Chapter 2: Dojo Desires
The impact jarred Daniel’s teeth as Johnny slammed him against the cracked plaster wall inside the dojo, the stale air thick with the ghosts of sweat and old vinyl. Johnny’s mouth was hot and punishing, devouring Daniel’s lips, tongue shoving past with the same brutal efficiency he used to fight. Daniel groaned, a sound lost against Johnny’s mouth, his hands tangling in Johnny’s leather jacket, pulling him closer even as his mind screamed what the fuck are we doing?
Johnny broke the kiss, panting, his eyes dark pits of need and fury reflecting the flickering fluorescent light. He didn’t speak. His hands dropped to Daniel’s belt, fingers fumbling only for a second before the buckle clattered open. The zipper rasped down. Johnny’s calloused knuckles brushed the hard length trapped beneath thin dress pants and boxer briefs. Daniel hissed. "Jesus, Johnny—"
"Shut up," Johnny rasped, shoving the pants and briefs down Daniel’s hips just far enough, freeing his cock. It sprang up, hard and flushed, already leaking at the tip. Johnny dropped to his knees on the worn mat, the movement stiff but deliberate. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped a hand around the base and swallowed Daniel down to the root in one harsh, gagging slide.
Daniel cried out, a strangled sound ripped from his throat, his head thudding back against the cracked plaster. Heat, wetness, the scrape of teeth, the impossible, suffocating pressure—Johnny deep-throated him like it was combat. His free hand gripped Daniel’s bare hip, nails digging in, holding him pinned to the wall. Johnny’s eyes were squeezed shut, his throat working obscenely as he forced himself down, again and again, choking sounds escaping him. Daniel’s fingers scrabbled at Johnny’s head, grabbing fistfuls of coarse, greying hair, not pushing away but holding on, anchoring himself against the brutal tide of sensation. Johnny hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard, his tongue a rough, demanding pressure sliding underneath Daniel’s cockhead on each upward pull.
"Fuck! Fuck, Johnny!" Daniel gasped, hips jerking involuntarily. Johnny growled around him, the vibration shooting straight to Daniel’s balls, tightening them. He plunged down again, deep and relentless, his nose buried in dark curls, breathing harshly through it. Sweat beaded on Daniel’s forehead, stinging his eyes. He stared down at the top of Johnny’s head, at the faded Cobra Kai emblem peeling on the wall behind him, the absurdity and raw, undeniable need warring inside him. Johnny’s other hand slid around, fingers roughly kneading Daniel’s ass cheek, pulling him deeper. Daniel felt the peak rushing at him, unstoppable, a wildfire ignited by decades of hate and this desperate, shared brokenness. "Gonna… Johnny, I’m gonna—"
"Fucking come then," Johnny snarled, pulling off just enough to gasp the command, spit-slick cock bobbing against his stubbled cheek. He locked eyes with Daniel, his own gaze furious and desperate. "Come in my mouth, you smug prick." He opened wide and swallowed Daniel back down, deep, triggering the convulsive jerk of Daniel’s hips as the orgasm ripped through him. Daniel shouted, an incoherent cry echoing in the empty dojo, hot spurts flooding Johnny’s throat as Johnny sucked him through it, swallowing messily. Only when Daniel was spent, trembling and gasping, did Johnny pull off with a wet pop. He stayed on his knees, breathing raggedly, staring up at Daniel, his lips swollen and slick. Without a word, he surged up, shoving Daniel harder against the wall, crushing their mouths together again, forcing Daniel to taste himself on Johnny's tongue. Daniel groaned, the kiss a chaotic mix of salt and bitterness, his hands clutching Johnny's shoulders. Johnny’s own cock was a rigid brand pressing against Daniel’s thigh, demanding its turn. Daniel broke the kiss, panting, his eyes searching Johnny’s face, seeing the same crack in the armor that mirrored his own divorce papers. "Your turn," Daniel rasped, his voice wrecked. He shoved Johnny backwards towards the center of the dojo floor. "Get on the fucking mat."
