Archive of Our Own

Johnny makes good on his promise in the end. He does what he’s told V he wanted to do months ago, before the Relic had to be removed and all his plans got utterly fucked: he takes her out on a goddamned date.

He books the reservation at some fancy-ass restaurant with a name in French that V makes him try to pronounce and then laughs at him for butchering. He gets her real, ‘ganic flowers, this fuck-off huge bouquet of red roses that were a bitch to acquire but totally worth it for the delighted grin it brings to her face. He buys her a Jinguji dress, too, a short black-and-gold number that really makes her ass and tits look even more fantastic than they already are. He even wears a goddamn suit and tie, loathing it every second of it. But he figures he can survive one night in the getup so long as V keeps staring at him like she wants to devour him whole.  

They get the most secluded corner table in the quietest part of the restaurant —Kerry’s new manager really came through— and order stupidly fancy little dishes and talk about nothing important. The whole thing is some chef's wet dream, but Johnny couldn’t give a single shit about how fantastic the food is or the complexity of the tannins in each wine pairing. The latter he only experiences through sips from V’s glass because he’s trying to cut back down on booze, anyway. 

No, Johnny’s here for the way V keeps shooting him secret smiles, like they’ve snuck into a place they’re not supposed to go. He’s here for the way that she swears she isn’t playing footsie under the table a second before she innocently nudges his shoe with a toe again. He’s here for her excited chatter about the cuisine she recognizes from growing up in Paris and the way she keeps slipping into French when she gets too caught up in those rare happy memories of her childhood. 

She holds his ‘ganic hand almost the whole time, their intertwined fingers resting atop the table, and it’s actually stupid how giddy he gets whenever he happens to focus on it. She’s still here. She’s not leaving ever again. She’s his. 

V’s chewed him out enough for taking those solo jobs with Rogue, but for all her complaining, she doesn’t have a thing to say when he uses some of those funds to foot the hefty bill after dessert. He’s pretty sure she views it as some kind of reparations. The joke’s on her, though. He was never interested in spending it elsewhere. 

She slides her hand into one of his back pants pockets on the walk out, silently pushing him forward to the car and cupping his ass while she’s at it. He smirks, throwing an arm over her shoulder. Looks like the full vision for tonight is going to pan out. Good thing Kerry wanted to catsit. 

Johnny even opens her door to the Porsche for her like a proper gentleman, though he probably ruins it by flipping her off when she teases him for it. When he slides into the driver’s seat, she immediately reaches out to caress his upper thigh.

He looks over, amused. Though she’s very intentionally staring at her phone, she’s not even trying to hide her smile. 

Her fingers inch ever-so-slightly inward, running along the inseam of his pants. 

“You anglin’ for something, sweetheart?” he purrs, tracing his thumb over her knuckles. 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she replies without glancing up from her screen. 

Her hand dips a little lower, just the barest stroke of fingertips over his cock. 

“Careful, V. You keep playin’ that game, we’re not gonna make it home.”

She eyes him sidelong, arching one brow. “We wouldn’t want that,” she says, and cups him fully. She looks back to her phone and starts typing something with her other hand. “Drive, Johnny-boy. We’ve still got a bed to break in.”

He grins, not at all opposed to the way she continues to intermittently knead at his cock as he starts racing through City Center. He’s not immune to her feigned disinterest any more than he is to the way she touches him, but it’s not the first time a pretty girl has tried to distract him from the road and it hopefully won’t be the last. He might worry about keeping an eye on traffic if she were, say, going down on him —god, he wishes— but this? This is just setting the mood for the rest of the night. 

It’s still strange to pass the familiar exit to Watson, and stranger to follow a new set of streets into the Glen. He supposes that will probably fade in time. They’ve only lived in the new apartment for a week, after all. The only thing that’s even fully set up is the loft with the bed, and that’s based more on necessity than aesthetics. Luckily, though he does plan on eventually fucking V on every surface of the apartment, the bed is all they really need.

By the time he gets to the parking garage, he’s straining in his pants, hips twitching every time V grinds down her palm, and she still hadn’t looked his way. He half-asses his parking job, reaches over to snatch her phone out of her hand, ignoring her noise of outrage, and pulls her in for a kiss. 

“Elevator,” he demands, regretfully backing away just so he can get out of the damn car. 

She clicks her tongue and doesn’t move from her seat. “Bossy,” she remarks idly, picking a nonexistent piece of lint off her dress. 

It’s going to be one of those nights, then. Fine. If she wants it, she’s gonna have to work for it. 

“You don’t have to help me out of this suit if you don’t want to,” he says with a shrug. “Be a lot more fun if you do, though.”

