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Dum Dum's backseat has turned into a humid, sex-messed furnace. Stiflingly hot—hot enough that his dermal plating's out sweatin' its absorption rate. Doesn't help that he's growling like a feral within the first fuckin' thrust, tongue thick behind chrome chompers, Pulmocore lungs straining CO₂ molecules for trace O₂ to compensate for how heavy V's breathin' from the stretch. Every fiber-weave in his abdominal wall contracts, curls and relaxes as he feeds cock through her folds, thighs spread wide with black panties hooked to the side, the soaked nylon-edge abrading his shaft.
"Sure yur built for this, Princess?" Dum Dum smirks at the glare she gives 'im. "Way this thing grips says yeah, but the depth. A fuckin' shame."
"F-Funny," V huffs, accusatory, "Not the one glitching out over... over lukewarm meat, am I?"
Guess that one stung. It was a fuckin' lie calling this sweet slice of 'ganic bliss nothing but lukewarm meat half an hour ago. Really, it was just to get her mean after calling his cock null-grade. Wanted to set fire to her ego and see how hot she'd burn up. Still, Dum Dum's got the mods to see she's full of shit: pulse up, heat sigs high, microtremors noted and logged. That juicy tongue knows how to spin narratives, but Dum Dum's halfway locked inside her, and this fluttering don't lie so preem.
He gives her a one-sided smile, tells her not to worry, 'ain't gonna rush it, gonna take it velvet soft' just for her, and eases a CortexGripper palm from V's knee joint to hip bone, watching her lashes flutter. His silicon-padded thumb brushes over a fleshy fold, all strained around his chromed out cock, and slides up, notching it against her clit. Just a few sleek swirls kick that shaky lil smirk off her face, her soft features pinching.
“Just... gimme the rest. I want it—now." She whines, inner thigh muscles all twitch and bounce as she curls her fingers around his flak straps, tugging him closer. She plants a gold-painted kiss on his lips, causing another one of those nerve shocks to shoot up his titanium spine.
"Yeah," Dum Dum agrees, pressing another inch in, swallowing up her noisy scream. She tastes like the can of Lemon Burst Smash they shared, but it's sweet on her tongue. Good enough to eat—to lick up—to kiss clean...
Real funny to think this V and the 'ganic solo he sold tech to at All Foods months ago, lookin' at him with curious aversion, was one in the same. Now, Dum Dum's got her pinned down in his backseat... partly pried open... cunt half-way plundered... lips smackin' with his... all over some after-gig adrenaline and an evident borg kink. Lucky for her, he's a fuckin' gentleman.
V lets loose a soft, wet moan as he nips her lower lip. Her fingers lace around his skull, tangling in his dreads, holding on as she hitches her hips, taking another half-inch with a squelch like he's sliding into a hot bucket of grease. The sound rips through his cochlear chrome, wraps around his brain, and backfires a memory of the first time he let her and that deadass amigo into All Foods—of being flooded with texts not five minutes after buzzin' her through.
Juno: Slut solo headed your way, DD.
Basquiat: preem looking fuckmeat, yo. bet her cumsocket goes squish-squish
Kurk: Choom! Shit goes sideways, I wanna bite of that. Got me?
Basquiat: she a fleshie nomad. gonna clock it. reckon royce'll share? wanna squish-squish
Then Cole tagged him a split second later.
Cole: BIG TITS comin' up Dum Dum. Valentino too.
Cole: Gonna like this merc bitch. Gonk-pretty like joytoy tier. All new and shiny. Amigo gotta go tho.
Dum Dum expected Moxie chrome, or some high-dollar corpo cunt with enough military tech in her tits to light up Cole's heat vision, no matter what nomad shit Basquiat was chattin.' Still, V walked in with that slow, deliberate gait—hips doin' this hypnotic sway that made each ass cheek bounce inside those skintight jeans. Looked too soft for borgs to wanna dock, 'cept the ones that got off on causing damage. It wasn't every day they got softies on their turf, but Dum Dum knew V was a different breed.
