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Johnny Silverhand leans against a brick wall out the back of some gay bar in a rain-soaked alleyway, waiting. He’s wearing something black and long sleeved, hood up over his head. It’s probably not enough to disguise him if anyone were actively looking, but covering the chrome does most of the work for him in terms of not standing out. He sucks halfheartedly on a cigarette, smoke warming him from the inside out. The rain has petered out but the city is wet and glistening with it, and his shoulders are damp and cool.
The backstage door opens, earlier than Johnny anticipated. His eyes flick up to see who it is, and — damn.
Kerry has stepped out for a smoke. Johnny ain’t too proud to admit Kerry is hot; wouldn’t be fucking him nearly as often if that weren’t the case. But right now Kerry isn’t just hot.
Johnny’s eyes run up Kerry’s whole body. Chunky and stupidly tall heels accentuate the shape of Kerry’s calves, and the sheer black stockings that cover them shimmer in the low light. Johnny could run his hands up the smooth fabric, up under his little black dress — the skirt is loose and frilly and layered with ruffles, about knee length. It puffs out the waist to give Kerry some hips and an actual ass. Around his torso the dress hugs like a second skin, and, shit, he has fake tits spilling out of the plunging neckline, nipples peaked behind the fabric. Johnny doesn’t know shit about women’s fashion, but it reminds him of this insanely hot goth chick Nance used to hang around. Kerry’s tits look incredible in a too-good-to-be-true kinda way and the neckline plunges deep to the middle of his torso, showing them off obscenely.
Johnny drags his eyes up to Kerry’s face. The loose brown curls of his wig makes him look soft and pretty as he lifts a cigarette to his mouth. Kerry’s face is illuminated briefly as he lights his cigarette and Johnny can see for a moment that he’s decked out in full drag makeup, high brows, dark eyeshadow, deep cheekbones, cherry red lips. Drag isn’t Johnny’s usual preference, but god Kerry looks good.
Johnny steps out of the shadow and drops his cigarette. Kerry immediately notices the movement and tenses. When Johnny steps forward, Kerry shifts like he’s maybe going to pull his iron; another half step and Johnny watches the recognition flash across his face, then shock and discomfort.
Johnny slams into him, lunging immediately for a kiss. Kerry gets a hand up just in time to stop their mouths meeting.
“Fucking asshole, I’m up soon,” Kerry says from behind his hand, “don’t fuck my lipstick. What the fuck are you even doing here?” He sounds defensive and squirmy as he tosses his lit cigarette to the side with his other hand.
“Heard you had some thing on ya wouldn’t tell me,” Johnny says, all quiet-like. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t steppin’ out.”
Laser targeted to piss Kerry off; the two of them are many things but exclusive isn’t one of them, as much as Kerry would prefer otherwise. Johnny likes to keep Kerry on a tight leash anyway. He pulls Kerry’s hand away from his face with the chrome hand, then runs his ‘ganic fingers feather-light over Kerry’s pretty red lips.
“Gettin’ all dolled up in secret,” Johnny continues. “Just as fuckin’ bad. You gonna keep this from me? Fuck, Ker.”
“Fuck you,” Kerry says weakly.
Johnny looks at his lips again and grabs one of Kerry’s fake tits. The tits are just for show — obviously just feel like plastic — but god, he has a metal fucking arm. Plastic is practically an upgrade.
“Just don’t fuck up my makeup,” Kerry says as he gives in, threading a hand under Johnny’s hood into his hair and twisting. His nails scratch against Johnny’s skull pleasantly and he recognises that Ker has fake nails on as well.
Johnny leans forward to kiss Kerry’s neck but the hand in his hair twists, pulling him back; Kerry’s foundation stretches all the way down his neck until the fake tits come into play. Johnny gets his mouth on the tits instead, cool plastic beneath his tongue. The shaky breath Kerry heaves beneath them makes it worth it. The thought of if they were real ain’t half bad either.
Johnny pushes the neckline of Kerry’s dress down a little bit and is glad the fake tits also have nice little fake nipples. He angles his head so he can look up at Kerry as he showily swirls his tongue around one.
“Make a real pretty chick, Ker,” Johnny says as he pulls back slightly.
“Fuck off.” Kerry doesn’t sound confident.