Johnny stumbled backwards, boots catching on the frayed edge of a faded mat, landing hard on his ass with a grunt. The vinyl felt cold and gritty beneath his palms. Daniel stalked forward, shedding his ruined jacket, eyes locked on Johnny’s straining jeans. "Get 'em off," Daniel commanded, his voice low and rough, stripping his own shirt over his head, revealing lean muscle etched with time. Johnny fumbled with his belt buckle, fingers thick and clumsy, finally shoving jeans and briefs down his thighs, freeing his thick, flushed cock. Daniel dropped to his knees between Johnny’s spread legs, the scent of Johnny’s arousal sharp in the stale air. He spat thickly into his palm, the sound obscene, then wrapped slick fingers around Johnny’s shaft, pumping once, twice, a brutal, efficient stroke. "Fuck, LaRusso," Johnny gasped, hips jerking up instinctively. Daniel’s other hand shoved Johnny’s knees wider apart, calloused fingers probing roughly at his hole. "Always wanted this, didn’t you?" Daniel hissed, spitting again directly onto Johnny’s tight opening. "Wanted me to take what you stole?" He pressed a thick finger inside without warning, knuckle-deep, the dry burn making Johnny cry out, back arching off the mat. "Take it, you bastard," Daniel growled, working the finger brutally, adding a second, stretching him open with punishing speed. Johnny panted, sweat stinging his eyes, the pain a white-hot counterpoint to the filthy pleasure coiling in his gut. Daniel withdrew his fingers, slick now with spit and Johnny’s reluctant yielding. He positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against Johnny’s stretched entrance. "This what you needed?" Daniel snarled, shoving forward in one brutal, tearing thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Johnny roared, the invasion brutal, filling him impossibly, the vinyl scraping his shoulders raw as he writhed. Daniel didn’t pause, setting a punishing rhythm immediately, hips slamming forward, each deep drive punching grunts and curses from Johnny’s throat. "Fucking take it!" Daniel gasped, hands gripping Johnny’s hips hard enough to bruise, driving deeper, faster. Johnny clawed at the mat, the overwhelming fullness, the raw friction, the sheer fucking wrongness of it hurtling him towards the edge. "Gonna come, fuck!" Johnny choked out, cock jerking against his belly. Daniel pistoned harder, a guttural groan escaping him as he felt Johnny clench tight around him. "Now!" Daniel shouted, slamming home one final time as his orgasm ripped through him, hot pulses flooding deep inside Johnny. Johnny came untouched, thick ropes spilling hot over his stomach and chest with a ragged shout, his body convulsing around Daniel’s still-pulsing cock. The brutal energy vanished instantly, replaced by a crushing exhaustion. Daniel slumped forward, his weight collapsing onto Johnny’s heaving chest. Johnny’s arms fell limp at his sides, utterly spent. They lay tangled on the cold vinyl, breathing ragged, sweat-slicked skin sticking together, the only sound their harsh gasps echoing in the hollow dojo. They collapsed.
