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Kerry thinks it every time they’re on stage together: Johnny is so fucking sexy. The way he plays, the way he sings, the way he moves, it almost makes Kerry forget where he is, sometimes.
As they scream into the same microphone, Kerry watches a bead of sweat travel down Johnny’s throat. He’s drenched in it, his hair sticking to his forehead and neck. It gets hot under the stage lights. As they finish the chorus, Kerry can’t help himself. He leans in, captures that droplet making its way down Johnny’s neck with his tongue, licking a trail upward and tasting the salt on his skin.
Johnny leans his head back, giving Kerry access as he starts to solo, and then he turns his head and meets his lips in a sloppy kiss. The audience cheers.
When they get off stage before the encore, he grabs Johnny by the lapels of the jacket he’s taken to wearing on stage—Kerry thinks it makes him look like a douche, but when he said as much, Johnny just smirked and said that was the point—and pulls him into a fierce kiss, slamming him against a wall and forcing his knee in between his legs. Breaking the kiss, he buries his nose in the crook of his neck and breathes in the scent of sweat.
‘What’s gotten into you?’ Johnny murmurs. He’s still holding his guitar in his silver hand, but with his other he hitches up Kerry’s top, tracing his fingers across his abdomen. It tickles, and Kerry twitches a little.
‘Want you,’ he whispers against Johnny’s damp skin.
‘We got an encore to finish,’ Johnny points out.
‘Let them wait.’
Johnny laughs. He slides that hand down, through the trail of hair down toward the waistband of Kerry’s jeans. He slides his fingers inside an inch or so, then pulls them out again and cups Kerry’s erection through the front of his jeans.
‘This what you want, baby?’ he asks softly.
Kerry nods, breathless. ‘Yeah . . .’
But Johnny withdraws his hand again, smirking down at him and laughing when Kerry whines like a bitch.
‘Encore first,’ says Johnny. ‘Be a good boy now and I’ll fuck you so hard after you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.’
Kerry swallows, cock twitching in his pants. ‘Fuck . . .’
‘Count on it,’ Johnny murmurs, leaving a brief, hard kiss on his lips. Then he extracts himself from between Kerry and the wall and saunters back toward the stage.
‘Almost thought he’d fuck you right there,’ says Henry with a smirk as they all make their way to the steps.
‘Why, you jealous?’ Johnny straps on his guitar again.
Raising an eyebrow at him, Henry says, ‘Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.’
‘Who hasn’t?’ says Denny with a laugh.
‘And not that into men anymore,’ Henry continues. ‘Sorry. I know all this is hard to resist,’ he gestures down his own body with a grin, ‘us bassists got that animal magnetism.’
Kerry scoffs. ‘Dream on, man.’ It still bothers him just a little bit that Johnny fucked Henry before he even considered fucking him, but he reminds himself that’s in the past. ‘Let’s just get back out there.’
‘You’re saying that so you and Johnny can fuck sooner, aren’t you?’ Nancy asks.
Giving her a wry smile, Kerry says nothing.
Johnny leans in close and whispers in his ear, ‘Gonna get you so desperate you cry, Ker, make you beg for my cock, and then I’ll make you come so hard you forget to breathe.’ Then he takes the steps up to the stage, waving at the roaring, applauding crowd, and Kerry has no choice but to follow.
The world fades while they play the encore. Kerry can’t keep his eyes off Johnny, can’t stop thinking about what he just said, which of course was the point. By the time he grabs the mic to thank the audience and say goodbye, he’s forgotten which city he’s in. Can’t remember if he was any good, or what he just said. All he can remember when he gets off stage is the electric feeling of Johnny’s hand in his as they took a bow.
They don’t even make it to the dressing room before Kerry loses his cool, grabs Johnny and kisses him up against the wall. Johnny laughs. ‘You have zero chill, Ker.’
Kerry blushes, buries his face in Johnny’s shoulder and breathes deep again. ‘I just . . .’
‘Been a while since I’ve seen you this horny.’
Kerry doesn’t reply, only kisses him again, licking into his mouth, and Johnny makes a little sound of his own, finally putting his arms around Kerry and kissing him back.
‘Let’s get back to the hotel,’ Johnny murmurs.
‘No.’ Kerry shakes his head. ‘Can’t wait that long.’
Another laugh, deep and throaty. ‘Needy, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Kerry feels like he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. ‘Dressing room,’ he adds.
‘We need a shower.’
‘No shower,’ Kerry mumbles against Johnny’s still damp skin. ‘Want you like this.’
‘I’m sweaty,’ says Johnny. ‘I fucking reek.’
‘Mhm . . . I love it,’ says Kerry. ‘Need you to fuck me . . . like this. Cleaned up before the show.’
‘Thirsty bitch,’ Johnny says fondly.