“Y’would,” Johnny says as he drops to his knees. “Fuck, already pretty enough.” He runs his hands up Kerry’s legs, over the smooth nylon stockings and under his skirt. Lucky fucking him — the stockings are thigh-highs, and Johnny feels the fucking garter belt Kerry’s got to hold them up. “Jesus.”
Kerry adjusts his grip in Johnny’s hair and his hood falls back off his head. “Didn’t know you were into this,” Kerry says, clearly trying to sound casual.
Johnny’s not sure he is into it, broadly speaking. He might just be into the idea of fucking with Kerry, pushing his buttons, pissing him off then getting him off. He can’t fucking say that without Kerry getting the entirely wrong idea, so instead Johnny shrugs. He meets Kerry’s eyes from the ground with both hands all the way up his skirts, tugging at the straps of his garter, running his ‘ganic hand over Kerry’s dick through what Johnny hopes are some skimpy little panties.
“Gonna gimme the third degree or gonna let me blow you?” Johnny demands.
Kerry laughs once, a touch mean. “Only if you swallow. Can’t be gettin’ messy ’fore I’m on stage.”
No complaints there. Johnny scoots forward so he’s more between Kerry’s legs than in front of them, untangles Kerry’s hand from his hair, then ducks his head under the skirt. They must look a sight, Kerry all dolled up, leaned against the wall with a full man under his dress. Johnny presses his open mouth against Kerry’s clothed dick and hears Kerry’s long breath out. Ker is usually real keen on having his hands all in Johnny’s hair while he gets sucked off, and it’s a little strange that right now he can’t, his own dress in the way. Johnny maybe misses it, the pleasure-pain when he twists and yanks, how it’s a real obvious line to what he’s thinking. It’s a little weird doing this in the dark, too — not that they always fuck with the lights on, but he feels secluded down here, like a little secret, cloistered away from even Kerry’s eyes as he sucks Kerry through his underwear.
As Johnny undoes the little garter straps he imagines Kerry with his hands flexing by his sides, desperate and not sure what to do with them without Johnny’s hair to grab. He mouths at Kerry’s dick again, feeling how it presses hard against him, and grins into it even though Kerry can’t see. He yanks Kerry’s underwear down and imagines Kerry occupying his hands by playing with his fake tits, swirling fingers teasingly around his nipple, head back against the brick wall as he gasps — shit, maybe they should fuck some chick together. Kind of unbelievable they haven’t already; Kerry swings more gay but Johnny knows for a fact he’s into chicks as well.
Johnny tries to push the thought of tits out of his mind to focus on the task at hand as he sucks Kerry’s cock into his mouth, hot and heavy. He’s not very successful, because his hands brush against the tops of Kerry’s stockings and he’s reminded of his dress, of his bright red lips, of his obscene fucking tits.
Kerry would look great with his mouth on a nice pair of tits, or his cock between tits to fuck them — or, yeah, Johnny could have his mouth on the tits, and Kerry could fuck her, or if they found someone real adventurous they both could at the same time; then he’d fuck Ker afterwards, just to make sure he remembered exactly whose he was. Might be enough to get Kerry grumpy and looking to needle at him, to want to try to remind Johnny of who Kerry thought he belonged to. As if Johnny could be owned by anyone. Was always hot when he made a real go of it though.
Johnny hasn’t really been focusing on the blowjob, just absently swirling his tongue, and he can tell Kerry’s getting impatient by his little hip thrusts. “Bastard, hurry up, only got a smoke break, come on,” Kerry says. He thrusts harder and Johnny feels one of his hands cup the back of his head, bunching in the skirt. Johnny chokes on it briefly and shit, that’s hot, Kerry needy and pushy, the fabric of the dress pushed closer around him by Kerry’s hand, his cock in his mouth.
They’ve fucked enough that, despite Johnny’s best efforts, Kerry knows when he’s chanced upon something that makes Johnny soft. This is no exception. Kerry laughs breathily and says, “Oh, I see.”
He grabs the back of Johnny’s head with both hands, locked around the base of his skull, bunching the skirt up all around him, and thrusts into his mouth. Johnny moans and fuck, he can picture the exact smug grin Kerry must have — then remembers he needs to adjust his mental image because Kerry is all made up, pretty red lips and intense cheekbones. Fuck. Those cherry red lips, fuck, he wants to see them around his cock, wants that lipstick smeared all over his thighs.
