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Johnny’s home is usually a warm place to be.
Elaboration, his new home is warm. The branded Cage Mansion had become frozen solid to Johnny after all the bitter memories that were made in it, Cris leaving the final nail in the coffin to solidify its association with loneliness and heartache. Even when he'd returned after saving Earthrealm, hoping his journey would let the ice thaw and melt, that was not the case. Every corner had a different story, stories that left a sour taste in his mouth at the way his ex-wife handled him. The house absorbed all the negative energy throughout the years, retained it, and then it all blew up in Johnny’s face when she left.
So he did what any sensible man would do. He sold the mansion for a staggering six million dollars - thank the housing market in California for that one - and was able to bring himself out of his ‘mild’ - severe - delusion-induced debt and still keep leftover pocket money to find a new place to build a new life.
It would have likely sold for more if it wasn’t for the burnt-down kitchen it sported, but that’s a story for another time and a mistake Johnny can overlook because he had good intentions at the time.
Now in a two-storey house that was marginally smaller than his previous living quarters, Johnny thought it’d be hard to adjust to the decreased space, thought he’d spend time moping over his career and even more time complaining about the downhill state of his life every time he saw one of his beloved decorations be taken away from him by a couple of U-Haul workers, never to return.
But it was a lot easier than he’d anticipated, thanks to having a genuinely supportive man by his side, ready to strike down any negative remarks the actor makes until he felt completely better. A man who made the house feel warmer than it really was. A man so selfless that despite Johnny’s continued insistence, he’d refused to give his share of housework to their willing boyfriend, instead strapping Sento to their back and working as a team with Johnny’s roomba (Mori, they’d named it) to keep Cage House 2.0 spotless and lived in.
Today, the house was warmer than ever, despite winter being in full swing outside the two men’s little bubble. Kenshi had just come home from a mission with the OIA, full of energy from his success abroad (in another world?) and extremely talkative, excited to share everything they’d experienced with the actor. Johnny was thrilled to listen to the man over their long-standing tradition of evening tea time.
“You fight a lot of big scary guys out there?” Johnny huffed out, multi-tasking blowing on his burning hot milk tea and talking to the blind man in front of him. His mug is hot to the touch, so he keeps it on a coaster on the table, while Kenshi’s palm wraps around theirs completely like it’s a cup full of freezing water. He doesn’t know how the swordsman does it, but guesses it took years of conditioning their hands to withstand the high temperature.
“Yes, Johnny, I fought many. It was very refreshing,” Kenshi laughs, sipping at his tea before putting it down.
“It helps me sharpen my senses and my skills when I go to Outworld for that kind of work. That is why I always look forward to the next mission, even if they are a little… sparse in nature.” The swordsman elaborates, head aimed at Johnny’s general direction while he speaks, as if he’s looking at him. The actor moves his hand to caress Kenshi’s blindfold - from the front, dragging his fingers to the side of the other man’s head, watching as they lean into the touch with a gentle sigh. Johnny chuckles.
“Seems like someone’s missed using his sword so much.”
“I don’t appreciate your wording.”
“Why? Am I wrong? You haven’t properly used Sento for months before this. You must’ve missed the adrenaline, feeling your ancestors guiding you in battle… that kind of stuff.” Johnny speaks in an innocent tone, ignoring the groan that leaves the swordsman in front of him as he begrudgingly agrees with the statement. Kenshi hasn’t put his skills to the test for a while - Jax had been off the radar and the OIA was quiet, presumably a good thing.
“I did. I missed it,” He begins, interrupted by a sigh escaping his lips when Johnny begins to scratch at his stubbled cheek. They’re not usually this relaxed, but the actor figures a month of being on-edge for oncoming attacks can stress a man out easily, force him to look for any opportunity to unwind.