Didn’t think about this then, though—this cunt slurping and gripping, hot as slag around his dick, taking him deeper—fuckin' greedy. Wasn't really focused on this shit. Not then. Too busy hawkin’ the Flathead, high off black lace, running his mouth like she’d be easy eddies.
'Spite having her clit rolling under his thumb right now, and her breath on his lips, V's anything but easy. Princess played it cool, haggled like only Nomads could. Even when Royce postured all fuckin’ alpha, she had something juicy to spit that'd make the boss real happy. Somethin' about that—how she stood there, mouthing off, calmly watching his chooms itch their triggers—made his blood do something stupid. Made his dick twitch.
Makes it twitch now jus' thinking about it, buried six inches deep with three more to go... not that V's sugar-soft pussy can take it all...
Then there was that firefight, not the one tonight... but the first foray—the one where V moved like a preprogrammed combat drone in denim and a ratty tank top. He watched her melt behind cover, double-tap a Militech gonk when they got too close. Shot one through the eye plate. Another two fragged while she chewed on the pin, popping off shots and shouting for cover and reload warnings. That’s when the fantasy clicked—when Dum Dum wanted to be the borg carving her holes out with fingers, tongue, cock and more.
Started slingin' gigs her way. Pinging texts when he got some nice chrome she might like, gradually watched netlines appear down her temples, jaw, neck, and collar bones... rest hiding under lace, leather, and more denim. Now, Dum Dum can see how far they go, optics burning across her tits, freed from another loose tank and flimsy lace bra.
He slots his cock further, glans pressing in her guts, and grabs at her thigh, sliding chrome grippers down her calf, then pins it against the front seat’s back. Wider now... more room to settle in and rake teeth down her chin, suck a lil neck between 'em and press down to shove his face into one soft breast, fat spilling against his metal.
V whimpers, "K-Keep going. Don’t-don’t stop—" rutting like a dorphed up slut.
So, Dum Dum gives her hard nipple a rough suck into his mouth, his thumb a firm swirl, and shoves in deep again. He shoulders an ankle, nips around her areola, and suckles again. That soft, cinch-tight cunt grips his cock better than any fuckin' wetware snatch. Feel of it... gets him churning in it, shovin' even deeper.
"Fuuuck... like that. Just—" V sobs, hugging his face, half-folded and making room for more smash-thick cock... "Just like that—yess!"
“Sloppy lil Princess,” Dum Dum growls into her tit, chrome chompers grazing soft skin like he might bite her, claim her, chew some more moans right outta her throat. Fuckin' soaked—fuckin’ gushing and every cervix-bashing thrust makes that moist slurp/slap that gets his nerves twitching, makes the implants in his spine light up like fuckin' Christmas.
"C’mon. Fuck me like... you—"
Dum Dum opens his mouth around her nipple, sucks hard, pulls back and lets it loose. Fleshie skin and fat jiggles n' bounces. Can't be sweet when she's beggin' like this. Torque dampeners lift fuckin' fast. He's watching her eyes roll back as his hips start scrubbing her thighs... closer now... couple inches away...
“Anyone ever tell ya you're an impatient bitch, huh?" He grins, optics so hot they gleam off the sweat shining on her cheeks.
Truth is, Dum Dum likes V's bluster, it being one of the reasons he started caving to her every lil whim—reason he found 'imself driving her getaway car tonight. Princess wanted more eddies for a gig? Yeah, as long as she caused a scene. Wanted one of his chooms to cover instead of him? Nah, but he got hard off her middle finger 'fuck you's' especially as they turned into his company being demanded on every gig. Demands turned to requests. Smirks to gonk-ass jaw kisses to tease him, knowing just how psycho that made 'im. Like it weren't enough his dick turned mutiny every time her lips parted to whisper some obscene promise against his cheek.
And now—here—tonight, in this fuckin’ molten backseat, he’s letting her get her way again.
"Can’t wait anymore. Wanna cum on whatever you got down here," V'd said, voice haggard with adreno-fumes, finger snapping his waistband as he carted the wheel through Allen and Sagan, Kabuki lights fading as fast as the NCPD dopplers behind 'em.
