Chapter Text
The motel smelled like mildew and cigarette ash. Walls thin enough to hear the couple next door having a screaming match through the crumbling brick. One busted overhead light – flickering like a dying star – bathed the room in uneven yellow. The bed took up most of the floor. Stained sheets, one half-unwrapped bar of soap, and a leaky faucet rounding out the decor. Kerry didn’t seem to mind, he was used to worse.
Johnny paced.
Boots still on, tight leather pants creaking with every step. His dog tags clinked against his chest, shirt peeled off hours ago after the gig, sweat still sticking to the curve of his spine. The venue had been a shithole, but the crowd loved them. Screaming their names, throwing drinks, money and panties. A normal night.
Now they were here, in the nearest overfull crappy motel. Sharing one stifling room. One bed.
“You gonna keep fuckin’ stomping like that?” Kerry’s voice snapped, sharp as a needle. He was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, tuning his guitar by ear.
Johnny turned, flicking hair from his face. “Why? You complaining, princess?”
Kerry didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I like to relax after a show. Hard to get that when you’re pacing like you’re waiting for someone to blow your head off.”
Johnny scoffed and dropped onto the cracked faux-leather chair in the corner. It groaned beneath him, loud and obnoxious.
Kerry adjusted one of the tuning pegs with a flick. “You always pace like this in your room after a gig, or am I just special?”
“You always this mouthy?”
“Mouthy is what keeps this band interesting.”
Johnny looked at him, really looked. Sweat still clung to the hollow of Kerry’s throat, a dark line beneath his shirt collar. His hair stuck to his temples, and he smelled like smoke and cheap whiskey. He had that look in his eyes again – one Johnny knew too well. Like he was waiting for something to snap.
“You should sleep,” Johnny muttered, trying to look anywhere else. The bathroom mirror was cracked, reflecting half of Kerry’s silhouette in the dim light.
“I’m not tired.”
Johnny shifted in the chair, spreading his legs wider. “Then quit bitching and deal with it.”
Kerry set the guitar aside. “You always gotta push people like that?”
Johnny smirked, but there was no humour in it. “Only the ones that push back.”
Kerry stood up, slow. Deliberate. The space between them shrank in an instant. Just the air buzzing with unsaid things – old arguments, older glances. Every time they’d brushed too close backstage. Every drunken night that ended with them almost saying something.
“You ever get tired of pretending this isn’t a thing?” Kerry asked, low.
Johnny leaned back in the chair, arms slung wide over the arms. “What thing?”
Kerry moved closer until his knee touched Johnny’s. “This.”
Johnny’s jaw clenched. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe.
Kerry’s gaze raked over him, slow and deliberate. Not subtle. Not trying to be. He looked at Johnny like he was something to be unwrapped and devoured, eyes dragging over every inch of bare skin – collarbones slick with sweat, the deep dip of muscle that disappeared beneath his waistband, the slight twitch of Johnny’s fingers where they curled into fists.
Kerry’s lips quirked. “You gonna keep pretending you’re not hard from me just looking at you?”
Johnny scoffed, low and bitter. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But his voice cracked just slightly, the tension wrapped too tight around his throat.
Kerry took another step forward, fully in between Johnny's spread thighs. Close enough that Johnny could feel the heat radiating off him, the electric hum of skin just not quite touching. His voice dropped, honeyed and sharp. “You don’t do guys, right?”
Johnny rolled his eyes and stood up, tried to step away, but Kerry’s hand came up fast, fingers threading into his hair. Not gentle. He gripped it at the roots, yanked Johnny’s head just enough to tilt his chin up and force eye contact.
“Lie to me,” Kerry growled. “Go on. Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t want me.”
Johnny’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away.
Didn’t even try.
Kerry’s fingers tightened. Their bodies were flush now – chests barely brushing, every shift sparking friction. Johnny stared at him, eyes flickering between Kerry’s stare and his mouth. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed, just felt it – the crackling, maddening pressure that had been building for months between them, maybe longer.
He licked his lips once and swallowed.
“Fucking hell,” Johnny muttered.