It’s a delicate balance, when she gets like this. She wants him to capitulate, to beg, and he’s not going to. He wants her to capitulate, too, and there’s even less of a chance of that. He knows she wants him, no matter how committed she is to pretending she doesn’t — and tonight, she isn’t that committed. But if he tries to call her out on her bluff too early, like by making a beeline for the elevator now, she’ll just dig in her heels and stay in the car to prove him wrong. The best way is to keep up the act until one of them breaks. Draw it out like a game. And preferably get her out of the car while he’s at it. 

She holds out her hand. “My phone, Johnny.”

He withholds a smile. She’s barely even trying. “How about a trade? I’ll give it back if you come upstairs with me.” 

“Say please.”

He laughs, sliding out of the car and going over to open her door. He ducks in to kiss her slowly, languidly sucking at her tongue as she reaches around his neck to pull him in closer. Though it’s an awkward position, he gladly braces one hand against the dashboard and cups her waist with the other, wishing the seat weren’t blocking him so that he could properly slot a knee between her thighs. 

“Pretty sure you mentioned something about breaking in that bed,” Johnny pointedly reminds her. 

“Pretty sure you still haven’t asked nicely,” she shoots back.

“Come out here and make me, then.”

She pulls him back in for a searing kiss, then shoves him away so that she can slide out of her seat. Her ridiculously tall heels grant her about three inches on him, and she’s incredibly fucking smug about it. Smirking, she loops her arms around his shoulders. 

“Careful what you wish for, chèri,” she murmurs, her tone syrupy-sweet.

Before he can respond, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and drags him to the elevator. 

Johnny only just manages to punch the button to their floor before she grabs his tie and yanks him closer, biting at his bottom lip and groping his ass. He crowds her willingly, finally getting to slot his knee between her legs. He can feel her grin against his mouth before she shamelessly grinds down on his thigh.

When the doors open again, he’s the one to pull her down the hall to their apartment. With the mood she’s in, V’s not likely to let him lead for much longer, and Johnny would prefer to at least get through the apartment door before she decides she wants to call the shots again. 

Sure enough, the moment they get inside and he can kick off those awful fucking dress shoes, she spins him to face her and shoves him back against the wall.

“God, Johnny, I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” she groans, pressing their bodies together with the kind of urgency that she doesn’t normally show. “Gotta make you wear a suit more often. You’re so fucking hot.” She licks over his Adam’s apple and sucks a bruise into the side of his neck, warm breath ghosting over his skin. 

He smirks, craning his head back to give her better access. “Took the words right outta my mouth, darlin’,” he agrees. “The things you’re doing to me in that dress…”

“Good. Stay,” she demands, unbuckling his belt. He’s deliberately not wearing anything under his suit pants, so she barely needs to do more than unzip his fly before she can pull his cock out and stroke him slowly. 

Johnny’s still half-hard from the car ride and is all too happy to sit back and let her hand work over him. He relaxes into the wall and licks into her mouth, slowly rolling his hips along to her rhythm. 

On a different night, he might like to turn the tables, maybe flip them around so she’s the one boxed in, but V’s left no wiggle room. In the month since she came back, she’s returned to full, pre-Relic strength, and he can feel every bit of inhuman power humming beneath her chrome. She’s only expending a fraction of a fraction of effort and she’s still got him thoroughly pinned. He never thought that he’d be into that, but it’s V, so of course he is. 

“The entire time we were in that restaurant, I was trying so hard to enjoy the food, but all I could think about was how much I wanted to put your fucking cock in my mouth,” V admits between kisses, sounding incredibly inconvenienced. “You have no right, you know that?”

“Can’t say I’m too sorry.”

“Would’ve done it then and there if I didn’t care about giving the rest of the fuckers in that place a show,” she growls — actually growls, her voice going low and dangerous in the way it usually only does when she’s about to kill someone slowly. 

There’s definitely something wrong with him, because his cock weeps out a few drops of pre at the thought. 

“Wouldn’t have minded,” he drawls. “Give ‘em somethin’ to write home about.”

She squeezes his balls and he groans, his back arching off the wall. “Nobody gets to see you like this but me,” she declares like it’s a universal truth. The earth is round, the moon is colonized, and V has exclusive rights to his dick. 

He supposes she’s not wrong. Still, he lazily replies, “Pretty fuckin’ possessive of you, sweetheart. Think you got some of that from me?” just to tempt fate. 

She bites his neck hard enough to make him wince. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Maybe I want to,” he goads. “Come on, darlin’. Show me.”

She lets go of his cock —he bites back a noise of protest because she doesn’t get that win, she doesn’t— to yank at the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with all the ease of someone who was once regularly required to wear full business attire. She cups his pecs like they’re tits, running her thumbs over his nipples before bringing her mouth down to suck each one in turn. Her nails, as sharp and deadly as the rest of her, scrape over his stomach and back down through the trail of hair leading to his dick. 

