Archive of Our Own ^beta

You swallow, hard. Your hands can't stop shaking though you know how bad it looks with a gun in them. You must look like a wreck, you think, and of course this has to happen when you're getting training from Johnny. You've been anticipating this, sometimes with dread, for over a week; Fat Tony wants you to improve your shooting and Johnny is available.

At the time it seemed more like Tony was shoving you off onto Johnny, like some kind of burden, but you try not to dwell on a thought like that. You're new, you have so much to prove, but so far no one has treated you like a burden, not even Johnny. Though so far he doesn't seem to know you exist, even when he looks right at you.

But now Johnny is pressing up against you, his front against your back, his arms around you, his face close to yours. You can smell several distinct, delicate scents from his clothes, skin, hair. When his cheek accidently brushes against yours as he repositions you, you take note of how soft the skin is, as if Johnny shaves several times a day.

"Just pay attention, Y/N," he says in a clipped voice, which is muffled due to your hearing protection. As if you're not even there, he aims the gun, his hands over yours, his finger guiding yours over the trigger, his muscle power engaging it. He braces you against the recoil, which for a moment melds your bodies together.

His hands guide yours in the process of unloading and reloading a magazine, checking the gun, preparing for the shot. It's all so smooth and natural while he treats you like a puppet, but at least his hands are gentle when they encounter flesh.

One more time you both take a shot, and then he steps away and crosses his arms. "Now just you."

You feel like you've been pitched overboard. But you can't show weakness or fear now. You breathe in deep and take aim, trying to remember the hints and tips Johnny told you while he was pressed up against his body, while his scent and warmth enveloped you both.

You fire. You miss. You sneak a look to Johnny who's expression hasn't changed. It's as if nothing happened. He nods as if to say, "again." And this goes on until you spend your magazine, at which point Johnny approaches again to take the gun and tap at your hearing protection ear muffs, which you remove. He says nothing, reveals nothing, as he puts the weapon away and begins leading you back to the car, back to the club.

"How did I do," you want to ask. You wish he'd say something, even a criticism. It's unnervingly quiet as you approach the car. Did you disappoint him?

Johnny opens the passenger door for you and gets in the driver's side. More shattering silence as he drives you back. It's not until he parks at the club and you open the door, ready to get out, when he finally says, "Hey, Y/N."

With one leg dangling out of the car and your body twisted in the midst of getting out, you pause and look at him. You don't have to speak, your face screams an eager, "Yes?"

"Not bad today. I'll pick you up tomorrow."

You know it's time to get out when Johnny turns his face away from you and puts his hand on the wheel, and you very nearly face plant on the pavement.

Maybe it's a good thing you're not allowed to carry any guns yet because otherwise you might get too excited.

END