Archive of Our Own

The streets thrummed with the familiar pulse of Night City, a constant hum of neon lights and restless souls caught in the city’s grind, as if everything was always on the edge of something.

V’s hands gripped the wheel as the city stretched out in front of him, a kaleidoscope of sodium light bleeding through the rain. The windshield wipers did little to clear the thick sheets of water slanting across his view. The streets felt endless, the wet blacktop a reflection of his tired mind, and the steady techno beat on the radio was the only thing keeping him awake, a pulse he barely noticed but needed to keep going.

His eyes burned, worn from another endless night, the weight of too many nights spent in the same loop. He hadn’t realised how long it had been since he’d last slept properly. His head pounded in time with the rain tapping against the roof.

As he pulled up outside the club, the electric spill of neon signs flickered weakly overhead, the atmosphere thick with the weight of the city’s restless energy. He killed the engine, scrubbing a hand down his face, trying to wipe away some of the exhaustion.

He was wearing a plain black tee and combat pants, but he barely felt the chill in the air as he popped the door. He ditched his gun and holster on the passenger seat before stepping out, the rain slicing down his face as he did. Reaching for his phone, he saw Kerry’s latest message:

Back alley. Come see me.

The streets were still alive with the tail end of the club’s energy. People spilled out of the front doors, their faces drained, sweat and smoke clinging to their skin. They looked like they were ready to pass out where they stood, as if they’d given everything to the night and had nothing left to keep them upright.

V overheard bits of their conversations as he walked past: a few chuckles, some grumbles, but mostly talk about the gig. He smiled to himself, hearing how much they’d enjoyed it, how much they’d been pulled into the chaos. A familiar rush, like he’d earned a moment of peace in the midst of all that noise.

He waved at the bouncer on his way past, a silent acknowledgment, and the guy gave him a nod in return. That was the rhythm of this life. Not quite home, but something close. Familiar faces, familiar glances. He’d slipped into the margins of it without noticing.

V turned toward the alley, the steady hum of the crowd slowly fading behind him, swallowed by the sound of the rain and the city breathing just a little quieter. A van sat with its back doors open, roadies packing gear with the kind of quiet efficiency that came from long hours spent in this routine. One of them glanced up and grinned.

“Hey, V.”

He nodded back, the ease of it settling on his shoulder like an old jacket. He wasn’t part of the set, not really. But he wasn’t just passing through anymore either.

It wasn’t until he was deeper into the shadows, away from the bustle, that he saw Kerry.

Leather clung to him like a second skin, black pants slick with rain and stage sweat, short-sleeved jacket hanging open over a white vest that was damp and sticking to the lines of his body. Knee-high boots darkened by water. His hair was still wild from the show, blonde strands plastered to his temples, skin flushed and gleaming under the alley’s fractured light.

A cigarette burned between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward before dissolving into the rain. The reflected colours from the street caught on him in restless flashes, turning sweat to silver, leather to ink. He stood there, still. Waiting. The quiet after the storm.

Christ.

V didn’t move closer right away. Didn’t speak. It didn’t feel right to break the quiet. This moment was too fragile to interrupt with words.

He’d seen Kerry command a stage like it owed him an apology. He’d seen him arrogant, infuriating, screaming at some newscaster for calling him outdated. But this… wrecked and breathing hard in the rain, stripped of the spotlight and somehow brighter without it, Kerry felt dangerously close to divine.

V exhaled slowly, then stepped forward.

One step. Then another. The rain caught in his lashes, the alley narrowing until it was just the two of them.

Kerry finally glanced up.

He took a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling up between them before he tossed it aside, letting it sizzle out in the rain. The gesture felt deliberate, as if the cigarette had burned through whatever distance there was between them. His sunglasses, dark and unyielding, hid his eyes, the smudged lines of eyeliner beneath them creating a shadow that made it harder for V to read him. But the silence lingered, thick with anticipation.

Kerry didn’t look away. He simply stared at V for a moment, his expression unreadable, before his hand reached out, quick and sure. He grabbed the front of V’s tee, tugging him forward.

Kerry’s hands found V’s jaw like it already knew the map of him, thumb settling beneath the ear where the pulse jumped. He didn’t take off his sunglasses, didn’t have time. The lenses caught a smear of neon, teal bleeding into orange, turning the edges of his face into something electric.