Though his muscles jump under her touch and he thrusts forward at the suggestion, she doesn’t wrap her hand around him again. 

He decides to push his luck further, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes. “No one here but us, V. You wanna suck me off so bad, why don’t you get on with it?”

Her eyes flare with a familiar fire. All at once, she pulls out of reach. Damn.

He’s just about to start complaining when she preemptively cuts him off with a terse, “Take off your clothes.”

Hope reignites. Maybe the gambit is a success, after all. 

He grins wickedly. “All of them?”

“All of them.”

That’s a request he can gladly heed. He hates this fucking clown suit. But when he makes to undo that awful tie, she shakes her head. 

“The tie stays.”

He rolls his eyes. “So you can yank me around? I’m not a fuckin’ dog on a leash, V.”

“Too bad. The tie stays.” She licks her lips and smirks. “If you’re good, I’ll choke you with it later.”

Fuck. 

He glares at her, loosening the tie, and slips the collar of his shirt out from underneath it. Fine. The tie can fucking stay. For now. 

She hums, clearly pleased when he doesn’t undo the knot fully, and waves for him to continue.

Johnny knows how to put on a show. He strips slowly, intentionally, dropping the shirt and jacket to the floor with a contemptuous flick of his wrist before moving on to his pants. He pumps his cock a couple times to provide some relief under her intense scrutiny. The shadows hidden in her eyes make him hot all over, so that even when he’s taken off his pants and socks, the shiver that rises up his spine has nothing to do with the cold. 

He stands there in a tie and nothing else, cock standing at full attention, and raises his eyebrows impatiently. “Well?” 

With a saccharine smile, V reaches out fast as a whip, grabs the damn tie, and jerks him further into the apartment. 

Rather than leading him upstairs to bed, however, she stops by the couch on the main floor. 

“Sit,” she commands.

He could sit, theoretically. It’s entirely within his power. It’s just that he would hate to make it easy for her, and so he juts out his chin and digs in his heels instead, just to see what she’ll do.

“Told you I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” he replies. 

A split second later, she’s knocked his knees out from under him and is pushing him down into the cushions with both hands. His back hits the couch with a dull thump and he blinks, caught off guard by how quickly she moved. Just as fast, she kicks one leg up, digging her heel into his chest to pin him down.

“Are you going to keep being a little bitch, mon cœur, or will you behave?” she breathes into his ear, idly wrapping that tie around one hand until it’s held taught in her grip. 

He caresses her leg, distracted by the flash of lace he can see beneath her skirt. “I don’t know the meaning of that word, darlin’,” he drawls. 

With a disapproving tut, she trails her heel down his body, letting the point of it trace a stinging path along his skin. She stares directly into his eyes as she sweetly promises, “That’s alright. You’ll learn.” Then she presses her shoe down against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, leaning more weight into it until Johnny hisses, then moans. She does it again to the other leg, leaving angry red indentations in her wake, before lazily circling his cock like a shark scenting blood in the water. Tauntingly, she scrapes over his balls, pressing down until Johnny whines and instinctively tries to shy away, though it’s so good that the other half of his brain wants to press closer just to see how far she’ll take it.

Patting his cheek condescendingly, V removes her foot, sliding onto her knees on the floor. She manages to remain imperious as she gazes up at him through her lashes, pushing his legs further apart even though he already happily gave her plenty of space to crawl between them. “Hold still and keep your hands to yourself. You only get to fuck my mouth if I say so.”

His cock twitches. For all her bluster, she doesn’t seem particularly inclined to deny him what he wants.

She dives in with gusto, bypassing his dick entirely to first mouth at his balls. He sighs in pleased relief, spreading his arms along the back of the couch because he’ll grab her he doesn’t. He gets the distinct impression that if he tried to get away with anything, she wouldn’t let him fuck her throat. 

A drop of precum beads at the tip of his cock and she licks it off before taking about half of him into her mouth. She grips the rest of his length in one hand and bobs her head, her tongue gliding along the vein on the underside of his dick. 

He closes his eyes, his head lolling to the side, and does his damnedest to keep his hips still. The suction of her mouth is fucking obscene. 

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he sighs, his hands twitching against the upholstery. He wants to touch her so fucking bad, feel where the edges of her lips meet his cock, maybe pop a finger in alongside it just to give her the extra challenge. 

She stares up at him, unblinking even as tears gather in her eyes when she drops her hand to take all of him into her throat, and yanks him closer by his hips. 

“You got no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he tells her, starting to breathe heavily. “Wanna- ah, fuck- wanna touch you. C’mon, V. Lemme touch you.”

She scrapes her teeth against his shaft in silent warning and he jolts. That’s a no, then. 

