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[What a gonk answer, his brain supplies, but for some reason it’s nearly the perfect thing to say. If it goes to hell, he can say he warned him, and the cycle’s just finished up another round — the ouroboros of Johnny’s life continues to eat its own damn tail. But V hasn’t got a lick of concern in him, might as well be saying “fuck it” if it does go pear-shaped, and— Christ, isn’t that what he’s been telling him to do this whole time? Live how he wants, fuck the consequences?

How funny that it takes V to remind Johnny Silverhand, of all people, of this one important to thing; that it takes someone else risking being selfish to allow him to do it, too.

It’s a bracing, freeing thought. But it doesn’t have time to even settle before V’s sliding fingers through his hair, foreheads nudging together and initiating a vibrant wave of Synchrony. Had it always been so eager, so fucking ready to envelop them both in a shared connection? He isn’t sure, and he doesn’t care.

V’s lips slot against his and Johnny’s reservations slide off of him, as though he never had them to begin with. For a moment, it’s a lingering, warm thing — not too exploratory, only existing, making his stomach coil in that pleasurable way. But then the rockerboy is splaying his hand against his seat to lean himself forward, to push himself into that kiss as if it belongs to him, like he could claim every atom of V’s with his lips alone.

He eventually breaks away to mutter against him—]

Don’t think I won’t take you up on it.

[ Too rooted in the moment to think outside of it, it takes V's brain a second to play catch up. Johnny's muttering something against his lips and his mind belatedly snaps it up.

In the end, what Johnny gets for his troubles is a deep 'mmhmm' and V's fingers trailing from the back of his neck, grazing the line of his jaw and eventually gripping his chin. Leaning back a fraction, V's brows pull together in a doubtful, hopefully infuriating manner. ]

Guess we'll see 'bout that.

[ It's all he's got to say, and for a man who's spent months trying to get to the bottom of what's going on by using words, he doesn't seem overly interested in them now. That's the thing about Synchrony; words aren't necessary. Instead he holds Johnny's gaze for an extended beat, as certain about this, about what they're doing, as he is that he's a nomad. Pretty fucking certain.

Just so happens that the Synchrony's a lot smoother for him to deal with when there's actual follow through. Easier still when he goes with it, and this time he's not shy about bringing their mouths back together.

The temptation to ask Johnny if this counts as a remote, secluded spot is dulled only by the fact that he's more interested in exploring the rockerboy's mouth than getting his ass dumped in the fire. A bright spark of humor ignites enough that it's likely just added to the mix of everything else the Synchrony is sharing, a singular, deep connection that feels so familiar.

But eventually V's hands wander, any thought of riling the other man up lost to the desire to touch; to slide up the thigh one's landed on and squeeze the slender hip the other's wrapped around. If they weren't sitting in the backyard, a complete lack of seating foresight withstanding, he'd be pulling Johnny deeper into his space without a second thought. ]

[Johnny might’ve wanted to make some kind of remark back, but the rockerboy’s also more interested in losing himself in their connection, now unhindered by his reticence. It has a way of making him feel whole again, something worth chasing after now that he’s allowed himself to do so — like being a single person, a singular soul, without the issue of invading the man’s neural network like a parasite.

A flicker of humor—must be V’s, he can feel his smile curved against his lips—and the sensation of wandering hands. The desire to touch and to feel ratchets up between them both, though it seems like the nomad’s a little more eager to quest and explore.

Johnny makes an amused noise from the back of his throat. V might be hinting for something more, but the rockerboy’s always been the bold one when it comes to what he wants. His own chrome hand lands at V’s hip, but his ‘ganic one starts at his lower torso, then slides right down the waist of his pants and flattens his palm against the nomad’s crotch. He applies just enough pressure to tease.

Pulling their mouths apart, Johnny speaks lowly; not like they’re that far apart to begin with.]

Someone’s eager. Should’ve said if you wanted me to fuck you by the fire — would’ve come more prepared.

[ A lack of surprise is quickly invaded by a tide of pleasure, a heady mix of unfettered arousal and the constant flow of Synchrony. It's less overwhelming but just as all-consuming, and V's only outward response for a brief second is to roll his hips forward into that pressure looking for more, thighs inching further apart as he does.

