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When she stumbles in from the Afterlife, V realizes that she’s much drunker than she’d previously realized - she did put away more than a handful of Silverhand specials, thanks to Claire’s limitless pours. But she’s not exactly tired - her body feels like a live wire, and she knows it would be pointless to try to sleep just yet. She yanks off her boots and jacket and crosses her apartment to flop backwards onto the low couch in the sunken sitting area that passes itself for a living room, and pulls a cigarette loose from her pack and lights it before flipping on the radio and hoisting her feet up onto the coffee table, crossing her ankles and taking a long drag.
She feels a sharp spike of amused recognition from Johnny, and realizes abruptly that it’s one of his old songs that’s playin’ out of the tinny speakers - The Ballad of Buck Ravers. And V is stupid drunk, drunk enough that the absurdity of the revelation is suddenly the funniest fucking thing in the world to her, and she can’t resist taking the opportunity to try and get a rise out of him. She takes her feet off the coffee table and thrashes her head dramatically for Johnny's benefit, pretending to play air guitar in an exaggerated impression of him.
And right on cue, there he is, shimmering into existence on the vinyl couch across from her, leaned back, legs spread wide, arms folded across his chest as he regards her with a raised eyebrow.
“Hah fuckin’ hah,” he says. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
“Hmm,” V replies, grinning at him. “I dunno. Seems like your typical edgelord anti-corpo scop, if you ask me.”
“Mmhmm,” Johnny says. His gaze is steady on her, but his lip quirks upward ever so slightly. “Sure explains why you got a copy on vinyl, shoved way in the back of your closet.”
V laughs to cover the blush that washes across her cheeks. “You got me,” she says, not dropping the shit-eating grin from her face. “I’m your biggest fuckin’ fan,” she drawls. “Too bad engrams can’t sign autographs.”
Johnny looks at her for a heavy beat, and then his eyes drop down to her tits. “Don’t worry, princess,” he says in a low voice. “First thing I’ll do once I take over is get my autograph tattooed on those nice tits o' yours.”
Fuck.
V swallows hard, her mouth suddenly very dry. He's never talked to her like this before, low and gravelly and… fuck. Never looked at her like that either, at least not so openly.
Her whole body suddenly feels flushed, hot, tingling. And she can't help but notice the hard bulge rising at the front of Johnny's pants, and all of a sudden the answering dull ache between her legs is impossible to ignore.
Fuck, she must be even drunker than she realized. Both of them, she corrects herself. If she’s shit-faced, then so is Johnny. That’s the deal now, after all.
“Hmm,” she says, trying to keep her face even. “Nice tits, you say?”
She takes a shaky drag of her cigarette and leans back, holding Johnny’s gaze. Fuck, she's suddenly so goddamn stupidly horny… she hasn't touched herself properly in weeks. Hasn’t wanted to breach that last, tenuous boundary remaining between her and her unwitting and not-so-silent passenger. She’s known for a while now that he probably wouldn’t mind - he’s already experienced, well, almost fuckin’ everything her body does, and fuck, he’d probably fuckin’ enjoy this a helluva lot more than most of the other bullshit they’ve been forced to share - but it’s somehow seemed too intimate a line to cross, too raw for the delicate dance they’ve been doin’ these last few weeks, all their careful and futile attempts to hold themselves as apart from each other as possible, despite the inexorable nature of their current doomed fuckin’ situation.
But part of her has also known that it’s always only been a matter of time - they share a fuckin’ body, after all. She’s got her fuckin’ needs, and she doesn’t plan to die livin’ like a fucking nun. And she knows that Johnny knows it, too. The tension, the expectation, stretches between them, taut and trembling, and maybe it's the alcohol tossing all her last inhibitions out the window, but she suddenly can't bring herself to give a fuck that Johnny's about to get a front row seat to whatever gonk shit she’s about to do. In fact, the thought makes her heart race, her cunt pulse, hot and insistent.
She lets out a shaky breath, still holding Johnny's gaze, and he's staring at her with a ferocious intensity right now, like he's holding his breath, watching to see what she does next. Emboldened by the clear, naked want in his eyes, she lets her hand drift down to her thigh, draping it there loosely, never taking her eyes off Johnny.
She slides her hand between her legs and presses her fingers against herself through her pants, rocking into her hand slightly. Johnny hisses a sharp exhale and his hips buck upward, and fuck, she can see the rigid outline of his cock now, straining and twitching beneath the leather of his pants. The sight sends a hot spark of desire straight to her cunt, cutting through any remaining doubt or self-consciousness.