Johnny groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. She’d probably let him if he asked nicer. He can’t give in. She would be insufferable about it. 

It takes every muscle in his body to keep from bucking his hips as she continues drawing out his pleasure with unfaltering focus, and he will not beg to touch her, he won’t, but god, does he sort of want to. He scratches against the back of the couch and groans, impatient for the moment that she finally lets him take what he really wants. 

It’s only when he begins to grow genuinely concerned that she’s going to make him come without ever letting him so much as run his hands through her hair that she backs off his cock with a sinful popping noise, primly wiping the tears and spit off her face, and says, “See? You can behave.” She grins at him. “Now you can touch me.” 

“Fuckin’ finally,” he grumbles, reaching out to caress her cheek. He can’t believe the effect she has on him. His cock is red and weeping, so hard it almost hurts, and yet he cares less about that than the way she nuzzles into his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his pulse point. He shakes his head. “God, I fuckin’ love you. Lemme fuck your throat.” 

She laughs, slightly hoarse, and opens her pretty pink mouth. 

He gladly sinks back in, letting out a sigh of relief to have that wet heat around him again, and finally starts rolling his hips. She doesn’t like it when he’s rough with her mouth, so he forces himself to go slow, guiding her head up and down his cock with a gentle hand on the back of her skull. When he looks down, his hips inadvertently buck at the sight of her with a hand dipped between her legs, touching herself to the rhythm of his lazy thrusts. 

Too soon, he feels the telltale hook of an oncoming orgasm in his groin and regretfully has to pull her off. He leans down to kiss her, tasting a hint of salt from his precum lingering on her tongue, and rests his forehead against hers. 

“Bed?” he suggests hopefully. 

V nods. In one lithe motion, she rises to her feet, pulling him up by the tie. 

Admittedly, Johnny’s getting used to the manhandling. He might even go so far as to say he’s starting not to mind. At the very least, he’s happy for the fantastic view it affords him of her ass as he trails up the stairs after her. 

He crowds her against the mattress until the backs of her legs hit the sheets, then drops to his knees before her. She’s still fully, unfairly clothed, and he ducks under the skirt of her dress without asking so that he can pull her panties off with his teeth. She lets him, thank fucking god. It’s only fair that he gets to put his mouth on her after she got the chance with him, after all.

He drags the fabric down her legs, affectionately running his cheek along her calf. He leaves the underwear pooled at her feet for her to step out of and backs away to stare up at her hungrily. 

“You want me to help you out of that dress before or after I eat you out, sweetheart?” he asks. 

She makes a show of considering. “Help me with the clasp,” she decides, reaching down to haul him to his feet by his tie. She really likes that fucking thing. He, unfortunately, can’t say he hates it. 

The dress itself is exactly the kind of bullshit neokitsch fashion that nobody but her is able to pull off, with a bodice made of some kind of lightweight metal that clings to her chest, wrapping around her back like a cage, and a skirt so high-cut that the entire smooth expanses of her hips are on full display. The metal part hinges at the front to let the wearer in and out, and Johnny lets her fiddle with that as he decides he’s better served to sucking at her tits when the impediments fall away. He pushes her skirt down past her hips and crowds closer, hating any and all space between them. 

“On the bed, mon cœur,” she orders. “I’m going to sit on your face.”

Johnny swears under his breath. In the month that they’ve officially been together, they haven’t gotten around to that one yet. Fucking criminal. 

He eagerly climbs onto the mattress, spreading out on his back, and licks his lips at the sight of her in nothing but those deadly heels and shimmering makeup. He wants her so badly that it aches. 

She smiles at him, crawling atop his body and kissing him slowly. Her hands rove up and down his torso, sharp metal fingernails scraping teasingly against his skin. 

It feels good, it does, but it’s not what he wants. 

“V, hurry up,” he cajoles, kneading her ass and trying to push her forward. 

She tweaks one of his nipples in warning. 

“You’re such a goddamned tease,” he grumbles.

“Don’t pout at me, chèri,” she replies with a quiet laugh, stroking his cheek and watching him a look of such genuine affection that he almost melts. Almost. “I’m enjoying myself.”

He huffs. “One, I’m not pouting, and two, you’ll enjoy yourself a helluva lot more once I get my mouth on you.”

She kisses him, grinning against his lips. “Now you’re pouting even harder.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. There’s no reasoning with her. 

She kisses him once more before rising to her knees, finally, finally shuffling forward until he can get a good eyeful of her pretty cunt. He eagerly raises his hands to her hips and pulls, closing his eyes in bliss when her wet heat surrounds him. Immediately, he opens his mouth to taste her. 

Fucking decadent. Leagues better than anything he had in that fancy fucking restaurant. 