If he'd imagined what Johnny teasing him like this would sound like - and he has - it wasn't half as effective as the real thing, and the sharp inhale is evidence enough. Johnny keeps this up and V's not going to retain possession of the knowledge that fucking out here without some kind of lube's not going to feel all too preem tomorrow. His grip on the rational is tenuous at best right now anyway. ]

Fuckin' nomad, Johnny. 'course I wanna fuck by the fire.

[ Which is really all he's thinking about now, a one-track avenue to what his mind's only telling him is exactly what he wants. But eventually there's a thread of frustration amidst all that curiosity and arousal, a silent confession via Synchrony that Johnny's worked him up to this point already and V's less than satisfied about the fact they're not all up in each other's space. His body catches up less than a second later, starts to shift because he needs to move, wants to be closer to Johnny without seats getting in the way. ]

[Watching V get worked up, and so quickly, is its own kind of arousal. The kind that layers itself onto Johnny’s own, heady amongst their connection, pooling that familiar warmth all the way down to his groin. The way that V grinds into his hand like he’s asking for more, the way he’s clearly shifting against the odds of their awkward seating to just nudge as close as possible. Johnny wants to tease more of that out; he wants to dole out more without doling out too much, watch the look on the nomad’s face that he’s thought about before, but never got to see unfold first-hand.

Which means, with a crooked half-smile, Johnny’s only going to commit himself to being partially helpful. V tries to move closer, the older man remains exactly where he is. His fingers raise incrementally to undo the nomad’s pants’ button, giving him just enough leeway to dip his hand down his front, feeling down the length of his cock through the fabric of his underwear.

His words, too, aren’t that helpful or particularly conceding (or romantic — not that Johnny’s ever dealt too much in that). Amusement flickers in their bond, like a little bur thrown in just for the hell of it.]

Unless you got a bottle of lube in your back pocket, you’re not gettin’ fucked here. Don’t want you cursin’ my name in the morning from your ass bein’ railed too raw.

[ Of all the things to be running through V's head, old sayings aren't what he'd expecting. Don't bite the hand that-- nah, not that one. Something about giveth and taketh away-- fuck. A sentiment that makes it out into the space between them. ]

Fuck.

[ Johnny's forcing him to work for it and, truthfully, V likes that. Dips into his well of preferences and the shit that really turns him on. Doesn't mean it lacks the frustration that's on the up along with his stoked arousal already past just pooling in the bottom of his belly and instead heavy between his legs.

Feels good even through the thin layer of his boxers, and for a few seconds his forehead drops against Johnny's shoulder, the tangled-up-in-his-throat growled groan all he's capable of in return. Caught between wanting Johnny to keep going and wanting to drag the man inside, he lifts his head slowly, gaze catching brown eyes with the front-row seat.

He's not going to beg. That's not-- ]

Johnny, c'mon... [ a sharp breath in ] two seconds away from me flippin' this chair.

[You sure you don’t want to beg a little more, V? Sure, it might be early, but Johnny will never not like hearing it.

V dips his forehead onto the rockerboy’s shoulder, and he can hear the vibrations of a groan leave the man’s mouth. Johnny doesn’t do much different, other than move his fingers in the limited space V’s front allows, an incomplete half-stroke at best.

He tilts his head back just a little — words angled right into his ear, casual as they sound.]

Dunno, V, looks like you’re havin’ plenty of fun just like this.

[what an asshole]

[ The biggest asshole V knows. Nothing changes there.

Used to feeling out a dynamic and figuring out what works best, V's usually relaxed, laidback temperament doesn't necessarily translate through into his sex life. He's naturally more dominant than his personality might suggest; tenfold in this situation where he knows he's being teased. And fuck he loves it, but he also loves doing something about it.

It's why, despite knowing he might lose the hand in his pants, he gives Johnny no warning other than an unmaskable spike of tenacity before he moves. In the end he angles his hips back so the hand buried in his pants might slide free from the confines of fabric too restrictive to move around in. Gives him enough reassurance he's not about to snap the man's wrist when he does stand up. It's a look; pants hanging open, the outline of his dick faintly illuminated by firelight.

But he's not done there; fingers snag into Johnny's shirt collar to pull him up too. Not that they'd get far; V's too invested in pressing himself flush up against Johnny for a hungry kiss if he stands too, hands balling into fists in the fabric at the back of Johnny's shirt. ]

[Nearly always the dominant one himself, Johnny doesn’t mind getting tugged around now and again if it means a little fun. He likes it especially when V shows that fire in him — usually just in the doldrums of everyday merc life, but apparently when they’re getting handsy, too.

