Sex, Chrome, and Rock 'n' Roll

Metalhead

We stood before the open storage container, staring at a car covered in a dingy yellow tarp. Johnny glitched inside, leaning his ass on the front and patting it like a good dog.

"Go on, take off the cover. Check 'er out." Johnny grinned from ear to ear, beaming at me over the rims of his glasses.

Eyeing him suspiciously, I grabbed one corner of the tarp and, in one swift motion, yanked it off. An old gray Porsche with red and white stripes near the rear stared back at me, its large bulbous headlights like wide eyeballs.

"A Porsche. Thing's old as dirt," I grumbled, folding my arms.

Johnny pressed a hand to his chest, mouth agape as if I'd offended him somehow. "Not just any Porsche. My Porsche 911 turbo, princess." He turned on his heel, displaying the car like a prized commodity. "Any idea how hard this was to find?"

"Nope. But gotta feelin' you're gonna tell me." I bit my lip to keep from laughing at how adorable he looked right now—all excited about his lost toy.

"Made in 1977." Johnny flared a finger up, crossing one booted foot over the over as he paraded the vehicle. "Unique for its wider fenders and 'whale tail' design. Plus, I made this sweet gal into a Samurai custom model." He crossed his arms, mimicking my pose, and still grinning with his chin held high.

"Well, 'course, it'd have to be a Samurai model. No other way 'bout it." Sarcasm oozed my every word.

Johnny's grin faded, but only slightly, and he slipped the Aviators from his nose. "Fuck. Should'ah knew a tyke your age wouldn't understand pristine craftsmanship when they saw it. Lemme guess. You prefer the sleeker variety?"

"Nah. Wouldn't go that far. I mean—" Stepping into the storage container, I trailed a finger over the Porsche's frame. "—I fuck you, don't I?"

The broad smile returned, and Johnny grabbed my wrist, yanking me to him, our chests colliding. "C'mere."

Circling my arms around his neck, I beamed at him, my eyes searching his face. "What if we do find your body, Johnny?"

"We get Misty and whats-his-fucking-face to take me outta that gorgeous head 'o yours and back into my body." His face went blank, and he stared behind me. "Can't believe I'm even fuckin' sayin' that."

"Yeah," I whispered, frowning.

The coolness from his chrome hand fluttered my chin as he lifted it. "Is V gonna miss this rockerboy chillin' in her mind?" A shit-eating grin slithered over his lips.

"Pfft. Hell no. Sayonara, choom."

I didn't mean it. Not entirely. A small part of me would miss him in my head. but a larger part of me remained insecure of him sticking around with me because he didn't need me any longer to exist.

"Fuckin' liar," Johnny teased, dipping his mouth to mine and kissing me—hard. My ass shoved against the Porsche's door, Johnny pressing his granite hard cock against my stomach. "Think how this'd feel if I were here, Val."

Fucking. Amazing. And I did want it. We'd both have second chances and a chance to be together—if we found his body. If it was still frozen. And the biggest if of all—taking him out of my head and putting him back into his own working without a hitch. Lotta ifs.

"We better delta then, rockerboy," I muttered against his lips, gravelly and sultry.

He pressed a hand to the car behind my head, leaning even closer, blissfully suffocating me. "Let's go in style and take the Porsche."

"You're gonna make me drive that hunk'ah metal?" I jabbed my thumb behind me.

"Trust me. Once you ride this, ain't no goin' back, princess." His dark eyes flittered to my lips, grazing my chest and stomach.