She grabs his chrome hand, lacing their fingers together, and rocks forward onto him until he can no longer breathe. 

Johnny moans beneath her. God, he fucking loves her. 

He gets to work, eating her out like a man starved. He’s dizzy with want and the intermittent rushes of oxygen she grants him. Each time he feels her hips lift, he tries to keep her held down, loving how his head swims, loving how she tastes, not wanting to stop for a goddamn second, but she always breaks out of his hold until he gasps in enough air to satisfy her, and then it’s right back to that bliss all over again. 

He’d bring up a finger or two to plunge into her cunt if they weren’t both so committed to keeping him from breathing. The position makes it awkward, so he does his damndest to tonguefuck her instead. He could die beneath her a happy man. 

He feels when her thighs start to shake, drawing closer until they box him in on either side. He pulls her down slightly so that he can better flick his tongue over her clit, alternating between little kitten licks and sweeping strokes and sucking at varying intervals until she grinds down onto his face once last time, coming with a moan he can still make out despite his ears being thoroughly muffled between her legs. He works her through it diligently, lapping up everything to the last sweet drop. 

Afterwards, he holds her there a little longer, anchored by heat and the heady scent of her and her weight atop him. 

He makes a noise of protest when she finally pulls away. She laughs, bending to lick any lingering moisture out of his beard. When she kisses him, he laps the fleeting hints of taste out of her mouth, too. 

She kisses his cheek. “There we go,” she murmurs. “You’re so good for me, chèri.” 

Johnny chases her mouth, licking at her lips until she lets him in again. He squeezes her hand.

“Love you,” he says again. He can never say it enough.

“Love you too,” she replies. He can never hear it enough, either.

He grins at her. “Think I remember you sayin’ something about choking me with the tie,” he reminds her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand as he raises his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Think I remember saying that, too. Question is, do you want the tie or my hand?”

“Oh, now I get to choose?”

She shrugs, reaching back to stroke his cock. “I’m feeling generous.”

Involuntarily, Johnny’s eyes roll back in his head. Damn her. “You- ah- you know I’ll never say no to your hands, sweetheart. Fuck the tie.”

Abruptly, she lets go of his cock. He groans —fucking tease— but then opens his eyes in confusion when she doesn’t make a move to do anything else.

For the first time tonight, he sees a hint of doubt in V’s effortless confidence. 

He frowns, reaching up to cup her cheek. “V? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got something I want to do, but we don’t have to if you’re not into it,” she says, kissing his palm. “Know we haven’t talked about it before.”

He cocks his head, curious. “What?”

“Can I peg you?” she asks, not so much hesitantly as gently. 

Ah. 

In the time that they shared a body, they were both exposed to all manner of the other’s memories. Johnny saw V grow up, saw her time with Arasaka, saw things she treasured and things she regretted. In turn, V saw his shitty childhood, saw his memories of the war, saw the events that lead to his untimely death. In all that transference, they also lived the mundane shit. Johnny knows what V felt like when she lost her virginity —underwhelmed— and V knows what he felt like the first time someone choked him — on cloud fucking nine, sex life changed forever. There are a thousand different snapshots like that. They’ve both fucked men and women. Johnny’s done a hundred things that V hasn’t, was never interested in, and V’s got a few of her own that he’s never tried.

In all of those memories, especially those experiences with men that always left him feeling conflicted, into it and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t into it, that it wasn’t that different from fucking a girl, Johnny has never once been on the receiving end. 

Oh, he’s let a few chicks put a finger or two in his ass, sure. He’s not afraid of his prostate. It’s just the idea that all of it, the full experience, always sounded too powerless for a man like Johnny Silverhand. 

He realizes he’s let the silence drag on for too long. V’s starting to look concerned.

He clears his throat. “Okay,” he says, and repeats himself when it doesn’t come out as confidently as he’d like. “Okay. I trust you.”

He does, wholeheartedly. V could probably do whatever she wanted to him and he doesn’t imagine he would really mind. If this is what she wants, then he’ll give it to her. He knows that she’s done this before just as surely as she’s aware that he hasn’t, so he’s in good hands. He trusts her.

She smiles, clearly pleased, and he forces himself to relax into the sheets. He loves her so, so much. 

The pit of worry in his stomach is unnecessary and irrational. 

He pulls her down into a heated kiss to smother it out.

Though V knows that Johnny will swear up and down that he’s fine if she asks, he’s clearly nervous. He keeps kissing her like he’s trying to distract them both. He obviously wants to push things off for as long as possible.

She gets it. 

For a man who never shuts up about his sexual experience and eagerly brags about how good he is in bed —unfortunately for his ego, a founded claim— he’s always been afraid of this one thing. He’d probably hate to know that she describes it that way, would probably go off on some self-aggrandizing rant about how he’s not afraid of anything, actually, but that doesn’t stop it from being true all the same. 