V leaned in first, dark hair damp at the temples, the shaved sides cool against Kerry’s palm. His eyes closed before their mouths met, like he trusted the landing. The kiss wasn’t tentative. It was the kind that arrived already halfway to hunger, a collision softened at the last second into something warmer. Kerry tilted his head, mouth finding V’s with a practiced ease, and the city’s hum slipped to a low, distant note.

Leather creaked when Kerry pulled him closer, studs along his jacket pricking the air with tiny glints of light. His metal bracelets chimed once, a soft, metallic whisper that vanished under the sound of their breathing. V’s hand came up and caught Kerry’s wrist, fingers curling there, steadying, anchoring, like he was saying stay without saying it at all.

For a few seconds, the world narrowed to touch and heat. The press of lips, the scrape of stubble, the faint taste of smoke and something sweet. Kerry’s thumb traced the line of V’s cheekbone, paused where a scar kissed his skin, and then moved again, a slow, absent minded promise.

V pulled back just slightly, his lips still close to Kerry’s, but he broke the silence with a simple, “Hi.” The words felt like they shouldn’t need to be said, but they hung there anyway, soft and low, almost as if the night had been waiting for them.

Kerry cracked a smile, the kind that didn’t need to be huge or dramatic, but it was enough to make V’s chest tighten just a little. His hands slid from V’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers curling gently into his hair before he pulled him in again.

“Hi back,” Kerry murmured against his lips, his voice warm and familiar. His arms circled around V’s waist, pulling him close, as if he hadn’t quite realised how much he’d missed the weight of him until now. He tucked his face into the crook of V’s neck for a moment, inhaling like he’d need the air from him, and whispered, “Missed you.”

V’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the noise of the world seemed to drop away entirely.

“Missed you too,” V murmured, leaning into him.

“I could get used to this,” Kerry said quietly, pulling back just enough to let their foreheads rest together, fingers tangled in the hem of V’s tee. “Play a killer show. Kiss you in the alley. Romantic as fuck ending to my night.”

“Yeah?” V said, breath warm against Kerry’s lips. He smiled, the curve of his mouth teasing. “Sounds like a pretty good night.”

Kerry grinned, a low, almost wicked glint in his eyes, but there was something in his gaze that V clocked even in the darkness of the alley. Something quieter, just beneath the surface, a shift that made his smile linger just a little longer than it should. “Night’s not over yet. Could be better if you stick around this time.” His fingers slipped lower, just enough to send a quiet shiver down V’s spine. “I’ve got a few ideas of things we could do together.”

V laughed softly, pulling him back in with a low murmur. “Then I’m all yours, Eurodyne,” he said, lips brushing Kerry’s again.

They kissed again, softer this time, slow and searching. Kerry’s lips brushed V’s like he was memorising every curve, every movement, and V leaned in without hesitation, matching him, melting into the press of hands and mouths. It was a perfect rhythm, a familiar pattern that felt like home.

But when they finally pulled apart, Kerry didn’t let go. He wrapped V up in a tight hug, pressing their bodies together, the warmth between them stronger than the rain hitting the pavement. It was as if he wanted to hold on a little longer, a little tighter, like the world outside could burn down and it wouldn’t matter, so long as they were here, in this moment.

“You okay?” Kerry whispered into his neck, thumbs brushing along V’s back in a soft, repetitive motion.

V tilted his head back just enough to meet Kerry’s gaze, lips twitching in that small grin he reserved for only the quietest, most dangerous moments. The grin that said, I see you, but without prying. He held Kerry’s gaze for a moment before replying. “Yeah,” he said simply. “Are you okay?”

Kerry hesitated, his grip tightening just slightly, before resting his chin atop V’s head, letting the city glow around them. The hum of distant sirens, the low rumble of conversation from the roadies, the pulse of city lights all blended together into something that felt both overwhelming and perfectly still at the same time. For a moment, they carved out their own little bubble of warmth, noise, and everything else could wait.

