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"Kerry!" V calls from the entrance, snapping the rocker out of his musical trance. He was listening to a very good album by an up-and-coming musician, and it had been a long time since he had enjoyed a full album like this, so he would have been quite annoyed if V's tone hadn't been so urgent.
Kerry stumbles upright, curses his age and bends over the guardrail to look down. V pulled a chair from the table and is currently helping Johnny sit on it. The man doesn’t appear hurt, but the way V is fussing over him says something went wrong.
Worry spikes inside Kerry’s chest and he makes his way around to the stairs and runs down the steps.
“What happened? I thought this was supposed to be an easy job.”
V doesn’t reply, pressing a hand against Johnny’s forehead. The man himself looks pretty out of it, if the dopey smile he’s got on his lips is anything to go by.
When Kerry comes near, Johnny’s focus shifts to him and his smile widens. It’s one of his rarest ones, carefree and genuine, only seen in glimpses when he lets go of his facade entirely.
“Shit,” Kerry breathes, this is pretty worrying.
“I’m calling Vik,” V says, but Johnny catches his wrist to stop him.
“Nah, I don’t like Vik, I don’t like the way he touches you, makes me all jealous.”
V winces and Kerry freezes. This is really out of character for Johnny Silverhand, who would rather invent complex justifications than admit he hated all of Kerry’s inputs because he was jealous they got something he didn’t allow himself to have. Johnny looks just as stunned by what came out of his mouth, clumsily raising a hand to cover his lips like this would help prevent any new revelations.
“What happened?!” Kerry repeats with wide eyes.
“Ripperdocs have reported the appearance of a strange new drug on the streets and they asked me to investigate. They call it the truth serum, but it doesn’t just do that. It really lowers all inhibitions, and I mean all of them…” V explains, pointedly looking at Johnny whose hands are casually drifting toward his belt buckle. “We got busted while sneaking in and Johnny got a full blast in the face as we fought our way out,” the merc finishes his explanation as their friend arches back on his chair, legs spreading shamelessly.
“It’s fucking hot in there,” Johnny mumbles, opening his fly.
“Can you deal with him? I’m calling Vik,” V declares before turning away and walking out to call the doc before Kerry can react.
“Shit,” he curses, watching V go. Johnny’s chrome hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him closer, trying to get Kerry’s hand to his crotch.
“Oh no, no, no,” Kerry resists, wrenching free of Johnny’s slack hold. It’s like all his strength left him and he just pants pathetically on the chair. He whines and pulls a face like the rejection really hurt him, and Kerry isn’t prepared to see that kind of expression on his face.
Since Johnny’s return to life, their relationship has been… complicated. V and Kerry are dating, but V is living with Johnny for the time being, until the rocker can get back on his feet except it’s been six months and the situation hasn’t changed. During all this, Kerry made it really clear that he wouldn’t let Johnny fuck his relationship with V up, and wouldn’t play any games with his former best-friend.
Johnny has been suspiciously agreeable on the matter, which in turn made Kerry lower his defenses. He would say they’re back on being good friends, and maybe on their way to more but Kerry is still wary and Johnny still isn’t saying things clearly. In between, V just dreams about the hot threesome they could all have if only they dealt with their shit. Kerry won’t be pushed.
Still looking dejected, Johnny toes off his boots, and then his socks before standing up on wobbly legs to get rid of his pants. He toys with the hem of his tank top, looks at Kerry with glassy eyes, and then strips completely. Kerry swallows and averts his eyes too late.
“You can look, I like you looking, you don’t look at me the way you used to anymore,” Johnny babbles before cursing and biting his lower lip like it could stop whatever is going on in his head from bursting out.
Kerry sighs, refusing to answer that.
“C’mon, let’s get you somewhere comfortable to wait ‘till Vik comes.”
Despite his reservation, he takes Johnny’s hand to pull him toward the stairs.
“We’re holding hands,” Johnny observes with a sluggish smile.
“Yes.”
“Like you do when you go on dates with V.”
Kerry glances at him over his shoulder with a frown.
“Yes,” he repeats warilly.
“We could hold hands too, if we were dating?”
Instead of a reply, the musician pushes his friend toward the bed and watches him fall on it gracelessly. Johnny huffs, hide his face behind his hands and Kerry distinctly hears him mutter “shut up, shut up, shut up ” to himself.
The musician takes the bottle of water he put next to his treadmill that morning and brings it to Johnny, telling him to drink. He does, gulping the contents before throwing the bottle away in a fit of frustration.
Kerry watches him arch on the bed with a whine, and can’t help but notice how hard he is.
“Want me to leave you alone?” he asks tentatively.
“No! I want you to come here and fuck me ‘til I pass out!” Johnny blurts.
Kerry’s heart does something weird, and his guts tighten with desire because while the situation is fucked up, there is no dennying that seeing Johnny all whiny and desperate on his bed is doing things to him.
