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“Hey, Jack… think this is the last time I’ll call. I’m running out of time now and everything is coming to a head. I know you aren’t really hearing this, but I want you to know… you were a good friend.”
V closed the holo, ending the recording that would never be heard. Leaning on the balcony of her dilapidated Dogtown apartment, she took in the city, its lights distorted by the heavy downfall of rain that night. The skies hadn’t been clear in days, since the rocket launch that took Songbird to her salvation.
“More likely her next prison,” Johnny remarked, materializing next to her.
“Not my problem anymore,” V scoffed bitterly, but the pit in her stomach twisted. As much as she hated it and hated herself for it, she still cared about So Mi. She still wanted her to get the cure she needed, still wanted her to find freedom after spending life under the NUSA’s thumb.
Objectively, So Mi’s predicament was sad. Also objectively, she had completely screwed V over. V had the right to be angry. She should be angry. But the truth was, all V felt was this wrongness inside at how things turned out. Songbird had escaped, but to an uncertain future. Myers would likely be on a path of vengeance. Reed was dead.
And V was back at square one with less time than ever.
“Never wanna see this place again,” she said, voice flat.
Johnny glitched out of her sight. “Best tie up your loose ends, then.”
In theory, it was a reminder she didn’t need. But hearing it gave her that last bit of resolve to get off her ass. She had a reward to collect from her favorite fixer, after all.
Heavy Hearts, one of the few fancy spots in Dogtown, was dog shit, as far as V was concerned. The Ancient Egyptian theme was tacky as hell, the music was repetitive, and the space was too big and sprawling, with nowhere she could relax without looking over her shoulder. To top it off, the drinks were watered down, at least for their non-VIPs. Guess when you’re the only bar around, you get away with that kind of BS. The dealer in the bathroom probably got more business than the bartenders, anyway. Still, she couldn’t believe what passed for upscale in this hellhole.
Having little patience for more disappointment today, V passed the bar and strode for the elevator, bumping shoulders with a muscled gonk in an Us Cracks tank that jutted out in her path.
“Fuckin’ whore!” he shouted after her. Though the club music was pounding in the speakers, the room had taken a sharp breath. How long could it hold?
V gritted her teeth and turned to the hulking mass of steroids and second-hand chrome. Angry eyes met hers. He looked her up and down as the beat of the music pulsed three, four times, before he crossed his arms and looked down at his feet.
So he had some fuckin’ sense after all.
She felt multiple sets of eyes on her as she entered the elevator, like lasers converging on the back of her head. If they were confused, frightened, pissed, she didn’t know, and she didn’t care enough to look back again. Not when she was here for something else.
V knew Mr. Hands was expecting her. At his door, she swallowed in anticipation, and was about to knock when the door slid open. Behind it revealed the dapper fixer. The sight of his soft-looking beard and his thick metallic fingers stroking it had her heart pounding far more than the confrontation downstairs.
“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite merc.”
“Mr. Hands. What’ve you got for me?” she asked, feigning indifference to his flattery, as she always had to in front of him. He led her inside.
“V, you’re Dorothy, or so I thought. Dropped into a foreign land, you’ve faced many obstacles and overcome them to see Hansen’s Emerald City.”
“Metaphor’s esoteric, at best. Where’s this goin’?” she bit before cringing inwardly at her own harshness. He didn’t seem insulted. Knowing the little she did about him, he might have appreciated her directness.
“Only toward a happy conclusion. You’ve labored diligently and earned your reward - your very own silver slippers.”
“By ‘silver slippers’ you mean…”
“A fitting end to our tale. Something that will spirit you home safely. You’ll know what I mean when you see what I’m talking about. But first, tea?” he asked, rising from the synth-leather seats. Two cups were already prepared by the teapot on the long, stylish console table.
V narrowed her eyes. Hands was not one to extend hospitality without an ulterior motive. “Is there…something more you needed from me?”
He chuckled darkly. That voice would be the death of her, she thought, crossing her arms to hide the way her palms were starting to sweat.
“You see, V, I had the perfect metaphor at the ready. Enter you, Dorothy. Exit Hansen, the thwarted Wizard.”
“And you?”
“Why, the narrator, of course.”
“Figured as much.”
Mr. Hands lingered at the one-way window overlooking the club. “It goes without saying I enjoy the fruits of your labor, V, though seldom have I seen your work in motion. I got a taste watching you tread a war path into Heavy Hearts, more a bulldog than a Dorothy, equal parts bark and bite.”