Then he gave in, and crushed his mouth against Kerry’s.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. Johnny surged forward like he was going to devour him, fists bunching into the fabric of Kerry’s shirt, dragging him in. Their mouths crashed, messy and hungry, teeth clacking. Kerry groaned into it, biting Johnny’s lower lip hard enough to make him hiss. But Johnny didn’t pull back, he pressed in harder, tongue sliding against Kerry’s, tasting whiskey, cigarettes and his own blood.
Kerry’s hands were everywhere – raking down Johnny’s back, grabbing his ass, grinding against him. Johnny shoved him against the nearest wall, hands gripping Kerry’s hips hard enough to bruise.
“You think I don’t see it?” Kerry panted between kisses, breath warm on Johnny’s neck. “The way you look at me on stage. Like you’re starving.”
Johnny grabbed the back of Kerry’s neck and kissed him again, deeper this time. Filthy, open-mouthed, no space between them. “Shut the fuck up,” he growled.
Kerry smirked against his lips. “Make me.”
Clothes started coming off. Johnny's hands slid under Kerry’s shirt, dragging it over his head, letting it drop to the floor. His fingertips traced scars and tattoos, the rise and fall of ribs. Kerry returned the favour, undoing the fly on Johnny’s pants with a cocky smirk, brushing knuckles deliberately over his cock.
“You sure you don’t do guys?” he teased.
Johnny looked down at himself – already half-hard and growing – and back at Kerry, deadpan. “Guess I can make an exception.”
“For me?” Kerry’s grin was fucking wicked.
“For now.”
Johnny shoved Kerry down onto the bed, straddling him like he was conquering territory – palms braced on either side of Kerry’s chest, legs pinning his hips. But Kerry only laughed, a rough, low sound that thrummed through Johnny’s core.
“You really think I’m letting you top me?” Kerry said, voice like gravel.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” Johnny growled, leaning down, biting at Kerry’s jaw. “You got a problem with that?”
Kerry answered by twisting, fast and hard, shoving his shoulder under Johnny’s centre of gravity. In a single move, he rolled them both over, flipping Johnny onto his back. Johnny’s breath punched out of him as Kerry landed on top, thighs pinning him just as firmly. He blinked up, momentarily stunned.
Kerry grinned down at him. “I got a problem with people making assumptions.”
Johnny surged up, trying to flip him again. Kerry met him halfway – their hands tangled, arms straining, chest to chest, Johnny snarling soft curses through clenched teeth. They struggled for a few seconds, muscles burning, lips brushing, hips grinding. It wasn’t a real fight. There was too much heat in it, too much tension. Every twist was foreplay, every grunt a tease.
“Still think you’re in charge?” Kerry asked, breathless and grinning.
Johnny’s eyes burned with challenge. “I fuckin’ will be.”
Kerry laughed again and then his hand shot back into Johnny’s hair, gripping hard at the roots and yanking his head back.
Johnny froze.
Something sparked in his expression. Surprise at first, then heat. His mouth dropped open slightly, a breath catching in his throat. The tension in his body shifted, no longer struggling, just arching, just feeling.
Kerry leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Johnny’s ear. “That do something for you?” he whispered.
Johnny didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His fingers clutched at Kerry’s waist, hips lifting instinctively.
Kerry nipped at his earlobe. “You gonna lie again? Say you’re not into this?”
Still nothing. Just Johnny’s pulse racing like a war drum beneath his skin.
Kerry pulled his head back further, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Listen to me, Johnny,” he said, low and commanding, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing here. You think you’re in control ‘cause you’ve played rough with a few backroom fangirls? I’ve fucked men. Topped ‘em. Bottomed for ‘em. I’ve had fingers down my throat and someone’s dick buried in my ass before you even figured out what you wanted.”
Johnny’s lips parted, breathing hard, flushed all the way down his chest. He looked up like he was daring Kerry to keep going, to keep pushing him and find out what would happen, but his body gave him away. He was hard, leaking, hips grinding up against Kerry’s thigh with every breath.
“You need someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing,” Kerry murmured. “Lucky for you, I’m a generous bastard.”