“Thought about taking the blockers a couple times,” she admits to Johnny, still grinding against her own hand, slowly, lazily, teasing herself. And him too, she realizes, judging by the heaviness in his hooded stare, the way the muscles of his jaw tick, the sudden wave of arousal she feels from him. “So I could… ya know. Have some privacy,” she murmurs, and her voice sounds hoarse and needy even to her own ears. “But then I thought…” She meets Johnny's eyes again, already panting slightly.
Johnny's gaze sweeps up and down her body, and he hums low in his throat before snapping his dark eyes back up to hers.
“Take off your pants,” he commands, and his voice has a harsh, ragged edge to it that she's never heard before. She can feel his need pulsing through her body, increasing the urgency of her own rising desperation, and she feels her body shudder under the intensity of his heavy-lidded gaze. He's looking at her now with naked, undisguised desire and the rawness of it makes her head spin slightly. She can feel exactly how turned on he is right now, and she's sure he can feel how fucking soaked she is right now, too.
She swallows hard, then unbuttons her pants and peels them down over her legs, kicking them off her feet and leaning to put out her cigarette as she shoves them aside. She can feel Johnny's eyes on her as she leans back, letting her legs fall open, a hot flush rising in her cheeks.
“Good girl,” he says in that same, rough voice, lowering his chin slightly as his eyes rake over her again, and she can't stop the soft gasp that escapes her lips at the heady mix of arousal and approval she can feel behind his words.
The throbbing between her legs is demanding attention, so she lets out a quavering breath and moves her hand there again, brushing her fingers lightly against herself through her panties. She's so turned on that teasing herself like this is almost too much, and she whines slightly, feeling how slick her underwear is beneath her fingers.
She meets Johnny's eyes, and he's just watching her with that same ferocity, all of his muscles tensed, barely breathing, like he's afraid to spook her, afraid to break the spell. And she's suddenly and painfully aware of just how fucking intense and intimate this is - is she really about to let this dead fuckin’ terrorist who's still essentially a stranger watch her get herself off? Let him feel everything she feels as she touches herself the way she does when no one's watching?
But her cunt is still throbbing insistently, and her fingers are still circling her clit as though they have a mind of their own, and she knows she's too fuckin’ horny and worked up from denying herself and teasing herself to stop now. In fact, she's so keyed up she feels like she's gonna come within seconds of actually touching herself in earnest. She whines softly, a sound she hadn't intended to make, and Johnny groans in response, his eyes fluttering shut as he moves his hand to grip himself through his pants, the muscles of his stomach tensing.
Fuck.
She realizes she's riding her hand in earnest now, grinding into her fingers and whimpering, too turned on to even bother removing her panties.
“Take off your panties,” Johnny growls, his voice shaking slightly. “Wanna see ya.”
What can she do but oblige him?
She slides her panties over her hips and tosses them aside, then leans back again and looks at Johnny. He's breathing heavily now, stroking his palm slowly over the twitching bulge in his pants, his eyes fixed on her cunt, and she doesn't think she's ever felt more naked before in her life. And she doesn't even have her top off.
Johnny licks his lips. “Fuck, V,” he groans, low and guttural. “Bet your pussy tastes real fuckin’ preem.”
V is so fucking wet that her fingers slide inside herself easily, and she dips two of them in, moaning softly and letting her head fall backwards at the sensation. But a sudden idea occurs to her, and she drags her fingers out from her dripping cunt, lifting them to her mouth and sucking her own wetness off them as she meets Johnny's eyes again.
“See for yourself,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers across her tongue as she smiles at Johnny, not breaking eye contact.
Johnny groans loudly again, a shudder going through him as he glitches and then suddenly he's naked, his cock hard and leaking, bobbing against his stomach as his eyes roll back slightly. Fuck, he's so big, so hard, so thick… She moans around her fingers, then brings them back to her cunt, shoving them inside herself and bucking against them, her body desperate now for more friction.
She doesn't give a fuck that Johnny's watching anymore as she rides her hand shamelessly, unable to stop herself even if she wanted to at this point. She knows she's whining and whimpering pathetically, her eyes still fixated on Johnny's hard, thick cock, throbbing and rigid and fucking perfect, thumbing at her clit as she desperately humps her fingers, and fuck, she's gonna come so fucking soon, she can already feel herself starting to unravel.
She slows her movements slightly, drawing a frustrated groan from Johnny, and she's trembling, sweating, panting, hovering on that precipice. Sure, she's touched herself in front of lovers before, but this is different. She knows he can feel everything, can feel the rawness of her nipples peaked beneath her corseted top, the heat pulsing through her core, the sparks alighting on the edges of her vision as the room swims around her. She needs to come so fuckin’ badly right now, and she can feel Johnny right there with her. She’s never experienced anything even close to this before - the overlapping sensations of his arousal crashing into and merging with hers, the intimate rawness of it all, the intense first-person voyeurism of the whole experience makes her heart thrash wildly in her chest.
