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Published:
2021-12-03
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1/1
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morning after

Summary:

He can barely swallow past the lump in his throat.

Did they actually…did they actually?

He hesitates, rolling over onto his other side with as much grace and silence as he can muster, terrified that what he thinks happened actually happened, and even more terrified that it didn’t happen at all.

And there he is, curled up beneath Johnny’s threadbare blankets and sleeping away, completely oblivious to Johnny’s ongoing crisis: Daniel LaRusso.

Fuck.

(Or: Johnny's train of thought the morning after he and Daniel finally hook up).

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

He blinks awake in the early hours of the morning. His brain registers the creaking of the ceiling fan before anything else, the not-so-subtle reminder of what a shithole his apartment is. He groans, turning over onto his side to bury his head in the pillow and block out the noise.

Only, now he notices the light, the faint glimmer of sunlight peeking through the blinds. It casts the room in a warm, hazy glow, made hazier by the traces of sleep lingering behind his eyelids. He shuts his eyes, trying in vain to hold on to the last vestiges of sleep tugging at his subconscious, but the light pierces through nonetheless. He’s awake. Goddamnit.

He groans, rubbing the pillow over his face in frustration. Everything aches, he realizes suddenly; only it’s not the kind of ache he’s used to, not the insistent throbbing of bruised fists and a black eye. It’s duller, more of an overall fatigue and exhaustion that spreads throughout his body, reminds him of every bit of his age with a painstaking clarity.

Still, there’s something else, too. The ache isn’t painful, not really. If he had to describe it, he’d probably call it pleasant, a light, tingling sensation reminiscent of the feeling of satisfaction after a good fuck.

And as if on cue, that’s when he registers it: the ache between his legs. It’s dull, but the throbbing is there, insistent. Every nerve ending in his body centered in on that one spot, sending a low hum throughout his body, the slight pain of pleasure remembered.

But what pleasure?

He frowns, willing himself to remember the night before. It’s a little fuzzy, partly due to the Coors from last night and partly due to his current state of exhaustion, but slowly it starts coming back.

Daniel, sitting next to him on the back deck of Miyagi-Do; Daniel, asking if he wanted to grab drinks; Daniel, spilling his guts about all the shit that went down in ’85 between him and Kreese and that weird ass guy with the ponytail; Daniel, throwing caution to the wind and crashing their lips together, kissing him while Johnny kissed him right back.

Fuck.

Johnny’s heart pounds in his chest. His stomach feels like it’s crawling, not full of butterflies but bees or wasps or something with bite. He can barely swallow past the lump in his throat.

Did they actually…did they actually?

He hesitates, rolling over onto his other side with as much grace and silence as he can muster, terrified that what he thinks happened actually happened, and even more terrified that it didn’t happen at all.

And there he is, curled up beneath Johnny’s threadbare blankets and sleeping away, completely oblivious to Johnny’s ongoing crisis: Daniel LaRusso.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

So that wasn’t a dream. A stupid, reckless, completely-out-of-his-control dream. It was real. He really…Daniel really…they really….

Fuck.

What the fuck?

He can’t believe they actually…Jesus Christ. He’s known for a while that his relationship with Daniel was more than just casual, that beneath the animosity and rivalry and newfound friendship there had to be something deeper. More recently, he’s come to terms with the fact that that relationship may be something of this nature, that his feelings may be…romantic. God, could he sound any more like a fucking chick flick right now?

But they actually…they really, actually—

Daniel shifts in his sleep, curling a little closer to Johnny as if he can sense that he’s awake. Johnny’s heart feels like it’s about to gallop away. He can’t wake up now. Please don’t wake up now. Johnny doesn’t think he could handle that.

And miraculously, he doesn’t wake up. His brow creases and then he relaxes, snuggling up against Johnny’s side under the covers—figures he’d be able to sleep through this, that he wouldn’t be fazed in the slightest. He looks like the picture of comfort, nuzzled up against Johnny with the sheets wrapped tight around him, soft lips parted just slightly. God, those lips—

Johnny’s chest feels strangely tight. He looks so…calm. Peaceful. Ethereal, almost, in the quiet glow of morning. LaRusso—Daniel, he reminds himself; a guy fucks you, you’ve at least gotta be on a first name basis—anyways, Daniel’s always looked young. Even in high school, he was so much softer than the other guys their age, so soft that Johnny didn’t know how to respond in a way that didn’t involve his fists. So soft that when Johnny closed his eyes, he could almost imagine how it would feel to brush against those plush lips with his own, see those big brown eyes go wide with desire.