V frowned, eyes roaming his back down to his slim waist despite the anger rising in her throat. “Are you asking me to justify myself, Hands?”
“No,” he answered simply, placing their teacups and saucers on the table in front of them before taking a seat. That one syllable defused her; she believed him. Hands crossed his legs elegantly. “But I did have a word of wisdom at the ready for you that I’m afraid may no longer apply.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, sitting a respectable few feet away from him.
“Be wary of witches, the wicked and the good.” V’s eyes lingered on his hands as he paused for a sip of tea. His hand dwarfed the cup held to his lips.
“A little late on that one, yeah.”
“Indeed,” was all he said. A long but not uncomfortable silence followed. Hands sipped his tea, and V pensively watched her own cup and the steam swirling upwards from its surface.
There had been too many witches. Myers was the obvious one. She played people like chess pieces, sacrificing as many pawns as needed if it meant an eventual checkmate. Everyone along the way was expendable. But could any different be said for the witches beneath the President’s thumb?
Maybe Reed had been different after all, sentenced to death by principle and loyalty. He used whatever means necessary to serve his country, regardless of how broken its morals were. How could he not see that honor was dead in this world?
And then there was So Mi, who played V for a fool from the start. She was the schemer in shadows, emerging from the dark just in time to flip the board and smash it.
Until the end, that is, when Songbird confessed her lies and burdened V with her first real choice without false pretenses. It would have been easier on V if she’d thought killing Reed was the only option they both had for survival. Songbird could have let her hold onto that hope and blasted off to the moon anyway, leaving V to wonder when she’d fulfill her side of the deal. But had it finally been too much for her conscience? Maybe Songbird thought her admission would be her redemption.
It wasn’t.
“I won’t be seeing you again, Hands.”
He nodded. “I was expecting as much. Your business in Dogtown has reached its end.”
She swallowed. “More’n that. You ever wonder what business I even had here?”
“Following the threads spinning your tale, I can assume it relates to the Space Force One crash landing. As for your motivations…” he trailed, as if pondering whether to show his hand. “I can only guess it has something to do with the shard you lifted from Konpeki Plaza.”
Anyone else putting two and two together might have surprised her, but not Mr. Hands. He was more resourceful than anyone she’d met, even knowing about her behavioural implant. He made fixers like the late Dexter DeShawn look like a total joke.
“Yeah. Well. The relic–the shard–it’s killin’ me. Has been for a while, but I’d been hanging on by a shred of hope.” Mr. Hands listened, and it surprised V. He was not exactly her idea of a listening ear, much less a shoulder to cry on. “A mission I just finished, it was my last real shot at a cure. But I had to make a choice.” I let myself believe an obvious con and traded my life for a manipulative liar. “Now I’m at zero with less time. Happen to know anything about removing soul-killin’ shards, the brain-eatin’ kind?”
Hands said nothing, just studied her. His teacup, no longer steaming, he held in front of his mouth, obscuring what V knew was a taut, thin line under his full, curved mustache. But his eyes remained forward, on her, searching. She imagined he was just humoring her, maybe feeling like owed her some time, given that she basically handed him Dogtown on a silver platter. Normally, knowing that she was simply being indulged would shut her up, shame her. Listening wasn’t his job, and Hands was all about the biz.
But fuck the rules. Fixers supplied gigs, but ironically they never actually fixed anything. That was V’s job. And in her grief, she found herself not giving a shit any longer about the roles she was supposed to play. That of the glorified janitor with pipe dreams of becoming a legend. How much was the biz worth sacrificing for? She’d let a ripper peel her fuckin’ face off while she was barely sedated. She’d crawled through sewers, been shot at by military helicopters and drones, worn the face of other people while she had a whole other person inside her, slowly devouring her mind. She was about to die. She could fucking take for a change.
She looked up and broke their silence. “How’d you earn the name Hands, anyway?”
Her query was met with a brief pause and a single lifted brow.
“V,” he said, his low timbre sending currents through her. “We both know that is not the question you wish to ask me.” He set the cup down in its saucer and leaned forward. “Now, perhaps without meaning to, you have just provided me with some very interesting, possibly lucrative, intel. My favorite kind. We both know that information comes at a price. Suddenly, the silver slippers outside no longer seem proper compensation for what you have laid bare.”
V’s breathing stopped. How long had her cover been blown? His implication was clear, which means he’d assessed V’s interest, probably long before this conversation. God, what if he knew the entire time she was harboring attraction to him? She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Johnny materialized behind the fixer, leaning over his head on the back of the couch. “You hearin’ what I’m hearin’?”
