Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The incense was burning low.

Curling threads of smoke wound upward in lazy spirals, catching soft light through the dust-specked window of Misty's Esoterica shop. A tired song buzzed from the old radio on the shelf behind the counter – some synthpop number that had looped three times already because V couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to change it.

He sprawled on the tall stool behind the register, thumb flicking lazily through posts on his phone. Half the net was flooded with rumours about some Corpo exec's scandal – nothing new there. The rest was just ads, gigs he wasn’t in the mood to take, and thirst traps from strangers pretending their lives were interesting.

He sighed, glanced at the clock. Still a couple hours before Misty and Jackie would return. They were out seeing some romance flick at a retro theatre downtown, something ancient and French. Jackie had blushed when Misty whispered the title in his ear.

The shop was warm, a little too warm. Somewhere between the incense, the yellowed glow of mismatched lamps, and the humidity from the broken AC, V was starting to doze off upright, phone slack in his hand.

He was jolted back to awareness when the chime over the door jangled with a metallic screech.

V blinked, sat up straighter. The street outside was still dusk-coloured, all neons painted with the smear of passing vehicles, but now the shop had company.

Two men stumbled inside in a rush, pushing the door shut behind them so hard the hanging chimes clanged. They were breathing hard, backs pressed to the inside of the door like they expected it to burst open again.

V stared. He didn’t recognise either of them. But he noticed them.

The first guy had that lean, wired look like he’d walked out of a poster for an old rock-and-roll concert. Aviators pushed up into messy dark hair, leather jacket worn thin at the elbows, a faded tank underneath with some old logo too cracked to read. A silver dog tag chain glinted at his throat. His jaw was dusted with stubble, mouth parted like he was about to say something scathing.

The second man looked... sleeker but only barely. Black blazer over a deep V-neck shirt that revealed layers of gold necklaces and enough chromed collarbone to make V’s gaze linger. Sharp cheekbones, and silvery hair swept back in styled waves. But it wasn’t arrogance in his expression – just a kind of wide-eyed alertness, like he was still listening for footsteps.

“Close the blinds,” the first guy said, without looking V’s way.

V didn’t move. “Who the hell are you?”

The second man glanced at him, then crossed the shop in long strides, flipping the switch on the blinds manually until slats clacked shut and the outside world disappeared in a wash of shadows and pale light.

The rockerboy-lookin’ one turned and finally looked at V like he was seeing him for the first time. “You work here?”

“Depends,” V said, standing slowly. “You planning to rob me or buy a chakra candle?”

The guy grinned. It was lopsided, crooked as hell. V’s stomach did a weird little flip.

“Nah, man. Just need a place to duck for five minutes. We’ll be gone before your hocus-pocus bullshit gets all messed up from our auras or whatever.”

“Who’s chasing you?”

A dull thump against the glass answered him first. Then the door handle jiggled followed by giggles. High, breathy and overexcited.

“Oh my god, I swear they came in here.”

“Check the shop, check the shop! Maybe they’re hiding in the back!”

Voices just outside. Female and desperate, almost feverish sounding.

V blinked. “Oookay… that’s totally normal.”

He pointed at the beaded curtain at the back – hand-painted by Misty with some kind of lunar cycle. “Behind there. It’s employees only. Don’t touch anything.”

Leather Jacket and Blazer exchanged a look, equal parts surprised and amused, and slipped past the counter, parting the beads. The last thing V saw was the edge of a tattoo running down the second guy’s arm as he vanished.

V barely had time to glance toward the curtain before the door was yanked open again, chimes going off in a riot of metallic noise. Three girls barged in. One wore an oversized band tee cut into fringe, another had blue eyebrows and a holo-cam drone hovering near her shoulder like a mechanical fly, the last had lime green optic implants that reminded V of a frog.

None of them looked at V like a person. Just a temporary obstacle.

“Did two guys come in here just now?” the blue-browed one asked, scanning the room like she expected someone to pop out from behind the Himalayan salt lamps. “One’s tall, lots of leather, gorgeous in a 'punch-you-in-the-face' way? The other’s shorter. Killer cheekbones?”

V blinked once and played dumb.

“Nope.”

They all turned to stare at him.

“You sure ?” the third one asked, stepping closer. Her makeup sparkled under the low lights, pupils flexing as her optics adjusted. “One of them wears a lot of gold jewellery. He has this—this thing he does with his mouth when he’s annoyed. Like a twitch.”

V scratched his stomach slowly, letting his crop top rise a little higher – he’d dressed for comfort, not company. Still, the way their eyes briefly flicked down made him smirk.

“No one came in,” he said, voice flat as the sidewalk. “Just me. And unless you’re here to buy some crystals, scented candles, or a love spell to charm your favourite BD star, I suggest you fuck off.”

They hesitated. Looked at each other.

Then one of them sniffed, like she was doing him a favour by leaving, and turned sharply on her heel.

“Whatever. Asshole.”

The others followed, grumbling and shooting long, suspicious looks at the back of the shop. The door jingled again as they left.

V exhaled, rolled his neck, then padded toward the curtain, brushing the beads aside with his forearm.

“You’re clear,” he said. “Your stalkers—”

He stopped.

His mouth didn’t quite fall open, but it came close.

Pressed up against the wall with his hands fisted into Leather Jacket’s hair, breathing hard for reasons that had nothing to do with running, was the silver-haired guy. And slamming into his mouth with a hunger that practically radiated heat was the other guy – Leather Jacket – his dog tags swinging slightly with the motion.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t polite. Their mouths crushed together like it was a fight. The taller guy shoved his thigh between the other’s legs, dragging a rough sound out of him. Teeth flashed. A groan, low and hungry, buzzed against the walls.

V's hand dropped from the curtain.

His skin flushed beneath his tattoos.

He wasn’t new to this. He’d seen shit. Done shit. But something about this – the sheer rawness of it, the mess of hands and mouths and the fury in their kiss – slammed into him with the force of a thrown molatov.

He cleared his throat. Loud and deliberate.

Neither of them flinched.

The tall one broke the kiss slowly, like he was choosing to, not because of the interruption. He didn’t step back, just rested his forehead against the other’s for a second, whispered something V couldn’t hear, then finally turned his head.

And looked at V.

His smirk unfurled like smoke, lazy and cocky. His dark eyes dragged down V’s frame in no particular rush, lingering at the exposed strip of skin above V’s waistband – where hard muscle dipped into a sharp arrow, disappearing into the low hem of his cargo pants.

The look was a question and a challenge and a promise all at once. V felt the back of his neck start to sweat.

The other man, who V had expected to be the more modest of the two, was just as bold. He leaned back against the wall, blazer hanging open, lips wet and parted, eyes dragging over V like he was a fresh cocktail on a sweltering day.