“Shit,” they both hiss at the same time, looking at one another until the resurrected man turns his head away, his face flushed and his eyes dark. His breathing is harsh, and his hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides, like he’s trying to resist reaching for his hard cock.
Kerry finds himself seated on the edge of the bed without making a conscious decision.
“What do you want, exactly? Tell me,” he orders.
Johnny glares at him, and Kerry knows it’s an asshole move, as he’s clearly taking advantage of the situation. Then again, if they want to go further, something needs to give and that thing is Johnny’s pride.
“Want you to suck me off,” he starts, and Kerry rolls his eyes because this is classical Johnny, “not long, just wanna feel your lips around me cause the only time I did was when I was in V’s head and there was this fucking frustrating delay — shit, don’t do that Ker, please.”
Instead of appealing to his good sense, Johnny’s begging only stokes the fire inside Kerry’s veins.
“You want me to tease you?”
“Yes!”
“Then what?”
Johnny pulls a face like he’s really trying to shut his mouth but can’t.
“Then I wan’t you to slap me, hard, tell me to spread my legs but I won’t do it so you’ll need to slap me harder, force them open — fuck,” he pants and suddenly grabs Kerry’s arm, trying to bring him closer. The man resists, but Johnny’s eyes turn pleading, with a shadow of fear inside of them. As wary as Kerry still is, that expression pulls at him so he reluctantly gets closer.
“Kiss me, please kiss me, I… Ker, please,” Johnny begs, brow pitching and jaw working like the words are burning his tongue. He tilts his head, the definition of imploring and Kerry feels like in a trance. He bends over his friend, slowly, inch by inch, and hears Johnny whine right before their mouths touch.
Usurprisingly, Johnny doesn’t give Kerry the benefit of exploring this, he surges up, turns the kiss feral and fucking messy, with long licks of his tongue and sharp bites over his lips. Kerry moans, half in surprise, half in pleasure, and puts a hand on Johnny’s nape and the other in his hair to keep him still. He regains control of the kiss, going gentler, more sensual than frantic and drinks up the moan Johnny lets out with satisfaction.
It feels like something they should have done a long, long time ago. Fifty years, maybe. They kissed a few times, no, scratch that, Kerry kissed Johnny a few times and Johnny let him because he thought it was funny, or because he knew it would drive the crowd wild, or just to piss Kerry’s input du jour. But he never really kissed back, and always finished the affair by mocking Kerry for his dumb crush.
This time, when Kerry pulls back, Johnny strains to keep him there and whines pitifully again.
“Please,” he whispers once more.
“Please, what?” Kerry murmurs back, darkened eyes roaming over Johnny’s face.
“Please touch me, don’t stop, don’t leave, don’t leave me .”
The flow of confessions drowns Kerry, who fights to keep breathing. He swallows, and frowns.
“You’re the one who left me, J,” he accuses even as his right hand drifts toward Johnny’s cock, feeling the trembling skin under his fingertips as the man pushes up against the caress.
“I’m sorry. It was fucked up, I was fucked up, I couldn’t see a way out, it hurt so fucking much, nothing could make it stop, I just… I wanted… I couldn’t — Kerry don’t do that to me.”
But Kerry is so doing this.
“What did you want?”
With a frustrated sound, Johnny clamps his lips down, but Kerry finally wraps a hand around his cock at that moment. His friend gasps and moans, opening his mouth to a new flow of words.
“You. I fuckin’ wanted you, I wanted to be that guy, the one that could make you happy but everything was burning and I couldn’t see straight. Didn’t want to bring you down with me,” he reveals more quietly, even as he pants wetly and thrust up into Kerry’s hand.
The musician isn’t moving anymore, just watching how desperate Johnny is, his hazy gaze, his lashes wet with sweat and maybe something else. He looks in pain, he looks like he’s tearing at the seams and it makes something twisted and feral surge inside Kerry.
“Tell me everything you didn’t tell me back then,” he orders and Johnny shakes his head, looks at the entrance of the stairs like he hopes V will save him. Kerry slaps him and Johnny lets out a guttural noise, sagging against the bed. He looks lost as he searches for Kerry’s eyes, but finds no comfort in them.
Sitting up and stradling the resurrected man, Kerry grabs his chin harshly and seethes into his mouth.
“You hurt me, Johnny. I spent fifty years trying to get rid of your ghost, only for you to come back. You want me? You want to be part of what V and I have? You gotta work for it. Tell me.”
For good measure, he starts jerking him off again and trails his free hand under, toward Johnny’s hole. He teases him there, watches hungrily as the man spreads his legs more and throws an arm over his eyes.
“Don’t,” Kerry orders and after a few seconds of harsh breathing, Johnny frees his face.
“I hated when you left the band, it felt like the worst breakup ever,” Johnny starts and Kerry spits in his hand to wet his fingers before pushing one inside his friend. “I hated all your inputs because I was jealous. I hated myself each time I let you kiss me and hated myself even more when I pushed you away. I hated the looks you gave me by the end, like you were pitying me.”