“Fuck off, Johnny.”
“It’s just nice you finally found someone willin’ to fuck you.” V resisted the urge to roll her eyes, cheeks burning, certainly bright red at this point. Johnny paused, rubbed his stubble. “Seriously, though? I say fuckin’ go for it.”
“You, of all people, think I should fuck Hands? The ex-corpo who just seized control of Dogtown?”
Mr. Hands stared intently at V, watching her internal struggle with amusement coloring his features. He was smirking. That was new, she thought with a swallow. Mr. Hands was far from her most expressive fixer. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued by what other surprises lay beneath the surface.
“Jesus. Your heart literally just skipped a beat. Barf.” V’s face was heating up. “Yeah, corpo trash he might have been. Usurper he might be, only thanks to you. But, V, come on, you haven’t gotten laid since I got here. You’re tense. Depressed as shit. Have a good fuck and get your head on straight. That’s my vote.”
“An attitude adjustment,” she pondered with a deep breath.
“Sure. And for fuck’s sake, we’re sharing a head, you gonk. I know you’ve been fantasizing about that beard.”
God fucking damn you, Johnny.
“Believe me, he has,” he said sarcastically, and glitched out of view.
V cleared her throat. “And what kind of compensation didja have in mind?” she asked out loud.
She finally sipped her tea. It was still warm. Not hot enough to emit steam, but warm enough that it satisfied. She chanced a glance at the table, scanning the saucer with her optics. Of course, it was a heated dish. She imagined Hands, busy at his desk, neglecting his cup as he typed away at his computer, only to find his drink cold when the liquid passed his lips. It would frustrate him, but even in private he wouldn’t let it show. That said, it wouldn’t happen again. He’d procure a whole new tea set, matching, probably straight from Japan. Probably costing a fortune, but he would settle for nothing less than excellence in all things. And he’d make sure it included tech such that he’d never taste the bitter disappointment of room-temperature tea ever again.
Hands seemed the type to do something like that, anyway.
So, she knew he wasn’t fucking around when he said, “You’re dying, you say. Your last chance blasted off to the moon, leaving you in the charred remains of your final hope.”
She winced.
He leaned toward her, capturing her chin between his chromed thumb and forefinger, forcing their eyes to meet. “You need a reminder that you’re still alive.”
“And you’ll…provide that reminder.”
He caught the quiver in her voice and his eyes glittered. “I must warn you, V. I won’t be gentle.”
“Fuck gentle.”
He leaned back with a raised brow, spreading his arms across the back of the sofa.
"So it’s settled.” He patted his lap. “Over my knee, V.”
Johnny glitched into existence, perched on the opposite end of Hands’ couch smoking an imaginary cig. “Damn. Nearly got me purring."
“Not the time for commentary.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll fuck off.” He looked at her earnestly. “Have fun, V.” And then he was gone.
She could feel it. Johnny had retreated to wherever he went in the back of her mind. It was a deeper recess than he usually occupied. He was trying to give her privacy, she knew, but without his presence she felt oddly vulnerable and alone. The fixer across from her almost intimidated her now, like he was a panther stalking her in the jungle.
But she did want this, badly. Her body yearned for it, the same way it yearned for a gunfight: against all reason. Her mind needed a break from the shroud of hopelessness that hung like smog in the Night City sky.
It didn’t feel real, in a way. She’d been attracted to Mr. Hands the moment she heard his voice over the holo. He oozed confidence and swagger, and it was matched with a sharp intellect and, most surprisingly, kindness. Yes, he tried to keep that under wraps, but every gig she finished for him was met with a warmer reception when she was able to take a diplomatic or principled approach. That didn’t go without notice in a place like Night City, much less Dogtown, and it endeared him to her, even if he didn't know it.
Meeting in person only made it worse. Thankfully, he did most of the talking that day. She’d already pinned him as an older man, but seeing how well he wore his age had her weak in the knees. Since then, in the sparing moments her mind wandered, she fantasized of running her hands through his slicked-back, greying hair, and ached to know what his beard and mustache might feel like against her hot skin. But she never expected that to be anything more than an embarrassing daydream. He was a professional, so was she, and despite his tendency to wax poetic, he was closed off entirely–strictly about the biz.
Until now. It puzzled her.