He let go of Johnny’s hair, just to slide his hand down his chest, tracing the sharp cut of muscle, the line of his abs, the trail of hair that led straight to where Johnny needed him. Johnny’s whole body arched, a soft, helpless sound escaping him before he could swallow it.
“Fuck,” Johnny rasped. “Just… shut up and—”
“Not a chance,” Kerry said, smug. “You’re gonna listen. Gonna feel. Let go of that bullshit pride of yours and just take it.”
Then he kissed him again slow and deep this time, like he owned him. One hand stroking Johnny’s cock, the other braced beside his head. Johnny moaned into his mouth, hips jerking helplessly into Kerry’s grip.
Kerry broke the kiss, lips shiny and swollen. “Good boy,” he whispered against Johnny’s cheek. “That’s it. Let me.”
Johnny lay back, flushed and panting, pinned beneath him like a museum specimen. Every muscle tense, twitching, straining against restraint he wasn’t actually trying that hard to escape. His jaw was clenched, teeth clamped together like he was furious, but his cock betrayed him, peaking out of the open fly of his trousers, thick, flushed and leaking onto his stomach with every subtle grind of Kerry’s hips.
“Still think you’re in control?” Kerry murmured, stroking one hand down Johnny’s thigh, nails dragging just enough to sting.
“Fuck off,” Johnny growled, trying to sit up.
Kerry’s palm slammed into his chest, holding him flat. “Nah. You stay right there.”
Johnny’s breath stuttered. His hands fisted in the sheets beside him, knuckles white. He didn’t try to push Kerry off. He didn’t want to.
Kerry slid down his body, nipping the hollow just beneath his ribs, then licking a stripe across Johnny’s abs. Johnny twitched beneath him, a strangled grunt escaping before he could bite it back. Kerry yanked the rest of Johnny’s leather pants down and flung them away into the room.
Kerry grinned. “You’re easy when you’re like this.”
Johnny glared down at him. “You talk too fucking much.”
“You love it.” Kerry’s tongue flicked against the head of Johnny’s cock – just a taste. Johnny hissed, hips jerking, but Kerry’s arm braced across his waist, holding him down.
“Stay still,” Kerry warned, then lowered his mouth again.
This time, he didn’t tease. He sucked Johnny in slow and deep, lips slick and tight around him. Johnny groaned low and filthy, his head falling back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut. Kerry moved with practiced ease, dragging his tongue along the underside, hollowing his cheeks, humming softly like he was enjoying a dessert. His hand wrapped around the base, squeezing just enough to keep Johnny’s hips from bucking.
“Fuck, Kerry,” Johnny gasped, breath catching. His fingers tangled in the sheets like he didn’t trust himself not to grab Kerry’s hair and ruin the rhythm.
Then Kerry's other hand moved lower, between Johnny’s thighs, teasing lightly over his hole. Johnny jerked again, but Kerry’s weight kept him pinned.
Kerry pulled off Johnny’s dick to ask, “You gonna stop me?” his voice thick with heat.
Johnny didn’t answer, he couldn’t. His lips were parted, breath stuttering, body trembling on the edge of something he didn’t want to admit.
Kerry took that as permission, he fumbled in his discarded trouser pocket a pulled out a small tube of lube slicking his fingers and circling Johnny’s rim, slow and deliberate. He worked him open gradually. One finger, then two, sliding deep, curling just right until Johnny gasped and swore under his breath.
“God—shit—fuck, that—” Johnny’s hands shot up to cover his face, but Kerry grabbed one wrist and pinned it above his head, pressing it into the pillow.
“Nuh-uh,” Kerry said, voice gone dark and satisfied. “Let me see you.”
Johnny glared, panting. “You’re such a cocky piece of—ahh—”
Kerry twisted his fingers just right, brushing against something inside that made Johnny’s spine arch off the bed.
“There it is,” Kerry breathed. “You feel that? That spot right there?”
Johnny nodded, barely, mouth slack. “Don’t stop.”