"Needed this fat borg cock stuffing right fuckin’ now . Couldn’t wait till we'd delta'd. Could ya?”
V’s trying to answer, tryin' to breathe, gold-painted lips parted and glossy—smeared from his nasty kisses—but the only thing coming out is this gurgly whimper that makes his balls tense. Dum Dum's Princess ain't so cavalier now, but she's taking it... One soft hand's braced against the door now, above her crown, the other dug into the edge of his flak vest, desperate for something to brace against, to pull him in deeper but keep him back a lil.
Too late now, her pussy's already sucking him down to the fuckin’ base.
"Mmn. There we go..." Dum Dum snarls, lips brushing sweat off her forehead, "... deep as it gets, Princess."
"Y-Yeah..." V sighs, head tilting back to catch Dum Dum's sweat-salted lips against her own, "Now fuck me , borgy boy."
Dum Dum likes that—likes it a lot. Loves that a breakable, 'ganic girl like V plays with fire by tempting cyberpsycho cock. And Dum Dum's real happy to light her up.
Outside, shit’s real quiet, means nothing is cushioning the metal chassis squeal as V gets borg fucked just like she wants. Dum Dum leans up to watch the sight of her fat tits bouncin,' slappin' against her ribs. Has to double-check his BD recorder cause something about it all cuts him up. His feed pings over V's fluctuating expressions, tensing beneath him, red text running down his LB optic: 97% EEG cohesion with 2ms latency. Gonna be oil-smooth when he plays it back on a night she's too busy to entertain a borg like him... 'course, right now, he's got V's cunt wrapped around his cock...
"Keep it the fuck down, will ya?" Dum Dum grumbles, suppressing a hard, glitchy grunt, hips pistoning forward with the kinda precision V ain't gonna find in those Afterlife himbo fucks. They’ll try—gonks, civvies, half-cocked chrome boys—but they’ll fold when she spits and whines and begs for more even when her legs are shakin’ and her bpm's in the strat.
Only shame is, now that she's taking it full and hard, this car park Dum Dum swerved into seconds before tossing her in the backseat, ain't so stealthy anymore. The creak of the seat, the sticky slap of her drenched cunt on titanium pelvic plates, the loud gasps breaking off her teeth—it’s all music. Loud fuckin' music...
"Makin' ah—" he grunts, gives her a couple piston pounds that make her go all 'uh-uh-uh' and continues, "—ah lotta fuckin' noise."
V's lashes flutter, head tilting back as she lets out a purposefully showy moan. The tendons in her throat bite against those preem interface lines connecting the Tetratronic Rippler stuffed behind her pretty sockets. If she wants to be a brat, he'll indulge.
Dum Dum jerks her calf off the back of the front seat, and shifts to his knees, yanking her by both ankles until her ass is nestled in his lap, cock still jammed deep. She jerks, face pinched like he fucked up the angle—the pace—but Dum Dum grabs that slim throat of hers in body-heated phalanges and squeezes. V squeaks, eyes snapping open as he pounds her insides flat in the backseat where his tires grit the concrete and metal thuds and pussy chugs.
"That's it..." Dum Dum hisses, forearm bulging against her knees, head tilting to lick the salty ankle against his shoulder with an audible leer, "… just lay there and take it. Or you got somethin' to say? Then fuckin' say it."
His chrome cock hums, swelling as V turns her grip to his wrist assembly, a painted nail nudging deep where he could pinch it with a flick if he wanted. But she ain't afraid, and her pussy just wets more with every thrust. His dick's been fully slotted for five minutes now, but the bioflex weave fattens further as she loosens up. Still tight as fuck. Slick as synthlube.
She’s close now. Dum Dum ain't docked a 'ganic pussy since before Maelstrom, but he can tell, feeling the pulse in her cunt, the tremor in her legs, in the way her grunts scatter under his fingers, flexing around that delicate throat until she's squeezing his wrist and fumbling at the door, trying to hold it all together.
"Go ahead. Cum on my cock..."