He guesses a part of him has always known. And it’s not that he’s ashamed of it—he doesn’t give a damn what Sid and his asshole country club cronies think of him. So apparently he likes to suck dick—so what? It’s none of their fucking business.

Still, he can’t help the sense of wrongness and guilt that washes over him. This isn’t just any drunken one-night stand—he let Daniel LaRusso fuck him. Daniel LaRusso. The guy he sees practically every day, the guy whose life is hopelessly intertwined with Johnny’s now. This isn’t something they can just pretend didn’t happen. They’re gonna have to talk about it—fuck. Johnny hates talking about it, especially when “it” is his feelings.

Creaking ceiling fan. Light streaming in. Ache between his legs.

Besides, Johnny wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d like to admit. He had wanted it—had responded with enthusiasm and borderline desperation when Daniel leaned into his ear and asked “Can I fuck you?”And Jesus fucking Christ, if that wasn’t the hottest thing anyone’s ever asked him. Who knew Daniel LaRusso was so fucking dirty underneath those ridiculous, pristine suits that don’t even fit? So fucking dirty, and hot, and maybe even beautiful—no, fuck no, he’s not gonna go there right now.

He can lie to himself all he wants, but there’s no changing the fact that he did want it—or the fact that he still wants it. That he still wants Daniel.

The ache is still there, not just the physical reminder of their night together between his legs but an emotional, deep-seated need for Daniel, to feel Daniel’s hands on him, his lips against his own, Daniel’s heart beating in time with Johnny’s as he lays Johnny bare and fucking takes.

Johnny never would’ve guessed that he’d let Daniel LaRusso between his legs, let him tear him apart and ravish him so good. Part of him still can’t believe it—he’s bigger, stronger, the more obviously masculine of the two of them. By all ordinary circumstances, Johnny should’ve fucked him—but he didn’t. He let Daniel LaRusso—fucking Daniel goddamned LaRusso—push him down onto the bed and take him apart.

And the worst part is how considerate Daniel had been, how he handled Johnny’s body with an almost gentle touch, like he was afraid if he pushed too hard or went too far Johnny would break into pieces. His hands were so soft against Johnny’s skin, like he was some delicate little porcelain doll he was handling. It made Johnny feel vulnerable, weak, and he hates feeling weak, like he’s just a pawn in somebody’s game.

But Daniel hadn’t treated him like a pawn—not at all. He was so goddamn sweet about it, so fucking considerate and careful and soft. Johnny’s chest felt tight then and now it feels like it’s about to burst. He doesn’t deserve that kindness, that gentleness, especially not from Daniel LaRusso. Back in the day he treated LaRusso like an animal he was hunting for sport, and here Daniel is treating him like a shaky-legged, newborn deer trying to find its footing and place in the world.

He fucking cuddled him afterward, is still practically cuddling him in his sleep even now, draped across Johnny’s side like some hyper, Italian version of a koala. Who cuddles someone right after fucking them for the first time?

Even further, why does Johnny kind of love it?

Creaking ceiling fan. Light streaming in. Ache between his legs. His head starts to ache.

It just…it makes him sick, almost, to think how soft and gentle Daniel had been last night, how he looked at Johnny with those huge eyes that almost made Johnny believe he cared about him. Maybe he does? No, he…he can’t. Why would he?

Why would he give a fuck about a washed up karate instructor who can barely make rent, whose only son hates him and whose only living “family” is his asshole of a stepdad? Hell, why would he give a fuck about the guy who tortured him in high school, who made his life a living hell for no fucking reason other than getting under his skin? Why would Daniel LaRusso spare Johnny Lawrence anything more than a passing glance and a hard fuck?

Why would he care?

Creaking ceiling fan. Light streaming in. Ache between his legs. His eyes feel strangely wet.

