Crash and Burn

A/N - Kinda new at smut, so cut me some slack. Most warnings are for later chapters. Try to update when I can. And don't worry, it's not all John/Riley.

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John Connor-- or John Baum, as he was currently known-- was officially back in school after the traumatic 'car accident' that occurred while trying to teach his 'sister' how to 'drive'. At least, that was the story he'd tell anyone should they ask. He slammed the door of his locker shut with a loud clang. Not that anyone would ask.

Shaking his head, and turning away to stare disinterestedly at the rest of the hall, he noticed a somewhat familiar girl heading towards him. Or, well, probably not towards him, but in the general direction of where he was standing.

He couldn't really remember her name. She was in his english class, three seats over and one behind him. A blonde, pretty, with blue eyes and a smirk in her smile that always seemed to be trying to tell him something. He'd seen her look over at him once or twice, although, granted, he had been a little distracted at the time by a certain cyborg protector.

But she certainly managed to get his attention now.

She stode up to him determinedly, stopping inches from him until he could feel the heat of her body weighing against him. Her eyes flashed mischievously and her lip-gloss covered lips quirked in that secret little smile of hers. Curiously, he registered her as she pulled something out of the back pocket of her tight jeans. He didn't have time to react when she lifted up his shirt and slipped her hand down his jeans, fingertips dangerously close to his now slightly hardening manhood, depositing what were apparently several slips of glossy paper in his waistband.

Giving a quick wink at his now gawking expression, she lowered his t-shirt back down and left, trailing her fingers along his abdomen as she walked away.

It took him a full two minutes to get a grip on reality again, just in time to hear the final bell ring for class. Suddenly panicked, he glanced around the halls hoping to god no one had just witnessed the display. He might have checked then and there what she had just shoved down his pants-- the idea of someone else's hand reaching down there making it incredibly hard to focus beyond the haze-- but a teacher rounded the corner and he knew it was a bad idea.

Glancing around quickly, he spotted the restroom and dove in, the doors swinging shut behind him. First thing was first: check the stalls. When he was sure the place was empty, he lifted up his shirt still strangely aware of the burning trails her fingers had left and pulled out her 'little present'.

What he had originally thought to be some papers actually turned out to be a stack of photos. Photos of the girl.

The first one was of her wearing a plain zippered sweatshirt with a pair of jean cutoffs over black tights. She was smiling prettily at him, that same secret lingering there, almost winking.

He flipped the picture to the back, revealing the next one. She was leaning forward now, legs shoulder width apart, pulling at the zipper of her jacket which had made it to the half-way point, revealing a blue-green bra that gave him a far too perfect view of her cleavage.

He swallowed passed the lump forming in his throat, and flipped to the next photo.

The sweatshirt was hanging low off her shoulders, completely unzipped now, revealing that uplifting aqua marine bra and a pale, smooth stomach that disappeared into a now unzipped pair of denim cutoffs.

Subconsciously, he licked his lips, swallowing again and adjusting the front of his jeans.

He flipped to the next page-- and nearly lost it.

She was kneeling on all fours atop her bed, leaning towards the camera, her front so low that her breasts were pushing against the fabric of her bed, cleavage smothering outwards towards him. He couldn't see any bra. Her shorts had been removed, which he could clearly see as her ass was raised high in the air, covered just barely by a thin strip of black that wound between her round cheeks and around full hips.

Breathing a little labored now, he flipped to the last picture.

"Oh shit," he muttered eyes wide.

She was lying on the bed, her legs spread open and towards the camera. The only thing she was wearing were those black tights-- apparently thigh high stockings. A hand was cupping her breast, pinching at the nipple, her head turned slightly to see the camera with a look that said she was close. Of which he had no doubt, as he could see the finger deeply embedded between her pouty nether lips, exposed for him to see, aimed right for the camera.

In the top left hand corner of the photo there was a feminine scrawl: 'You're in my mind. You're in my fantasy. What do I have to do to get you in my pussy?'

--

John hadn't actually made it to English that day. He hadn't made it to 'any' of his classes, really, and by the time lunch rolled around he was seated in the exact same spot he'd taken residence upon early that morning. His mind was still an abstract whirl focusing on things-- things like murder and love and machines all rolled into one poorly wrapped package that was making his head hurt-- and thus he decided to forgo class.

No one had so much as approached him-- until 'her'.

In his defense, he managed to keep the blush from consuming his entire face. Instead, he restricted it to the general area of his cheeks. The blonde from that morning didn't comment, but there was that smile again...

"Hey," she nodded at him eyes taking him in from top to bottom before returning to his face again. "You've been sitting in that same spot since you ditched out on English."

With a brief lick of his lips, he determinedly looked away to stare at nothing in particular. "And you are?"

"Riley," she told him. "Way to make a girl feel special."