Just as the moment between them settled into something comfortable, a roadie’s voice cut through the quiet. “Mr Eurodyne!” the guy called, walking over with a holo pad in his hand. “Some of this stuff is on loan from…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Kerry didn’t even look up. He just waved him off, the gesture casual, like he couldn’t care less. “Find Kovachek backstage, he loves dealing with that shit,” he muttered, his attention already back on V. His fingers brushed against V’s, and in one smooth motion, he slid his hand into V’s, dragging him along toward the alley’s exit.

“Let’s delta before any more of these gonks find me,” Kerry said with a grin, his tone teasing. “You eaten yet?”

V huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure I ate something yesterday.”

“What am I gonna do with you?” Kerry smirked, his grip tightening a little as they walked. He finally pushed his sunglasses back into his hair, his face lit up with that mischievous glint that was so signature to him.

“There’s probably half a burrito in my car somewhere.”

“Absolutely not,” Kerry scoffed. “I’m gonna have to spoil you,” he said, the words like a promise, teasing yet somehow genuine. “Five course meal. Fancy Hotel. Spa Treatments. The works.”

V raised an eyebrow, the edge of his lips curling up. “You’re gonna spoil me? You realise a hot meal and a soft bed is spoiling a merc.”

Kerry just grinned, a little more sly now. He pulled V into his side, a small but possessive gesture, his arm wrapping tight around V’s shoulders. “Well, I’m doing both, then,” he said with a wink. “I’ve got expensive taste. We’re going for the works.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to the side of V’s head. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

V’s grin was slow, satisfied, as he leaned into Kerry’s side, letting him lead the way.

They turned the corner together, their steps in sync, the sound of the city faded behind them, swallowed by the steady rhythm of their own pace. Kerry’s grip on V tightened just a little, pulling him closer, and for a moment, V didn’t feel the exhaustion, didn’t feel the weight of the endless nights.

They were two ordinary people in a city that never stopped, carving out their own little world, even if just for the night.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hydraulic sigh, sealing them inside a mirrored box of soft gold light. They didn’t have to walk far before they found a luxury hotel up to the rockstar’s standards.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Kerry kept his sunglasses on. The lenses reflected the mirrored walls back at them in endless repetition, fractured versions of two men standing too close and not quite touching. The soft instrumental hum of elevator music filtered through hidden speakers, something synthetic and low, filling the silence like it was trying not to intrude.

The numbers slowly began to climb.

12… 13… 14…

V leaned back against the mirrored wall, head tipping slightly as if the vertical motion pulled the last thread of adrenaline out of him. His eyes fluttered shut for a second longer than a blink. His shoulders slumped.

Kerry noticed. He didn’t comment at first. He shifted closer, one hand hovering near V’s arm without quite touching yet. Watching the reflection instead of him directly. Watching how tired he looked when he thought no one was studying him.

“You’re staring,” V murmured, eyes still closed.

“I’m looking,” Kerry corrected, bumping his elbow against him. “There’s a difference.” His voice softened just a notch. “You’re cute when you’re tired.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of V’s lips.

The elevator continued to climb floors around them.

60… 61… 62…

Kerry tilted his head back beside V’s, close enough that he could hear the faint, wispy rhythm of his breathing under the elevator music.

“You gonna make it through dinner,” he asked quietly, “or am I carrying you?”

“I’m a merc,” V said. “I got energy reserves for special occasions.”

Kerry’s mouth twitched. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” V hummed.

Kerry huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “Good to know.”

The elevator chimed.

The mechanical voice announced, “Penthouse.”

The elevator shuddered to a stop. The doors slid open with a soft, sterile ding, revealing the dark wood interior of the hallway; thick carpets, low lights, and bamboo decorations lining the walls.

V shifted automatically, shoulders squaring, spine straightening. The instinct was old, bracing for the escape, but the movement never came.

Kerry’s hand closed around V’s forearm before he could follow through, fingers warm and firm against his skin.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, thumb pressing just slightly into muscle. “Not for me.”

V blinked, caught mid-adjustment. “Do what?”

“Be the untouchable merc,” Kerry said quietly. “Pretend you’re fine. You don’t have to do that with me.”

V pushed off the mirror anyway, mask sliding back into place. “You think you could carry me?” he muttered, stumbling forward.

Kerry didn’t let go.

“If you need it,” he said, softer than the joke deserved. “Yeah.”