Johnny racks his brains for a solution to Kenshi’s dilemma. He wants Kenshi to feel satisfied and confident in his abilities no matter how long it takes for the OIA to call, remembering the tinge of anxiety clinging to him when he’d left to meet his assigned partner. Using his ancestors’ blade for its intended purpose clearly meant a lot to the swordsman, and Johnny was nothing more than a man built to serve.
Johnny snaps his fingers.
“How about we fight?” The American blurts out, feeling like a light bulb just lit up on top of his head. Kenshi looks at him blankly, lips betraying no emotion and the blindfold enhancing his stoic expression. They then hum, giving the idea some thought.
“You mean you want to spar with me, Johnny?”
The actor nodded immediately, a grin lighting up his face. The idea seemed perfect, a good bonding experience for them, trusting each other to the fullest as they play with their lives. Johnny would use any opportunity to see the swordsman enveloped in a glow of bright blue, to see his focused frown as he precisely attacks his enemy at the right weak spots at the right times. To see the man in his element.
Yeah, this seemed like a very good idea. Kenshi’s tentative yet excited smile only solidified that expectation further.
—
That was months ago. Since then they’d established a secure set of rules for their sparring, a rescue signal (a safeword, Johnny liked to call it, to Kenshi’s dismay) for an out if either of them got too hurt during the non-stop barrage of attacks.
Today was the second Friday of the month, both marking it on their respective calendars - Kenshi preferred an old-school one, Johnny used his phone’s overfilled calendar app - and the two met on the training mat of Johnny’s spacious indoor gym, clad in their respective armor from their time at Outworld and prepared for an unusual arm workout.
The anticipating men encircle each other, confident smirks substituting pre-fight recycled trash talk they've both heard a million times before, from others or themselves. Johnny knows Kenshi can often only see his outline in faded blue and shades of gray, further specifics withheld from him until adrenaline spikes up in his veins properly - or their ancestors empathize with his various situations - only then can they see the actor in front of them in all of his glorious details.
Johnny’s never starred in a B&W film - he’s always been very modern, thank you - but he thinks he might give it a shot since Kenshi always tells him he’s handsome despite the lack of color.
Kenshi is the first to unsheathe his sword from its scabbard, Sento glistening in the bright lighting of the large indoor gym. The light shines upon it just right that the swordsman naturally looks straight out of a samurai movie cover - Johnny knows it'd take artificial editing and at least twenty shots for him to recreate what this man does so effortlessly. It leaves him breathless.
Johnny draws soon after, the handle of his sword worn with years of use fitting just right in his palm, and the thought that this is the katana Kenshi had been using for years before meeting him, before receiving his ancestors’ blade, makes him feel heat building in his veins. He'd called it Saisei, translating to rebirth in Kenshi’s native, and it replaced Sento’s spot on the wall as something with a little more personal history than the previous blade. He’d redesigned the mantle later, engraving the new name onto the golden plate underneath, and proudly showed it off to Kenshi as a surprise one day, hoping for a positive reaction.
Naming it that was something that led the Japanese man’s heart to swell and a lump to form in his throat that day, urged him to cry despite his inability to after his terminal injury. Still, they’d sobbed dry into Johnny’s shoulder and hugged him so tight the actor thought he was going to end up with a broken rib or two. The man is so connected to his culture that it made Johnny wish he didn’t sever all ties with his own the moment he left home, if only to experience that feeling of understanding Kenshi feels when he speaks the tiniest bit of Japanese to him. If only to experience that excitement that comes when someone speaks his natives.
“You’re thinking too much, Johnny. Focus. Do not let anything take you away from this moment.” Kenshi reminds, patience dripping off their every word. The actor hums out an ‘mm-hm’ as he aligns his body with the combat stance he was taught many years ago, before his big break as an action star. He looks to the swordsman for approval, as if he didn’t know how to do it by heart for the past twenty-something sparring sessions they’ve had.
Johnny’s heart warms when Kenshi gives him a small, proud smile, nodding in response to the silent request for validation. He thinks it’s one of his favorite things, the swordsman’s quiet pride in him, the way they show it so casually.
