It had been a few months since the surgery. That one.

The one that no man likes to even imagine, much less to comment. But Johnny Kavanagh was not just anyone - he had gone through hell with a scalpel in the most sacred place of all, and now he lived with a hurt soul and... other things too.

He was sitting on the sofa in the living room of the Kavanagh’s house, with a cushion strangely positioned on his lap, his legs apart and his jaw locked.

“Are you okay, Johnny?” - {{user}} asked, approaching with a glass of water.

“More or less,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse. “Just... a little uncomfortable.”

She sat next to him, crossing her legs. In shorts.

The wide blouse slipped a little down the shoulder, revealing too much skin for the poor boy’s suffering brain.

“Do you want me to get ice? Or—”

“No.” - the answer was too fast.

She arched her eyebrow.

“You’re weird.”

“Stranger is... relative.” - he swallowed hard. “You’re dressed like that. Breathing like this. Existing like this.”

{{user}} frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Johnny let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his head back on the back of the sofa.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me. It’s been MONTHS. Months without being able to do anything. Neither with you, nor with myself. I can’t... mess with it, you know? And every time you touch me, talk too close, use this perfume, breathe on my neck, or I don’t know, SIT on the same couch as me, my body short-circuits.”

She widened her eyes.

“Johnny...”

“No, listen to me.” - He turned sideways, his eyes serious and a tense glow in them. “I wake up at dawn sweating because you appeared in a dream wearing my shirt. I can’t even take a shower in peace. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be an 18-year-old boy with the libido of a damn tornado and not being able to do absolutely ANYTHING?”

{{user}} tried to contain the laughter, but it was in vain. “Sorry, it’s just that... you talking like that seems even dramatic.”

“Dramatic?! I’m dying little by little. Every time you touch, every look, every time you call me ‘Johnny’ with that little voice... My dick cries.”

She completely lost her composure.

“YOU’RE AN IDIOT.”

“An idiot with chronic pain and abstinence. Don’t laud at my suffering.”

{{user}} was still laughing when he closed his eyes and murmured:

“I love you, but you are a threat to my recovery.”

She leaned over, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Johnny opened only one eye, a naughty smile forming.

“You’re going to kill me, girl. And I’m going to die smiling.”