It’s why his breath hitches in his throat a little when V moves to stand. Johnny can’t even appreciate the shape of his dick starting to tent his boxers, either, because he’s pulled up to his feet and into another kiss, lips nearly bruising into each other.

His gem’s already glowing red beneath his dark shirt. It almost matches the fire, and he feels just as warm from it. But Johnny’s not done running his mouth, even when his hands clamp hard at the sides of V’s hips and he servers their kiss, teeth pulling back at a lower lip before it’s all said and done for good measure.]

Wanna hear what you want. Know you’ve probably thought about it before.

[If Johnny has, during late night, idle hours where he allowed his mind to wander to once-dangerous territory, then he’s sure V has, too.]

Can suck you off right here — hope your ass don’t fall in the flames. [He looks amused, even with his pupils blowing a little wider at the very thought.] Or we’ll take it inside and I’ll find somethin’ to bend you over on.

Edited 2021-07-15 13:47 (UTC)

[ Pulse thudding beneath the exposed skin of his neck, V sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as Johnny draws back. Prolongs the ache that Johnny'd left behind between his teeth. The other man's not wrong; V's fantasies have ranged from fleeting to full-blown, and the slow smirk that spreads across his expression might be confirmation of that. ]

Want me to stand on one leg while ya do?

[ Full of heat, even his voice sounds deeper, barely a fraction about gravelly. 'course he's making some smartass comment because he can, because he wants to. But it's not overly clear which of those options he's intrigued by the most until he's hooking a thumb into the front of his boxers, tugging material down and out of the way. If he just so happens to graze the front of Johnny's pants with his knuckles as he does? Maybe that's just an added bonus. Clearly he doesn't care they're doing this in the backyard; shame's a waste of energy, he thinks. ]

Wanna watch ya suck me off.

[He might be playing it relatively cool, but beneath the leather of Johnny’s pants, his own cock is starting to throb. V’s knuckles brushing past that growing bulge doesn’t help matters, and he finds himself setting his jaw to hold in a noise that’d give away how sensitive he’s getting between his legs. The constant feedback loop of Synchrony probably makes it where he can’t hide anything, anyway, but not for a lack of trying.

At least V’s remark allows him to mask it with a retort launched right back.]

You can stand on your toes like a ballerina for all I care. Just appreciate the fact that I don’t mind gettin’ on my knees for you, smartass.

[Romantic words of endearment from the rockerboy as he stoops low, then properly onto the grass-gravel with his knees pressed into the ground. Despite his quip, his eyes are fittingly distracted by the sight of V’s dick hanging out right in front of him. Funnily enough, he can still appreciate the sturdy frame of his hips and thighs, too, despite what he’s about to do. As if he’s not already intimately familiar with the man’s body.

Johnny’s chrome arm snakes around the back of V’s thigh to hold him steady, and his other wraps around the base of his cock, encouraging him with a few preliminary strokes. If there’s any precome ready to eke out, he wants that taste on his tongue — wants to appreciate that salty tang as Johnny finally opens up to take him in.

Hand still at his root for now, his tongue slides beneath and along his shaft, and he purposefully, frustratingly, hums a note of approval.]

[ Still laughing at the retort even as the other man is dropping to his knees, that laugh dies in his throat the moment Johnny's fingers curl around his dick. It's a nova way to shut V up, and for a brief moment he sways before the muscles in his thighs tighten and stabilize. Chrome hand settling at one of Johnny's shoulders for balance, his organic hand cards through Johnny's hair, grips loosely.

Not a single one of his imagined fantasies featuring Johnny got close to this, and there's no hesitation on his part when he feels the wet heat of Johnny's tongue, an appreciative groan drawn up from his chest. He doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to miss a single second, but the urge to close his eyes and give himself over to the sensations tugs hard at him. ]

Shit, Johnny.

[ Tempting as it is to press further into the heat of the older man's mouth, he still has some sense of manners. Probably. Though he's convinced that it's not his fault Johnny blowing him feels like it does and looks like this. ]

[There’s a reason why Johnny likes drawing out pleasure with his mouth, despite not seeming like the type to get on his knees and let someone else stand over him — he likes the feeling of making his partner squirm with little more than his tongue, or the low vibrations of his throat. It feeds his ego, in a way, but it’s also because the seemingly flipped power dynamic turns him on, plain and simple.