They’re cut from the same cloth. Fear isn’t a concept either of them like to acknowledge. And that in and of itself is a weakness, a shame that she and Johnny share. Which is why she wants to help him work through this, to prove to him that the world won’t end just because he lets her put her strap up his ass. 

She is, admittedly, also doing this for selfish reasons. Though he would deny it to his dying breath, she’s never seen Johnny happier than when she’s holding him close, treating him softly after the lifetime he’s spent running from that very thing. She has quite literally dreamed of the look on his face when he finally comes on her cock after she’s thoroughly shown him exactly how much she loves him. She wants to finally watch him let go of his carefully-constructed resistance, and she wants to know with sweet certainty that she’s the reason he was comfortable enough to give in. 

She lets him kiss her until she feels him start to relax beneath her, then a little longer than that because he protests when she tries to pull away the first time. 

“We really don’t have to,” she says again, even though she knows he’s already made up his mind.

Sure enough, he shakes his head. “I trust you.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back,” she promises, and slides off the bed to grab the things she’d set aside before they left for dinner. 

She’s kept things simple, just some lube and a harness and her least intimidating strap, a sleek black thing that’s much smaller than he is, perfect for a first time while also being enough to fuck him well once he gets into it. 

She doesn’t put the harness on yet, but returns to him with it in hand. 

Immediately, Johnny’s eyes drop to the cock. 

“Pretty fucking small, isn’t it?” he remarks, immediately putting up an unimpressed front. By the way he keeps staring, though, V isn’t too convinced. 

She smiles. “You know they say that size doesn’t matter, right?”

“Everyone who’s told you that has been lying, sweetheart.”

She laughs, crawling back on top of him, and undoes the tie. A shame, since he was clearly starting to get into it, but she can’t say that she’s too sad when she’ll get to put her hands around his throat instead. 

She thanks anything that might be listening that her cyberarms were manufactured with retractable fingernails. They’re great for shredding someone’s face in a fight, but not optimal when she wants to prep her mainline’s ass. With a thought, the claws flick away, leaving rounded, safe fingertips behind. 

“Bend your knees and lift your hips for me,” she requests softly, grabbing a nearby pillow.

He does and she slides the pillow under him to offer her better access to his hole, then crawls in between his thighs. She kisses him, uncaps the lube, and drizzles a liberal amount onto her fingers. 

“If you ever want me to stop, just say the word,” she tells him. 

He grunts. “Don’t got all day, V. Hurry up.”

V does not hurry up. Rather, she slows down, laying a hand against his neck not to deny him breath but to remind him that she’s there, and kisses her way down his chest. When she reaches his cock, which has flagged slightly, she kisses that, too, lavishing him with careful affection until she feels his breathing start to hitch beneath her hand on his windpipe. Only then does she start to slowly circle her fingertips against his rim, keeping her mouth on his cock as she does.

He swears softly, his legs falling open a little wider. 

Slowly, teasingly, she slides her pointer finger in to the first knuckle. 

He’s so tight. Understandable. It’s been over fifty years since he last let anyone near his ass. That’s alright. They have all the time in the world. 

She licks at his cockhead and stretches him languidly, patiently working her way deeper until she’s buried her whole finger inside him. She crooks it indulgently, focused more at the moment on opening him up than finding his prostate. 

“Take a deep breath, chèri,” she murmurs, smiling when he complies and relaxes a little around her. “Good, just like that.” 

It’s only when she can comfortably add a second finger, then eventually a third, that she starts to dedicate more attention to his sweet spot than his cock, still idly mouthing at his shaft as she pets over his walls. She knows she’s got it right when he moans, his cock twitching, and presses her hand to his throat with one of his. 

“I’m not gonna fucking break, V,” he grumbles. “You can get the fuck on with it.”

V hums and removes her fingers, wiping the mess off on the inside of his thigh before she reaches for the harness. She slides it on with practiced ease.

Like she expected, when she turns back to him, he’s returned to eyeing her warily. V clicks her tongue. He’s still not ready. 

“I’ll get the fuck on with it when I want to,” she says against his lips, returning her hand to his neck. 

This time she squeezes, relishing in the way he immediately arches into it. She’s never met someone who loves being choked out as much as he does. He practically pants for it every time, ready to do anything so long as she wraps her fingers around his throat. If there’s one way to relax him, to put him in a headspace where he’ll truly let go and enjoy himself, it’s this. 

She loves watching his face, loves watching the way his eyes roll back and his lashes flutter, loves the way his mouth hangs open slightly and a dopey, blissed-out smile stretches his lips. He’s always beautiful, but especially when he’s like this. 