V cleared his throat again.

“You two good back here?” he said, voice drier than the powdered incense.

Leather Jacket chuckled. “Better now.”

The other one didn’t even blink. “Thanks for covering.”

V raised a brow. “Sure. Didn’t know I was playing bodyguard for a couple of horny fugitives.”

That earned a sharp, barked laugh from the leather-clad one. “Fugitives, huh? I like that.”

V didn’t move from the curtain. Didn’t quite know why he was still standing there. But he felt pinned in place by two pairs of eyes like searchlights – one mocking, one appreciative, both hungry.

He shifted his weight, the leather of his boots creaking softly on the old floor. “You done making out against my boss’s storage or should I give you another minute?”

The short one tilted his head, gaze dipping low again. He looked like he was measuring something.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Depends if you’re planning to join us.”

V’s mouth went dry.

He should’ve laughed. Should’ve shut the curtain and gone back to pretending he didn’t care. But his pulse beat low and heavy as heat curled in his gut, his tongue struggled to find a smart-ass reply. Instead, he just stood there, heart hammering, while two unfairly sexy strangers watched him like he was their next course.

V hovered in the doorway for a moment, like he’d forgotten how to use his limbs. The incense curled between him and the two strangers, sweet and thick.

The offer clearly hadn’t been a joke. That was the part that caught him off guard.

Two ridiculously hot men – pressed together minutes ago, clearly already halfway to devouring each other – had looked at him, stupid crop top and all, and invited him to join in their fun.

And fuck if his cock wasn’t already ahead of him, half hard in his pants, pressing against the inside of his zipper with interest.

His day had been dull as hell. Nothing but boring-ass synth tracks, stocking Misty’s weird inventory, and scrolling past people pretending to have more interesting lives.

He deserved this.

“I’m just going to lock the front door,” V said. His voice was low already and rough at the edges.

Neither man replied. They just watched him.

V backed out into the shop proper, fingers moving fast. He engaged the deadbolt, security system and flipped the front sign to CLOSED and took a second to breathe.

When he returned behind the curtain, the air had changed, grown even hotter if that were possible.

Blazer had shed his jacket completely, and his shirt was yanked halfway up his toned chest, stuck under one arm like it’d been dragged there in haste and then forgotten. His mouth was red from kissing, hair mussed now, and his belt undone.

The other one, Leather Jacket, who smirked like he knew a secret, was already shirtless. Dog tags swayed gently at his chest. His torso was lean and scarred and gorgeous, every line made sharper by the dim, low light of the back room. Obscenely tight leather pants still clung to his hips, but the buckle was undone and Blazer’s hand was shoved down the front.

V swallowed hard. His fingers twitched at his side.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

The tall one grinned all teeth, “Hope you haven’t changed your mind.”

V stepped in and let the curtain fall behind him, soft beads clicking into place.

“No,” he said. “Just trying not to come from looking at you two.”

That earned a dark laugh.

“C’mere then,” said Blazer, beckoning with two fingers. “You’re overdressed.”

“Agreed,” added Leather Jacket, voice husky, eyes glued to the strip of skin still visible beneath V’s shirt.

V stepped closer, pulse thudding in his throat. Blazer reached for him first, warm hands sliding under his crop top, fingertips skimming across the taut plane of his stomach. V’s breath hitched. The man’s touch was practiced, his palms mapped skin like he meant to chart it.

The other came in behind him, pressed close, hips brushing V’s ass, his hand drifting around to slide low over V’s belly. He nuzzled behind V’s ear, breath hot and filthy.

“You got any idea how fuckable you look right now?” he whispered. “You walk around dressed like this every day?”

V huffed out a surprised laugh, suddenly completely breathless. “Y-yeah, just my style. I didn’t think I was gonna be playing the meat in a manwich today.”

Leather Jacket paused, then laughed low in his throat. “You don’t know who we are do you?”

“Nope. Don't care.”

“Fuck. Even hotter.”

Blazer pulled V’s top off in one clean motion, eyes roaming over ink, scars, sweat-slicked skin. His pupils blew wide, his mouth parting just slightly like he wanted to taste every inch.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice pitched just enough to give V room to walk away.

V nodded. “Lock’s turned. Security is on. I’m all in.”

Barely two seconds and just like that, hands were on him.

Greedy, rough, dragging over his skin like they owned it. One mouth on his neck, teeth scraping, another on his chest, biting his pierced nipples hard enough to make him grunt. His pants were tugged down, half undone, then fully, pooled around his ankles. Hands were everywhere – one fisting his cock, another gripping his thigh, and when V gasped, one of them groaned right back, like it turned him on just to hear it.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic.

It was desperate.

It was needy .

V was having the time of his fucking life.

Pressed between two unfairly gorgeous men – Leather Jacket at his back, all heat and sharp teeth, and Blazer in front of him, dragging his hands down V’s chest like he was mapping out every contour – V’s brain had stopped all higher function somewhere between the second bite to his neck and the first breathless moan.

It was filthy, in all the best ways. The incense smoke was thick, curling around their bodies, catching the dim light in lazy gold ribbons while the sound of mouths on skin, of low groans and panting breath, echoed against the shelves stacked with crystals and smudge bundles.

Blazer dropped to his knees.

V barely had time to blink. One second the guy was kissing a trail down his chest, and the next, he was on the floor, hands sliding up V’s thighs, mouth brushing the head of V’s cock like it was a luxury he’d waited all day to taste.

“Holy fuck ,” V hissed, his hips jerking at the first hot slide of tongue against him.

Leather Jacket laughed low in his ear, arms caging V from behind, his chest pressed flush to V’s back, breath scorching.

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching over V’s shoulder like it was a live BD feed made just for him. “You’re gonna wanna hang on to him. Grab his hair.”

V didn’t need to be told twice.

He reached down, threading his fingers through Blazer’s tousled silver hair. It was soft, thick and easier than expected to get a good grip. The moment he tugged, Blazer moaned around him, deep and raw, like he was the one being sucked off.

V’s knees almost buckled.

Leather Jacket groaned behind him like he could feel it too, pressing his erection into V’s ass with a filthy grind. “That’s it. He loves that. Pull it. Make him work for it.”

V did. Tightened his grip just a little, guided that slick, eager mouth back down his shaft. Blazer took him with enthusiasm that bordered on obscene – sloppy and deep, eyes glittering up at V with nothing shy of hunger.

Leather Jacket didn’t just watch. He slid his own hand down, joined V’s fingers in Blazer’s hair, guiding his pace with a rough, practiced rhythm. Their hands brushed with every motion, both of them holding him down together.

“Look at you,” Leather Jacket murmured. “Sharing already. Knew you’d be fun.”