But maybe Daniel did care, another voice whispers. Maybe he still does. Maybe he sees something in him that Johnny can’t, maybe he has his own reasons for thinking Johnny is worthy of love—Jesus fuck, love? No. Like, the guy’s always had weird taste. Maybe he does care about Johnny—he stayed the night, after all. He’s still here.

Maybe Johnny cares about him, too.

Still, Johnny hates feeling like a fucking charity case, hates the way Daniel looks at him sometimes, pity mixed with a little bit of smug superiority—like he knows his life is better than Johnny’s and relishes in it.

Only, Johnny hasn’t seen that look in a while. Not since way before they started teaching together. Does that mean something?

But if it does mean something, then what? Then why was Daniel so soft and gentle with him last night? Why did he handle Johnny like he was something precious? And what was that look in his eyes, different and hard to place—so full of emotion and yet completely unreadable. Johnny doesn’t know what any of it means, but it makes his chest feel tight, makes his stomach twist and constrict in knots. He wants to believe that Daniel cares about him, and Daniel’s actions suggest that he does.

Still, Johnny can’t shake the feeling of shame that creeps over him when he thinks of how easily he gave it up to Daniel, how gladly he spread his legs and let Daniel ruin him. It was so fucking easy. Just a few touches in the right places, a few soft words, and Johnny let Daniel do whatever the fuck he wanted to him. So easy. Johnny hates himself for how easy it was.

But at the same time, Johnny can’t deny that it felt good. Daniel knew exactly how to touch him, had played his body like a fucking violin until Johnny screamed himself hoarse and cried his release into the pillows.

It felt good—fucking Christ, it felt so good, an itch Johnny never knew he needed scratched. The pleasure had been so real, white hot and all-consuming and burning, and Johnny’s head still spins with it.

He can still feel it, almost, if he closes his eyes. That dull ache between his legs changes, shifts, and he can imagine Daniel’s still inside him, taking him apart with every thrust, hitting that spot deep inside that made Johnny feel like his soul was about to leave his body, like he and Daniel were no longer separate but one being, warm and complete.

His dick stirs, and he curses inwardly. Fuck no, not right now. He thought one of the benefits of getting older was that he wouldn’t be on this kind of hair-trigger. Then again, even when he was young, it was never quite like this. Why does Daniel make him this horny? This desperate. This fucking needy. He’s never been like this before, never wanted anyone this bad before in his life.

Part of him is ashamed, that he opened himself up so easily to Daniel LaRusso of all people. That he craves Daniel with such a raw, primal need, that his body aches for him so good. But he also feels like Daniel knows him, really knows him. And if he can’t open up to him, can’t lean on him, can’t seek out pleasure from him, then who?

Creaking ceiling fan. Light from the window. Ache between his legs.

Daniel is a warm presence beside him, soft little exhales of breath issuing from his lips, almost snores but the cute kind some little woodland creature would make. Jesus Christ. It makes Johnny’s heart clench in his chest, and his stomach swoops with an awful, sinking feeling that feels a lot like lo—

No. No.

Still, this isn’t something he can just forget about. Not at all.

But that guilt still gnaws at him, the nagging feeling that he’s done something unforgivable. Daniel’s married, for God’s sake. And Johnny took advantage of that—okay, well, Daniel had been more than enthusiastic, but still—who the hell does that? Who sleeps with someone who’s married, who they work with every fucking day—hell, whose wife they went out to dinner with last week? Who does that?

Johnny Lawrence, apparently. He guesses he can add that to his ever-growing list of shortcomings.

But Daniel—fuck, the way Daniel looked at him, not just in the heat of it but afterward. Eyes full of emotion and tenderness that Johnny didn’t even begin to know what to do with. And then Daniel wrapped his arms around Johnny and tucked his head on his chest, right above his heart, murmuring soft, comforting nonsense that made Johnny’s eyes water and his throat tighten with emotion.

He acted like he wanted it, was the thing—like he needed it. Like he needed Johnny just as desperately as Johnny needed—still needs—him. And a dark, awful piece of Johnny hopes that Daniel does need him, that this terrifying, heady thing brewing in Johnny’s chest is requited.

Is that a pipe dream? For someone to need Johnny as much as he needs them?