The corridor outside was hushed, thick red carpet swallowing their footsteps. Kerry didn’t let go as they walked, hand warm against V’s forearm, a tether more for him than for V. He could feel the slight drag in V’s boots, the way each step seemed heavier than the last.

When they reached the suite door, Kerry paused, letting his hand linger on V’s arm just a fraction longer than necessary. His thumb pressed lightly into the pulse at V’s wrist, and for a second, he let himself get lost in the rhythm.

“Almost there,” Kerry murmured, voice low.

V’s head tilted back slightly, eyes catching the faint electric spill from the window in the hallway. “Fancy,” he whispered, more to himself. “Never needed a place like this to sleep before. Back seat of my car… couch… anywhere, really.”

Kerry’s lips curved into the tiniest smile, the kind that didn’t need to be seen by anyone else. “Just… humour me here,” he said softly, almost hesitant.

He slid the keycard into the lock, feeling the door give with a soft click. V lingered against him for just an instant longer, letting the warmth of Kerry’s body steady him, before he finally stepped inside. Kerry turned to slide the deadbolt into place. The click was final, sealing them away from the city’s pulse and the endless circuits of life below.

He didn’t bother with the lights. The city glow from outside stretched across the room, casting long violet and electric green streaks across the wood floors. It was 2:47am, and the city still hummed below.

Sweat still glistened on Kerry’s neck and collarbones from the gig, his white tank clinging to his chest like wet paint. He peeled off his leather jacket, letting it drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes flicked toward V, catching the way he was taking in the room, eyes sharp, as if he was trying to figure out the space.

“Not what you expected?” Kerry asked, voice soft, just above a murmur.

V didn’t answer right away.

Hardwood floors stretched beneath them, dark and glossy, reflecting the low amber light that spilled from recessed panels in the ceiling. Floor-to-ceiling glass lined one wall, the city spread out beyond it in fractured neon and distant headlights, the rain streaking slow silver paths down the panes.

The furniture was all sharp lines and glass edges, a sculpted arrangement that looked more like a gallery installation than somewhere meant to be lived. A black chrome bar gleamed in the corner, bottles arranged with deliberate precision, labels catching the light like jewellery.

And dead centre, unapologetic, was the bed. Wide. Low. Draped in white sheets so crisp they almost glowed against the black and gold panelled wall behind it, the metallic accents catching flickers of city light.

V’s eyes moved over it all with the same careful attention he gave any unfamiliar territory, taking in the grandeur of the suite. His expression was unreadable, but Kerry saw the flicker of something in his gaze. Assessing, mapping exits, scanning security systems.

“I’ve been in hotel rooms before,” V said finally, his voice a little rough, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or cautious. “But this… it’s like an apartment. Bigger. You don’t have to do this.”

Kerry stepped closer, closing the gap without ceremony, letting the neon glow wash over both of them. “Yeah, I do,” he said simply, soft enough that V could hear the truth in it, not the show. He backed V up toward the glass wall overlooking the city, sliding his palm beneath V’s tee, palm flat against his cold skin. “ I miss spending time with you, and I want to spoil you.”

V’s head tipped back against the glass with a dull thud. His fingers found Kerry’s sides, feeling the heat radiating off him. “Me? I thought this was all for you,” he smirked, though there was a hint of something uncertain in his voice.

Kerry chuckled, his breath warm against V’s skin. “The suite… is for you,” he said, his tone low and almost too serious for the playful words. He nipped at the hinge of V’s jaw, then dragged his mouth down the column of his throat, teeth grazing lightly. “You’re my prize.”

They stumbled sideways together, and V let himself be guided, too caught up in Kerry’s touch to care. With each kiss Kerry placed on his jaw, V’s breath hitched a little, his hands tightening against Kerry’s sides, his body instinctively pressing closer.

Kerry’s mouth lingered at the base of V’s throat, lips brushing the pulse point there in slow, deliberate sweeps. No bite this time, just the soft press of heat, the faint scrape of stubble, the way his breath fanned out and made V’s skin prickle.

“You’re shaking,” Kerry murmured, thumb tracing lazy, possessive arcs over the faint ridges of muscle along his abdomen. He didn’t pull away to look; he simply pressed his forehead to V’s, eyes half-lidded in the neon wash. “You okay?”