Her lips stretch to scream, but a soft moan gags out instead. He’s a greedy borgy boy, though. Needs to hear her finish as much as feel it. Dum Dum gives her neck a final squeeze, watching her eyes fill with tears, then snorts a stabilizing breath, and smothers her mouth with his palm, pressing the back of her head into the seat—hard, brutal... quiet.
She’s so fuckin' close he can taste the sour tang of it on his tongue, flickin' it in the humid air like he can lick it up,
"Do it." Dum Dum snarls, fuckin' through dancing pussy... but then... as he's docking his Nomad Princess into a nature's own dorph hole, the distant sound of tires roll over gravel, quick to hit the concrete car park.
"Shit.” His hips snap to a halt, flush against hot thighs, cock all buried to the root in creamy pussy, twitching, pulsing, twitchin' again. He’s frozen—listening—but V ain’t. ‘Ganic ears not picking up the unwelcome company like his chipped innards can.
Instead, she goads ‘yeah-yeah’s’ through his metal digits and greeds the short distance allotted between her body and his. She's squirmin,’ clenching his cock like she wants to yank the cum outta him by force, hips hitchin' up in frantic lil thrusts, lost in it, and lets out a loud, XBD-rated moan that makes his dick twinge and heart palpate.
Dum Dum puts more weight on his palm as he leans down, folding her in half, careful to keep her from cracking, but firm enough to prove a point.
“Shut it,” he growls low in her ear, more vibration than voice, “Moan like that again, n' I’ll shove my fist down your throat.”
V’s eyes narrow, brows pulling together. Looks like she's gonna say somethin' nasty back, so Dum Dum hushes her, gentle-like this time.
He gives her cheekbone a raw kiss, then flips his optics through visual channels, the world turning into blue hues carved by heat signatures. First burning in V's overheated body beneath him, where white spots glow in her head, chest, and… further down where they're connected, proving how hot she is for his chrome... then he sweeps through the passenger door into the car park, where two four-wheelers are ridin' up with three— nah, five —gonks.
Sirens flash. NCPD judging by the model, but could be stolen rigs ready to get stripped down by Scavs. Either way, the fun's over.
Dum Dum doesn't want any gonk fucks catchin' her stuffed full of borg cock, eyes rollin,' mouth panting hot fog against his palm if there's better places to dock her later. Real fuckin' shame, but wouldn't be the first time he's been interrupted during a fuck.
He's sitting up, spine straight with a click-tick that makes him grunt, dick twitching inside her from the relief. V's legs open around his hips, shifting forward to swallow back the inch she lost when he sat up.
There's a ceiling-mounted power shotgun between the front seats for when Dum Dum needs the buckshot. His optics flick a fast-pulse strobe as he reaches up towards it, his palm hovering just under a DB-2 Satara, a low-end but retrofitted model with full-auto thermal rounds. A preem beast that'll burn whatever it doesn't blast apart.
Dum Dum fists the stabilizer grip, fingers the trigger as a line of code runs down his optic feed as the biofeedback syncs—just another extension of his chrome now—and yanks it off the ceiling with a vicious grin. Then, his Princess puffs out a sigh just as her cunt clamps down. So fuckin' hard it punches something guttural outta him, cock jerkin' in response. His optics dip to her lying there on his backseat, tits heaving in infrared. She's panting harder than when he was piston-dockin' her dumb, 'ganic body so hot she's like a ghost through his thermals.
Some old muscle in his head tightens, like he's still got eyebrows and they're shot up high. 'Cause there's no mistaking her readouts. Princess likes what she sees...
“You fuckin’ crazy lil...” he mutters then stops, too busy watching her heatprint slide one hand down her stomach, fingers splaying across that preem pocket of fat above her pussy and further to rub at her clit. Lookin' like she’s got all the time in the world and ain’t got a single fuck to give about sirens, flashing lights, or the gang of Scav gonks roaming just a dozen meters off.
Dum Dum snorts, mouth twitching up in the kind of grin an XBD star woulda sobbed over.
“Ain’t right in the head,” he says, chuckling low as V rolls her nerve with two fingers, the other hand still braced on the door against her crown. She hums in agreement, the sound falling into a hot lil moan.
Dum Dum licks his inner cheek, strokes over some chrome molars, and decides she's just his kinda chaos.