“Alright. Enough time-wasting, think we should get right into it?” The American asks, and the other man nods.
It’s game on.
Johnny advances first, trying to secure an advantage over the other man. He strikes once with his katana, the sharp clang of Kenshi’s instantaneous block reverberating throughout the room.
Adrenaline begins to pour into his veins as he aims lower, steel meeting steel once again. Kenshi steps backwards in an effort to disengage Sento from Johnny’s insistent pressure, but he doesn’t let up, instead advancing forward, unwilling to free the other man’s sword.
Kenshi gives a groan of struggle before he forces Johnny back, and this time he’s the one landing unending attacks, sword swinging back and forth faster than the actor could comprehend. Still, he manages to block most blows, even if he feels his arms strain under the pressure.
Johnny sneaks a glance at the blind man’s expression, recognizing it in a heartbeat. The experienced swordsman is calculating the situation, likely mapping out Johnny’s weak spots with his ancestors’ guidance and encouragement.
He groans when the hilt of Sento meets his elbow, ignores the signals of pain his nerves send him as he focuses on dodging Kenshi’s numerous attempts to slice through his dominant arm, aiming to incapacitate him and force him into disarming. He always uses this strategy, directing his focus towards one spot and ignoring the rest.
Johnny lunges forward, Saisei and Sento locked together near the middle of the blades. The actor holds Kenshi’s wrist, and he does the same back, enveloped in a struggle for power as they hold the position, grunts leaving both men and a chuckle leaving Johnny.
“Didn't think I'd do that, huh, Takahashi?” He breathes out, voice shaking with the exertion and the amount of pressure on his arm. Still, he refuses to give, and Kenshi must've realized that because he let go of the American’s wrist, sliding his sword off while keeping Johnny’s away.
While he was happy over his small victory, Kenshi already had a strategy. The moment they were freed from the locked position they were in, the Japanese man staggered forward with intent, Sento going low and slashing through Johnny’s armor to leave a long cut marking his thigh.
The actor curses as the burning sensation sets in instantly, and he weakly fights off Kenshi’s sequence of attacks, the rhythm of their swords clanging together as the actor tries his best to fend off the skilled swordsman aiming for his other thigh.
The mixture of a miscalculated move and a slow reaction leads to Kenshi’s sword slicing neatly through Johnny’s bicep, his grip on Saisei faltering for a swift moment due to the pain. Hurriedly, the injured man inspects the cut, deeming it shallow enough not to worry about. In that moment of distraction Kenshi manages to go low again, another cut finding its way onto the same leg.
A louder curse reverberates in the room as Johnny sinks to one knee from the pain, new cut deeper than the last. He groans as he tries to get back on his two feet, only for Kenshi to slit his other thigh, forcing him to completely kneel in front of the blind man. Johnny doesn't know if the position makes him red, if it's the adrenaline from the fight pumping him full of rage, or if it's the shame of losing yet another sparring session to Kenshi Takahashi.
When Johnny weakly tries to catch the swordsman by surprise, the hilt of Kenshi’s sword collides with his wrist, forcing him to let go of Saisei. He watches with an expression of defeat as the taller man kicks the sword to the side, far away from Johnny’s reach. He's screwed.
He looks up at the swordsman, who only smiles in response. The kind of smile that's self-satisfied, cocky in nature, something belonging on his face rather than Kenshi’s. His soft features and hard edges are contorted in a way that makes him look so unfairly attractive, it makes Johnny almost accept his loss.
Almost.
“What's the score now, Cage?” Kenshi goads, to Johnny’s clear dismay and annoyance. He grunts in response, mumbling the answer quietly as he looks down at the training mat under him. His thighs are still bleeding, burning under the strain of keeping his kneeling position.
