Chapter Text
The first time V suspects she might be well and truly fucked, she’s near the corner of Los Lobos and Skyline East. She’s doing Pepe a favor by spying on his wife, and Johnny must be bored out of his—well, their—damn mind today because the entire way he’s running commentary like they’re in a film noir.
She’s trying her best to pretend she’s annoyed by it, but fuck if he isn’t making her smile for the first time in a long while. It makes her insides feel funny, and the sensation is so odd that for a moment she stumbles, nearly getting hit by a car.
V looks at him, then, and wonders who he might have been had his obsession with Arasaka not destroyed his life.
The second time they’re in some run down hotel in Pacifica, and she’s one near-death experience richer. They bicker—like they always do—but then she makes a stupid joke, and she expects him to reply in kind—like he always does—but instead, Johnny tells her she’s not his type. It hurts more than she’d like to admit. It makes her feel fucking stupid in a way she hasn’t in a while, not since Dexter DeShawn put a bullet in her brain. Of course she’s not his type. She’s seen the women he’s been with.
There’s no time to dwell on her clusterfuck of feelings, though. Not when he has her take the dog tags. Not when she tells him that she’d take a bullet for him without a second thought. Not when he tells her that he’s willing to die for her.
V feels a sharp something near her heart and knows that yes, she definitely is well and truly fucked.
The third time, they stand where his body was buried. She scratches Johnny’s initials into a metal sheet and tells him he saved her life. He tells her that when he wakes up in the morning and realizes she’s there, he feels relief. That of all the heads he could’ve popped up in, he’s glad it was hers. The sharp something near her heart twists and burns.
And then he asks her to set up a date with Rogue. She doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so instead she settles for apathy. Not like it’s his fault that she’s fucked in the head. That the one time she falls in love, it’s with the construct of a long-dead rockerboy turned terrorist.
She doesn’t call Rogue immediately. Goes home instead, pours herself some bourbon, and rolls a joint. She drinks and smokes while looking out of her window, watching the lights of the city outside. Johnny is stoked. Even compliments her choice of whiskey.
Once the edge is taken off, V grabs her phone and makes the call. Rogue seems pleased, which makes the whole fucking thing even more depressing. Something ugly inside of her had half hoped she’d decline, but apparently not even the infamous Rogue is immune to Johnny Silverhand’s charm.
The next evening, she picks up Rogue in Johnny’s Porsche and drives her to Silver Pixel Cloud. Once they’re inside and get the projector running, it’s time for her to take the pseudoendotrizine. She looks at Johnny and wishes she wasn’t the coward he used to tell her she was.
“Alright. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she jokes half-heartedly, then swallows the pill.
It’s dark outside when V comes to herself again. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees that Rogue’s no longer there, followed by guilt as she spots Johnny sitting on the hood of that old car alone. At least she doesn’t have to see Rogue post-fuck.
“Let’s get outta here,” Johnny tells her when she doesn’t say anything.
They ride home in silence, which is really saying something. But she doesn’t trust herself to speak, not when she can feel that ugly something inside of her trying to claw its way out. So she keeps her mouth shut and turns up the radio instead, despite the fact that she’s barely listening.
Back in her apartment, she decides to take a scalding shower to calm her down. Johnny has the good sense to make himself sparse, and if nothing else, the hot water at least relaxes her muscles. Afterwards, she puts on some panties and a shirt that’s definitely way too fucking big—not like she has time to do her laundry these days—and flops onto the couch. She can tell she’s not gonna settle down any time soon.
Fuck. Maybe Panam is right. Maybe she just needs to get laid. The last time had been well before that godforsaken heist. A quick fuck might not be enough to get rid of her feelings, but at least she’d be distracted for a while.
She grabs her phone. Not much of a selection, sadly, but she still has the number of that guy who’d propositioned her at Lizzie's a couple of days ago. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, nice ass. Naturally Johnny had talked shit about him the moment he’d approached her. Chewing on her lip, she opens up his contact on her phone.
She’s so focused on trying to figure out what to say that she doesn’t even notice Johnny popping up next to her until he speaks.
“Christ. You’re not actually gonna text that guy.”
“Gotta take my chances if I ever wanna get laid,” V shrugs.
“Your brain already rotting?” he scoffs. “That fucker won’t last two minutes, and that’s bein’ generous.”
She sighs. “Unless you’re helping me with this text, do me a favor and fuck off, Silverhand.”
“I’m doin’ you a favor by stopping you from texting that limp dick.”
“You’re not stopping shit. Piss off.”
“You really that desperate? C’mon, V. You’re not gonna let him put his tiny little cock inside you.”