"Lucky for you, I ain't got a problem fuckin' an shootin' at the same time."
"Yeah... fuuck. That's so hot," V sighs.
Dum Dum almost snaps a bit from that—nearly welcomes the cyberpsychosis twang that starts in his modded cock, eager to stab 'er in the guts—but shakes it off with a quiet snarl, unhooking his flak vest straps one-handed. She ain't seen much hidden chrome but his cock, and his chest's a patchwork masterpiece: dermal stitch junctions sectioning off muscle and tendon, cardiac pump cross-panel with black circulation pumps that feed underneath synth skin and down, sprouting against his abdominal wall of Flexsteel.
“Be a good 'ganic girl for me,” he warns, smothering her white-hot body in his borgy boy chest, planting his gun-arm hard in the cushion beside her head, DB-2 cocked and ready, muzzle tappin' the tinted window. “And stay quiet.”
V tugs her hand off her clit and slides wet fingers around his ribs, teasing the puckered scarring around his spine augmentation.
"Maybe," V teases.
"Preem bitch," Dum Dum mutters, and leans in to smash his mouth to hers, devouring sharp moans as his hips pull back jus' enough to feel her whine against his tongue before he starts fuckin’ her again. But this time, he goes slow... torturous... half grind with deep-seated thrusts that bottom out. He's drawing each drag n' push out until V's shaking so fuckin' good it rattles through his chest.
No way he's gonna cum from this. It ain't his style, but the point now ain't to nut, it's to get V off—get her addicted to his chrome like a borg to dorph. Maybe zero a few Scavs too if it helps seal the deal, but mostly, Dum Dum wants to feel V strangle his cock. She's gonna leave this cab beggin' to be his output...
Yeah, Dum Dum grins against her lips, knows just what he wants and starts fuckin' it into her so preem, so dense, she breaks off the kiss, draws in a ragged breath and gasps out a hot lil 'oh, fuuuck, Dum Dum—' that makes him lick a line up her chin and suck her lips back into a messy, slanted kiss.
He keeps his upper optics dialed to the Scavs milling through scrap, makes sure they're occupied when Dum Dum snaps his hips a lil faster, the quick hilt of chrome dick through slippery walls of soft so fast n' so preem he ends up snarling filth against the edge of her mouth.
"Keep squeezin' like that, yeah... Gonna end up—" Dum Dum grunts, grins and gives her cervix a grind or two, "—full'ah borg cum. That what you want, huh?"
"Fuuuck-yes, yess!" V stammers, grabbing at the back of his neck, her other hand spreading fingers against his shoulder blade. Soft thighs wrap around his waist, and suddenly he's got her clinging to him, moanin' the nastiest shit right back at 'im.
"Gimmie it... fuh-fuck me s-so full... won't—can’t breathe. Ah'fuck... you’re too deep."
Dum Dum lifts some weight off her, still driving deep... slowing down as the Scavs' heat sigs wade closer across the black-blue backdrop. Won't be long till the gonks notice his sleek ride...
"So full. M'so full..." but his Princess's lost, blurting nonsense against his jawline, tongue flicking along a dermal notch, "Gah-Gonna fuckin’ die like this... you... You dummy...”
Dum Dum snarls as a bolt of bliss rushes up his abdominals, steel-cleaved nose pressing to hers, and tells her, “Shut the fuck up.” But she doesn’t—can't. Just keeps talking, mouth mapping his lower face, begging him not to stop between sloppy kisses and more sweet moans.
"Y-yess'soo deep! So full—f-feels so...so—” it's hot n' all but Dum Dum's raising his cochlear sensitivity as their company inches closer and can't be distracted by it. So he lifts an inch, shifts and jabs two chrome phalanges past her lips, shovin’ them deep until she gags.
“Talk less.”
V grins in gold smears and moans around his fingers.
The Scavs have taken notice of the Maelstrom Beastmaster parked in the dark, shaded by night and further obscured beneath overpass highwash shadows. Dum Dum watches, dick sliding deep, hips rotating to mash and churn as V's hips writhe, pussy tilted to catch every inch of the short-edged thrusts he's willing to give. Nothin’ like how he usually docks a bitch—usually it’s fast, brutal, spit-fucked to a finish, but this? This is different.
