Work Text:
Johnny walked with rapt steps toward the fire exit. The band had just completed their soundcheck and had less than an hour or so to whatever they’d like. While the others were hanging out in the dressing rooms Johnny decided a smoke break was what he needed, and he figured going outside to do so was the least he could do. He pushed the door open with his side, pack already in hand. The cool air hit his face right away, slowly calming his burning nerves. The Smiths had only been doings gigs for a little more than a year and a half. New venues meant new audiences and that always excited him— every single time.
Slipping a cigarette between his lips he kicked a small rock over to the door, propping it up, making sure it wouldn’t lock him out this time. It wasn’t a nice alleyway by any means, but he wasn’t picky. He pulled a lighter from his jean pocket, but didn’t get more than one puff in before he heard footsteps approaching him. Footsteps which he recognised straight away.
Morrissey peaked out from gap, shooting Johnny a quick smile before he stepped outside to join him. “Oh, good,” he spoke, “I found you.” The taller man was clad in a white blouse and a open coat, which he quickly clutched together to save his warmth.
“You did,” Johnny stated in an exhale, simply acknowledging the other mans presence. His lips turned up slightly before he asked, “what’s up?”
Morrissey took his place next to Johnny, leaning his shoulder and head against the brick wall. He sighed, “Nothing at all, Mike and Andy are playing cards and I don’t feel like losing against them today. Thought I could check on you instead.”
“Well, I’m not doin’ nothin’ interesting either,” Johnny responded.
“I don’t mind,” Morrissey said, “I simply enjoy you for your presence.”
The guitarist moved his focus to the sky, looking up towards the vast darkening blue. Clouds crowded his view, obstructing the last light of the day. The couple fell into a comfortable silence, only sound heard being Johnny’s deep breaths and long sighs. Smoke swirling into nothingness.
Morrissey locked his eyes on the tip of the cancer stick, the tiny glowing ember contrasting the cold oppressive air. A look of longing showed on the singers face, which wasn’t unusual. But Johnny’s breathing quickly soothed him, which is secretly why he’d always join the mans smoke sessions despite not smoking himself. He took pleasure in spacing out as Johnny’s breathing lulled him into a calm. A false calm, but a calm nonetheless. His thoughts wandered further and further away as his stare grew unfocused.
The guitarist peeked over at Morrissey, noticing his faraway look. “Watcha thinkin’ bout?” he asked, pulling the singer out of the depts of his own mind.
Morrissey licked his lip out of habit and glanced at the other man softly. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out for a solid second. Then he finally whispered, in the most affectionate voice, “could you— could you put that out on me?”
“What?” Johnny exclaimed, bit louder than he meant to. Morrissey’s eyes widened, looking just as shocked as Johnny. Like he just realised he’d said that out loud. He quickly covered his face in embarrassment, sinking into his hands. Seemingly trying to disappear.
“Did I hear ya correctly? Did you just ask me to put me fag out on ya?” Johnny laughed slightly in disbelief, but not mockingly. Morrissey didn’t deny it.
The initial surprise wore off and Johnny continued, calmly this time as to not hurt the singers feelings, “didn’t know you were into that kinda stuff, but y’know, we don’t judge.”
The guitarist took yet another long drag while Morrissey continued to stand there frozen. “That was dumb, I didn’t mean to actually say that” he said muffled behind his palms, he was giggling at himself.
“You don’ ever fail to amaze me, love” Johnny said, “is that why ya like watching me smoke? To imagine me violating you?” he smiled, looking as smug as he sounds.
“No— I mean, not purely for that reason anyway” Morrissey finally dropped his hands instead tugging at the hem of his shirt, but still avoiding Johnny’s gaze. Keeping his eyes glued to the ground.
“How can ya ask such a vile thing of me yet act so shy? C’mon, at least look at me.”
The singer hesitantly lifted his head and looked back at Johnny. Who flicked his cigarette slightly, letting the excess ash fall to the ground. Soon only the end would be left, as the rest was slowly withering away.
“…But will you?” Morrissey asked smiling slightly, eyeing the fag which Johnny held between his fingertips.
The shorter man hummed in consideration, casting a quick look towards the fire exit door which still stood open. The bright yellow light hurt his eyes, luckily he couldn’t see nor hear any people.
“Oh, alright” he finally said, “I can’t say no to you. But you asked for this, alright? No complainin’.”
He grabbed the back of Morrissey’s head, tangling his fingers into his hair and pulled him down into a rough kiss. His other hand which held the cigarette was in the air faced safely away from them both, for now. He pushed the singer backwards, walking him into the corner behind the door. On his way he kicked away the stone holding the door open. They’d have to walk around the building to get in again but at least no one would hear them. Morrissey hands fell down on Johnny hips, fitting his fingers through his beltloops.
The kiss was quickly deepened after Morrissey emitted a high pitched sound from being pushed into the brick wall, giving Johnny access to his mouth. They slowly settled in to a familiar rhythm. The singers knees quickly got tired from standing uncomfortably bent to match Johnny’s height. His legs finally gave in and he slid down the wall onto the dusty cement, pulling Johnny with him without breaking contact. The guitarist ended up sat between Morrissey’s legs, hunched on top of him. It wasn’t the most comfortable but neither of them cared. The singer turned his head away for a moment, to try and catch his breath. But Johnny continued to instead place tender kisses on the other mans jaw.