God, he’s infuriating. She knows better by now, and yet she’s still rising to his bait like the sucker she is.
“And why the fuck not, Johnny? You get to fuck Rogue and I’m supposed to be fucking celibate, that it?” she snaps.
“Shoulda been so lucky,” he snorts. “Nothin’ happened. Go figure.”
It takes a second before V actually registers his words. He didn’t fuck Rogue. It’s stupid—it doesn’t change shit in the grand scheme of things, but she can’t stop the wave of relief that washes over her.
Johnny looks at her. His face is free from his aviators for once. “V, you gonna tell me what the hell is goin’ on?”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your feelings have been all over the fuckin’ place the last couple o’ days. It’s driving me insane.”
“Huh. Maybe I’m gonna get my period soon.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Thought we were past that shit, V. Whatever the fuck happened to trustin’ each other?”
Ugh. Damn her stupid heart, and damn him for playing her like a fiddle. She lets herself slide off the couch. Sitting on the floor, she takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t want you to fuck Rogue. Matter of fact, I didn’t even want you to go on that fucking date.”
“So why’d you agree to it? Never done anything you didn’t like.”
She stares at the ceiling resolutely. “‘Cause I thought you deserved some… I don’t know. Happiness? Comfort?”
“What changed?” His voice rough with an emotion she can’t pinpoint.
“Nothing, really. I just—God. I really am fucked in the head.” She swallows hard. Fuck. If only the biochip would end her misery right now. “I just wanted to be the one you come to for that.”
“Fuck, V.”
She feels her eyes burn, feels the lump in her throat. God, she’s fucking pathetic.
Johnny glitches, then starts pacing in front of her. “You’ve seen what happens to people who care about me. I’m no fuckin’ good and I sure as hell don’t deserve it. Thought we were in agreement about that.”
“Jesus, will you stop with that self-deprecating bullshit!” she yells, voice cracking.
“Pot, meet kettle! Go take a look at yourself. Too damn scared to tell me because ya think I couldn’t possibly feel the same for you!”
She chokes back the tears that are blurring her vision, threatening to spill. He’s right, and she hates it. For a moment she wonders, fists clenched, if they’re gonna leave it like this—pretend like nothing happened. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But Johnny goes to sit down next to her again, and before she can say anything, he buries his hand—the real one—in her hair, bringing their foreheads together.
“Look me in the eyes, V.” His voice is harsh. “You’re the most important thing to ever fuckin’ happen to me.”
They stare at each other. His chest is heaving and her heart beats so fast that it’s almost painful, and then—
Their lips crash together. Literally. She can feel hers throbbing, and then it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing matters anymore, because his lips on hers are dry, and a little chapped, his beard is rough on her skin, and she fucking loves it. They barely interrupt their kiss while she gets on her knees to straddle his lap. Fucking Arasaka could storm her apartment right now and she highly doubts she’d care.
V gasps when his lips leave hers to travel down her throat. His teeth close over her neck and she can already feel his erection straining against his pants through the thin fabric of her panties. The friction is too much and not enough at the same time, and she digs her nails into his shoulders.
“Up,” Johnny nods to the coach behind them once they break apart for air.
She looks at him in confusion. Her lust-addled brain is definitely not cooperating right now.
“Wanna taste your pussy,” he says. “So get your ass up on the couch.”
Fuck.
She scrambles to get up, knees weak. Once she’s up on the couch, he helps her take off her already soaked panties.
“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart. Lemme look at you.”
For a moment she hesitates. It’s an intimate position, her sitting here with her lower body exposed, and him kneeling right in front of her. It gives her a sense of vulnerability.
"You said I wasn't your type," she reminds him, more out of embarrassment than anything else.
He raises an eyebrow. "Shocking, I'm sure, but I might've lied. Now spread 'em."
Fuck it, she thinks. This is Johnny. He practically lives in her soul, and she can definitely say there’s nothing more intimate than that. So she lets her legs fall open.
“A sight to behold is what you are, darlin’.” He palms himself through his pants.
She has the good grace to blush before she feels his thumb grazing over her clit.
Two metal fingers brush over her entrance, gathering the slickness there, and she shudders at the cool sensation. Then, without any warning, his tongue laps against her folds, licking her open, and she can feel him moan against her. God . She can’t help the whimper that escapes her when his tongue presses into her, only to be replaced by two fingers, the wet sound of them fucking into her unbelievably obscene.
V looks down at Johnny to see him licking his lips. “Fuckin’ divine.”