The swordsman hums, a displeased sound that makes Johnny’s stomach twist. He feels the tip of Sento under his chin, his breath hitching as he was slowly forced to look up and back at Kenshi, whose eyes glow a bright blue visible enough to penetrate the thick fabric of their blindfold. Undoubtedly looking at him, taking in his details. Johnny gives a nervous smile.
“Say that a little louder, Johnny. The score?”
He sounds so fucking confident. Johnny groans.
“...28-1.”
“There we go. Was that so hard?” Kenshi laughs, and it's not mocking like his words from before. Instead he feels the blade move away from its dangerous positioning near his neck, watches as Kenshi returns the blade into its scabbard so effortlessly, the motion fluid and done a thousand times over.
Kenshi kneels down in front of him, and his hands trail near the cuts they'd inflicted. He’s frowning, the worry that's been in his heart ever since he'd hurt Johnny beginning to infect his expression. He enjoys the fighting in the moment, but afterwards he feels an inexplicable guilt take hold of him, intensified by the sight of teal-colored blood.
There's a touch on his arm, and then a firm hold. The actor’s fingers wrap around his forearm and slide down to his wrist, moving his hand to touch the wound directly, eliciting a hiss from the injured man before he laughs.
“I can tell you feel bad, Kendoll. But I've had worse. And you need to remember that I asked for it.” Johnny moves his unwounded arm up, hand caressing the other man’s cheek in comfort. Kenshi makes a small noise, something surprised and disbelieving in nature, but he nods anyway.
“If you say so, Johnny. Still, let me take care of your wounds.” He insists, and when has Johnny ever said ‘no’ to being the center of attention?
The actor nods, beginning to stand up. With Kenshi’s permission, he leans most of his weight on the taller man, who stabilizes him without a second thought, their calloused hands holding onto his arms carefully. He lets out a sigh as he begins to walk, thighs burning with every step. The adrenaline has mostly worn off, all that is left is the persistent ache in his legs.
“I think I can walk, Kenny. You don't need to-”
“Hush up. Let's go up the stairs.”
Johnny’s heart warmed. He gave the swordsman a big smile unfitting for the situation and began to ascend the stairs, assisted by the railing from one side and Kenshi from the other. It was weird, swapping the roles - he remembers the first month of their stay here, helping the Japanese man get used to the distance between each step, and learn the rhythm of those stairs. Now he's the one being helped.
It feels nice.
“Alright. To the bathroom, big guy.” Kenshi leads, his hand now tugging the American along rather than holding onto him tight. They pass through the bedroom, and Johnny’s reminded of just how exhausted sparring with Kenshi makes him. How badly he wants to sink into those pillows, loop an arm around his big, strong boyfriend, and snore his life away…
He finds himself seated on a closed toilet seat before he knows it. Kenshi opens the cabinet under the sink and takes out a first aid kit, examining the contents through touch rather than sight. Johnny notices that Sento was gone from Kenshi’s hip through the disappearance of the light blue glow emanating under their blindfold. The swordsman likely took the scabbard off before entering the bathroom with Johnny.
“Why’d you get rid of Sento? Could've helped you treat my wounds better, Ken.”
The man in question hums, taking out a pack of cotton swabs and a small spray bottle from the kit.
“Out of respect for my ancestors, I do not take Sento inside places like these. Is this alcohol?”
“Yeah, it is.” Kenshi nods, satisfied with the answer, beginning to spray alcohol onto a swab.
Johnny hums as the swordsman works, mulling the answer over. The explanation does make sense. Kenshi lived most of his life up until recently in Japan where strict, unspoken rules of respect were set in place. There were many cultural differences between them in the way they handled their elders. While his parents did value respect greatly, growing up in the American public school system negates any kind of teachings they might have given him about the concept, and Hollywood didn't do him any favors regarding his manners.
“Take off everything except your boxers,” Kenshi orders gently, the actor complying instantly.
“You really needed to specify that?” He takes off the armor with Kenshi’s help, grunting all the while, to the swordsman’s slight amusement. The man was so vocal in all situations.