Kerry put his mouth around the head of Johnny’s cock and went back down, sucking harder, deeper. He kept a relentless pace. His mouth and fingers working in tandem, every sound Johnny made egging him on. Johnny was shaking, gasping, muscles taut with restraint.
His hips bucked once – desperate – and Kerry stopped.
Pulled off with a wet pop, fingers sliding out slow.
Johnny nearly sobbed. “What the fuck—”
Kerry sat up, eyes gleaming, wiping spit from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t get to cum yet.”
Johnny looked wrecked. Sweat dripping down his temples, cock twitching helplessly, hands clenching at the sheets.
“Why—” he rasped. “Why the fuck not?”
Kerry leaned in, brushed a kiss over his throat. “Because you look too good like this,” he whispered. “Desperate. Needy. I want to drag it out a bit longer.”
Johnny made a sound like a growl, but it ended in a moan as Kerry palmed his slick cock again, slow and light, not nearly enough.
“You’ll cum,” Kerry promised, voice low and dangerous. “But not until I say.”
And Johnny – despite the glare, despite the panting frustration – didn’t stop him.
Didn’t push him away.
He nodded.
Barely.
But it was enough.
Despite the teasing, the dominance, the shit he’d talked – Kerry slowed down now. His fingers slid back between Johnny’s legs, coaxing him open again with careful, practiced pressure. Johnny flinched slightly at first, oversensitive, but didn’t pull away.
Kerry watched him closely – one finger, then two again, scissoring gently, spreading him wider.
“Still good?” Kerry asked, voice rougher now, less cocky.
Johnny nodded once, his jaw tight.
Kerry leaned over him, kissed the inside of his knee. “Need to know you’re really ready.” This was the part he put his bravado and joking aside for, just for a moment.
Johnny looked at him, face still flushed, pupils blown wide, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was breathing hard, but steady. His pride was a thin, frayed thread now – barely clinging.
“Yes,” said Johnny, looking away like it hurt him to say – like he couldn’t bear to maintain eye contact.
Kerry worked in a third finger, slow and smooth, and felt Johnny gasp beneath him. There was tension, but no resistance.
He curled them again, brushing that spot, and Johnny arched, panting.
Kerry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You ever taken a cock before, Johnny?”
Johnny blinked at the ceiling. His mouth opened, then closed again. For a long second, he said nothing.
Then quietly, like it almost cost him something, he said, “No.”
His eyes flicked down to Kerry’s. “You’re the first.”
Kerry froze.
That hit him harder than he expected.
He stared at Johnny – wrecked, needy, wide open beneath him – and felt something deeper twist in his gut. The control was still his, sure, but it wasn’t about power now. It was about being the one. The first. The one Johnny trusted to take him there.
“Fuck,” Kerry breathed. “Johnny…”
Johnny looked away like he regretted saying it, but Kerry didn’t give him the chance to close back up.
He leaned in and kissed him deep, consuming, full of heat and something else, something hungry. His tongue slid into Johnny’s mouth, slow and claiming, and Johnny moaned into it, hands rising to grip Kerry’s shoulders.
Kerry pressed him into the mattress with his weight, grinding down against him, fingers still working deep inside, slow but insistent.
“You’re doing so good,” Kerry whispered against his lips. “So fucking tight. I’m gonna take my time. Make it good for you.”
Johnny groaned, arms wrapping around Kerry’s back, holding on like he needed something solid to anchor him or he would fly apart.
Kerry kept kissing him slow and deep, tongues sliding, teeth catching. His fingers twisted one more time, then slowly slipped out, slick and shining. He reached blindly for the lube he'd tossed aside earlier and slicked himself up, breath shaking with restraint.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, lining himself up, voice rough.
Johnny’s eyes burned into his. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
His attempt for attitude made Kerry smile.
He braced himself, lined up at Johnny’s entrance, and pressed forward slow, steady and careful. Johnny hissed, fingers digging into Kerry’s shoulders, eyes squeezing shut. But he didn’t tell him to stop.
“Breathe,” Kerry murmured. “Just breathe. Let me in.”
And Johnny did, slowly. His body clenching, then yielding, taking inch after inch until Kerry was buried inside him, panting against his throat.