He takes Kerry’s hand and they head toward the dressing rooms. It’s a large, high-end venue so they each have their own. They enter Johnny’s. Depositing their guitars, they’re on each other again almost immediately, kisses hard and desperate. Kerry licks the salt from Johnny’s skin, gets to his knees and unzips his tight pants to get his cock out, breathing in the scent of sweat and musk and Johnny. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swallows him whole, rewarded with a groan for his effort.
‘Fuck, Ker . . . God, you’re good.’
The praise goes straight to Kerry’s cock, as if it weren’t hard enough already, and he moans around Johnny’s dick. Johnny lets him gorge himself for a couple of minutes before he pulls out of his mouth. He drags Kerry to his feet, kissing him again and walking him backward to the couch, pushing the vest off his shoulders and starting in on the fly of his jeans.
Pushing Kerry down onto the couch, Johnny gets to his knees, pulling boots, pants and socks off him before going down on him like his cock is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. The enthusiasm with which Johnny sucks his cock is almost as much of a turn-on as the act itself.
‘Fuck, Johnny . . .’ Kerry swallows hard, and then Johnny does something with his tongue that makes him whimper. A moment later, he feels a slippery finger edging its way into his crack to tease at his hole, and Kerry moans. Where Johnny kept the lube he’s not sure, but it must have been somewhere within easy reach. Slowly, Johnny’s finger sinks inside his ass, producing a sound best described as a whine. Kerry pushes back on his finger, desperate for more, but Johnny’s taking his time, teasing.
With Johnny’s finger in his ass and Johnny’s mouth around his cock, Kerry’s already approaching his peak. He comes pretty easy if he’s turned on enough, though thankfully he reloads quickly too. ‘Shit, Johnny, I’m gonna come!’ he warns.
But then, just as he’s seconds away, Johnny takes his mouth off him, and Kerry whimpers again. ‘No! Fuck . . .’
Johnny just laughs. ‘Said I was gonna make you desperate, Ker,’ he says. ‘Said I was gonna make you cry, make you beg.’
Kerry’s not far off from that already, but he’s not about to give in so easily. ‘Fuck you, Johnny!’ The effect of the insult is rather ruined by the breathless tone of voice in which it’s delivered.
‘No,’ says Johnny, looking up at him with a smirk, ‘fuck you. But not yet.’
Johnny slides his finger in a little deeper, prodding to find Kerry’s sweet spot. When Kerry whimpers again, he murmurs, ‘That’s it, baby. Take my fingers so well.’ And he inserts another, making Kerry see stars.
He doesn’t need this much prep. They fuck pretty often these days. Johnny’s had a few groupies this tour too, but far fewer than in previous years, increasingly more often taking Kerry to bed instead. As a result of their frequent fucking, a generous amount of lube and a finger is all that’s needed to loosen him up—sometimes he doesn’t even need that—but on the other hand, Kerry really enjoys being fingered, and Johnny clearly enjoys doing it.
Tonight, though, Kerry’s feeling impatient. He wants Johnny inside him, wants them pressed together so he can breathe in more of that delicious, intoxicating, masculine funk. Reminds him of when they were younger, when they’d make out after shows, coming off stage sweaty and horny and getting off with each other if no one else was around, though they never actually fucked back then. Johnny fucked everyone else, but never Kerry.
He’s determined to make up for lost time.
‘Just fuck me already!’ he whines.
‘Hmm, not yet, I don’t think. Don’t think you’re quite desperate enough yet.’ Johnny slides his fingers in and out at a pace that is agonisingly slow. ‘Don’t think you need it bad enough.’
‘I . . .’ Kerry swallows, bucks his hips into thin air as Johnny presses the pads of his fingers to his prostate. ‘I do! Fuck, Johnny, I need it!’
‘Yeah? How bad?’
‘I’m going crazy here . . .’ Kerry’s voice breaks. ‘Johnny . . . Please, I just . . . I need you to fuck me . . . Need your cock or I’m gonna . . .’ The next whimper is halfway to a sob. ‘Johnny . . . I need you!’
In an instant, the fingers are gone, and then Johnny’s on his feet, shedding the rest of his clothes and producing a condom out of a pocket, rolling it on. ‘On your front.’
Kerry shivers, nodding, and does as he’s told. The couch is just wide enough. He feels the dip in the cushions as Johnny gets on the couch behind him, feels his legs on either side of his own, his hair tickling the back of his neck. And then, finally, Johnny’s cock is lined up, pushing against his hole, and Kerry opens to him, crying out as he’s finally inside.
‘Oh, yeah,’ Johnny whispers. He presses a scratchy kiss to the back of Kerry’s shoulder, rubbing his beareded cheek against the spot. ‘Feel so good, Ker.’
Kerry can do nothing but whimper again. He shuts his eyes, focuses on the way Johnny fills him, how good it feels, how right. Only one thing is missing now.
Craning his neck back, Kerry noses at the hollow of Johnny’s throat, breathes deep. ‘Love the way you smell . . .’
Johnny chuckles quietly as he bottoms out. ‘Kerry, you hate sweat.’