Feels good—too good—unsettlingly good.
He pants roughly against her ear, lip dragging her lobe as the four-wheeler that rolled in first pulls out now, revving loudly as it disappears into the ether—but the smaller group stays. Two gonks talking muffled shit about the shiny Beastmaster: his fuckin' ride or die. One swings a prybar, gesturing to another with oversized gorilla arms. They're already painting on the sidewalk as far as Dum Dum's concerned. Real easy flatlines.
The DB-2 scrapes the window as Dum Dum polishes V's hot cunt aimlessly, not thinking much, just doin' and feelin' only for the softest lil sound to come outta his Nomad Princess...
Dum Dum turns four optics down, cutting the vision between thermals and real-world.
“Gkkk'ghhnnn!” Her throat swallows hard against his fingers, shuddering like she’s trying to draw 'em deeper. He watches her eyes glass over, rollin' up as her snatch tightens, a sudden wet pulse yanking at his cock with hot, clenching waves.
“Shit—” he breathes out, voice all burnt up. Wants to shoot his load now—deep inside...
His spine locks, holding off, choosing to observe: the sweatin,' writhin,' cheeks flushed n' lips locked wet around his fingers, moaning low... nothin' like borg sluts or joytoys... V cums hard, pussy seizing in frantic, fluttering beats, drooling slick juice down his balls, soakin' his bunched pants in warm wet.
It's preem. It's obscene. It's quiet... and it’s the hottest shit Dum Dum's ever seen.
V’s knees lift into his ribs, heels digging into the support muscles above his ass. His hips slam forward from the force, cock punching deeper inside her twitching cunt till he hisses sharp, optics flickering bright, warnin' red.
Dum Dum grits his jaw and dials one optic out of sync; the feed crackles as it pans back to the car park again. Long enough to catch the Scavs beelining their way. His gut twists, queasy in a way he can’t place. Warm n' gonked.
And fuck... if that pressure at the base of his cock don’t start to surge, every nerve lighting like her orgasm comes with a thousand fuckin' volts, blowing out his network till Dum Dum doesn't wanna flip on his neurofilter... wants to indulge it—wants to cream-stuff her pussy.
“Please…" V begs, runnin' her hands all over his synth hide like she can't get enough, "cum in me. Need you, Dum Dum... ” And he snaps.
His hips hitch, jaw latched, then Dum Dum lets out a snarl that has the Scavs outside backpedaling.
He untangles himself from her limbs and takes the opportunity to slam her down on the seat—no slow, no tease, no rhythm—just CortexGrippers braced tight around her hips, pounding hard. It's base n' vile. Thrusts that rock the whole damn ride on its shocks. Sweat beads down his temples, synthskin reabsorbing too slow... then the high hits— sharp —a burst behind his pelvis, stomach folding in on itself. The whole buffet of chemicals floods through, pushing a wheeze outta him as he unloads—hot spurts of cum surging out in wave after wave, cock throbbin' inside her snug lil snatch.
He shudders through it, borg body spasmin,' every muscle pulling taut while his optics go offline.
One, two, three... then a soft whine as they reboot. All the while, his face’s buried in her neck, breath boilin' hot on her collarbone, teeth clenched so tight they'd be cracked if they weren't chromed out. Her fingers pulling gently on his dreads is what gets him outta the hole. It's nothin' like the after-dock push back from borg sluts, or the post-nut clarity worry of joytoys. This shit's soft... too intimate.
Dum Dum's already shaking her off as metal whacks his Beastmaster Shit sounds like a crowbar beatin' on his ride, curious and real fuckin' rude.
His face snaps back to hers for a second, just one, then Dum Dum's looking through plastic n' metal, watching two Scavs sway outside, pokin' around... askin' for it.
“Cover your face." Dum Dum's voice cuts rough through the fog of sex, half-growl, half-command.