‘Course, that’s a while ‘nother story if V starts fucking his mouth, but the other man seems to have a hold of his self-restraint for now. It gives him time to enjoy the sensation of V’s cock stiffening against his tongue, warm and wet, wet and warm, everything intermingling in a growing tide of shared feeling and emotion thanks to their sync.

Eventually, Johnny drops his hand to make room for taking V in fully, the heat of his mouth stimulating from tip to base, his tongue working the nomad’s length to suck him off in earnest. He hopes that V has good enough manners, too, to tell him when he’s on the verge of coming — because in classic Silverhand fashion, he doesn’t intend to let him finish just yet.]

[ It's a real sight even at the conclusion of dusk and aided by the unreliable flicker of the firelight. Every so often the harsh lines of Johnny's face are lit up amber, an on-off glow that gives V snippets of a top-down view. Pink of lips wrapped around his cock, and the nudge of Johnny's nose into dark curls.

If that wasn't enough, V's contending with the sync that adds a whole new element, and maybe it feels like they're cheating a system, feeling whole like this inside while being able to touch each other like this at the same time. V's good to keep cheating whatever system they have to. He can feel his pleasure and Johnny's, different shades but shared, and as that telltale sensation of being willingly dragged towards his climax really starts to ramp up, his fingers tighten in Johnny's hair. ]

'm close.

[ First words in a little while and his voice feels as raw as it sounds, hips straining under the weight of his manners until he can't help but move, to press them forward the next time Johnny's mouth is sliding down his cock. ]

[Johnny lets him have that one time — lets him push just far enough to count as fucking his throat, let V get just a little past that edge of “close”, all to tease pushing him over it.

Thing is, when his mouth slides off of his length again—what a fucking sight it is, swollen and glistening with Johnny’s saliva—he just looks up at V with pink-tinged lips and says—]

Ain’t done with you yet.

[It was never his intention to finish him off here. Johnny was more than happy to humor him, get him really going, but he’s selfish, too. His voice’s rougher, low with want — it hasn’t been that long and he’s already aching between his legs like some dumb, inexperienced teen. It takes a reserve of willpower to not undo his fly and stroke himself off right now, looking up at V, taking in his expression.

He rises, instead, ungraciously leaving V literally standing there with his dick hanging out of his pants, and fixes his gaze on him.]

Gonna finish us both off inside. My room.

[ That steep incline towards letting the fuck go and relinquishing all sense of control is so close to hitting its peak that when Johnny pulls back, V's first semi-thought is that he doesn't want a mouthful of come. Except when Johnny doesn't do anything at all, he's got a merc looking down at him half undone and utterly perplexed. What the fuck's goin-- ]

Wh-

[ And then Johnny's on his feet, definitely not paying a lick - not literally or metaphorically - of attention to his dick and it's not hard to see it's thrown him off. The clarification arrives but V's having to work hard to get some semblance of thought processes going again because he can feel the orgasm that was so close start to ebb away.

And yeah, his dick's still hanging out, hard and heavy, and he's got a pretty good idea of what'd happen if he tried to tuck it away now. ]

You're a bad fuckin' man, Silverhand.

[ That's not even the half of it, and while V's willing to just suspend the full weight of his judgement for the next minute or so, he's half-scowling at Johnny too.

No time like the present, or something, and he's not gonna walk around with his dick hanging out his pants. The speed his clothes come off should be impressive, or at the very least worthy of an approving eyebrow. First his boots and socks, then pants and boxers, and finally his shirt which is pulled over his head so haphazardly (he's not rushing, shut up Johnny) and flung on the ground that it's a small miracle it doesn't end up in the fire.

He's not got any desire to be led inside so, in all his naked glory, he heads for the backdoor. And if that just happens to be a sight for sore eyes for Johnny, whatever. ]

[V’s scowl slides right off of him, Johnny only returning it with a crooked grin. But when the other man starts throwing his clothes off at the speed of light, like he’s got a point to prove, he hardly knows what to think — and surprise is novel, when it comes a man he shared a body and brain with.]

The fuck you doin’?