The air hung thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and the dojo’s ingrained decay. Johnny’s chest heaved under Daniel’s weight, his own come cooling tacky on his stomach, Daniel’s softening cock still buried deep inside him. Neither moved. Fluorescent light buzzed accusingly overhead. Johnny stared at the water-stained ceiling tiles, the frantic energy gone, leaving only a hollow ache in his muscles and a deeper chasm inside. "Get off," Johnny rasped, his voice wrecked, pushing weakly at Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel flinched, pulling out with a wet sound that echoed obscenely in the silence. He rolled onto his back beside Johnny on the cold vinyl, both men staring up, avoiding each other, breathing raggedly. Sticky fluid seeped onto the mat beneath Johnny's ass. "Fucking mess," Johnny muttered, wiping his belly with a rough hand, smearing it. Daniel sat up abruptly, grimacing, his expensive trousers still bunched around his knees, shirt discarded. He shoved them off completely, kicking the ruined fabric aside with a snarl. "Shower," Daniel stated, the word clipped, raw. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, naked, swaying slightly, heading towards the small, grimy bathroom tucked at the back of the dojo. Johnny watched his retreating back, saw the angry red scrape from the wall on Daniel’s shoulder blade. With a grunt, Johnny hauled himself upright, wincing at the throb between his legs, the scrape on his own back stinging. He stumbled after Daniel, the discarded whiskey bottle near the door a mocking monument to how this started. The tiny bathroom was all cracked tile and mildew, the single bulb harsh. Daniel was already twisting the stiff knobs on the ancient shower stall. Rusty water spat, then cleared to a steaming spray. He stepped under it without looking back, head bowed, letting the water sluice over his silver hair and down his back. Johnny hesitated in the doorway, the steam curling towards him, carrying the scent of cheap soap and damp concrete. Daniel finally turned, water plastering his hair flat, his eyes shadowed but meeting Johnny’s directly, defiantly. "Well?" Daniel challenged, his voice flat, echoing off the tile. Johnny stripped off his remaining clothes with jerky movements and stepped into the cramped stall, the hot water hitting him like a physical blow. They stood facing each other beneath the pounding spray, inches apart, water sheeting down their faces, over chests marked by time and violence, washing away the sweat, the come, the grime. The air crackled with unspoken accusations, the ghosts of Dutch’s party and the raw, punishing act on the mat. Daniel grabbed a sliver of soap from its rusted dish, the movement sharp. He lathered his hands roughly, the sound abrasive in the small space. Without a word, he reached out and scrubbed at Johnny’s chest, his touch impersonal, vigorous, scraping over the greying hair and old scars. Johnny flinched but didn’t pull away, his own hands hanging uselessly at his sides. He watched Daniel’s face, the tight set of his jaw, the water beading on his lashes. Daniel moved lower, the soapy washcloth rasping over Johnny’s stomach, cleaning away the evidence of his release, the pressure almost painful. "You’re scrubbing my skin off, LaRusso," Johnny growled, his voice rough but lacking its usual heat. Daniel paused, the cloth hovering over Johnny’s hip bone. He looked up, water streaming down his face. "Shut up, Lawrence," he muttered, but his touch softened fractionally as he dragged the cloth lower, over Johnny’s spent cock and balls, a brief, perfunctory swipe that still sent an unwelcome jolt through Johnny’s system. Daniel tossed the soap towards him. It hit Johnny’s chest with a wet slap. "Your turn," Daniel said, turning his back, presenting the scrape and the curve of his ass to the water and to Johnny. Johnny caught the slimy soap, staring at the taut muscles of Daniel’s shoulders, the water running in rivulets down his spine. He worked up a lather, the cheap smell filling his nostrils. He hesitated, then pressed the soapy cloth to Daniel’s upper back, near the scrape. He felt Daniel tense instantly. Johnny washed him, the motions stiff, mimicking Daniel’s impersonal efficiency, skirting the wound, moving over shoulders that felt too thin under his touch. He scrubbed down Daniel’s back, over the swell of his ass, the touch clinical, avoiding any intimacy the act could imply. Daniel stood rigid, head bowed, hands braced against the mildewed tile in front of him. The water beat down, drumming on the fiberglass stall. Johnny rinsed the cloth, watching the suds swirl down the drain, taking the physical remnants of their collision with them, leaving only the impossible weight of what they’d done. "This doesn’t change anything," Daniel said suddenly, his voice low, almost lost under the water’s roar, not turning around. Johnny dropped the cloth. He reached past Daniel, turned off the taps. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip of water from their bodies onto the wet floor. Johnny grabbed a thin, grey towel hanging on a rusty hook, thrusting it at Daniel’s back. "Didn’t say it did," Johnny bit out, grabbing the other threadbare towel for himself, rubbing harshly at his hair, avoiding Daniel’s gaze. They dried off in silence, the air thick with steam and things left violently, dangerously unsaid. Daniel pulled his damp, rumpled shirt back on over wet skin, not bothering with the soiled pants yet. Johnny yanked his jeans up, the denim clinging unpleasantly. He looked at Daniel, really looked, seeing the exhaustion etched deep, the hollows under his eyes that mirrored his own. Daniel met his gaze, a flash of that old, defiant challenge surfacing. "Not sorry," Daniel stated, his chin lifted a fraction. Johnny barked a humorless laugh, the sound harsh in the tiled room. "Me neither, asshole." He turned and walked out of the bathroom, leaving Daniel standing there in the damp gloom, the echo of the shower's final drip the only sound.