They both stared at each other for a moment. Only frantic breathing and the loud thumping of their own heartbeats could be heard, until Johnny spoke. “So, where do you want it?” he asked, nodding to his somehow still lit fag.
Morrissey unbuttoned his blouse half way, pulling at it and his coat (which he for some reason was still wearing) it to reveal his entire neck. “Here, please” he mumbled, touching a spot underneath his collarbone with two of his fingers.
Johnny kissed the spot with wet lips, slightly sucking on the pale skin. He then moved his cigarette to his right hand, controlling it carefully. Morrissey bit his lip in anticipation, his eyes carefully watching the other mans hand. Wandering dangerously close to his skin now. He felt the urge to moan by only thinking about the pain to come.
“Okay, you ready?” Johnny whispered in his ear, and the singer was only able to let out a small hum before the small flame touched his flesh.
“Ah, fuck, fuck, Johnny” he whined, a lot louder and higher than intended. He was desperately grasping at the other mans sweater. The bud was just shortly pressed against his skin, then just as quickly discarded onto the ground next to them. The guitarist’s mouth quickly went for the wound, licking at it, trying to soothe the burn. This sent a shiver down Morrissey’s spine, adrenaline pushed through his veins. The intensity was almost euphoric and the pain enough to finally be distracted from his own thoughts. He let out more moans and hums of appreciation, now clutching Johnny’s head who was busy making out with his neck. The mark tasted like ash, sweat, and skin. Morrissey’s skin. Soapy yet salty and so, so soft.
Johnny sucked roughly on a specific spot on his neck, right above the burn and collar bone, until the skin turned red and bruised. Finally satisfied with his work, the guitarist pressed one last kiss against the other mans lips. Much more delicate then their previous ones.
“You’re alright?” Johnny asked, their faces almost touching. The singer was still breathing heavily. He simply let his head fall on Johnny’s shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck.
“Yes, yes I’m alright” he spoke into the soft fabric smiling.
The guitarist entwined his fingers into Morrissey’s hair, then pulled his head back harshly causing the other man to let out a yelp in. Closing his eyes sharply. “Jesus, yer such a fuckin’ weirdo” he said in an exhale. He held Morrissey’s head back in a tight grip as he spoke, “fuckin’ sick freak, you are.”
These words made the singer whimper. The sharp pain from Johnny’s hand gripping his hair and the stinging of the burn. It was all too perfect, like the world had stopped for a moment, just for them. He finally allowed himself to indulge in this feeling, as his hands were bunching up the other mans jumper.
“Open your mouth,” Johnny said.
Morrissey hesitated but obliged. Opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue. He could hear saliva gather in the other mans mouth.
“’Nd swallow,” Johnny murmured just before spitting straight into the singers throat. But Morrissey didn’t need to be told, he always swallowed. Johnny just enjoyed ordering the older man around for once.
He let go of Morrissey’s scalp, “mm good job, doll” he said. Holding the other mans face now, brushing his thumb over tender skin.
“I abhor you,” the singer spoke filled with nothing but affection.
“Oh god, I love you,” Johnny stated, almost in fear.
He quickly glanced at his watch and went in for one last kiss. Soon they’d have to return to the venue.
When they pulled away Morrissey let his eyes wander to the crushed up cigarette bud which lied on the ground next to them, he felt a sensation pool to his stomach thinking of what they just did.
The bud was simply tossed to the side. In a way he felt they were one of the same.
“We have to treat that burn of yours, there must be a first aid or somethin’ in ‘ere,” Johnny said to himself, starting to move away slightly. But Morrissey grabbed onto the man, arms around his neck.
“But— Mmh” he purred and started to vaguely move his hips against Johnny, hugging him as close as possible when trapped in human anatomy. His body ached, he didn't want this moment to ever pass.
“Moz,” he chuckled, “we can’t exhaust ourselves too much before the show, can we?”
A whine escaped the singers lips. “I’d prefer to sing while not being overtly horny” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“How ‘bout I go find ya some first aid stuff, and you head to the restroom to calm down” Johnny suggested. He looked Morrissey up and down once, “and clean yourself up, didn’t realise how dirty the ground was.”
The singer let out an annoyed huff when Johnny stood up, brushing dust of his white pant legs which he’ll definitely have to change out of now. Morrissey wiped at his mouth with his sleeve before he took the guitarist hand and got up, his feet feeling a bit unsteady. Johnny got close again, buttoning the other mans shirt up all the way, to at least slightly cover the marks for now.
Morrissey inhaled sharply as the fabric brushed against the small burn. “Oh, sorry,” Johnny blurted out, “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”
“No, I— uhm, I actually quite enjoyed that” the singer said in a whisper, glancing away shamefully.
Johnny smiled and carefully took Morrissey’s hand, kissing his knuckles, “I’m glad.”