[Articles of clothing land precariously close to the fire. V’s determination’s left him naked and heading towards the door, presenting the rockerboy with a great view of his ass before he disappears into the townhouse.

Johnny follows him in, grinning. His room’s on the second floor, so V gets some commentary from him several steps down at some point, an actual laugh interrupting the cadence of his words.]

You gonna prance around in your birthday suit, you might as well slow down so I can appreciate the jiggle in the front and the back!

[At least Johnny’s room is just down the short hall and to the left after he’s up the stairs.]

[ Leading the charge and Johnny supplying his own commentary from behind, there's a moment of contemplated rebellion that flits in and back out of V's mind. He narrowly avoids snorting at the suggestion but definitely isn't going to slow down. ]

Maybe try keepin' up, if ya can.

[ A smartass response tossed over his shoulder once he's only a handful of steps from the top. ]

Think I liked it better when my dick was in ya mouth.

[ Because, y'know, keeps the man's mouth otherwise busy. At this point he has no idea if anybody else is home or not, but either way he's not being all too quiet about the shots he's firing. Nor is he quiet about opening Johnny's door and, in the short journey from backyard to bedroom, his dick's already softer as though staging its own protest. ]

[Without missing a beat—]

Yeah, I’m sure you did! Your face looked like you liked it, too.

[Johnny’s room is the very definition of organized chaos. It’s usually stacked with piles of clothes, a corner to cram all his music crap into, wayward shot glasses he’s forgotten about, an unmade bed, and the smell of cigarettes. Entering after V, he kicks the door closed with his boot.]

What’s the matter, you pissed I didn’t let you blow your load in my mouth?

[The ridiculousness of it all has eased the pressure in his pants, too, but he’s not worried. Johnny toes off his boots, removes his socks, and pulls his shirt over his head, mussing his hair. They all get discarded in a clothes-pile.]

Don’t worry. Plan on makin’ it up to you. Get on the bed, V.

[ The room's a mess and V genuinely gets why Robert had been less than thrilled about the idea of spending prolonged periods of time in here. Not that he's here to take stock of the room, but he does turn around as Johnny kicks the door shut, optics tracking the man shedding his clothes with a little less speed than he'd pulled off.

Desire intermingles with latent frustration, but he can hardly call himself pissed. He's not going to tell Johnny his curiosity's piqued, even if his dick isn't. No doubt the sync will communicate all that soon enough anyway. ]

Somehow... don't think you'd handle it well. Gonna look forward to findin' that out.

[ Y'know, the entire edging thing and Johnny's track record with impatience. But he's extending the man the benefit of the doubt and it's just a couple steps towards the bed. Maybe some people would sit on the edge of the bed. Not V. He aims right for the center, leans his back up against the headboard and drags a foot up until his leg's bent in the perfect right angle.

What? He's just gonna make himself at home. And watch Johnny's progress as he tries to ignore the interest returning between his legs just from the view. ]

Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you.

[Not that Johnny actually cares — it’s just second nature of his to give V a hard time. He steps forward, closer to the bed, working at his belt. It isn’t long before that, too, is gone, discarded with the rest of its clothing brethren, along with his pants and boxers.

It leaves him completely exposed, as naked as V with the exception of his silver dog tags still hanging around his neck. Like this, the tattoos on his body are stark against his skin; so are the old scars gone white-ish and pale, some more ancient than others, especially those that that seem to originate from where the chrome of his arm meets flesh. Old war wounds, a spiderwebbing reminder.

Notably, his own cock is still showing interest, semi-hard. Johnny doesn’t waste time moving to closer to V so he’s more than likely to notice if he hasn’t already, sinking his knees into the mattress and closing the space between them, a hand bracing himself into the headboard so he can dip down and catch the man’s lips in a messy kiss. His lips are curled vaguely the whole while, and when he pulls away, the silver of his dog tags clink together.]

This mean you’re gonna run downstairs naked, too, to get your clothes when we’re done here? I’d like to see that.

[His organic hand wanders to V’s leg, sliding towards his inner thigh without any sense of subtlety.]

[ With Johnny's jab taken exactly how little he meant it, V's expression is a picture of unrepentant amusement. That part's familiar. What's not is seeing Johnny bare, no clothes swathed around his frame, and even as Johnny's climbing onto the bed and making a beeline for him, V's drinking in the sight like a man in the desert looking at an oasis. Problem is with V, he's bad at playing it cool, mostly doesn't see the point. If he likes something, he's gonna show he does, even if that runs the risk of inflating the man's already sizeable ego.