V exhaled a quiet laugh that sounded more like relief than amusement. “Adrenaline crash, maybe.” His own hands moved slow and careful, sliding over the damp hem of Kerry’s white tank. “Or maybe… it’s you.”

Kerry hummed low in his throat, pleased. He kissed the corner of V’s mouth, then the other corner, before letting their foreheads rest together a moment. “Come shower with me,” he said quietly, already lifting V’s tee.

“Thought you were gonna feed me?” V teased, voice rough, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Kerry chuckled, brushing a thumb over V’s jaw. “Later. You’re about to get the five star treatment of a different kind. Clothes off.”

V lifted his arms without a word. The tee slid off in one fluid motion, cool air kissing newly bared skin. Kerry let the fabric fall from his fingertips; it pooled somewhere near their feet, forgotten. His eyes roamed V’s chest, taking in the map of bruises that had bloomed across V’s torso since the last time they’d been this close. Purple fading to yellow at the edges, a fresh patch of stitches to his side, and a scabbed knife wound to his side.

Kerry’s fingertips followed the largest bruise. Feather-light. No pressure.

“These are new,” he said softly, thumb pausing near the scab. When V tensed just a fraction, Kerry leaned in and pressed his lips there instead; a soft, wordless apology that he wasn’t there when it happened.

V’s breath caught. His hands found Kerry’s waist again, thumbs hooking into the low-slung waistband of leather pants. “They’re not as bad as they look. Didn’t wanna bother you mid-gig,” he muttered. “Figured you’d worry.”

“I always worry.” Kerry’s mouth moved to the next bruise, then the next, kissing each one with the same unhurried care. “Doesn’t mean you hide them from me.”

V swallowed. His fingers tightened on Kerry’s hips. “Not hiding. Just… didn’t want to pull you out of your head before the show. Can’t go bothering you every time I get injured on the job.”

Kerry lifted his head at that, eyes searching V’s face in the shifting city light. “Always bother me. For anything. If you get a fucking paper cut opening mail, I wanna know. Even if I’m on the goddamn stage. Tell me everything.”

V didn’t answer with words. He simply leaned forward and kissed Kerry, slow this time, matching the gentleness Kerry had set. Tongues sliding together in lazy exploration rather than demand. When they parted, Kerry’s hands worked open the fly of V’s pants, the fabric sliding free with a soft whisper.

“How do you smell… amazing?” Kerry murmured, voice low and fond, between light kisses. “While I smell like a mosh pit?”

V let out a soft laugh, tilting his head, letting Kerry’s mouth find the spot just below his ear. “Mosh pit smells pretty good to me.”

Kerry’s laugh was low, rough around the edges from hours of belting lyrics into a mic. He wove his fingers through V’s hair, pulling him in closer.

“You smell like…” he murmured, letting the words fade as he inhaled him. His voice dropped to that intimate register that always made V’s pulse kick up a notch. “Rain… coffee, cheap diner food… and whatever adrenaline laced bullshit you’ve been running on for a week straight. Mix it all together and it’s… fucking intoxicating.” His fingers traced V’s sides, mouth nipping at his neck. “How do you always smell so good? It’s annoying.”

V shivered, a small sound escaping him, and pressed closer, forehead against Kerry’s shoulder. “You smell like home,” he whispered, honest in a way exhaustion made easier.

“Liar,” Kerry laughed into his hair. “I reek. Spilled beer, smoke, too many bodies pressed too close. Stage sweat’s a different animal. There’s a reason I don’t date rockstars anymore. They stink.”

He pulled back just enough to meet V’s eyes in the shifting neon glow. The city lights played across Kerry’s face: violet bleeding into his hair, green sharp against cheekbones. “You gonna make it to the shower?”

V hooked his fingers into the hem of Kerry’s vest, teasing it upward. “You can carry me, right?”

Kerry’s grin softened, more warmth than teasing now. “Oh, I can carry you,” he murmured, voice low, fond, brushing a thumb along V’s jaw. “But I think you should try walking first. Let me see how stubborn you really are.”

V smirked despite himself, wobbling slightly as he kicked off his boots, stepping out of his pants. “Stubborn, huh? Sounds familiar.”