On shaky legs, V inched closer to Mr. Hands on the sofa. He silently offered her his hand, eyes bright with anticipation in the lowly lit room. She slid her palm into his, and he guided her to rest her upper body on the arm of the sofa, knees together on the other side of his lap.
“Like this?” she exhaled shakily, turning her head to look at him.
“Splendid,” he said candidly, eyes sliding over her smooth, toned body. The music below added charge to the erotic atmosphere with its slow, sensual beat. V could imagine the people below on the dance floor, sweaty bodies writhing to its rhythm, completely unaware of what was happening just beyond the overlooking windows of the club.
“Now, surely you know what a safe-word is. I want you to pick one. If at any point you get overwhelmed,” – was that tenderness in his voice? – “You say it. We’ll stop, or find a more…mutually enjoyable activity.”
“Okay.” She was getting restless, wanting to skip the administrative bits of this odd arrangement. Heat was already pooling at her core, and she was painfully aware of how displayed she was for him right now, belly pressed against his thighs, ass up. It’d be so easy for him to–
“What’ll it be, V?” Mr. Hands said.
His low command made her shiver. “Samurai.”
Deep within she felt the shadow of a chuckle. Johnny was still there, and oddly, it put her at ease.
“Interesting choice,” Mr. Hands mused. Maybe he didn't expect someone her age to know a band that reached its peak over 50 years ago. “Shall we begin?”
“Mhmm,” V hummed, squirming against him. The warmth of his body, even through his suit and her clothes, was getting too much to bear. She needed him to touch her. Why wasn’t he touching her yet? His arms were still draped along the back of the sofa, and it was driving her mad.
“Say it.”
God, she loved the way he was talking to her. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
The words sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and then another one came as his hand struck her bottom. She gasped. It didn’t hurt, strangely enough. It just surprised her, despite how firm it was.
“How does that feel?” he asked, rubbing his hand over her clothed bum. He was so close to her centre…
“Really nice… Do it again?”
He chuckled. “Yes. Many more times for you, V. Unfortunately, you have layers that will…obscure the full experience. Unbutton your pants for me.”
V leaned back onto her knees and undid the top button and zipper of her gold street pants. Mr. Hands peeled them down over her hips and thighs until they were bunched up at her knees, the tight fabric keeping her legs together. He left her underwear untouched. His eyes glided over her legs, settling on their apex where thin black fabric covered her sex. The only evidence of his arousal was the hunger in his eyes and the slight flare of his nostrils.
She eased over his lap again, arching her back slightly so her pert ass lifted toward him.
“Delicious,” he said. “But you’ll look delectable in red. How many can you take, I wonder?”
V groaned desperately. It earned her a first sharp spank against her bare cheeks.
"Settle down, V, or you’ll be raw before the count even starts.” His hand rubbed over her ass, and he squeezed her thigh indulgently. “Let’s say… Twelve. You’ll be responsible for counting down. How does that sound?”
“I can take more,” V countered.
He smiled a flash of gold teeth. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
He smacked her. Hard. The force thrusted her forward, and she cried out. In pain, surprise, or excitement, she wasn’t sure.
“Start counting, V.”
“Twelve.”
“That's right.” Smack.
“Eleven.”
Smack.
“T-ten.”
Mr. Hands doled out four more spankings, and V counted each one.
“Lovely, V. Impressive as always,” he said, rubbing her ass and thighs.
V closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his hand smoothing over her. He was warm and soft, despite the chrome, and his large hands felt so soothing against her. She ached for more of his touch. She was painfully wet, and she was certain he could tell, but his hand didn’t so much as brush over her centre. She whined when another stroke neglected her throbbing core yet again, and pushed her face into the arm of the sofa.
“Breathe, V.” He guided her through two deep breaths, and on the exhale of the second one, he spanked her again.
“Ah!” she cried. “Five.”
She bit her lip as his other hand curled gently around her throat. Her eyes drifted closed in anticipation, but there was no grip, no pressure, only a securing presence. A strange feeling tugged at her chest in a way a chokehold never could have.
Hands tutted in feigned displeasure as he rubbed the heel of his palm into her bum. “So tense. Do you like my hand on your throat, V? Does it settle you?”
“Yeah,” she moaned, trying to keep emotion from coloring her voice. Her legs started to shake. “Need more.”
Thick chrome fingers traced the black line of fabric along her hips, and she jerked when he reached a sensitive spot by her hip bone. “Soon. Only good girls get rewarded. You’re almost there.”