“Yes, because I know you would take any chance to take them off.” They peel the actor’s shirt off, cut at the sleeve. They hope it wasn’t an expensive one.
“Are you calling me a whore, Kendoll?” Johnny teases. He’s met with a shrug and a small smile, mischievous in nature. Something a lot of people wouldn’t imagine on the Japanese man’s face. Kenshi moves to take off his armor after Johnny is sufficiently undressed.
“You’re taking it the wrong way. I just mean that you are a very…” He tries to find the proper way to word it. “...eager man.”
Johnny laughs.
“Mm, yeah, eager is one way to put it.” He gives a small smile, to which Kenshi huffs out a chuckle from where he is on his knees, preparing to clean Johnny’s wounds up.
Once the alcohol makes contact with the cut on his left thigh the actor hisses, tensing up instinctively. Kenshi rubs a soothing palm on his other leg, feeling the thick hairs yield against their skin. Johnny hears him mumble foreign words in a soothing voice, and he forces himself to relax against the seat, letting the swordsman do what he needs to do without struggle.
One cut cleaned, two cuts cleaned, three cuts, four. Kenshi stands up to his full height and presses a lingering kiss to the American’s forehead, who hums happily at the attention. The swordsman moves to where he left the first aid kit, feeling around for gauze to wrap around the injuries, when Johnny speaks up.
“I was thinkin’ we could take a bath, actually.”
Kenshi hesitates. While he wants to do whatever Johnny asks for, he doesn’t think another one of Johnny’s ice cold baths would be a good idea for the tender wound he’s sporting.
“I don’t know about that, Johnny. It could worsen your cuts.”
“They’re not that bad. Plus, I really wanna take a bath with you right now. A warm one just like you like ‘em. Pleaaaaase, Kenny?”
“You know I prefer cold ones, Cage.”
“Ehh, semantics, specifics. A bath is a bath. Please?”
The swordsman sighs. Instead of answering, he turns around and feels around for the tap. Johnny gives an excited shout and pumps his fist in the air, Kenshi stifling a laugh at their boyfriend’s behavior. He's always found it endearing how excitable the actor can get.
The actor watches as they turn the tap on, putting his hand under the running water to check for the perfect temperature. They feel Johnny’s presence near them, hear as the actor plugs the bathtub to let it fill up. Kenshi hums, his own way of thanking Johnny for the help.
“You're welcome, doll. Now… You're a bit too dressed, don't you think?” Johnny breathes out, his hands landing on the swordsman’s chest and trailing down to the hem of their compression shirt, tugging at it, silently asking for permission. Kenshi nods, and the actor instantly slips his hands underneath the fabric, running over the soft muscles of their stomach.
Johnny lets out a quiet sound of appreciation, almost drowned out by the splashing noises from the bathtub, but Kenshi hears it like it's right next to his ear, zoning in on every touch, every sound he gets from the American. He can feel as Johnny invades his space, pressing small kisses to his jaw and cheeks, relishing in the drag of their rough stubble against his recently clean-shaven face.
The actor focuses on undressing the other man now, hands pulling off his shirt, pants and lastly his boxers, giving a small whistle at the sight of the completely naked man. When he reaches to touch his t-dick, eager to feel proper intimacy, the Japanese man grabs his hand and shakes their head, bringing Johnny’s hand up to press kisses against it.
“Not right now. Bath first.” Kenshi murmurs against the skin, his tattooed hand a stark contrast to Johnny’s very plain one, devoid of its usual rings. The actor huffs in complaint, but it's hard to disagree with the swordsman when he looks so sweet and promising.
“Fiiiiine. Get in, then, it's almost full.” His tone is playful as he moves to push down his pair of boxers, watching as the swordsman complies and sinks into the water, a sigh leaving his lips at the warmth. Johnny makes a sound as he realizes the blindfold is still snug around Kenshi’s head.