Kerry’s eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief, the kind that always surfaced when he knew he’d won a round without even trying. “Pot. Kettle.” He tugged at the waistband of V’s briefs with one finger, playful but deliberate. “You’re way more stubborn than me.”

V let out a soft breath, the press of Kerry’s fingers warm against his skin, and clutched at his damp vest, fabric sticking in places and tracing every lean line of muscle beneath. “Not even,” he said, voice low. “Lift your arms.”

Kerry obliged, but not without leaning in to steal another kiss first; slow, lingering, tongue brushing just enough to make V’s breath hitch. Then he raised his arms, wrists locked together above his head in a deliberate, almost performative stretch that pulled every long line of his body taut. The motion arched his back slightly, ribs shifting under damp skin, the white vest riding up to expose a narrow strip of toned stomach and the sharp cut of his hipbones where the leather pants sat low and sinful.

V’s gaze dragged down the length of him; slow, appreciative, no pretence of subtlety. Kerry caught it, of course. The corner of his mouth curled into that trademark half-smirk, lazy and knowing, the one that had melted entire arenas full of screaming fans without him ever breaking a sweat.

“Like what you see, merc?” Kerry’s voice was velvet dragged over gravel, low enough that it vibrated between them. He flexed his wrists once, just enough to make his bracelets chime softly against each other, a tiny, teasing sound that landed somewhere between music and invitation.

“Fucking tease.” V huffed a quiet laugh, but his hands were already moving. He gathered the hem of the vest again, knuckles grazing the warm skin of Kerry’s sides on the slow upward drag. The fabric peeled reluctantly at first; clinging to his chest, outlining nipples already peaked from the cool air and the heat of their proximity.

The vest tore over his head in one smooth pull, leaving Kerry’s hair even more mussed, blonde strands sticking to his forehead. V tossed the vest aside; it landed somewhere near his boots with a soft, wet slap.

Kerry didn’t lower his arms right away. He kept them raised, wrists crossed, head tilted back just enough to expose the long column of his chrome-plated throat, black and gold gleaming as it caught the light.

V stepped in closer, close enough that their bare chests brushed, skin on skin, heat meeting heat. His hands settled on Kerry’s hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows just above the leather. “You’re dragging this out on purpose,” he said, voice rough. He leaned in, lips hovering a fraction from Kerry’s throat, breath warm against his skin.

Kerry’s laugh was low, throaty, almost a purr. He finally lowered his arms, but only so he could slide both hands into V’s hair, fingers curling possessively at the nape. “Yeah, well… I missed you. And it’s just us for once,” he whispered, mouth brushing V’s as he spoke. One hand drifted down, hooking a single finger into the waistband of V’s briefs again. This time he didn’t just tug playfully, he dragged the elastic down an inch, then another, letting the fabric catch on the swell of V’s hips before sliding his palm flat against bare skin.

V’s breath stuttered. His own fingers dug harder into Kerry’s hips, tugging at the leather. “You talk a big game, Eurodyne.”

Kerry’s grin turned wicked. He leaned in until their lips were barely touching, voice dropping to a husky murmur that sent heat straight down V’s spine. “Baby, I don’t talk big. I deliver.” He nipped V’s bottom lip, sharp enough to leave a trace, then soothed the spot with a slow drag of his tongue.

Before V could respond, Kerry sank to his knees in one fluid, deliberate motion. The wood was cool against his shins, but he didn’t seem to notice. His hands stayed on V’s hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp divots above the bone, holding him steady.

V’s breath caught hard. One hand shot out instinctively, bracing on the doorframe of the bathroom they had almost made it to, the other dropped to Kerry’s shoulder, fingers digging in.

He whimpered out, “Ker…”

“Shh.” Kerry’s voice was velvet smoke, low and commanding in a way that made V’s knees want to buckle. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to the crease of V’s hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin.

Kerry didn’t rush. He never did when he wanted to unravel someone slowly. He dragged the briefs the rest of the way down V’s thighs with his palms sliding along muscle, then let them pool at V’s ankles. V kicked them aside without looking. Naked now, he stood under the neon glow, light spilling over his pale skin like fractured glass.