She’s helpless to do anything but kiss him until she’s struggling for breath, too. She’s careful never to cut off his air for too long, even as he tries to hold her hand down a little longer. She can recall more than one memory of him having a girl choke him until he fainted, though she’s about as leery of the idea as he is fond of it. Besides, that’s not what tonight is for. 

She keeps at it until his eyes go fully hazy and unfocused. He stares up at her with a look of pure adoration. If she didn’t already love him with everything she had, she would fall head over heels all over again just for the way he watches her. 

When she lubes up her fingers again and slides two inside him, she’s met with no resistance. 

“There we go,” she praises, slowly scissoring her fingers. “You’re doing so good. I love you.”

“Love you,” he replies hoarsely, straining to kiss her. 

Though the angle is somewhat difficult, she grants his wish, adding back the third finger at the same time. She squeezes his neck again. With his air cut off, the moan he lets out when she strokes his prostate is more of a wheeze.

His hips try to buck, but she’s got him pinned under her body. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” she softly shushes, peppering kisses over his face as she strokes that spot again and again. “Just relax for me.”

It’s clear how hard he’s fighting to keep it together, just as clear as it is that he’s starting to fail. When his expression isn’t screwed up in pleasure, he’s staring straight up at her in something akin to wonder. His hips buck with every brush of his prostate. She knows exactly how to keep him on the edge, seconds away from coming but never quite there, and plays him masterfully. 

V is generally a patient person. Admittedly, some of her focus slipped earlier at the sight of him in that black suit, rakish and irreverent, but she’s since recovered her poise. So she has no trouble spending the next ten minutes driving him absolutely out of his mind.

At some point, tears gather in the corners of his eyes. His mouth works the syllables to unspoken words. In the moments she grants him for heaving breaths, he’s started to let out these high-pitched, bitten-off whines until she presses back down. When she kisses him, he sucks on her tongue like he’s desperate for it.

The next time she lets up her grip, he whispers something. 

“What’s that, mon cœur?”

“V…” he gasps, clutching her hand with both of his. “V.” 

“I’m here, chèri,” she assures. “I’ve got you.”

“Ple—“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck. Please.” 

V smiles the widest she has all night. Finally. 

“That’s it, chèri,” she praises, so indescribably proud of him. “Let me take care of you.”

He nods, holding her hand to his throat. “V…” 

She knows he’s really out of it when he openly keens at the loss of her fingers. She quickly lubes up her cock, wipes off her hand, and lines herself up with his hole. 

Slowly, carefully, she sinks in, watching for any sign of discomfort. 

Though his eyes squeeze shut, he welcomes her in with little resistance. When she bottoms out, he blindly grasps for her other hand, the one not on his neck, and laces their fingers together when he finds it. 

She leans back down, kissing him indulgently, and starts to roll her hips. 

The moan he lets out is sinful. 

It takes several thrusts before he starts to move, too, hips rocking to mirror her movements, but he gains confidence quickly after that. He sinks down onto her cock and impatiently presses at the hand she has around his neck. 

V huffs a laugh. 

She brings up her second hand, wrapping them both around his throat, and pushes upward, pressing until he spasms and shakes. He will almost certainly bruise after all this. She feels herself getting wetter at the thought. 

She fucks him slow but deep, only targeting his prostate about a quarter of the time, wanting to draw things out as long as possible despite the fact that she’s been edging him since they got home. He can’t beg because he can’t breathe, but she can feel his desperation in the way his thighs quake, in the way his spine arches, in the way he digs his heels into the small of her back to spur her on when he wants her to fuck him faster. 

Johnny grips her wrists tightly enough to hurt if her arms were still made of flesh and bone. He keeps silently mouthing her name. He looks like something straight out of a BD tailor-made for her and her alone. 

“You’re perfect, mon cœur,” she tells him between rolls of her hips. 

He twitches, so she finds other things to say.

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been. You mean the world to me, you know what?”

His fingers squeeze impossibly tighter around her wrists. He looses another wheezing moan. 

“I love you so much that it hurts,” she continues.

‘Love you, love you, love you,’ he mouths. 

She thrusts again, delighted as his eyes roll back in his head. “That’s it. You’re so good for me, chèri. Let me make you feel good.” 

V watches his abs clench, his dick practically purple and weeping, and finally grants him mercy. Though she’s gotten to the point where she normally lets up on his windpipe, she keeps her hand there a little longer, fascinated by the way he‘s rarely looked happier than when his body instinctively starts to thrash with a deep, primal need to break out of the hold he wantonly submits to. She speeds up her thrusts, pumping her hips harder, nailing his prostate with every movement. 