V was too far gone to answer. All he could do was feel – the pull of hair in his grip, the heat of that mouth working him over, the hard press of another body behind him. The sound of it was pure filth – wet, desperate, a symphony of gasps and low-throated praise from Leather Jacket as he pressed kisses and bites to V’s shoulder, murmuring encouragements like he couldn’t help himself.

And in the middle of it all – on his knees, greedy and beautiful – was Blazer, moaning around V’s cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

V tilted his head back, eyes fluttering closed, and gave in to the blur of pleasure, sensation, and something dangerously close to addiction.

V was shaking.

Not from nerves, no, those had burned out somewhere around the first groan that’d rumbled low in Blazer’s throat.

He was shaking from the sheer need. His legs were unsteady, hands knotted in Blazer’s hair, body split down the middle between the wet heat of that mouth and the raw, coiled pressure behind him.

Leather Jacket pressed up flush behind him, the weight of his cock pressing firm and thick against the cleft of V’s ass through leather. His voice was a growl at V’s ear, warm enough to set every nerve ending alight.

“You good with getting fucked, crop-top?” he murmured. “Or are we just teasing you until your knees give out?”

V let out a broken laugh, breath caught somewhere between a moan and a curse.

“Fuck yes,” he gasped. “Please. Yes.”

Leather Jacket bit lightly at his neck. “This mystical dump got any lube, or do I gotta get creative?”

V, breathless, flicked his gaze toward a storage nearby shelf. He couldn’t form words for a second. Just nodded toward a frosted glass bottle labelled “Sensual Secrets: Warming Massage Elixir” .

Leather Jacket followed his line of sight, then snorted. “You’re serious?”

V grinned, ragged. “Shut up and grab it.”

In one smooth motion, Leather Jacket snagged the bottle and popped the cap with his thumb. The scent hit instantly – something with lavender and patchouli.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, slicking his fingers. “This shit is fruity as hell.”

V opened his mouth to fire off something smart but then Leather Jacket was behind him again, fingers sliding between his cheeks, circling his hole in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You’d let two strangers ruin you in a backroom with fucking massage oil?” he whispered, voice like smoke and sin.

V bucked against the first press of slick fingers. “Yes. Fuck, please. ”

That was all it took.

Leather Jacket didn’t waste time. He pushed one finger in, slow but firm, stretching him open with practiced ease. The oil was warm, not uncomfortably so, but just enough to make V’s breath stutter. Then came the second finger, thicker, deeper, and V had to brace himself against Blazer’s shoulder, knuckles white.

Below him, Blazer was still on his knees, mouth working him over like it was a competition. But it was too much . V felt the edge rushing up fast, unstoppable.

He let out a ragged cry, pushing at Blazer with both hands.

“Stop. Fuck—stop, I’m gonna—”

Blazer pulled off with a wet, obscene sound, lips kiss-bruised, chin slick, and looked up with pupils blown wide. His silver-blond hair was a mess finger-tangled and perfect in its ruin. He looked intoxicated and hungry, like he could devour V whole and still not be satisfied.

He rose in one fluid motion, kissed the corner of V’s mouth, then bent his head without a word and latched onto one of V’s pierced nipples.

V yelped.

Not words, just sound. The sharp drag of teeth, the cool flick of his nipple-ring, the suction that tugged just shy of pain – fuck . It was electric. His hips rocked between the grind of Leather Jacket’ hand and Blazer’s mouth, pleasure crackling through him like a circuit overloading.

Behind him, Leather Jacket growled low in his throat.

“You feel that?” he whispered, fingers curling deep inside. “You’re sucking me in already, tight as hell.”

V couldn’t speak. He just nodded, jaw slack, moaning as Blazer moved to his other nipple, licking a hot stripe across it before biting down, gentle but firm, and V nearly lost it again.

“I can’t—I’m gonna— fuck —”

“Not yet,” Leather Jacket said, voice iron-wrapped silk. “You’re gonna come when I’m inside you. Not before.”

By the time Leather Jacket pulled his fingers free, slick and slow, V was panting, mind half-melted. His body felt strung out, tuned to a frequency that buzzed just beneath the skin. His legs were barely holding him upright, but he didn’t care – not with the heat burning through his core and the weight of both men around him.

They didn’t give him time to cool down.

Strong hands – he wasn’t sure whose – urged him forward. He went willingly, pliant, pliable, guided until his hips bumped against the edge of the small wooden table shoved up against the wall. It was old and heavy, covered in wax stains and faint sigils, but it held steady as they bent him over it, chest pressing to the surface, arms braced wide.

The table creaked as V’s weight settled. Behind him, Leather Jacket’ hands gripped his hips, thumbs digging into muscle, spreading him open again.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped. “Can’t wait to split you open.”

At the same time, Blazer stepped around to the front, now completely bare, cock already glistening at the tip, flushed and thick and just there , within reach. He ran a hand through his ruined silver hair, a dazed, hungry look on his face.

“Hey,” Blazer said, voice rougher now, gentler, his hand cupping V’s jaw. “You okay with being stuffed from both ends?”

V didn’t hesitate.

His mouth curled into something between a grin and a moan. “You kidding?” he said, breathless. “I want it.”

Blazer’s smile went sharp.

“Good,” he said. “Open up.”

V parted his lips as Blazer stepped closer, one hand steadying himself on the table, the other guiding his cock to V’s mouth. The first slide in was hot and slow, the tip dragging across V’s tongue, and he groaned around it just as he felt Leather Jacket shift behind him, thick cock lining up to his entrance.

The moment was suspended, a breath held in three mouths. Then Leather Jacket pushed in.

V cried out around Blazer’s cock, voice muffled and broken as Leather Jacket slid in, the burn delicious, the stretch dizzying. He felt full, already gasping, one hand grasping the table edge while the other clutched at Blazer’s thigh. The table creaked beneath him as both men started to move – Leather Jacket’ thrusts slow but deep, Blazer rolling his hips forward in shallow pulses, feeding V more of his length with every motion.

They found a rhythm, not rushed but intentional, every motion coordinated and practiced. Like they’d done this before. Like they knew how to wring pleasure from someone until all that was left was sweat, helpless sounds and pure surrender.

V didn’t know where to focus, the cock in his mouth or the one inside his ass. Every thrust forward forced him back, every push from behind made him moan around Blazer’s length, eyes fluttering shut.

He was being used, but not in a way that made him feel small. He felt worshipped. Taken apart. Made into something better.

Leather Jacket leaned over him, sweat dripping to the back of V’s neck, breath ragged.

“You’re fucking perfect like this,” he growled. “Tight and filthy.”

Blazer pulled back just far enough to let V breathe, to see the wrecked look on his face. “Fuck, you look good with a cock in your mouth,” he said. “Wanna see how long you can last like this.”