He plants his knees hard, dick still leaking inside her, pulse thudding behind his teeth as he spins and lifts the DB-2 in both grippers. Optics sweep, dialin’ sharp. Two pings: one inch from the window, like the gonk can see inside. The other is taking steps back, knowing the car's bad news, but they're too late on the uptick. Dum Dum aims, barrel raised, thumb flipping the chamber with a dorph-soaked laze.
“Now, Princess," he warns again.
She’s still breathin’ all shaky, pupils blown, slow to register—but her gaze tracks his over her head to the window, blinks fast, and finally throws her arms over her face, forearms curled tight just as Dum Dum pulls the trigger.
The DB-2 buckshot minces reinforced black-glass, blowin' out the passenger window in a spray of jagged shards. First round punches clean through the head of the closest Scav—eviscerating the upper left-half, leaving mangled meat, bone, n' fizzin' connectors to flop over a gore-soaked shoulder. The body twists, drops. Second shot’s meaner, Dum Dum's processing power's a lil off from cummin' so hard. Thermal rounds hit the other Scav high in the shoulder, just below the collarbone, blowing his arm off. Arterial spray splatters like oil across the concrete, loud as a busted fire hydrant. He pops a third shot off that takes out half the gonk's neck. Fucker gurgles, twitches, then slams face-first into the side of the Beastmaster, rockin' it on it's tires.
Dum Dum sneers through clenched teeth, lowering the DB-2 slowly, waiting for results on a long-distance ping for heat signatures that comes back empty. Nothin' for a quarter mile.
“Fuckin' Scav-shit gonks...” Dum Dum mutters before he pans down.
V’s still under him, naked body glittering with shards, forearms shielding her face with elbows shakin.' Her breath’s comin’ fast—great glistening tits heavin.' She ain’t scared, but her ears are probably ringing and the shock off a Satara's enough to rattle anyone. Dum Dum lowers the DB-2 and drops it into the footwell.
“…Shit. My bad,” he says, meaning it too. Even moves all slow for her when he pulls out, thick cock smeared in streaks of globbed cum.
The cab air hits raw as his cock starts to hang.
V hisses, peeking between her arms, blowing away razor-thin shards as she shifts back, careful of the glass around her seat. For a second, Dum Dum's drawn to the slow, sticky trail of jizz seeping against the black synth leather, leading back to her leaking pussy where she's all puffy n' raw. He watches it ooze a second too long before V clears her throat, and he hooks the gusset back over her folds.
"Hand me those," she gestures behind him, where her denim shorts are hanging off the passenger seat headrest.
Dum Dum snags 'em, goes to toss 'em, but stops. His jaw ticks when he sees a few thin red lines bloom across her forearms. A mark on her breast is punctured in red, clearly from his chin spurs...
“Up,” he grumbles, not gentle, but not cruel either, "C'mere."
Dum Dum leans in, wraps an arm around her waist, and tugs her up outta the glass jumble, settin' her on his thigh. V settles on his thick slab of steeled muscle, looks like she's gonna say something, but closes her mouth as he dusts her skin clean with her shorts. It’s slow n’ deliberate, like maybe he doesn’t wanna nick her worse. Her skin’s too smooth—too minimal where a bunch of blemishes well… and when Dum Dum brushes over a cut on her collarbone, she flinches.
“You know,” she muses, blood beading fast, “just ‘cause you look good holding a power shotty doesn’t mean I’m happy about this .”
He pauses, her denim bunched in his fist.
Dum Dum says nothin,’ just thins his lips, unsure if she’s expecting an apology when it was her that wanted a dockin’ in a fuckin’ car park. But V smiles… grins, then laughs. Her head tips back against the headrest, messy hair glinting with stuck bits of glass, but she’s acting like she’s just sucked four hits of lace and chased it with a shot of absynth.
“You’re better than I imagined,” she sighs, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, still breathless from laughing and continues while Dum Dum swallows thickly, “Like, sure… you’re cyberpsycho levels of fucked up but I kinda like that too.”