"Somehow, I don't think you need 'anyone' to tell you you're special," John mumbled under his breath.

She may or may not have caught his words, though, as she again made no comment. Instead, she took a seat on the bench across from him, putting his gaze back to her. Or more specifically, her crotch. Which after several moments in which he stared stupidly, blinking as if to confirm it, he realized was exposed. He could see up that little denim skirt she was wearing. He could see where her thigh-highs ended. He could see up into the moist folds that were so bare he couldn't tell if she really was a natural blonde or not.

He swallowed harshly.

"Ya got twenty bucks?" She inquired, smirking and this time he was sure it was because of him.

"Uh, yeah," he muttered distractedly. "Why?"

"Because I'm still hungry."

She Cheshire-grinned him.

Hungry? Yeah, maybe he was a little hungry, too...

--

"I'm moving," he told her out of the blue, glancing at her face to gauge her reaction.

They had finished lunch for the most part. John hadn't really eaten much, and Riley had yammered on about why she had been kicked out of some school whose name he couldn't pronounced. He liked the tattoo though.

"What?" She asked.

Surprise.

"Yep," he confirmed, nodding a bit.

A moment's pause.

"Cool. What's it look like?"

Another pause.

"I have no idea," he confessed. "I haven't seen it."

He didn't have to look at her to know the incredulous look on her face. What sort of kid didn't have the faintest idea what kind of place he was about to live in? "What, and your mother hasn't... shown you pictures or anything?"

At the mention of 'pictures' he had a sudden intense flash of Riley, naked on the bed, her words emblazed in his mind as well as the photo. He swallowed. "Uh, mom's not really a... picture kind of person."

Riley nodded in understanding. "Oh, sure. I totally know that kind of person."

'Not from experience, I'm sure,' he wanted to tell her. To call her on the over-the-top means of grabbing his attention. Which had been effective. Insane, but no less effective. The photos now re-emphasized in his mind's eye-- as well as with a little helpful, hormonal, teenage boy imagination the wonderful idea of her writhing as her finger pressed in deeper, perhaps even the sounds of wet pops and errotic moaning in the background-- John felt the familiar restraint of his pants and the discomfort that came with it.

Thus, his next words might have been influenced somewhat. "You wanna see it?"

She looked surprised-- though only momentarily-- before that grin spread onto her face. "Your new house?"

"Yeah," he swallowed again. "You... wanna come over?"

She bit her lower lip and gave him a nod, eyes sizing him up once more, lingering on his waistband. "Sure. Sounds like... fun."

--

"So..." Riley trailed off as they stood in the middle of the living room. The house seemed to be empty. "Wanna go find your room?"

An almost smirk slid onto his face and he nodded towards the stairs.

The second floor, third door down on their right lead them to the unfortunate place that was obviously meant to be his room.

"You have got to be kidding," he muttered shaking his head.

It was a child's room. There were goddamned 'legos'. And he was sure that bed was barely big enough for a ten-year-old. His mother could 'not' be serious...

"I dunno," Riley said, stepping in slightly. "I think it's kinda... kinky."

And that one word, spoken with that tone, and the pictures blazing in his mind was enough. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her harshly back to him. He slammed her up against the wall, arms holding her body in place, using his body as leverage to pin her there. He put his face right in front of hers, pushing his body harder into hers. "You wanna know what it takes?"

She let out a shaky breath, her heart beating wildly. Maybe she hadn't quite been prepared for the intensity.

He leaned in, lips right next to her ear, voice hot on her skin. "A little..." His hand moved to trail down her body to her thigh, slipping inward and snaking up under her skirt. She found herself holding her breath. "...proof." His finger slipped into her wet folds and she tried to arch towards him, pushing herself farther into his body.

Gasping, she pushed her crotch further towards him. "John," she moaned, eyes fluttering closed.

She slicked his fingers as they rode inside her and his thumb slid along her moist folds until it dug through the skin to the sensitive nub that had her whimpering in his hands. She pushed into him, her ample breasts soft against his chest and reminding him why he wanted very much to tear that damn shirt off.

"John, John," she began to chant as his rhythm-- unplanned, uncertain, unfamiliar-- became faster. "John, god John! Don't stop! John-- JOHN!"

And he felt the clench of her walls, the wrap of her moist, tight heat as she covered and coated his fingers in hot sticky liquid. Her breathing was ragged and heavy, her breasts rising and falling with her breaths, her body obviously shiny with a nice sheen of sweat.

She must have been waiting for it all day.

Slumping against his body, breath hot on his neck, clinging to his shoulders for support, he felt her tongue reach out and lick at his skin.

"John."

And she was already ready for more?

"Proof enough?"

He could feel her grinning into the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath and absorbing the scent of her, he nodded.