“Fuck,” Kerry breathed, almost reverent. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“See…” V’s voice cracked, rougher than he meant it to. “You’re dragging it out.”

Kerry’s eyes flicked up, dark and gleaming under the reflected colour from outside, that wicked grin still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Dragging it out?” he echoed, voice low and teasing, lips brushing the sensitive skin just below V’s navel as he spoke. “I’m savouring the moment. There’s a difference. You’re so impatient.”

He leaned in again, slow and deliberate, nose tracing the line of V’s hipbone before his mouth followed; open kisses, soft scrapes of teeth, the barest flick of tongue that made V’s thighs tense. Kerry’s hands slid up the back of V’s legs, palms warm and possessive, fingers digging in just enough to steady him as V’s stance wavered.

V’s grip on the doorframe tightened until his knuckles turned white. The week of endless gigs, stims that barely kept him upright, fights that left him bruised and bleeding, it was all crashing down now, adrenaline long gone, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion and the overwhelming heat of Kerry’s mouth so close to where he needed it most.

His legs trembled, not from nerves, but from the simple fact that standing upright suddenly felt like too much effort.

V’s grip in Kerry’s hair tightened. “Kerry… fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Good way to go.” Kerry’s laugh was dark, vibrating against skin. He finally wrapped his lips around the tip, soft at first, just a warm, wet seal, then took him deeper in one smooth glide, tongue curling around the shaft as he sank down.

V’s knees nearly gave. He braced harder against the frame, the other hand sliding to the back of Kerry’s head, fingers threading through his hair. His breathing turned ragged. “Ker… slow down… fuck…”

Kerry pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny, chin glistening. He looked wrecked in the best way; hair a mess, eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed under the neon. “Not yet,” he rasped, voice hoarse. He rose slowly, sliding his body up the length of V’s until they were chest to chest again. “You got me doing all the work here.”

V groaned, head dropping back against the wall. “You’re evil.”

“If I was evil,” Kerry whispered, nipping at V’s earlobe. “I wouldn’t be going this slow. C’mon. Shower.” He pushed V backward into the bathroom then, finally loosening his own leather pants. He pulled off his ridiculous knee high boots, shimmying out of the pants as they reached the shower together.

Water crashed down, loud and immediate, steam rising in soft spirals around them. The city glow from the doorway bled faintly through the frosted glass, violet turning the mist into something unreal.

V stepped under the spray first, head tipping back as the heat hit his skin. A low sound left him, somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

Kerry watched for half a second too long.

Then he stepped in behind him. The water plastered Kerry’s hair to his forehead, ran down the sharp line of his collarbones, traced the lean cut of muscle V had been admiring minutes ago. He pressed in close, chest to back, sliding his hands slowly up V’s arms.

“Still think I’m evil?” Kerry murmured near his ear, voice roughened by steam and something deeper.

V huffed a breath, leaning back into him without hesitation. “Verdict’s still pending on that one.”

Kerry smiled against his shoulder. One hand drifted down V’s side, his forehead dropping lightly against the curve of his spine. “I mean it, you know.”

“You’re not evil?” V asked, tilting his head back just enough to catch him in the steam blurred glow.

“No,” Kerry murmured. He nudged V’s side lightly, almost shy now instead of smug. “You’re beautiful.”

V snorted softly, rolling his head back. “That’s what every merc likes to hear.”

The steam curled between them a moment, water running warm over their bodies. Kerry swallowed once, jaw flexing slightly like he was chewing on something he didn’t know how to spit out.

He huffed a quiet breath against V’s spine, circling his arms around him. “You can’t even take a compliment like a typical merc,” he said quietly.

“Ker, that’s not…”

“You don’t get it,” Kerry cut him off, voice lower, stripped of showmanship. “I don’t… throw that word around to just anyone.”

His fingers tightened slightly at V’s waist.

“I mean, look at me,” he added after a moment, tone shifting just enough to keep it light. “I’m beautiful. Who can top me?”

V dropped his head forward in a laugh, shoulders shaking under the spray. The sound was rough, tired, but real, something Kerry hadn’t heard in too long. It cut through the steam like a clean chord after hours of distortion.