V tried to speak – tried to say don’t stop – but all that came out was a desperate, hungry moan as he rocked between them, throat and ass stretched to their limits, each pulse of pleasure winding tighter in his gut.

He didn’t know how long he could last.

And he didn’t care.

Every thrust knocked the air out of him. Every deep push from behind made his eyes roll back. His arms trembled where they braced against the worn surface of the table, and his knuckles had gone white with the strain of holding on. Between his legs, his cock hung heavy and untouched, bobbing with every movement, leaking steadily onto the floor.

He didn’t know a body could feel this much at once.

There was a moment that was almost sweet, when Leather Jacket grabbed the back of Blazer’s head and pulled him close. V could hear them kissing each other as they fucked him. Wild desperate pants into each other’s mouths. But they didn’t let that stall them for long.

Leather Jacket was relentless behind him – rough, precise, each thrust angled to wreck V just right – while Blazer moved in tandem, fucking V’s mouth with slow, savouring strokes like he couldn’t get enough of the heat and wet around his cock. It was too much. It was perfect.

The pressure built so fast it terrified him.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg, his mouth was too full, throat too tight around Blazer’s cock. All he could do was feel his climax rising like a rogue wave, huge and unstoppable, ripping through him from the base of his spine outward.

V’s eyes welled up. He didn’t even notice until a tear slipped free and dripped onto the table beneath him.

His stomach clenched, muscles locking, and he came – no contact to his dick, nothing but the brutal, perfect rhythm of two men using him exactly how he’d begged for. His vision went white at the edges. A moan tore from his throat, muffled by the length still sliding across his tongue.

He shook.

Hot pulses of cum spilled untouched from his cock beneath the table, splashing down his thighs, dripping onto the floor. He couldn’t remember ever coming like that. Hands-free, brain blank, every nerve on fire. He was stunned, dazed, gasping around Blazer’s cock like he’d just been electrocuted with pleasure.

Behind him, Leather Jacket let out a feral noise – something between a snarl and a groan – and pulled out just in time. V felt the sudden heat of his cum splatter across his ass and lower back, thick and hot, striping his skin with each jerk of Leather Jacket’ cock. The man’s breath came in ragged pants behind him, hands still gripping V’s hips like he needed something to hold on to.

Then Blazer gave one last thrust into V’s mouth and came with a choked curse, cock twitching on V’s tongue. V swallowed greedily, letting the heat flood down his throat, lips sealed tight, moaning even as he took it.

It was messy. It was overwhelming. It was perfect.

When it was done, the only sound in the shop was their collective breathing. 

V’s arms shook where he leaned against the table. He could feel cum cooling on his back, taste the slick salt of it still lingering on his tongue.

He’d never felt so thoroughly fucked in his entire life.

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the weight of what had just happened, and yet not uncomfortable. V draped over the table like his bones had liquefied, breath slowly dragging in and out of him. Sweat clung to his skin, cooling in the air, and the scent of sex was damn near alchemical. He couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

Then Leather Jacket broke the silence with a voice rough and low, but amused.

“Shit, you took two cocks like a goddamn pro.”

V couldn’t even summon a snarky reply. He just lifted one arm, wrist wobbling a bit, and gave the man a shaky thumbs-up from where he lay slumped over the table.

Blazer laughed, deep and warm. The sound made something pleasant tug in V’s chest.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said, still catching his breath. “That's the best afternoon I’ve had all damn week.”

V snorted, voice still hoarse. “My day was boring as shit until you two crashed in here.” He slowly peeled one cheek from the wood grain, wincing at the tacky sound.

Blazer looked around, bare-ass naked and entirely unbothered, until he spotted a rag that looked clean enough hanging off a hook. He plucked it free and sauntered over, wiping gently at the mess on V’s lower back and thighs, each stroke surprisingly considerate.

“There,” he murmured. “Can’t let you get stuck to the furniture. We’re not animals.”

“Debatable,” V muttered with a weak grin, finally managing to push himself upright.

Eventually, once shirts were pulled back on and pants were halfway decent, Leather Jacket leaned one elbow on the shelving and tilted his head.

“So, what do we call you, other than ‘fuckin’ amazing’?”

V blinked at him, mind still foggy, then shrugged one shoulder. “V.”

“V, huh?” Blazer echoed, fussing with his own belt buckle. “Short and sweet.”

V eyed them both, now that he could actually see clearly again. They looked good, almost too good.

“And you two?” he asked. “Got names, or am I going to have to makes some up?”

They exchanged a brief glance – just a flicker, some unspoken hesitation – but then Leather Jacket shrugged and said, “Johnny.”

“...Kerry,” added Blazer, offering a faint smirk.

V nodded, “Cool. Nice to meet you both. Real nice.”

A few more minutes passed while they got their shit together. The shop was quiet, save for the lazy tick of the ceiling fan and some weird crystal humming in the corner.

“Those girls still gone?” V asked, stretching his back with a wince.

Johnny peered out the front window, then jerked his chin. “Looks clear.”

They moved toward the door, but lingered just a second longer. V leaned his hip on the counter, watching them both with a lazy smile.

“If you ever need to hide from more deranged stalkers,” he said casually, “you’re welcome to drop by. Wouldn’t say no to a repeat performance.”

Johnny’s grin was pure filth. He pointed at V as he backed toward the door.

“You can count on it.”

Then they were gone, slipping out into the dusky haze of Night City like they’d never been there at all.

V stared after them a long moment, then turned back to the shop with a dazed laugh.

“...Misty and Jackie are never gonna believe this shit.”

By the time pair strolled back into the shop, hand-in-hand and glowing with the kind of post-date bliss that made V want to roll his eyes, the place looked exactly like it had before the chaos. Maybe even cleaner.

V had scrubbed the table, wiped down every surface within reach, and burned one of Misty’s herbal incense cones – something labelled “Emotional Alignment.” Whatever. It got rid of the smell of sweat, sex, and leather.

He was leant back on the stool behind the counter, phone in hand, boots up like he hadn’t just been railed into enlightenment by two strangers half an hour earlier.

“Hey choomba,” Jackie greeted him, grinning ear to ear. “You shoulda’ seen this place we went after the movie. Misty took me to some rooftop tea bar with floating fishbowls and shit. Real zen.”

Misty gave Jackie a loving nudge with her hip. “And you didn’t even knock over a single one.”

“Personal growth,” Jackie said, dead serious, and kissed the top of her head.

V gave them a crooked smile, letting the scene warm him up from the inside. “Sounds like you two had a good time.”

“The best,” Misty beamed. She stepped behind the counter, giving V a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Thanks for holding down the fort. Everything go okay?”

V paused for a second.

Then he tilted his head a bit, like he was still processing it. “Define ‘okay.’”

Jackie raised a brow and looked around. “You didn’t set anything on fire, right?”