Johnny stalked across the grimy dojo floor, the damp towel clutched uselessly in his fist, the cold vinyl biting his bare feet. The stale air felt thick, suffocating after the steam. He needed out, needed space away from LaRusso’s wreckage and the stink of their mutual failure clinging to the mats. Reaching his discarded leather jacket near the door, he bent to grab it, the movement pulling the fresh ache between his legs. He ignored it, focused on escape. Daniel’s voice, raw and stripped bare, cut through the heavy silence behind him. "I NEVER STOPPED THINKING OF YOU." The words landed like a physical blow between Johnny’s shoulder blades. He froze mid-crouch, every muscle locking tight. Slowly, deliberately, he straightened up, the cheap towel dropping forgotten to the floor. He turned back. Daniel stood framed in the bathroom doorway, water still slick on his skin, shirt clinging damply, his expensive slacks an abandoned puddle at his feet. His eyes, dark and desperate, held Johnny’s without flinching. "Not since that fucking wall," Daniel rasped, taking a step forward onto the cold vinyl. "Not through any of it. The trophies, the wife, the kids... you were there." His voice cracked. "Festering." Johnny stared, the confession ripping through the fragile numbness the shower had provided. The sight of Daniel, usually so contained, now trembling and exposed, ignited something volatile. Hate, need, fury – a familiar, toxic brew surged. "You lying son of a bitch," Johnny growled, taking two long strides back towards him, closing the distance. Daniel didn’t retreat. "Think I wanted this?" Daniel shot back, gesturing wildly at the wreckage of the dojo, at themselves. "Think I wanted you crawling under my skin for thirty fucking years?" He shoved Johnny hard in the chest. "You ruined everything!" Johnny grabbed Daniel’s wrists, slamming him backwards against the cracked plaster beside the bathroom door with a force that rattled the frame. Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling – whiskey, steam, desperation. "I ruined you?" Johnny snarled, his grip bruising. "You stole my life!" Daniel’s knee came up, catching Johnny hard in the thigh, not enough to drop him, just enough fire to fuel the rage. "Took everything, didn’t you?" Johnny hissed, grinding his hips forward, pinning Daniel harder against the wall, his own neglected cock hardening again against Daniel’s hip. Daniel gasped, his body arching instinctively into the pressure. "Yeah," Johnny breathed, the word hot against Daniel’s neck, one hand releasing a wrist to fumble roughly at Daniel’s damp shirt buttons. "Your perfect life. Your fucking Mercedes." Buttons popped, scattering. Johnny shoved the shirt open, his mouth descending on Daniel’s collarbone, biting down, not gently. Daniel cried out, a ragged sound, his free hand tangling in Johnny’s wet hair, pulling, not pushing. Johnny’s hand slid down Daniel’s bare stomach, beneath the waistband of his damp boxer briefs, fingers wrapping instantly around his half-hard cock. "This what you thought about, LaRusso?" Johnny rasped, jerking him roughly to full hardness, feeling the hot pulse against his palm. Daniel’s head thumped back against the plaster, his hips bucking into Johnny’s fist. "Fuck you," he gasped, but the denial was weak, breathless. Johnny squeezed harder, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. "This how you pictured it?" He shoved Daniel’s briefs down with his other hand, freeing him completely. "Pictured me doing this?" Daniel moaned, low and broken, his fingers tightening painfully in Johnny’s hair. Johnny dropped to his knees right there on the cold floor, the grit sticking to his damp skin. He didn’t hesitate. He took Daniel’s cock into his mouth, deep, swallowing him whole with a choked, guttural sound, his tongue pressing hard against the underside. Daniel shouted, a raw, animal noise that echoed off the Cobra Kai posters, his body bowing off the wall. Johnny’s hands clamped onto Daniel’s bare hips, holding him pinned, his mouth working relentlessly – sucking, swirling, deep-throating him with a ferocity born of decades of pent-up rage and Daniel’s impossible confession. He wanted to punish, to consume, to erase everything but this brutal connection. Daniel’s cries dissolved into desperate, incoherent gasps, his fingers scrabbling against the cracked plaster. "Johnny... fuck... gonna...!"
