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[V looks on the verge of undone, but Johnny won’t be satisfied until he’s been pushed over it, completely and utterly useless with pleasure, taking him with him. His cock’s weeping as badly as his — he’s just as close as Johnny, who’s gotten maybe only a quarter of the same stimulation, which says something for the effect he has on the older man. Just how much he’s been wanting this, maybe, and for how long.

He doesn’t say anything else; there’s nothing else to say. Johnny isn’t gentle about the way he guides his cock straight towards V’s slicked entrance, and grinds his hips forward to push into him, buried to the hilt.

(His gem shines like fire. Their connection is overwhelming, but familiar. Feels like being whole again, feels like the pieces of his soul gone missing are finding each other, entwining in emotion and physical sensation. The sex is just an amplifier, a feedback loop that makes it all louder, more intense, more raw, shines a sun on what he hasn’t felt since before Mikoshi: complete.)

Conscious thought has left him at this point. Right now, Johnny works only on primal intuition and instinct, pausing just long enough to get V’s other leg propped up on his opposite shoulder, grabbing his thighs to hoist him up at that perfect angle. He thrusts into him hard, pistons into as deep as he can go, chasing after his release, eyes cast down to V to watch his own. Again and again, an ardent, inelegant tempo.]

—fuck, V… Fuck…

Edited 2021-07-16 18:09 (UTC)

[ With Johnny finally sliding inside of him, V's fighting the instinct to pump his cock just the right way to bring him crashing over the edge. He wants to - fuck, he's desperate to - but the feeling of being filled up like this is so preem he also doesn't want it to stop. Any discomfort that might've flared is just as soon extinguished, and all he can do for a couple of long seconds is twist his fingers tighter into the bedsheets as the other man slams into him.

The sync finally hits its stride like it hasn't before, and even through the haze of arousal, of being fucked hard and fast, he can feel the clarity. Like being able to see to the bottom of the ocean like there's no darkness to swallow up the view. He can feel it, tattered and torn parts of both of them mended in this connection. He feels like he can breathe again.

His optics don't leave Johnny's face, even as he strokes himself in earnest, the culmination of he has no idea how long set to boil over and he's ready for it. He's so fucking ready.

It still somehow catches him by surprise, Johnny's cock angled just right to hit the sweet spot. There's no hoarse groan this time; V actually yells something incoherent, and he has no idea if he's cursing or shouting Johnny's name. Strings of come shoot onto his stomach, ass clenching tight around Johnny's cock still buried deep and the synchrony reaches some new peak he feels like he can barely keep contained. ]

[If the sync wasn’t enough to do it, the look on V’s face would’ve been. The sound of his voice tumbling from his mouth. His ass clenching hard around his cock, every muscle tensing with explosive orgasm. Ropes of his come spilling across his middle. It’s too much to fight against, and he doesn’t want to, anyway.

A few quick, errant thrusts more is all it takes before his whole frame stiffens, holding onto V tightly, like he’s the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. His cock twitches, coming inside of him, and he’s not aware of whatever guttural noise he pairs with it. Only that the sync and the orgasm both are sending him reeling, unlike anything he’s felt before — like becoming undone and put together again the right way. Enough to jar a consciousness into a haze; enough for the rest to feel clear and unhindered, this one moment emancipated from all else.

It takes a minute, then, to calm his breathing, to slowly break the surface of reality again. He grip slackens, but he can’t be bothered to even move V off of him, or pull out. His head is lowered, as if ready to say a silent prayer, except this particular prayer is breathless and graceless, fighting off a shiver trying to run down his spine:]

Holy shit.

[ Legs and hips still hoisted in the air, his hand slick with his own come, V doesn't move beyond the deep rise and fall of his chest. In and out, like it's the only thing that's still based in a world he'd felt elevated from in the sweetest of ways. The Synchrony settles into something warm, deeply fond, and it's only at the point he barely feels like he can keep his eyes open that they flutter shut for a couple of seconds.

'course Johnny's take - yeah, holy shit - on the whole thing draws a bonelessly amused breath out through his nose, and slowly a leg slides off the older man's shoulder until it's cradled in the crook of an elbow. It's been some time since V's felt so authentically put back together, and for now he's just basking in the feeling, the post-fuck glow of a preem orgasm settling pleasantly between the fibers of his muscles.

When his brain does finally regain some semblance of executive function, just enough to put some words together, the corners of his lips turn up, cozy humor seeping into their shared connection via touch. ]

Not bad.

[ His voice is wrecked, hoarse to the point of almost cracking, but he manages to get the two words out; a very obvious, very joking understatement about how he feels, how they feel together. ]

[The warmth of the afterglow’s long soaking into his bones, too, and through their sync lies something beyond fond, the things Johnny always has trouble putting into words, given life for him. He scoffs lazily at V’s comment despite himself, trying to inject his usual sarcasm into his reply. It just sounds a little dazed.]