“No, no fire.” V dropped his boots from the counter and sat forward. “But two ridiculously hot guys burst in being chased by a swarm of teenage girls like it was a scene out of some trashy TV show.”

Jackie perked up. “Wait, for real?”

V nodded. “Yeah. They asked me to hide them in the backroom. Looked desperate, so I let them. You know, goodwill and all.”

Misty blinked. “Oh my god. Are you serious? Like… fangirls?”

“Dunno,” V said, deadpan. “They were pretty insistent. I think one of them was livestreaming.”

Jackie let out a loud laugh. “Damn, chico, only you could turn a slow day into a telenovela.”

Misty looked vaguely horrified, then intrigued. “Did they say who they were?”

“Nope. Just two pretty men with desperation in their eyes,” V said, casual. “Seemed grateful though. Real grateful.”

Jackie squinted. “Grateful how?”

V’s mouth twitched into a slow, unreadable smirk. “Let’s just say the backroom got some… unexpected use.”

Misty coughed, eyes widening. “ Oh. ”

“Damn, V,” Jackie laughed again, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You really do find trouble in the most interesting ways.”

V shrugged one shoulder, trying not to smile too much. “Was either that or reorganise the crystal shelf again.”

Misty just shook her head, but she was smiling too. “I thought I could feel a different energy in here.”

V just leaned back again, looking faintly smug.

Chapter Text

Life moved on.

The job board was looking up. More eddies, fewer corpo trash fires, and even fewer gigs that ended with them bleeding out in dumpsters. V and Jackie had hit a good streak and word was getting around. Small-time fixers started tossing them work with better pay and with better cred attached.

But the two mystery men never came back.

V found his eyes drifting to the front door of Misty’s shop more than once when the bell jingled. He’d casually asked her to keep an eye out. She just smiled and said she would, but nothing turned up. No sinfully good-looking men pursued by stalkers. Just the usual Night City weirdos browsing incense and tarot cards.

Weeks passed.

One night, V and Jackie were at their usual spot in the Afterlife. Same sticky table, same drinks that could strip paint. Jackie was telling some story, half lies, all charm, and V was halfway to drunk and laughing into his bottle when a shadow cut across the table.

It was Weyland, one of Rogue’s bodyguards. Face like a cracked sidewalk and wearing a permanent sneer.

“Rogue wants you,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the back booth. “Now.”

Jackie and V exchanged a look. Something between surprise and a jolt of adrenaline.

“Holy shit,” Jackie whispered. “You think we pissed her off?”

“No idea,” V muttered, standing up.

They made their way through the crush of mercs and solos, people parting just enough for the queen of the Afterlife. Rogue sat alone at her usual spot, nursing a glass of something that looked top-shelf. She didn’t motion for them to sit, just tilted her head and looked them over.

“Heard you two have been busy,” she said, voice smooth and razor-edged.

“Trying to stay alive,” V replied carefully. “And make a few eddies while we’re at it.”

Jackie nodded. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

Rogue smirked. “Let’s see if you’re worth more than just a good death.”

She slid a shard across the table. V grabbed it. Brief flick of his optics brought up the job details.

“One of my clients had his Porsche jacked. Old school. Worth more than most corpo kids' lives.”

V whistled low. “What kind of dumbass steals something like that and thinks they can sell it?”

“Scavs,” Rogue replied with a roll of her eyes. “Broke into a private garage and saw some shiny gear, didn’t know what they were looking at. Idiots have been sitting on it ever since, trying to figure out how to move it without drawing attention.”

Jackie grinned. “So, you want us to steal back the car?”

“No,” Rogue said sharply. “I want you to recover it. No scratches. No blood on the seats. The client is very particular, especially about his ride.”

V raised a brow. “Name?”

“You don’t need it. All you need to know is you don’t wanna piss him off” Rogue said, downing the rest of her drink. “You want to impress me, get the car back and get it back clean. Don’t fuck it up.”

The shard blinked once, then loaded up a location ping. An industrial garage on the outskirts of Pacifica.

V looked at Jackie, grin spreading. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Jackie smirked, standing tall. “Oh yeah, baby. First step on the ladder of legends.”

They turned to leave, adrenaline kicking in.

Rogue’s voice followed them. “Don’t crash it. He’ll notice . ”

V didn’t ask who he was. Professional discretion and all that.

…

The Pacifica wind smelled like rust and ozone and piss. V hated it. The kind of place where even the buildings looked like they were bleeding out, metal ribs exposed under peeling paint and shattered glass.

He crouched behind a stack of broken-down vending machines, his optics cycling through heat signatures and camera feeds while Jackie loomed nearby, pistols in hand and impatience written all over his broad shoulders.

“Scavs’ve got about as much subtlety as a dumpster fire,” V muttered, running a diagnostic on the wireless nodes scattered across the garage compound ahead. “But even a dumbass can rig a minefield.”

Jackie snorted. “Should we knock?”

“Not unless you wanna collect bullets in your ass.” V tapped at the holo-projection only he could see, fingers dancing mid-air. “Let me kill their eyes first.”

The garage was a two-story industrial relic, half collapsed but still functional. Spotters were perched on scaffolding, bored and smoking something suspicious, eyes lazily scanning the street.

Inside, V could see five heat signatures. One of them was pacing in tight circles – nervous. Two were leant over what looked like an engine block. The other two? Lounging near a folding table covered in stim packs and a few opened bags of kibble. No sign of the car yet, but the building’s rear wing was shielded by signal-blocking mesh. Probably where they were keeping the prize.

V blinked, and his optics shifted to overclock. The world went cold and blue as his scripts loaded up.

“Going dark,” he murmured.

One by one, the cheap security cameras buzzed with static, then winked out. The turret mounted near the loading dock coughed once, blinked red, then sagged in its housing. A faint whine of power loss echoed from the other side of the lot.

Jackie grinned. “Like music, ese.”

“Let’s dance,” V said, and they moved.

They slipped through the broken fence like ghosts, crouched low and fast. Jackie took point as they reached the side door, kicking it open with a metallic crunch. The first scav inside barely got a word out before Jackie pumped him full of lead, his body crumpling between two rusted barrels.

“Clear,” Jackie said, already moving to the next room.

V stayed low, his pistol drawn but fingers still flicking through short-range scans. They hit a hallway, flickering neon overhead, and turned into a side chamber reeking of oil and rot. There – behind a wall of disused crates and a half-assed barricade – was the car.

The Porsche sat under a tarp that couldn’t hide its sharp, predatory lines. Sleek silver paint peeking from underneath the fabric caught what little light filtered through the broken ceiling, clean and immaculate despite the grime of its surroundings.

“Dios mío,” Jackie breathed as he yanked off the tarp. “You seein’ this, V?”