“Kendoll, I'm gonna take off your blindfold, is that okay? Don't want it to get wet.” He watches as Kenshi’s expression turns from relaxed to bashful, likely forgetting that he even had the blindfold, used to the pressure around his head existing all the time since Johnny wrapped that cloth over his injured eyes.
Johnny moves to untie the tight knot in the back of his head, his hands gentle in the way they handle the swordsman and turn his head as needed, a stark contrast to the way they were fighting only minutes prior. Their relationship has always been like that, harsh bickering followed by a love deep enough to burn its mark into their hearts.
Once the blindfold is off, Johnny inspects the injuries as he always does. Horrible scarring around his eyes greets him, the cuts healed but the skin still calloused and uneven, rough to the touch. He traces the scars with his fingers, before Kenshi sighs, not unkindly but something akin to teasing.
“Johnny, stop admiring my face and get into the bath. You're standing naked in the middle of the bathroom with your cuts still bleeding.”
Johnny laughs. His wounds don't really hurt when he's so focused on the man in front of him, no doubt about it. He sets the red fabric on the sink carefully before dipping his legs into the tub, the temperature soothing enough to him. Kenshi makes space for the actor between their legs, and he happily takes the opportunity to press his back against Kenshi’s chest, the warm water reaching up until his neck as he settles in. He sighs, closing his eyes for a few seconds, basking in the warmth around him, radiating from the man behind him.
He feels Kenshi shuffle, and opens his eyes to see him reaching for Johnny’s Old Spice shampoo. He makes a sound of disapproval, Kenshi giving him a questioning look.
“I showered yesterday, Ken, there's no need for that. Just wanted to relax my body.” He explains, but he can see the other man isn't very convinced with his argument, grabbing the bottle and squeezing it until he has an acceptable amount of soap in his palm.
“I know, superstar. But I still want to do this. Please wet your hair.” He gently orders, and Johnny has no option but to listen, taking a breath before leaning down and putting his head underwater, his fingers running through it to make sure it's fully wet before he gets back up.
Once he's done with that, Kenshi praises him in a quiet voice against his shoulder, their hands immediately working on lathering the soap into his hair. Kenshi scratches against his scalp, runs his fingers through his hair, rubs the back of his head, alternates between the three enough that Johnny feels like he's melting under the ministrations. Every movement feels lazy, the swordsman in no hurry to get this done as soon as possible.
It makes Johnny feel so loved, in a way he hadn't felt before meeting the man spoiling him. He gives a nervous laugh, leaning back further against the strong chest keeping him stable and comfortable.
“If you keep doing this, babe, I might just get used to it. Might need to take every bath with you from now on if you're gonna treat me like this.” He's joking, but there's a warning hidden underneath layers of tone. Warning Kenshi that if he gets used to this, there's no turning back.
“Then I will take every bath with you. That's not a problem.” Kenshi says so casually that it knocks the breath out of his lungs. He waits until they announce they're done with his hair before he dips his head under the water again, cleaning all the shampoo out of his hair himself.
When Johnny gets back up, he twists his upper body so he can wrap an arm around Kenshi’s neck and slot their mouths together, the swordsman likely expecting this reaction because he feels a smile playing on their lips. He intensifies the kiss, Kenshi letting him explore his mouth to his heart's content, letting him vent out his sudden emotions through this kiss.
“Thank you,” Johnny mumbles when they break the kiss to take in heavy breaths.
“For what?” Kenshi questions, his hand back in the actor's hair, playing with it absentmindedly. Johnny hums.
“For loving me.” He states sincerely, and the show of vulnerability is not taken lightly by Kenshi, who bumps their forehead against the American’s with a fond smile.
“Of course, Johnny. I will always love you.” Johnny smiles back now, and he feels safe enough to turn away again and lean his head back so that it rests on Kenshi’s shoulder, who instantly takes the opportunity to leave chaste kisses at his neck. The actor closes his eyes and sighs, feeling as the swordsman’s hands wander and slide against his skin, the water rippling and sloshing around with the movement.