Yeah, just alright, I guess.

[Being a smartass about it seems to grant him some semblance of energy again, and he shrugs V’s legs off of him, letting his limbs settle on opposite sides. He then puts forth the monumental effort to shift over next to V, laying his head down on one pillow, strands of hair messily strewn across. His cock’s still ruddy from their fucking, but it’s a very Silverhand thing to do to leave his partner with the biggest mess to clean up.]

Move. You’re too big to lie right in the middle.

[Even though Johnny’s reaching out on the opposite side to open a nightstand drawer and fish around for a pack of cigarettes somewhere.]

[ Still slick between his cheeks, and there's no way after Johnny's pulled out it's staying put, V's slow on the uptake. What Johnny doesn't say in words is lit up in neon in their connection, and long after the other man's shifted to find his own place on the bed V can still feel the residual sentiment like the brightest star in the sky.

While the rockerboy's rooting around for whatever it is he's looking for, V's own gaze is casting around for something - anything - to clean himself up with. At the same time he's trying not to catch the still open bottle of lube with his heel. Not that this isn't his favorite kind of mess. ]

You got a rag or somethin'?

[ Because the bathroom feels like too far away and V's willing to move a couple inches to create some more space but beyond that requires energy he just doesn't have. That exhaustion from earlier? It's coming back with a vengeance now that he's fucked his way to this kind of contentedness. ]

[There’s a pause. Johnny shifting to grab for something at the floor of the bed instead of the nightstand.]

Here.

[He tosses over his shoulder an old t-shirt, the article of clothing arcing straight towards V’s head.]

Needs to be washed, anyway.

[is this the aftercare you hoped and dreamed about, v]

[ Barely scratching the surface, but he can't say he's overly surprised. At least the shirt flung his way is caught with a hand rather than his head, a testament to reflexes that are just about quick enough even on this side of tired as fuck.

And, for his troubles, Johnny gets a snorted response.

Even as he's cleaning himself up - hand, belly, between his legs - he's probably paying less attention than he usually might. When it comes to things like this he's hardly bothered if there's a hot shower somewhere in his near future. For now, as soon as he's done, he balls the shirt up between his hands and half-contemplates offering it to Johnny for his own cleanup.

In the end, the shirt ends up dropped to the floor the side of the bed he's on, and in his quest to not lose the relaxed, just-fucked chill, he leans back again and tucks a hand behind his head. ]

Still thinkin' 'bout whose ass is payin' for my bike, by the way.

[ Yeah, he's not forgotten about that either. Though the sleepy, eyes barely cracked gaze doesn't seem overly threatening, if at all. ]

[Johnny seems more interested in getting his cigarettes than cleaning up, finally grabbing a pack and rolling back over. Once he’s got one between his fingers, he lights it up with a little bit of fire magic, and soon the usual coil of smoke is snaking up towards the ceiling.]

The first thing you gonna do after I screw you is bring up the bike? It got back in one piece, isn’t that what matters?

[A dismissive wave with his organic hand, Johnny sits up a little and glances over at V, who looks even more relaxed than he feels.]

Real romanti— Ah, shit.

[A thought severed by another coming in to interrupt.]

Left the axe next to the fire. [He elbows V.] Hey, do I get to see your walk of shame if I ask you to go get it for me?

Mmhmm.

[ An agreement that yeah, he is. But when all's said and done, whatever retribution he ends up serving is likely to be gonk in nature. So at least Johnny and Vincent have that to look forward to.

The smell of cigarettes is invasive, permeating, but part of V has gotten used to it. Johnny tastes like tobacco, so he's got no comment for that.

The question gets a doubtful laugh though. ]

Fuck's wrong with your legs?

[ That'd be a no. Though V's smirking with his eyes closed, so at least he found some humor in the attempt. Truth is, he'd have said no if he was full of energy rather than running on empty. ]

Go get it yourself. Clothes're stayin' where they are 'til whenever I wake up.

[Somehow he’s not surprised the answer is no, and Johnny thinks to argue the point further, before he concedes to the post-coital vibe of being sated and useless. He pushes himself against the headboard, leaning back, enjoying his cigarette, then.]

You got lead in your ass? Among other things.

[It’s easy enough to snipe back, though, but just like V, there’s no edge to it. Whatever. He’ll fetch his guitar later.

Johnny allows several moments of silence to pass, happy to just sit here next to V, his mind eventually wandering as it often does. A contemplative heart always churning his thoughts around; that’s nothing new for him.

Eventually—]

…You ever read Milton?

[He glances over at V. The gonk still even awake?]

[ Apparently the matter's dropped and V, mostly forgetting about even being asked in those few moments of surprisingly peaceful silence, cracks his eyes open again. ]

Never got 'round to it.