“Yeah,” V said, stepping up to the car like it might vanish if he blinked. “She’s... fucking gorgeous.”

He reached for the driver-side handle. Locked. Of course.

“Cover me,” he said, already pulling a port cable from his wrist.

Jackie nodded, backing toward the hallway. “Let me know when it’s go-time.”

V jacked in.

The Porsche’s system was custom. Sleek, efficient, old code – but powerful. 

Someone had cared a lot about this car. Had poured personality into the lines of its UI. No off-the-rack bullshit. He had to dance with it, tease open its firewall layer by layer, whisper through its circuits like a lover.

The dash flickered to life, humming softly. The seats adjusted with a low whirr. A notification pinged across the HUD: Owner Lock Override - Temporary Access Granted.

“Got it!” V called. “She’s awake and purring.”

A burst of gunfire rattled the walls, and Jackie’s voice shouted, “Scavs incoming, V! Time to make a move!”

V yanked the port free, dropped into the seat and revved the engine. The Porsche snarled like a beast finally loosed from a cage. Jackie hopped into the passenger seat quick as lightening.

V punched the gas and hacked the garage door open, it slid up just enough for them to hit the street. He swung the wheel hard, drifting around debris and broken pavement like he’d been born into the driver’s seat.

Behind him, gunfire echoed and Jackie leant out the window returning fire.

“Come on, choom,” V muttered, “Kill them before their bullets scratch the paintwork.”

“Don’t sweat it ese, drive!” Jackie yelled, laughter wild in his voice.

V didn’t need to be told twice. The Porsche launched forward like it was angry. They left the scavs and the gunfire in the dust, racing back towards the heart of Night City with the wind howling past and V’s heart hammering in his chest.

Jackie whooped, slapping the dash. “Now this a fucking ride, hermano!”

V grinned, eyes still locked on the road. “You think Rogue’s gonna tell us who this beauty belongs to?”

“Nah,” Jackie said, wiping sweat from his brow. “But whoever he is? Guy’s got taste.”

And V, still buzzing from the adrenaline, didn’t argue.

He just drove.

The Porsche sliced through Night City’s roads like a dream on wheels. It purred instead of roared, pure class, pure speed. V handled her like he’d been made to sit behind that wheel, coaxing her into long, graceful turns as the city’s neon haze fell behind them.

Jackie stretched in the passenger seat, boots kicked up on the dash like he owned it.

“So, who the fuck do you think owns this thing?” he asked, half-laughing. “Gotta be someone loaded. Corpo type? Politician?”

“Corpo wouldn’t have taste this good,” V muttered, eyes scanning a nav prompt Rogue had just dropped. “This car’s got soul. Bet it’s some eccentric old fucker with too many eddies and not enough sense. Looks like Rogue’s sending us to North Oak to drop it off.”

“Maybe it’s a BD producer,” Jackie grinned. “People with shit like this are freaky like that.”

V smirked but didn’t bite. His gut said something was weird about this job. The kind of weird that made his palms sweat just a little.

They hit the turnoff to a gated property tucked deep in the hillside. There was no signage, just a sleek driveway and a perimeter that whispered money in about seven languages. The moment the Porsche rolled up, the gates parted with a soft click and slid open.

“Well shit,” Jackie muttered. “Either they were expectin’ us... or this car has VIP clearance.”

V didn’t say anything. He just guided the car up the long, curving drive past manicured hedges. The house that came into view was all modernist angles, smoked glass and steel.

He parked neatly out front, the engine winding down with a low sigh. Clean. Not a scratch.

“Rogue’ll be proud,” Jackie said, hopping out and stretching his arms. “Job well done, mano.”

V stepped out, savouring the breeze in his hair. He was about to suggest they snap a pic for the gig file when the front door hissed open.

A dark figure stepped out, backlit by the interior glow. Leather jacket and legs for days. V noticed the familiar smirk first, then the eyes. Brown and sharp, with that familiar live-wire tension like he was always just one heartbeat from starting a fight.

V’s brain did a weird little stutter.

“Well, I’ll be fucked,” Jackie choked. “That’s—! That’s Johnny goddamn Silverhand!”

V blinked. Johnny. He had said his name was Johnny. But all he could think was holy shit he’s still hot as hell.

Johnny cocked a brow, clearly clocking Jackie’s slack-jawed awe before turning to V.

“You kept her pretty,” he said, voice like gravel.

V gave a crooked grin and managed to find his voice. “Wouldn’t dream of scuffin’ your baby.”

Johnny walked slow, circled the car once, trailing a hand along the paint. He checked every inch like he’d know if someone had even looked at it wrong. Finally, he came to a stop in front of V and gave him a look that was half appreciation, half thinly veiled lust.

“Not bad, crop-top.” Johnny’s voice was low and rough, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he eyed his car.

V felt Johnny’s gaze flicker back to him, slow and deliberate. That look, hungry, teasing, like he was reading every inch of V’s skin and then some. Johnny’s eyes lingered where V’s jacket dropped low to expose his collar bones, and his smirk widened as if daring V to notice.

Jackie’s brow furrowed, watching the exchange, utterly baffled. His glance bounced between the two like he was watching a conversation in a language he didn’t understand.

V caught Johnny’s eye and threw back a playful grin, leaning just a little into the moment. The way Johnny looked at him, bold and open, made V’s pulse spike.

“You planning on ogling all day, or you gonna make a move?” V teased, voice low.

Johnny chuckled, dark and amused. “Depends on if you’re gonna let me.”

Jackie cleared his throat, suddenly very aware he was intruding on some private back-and-forth. “Okay… hold up. How the hell do you two know each other?”

V didn’t even flinch. He leaned back against the car, arms folded, playing it cool. “He and his input dropped into Misty’s shop a few weeks back. Said they needed to hide from some crazy fangirls.”

Jackie blinked, then stared. “Wait— what? That was them ? Those two guys?” His eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. “You’re tellin’ me you… You seriously mean to tell me you fucked Johnny Silverhand and Kerry fucking Eurodyne – in the back room of Misty’s shop – and didn’t even know who they were?”

V just shrugged, deadpan. “Didn’t know. Still don’t really care. I don’t pay attention to pop culture.”

Jackie just stared, jaw slack. “You… unbelievable. Only you, V. Only you could raw two of Night City’s biggest living legends like it was some random hookup off a dating shard and be like ‘whatever.’”

Johnny, meanwhile, scoffed, arms crossing as he narrowed his eyes. “ Pop culture ?” he echoed, looking personally offended. “I’m not pop, choom. I’m fuckin’ punk rock. Get it right.”

V smirked. “Sure you are.”

