Fandom: Fantastic Four (Movieverse)
Pairing: Johnny and his hand (luckily), fantasizing about Johnny/SomeChick
Rating: hard R
Summary: Johnny, inexplicably, hasn't gotten any since becoming the Human Torch, because the universe hates him or something. He finally decides to take matters in hand.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
Warning: for a very young man's rather adolescent sexual fantasies. [innocent humming]
Notes: So I was talking to lady_razzle in comments a couple of mornings ago and this image popped into my mind....
Johnny peeled out of his uniform, wadded it up into a big rubbery wad of wadded-up whatever and slammed it across the room. It bounced off the wall on the other side of his bed and uncurled into a Johnny-shaped heap on the floor. The damn thing was making fun of him -- the Human Torch, the big hero, the one really hot guy in the group even when he wasn't flaming, the one who should be coming home with an equally hot girl on each arm at the very least and six more phone numbers in his pocket, if genius Reed had thought to put pockets in the stupid suits--
He stomped into the bathroom, muttering to himself and not paying much attention to anything except how much his life sucked and promptly tripped over the fucking fire extinguisher that was there 'cause fucking Reed insisted that there be one in every fucking room. His hollering and swearing pretty much drowned out the heavy CLONK! it made when it fell over onto the floor and the rumble while it rolled into the corner and the bonk when it hit the wall and stopped.
Great -- he came out of the last fight with Vic in one piece and basically okay and now, two hours later, he probably has a goddamn broken toe or something because Reed's all candy-assed paranoid about his goddamn flames, like he can't control himself or something. Jerk has a fucking poker up his ass -- hell, he could probably fit a fucking telephone pole! It's not like anyone could tell the difference or anything....
Still cussing out the world, Johnny turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the pounding heat drive the stress -- well, some of the stress -- out of his muscles.
He'd thought this super hero stuff would seriously turbo-charge his social life. It made sense, right? He'd always been a good looking guy and had never had a problem finding girls before, so being a hero who went around saving whatever should help, right?
But the truth was, Johnny hadn't gotten any action at all since the flare. He'd come close, sure, but something always happened to fuck it up and he was getting damn sick of it.
The last straw had been losing that totally gorgeous girl from earlier that night. Oh, man, she had been so hot! Red hair like silk with just enough curl to make it cling to his fingers, bright blue eyes, a great smile and that little pink tongue that made all kinds of promises that got his cock sitting up and begging....
Johnny ducked under the spray again just long enough to wash off the soap, then stomped out and tossed himself onto the bed. If he -- he, Johnny Storm, the Human Torch -- was reduced to dating his fucking hand then at least he was going to be comfortable. It'd been so damn long he'd probably pass out or something when he came and he didn't want to have to explain a concussion to anyone.
He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his still-dripping body. He tried to imagine it was... Tish? Trish? Whatever her name'd been, before her loser boyfriend had grabbed her and hauled her away. Her hands'd been a lot smaller than his own, and softer. She'd have felt lighter, more playful, but still enthusiastic -- oh, yeah, definitely enthusiastic.
One hand slid down to pull on his cock -- a little rough, just the way he liked it -- while the other stroked across his chest and down over his abs. He enjoyed the feel of his body, the hard planes and ridges and maybe that was weird but Johnny didn't give a shit. His body enjoyed the feel of his hand, too, so everyone was happy.
Tish started losing her clothes against the backdrop of Johnny's closed eyes. First the skimpy green tank top she'd been wearing, leaving the little bit of white lace bra -- he had a good mental image of that because the pattern had been obvious through the thin top and the white lacy straps had stuck out.
He peeled her out of the swirly flowered skirt and imagined lace panties to match the bra. She'd be soft and smooth all over, with obvious tan lines 'cause tan lines were fuckin' sexy. One of the bra straps slipped down over her shoulder and the cup on that side almost but not quite lost it. Not quite because Johnny wanted to stretch it out a little and the mental image of those big, round tits with bright pink nipples showing through the lace made him moan. His hips flexed and he stroked a little harder.
That was enough waiting and now she was naked, straddling him, smiling down at him and whispering that he was the hottest guy she'd ever seen and how she couldn't wait for him to slide inside her. Hot and wet and slick -- the hand around his cock worked faster and his other hand slid down to roll his tightening balls.
Trish leaned down and brushed one stiff nipple across his lips. He sucked on it hard and she squealed, then moaned and begged him to suck her harder and fuck her faster and Johnny's body was a solid arch of tension and he was fucking his hand and he was so close until a last few thrusts pushed him over the edge and it was so fucking hot with every nerve burning with orgasm--
--except when he came down off it he was still burning and Fuck! his bed was on fire!
Johnny scrambled off the flaming bed and stumbled over to the corner where the fire extinguisher was leaning, the BREEE-EEE-EEE-EEE! of the smoke alarm piercing his eardrums until he wanted to use the tank to smash it before putting out the damn fire but luckily he had enough functional braincells to go for the fire first.
It was a good fire extinguisher -- not that he'd ever admit it to Reed -- and the fire was out in less than a minute. It was still too late, though, because even over the shriek of the damn alarm he could hear a pounding on his door and voices calling, asking if he was okay and what was wrong.
Three voices. Of course the whole damn circus was out in the hallway. Fuck.
He dropped the extinguisher and headed for the door, muttering to himself about a lot of fuss and not being in any mood to deal with this shit, when suddenly -- Duh! -- it hit him exactly what'd happened, and exactly why. He stopped dead and stared at the door, his eyes huge and round with realization.
Nervous system overload, involuntary response.... He imagined explaining to Reed -- fuck, to his sister! -- what'd happened and he could feel his face heating and not in a literally-flaming sort of heat. Oh, man, no way!
Then he imagined what kinds of tests His Professorship would want to run to figure out how it all worked.
Oh, no fucking way!
Johnny turned on his bare heel and stalked over to the bathroom, ignoring the increasingly frantic shouts from out in the hall. Any second now the walking brick-pile would break it down but Johnny didn't care. He was going to be in the shower, washing off the smell of smoke and trying to pretend his life wasn't over.
Maybe if he pretended really hard...?