“Fucking hell,” Kerry groaned, shuddering. “You feel like heaven.”
Johnny’s hands were shaking, clutching at him, but he wasn’t pushing him away.
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice raw. “Ker.”
Kerry started to move slowly his hips rocking with a practiced rhythm, not rushing, not slamming into Johnny like some desperate teen. Every thrust was calculated, deep, angled just right to press against that spot inside him that made Johnny’s spine go taut and his mouth fall open around a moan he tried to swallow.
Kerry braced himself on one forearm, the other hand sliding under Johnny’s thigh, lifting his leg and hooking it over his elbow. It opened Johnny up even more, the angle deeper, the stretch sending sparks through both of them.
“Jesus, fuck,” Kerry groaned, jaw clenched tight. “You feel—God, you feel so good. So fucking good.”
Johnny bit down on his knuckles, trying to hold it together. His breath came in sharp, stuttering gasps, body quivering with restraint. He didn’t want to sound wrecked, didn’t want to give Kerry the satisfaction.
But every thrust dragged a sound out of him anyway.
He hated how good it felt. Hated how much he wanted to moan, and hated that he was whether he wanted to or not.
“Don’t hold back,” Kerry murmured, lips brushing Johnny’s jaw. “Let me hear you.”
Johnny shook his head, biting down harder on his fist.
Kerry smirked smugly and shifted his angle, pulling back and slamming back in deeper. The impact made Johnny cry out – a ragged, broken sound that echoed off the cheap motel walls.
“Yeah,” Kerry said, breath hot against his throat. “That’s it.”
Johnny glared at him, but it was ruined by the way his body arched, sweat slicking their skin where they touched.
“You love this,” Kerry whispered. “You fucking love it.”
“Fuck… you,” Johnny gasped, but it was weak. His hands scrabbled against the sheets, desperate for something to hold.
His organic hand drifted toward his own cock, hard and leaking between them, but Kerry caught his wrist instantly and shoved it back down to the bed.
“No,” he growled. “You don’t touch.”
Johnny thrashed, hips jerking up. “Ugh, you bastard, I need it—”
“No, you don’t,” Kerry snapped. “Not yet.”
He tightened his grip on Johnny’s leg and picked up the pace, still deep, still controlled, but faster now. The slap of skin on skin echoed louder with every thrust. Johnny was panting, head tossing side to side, hair plastered to his forehead. He looked wrecked – beautiful and desperate and furious all at once.
“I want to feel you fall apart around me,” Kerry said, voice rough. “Not yet. Just a little more.”
Johnny whimpered – whimpered – and turned his face away in shame.
Kerry leant down, kissed his throat, his jaw, his mouth – filthy, open-mouthed kisses between breathless thrusts. He swallowed Johnny’s moans, fucked him through each one, forcing him to feel every inch, every second of being claimed.
“Can’t believe I’m the first,” Kerry whispered, slowing just slightly, grinding in deeper with each roll of his hips. “Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
“Y-you already have,” Johnny gasped before he could stop himself.
And fuck, the way Kerry growled at that – possessive, hungry and wild.
Johnny was shaking beneath him, thighs trembling, cock flushed dark and untouched, leaking into the space between them. Every time his hips lifted instinctively for more friction, Kerry denied him, holding him down, keeping him right there.
On the edge.
Just where he wanted him.
Still moving. Still fucking him deep and relentless.
Kerry pulled out with a shuddering breath, chest heaving as he looked down at Johnny’s flushed, wrecked body, chest rising and falling, skin slick with sweat, cock pulsing and still untouched between them.
“Turn over,” he ordered, voice thick, wrecked but firm.
Johnny blinked up at him through sweat-stuck lashes, dazed and breathless, but he still tried for attitude. “Make me.”
So Kerry did.
He grabbed Johnny by the hips, strong and rough, and flipped him with one swift yank. Johnny landed on his stomach with a grunt, hands bracing under him, legs spread automatically. There was a brief beat – like maybe he’d bite back, get snippy again – but then Kerry fisted a hand in his hair and pulled his head up off the pillow, and Johnny practically melted.
