a Photo-booth filter displaying brightly on her screen. Tapping the blonde's bare back, she scrambles to pull his hand out of her.