“Can I touch you?” Kenshi asks, gentle and careful. Johnny nods in lieu of a verbal answer, and the swordsman presses a grateful kiss to his cheek before trailing his hands lower. His fingers ghost across his t-dick before moving lower, index finger experimentally dipping into his cunt. Johnny makes a noise of encouragement, and Kenshi pushes it deeper, their other hand enticing Johnny to spread his legs further.
The actor lets out small noises, something akin to whimpers. Kenshi doesn't usually hear these kinds of sounds from Johnny, the man usually talkative and expressing his pleasure in loud moans and low groans. He guesses the nature of this entire exchange is different, something entirely foreign to Johnny’s concept of relationships, his policy of giving until he's exhausted and taking only when crucially needed.
Kenshi slips in another finger, pumping the two fast due to Johnny’s quiet pleas to give him more. Both of the actor’s hands hold onto their wrists, pushing further back against the solid wall that is the swordsman’s body. For the first time in years, Johnny feels captured, small in Kenshi’s all-consuming hold.
It feels amazing.
“Kenshi, Ken- ah, doll, touch me, please, so close I need you to-”
“Shh, shh, I've got you, big guy. Relax, Johnny.” He comforts, and Johnny lets out a sob, nodding. The treatment feels so strange, yet so welcome. He feels wonderful as Kenshi complies with his request, his other hand moving to rub at his t-dick and bring him closer to release.
Johnny comes with Kenshi’s name on his lips, his body trembling and eyes screwed shut, water splashing out of the tub and onto the bathroom tiles from his erratic movement. His hold on the other man’s wrists tighten when he keeps going despite the actor reaching his peak, and he looks down as if he can will the Japanese man to stop by sheer will.
“Ken-ny, Ken, too much, too much, please, can't,” He pleads, even as his body reacts to the pleasure so eagerly, his hips pushing down against the two fingers inside him. Kenshi only hums, slowing down before pushing in a third, to Johnny’s dismay.
“I think you can take it, pup. Easy, just like that...”
Johnny’s about to lose his fucking mind.
He throws his head back and grits his teeth, the pleasure overriding all thought processes and taking over his senses, instead focusing on the sound of sloshing water and Kenshi’s gentle praises being muttered only for his ears to hear.
The actor feels his end coming faster than the first time, and he tries to sound out a warning but all he can do is whine as his cunt tightens around Kenshi’s fingers, pressuring the man to slow down and let go of his t-dick, sliding his fingers out one by one only after Johnny stops shaking in his hold.
“You did so well. Good boy, Johnny, good.” They run their hands over his body, pressing kisses to his head and cheek as they reassure him over and over. He feels so warm, yet despite the urge to melt and accept the amazing treatment, he only has one thing on his mind. He looks up at Kenshi and turns his body around fully, the water making his motions fluid and easy.
“Kenshi, want to suck you off. Please, let me, let me do it, want to make you feel good, want you in my mouth, want you, Kendoll,” He begs, repeating over and over as he fervently kisses their face and neck. Kenshi is partially amused, mostly aroused by the display of desperation, so rare to get out of Johnny, the confident man who is always in control of every situation, or at least acts like he is.
Kenshi nods, and that's all Johnny needs to scramble on his knees in the tub, pushing the swordsman to sit up on the edge of it, big enough to let the man sit comfortably on it with his legs in the lukewarm water. The actor hears him hiss above him, likely at the cold air hitting his warmed body, but pays it no mind as he pushes their legs apart as far as they could go, his cheek on Kenshi’s inner thigh as he looks up at him, heady with desire.
The Japanese man gives him a small smile, feels the intense stare directed straight at him. His fingers tangle in Johnny’s hair again, tugging gently, bringing him closer to where they needed attention the most. The actor doesn’t waste a moment diving in, mouth working his cunt so effortlessly. He feels the vibrations of Johnny’s self-indulgent moans more than he hears them, the man muffled by the fact he’s tongue-deep inside the swordsman.