‘No,’ Kerry corrects him, ‘I hate being sweaty. Love it when you sweat. ’Sides, stage sweat is . . . different. Ah, fuck!’ He cries out as Johnny rolls his hips, pulling out a little and thrusting back in again. Kerry arches his back. ‘God, Johnny . . . fucking love your cock . . .’
‘And you take it so good,’ Johnny murmurs. ‘So hot like this, Ker. Never get sick of seein’ you like this.’ He rolls his hips again and Kerry lets out another moan. ‘Oh, yeah . . . never get sick of hearin’ you either. Sound so good when I’m fucking you.’
‘Oh, God . . .’ Kerry bites his bottom lip. ‘More!’ he demands.
‘More?’ Johnny picks up the pace. ‘Want it faster? Harder?’
‘Y-yeah . . .’
‘Want it deeper?’
‘God, yes . . . Ah, fuck!’
‘Mmm, yeah . . .’ Johnny puts his arm around Kerry’s chest and pulls him up so he’s on his knees, back to Johnny’s chest. He reaches down, wraps his hand around Kerry’s cock and strokes it.
Kerry’s so ready for it, so ready to come, it only takes thirty seconds before he’s near to bursting, and then . . .
Johnny stops again.
‘What the fuck, Johnny?’ Kerry complains weakly. ‘You can’t—’
Johnny chuckles in his ear. ‘I so can.’
‘Need to come!’
‘I know, baby. But you can wait. You’re not coming until I say so.’
‘Bastard . . .’
‘Won’t be sayin’ that by the time we’re done.’ Johnny kisses the back of Kerry’s shoulder, then bites down with his teeth. ‘When I’m done with you, you’ll thank me for it.’
Kerry wants to argue, but all he can do is moan softly in protest until Johnny starts moving his hips faster, thrusting in and out, and it’s deep and rough and so hot. Kerry’s cock is achingly hard, slapping against his belly every time Johnny slams into him. He’s still holding him up with his metal hand, the other one grasping his hip hard enough to bruise. Cool chrome fingers pinch Kerry’s nipple just hard enough to ache in the best of ways.
‘Johnny, I . . . I can’t!’ Kerry manages. ‘Please . . . please let me come!’
‘Soon,’ Johnny promises. He kisses Kerry’s neck, licks the skin behind his ear. ‘Be a good boy and wait a little longer. Make it worth your while, baby. Fuck, you feel good . . . Gettin’ close.’
Kerry feels like he’s on the verge of tears. He wants to come so badly he’s shaking in Johnny’s arms. Letting out a moan that sounds more like a sob, he reaches back, grabs Johnny by the nape of the neck, and pulls him down into a kiss. ‘Please!’ he whispers against his lips.
And finally, finally, Johnny reaches down with his ’ganic hand, wraps his long fingers around Kerry’s cock again, and strokes, whispering in his ear. ‘All right . . . Come for me, Ker. That’s it, baby.’
And Kerry does, body going taut as he shoots cum over Johnny’s hand, onto the couch cushions. It’s a lot, and later he’ll feel bad for whoever has to clean it up, but then people are always fucking in dressing rooms at concert venues.
‘Good boy . . . Fuck, Ker!’ Johnny groans, hips stuttering to a halt. ‘Ah, shit . . . You’re so fucking good!’ Kerry feels his cock pulse inside him as Johnny holds his breath, expelling it in a burst of air against Kerry’s shoulder as he starts to move again, riding out his orgasm.
All the while, he’s still stroking Kerry’s cock, until Kerry lets out a sob and whimpers, ‘Christ . . . Johnny, I can’t!’
Johnny stops. Planting soft kisses on his shoulders and neck, he holds Kerry like that for a little while, until his softening cock slips out of him of its own accord. ‘You okay?’ he asks softly, and Kerry laughs.
‘Yeah. You?’
‘Mm, I’m great.’
Johnny helps Kerry sit down on the couch, settling next to him with an arm around his shoulders, and Kerry snuggles up in his armpit, taking another deep whiff.
‘You’re fuckin’ weird,’ says Johnny. But then he tilts his head, noses at Kerry’s hair and takes a deep breath. ‘Hmm . . . guess I can see the appeal a little bit, though.’
Kerry nods, placing a kiss on Johnny’s chest. ‘You smell like Johnny.’
Johnny laughs, shaking his head. ‘Fucking gonk . . . C’mon, let’s get dressed and get back to the hotel so we can shower. Believe me, you won’t want me when all this sweat dries and I really start to stink.’ Withdrawing his arm, he stands up again.
Kerry follows, grabbing Johnny by the waist and pulling him into a hug from behind. Pressing his lips to the side of his throat, he whispers, ‘I’ll always want you, Johnny.’
Johnny says nothing, but he lays his arms over Kerry’s and squeezes before stepping away and reaching for his clothes.
Kerry watches him, smile on his face. One day, he’ll say it.
Just not today.