By the time Johnny's leaning in to claim his mouth, V's cock is renewed with interest, and though the kiss is messy in a way that invites him to pour himself into, he's got a narrow margin to still think in. He doesn't even bother replying to Johnny's question, a hand reaching between the rockerboy's legs, wrist angled so when his fingers finally slide around his cock, his strokes are long and his thumb drags over the tip unapologetically.

'course he was gonna touch the man's cock the moment he gets presented it. Part of him's tempted to follow his own ideas about how this could go. To drag Johnny up until he's straddling V's shoulders, guiding that half-hard cock into his mouth so he can get his own curiosity settled about what Johnny tastes like. But seems like Johnny's already got his own plan, and V's flexible enough to just see where that goes. ]

Gonna keep askin' questions or follow through? 'cause I got a preference.

[ Never a moment that V won't inject maximum cheek, but never more so than around Johnny. ]

[Johnny’s ego would’ve been inflated no matter what; V’s interest in him—and how his dick is starting to stand at attention a second time—is proof of that. There’s no getting around the satisfaction in knowing he’s the one making him feel that way. That right now, despite their back and forth, V definitely wants to fuck him.

Thing is, it’s a two-way street. If he cared more, it’d be embarrassing how quickly his own body reacts to the nomad’s touch, as though he’d been starved of it for so long without even knowing. V’s fingers around his length, stroking him slowly, draws out a low noise from his chest. Neglected from the start, it doesn’t take long for him to harden fully under the tease of the man’s touch, and he allows himself the privilege of rolling his hips straight into it, just because he can — because Johnny’s always been impatient and self-indulgent to a fault.]

Fuck, V.

[He breathes it just above his shoulder, angling his head down with closed eyes. Johnny’s hair tickles V’s skin. The gem embedded in his chest like shrapnel glows bright.]

This fuckin’ Synchrony… keep that up and I’m done well before either of us wanna be. [His hand trails back up to curl around V’s wrist to halt him.] Turn over, on your knees.

[ The noise would've been all V needed to grab for Johnny's hips and scoot him up the bed, right to his waiting, wet mouth, but the man's got other ideas. At this point V just wants to come, the edging from earlier still sitting heavy in his veins. It's that ache for something he's been denied that fuels his movement, not rushed but enough to show he's into the idea. But before he's anywhere close to turning over, he fists a hand into the back of Johnny's dark hair, steals a searing kiss from him. Takes it because he wants it.

Whether Johnny comes to realize it or not, it's been a little while since anybody's fucked V like this, and though he trusts the rockerboy, there's a part of him that's prepared for it to hurt if Johnny's impatience rules.

Pushing the man back just enough to give him space to move, he's at least limber enough to turnabout with minimum effort. Both hands grip onto the headboard, legs sliding outside Johnny's until it looks like he's kneeling at an altar. A gaze cast over his shoulder at the older man, a lopsided grin because this is... not exactly how he imagined his night was gonna turn out. ]

Thought about doin' this before?

[The kiss earns another bright glow from his gem, as if it could get any brighter, feeling like it’s ebbing with each heartbeat, with each flame stoked a little hotter in his chest. He likes the taste of V, he thinks — it’s a thought that lingers well after he breaks the kiss and watches the other man turn around and grip the headboard. Ready, willing. Now there’s a sight.

Still cheeky, though, with a question like that. At this point, what’s the shame in being honest?]

Once or twice. Prefer not to spend all day distracted by what I’d do to your ass.

[Johnny scoots his knees back a little, moves both hands to the cheeks of V’s ass to give them a squeeze.]

Dreamt about it once… That was a mess to wake up to in the mornin’.

[He smirks, uncaring, leaning himself a little forward. The curvatures of V’s muscles from this angle, much less his backside, has got him aching between his legs again, but he can ignore that for now with what he’s got in mind.]

What about you? Ever dreamt that I’d eat you out like this?

[Which is only the real preamble that he gives, before spreading the merc a little more open with his hands, then nestling his face into those curves. His tongue flattens and laves against V’s hole, humming satisfaction.]

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nsfw territory just bc of Johnny’s mouth lmao

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