Moving upwards to give attention to Kenshi’s dick, he licks and sucks and ghosts his teeth against the sensitive flesh, downright shameless in the way he gives all of his efforts to the man above him. There isn’t much Kenshi can do other than hold on for dear life and enjoy the ride, moans slipping out of his lips with every exhale, unable to do much but tug at Johnny’s hair.
Johnny feels as the swordsman’s hold on his head tightens, and he’s forced to go lower. Kenshi’s eyebrows furrow as he concentrates, likely trying to figure out what feels best as he gets closer and closer to his end. After only a mere minute of licking as deep as he could, the actor was brought back up and forced down on Kenshi’s t-dick. His hands scrabble for purchase, before settling on grabbing Kenshi’s thighs for stability, rubbing the skin as if to encourage him to come on his tongue.
Johnny wishes the man above him could come down his throat instead, but this is amazing in its own way, feeling the swordsman’s cunt spasm around his tongue as his legs trap Johnny in between them and his hands attempt to bring him impossibly closer to his most vulnerable area. And this isn’t even mentioning the sheer beauty of Kenshi’s noises, unrestrained and blissful, moaning out Johnny’s name in such a way that makes him so fucking glad he chose this name, horrified at the prospect that he wouldn’t hear it come out like this in their most intimate moments.
The actor lets the other man hold onto him for a few minutes as he comes down from his high, long having abandoned his dick and instead peppering open mouthed kisses across his thighs and tattooed abs. It takes the swordsman a while to come down from whatever bliss Johnny forces him into, and this time it's no different. He caresses Kenshi’s cheek, watching as their breath begins to slow and settle.
Once he's sure the swordsman is back, he carefully removes his hand from his hair and litters playful bites across the tattooed fingers. Kenshi makes a noise before breathing out a laugh.
“Feeling better now?” Kenshi asks, and the actor wants to pretend he doesn't know what he's talking about, mind nudging him to put back the pieces of his shattered facade of control.
Instead, Johnny lets a satisfied smile show, nodding.
“Feeling a lot better. How about you? Good?”
“Perfect,” They sigh, taking their hand out of Johnny’s tight clasp and pushing his wet hair back. He indulges in the action for a few moments, letting them both bask in the silence before moving to get up, patting the actor on the shoulder.
“Alright, get up, big guy, let's get you patched up and into bed.”
Johnny whines, tugging at him to stay, but truthfully the cuts have been bothering him and he really wants the pressure of gauze around them right now. Kenshi humors him for a minute, before insisting that they need to get up, to the American’s dismay.
He complied anyway, sitting on the closed toilet again as Kenshi dries him with a blue patterned towel, pointedly ignoring his pout as he shakes Johnny’s head around with the force of his drying. He stops complaining when Kenshi begins drying up their own body with a different towel, the man’s muscles flexing unintentionally all for his eyes to see, a low whistle escaping him on instinct at the free show,
Kenshi lightly slaps the back of his head for that, but all he can think is that it was worth it.
As promised, the swordsman makes quick work at bandaging him up, draining the bathwater that was stained red from Johnny’s blood afterwards. The actor watches the whirlpool of the drain sucking in the water, entranced while Kenshi brings them both their respective robes. He smiles and thanks him sincerely as he takes his fluffy robe.
Johnny doesn't know if he's thanking him for tonight in its entirety, for the way he treats him, for the experiences Kenshi introduced him to, or just for the robe. He'll think about it later, when they're in bed together, when he's cuddled close to the man he's loved for almost a year now, the one he'd been waiting for his entire lifetime.
For now, he'll just admire the way Kenshi smiles at him in his red robe, looking horribly domestic, and pray to God that he'll get to have this man’s radiant warmth surrounding him and him only for as long as he lives.
Oh, and also hope he won't be hurt as badly next time they fight. That'd be an easier wish.