He groaned low in his throat, hips pressing back instinctively, offering himself up.
“Jesus, look at you,” Kerry rasped. “Face in the sheets, ass up… fuckin’ made for this.”
Johnny’s only answer was a strangled moan.
Kerry leaned in, chest brushing Johnny’s back as he lined himself up again, cock slick and throbbing. He shoved back in slow but deep, filling Johnny up with one long thrust that made them both groan.
Johnny’s hands grasped the sheets as his elbows gave out, head falling forward again, face buried in the pillow as he bit back a yell. His moans were muffled, but they poured out of him anyway – loud, broken and helpless.
Kerry grinned, wild and feral.
He tightened his grip in Johnny’s hair, yanked his head back just enough to hiss in his ear, “You like this. Don’t fucking lie.”
Johnny choked out a noise – half growl, half moan – as Kerry started to thrust again, harder now, faster. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. Johnny arched back into it, taking everything Kerry gave him.
“You love getting fucked,” Kerry went on, voice low and dangerous. “Love my cock in you. Love being used.”
“F-fuck—yes—” Johnny gasped, shameless now, no pretence left. His hips were rocking back into each thrust, chasing it, desperate for it. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”
Kerry yanked his hair harder, forcing him to keep his face up. “Don’t hide,” he growled. “Wanna hear every filthy sound you make.”
Johnny tried to twist away on instinct, but it was useless, Kerry had him, held him open and helpless, pinned with one hand in his hair and the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. His moans were raw now, needy, and they only got louder as Kerry’s thrusts turned punishing.
Kerry briefly thumbed over Johnny’s dick, “Shit. You’re fucking soaked down here,” Kerry growled, slamming in again. “God, you’re such a mess.”
He didn’t let Johnny have the satisfaction of his hand for long, and quickly returned it to his place on Johnny’s hip bone.
Johnny could only moan louder, mouth open, eyes wild. He was gone. Completely under, trembling on the edge again, sweat dripping down his spine.
But still, Kerry didn’t let him touch his cock.
He kept him right there, fucked open, sobbing with pleasure and completely owned.
Kerry’s rhythm shifted, less about control now, more about just driving into him, chasing something wild and shattering. Johnny beneath him, face pressed to the mattress, body limp between thrusts but still arching back, still taking it.
His moans had changed. They’d gone hoarse and broken, trembling with too much sensation. Every cry cracked at the edges, tumbling into helpless little sobs he couldn’t hide anymore.
Kerry fucked him harder.
Johnny whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth onto the pillow. He looked ruined.
And Kerry had never seen anything so fucking beautiful.
“You still with me?” he managed to rasp, breath ragged.
Johnny nodded, barely.
“Tell me.”
“Y-yeah,” Johnny gasped, voice wrecked. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—”
So Kerry didn’t.
He gripped Johnny’s hips, angling deeper, grinding into his prostate with every thrust now. Johnny sobbed, a sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest, and then—
His whole body went stiff – rigid – then shook violently. His mouth fell open, no sound coming out for a second as he came, untouched, cock pulsing against his belly, a thick mess spilling over the sheets beneath him.
“Holy shit,” Kerry breathed, stunned.
He watched it happen, felt Johnny clench around him – tight, spasming, milking him – and it nearly undid him right there.
“You just—” Kerry’s voice broke, almost awed. “Fuck, you just came from my cock in your ass.”
Johnny let out a strangled whimper, face still buried in the sheets, breath hitching between aftershocks. He couldn’t even form words, couldn’t move. Just trembled beneath him, a fucked-out mess, entirely at Kerry’s mercy.
Kerry leaned over him, hands trembling. “Can I—Jesus, Johnny, can I come inside you?”
It was nearly a plea. Desperate.
Johnny turned his head just enough to look back at him, eyes barely focused, but the answer was clear, even though his voice was wrecked, hoarse and soft.
“Yes.”
That was all Kerry needed.
He drove into him with a shuddering groan, fast and deep, and within a few more thrusts he was coming hard. Kerry's hips slamming flush, and his cock pulsing deep inside Johnny’s body. He collapsed over him, mouth open against his shoulder, moaning into his sweat-slick skin, shaking with the force of it.