"Don't stop." Johnny growls the command at her, but his voice is hoarse, pleading, and theres a raw edge of desperation undercutting his words that draws a keening whine from her as she begins fucking her hand again, rutting furiously against her fingers and grinding her thumb into her clit. She watches another shudder roll across Johnny’s body, and he exhales a low moan and reaches a trembling hand down to fist his cock, his hips bucking upward to meet his hand as he grasps himself, never once taking his eyes off her.
She lets out another ragged whimper at the sight, and Johnny is stroking himself now, rolling his thumb over the leaking tip, pumping his hand up and down the thick shaft and groaning softly. She wants desperately to taste him, wishes she could take him in her mouth and swallow him down and let him fuck her throat and use her like a fucking doll. Or is that Johnny’s fantasy she’s picking up on?
She whines again, writhing against her fingers, her whole body starting to shake.
“You like that, huh?” Johnny drawls in a low, husky rasp, his voice breaking slightly. “Like imaginin’ yourself chokin’ on my cock?”
V can only nod, her pulse pounding in her ears, her pleasure building to a fever pitch, and fuck, she’s about to-
“Johnny, I’m gonna-” she whines, unable to even finish her sentence as her words are cut off in a breathy, choked moan.
“Come for me, V,” Johnny commands, and she already is, her vision going white and her body convulsing as the first wave hits her. She comes hard on her fingers, her cunt clenching and spasming and she’s suddenly aware of Johnny following her half a second later, the waves of his pleasure hitting her through the Relic like a tsunami. She opens her eyes and there he is, pumping himself through it, his cock spasming and shooting hot, white spurts of cum onto his tattooed stomach and dripping down his fingers, and it’s so fucking hot that she abruptly realizes she’s coming again. She thinks she shouts his name, but she’s barely aware of anything anymore as she loses herself completely in it, and then Johnny lets out a strangled yell that’s definitely her name and now he’s coming again too, groaning loudly and thrusting up into his fist, his eyes closed and his whole body convulsing.
When it finally subsides, she looks over at Johnny, and he’s lying across from her, legs splayed, cum dripping across his bare stomach and thighs, his face flushed and a sheen of sweat across his chest and he looks so fucking beautiful like that, dimly lit in the glow from the neon-lit skyline through the window and the electronic panel on the wall beside him. He’s lookin’ at her, too, a slightly shaken and awestruck look on his face, and it’s suddenly too much, too intimate. She swallows hard and he glitches away, reappearing to her right, fully clothed with his sunglasses on and leaning against the window beside her, a cigarette dangling from between his teeth. She regards him for a beat, her breath still coming out in shaky pants, then reaches for her pack of cigarettes and takes one for herself, placing it between her lips and lighting it with still trembling hands.
“Well then,” she says, huffing a shaky laugh. “Guess I can check that off my bucket list now.”
Johnny furrows his brow. “What, havin’ an engram of a dead rockstar watch you touch yourself?” he replies gruffly, turning his head to glance over at her through his dark shades.
She lets her lips curl upwards into a smirk. “Gettin’ Johnny fuckin’ Silverhand to scream my name,” she replies, taking a long drag of her smoke and blowing it out towards him.
Johnny looks somewhat taken aback by this, but he doesn’t reply, he just shakes his head mutely and continues to smoke. She watches him, feeling a tangled knot of emotions from him writhe in her chest that she can’t quite parse out.
She knows they just crashed headlong through some last, remaining barricade between them, tonight. That there’s no goin’ back now. But she can’t quite bring herself to regret it, not when her legs are still trembling with pleasant aftershocks, her body feeling relaxed and wrung out in a way that it hasn’t since before...
“Glad I didn’t take those blockers,” she murmurs softly, exhaling the smoke through her nose.
Johnny hums in agreement, taking another drag of his cigarette as well. She feels something settle inside him, then, and she takes a few final puffs of her cig before putting it out in the ashtray and heaving herself to her feet. She staggers over to her bed, unhooking the clasps on the front of her bustier top and yanking it off before flinging herself onto the mattress, her limbs feeling heavy and her body sated.
Her drunkenness and exhaustion finally hit her all at once, and she rolls onto her side as Johnny glitches away. She can still feel him there, nestling against her mind, his thoughts settling around her like a warm blanket. It’s strangely comforting, somehow, and she curls her knees towards her chest and lets her eyes fall shut, welcoming what she hopes will be the first dreamless sleep she’s had in weeks.