Kerry tightened his arms around V’s waist, chin hooking over his shoulder now, lips brushing the wet skin just below V’s ear. “There it is,” he murmured, voice low and pleased. “Been waiting for that laugh all night.”

V turned his head just enough to meet Kerry’s gaze through the mist. Water beaded on his lashes, running in slow trails down his temples.

“I love you.”

The words didn’t echo. They didn’t swell. They just hung there, warm and unguarded, carried by steam.

Kerry went very still.

He didn’t pull away or tighten his grip, just froze in the moment.

The water ran over them, over his shoulders, down V’s chest, pooling at their feet. Kerry’s jaw flexed once. His thumb stopped its idle tracing against V’s stomach.

“You…” he started, then stopped.

V turned fully in his arms, chest to chest, not looking away.

That made it worse.

Kerry swallowed, eyes searching V’s face like he was trying to find the angle of a joke, a deflection, something lighter to grab onto. But there wasn’t one.

V was serious.

“You don’t get to just drop that on me in a shower,” Kerry muttered, voice rough, but softer than the protest suggested.

V’s mouth twitched faintly. “Why not?”

Kerry exhaled through his nose, a weak half-laugh escaping. His forehead rested briefly against V’s temple.

“Because,” he said quietly, almost into the steam, “It’s not shower talk. It’s romantic diner talk. When you’re really, really drunk, and overwhelmed with feelings. And I’m trying really hard not to be wrecked by you.”

Kerry’s hands slid up V’s chest again, slow and deliberate, palms flattening over bruises that still looked angry under the soft violet light leaking through the glass. He traced them with careful fingertips, no pressure, just acknowledgement.

“I’m… I’m trying really hard here, V,” he said quietly. “You know that I’m not good at… saying things. Whole word things… they’re not my style.”

V huffed another quiet laugh, moving to cup Kerry’s jaw with one hand, thumb brushing along the sharp line of stubble. He heard the vulnerability in Kerry’s words, fragile and raw. Kerry Eurodyne didn’t do soft. Not in public. Not on stage. Not even with most of the people he’d ever let close.

“I don’t need you to say it back,” V murmured, thumb still tracing him. “I just need you to know. I love you. Not drunk or overwhelmed. I’m in love with you, Kerry Eurodyne.”

Kerry’s grin flickered back, smaller and softer, but still edged with that familiar mischief. “Too late,” he whispered, more to himself. “You’ve already wrecked me… in the best and worst possible way.”

He kissed V then, harder than before, desperate, like the words had cracked something open inside him and he needed to pour the pieces back together with touch. Mouth open, tongue seeking, hands sliding up to fist in wet hair at V’s nape. V met him stroke for stroke, one arm banding around Kerry’s waist to pull him impossibly closer, the other braced against the glass so they didn’t slip.

When they broke apart, both breathing ragged, Kerry’s forehead dropped to V’s shoulder. Water streamed between them, hot and relentless.

“Fuck,” Kerry rasped, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna make me lose my goddamn mind.”

“In a good way, I hope,” V said quietly.

Kerry pressed a slow, open mouthed kiss to V’s jaw. His voice dropped lower, roughened by steam and sincerity. “Yeah… in the best way.”

Kerry hummed in approval. Then took V in hand; slow strokes, thumb circling the head, finishing what he started earlier. This time there was no teasing edge. Just the heat of his hand, the warmth of his body, and the quiet certainty that this moment belonged to them alone.

V’s breath hitched, hips shifting forward into the touch on instinct. The water kept falling, steady and soothing, washing away the last traces of the city’s grime while Kerry worked him with deliberate patience. No rush or performance, just the slow build of pleasure that had been simmering between them since the alley.

“Fuck…” V shivered into him, hips stuttering once more as the last wave rolled through.

Kerry held him through it, hand slowing to gentle strokes, lips pressed to the wet curve of V’s jaw. The shower kept drumming, steady and indifferent, but inside the spray the world had shrunk to heartbeat and breath and the press of mouths moving together under the downpour, tongues sliding lazy and familiar, tasting salt and water and each other.

The water drummed over them, the showerhead pounding a steady rhythm, but inside that spray, time slowed, and the world fell away. Words had been said. Confessions whispered. Touch had spoken louder than any noise.

Nothing else mattered.