For the next few minutes, Mr. Hands only rubbed her burning cheeks, giving her time to breathe. At one point, his hand skated further, past the hem of her shirt, for him to massage her lower back. His every movement was deliberate and measured, reminding her that, for the time being, she was in his control, never minding that V was full of military-grade cyberware.
Even an imitation of surrender wasn't easy, it turned out, but she would try. Though her body was a weapon and protected her well, V couldn't deny her judgment was betraying her as of late. It was putting her into dangerous situations that yielded little benefit. But she somehow trusted in her battered heart that she was safe here with Mr. Hands. Unlike most people she worked with, he had always treated V like an equal instead of brainless hired muscle. And he had been vulnerable, risking his safety by revealing his identity to her in person. It was a gesture that spoke volumes of the trust he placed in her. Maybe this was why, although she was strewn across his lap, her ass raw and at his mercy, she felt no shame and no sense of degradation in the act. In this room, the pain was becoming its own sort of high because it was him giving it to her.
V also reminded herself that, although unusual, their current arrangement was technically to pay a debt. There was simplicity in the concept of transaction. Maybe that could be enough for her.
It nagged at her, though. Quid pro quos hadn’t exactly served her well with Songbird or with Myers, but it was all she knew now. Starting with Konpeki Plaza, when Jackie died and she was shot in the fucking head by the fucking fixer. Fuck, she was stupid, she–
Hush, a voice inside told her. That ain't what this is.
Johnny?
At the same time, another firm slap met the junction of her bum and thighs. The pain left her breathless, and her mind went quiet once more.
“Focus, V,” Mr. Hands said.
“Four.”
The thumb against her throat stroked back and forth. “Is it too much?” he asked.
“I can take it,” V breathed, eyes drifting closed.
She could hear the smirk in his chuckle. “Almost there, V. Let go.”
The next slaps came in quicker succession, alternating between V’s left and right sides, matching the techno beat pulsing through the walls. Each strike of the hand brought V to deeper euphoria as endorphins flooded her system. To her, all that existed now was this room, this sofa, the warm, strong body beneath her, his hands owning her, rewarding her surrender. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d given up control like this so willingly. The relief of it brought tears to her eyes.
“One,” V sobbed, sagging into him.
Hands released a sigh, as if the tension leaving her body was having the same effect on him.
“Well done, V. You look incredible, all hot and red,” Mr. Hands purred. V bit her lip.
Taking hold of her hips, he pulled her up until she was situated between his spread thighs, her own legs restricted by her tight pants still bunched up at her knees. He wiped at the single tear running down her cheek with a thumb.
“And you took it so well, though it's hardly a surprise.”
V’s cheeks warmed at the compliment, as they always did when they came from him. He was very free with his praise, doling it out in some capacity during most of their conversations, but it never failed to get her flustered.
This time, however, when her gaze averted his own, he took her jaw in his hand. “Look at me.”
She did. Behind the chrome, his deep blue eyes carried a warmth that she was not expecting, and in her vulnerable state she could hardly bear it.
“I think you deserve a reward for your performance,” he said, stroking her cheek with his smooth knuckles.
V leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.
Trying her best to keep her voice steady, she said, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
He moved a hand to cup her wet heat, and V’s eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You were so responsive to the spankings. Moaning and writhing for me.” He ground his palm against her, and V pressed downwards, trying to rub herself harder against him. Though his voice remained even, his hardness was straining against the luxurious fabric of his pants. “I wonder what you’ll sound like when I’m inside of you. When I’m making you come on my cock.”
“Hands…” she moaned, writhing against his palm tucked between her legs. Her wetness slid against him easily, and the thin line of her thong offered barely any friction.
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
He blinked, emotion flashing over his mature features for the briefest second before regaining his composure. “V, dear, you hardly need to ask,” he murmured as their mouths met in a slow, sensual kiss. His tongue carried hints of mint and tobacco. His beard was impossibly soft.
V’s hands wandered, one landing under his jacket against his ribs, the other taking purchase in his hair as their lips and tongues moved in tandem. They sighed in unison as she explored him with her fingers and grinded against him.
“How do you want me?” she breathed, mouths centimeters apart.
The palm of his hand rolled against her, making her throw her head back with a groan. “Eager to please, are we? I'm afraid you won't be leaving my lap until you’ve come for me.” He sighed a chuckle, breath hot against her throat. Goosebumps raised on her arms and the back of her neck in anticipation. “Though, judging by the way you're soaking my hand, I doubt you mind that requirement.”