Jackie was still recovering, muttering to himself in Spanglish and shaking his head as he paced a few steps. “Motherfucker really said he doesn’t care… Ay Dios … ”

Johnny just grinned wider, like V’s disinterest in his fame only made him more intrigued. His eyes glinted as he took a step closer, casually invading V’s space, close enough for the heat between them to kick up again. Jackie pretended to suddenly find the car’s rims very interesting.

“You did a good job,” Johnny said, voice like rough velvet. “How ’bout you come inside… collect your reward?”

V arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. He didn’t need a second invitation, but before he could say anything, Jackie took one look at them and groaned dramatically.

“Yeah, that’s my cue. I’m out.” Jackie turned, already dialling for a ride on his phone. “You kids have fun. Just don’t come crashin’ through the door at 3 a.m. and wake me and Misty up again, yeah?”

Johnny gave Jackie a lazy, lopsided grin, then reached out and casually hooked a finger into the front of V’s shirt, tugging just enough to make a point. “Don’t worry,” he drawled, eyes locked on V. “I’ll make sure he gets home safe.”

He leaned in a little more, lowering his voice with a wicked grin. “Or maybe he’ll decide to stay the night.”

V didn’t bother hiding his smirk as he looked up at Johnny, heart thudding a little harder now. Something about the cocky swagger, the way Johnny looked at him like he already knew every reaction he could draw out – yeah, it was hard to resist.

Jackie shook his head one last time as he walked toward the gate. “Only you, cabrón,” he muttered, half-laughing. “Only you.”

The moment the gate slid shut behind him, Johnny’s grip on V’s shirt tightened just slightly.

“Let’s go inside,” Johnny said.

And V, feeling that familiar pull low in his gut, followed him without hesitation.

Johnny barely gave V the chance to step through the door before he was on him, slamming the door shut behind them and crowding V back against it with a grin sharp enough to cut. His hands were already sliding under the hem of V’s shirt, greedy fingers skimming over tight abs, warm skin. His mouth pressed hot and insistent against V’s jaw, the stubble on his face scratching just right.

V groaned, hands automatically finding Johnny’s sides, but his brain tugged him back for just a second. “Hey—uh…” He glanced around the sleek entry hall, all cool lighting and modern chrome curves. “Is Kerry here?”

Johnny’s mouth twitched against his throat before he leaned back slightly, expression amused. “Nah. He’s out at one of those big-deal industry things – schmoozing, snorting overpriced designer dust, rubbing elbows with people I wouldn’t piss on even if they were on fire.”

V blinked, trying not to be distracted by Johnny’s hands, which were now unapologetically gripping his ass. “Should I… even be here then? I mean—you and him, you’re a thing, right? I don’t wanna get on the bad side of Eurodyne.”

Johnny let out a hoarse laugh. “You’re cute,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down V’s throat. “Nah, Kerry won’t give a damn. Probably getting his dick sucked by some pretty thing in the VIP lounge as we speak.”

V raised a brow. “That’s… romantic.”

Johnny pulled back just far enough to give him a flat look. “Don’t start.”

V chuckled under his breath.

“We’ve got an understanding,” Johnny went on, that grin creeping back in. “We fuck who we want, together or separate. We always come home.”

V let that sink in. A little surprising, but then again, nothing about those two had screamed traditional. “Alright,” he said slowly, grin tugging at his mouth, “good to know.”

Johnny leaned in close, one hand curling into the fabric at V’s waist. “You done with the interrogation now?” he rasped. “Or you gonna shut up and put out already?”

V’s grin turned wicked.

He shoved off the door with a purpose. “Lead the way, rockstar.”

Johnny didn’t just move, he prowled. With a curl of his fingers in V’s belt loops, he tugged him toward the enormous sectional like it was built just for this. The back of V’s knees hit the edge and he dropped down, heart thudding, already burning beneath his skin.

Johnny stood over him, undoing the buckle on his leather pants, slow and cocky. “You were good with Kerry,” he said, voice low and rough like a bassline rolling under V’s skin. “So good I’ve been thinking about it since. Made me a little jealous, to be honest.”

V raised a brow, lips quirking. “Didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

Johnny smirked as he pushed the leather down his hips. “I’m not just jealous, I’m possessive.”

The words went straight to V’s gut. Dark, hot and a little dangerous. He didn’t protest when Johnny stepped in close, not with that look in his eyes. V’s hands moved on instinct, bracing at Johnny’s thighs as he leaned in.

Johnny wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t soft either. His fingers slid into V’s hair, commanding and sure, guiding him with a control that sent a bolt of heat down V’s spine. V didn’t mind being handled. Not like this.

“Yeah, just like that,” Johnny muttered as his cock slid past V’s lips, his voice tight, hand flexing in V’s hair. “Fuck. You were made for this.”

V moaned around him, the praise lighting him up in places he didn’t expect. His fingers dug into the cushions, hips shifting subtly as he chased every reaction from Johnny, every sound, every breath.

Johnny’s breathing grew heavier, one hand braced on the back of the couch for balance, the other keeping a steady rhythm. His control frayed just a little at the edges as he looked down, eyes hot and half-lidded. “Go on then, show me a good time.”

V didn’t need to be told twice.

He sank into the rhythm, every sense dialled into the heat of Johnny’s body, the low, rough breaths above him, the way Johnny’s fingers threaded tighter in his hair like he needed an anchor. V let himself be guided, the tension in his jaw easing as he focused on giving Johnny everything he had with no hesitation, no holding back.

It was filthy in the best way, slick and messy. V could feel his own spit start to leak down his chin. Every movement brought a new sound out of Johnny’s mouth, every breath a jagged groan or curse that curled low in V’s gut. He moaned around him, the sound vibrating between them, and felt Johnny’s hips stutter in response.

“Fuck,” Johnny growled, voice cracking on the word. “You’re such a slut, you’re loving this aren’t you?”

V blinked up at him, lips stretched, eyes glassy with heat and focus. Johnny’s words rocketed right down his spine and pooled in his gut. He didn’t stop. If anything, he went deeper, took more, let himself sink into the feel of being used just the way he liked it.

Johnny’s grip tightened, control slipping as he rocked forward, thrusts rougher now, less restrained. His free hand found the back of the couch again, knuckles white against the leather. The way he looked down at V – like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing – set something electric sparking through V’s veins.

“Goddamn,” Johnny rasped, voice shaking. “Shit, you’re good at this.”

V moaned again, involuntarily, throat working around him as he held on, heat coiled tight and aching inside his own body. His own hips jerked, thrusting into nothing, cock rock hard and pressed uncomfortably against his zipper.

Johnny’s breaths were coming faster now, shallower. The grip in V’s hair tightened, not cruel, but in a way that sent a fresh surge of heat down V’s spine. He moaned again, the vibration pulling a strangled sound from Johnny’s throat.