Each confession is welcomed by Kerry deepening his prep work. He spits twice more before reaching for the lube by the foot of the bed. Johnny hisses when the cold gel hits his skin and grips the sheets.
“I was,” Kerry answers with a touch of venom, “You were pathetic.”
“I hated that I made you hate me,” Johnny finishes, looking down at Kerry and it feels more like a question than a revelation.
The singer wishes he could stay angry at Johnny, but the truth is that he never could. He can’t help but relent somewhat, and finds it in himself to be kind again.
“I never hated you, Johnny, never could,” he wipes the residual lube on his cock, “ready?”
Johnny shakes his head no, but grabs Kerry by the nape for another kiss, wrapping his legs around his waist.
“Yes,” he says.
So Kerry takes him, he doesn’t really go slow, but he does this as delicately as his mood allows. Johnny shudders, moans and sags against the bed. He blinks sluggishly, and his eyes flutter close like his brain disconnected the moment he got Kerry’s cock in his ass. It’s… It’s cute.
Kerry shifts, pushes him to curl up more so he can penetrate him better. His thrusts are slow but powerful, he’s taking his time but he’s doing it with a mean edge. Of course, Johnny likes that, if the little keens and moans he lets out every time Kerry’s thighs slap against his ass are anything to go by.
“Good?” he asks, and Johnny nods enthusiastically.
“Harder,” he replies and Kerry heeds him, abs tightening to rock into him more powerfully.
Johnny’s arms curl around Kerry’s shoulders loosely, looking him straight in the eyes, letting him see everything. It’s humbling because Johnny really looks stripped of everything but the essential: he looks drunk, dazed but in a good way, open and honest for maybe the first time of his life and Kerry is there to witness it, to catch him when he falls.
“Touch yourself, make yourself come, Johnny.”
With a grunt, the man does, just wrapping a hand over his dick but not moving much, leaving Kerry’s movements to drive him into his own fist.
“Kerry,” he calls after a good minute of hard pounding, tone urgent, “Kerry!”
The musician kisses him, he doesn’t really know what else to do. Johnny’s noises are closer to little sobs now, like he’s overwhelmed by the sensations, his skin covered in sweat, tongue lolling out to catch Kerry’s every time he pulls back.
“I got you, J,” the other man whispers against his lips. “I’m right here, I’m staying.”
Another minute of taking him with deep, powerful thrusts and Johnny’s breath stops in his lungs. He hiccups and tries to arch even more as Kerry feels him clench around his cock. Fuck, it’s hot. Blinded by the pleasure, the musician doesn’t see the way Johnny tries, futilely, to close his mouth. The last confession escapes him as he comes.
“I love you,” he mouths, like it’s less real if there is no sound, but Kerry reads it on his lips all the same. Same as he registers Johnny’s wide and confused eyes, and the way his face contorts in pleasure as his climax takes him.
Kerry blinks, still hard inside of him. He gives Johnny a minute, watches him swallow, pant out softly and close his eyes with a pained expression.
“Look at me,” the musician asks, a lot gentler than before. Johnny refuses for maybe ten more seconds before he tentatively opens his eyes. The orgasm seems to have cleared his thoughts a bit because part of his mask is back in place.
“Tell me that again when you’re ready, and I’ll really believe it,” Kerry whispers and after a moment, Johnny nods, grateful.
It’s the moment V choses to hike up the stairs.
“Vik is coming, said to just keep him hydrated. Also, he said, I quote, ‘the symptoms include heightened libido’ but I really don’t think his can get any higher so wow —” he stops as he comes to the second floor and discovers the scene.
Both men tensed on the bed when they heard him come, but didn’t part, so it’s pretty obvious what they’ve been up to.
“Man, really?” V complains, “Without me?”
Kerry snorts and pets Johnny’s side idly. He should feel more guilty, he knows, but in the grand scheme of their relationship, this is but the last fucked up thing they did to each other. It’s marginally better than most of the things Johnny did to him when he manipulated him into dropping inputs, coming back to the band, playing the first part of his shows, and Kerry never said he was the forgiving type.
Instead, he feels… Happy, but the vicious kind, vindicated like he’s just won something after a long, really long fight. He pulls out, or tries to, but Johnny tightens his legs around his waist to keep him where he is.
Glancing down, Kerry can see he’s hard again, still hard.
“How long did Vik say the symptoms would last?” Kerry asks while trailing a finger into Johnny’s spending.
“He said it depends on the quantity,” V replies, coming closer.
They should probably talk about this, but V clearly has other priorities now that his threesome fantasy is unfolding in front of his eager eyes.
“He also said that if he was gonna overdose or have an allergic reaction, it would have happened already.”
“Hmm,” Kerry smiles at Johnny, who scowls. “Maybe you should call him back and say we don’t need his services right now.”
“Yeah,” V breathes out, a knee on the bed. Johnny raises his chin, but his defiant attitude really is ruined by his flushed cheeks, and the desire in his eyes. When V leans in for a kiss, he just groans lowly and catches the merc’s nape, pulling him closer.