“Johnny, please—”
She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for, but then his fingers crook inside her and he’s sucking on her clit. Her hips buck and she moans, feeling her slick trickle down her thighs. His mouth, his fingers, the sensation of his stubble rubbing her raw—suddenly it’s all too fucking much. A shudder ripples down her spine and the hot shock of a damn good orgasm washes through her.
All tension leaving her body, she lets her head fall back. "Fuck , Johnny.”
“Not done with you yet.” His voice is rough. “C’mon, take your shirt off.”
She does as she’s told. Normally, she’d hesitate. Her boobs are something of a sore point for her. Sure, they’re big, but man, is gravity working against her. Thank God that orgasm has made it hard for her to think about anything other than more . She throws her shirt across the room, most likely never to be seen again.
“None of that shit, sweetheart,” Johnny looks at her, one hand squeezing the bulge in his pants. “That’s a damn nice pair of tits.”
V feels her face flush as she gets up, knees still a little shaky, and grabs the packet of cigs and a half-empty bottle of tequila from the couch table. He smacks her ass as she walks by, and she bites her lip at the sensation, taking a swig from the bottle before setting everything down next to the bed—not so much for herself, but she knows Johnny’s gonna get to enjoy it in a few moments.
He follows her to the bed while pulling off his vest. She suspects that he could just glitch out of his clothes, but she sure as hell appreciates the show when he unbuckles his belt and unzips. He pulls down his pants more slowly than she’d like him to—no underwear to be seen—and she rubs her thighs together when his cock springs free. Then he joins her on the bed.
He cradles her cheek in one of his hands and kisses her again. There’s a tenderness she’s not sure she would’ve thought him willing to express, even as the other hand cups her left breast. He pulls back and swipes his thumb across her lower lip, and V tries to wrap her legs around him.
“Johnny,” she whines. “I want you inside me.” Because she does. Wants him, needs him to feel whole.
“Fuck. Soon, baby.” He squeezes her breast lightly, drags his tongue over the nipple of the other one, before making her whimper by sucking it into his mouth. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he moves over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Her nipples are so hard it almost hurts, but it’s really fucking good, even more so when he comes back up by licking one long stripe up her neck.
Johnny grips his hard cock, smearing the bead of precum over its head with his thumb, and spreads her folds with it, dragging it through her slickness. And then finally , he pushes in. She gasps and digs her fingers in his back—it has been a while, and he definitely hasn’t been lying about his impressive cock. The stretch should be uncomfortable, and it is, but all the pain does is add to the pleasure.
“You feel so good around me, sweetheart,” he rasps, once he’s buried all the way inside her. “Gonna make you come on my cock. Fill you up with my come.”
He pulls out almost entirely, and then drives into her again, with more force this time.
“Yes—fuck, Johnny— more , please—”
He kisses her again, this time open-mouthed and messy, and starts fucking her. Slow at first, almost measured, and she tangles her hands in his hair, hips lifting to meet him. She swallows hard, her walls clenching around his cock, and he groans as he picks up the pace, fucking her harder.
It’s fucking addictive. Not just the way his cock fills her up in all the right places—it’s the way they are connected, inside and out, and she tells him so, at least she thinks she does, already too far gone to realize that she’s babbling.
She feels the slickness between her thighs, feels his thrusts become more and more frantic. His metal hand roams over her body before he wraps it around the column of her throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but the weight is enough to make her hips buck wildly.
“Just like that, baby,” Johnny tells her. His free hand comes down to rub against her clit in quick little circles. She almost chokes when his cock hits that sweet spot inside her.
“Come for me, V. Lemme feel you come around my cock, baby,” he pants, and she does, comes with a hoarse cry, tightening around him as her orgasm ripples through her. He grabs her hips hard enough to border on painful, and jerks into her with a strangled shout. She shudders as she feels him spilling inside her, and he buries his face in her neck, riding out his climax.
Once they have both caught their breath, his ‘ganic hand finds hers, intertwining their fingers as he lets himself fall down beside her.
“Holy shit,” V mumbles, the white noise in her head finally dying down. She turns over onto her side to look at him, half expecting to see him light a cigarette. Instead she catches him staring at her.
“Do you want me to have one?” She nods towards the pack of cigs she’d taken with her earlier.
He huffs. “Want you to get your ass over here.”
He rolls onto his side as well, and she scoots closer. He cups her jaw and kisses her lazily, thumb stroking her cheekbone.
“You’re a fuckin’ wonder, V.” His voice is still husky.
Her heart flutters. “Johnny, I—” love you , she thinks desperately, cutting herself off with another kiss. She knows he can hear her thoughts loud and clear.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs against her lips. “Me too.”