“Shit, V—” Johnny hissed, his voice cracking. “You’re gonna— fuck , don’t stop—”

The warning came just seconds before Johnny’s control shattered. He gave one last sharp tug in V’s hair, hips twitching forward with a groan torn deep from his chest. V took it, every bit of it, holding still as Johnny spilled down his throat, jaw aching, body humming.

Johnny held him there through it, hand tight in his hair like he couldn’t bear to let go, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he came apart. V swallowed, breath coming heavy through his nose, dizzy from the rawness of it – the way Johnny gave himself over to the moment and to him.

When he was done, Johnny exhaled slow and ragged, his hand relaxing. He stroked back some of V’s hair, a rare softness cutting through the aftermath.

V pulled back slowly, licking his lips as he sat back against the sofa. His own breath trembled a little. Johnny was looking down at him like he was something wild and unexpected, maybe dangerous and definitely addictive.

“Fuck,” Johnny said again, voice hoarse, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You’re wasted on that shop counter.”

V wiped the back of his mouth with his hand and gave him a lazy smirk. “You gonna leave me a review?”

Johnny snorted as he tucked his cock back into the still open fly of his pants. “Five fucking stars, crop-top.”

Then before V had a chance to catch his breath Johnny was on him again.

The rockerboy braced his hands on either side of the sofa, caging V in without even touching him. His breath was warm against V’s cheek, the gleam in his eyes just shy of feral.

“Tell me,” Johnny murmured, voice low and dangerous with satisfaction, “you ever dream of gettin’ the legendary Johnny Silverhand on his knees for you?”

V’s cock twitched in his pants, still painfully hard. His body gave him away even before his brain could catch up. But he forced out a shaky laugh, trying to hold on to some measure of control. “Didn’t even know who you were, remember?” he managed, eyes flicking over Johnny’s sharp features.

Johnny’s grin widened.

V shrugged, like it was no big deal, like his blood wasn’t pounding in his ears. “But since that day in the back of Misty’s shop?” His voice dropped. “Yeah. You and Kerry haven’t exactly left my head.”

Johnny’s smirk turned downright filthy. “Good.”

A hand landed on V’s thigh, firm and possessive, sliding down like Johnny already knew every inch of him by memory. V’s breath hitched as his legs parted without thinking, opening up like instinct. Johnny dropped down in front of him with a smoothness that was almost theatrical, eyes never leaving V’s face.

“About time I return the favour,” he said, and reached for V’s fly.

V’s heart kicked up a notch. The buzz in his head wasn’t just arousal, it was disbelief, anticipation, the sharp thrill of watching someone like Johnny Silverhand kneel between his legs like it was a privilege.

He didn’t know what the hell he’d done to end up here, but right now, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Johnny took his time like he had all the hours in the world, fingers brushing over the waistband of V’s pants, knuckles grazing skin in a way that made V’s breath catch and his muscles tighten. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, his smirk said as much.

V had faced down cyberpsychos and corpo kill squads with less nerves than he had sitting there on that plush, obscenely expensive sofa with Johnny Silverhand between his legs.

And Johnny was a tease. A goddamn sadist.

He popped the button of V’s waistband, slid the zipper down slow like he was peeling apart a present, one finger tracing the line of fabric with almost surgical care.

“Fuck,” Johnny muttered under his breath once he got V’s cock in hand. “You’re wet as hell down here. Almost like a chick.”

V groaned through gritted teeth, hips twitching into Johnny’s grip. “Sorry to disappoint, I ain’t gotta pussy for you to eat out.”

Johnny barked a laugh, low and sharp, rubbing his thumb through the slick at the head. “Disappoint?” He leaned in close, breath warm against V’s sensitive skin. “I’m not a picky eater.”

Then he put his mouth on him.

No pretence. No showy build-up. Just fast, filthy, and devastatingly good.

V’s head fell back against the sofa, a strangled sound clawing out of his throat. Johnny didn’t hold back. He took him deep with practiced ease, no hesitation, lips slick and tight around him, hand working in rhythm. It wasn’t delicate – nothing about Johnny seemed to be – but it was efficient. Ruthless. The kind of thing meant to leave someone ruined and twitching as quickly as possible.

V's fingers dug into his thighs, trying not to thrust up, to hold still and just ride it out. Every nerve ending in his body was lighting up like gunfire.

Then Johnny popped off just long enough to glance up, his voice hoarse with amusement. “C’mon, choom. I keep my hair long for a reason. Grab it.”

V nearly lost it right then.

He reached out and tangled his fingers in Johnny’s hair, gripping tight like he’d wanted to since the second they met. 

Then gave it a testing tug.

Johnny moaned, deep and filthy, like it turned him on just as much, “Fuck yeah, now you're gettin’ it.” Then he dove back down.

The second V tightened his grip in that long, dark hair and gave a harder pull, Johnny groaned again, this time around V’s cock. A low, hungry noise that vibrated all the way through V’s spine. That was all the encouragement he needed. His hips jerked up, cautiously at first, testing the waters, but Johnny met each movement with enthusiasm, hands firm on V’s thighs, holding steady like he wanted it rough.

And V fucking gave it to him.

The rhythm they found wasn’t graceful, but it was obscene in its intensity. V couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight of Johnny Silverhand on his knees, letting himself be used like a goddamn pro. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glittering, spit and V’s precome slicking the corners of his mouth.

It was too much.

“I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—” V gasped out, already trying to pull Johnny off. He had no idea if he was into swallowing and didn't want to presume. 

But Johnny didn’t budge. He just groaned again, deeper this time, and tried to keep his mouth sealed tight around V like he wasn’t planning on wasting a drop.

V managed to half push Johnny off of him, attempting to be polite and not cum down his throat, but this meant that Johnny was right in the line of fire when V came like a goddamn cannon.

There was too much, too fast. V’s orgasm hit him like an electric shock straight into his nerves, spine arching, vision going white at the edges. He choked out a noise that barely sounded human as he came, hard, hips stuttering under Johnny’s hands.

Johnny manged to close his eyes, but the angle and having V’s cock still resting on the edge of his mouth meant it got messy. Some of V’s cum spilled from the corner of Johnny’s lips, streaked across his cheekbone, then his jaw. V was mortified for half a second before the image – Johnny on his knees, mouth wet and face painted – made his cock twitch again, shooting another weak stream of spunk down Johnny's neck.

He sank back against the couch with a groan, chest heaving, body still trembling from the aftershocks. “Shit, sorry” he managed to mutter, voice hoarse.

Johnny sat back on his heels, swiping a knuckle across his own face. “Damn, didn’t think you had that in you.”

V blinked down at him, dazed and totally wrecked. “You… yeah. You’re not bad at that.”

Johnny chuckled, deep and smug, and dragged the back of his hand across his face again, wiping away the worst of the mess. “Stick around. I’ll show you what else I’m not bad at.”