Dum Dum snorts, thinkin’ gonk shit about how much he likes her too, but doesn’t wanna show his hand too soon…
V’s eyes follow her fingers as they glide along his dermal piercings, the lip rings, the edge of his cleaved nose, and down a steel trench just below his LBR optic. When her thumb pulls down his lower lip, V looks up into his redSpiders and asks, “What about me? Was all-natural pussy worth it?”
Dum Dum grins. “Yeah. Makin’ me think ya wanna be my mainline. That it?”
“… I didn’t—“
Before she can prove him wrong, he shoves her toward the front seat, palm firm between her shoulder blades. His Nomad Princess stumbles a step, muttering ‘bout stupid borgs and their gonk cocks.
When her ass hits the passenger seat, she turns around and snaps, “At least toss me my shit.”
Dum Dum chucks those jizz n' sweat damp shorts at her, then the bra and that tank. Doesn’t bother with the jacket, figures she’ll wanna cool off in the AC after that sweaty fuck.
“Start the car,” he says, turning toward the passenger door. “Gonna light these gonks up.”
Outside, the Watson air’s heavy with incoming rain. It’s preem compared to the hot cab, where Dum Dum was breathing in V’s pussy… makin’ it hard to think. Now, his brain’s cooling off like maybe he can drive ‘em back to All Foods without sayin’ somethin’ he’ll regret.
Against the Beastmaster, one of the Scavs is still slumped, busted neck making his head fold back over against his spine. Dead eyes already gray against the low night lights. Dum Dum shoves the gonk off with his boot heel, watching his head thud against concrete like a dropped melon.
He scans both corpses for mods, but nothing looks worth the time to scrap, so he tethers a hack, routes it into their null-grade chrome, and steps back. The bodies twitch, then go up fast—white-hot combustion like chain-lightning.
He lights a cigarette and watches their synth skin bubble as meat, chrome, and blood burn under thermite flames.
“Hope the next life chips ya better, gonk-fucks…” he mutters, and takes another drag before rollin’ his shoulders, relishing the dorph still running clean through his system. After a few more hits and a clean puff of lace to dull his nerves, Dum Dum climbs into the driver's seat, drops hard, and sits still for a second as V watches him from her lean between the seat and the door.
“Could use a hot shower,” she says after a while.
Dum Dum rolls his head against the headrest, his optics all over her: a stretched-out Samurai tank, lacy bra straps, ratty denim shorts, and bare legs. Not to mention all the scabbed lines of glass and dried sweat from gettin’ docked dumb. She’s soakin’ with his cum too… like a fuckin’ sponge—nothing like sleek wetware that just recycles the proteins.
“Take me to my place,” she says with a flick of her fingers, sendin’ him her deets, “I can wait till tomorrow for Royce to pay me, if that fucker still insists on an in-person transaction.”
Dum Dum doesn’t say it, but he’s thinkin’ ‘bout why she’d trust a borg with her address—same way she trust him to fuck her while Scavs sniffed around… but then he thinks ‘bout the way she held him as she came. Dum Dum's more hexxed up by that than how preem her pussy felt, which was PREEM as fuck. Could be he’s touch-starved, maybe. Needy, yeah. Gonk as fuck, but whatever. He wants her, not just a fuck toy, not backup… but more…
“You good with that, Dum Dum?”
He licks his lips as V crosses her arms, looking annoyed. “Wouldn’t have sent ‘em if you were gonna make it weird… Unless you’ve got better shit to do…”
Would be a good time to ask if she’d go mainline for a chromehead like him. Hell, Dum Dum’d take the input title with pride, and maybe she’d be into it if he’d just fuckin’ ask, but he don’t...
“Nah,” he rasps instead, “Ain’t lettin’ you crawl off nowhere. Gonna haul your twitchin’ meat into that shower, scrub ya down with my fuckin’ hands, then mess you up all over again.”
V straps in as he pumps the gas pedal, glaring hotly.
“You’re such a fucking romantic…”
Dum Dum grins, optics glowing as the ride peels out, passing the burning wreckage of nosy Scavvers. He drives ‘em to Little China where her H10 apartment waits for them—where he’s gonna dock ‘er over every surface, against every fuckin’ wall, till there’s more of his DNA in that shoebox than hers…