When she finally lets go of his neck to grant him that dizzying rush of oxygen, he comes with a throaty shout the likes of which she’s never heard escape him. He writhes beneath her, come spurting all over his stomach and some on her own. 

She fucks him through it until he starts trying to physically push her away. When she pulls out, he whines. 

He reaches up a shaky hand to cup her face. “V. V.” 

“How are you feeling, mon cœur ?” she asks gently, wiping his tears away with her thumb before he can notice them. 

“Love you,” he says with that same dopey grin. His eyes slip closed. “Love you.”

His hand drops down again, finding one of hers, and he brings it to his chest. 

Johnny’s usually more of a “cigarettes after sex” man than a “roll over and go to sleep” one, but his breathing quickly evens out. It seems like that all took more out of him than she expected.

She kisses his forehead, quietly extricating herself, and goes to slip off the harness and the heels. She runs to the bathroom for a washcloth, getting it damp with warm water and cleaning herself before she returns to bed to do the same for him. 

He shifts when she touches him but doesn’t wake, so after she’s satisfied she leaves him again to hurriedly wipe the makeup off her face. She prefers to at least rinse off in the shower after sex, a routine that usually turns into another round with him, but she’s willing to forego that tonight. She uses the bathroom, washes her hands, and fills up two glasses of water from the tap. The first she greedily drinks and the second she sets aside for Johnny.

Face cleaned and water in hand, V returns to bed. She has to pick him up because he fell asleep lying atop the duvet like an asshole, but it’s easy enough to tuck him under the covers and slide in next to him. She curls against his body and reaches up to run her fingers through his hair. He’s so pretty. 

Around fifteen minutes later, he begins to stir. 

He grunts, lazily pressing up into her touch, and rolls over to throw a leg over hers. 

“How are you feeling?” she asks for the second time. 

He cracks open one eye. “Tired.”

“And? Anything else?”

He grumbles unintelligibly and pulls her in closer. “It was good, V. I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

She kisses him. “I got you some water,” she tells him, nodding over at the nightstand. 

“Mphf.”

“Johnny. Drink some water.”

“Ugh, fine.” 

He does so sullenly, pouting at her all the while, even as he downs the contents of the glass in seconds. He sets it back down and throws himself over her, burying his face in her neck. 

“Didn’t hate it,” he mumbles.

V hums encouragingly. She’s brought her nails back out to gently scrape over his scalp. She doesn’t say anything yet, because he might shut down if she tries. She just has to trust him to open up on his own time. 

Another minute passes.

“Felt good,” he admits. “Think maybe I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” A beat. “Think maybe you could go harder next time.”

He nuzzles into her shoulder, apparently done talking. That’s alright. What he said was honestly more than she’d expected. 

Five minutes later, she’s still petting through his hair, thinking of nothing in particular, when he says, “V?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, chèri.” 

He noses at her collarbone. “Did you wanna take a shower?”

“It’s alright,” she assures him. “I forgot to brush my teeth, though.”

“You can do it in the morning.”

“It’ll take two seconds,” she replies, pushing herself up. 

He protests loudly, wrapping his arms around her torso and hanging off of her. He’s always fairly clingy, but he gets especially demanding when he’s tired. 

“Stay,” he groans, but she’s already slipped out of bed.

She bends down to kiss him. “Come on. If you can’t wait here, you can cuddle me in the bathroom.”

He huffs but rolls out of bed, reluctantly trailing after her. He takes a few steps and grimaces.

“You alright?” she asks.

“Walking feels weird,” he gruffly replies. 

She doesn’t think he’d appreciate it if she laughed, so she makes a noise of sympathy instead that only gets her a mild glare. As she quickly brushes her teeth, Johnny wanders off to use the toilet. She ends up back in bed before he does, and he flops down next to her with an exhausted sigh, throwing the covers over them both. 

“Can’t believe you made me forget my fuckin’ plans,” he grouses, cuddling up to her. 

She wraps her arms around him. “Oh yeah?”

“Was gonna make you come as many times as you wanted, sweetheart,” he says as he nestles his head beneath her chin. “I only got to taste you once, V. Fucking once.” 

“Another time,” she promises. “Besides, I had fun.”

He grunts. “Yeah.”

She takes that to mean that he had fun, too, and just can’t quite admit it. They’ll work on that. 

“Tonight was perfect. You were perfect,” she tells him. “And I’m not just talking about the sex. We should do a date night again sometime.”

“As long as I don’t have to wear a fucking suit, sure.” 

She smirks. “You’re definitely wearing the suit again. Just maybe not in public.” 

“I hate you.”

She laughs, kissing his hair. “I love you too, mon cœur.”

He burrows impossibly closer, covering every inch of her body with his own. “Love you, V,” he murmurs.

She slowly exhales, perfectly content. 

Life is good.