Kerry groans then suddenly is moving, spinning around and leaning down to grab Johnny by the shoulders, helping to manoeuvre him to spin backwards until Johnny’s head hits the brick wall, cushioned by Kerry’s skirt.
“Yeah?” Kerry whispers, rocking his hips back languidly. Johnny stays against the wall as Kerry pulls back until just the tip of his cock is in his mouth. He thrusts back in slowly. “Yeah?” Kerry repeats, meaner this time, one hand pushing against Johnny’s cheek. He pulls all the way back until he’s out of Johnny’s mouth completely, giving him a chance to speak.
“Gonna fuck my throat?” Johnny says, curtained by the skirt still. His tone is goading and his voice is fucking wrecked. He hears, just barely, Kerry’s sharp intake of breath. “Gonna fuck me hidden away, like your dirty little secret, huh? Gonna —”
“Shut up,” Kerry says, voice tight. There’s some actual authority in there for once and he thrusts forward, dick skating along Johnny’s cheek. Before Johnny can make fun of him for missing, Kerry’s hand leaves his cheek and he demands, “Mouth. Now. I’m not fucking touching you until I’ve fucked your throat raw.”
Johnny considers mouthing off, making Ker work for it a little harder. He tries this shit not infrequently, to get one over Johnny when they fuck. Usually it doesn’t work; even on the occasions when Johnny bottoms he has Ker eating out of the palm of his hand. But tonight, something about the way he says it, the way Johnny is cloistered away beneath dark fabric, the heat and privacy of it even as they’re in an alleyway for anyone to see — fuck, it tickles something in a real basal part of his brain, deep down like where the best of his songs come from. His hands fiddle with Kerry’s panties — god he hopes they’re panties, they feel like it, but he can’t fucking see — where they’re around his calves.
Johnny opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out to catch the underside of Kerry’s cock and guide it into his mouth. Kerry thrusts forwards again, smooth and careful, as much for his own benefit as Johnny’s; it gives Johnny a chance to make sure Kerry’s not going to hit his teeth. When Kerry pulls back and thrusts again it’s the brick wall behind Johnny that catches his head, softened by the fabric of Kerry’s dress. Kerry doesn’t need hands to hold him, he has the alley and the fabric and his cock, hot and hard in Johnny’s mouth.
Kerry fucks him hard, hard enough that it gets real messy real fast, drool spilling out of Johnny’s lips with each thrust. He thrusts deep, all the way until Johnny is choking on it, then holds there as Johnny breathes ragged through his nose and resists the building urge to pull away and cough. His eyes water and he makes an obscene noise around Kerry’s cock.
“Get you on your knees more often,” Kerry says breathlessly, as though this were the first time Johnny has blown him in a back alley. He pulls out, achingly slowly, until Johnny can breathe a little easier. “You even breathing down there? Or you want my cock more than air? Maybe you oughta beg for it.” Kerry withdraws completely to let Johnny speak, cock brushing Johnny’s chin. Bastard loves the sound of Johnny’s voice even more than his own.
“Ain’t begging,” Johnny says, voice rough. His whole fucking world is Kerry’s voice and cock and the stuffy dark fabric.
Kerry hums thoughtfully. “Guess not,” he says, cock brushing against Johnny’s lips clumsily. “If you were gonna beg, what would you say?”
“Oh, Kerry,” Johnny says, a perfect sarcastic deadpan, “please fuck me with your impressive cock.”
Kerry laughs. “Liar. Open up.”
Johnny opens his mouth and Kerry pushes back in, nice and slow. Johnny moves his hands upwards until he’s gripping the backs of Kerry’s thighs, just under his ass. He doesn’t mind letting Kerry run his mouth tonight.
“Fuck,” Kerry says, then takes a deep breath. “You know what you’d actually say?” He draws back then thrusts forward again, so fucking slowly that Johnny leans in to take him faster. “You’d show up here and you’d say, Wanted to make sure you weren’t steppin’ out.”
Johnny’s heart leaps to his throat and Kerry fucks it. He feels a gut-boiling anger but also like part of his brain has dislodged from itself. Shit, Kerry might be right. Kerry pushes him hard back against the brick. It’s so dark under here, so warm, so close. Like he’s suffocating.