[ Which could be a sarcastic answer from some, but the nomad's genuine. Thing is, a rolling library's never going to be the most fully-stocked. Mostly, what they had was anything that had been recovered from years gone by, or old books clan members not around anymore had left behind. Some of those books had been so ancient reading them without them turning to dust was quite the achievement. But it did make for an interesting, very broad - if not sometimes obscure - selection of reading material.

Deciding he's willing enough to see where Johnny's thoughts are taking him, he rolls over onto his front, both arms digging up under the pillow his head's on. Least he's got his face twisted in the other man's direction. ]

Why'd ya ask?

[He pauses again, exhaling smoke. It threatens to permeate the space between them before drifting up, up, uselessly.]

Was just thinkin’… ‘the mind is its own place’.

[Another pause, and Johnny leans his head back, watching the cigarette smoke dissipate somewhere between the blades of the ceiling fan, caught in a ceaseless, slow spin.]

’A mind not to be changed by place or time
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n’

[He remembers that damn book, far too fucking long, left behind by the last guest in that little dump of a room in the Pistis Sophia. Took him weeks to get through it, given his mindset at the time — but there are pieces that still resonate with him, decades later.

He didn’t really get a chance to say it before; both of them got too caught up in each other, but now that the room’s gone a little more quiet, and the nighttime is properly ready to claim at least one of them, he figures now’s as good of a time as any.]

Just wanted to tell you… thanks for being willin’ to trudge through my hell with me. Know you didn’t have a choice for a while, but most people would’ve walked away long before now.

[ This feels important, and for that at least V's gaze sharpens. It's not quite as focused as usual, but he's paying attention. He's not sure what the older man's getting at until he puts it plainly, and his brows draw together minutely as he absorbs what he's saying.

Thing about V is once he's decided somebody's family he's there, come hell or high water. That Johnny'd been inside his brain with him for a time, maybe that just makes it even more remarkable. He thinks back to something that had crossed his mind earlier, fireside. There was nothing that dictated they had to get along at all, be friends, be anything more. Johnny didn't have to sacrifice himself because, at that point, he could have done whatever he pleased. And V didn't have to stick with the rockerboy here, not through all the frustrating conversations or arguments. The now understandable feeling of being shoved away at times.

Johnny'd said if it was up to him V would never have gone near the Relic. And yet even now, knowing what's waiting for him at home, knowing that it took months here for his brain to recall memories he should've had from the start, he doesn't know what his life would be without Johnny in it. It's been fucked up, yeah. And it's not out of some romantic notion, not exactly. But with everything coming together the way it did, V wouldn't change anything.

He doesn't put that into words, and maybe there's parts of their sync that might have betrayed that closely held belief. ]

Wouldn't be anywhere else.

[ And he genuinely means it, right down to his core. Something that might be obvious enough as he slides the hand closest to Johnny from out under his pillow to settle at his thigh. Synchrony; their new form of being able to communicate without words spoken out loud. ]

[The sync says it all, his ruby shining fully in response. The thing is, though the confirmation is heartening in ways Johnny rarely feels, he doesn’t need their connection to know what V’s saying is true. He only needs to look at their history, the man’s actions ever since they arrived here, to know that their bond is an unbreakable one — never mind how much Johnny’s personality tries to put a strain on all things precious to him.

He smirks a little, weakly, then lets his cigarette burn down to the nub before he puts it out himself with a pinch of two chrome fingers.]

Yeah, ‘cause you’re just as crazy as I am.

[The cigarette butt disappears in a flick.]

Masochist, probably.

Prob'ly.

[ Shaking his head - which is an interesting thing with a cheek smushed against a pillow - V's lips curve up into a tired smile. He doesn't think he's a masochist, but then he doesn't think Johnny thinks he is either. They can leave that heartening feeling unspoken in words out loud. The hand at Johnny's thigh squeezes briefly and then V's drawing it back to slot under the pillow, just beneath his cheek. ]

If I happen to be outside gettin' my clothes 'fore you get your guitar--

[ a wide yawn punctuates his offer, eyes squeezing shut as he does ]

Draw ya a treasure map with clues to wherever I hide it.

[ Chuckling to himself, he inhales deeply and allows his muscles to loosen into a comfortable position to sleep in. At this point there's not much that's likely to keep him awake. And, since he feels better than he has in a long time, maybe he'll actually sleep soundly. ]

[Johnny huffs a strained laugh.]

Gonna make sure to beat you down there, then, and throw your clothes in the bushes to boot. Asshole.

[The words are barely out of him as a retort before glancing down at the man, and he notices once again that V’s struggling to keep himself awake. Johnny won’t do much more to keep him up, and—maybe after a minute or two or watching him doze off, chest straining in an embarrassingly doting way—he’ll let the night crawl on a little longer before he tries to get some shut-eye himself.

When V eventually wakes up, after morning’s finally lumbered over the outdoor horizon, Johnny will be gone. But in his stead lies V’s clothes, piled up next to him, as though awaiting the merc’s attention.

A red guitar is propped up, too, next to a windowsill, shining in the morning sun.]

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