The room went still but for the sound of their breathing, harsh and ragged but slowly evening out.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment.
Kerry stayed draped over Johnny’s back, still buried inside him, chest pressed to sweat-slick skin. His hair stuck to his forehead, mouth open, trying to catch his breath.
Johnny didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
His arms were sprawled out across the mattress, chest heaving and his legs completely useless beneath him, they were just dead weight. His body felt boneless as his nerves were still singing.
Kerry shifted first, groaning as he slowly pulled out. Johnny let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the sensation, his legs twitching.
Kerry sat back on his heels, taking in the mess he’d made. Johnny’s back marked with sweat, teeth, and fingernails. The sheets under him were wet with cum. His own still leaking out between Johnny’s cheeks.
“Fuck,” Kerry murmured, almost to himself. “You alright?”
Johnny made a noise. Sort of a grunt. Sort of a sigh.
It might’ve been a yes. Or maybe a please kill me.
Kerry smirked softly. His body ached too, hips sore and muscles burning.
He reached for a crumpled shirt discarded on the floor gently wiped Johnny down. Careful around the most sensitive parts. Johnny flinched once or twice, but didn’t protest.
“I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs,” Johnny mumbled into the mattress, his voice hoarse and half-laughing.
Kerry chuckled low and fond. “You’re fine.”
“‘M not,” Johnny said, still face-down. “You broke me. I’ll never walk again”
Kerry leaned over and brushed Johnny’s hair off his face, just enough to look him in the eye.
“Seriously though, you okay?”
Johnny blinked slowly, lips parted, pupils still a little blown. But the look in his eye was clear.
“Yeah,” he rasped, voice low. “I’m fine.”
Kerry lingered there for a second, like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. Instead, he just touched Johnny’s back gently, letting his palm settle against the rise and fall of his ribs.
The motel room was quiet now. The kind of quiet that only came after something intense.
Johnny finally managed to roll onto his back with a wince, letting out a low grunt as his muscles protested. His legs still felt half-useless, and there was a distinct ache between them that promised he’d be walking funny for the next day or two.
Kerry was already sitting up, lazily towelling sweat off his chest with that same shirt. He looked disgustingly satisfied. Smug as hell. That post-orgasm glow clinging to him like stage lights after a show.
Johnny glared at him.
Kerry raised a brow. “What? You look like you just got hit by an AV. A very talented, very sexy AV.”
“Don’t,” Johnny muttered, covering his face with one hand.
Kerry snorted. “You came without even touching your dick, man. That shit was art.”
“I said don’t.”
“Never seen anything like it. You were moaning like a fuckin’ BD star, then bam—” Kerry snapped his fingers. “—you exploded all over the sheets.”
Johnny groaned. “You gonna shut up anytime soon?”
“Nope.” Kerry grinned, stretching like a cat. “Gonna be thinking about that for weeks.”
“Don’t get a big fuckin’ head about it.”
“Oh, it’s way too late for that.”
Johnny peeked at him from between his fingers. “I swear to god, if you bring this up in front of the others—”
“What, ‘Johnny Silverhand, first time bottom, came like a porn star, completely untouched’? Nah.” Kerry leaned over, brushed a knuckle against Johnny’s jaw. “That moment’s just for me.”
Johnny rolled his eyes, but his cheeks had gone pink. He turned his head away. “Didn’t even know I—fuck, I didn’t know I’d like that.”
Kerry’s voice dropped, softer now, teasing but warm. “You didn’t like it. You loved it.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Bet you’re already thinking about the next time.”
Johnny threw a coffee-stained pillow at him.
Kerry caught it, laughing, and tossed it right back. “I mean, shit, I’d think about it too if someone fucked me like that.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late. I’m a fuckin’ rockstar.”
Johnny finally cracked a grin. Brief, reluctant, but real. “You’re an asshole.”
Kerry smirked and leaned over, brushing his mouth over Johnny’s temple, something unspoken lingering there in the space between heat and comfort.