“You’d tell me off for getting all pretty without you,” Kerry continues, back to fucking his mouth in earnest. Johnny relaxes his jaw, relaxes his throat, fucking takes it. “You’d say, You gonna let me blow you? Call me pretty, goad me into it. That’s how you’d beg, Johnny.”
Kerry’s mouth has him furious but Kerry’s cock has him pinned and his skirts have him jailed. He’ll deny it later but right now Johnny lets himself believe it, just for a moment — that he was begging for Ker, that he fucking needed him like water, like air; god, Jesus, Johnny is so fucking hard he’s aching from it. Kerry doesn’t let up and tears prick in Johnny’s eyes again. His jaw aches and he grunts as Kerry slows way back down.
What the fuck happened to quick, I only have a smoke break? Johnny grabs Kerry’s ass and pulls his hips forward, leaning forward from the wall as he does. Kerry groans at that and fucks him hard again, back into the brick. It doesn’t hurt because the damn skirt is protecting him from the rough surface and Johnny fucking wants it to hurt, wants to get out of the suffocating little soft umbrella of Kerry and get fucked up for real but he can’t. The only thing that can fuck him up right now is Kerry. He wants it so fucking bad, for Ker to fuck him hard enough he can’t speak right tomorrow, for him to come down his throat until Johnny is choking on it, to be goddamn ruined.
Despite usually acting like his sole purpose on earth was to piss Johnny off, Kerry fucks him just how he wants it, until he’s gagging on it, until his brain goes all fuzzy and quiet. The only warning Johnny gets is a muffled grunt before Kerry comes and Johnny sucks hard, moves his head as Kerry slows down, pushing off the wall to take it all as deep as he fucking can as he swallows Kerry’s come.
“Shit,” Kerry is saying between gasps, “shit, shit, fucking hell Johnny, shit.”
Johnny feels Kerry’s hands through the skirt fabric, cupping his head, his cheeks, as he slowly pulls back. His head feels like cotton wool and his mouth feels empty. He licks and noses gently at Kerry’s slowly softening cock, then carefully pulls his underwear back up. Johnny catches his breath leaning against Kerry’s thigh. He pauses to wipe the spit from his jaw with the collar of his hoodie, then runs his hands over Kerry’s thighs again soothingly. He pulls the stockings up from where they have slipped, fastening them back to the little straps of the garter belt, fingers dancing over Kerry’s hot skin. He holds Kerry’s upper thighs with both hands as they tremble and rubs little circles on the front of them with his thumbs. He listens to Ker’s deep breaths and kisses his thigh with an open mouth. On another night he might have sucked a hickey there, but tonight he feels a bit too soft for that.
“Good,” Kerry says quietly. Vague enough it might not be praise, so Johnny doesn’t riot, just lets it be. If he’s honest he might even take the praise right now. “Real good. Ready to get outta there? Want me to get you off?”
The thought is enough to pull Johnny’s attention, like a little string tug at the base of his skull. “Fuckin’ of course,” he says, still under the skirts, with less bite than usual — with so much less bite it almost sounds like a please, voice raw and rasping.
Kerry pulls his skirt from over Johnny’s head and crouches down to his level. God Johnny wants to kiss him all soft and sweet, wants to smear his heavy eyeshadow all over his cheeks. Instead he leans his head back against the brick. The rough texture hurts and it starts to pull him out of it a bit, away from whatever idiot he is right now and back towards Johnny Silverhand. He leans forward then thunks his head back hard, closing his eyes. The pain runs through his head like lightning, parting some of the fog.
“Whoa, hey,” Kerry says, pulling him off the wall. He cradles the back of his head. “Stay here with me,” he says, a little pleading. He runs a thumb over Johnny’s lips gently as his other hand runs over the back of Johnny’s head; when he pulls his hand back there’s just a little bit of blood on his fingers. Kerry quickly sucks the blood off his hand, like it’s instinctual, then goes back to cradling Johnny’s head.