"Yeah, I guess that'll work."

Grabbing her about the waist, he towed her to the bed and tossed her onto the small mattress. "I think we should break it in."

With a wide smile, she sat up and pulled off the teal tank that had her breasts all but pouring out of the neckline. She tossed it to the floor, unsnapping her bra and discarding it as well.

John got on the bed with her and pushed her back against the mattress, her full, round orbs of pale flesh bouncing in the process.

Putting his hands on her legs, he shoved her skirt up along her thighs until it rested bunched up about her waist. Pushing her legs apart widely, he situated himself between them and began palming her body. She arched up to his hot touches, moaned when his right hand grabbed her breast and began to kneed.

"John," she panted. "Baby."

Reaching down to his waist, she went for his buckle, fiddling it only momentarily before getting it undone. John sat up on his knees to assist her, unbuttoning his jeans. She went for the zipper and had it down. Already his dick was attempting to spring free, when--

--SLAM.

The front door downstairs.

Followed by a "John? Are you home?"

Riley sat up in bed suddenly, the side of her face pressing against his lower abdomen as her hands continued to rest at the zipper of his jeans.

"Who was that?" She whispered, eyes slightly wide.

"Shit," he cursed agitatedly, groaning as he moved off the bed and made to zip his pants back up. "My mom. She's not real big on... guests."

He glanced mournfully at her exposed body, at the flushed flesh, at the slicked skin, at the continuous heafty rise and fall of those deliously ripe breasts and rosy pink nipples. Another groan escaped him as he said, "You'd probably better go."

She bit her lower lip, frowning slightly, but did as she was told. She slipped her shirt back on after a brief unsuccessful search for her bra and pulled down her skirt. Decent enough to walk out without too much question-- at least, no worse than when she had walked 'in'-- Riley turned back to John. Walking up to him, she gave his lower lip a little nibble pressing into him.

"We'll finish this later," she whispered, rubbing against his body. "Promise."

Resisting the urge to start it all over again, John nodded tightly, ignoring the painful strain of his pants. Riley walked down the stairs first, followed by John. They were greeted by the shocked, stern expression of his mother. John merely ushered Riley out the door, refusing any sort of introductions.

"Who the hell was that?" Sarah demanded when the girl had safely exited the house.

"Riley," John exlained calmly, heading for the kitchen. "From school."

"Riley," Sarah repeated skeptically. "From school. How come I've never heard of her?"

"Just met her."

At those words, John was sure Sarah was just dying to lay into him. Fortunately for him, her cell rang and he was sure it was Derek on the other end. As big a pain in the ass as Derek could be, he was always good for getting his mom out in a flash. For that, John would be silently grateful.

"This isn't the end of this discussion, John," Sarah informed him as she turned to go back the way she came.

John waved her off dismissively, and went into the kitchen.

When John entered the kitchen he saw Cameron standing there staring out the window as blankly as ever. While she was probably aware of his presence, she made no motions to suggest as much. He ignored her and went for a glass of water. Taking a long gulp, he glanced up when she spoke.

"You were banging your new friend."

"Excuse me?" He asked, nearly spitting out his water. "'Banging'? Where'd you learn that word?"

"Derek referenced it once approximately eight days, fourteen hours and thirty-seven minutes ago. It means to have sexual intercourse."

John rolled his eyes. "I know what it means. And that's none of your business."

Though her expression remained impassive, it was clear she did not agree with his statement. 'Everything' concerning John Connor was her business.

"You should not engage in sexual intercourse with females who are unaware of your significance," she instead informed him. Perhaps she was trying to make him see reason.

But when there's a sixteen-year-old male in need of jacking off to a couple of good dirty magazines, reason doesn't usually come into play.

"Pretty sure she's aware of my 'significance' now," he muttered with a smirk.

Her head titled to the side. "You informed her that you will one day lead the human race to salvation against the impending Skynet army?"

Putting his glass down and sighing in exasperation, John shook his head.

"No, Cameron, I was making a lewd comment."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining."

"Whatever," he replied and took another gulp of water.

"John?"

"What?"

She paused a moment as though choosing her words. "Riley is not an appropriate subject for you to take out your sexual frustrations."

He rolled his eyes at her. "No? Well who the fuck is?"

It took her a mere second to respond. "I the fuck am."

For several long moments he stood there gawking at her. Intense flashes of Cameron writhing beneath him, covered in sweat, wearing nothing, undulating and gasping and moaning and pulling at his flesh and calling out his name and sheathing his hot, hard--

--'John'--

"Please consider your options before you 'bang' Riley again."

And she left the room. She left him there as though her words were perfectly normal and natural and not at all awkward or arousing to a sexually frustrated, constantly stressed, sixteen-year-old boy in need of some serious release.

"Oh. Shit."