It feels like it, is the thing. Johnny thinks he’s always felt like that, almost—like he’s too much of a burden for anyone to want to keep around for the long run. Sid made him feel that way. Kreese made him feel that way. Hell, Johnny made himself feel that way, makes himself feel that way every fucking day of his life.

He isn’t worthy of anything, certainly not love. Certainly not Daniel LaRusso’s love, the soft, temperamental, endlessly optimistic guy next to him, full of so much life and joy and hope. Johnny isn’t worthy of him.

Johnny isn’t worthy of anything.

Creaking ceiling fan—fuck, he’s gotta fix that stupid thing. Light streaming in. Ache between his legs.

He twists around, sitting up along the edge of the bed. His heart is pounding so fast it feels like it’s about to rocket through his chest. His throat feels tight. His eyes feel wet. This is too much. Having Daniel here, spending last night with him—it’s too much. It’s not fair to either of them.

Not fair to Daniel, who can do so much better, or to Johnny, who never deserved to taste love in the first place.

He should go. Fuck, it’s his own apartment—maybe he can hide out at the Diaz’s, pretend he’s stopping in for breakfast? No, they’d see right through that—Carmen’s tried to get him to stop eating fried bologna for months to no avail. But maybe he can go to the mini mart, hide out behind the slurpee machine?

Jesus. When did he stop striking first? When did he start running from everything in his life that actually matters? When did he become such a pussy?

He can feel the tears threatening to fall. His breathing is quick and stilted. He can’t think. This is just…it’s too much, he’s not, he can’t—

“Hey.”

A soft grip on his forearm, the warm touch of small hands. Johnny felt those hands all over him last night, gentle and exploratory. This morning they’re no different; they still hold him like he’s something precious.

Johnny turns to face him. He immediately regrets it; Daniel’s eyes have gone soft for him, that same look from last night. Soft. Fond. Adoring. Johnny quickly looks away. His face feels hot.

“Hey.”

Daniel squeezes his arm. The gentlest of touches, and it sends Johnny’s heart flying. “You gonna freak out on me, Lawrence?”

Daniel grasps his hand, thumb rubbing gentle circles into Johnny’s calloused skin. Johnny breathes in deep, heart slowing to beat in tandem with Daniel’s soft movements. Johnny can see Daniel smile out of the corner of his eye.  

It calms him, gives him enough strength to breathe properly and back away from the edge of doubt and uncertainty he’s been dangling off of. Daniel’s fine. He’s fine. They’re fine.

Johnny looks at him with a confidence that he doesn’t feel. But by the look in his eyes, Daniel feels it enough for both of them. And Johnny thinks that maybe, right now, that’s more than enough.

“Never.”

Daniel grins. He shifts closer and leans in to press a soft kiss to Johnny’s lips. Johnny closes his eyes and relaxes into it, chasing the soft sensation of Daniel’s lips against his. It’s slow, languid, and achingly sweet—sweeter than Johnny deserves. But he lets himself enjoy it anyway.

And you know, maybe Johnny doesn’t deserve this; he certainly doesn’t think so. But evidently, Daniel thinks he does. Maybe he’ll just have to trust Daniel’s judgement on this.

They break apart and Daniel rests their foreheads together. Johnny can almost count his eyelashes, the faint smile lines in the crease of his eyes. He wants to count them. He wants to savor this for as long as he possibly can.

Daniel kisses his forehead and gently tugs his arm. “Come back to bed.”

Johnny frowns. Don’t they need to…

“Don’t we need to…I don’t know, talk?”

Daniel’s eyes twinkle with fond amusement. “Johnny Lawrence wants to talk about something? That’s a first.”

Johnny rolls his eyes and flicks him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. And we will—later. Let’s just relax and enjoy the morning first, okay?”

He tugs Johnny back down onto the pillows and wraps his arms around him tight. Johnny hesitates for a moment before tightening his own arms around Daniel. He rests his chin against Daniel’s shoulder and, when the first traces of drowsiness begin to tug at his consciousness, lays a soft kiss to his forehead.

He thinks of nothing but Daniel and the steady beat of his heart.

Notes:

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this lil stream-of-consciousness style look at Johnny's feelings for Daniel.

Comments and kudos are always much appreciated <3