Kerry pulls him up from the ground until Johnny is standing, leaned back against the wall, Kerry crowded into his space with a hand still at the back of his head. Kerry leans forward and kisses him once, a gentle and chaste peck with powdery lips. Johnny makes a little noise of complaint; fucking tease, that barely-there kiss when they both know he’s told Johnny they can’t kiss for real right now. He grips Kerry’s shoulders with both hands, careful with the chrome to not squeeze too hard. He bares his throat to Kerry, even knowing that Ker won’t take the bait, too concerned about that damn lipstick.
“If I get on my knees it’ll fuck my stockings,” Kerry says quietly as he reaches for Johnny’s fly with one hand, the other still cupping the back of his head.
“Fuck your fucking stockings,” Johnny says, “want your prettied-up lips on my cock.”
“Hm,” Kerry hums, “is that what you want?” His fingers reach Johnny’s stupidly hard dick and wrap around it and Johnny groans, pushing his head back against the wall hard enough that Kerry is probably going to have scraped knuckles.
“‘S what I want,” Johnny says, but he hasn’t quite shaken the fuzz from his brain, so it comes out way too small, way too needy.
God, shit, he had forgotten about the stupid fake nails until right fucking now as Kerry jerks him off. Johnny rests his head against Kerry’s shoulder, careful that he’s against fabric and not skin. Not like he was opposed to handjobs — Kerry’s hands were one of the hottest things about him — but without being able to get his mouth on him? Without being able to kiss him breathless, bite his throat? It makes the thing feel strange and stripped bare, just Kerry’s hand on him, just his pre-come to smooth the way, just his own ragged breath loud in the alleyway.
Johnny groans against Kerry’s shoulder and turns his face down, seeking the plastic of Kerry’s fake tits. He finds it cool against his tongue and shoves his ‘ganic hand down to cup one. With the chrome hand he pulls the dress down from Kerry’s other tit until his nipple is free and sucks it. Kerry swears above him and the hand cupping the back of Johnny’s head twists and pulls at his hair instead. The familiar pleasure-pain of Kerry’s hand in his hair makes Johnny groan. He pants desperate into Kerry’s tits, licking down between them so they press hard into both cheeks, mouthing and sucking like he could bruise the plastic. He squeezes with his ‘ganic hand and the tit is too firm, but Kerry moans like they’re real, like he can feel it. Johnny grabs his ass with the chrome hand, gathering his skirts between the metal fingers, and pulls them closer together.
Johnny comes into Kerry’s hand with a gaspy little moan into his tits, mouth open around his nipple. Kerry shudders when he does and Johnny’s moan turns into a string of swears, quiet and breathy.
Johnny leans back slowly, taking deep breaths to regain his bearings. The post-orgasmic glow is just adding to the mushiness of his brain. He grins lazily and looks down. Kerry’s still got his hand around Johnny’s cock, loosely holding it; Johnny’s come is all over his fucking fingers, obscene and dripping. There’s some on the bottom of Johnny’s shirt, and —
“Whoops,” Johnny drawls with a wicked grin, looking at his come on the skirt of Kerry’s dress.
Kerry follows his gaze and groans, annoyed and unsexy, pushing away. He shakes out his hand like he could get the come off like that, then wipes it against the brick, largely unsuccessfully. Then he pauses and looks back over at Johnny.
“Gonna have’ta clean this up,” he says, holding out his hand all delicate like he’s some idiot princess.
Damn it all to hell. Johnny feels like he’s getting on his knees again as he takes Kerry’s hand gently with his chrome and leans in and kisses Kerry’s knuckles, maintaining eye contact, like if he really were royalty. Then he licks his own come from Ker’s fingers, real slow, keeping their eyes locked as much as he can. The eye contact is gentle, tenuous, so intense that part of Johnny is screaming to break it, to break something. He drifts, letting that part of him stay far away. When Johnny is done with his hand, Kerry twists his hand together with the chrome in a gentle grip. With his free hand Kerry guides him back down to his knees and Johnny sucks the come off his skirt, too, Ker still holding the hand. Good thing the dress is black; the wet patches might actually not show.
Kerry pulls him back up to standing. “Wanna stay? Watch the show?”
“Yeah, alright,” Johnny says, still mushy and stupid. He realises that Kerry hasn’t let go of the hand, but he lets it be. Kerry threads their fingers together, and Johnny still lets it be. He grins lopsided at Kerry. “You’re gonna kill it.”