Johnny sucked harder, deeper, the vibration humming through Daniel’s cock. He felt the telltale pulse, the tightening of Daniel’s balls against his chin. Daniel’s back arched like a bowstring, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he emptied himself, hot and bitter, down Johnny’s throat. Johnny swallowed convulsively, keeping him deep, milking every last shuddering spasm until Daniel sagged, trembling, against the wall. Johnny pulled off slowly, lips swollen, breathing harshly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring up at Daniel’s wrecked face. Daniel’s eyes, glazed and unfocused, finally locked onto his. "Your turn," Daniel panted, pushing off the wall, unsteady but determined. He grabbed Johnny’s arm, hauling him roughly to his feet. "Against the Mercedes."
Johnny let himself be pulled, the command sparking a fresh jolt of heat. Daniel shoved open the dojo's glass door, the night air hitting their sweat-slicked skin. The Mercedes gleamed under the flickering light, cold metal promising another brutal collision. Daniel spun Johnny, slamming his back against the driver's side door with a metallic thud. "This what you want?" Daniel growled, fumbling with Johnny's jeans. The zipper rasped, cold air hitting Johnny's aching cock. Daniel spat into his palm, the sound crude, and wrapped his slick hand around Johnny's hardness, jerking him with punishing strokes. "Take it like you took everything else." Johnny gasped, hips thrusting forward involuntarily. Daniel dropped to his knees, mirroring Johnny's earlier position. He didn't tease. He took Johnny deep, his throat working, swallowing around the thick shaft. Johnny threw his head back against the cold window with a guttural groan, fingers tangling in Daniel's wet hair. Daniel sucked ruthlessly, head bobbing, cheeks hollowed, the wet, obscene sounds filling the night. The scrape of teeth, the tight constriction, the sheer fucking heat – Johnny was hurtling towards the edge. "Fuck, Daniel... gonna blow!" Daniel pulled off just as Johnny convulsed, thick ropes of come spurting hot onto Daniel's face, streaking his silver hair and stubbled cheek. Daniel stayed kneeling, breathing hard, come dripping onto the asphalt, looking up at Johnny with a savage, unreadable expression. Johnny sagged against the car, utterly spent. Daniel slowly wiped his face with the back of his hand. He stood, his eyes never leaving Johnny's. "Still festering, Lawrence," he stated, his voice raw. He turned and walked away into the dark parking lot. Johnny slid down the cold metal of the Mercedes, landing hard on the asphalt, staring at the empty space where Daniel had been. The engine of the Mercedes roared to life across the lot, headlights slicing through the gloom. Tires screeched as Daniel peeled away, leaving Johnny alone in the flickering yellow light, the taste of salt and bitterness lingering on his tongue. He sat on the cold ground, leaning against the tire of his own battered Firebird, watching the Mercedes's taillights vanish. The strip mall felt cavernous, silent. He fumbled in his discarded jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. His fingers trembled slightly as he lit one, the flare of the match momentarily illuminating the hollowness in his eyes. He inhaled deeply, the smoke a temporary burn against the deeper ache. I never stopped thinking of you. The words echoed, louder than the fading engine noise. He stared at the dark stain on the asphalt where Daniel had knelt. What the hell had they just done? What the hell were they? The cigarette glowed fiercely in the gloom as Johnny took another drag, the night pressing in, heavy and unresolved. The only answer was the distant hum of the city and the lingering ghost of Daniel’s confession. It settled in his bones, colder than the asphalt beneath him.