“I want to feel you,” V said, rolling her hips back and forth slowly.
“Show me how much you want it.”
Gripping his shirt, V slid against his hand at a steadily increasing pace. Soon, she was panting. “I need you inside me. Please,” she whined, her climax building.
“Since you asked so politely,” he sighed, pushing her thong to the side and entering her with two thick, chrome fingers. “You sound so pretty when you beg, V. A symphony to my ears. Every breath, every moan, it’s a feast for a starving man.”
Maybe he was starving, indeed. The way he fucked her with his fingers and licked his lips supported the hypothesis. Stilling her hips, shaky fingers fumbled at the buttons of his trousers.
“Not yet,” Mr. Hands said through gritted teeth, covering her hands with the one not occupied inside her.
He likes this, she thought. Torturing himself with anticipation. He was clearly getting off on tending to V, but making himself wait must be part of the thrill, too.
V decided she would make the wait worthwhile. Lifting from his lap, she tugged her pants off her legs and straddled one of his clothed thighs. As if craving her, his hand reconnected with her slick core. She slung her arms over his shoulders and pressed down until his hand was pinned between her and his thigh, and then she resumed grinding into him, hard, like she was riding his cock instead of just his fingers. To show him what he was missing.
Her eyes met his half-lidded gaze, and she could practically see the stars in his eyes. She bit her lip to stifle a moan at how needy he was becoming.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, tugging her lip free with his thumb. “Let me hear you.” His voice was mesmerizing, thick as it was with desire. V didn't think there was anything she could refuse him right now.
The next movement of her hips, V whined.
“Yes, that’s right. Good girl,” Hands said. How did he know before she did, that those two syllables would set her body alight? Had he spied on her innermost thoughts, uncovering facets of V’s mind she hadn’t known existed? “Come for me,” he whispered, pressing firm circles against her clit.
It didn't take long. Her orgasm crashed over her, rendering her mind blissfully empty, save for the pleasure radiating outwards from her core in waves. It had been so long since her last release, it felt like a dam of unmet desires and unfelt emotions broke free. The heavy bass of the club music pulsed below, grounding her in reality. Mr. Hands kept up the pace of his motions as her walls contracted around his fingers. His thumb on her clit and a firm tug on her g-spot sent her over the edge again and she came with a sob, burying her face into his shoulder.
He kissed up and down her neck while she settled, slumping against him. V shuddered as he pulled his hand free, and with her eyes closed she heard him wipe her slick onto his pant leg. The idea of his suit being soiled for the rest of the night made her dizzy.
Holding her close in his lap, Mr. Hands softly moaned as his tongue pressed against the skin below her ear. Finally, V thought, it seemed he was ready to stop denying himself. She slipped a hand into his undone pants, sighing at the feel of his thick cock that was hard and ready for her. She licked her palm and slid it up and down his length. His body went rigid beneath her and he drew a shuddering breath.
“I see the kitten has found her growl,” he murmured against her throat. Gripping her thighs, he flipped them so he was pinning her to the couch. For a man with decades on her, he certainly didn’t lack strength. V wet her lips, admiring how his eyes seemed to glow with lust in the low lit room.
They discarded the remainder of their clothes over the back of the couch, and as soon as she was bared to him, Hands’ mouth suckled at her hardened nipples, torturing her with his tongue as his soft beard brushed against the sensitive underside of her breast. His own bare chest, lined with cardiovascular cyberware and a dusting of greying hair, was rising and falling with heavy breaths.
“How–how are you still not fucking me yet?” V panted.
He looked up at her from where he was leaving rosy marks on her chest. “I am a man of patience, V. A good fixer won’t last long in this business unless they know when to wait and when the moment is ideal to strike.”
“Is my naked body not ideal enough for you, Hands?” she replied with an easy smile. Smack . V gasped in delight. Her thigh burned at the slap, reigniting the sting of their earlier activity.
“I believe I have made it perfectly clear, almost egregiously so, how enraptured I am with your body,” he said, taking a nipple into his mouth. As his tongue swirled the tight bud, V arched her back into him.
“You’re being a little gentlemanly for my taste,” V said. Mr. Hands released her nipple with a pop as he lined his cock up with her entrance.
“Oh, V,” he said, sinking into her in one fluid motion. “When you leave here today, gentlemanly is the last word you’ll use to describe me.”
She cried out when he bottomed out in her heat. God , he was thick. She felt so full, and the way he stretched her felt so good as he began to move inside her. He barely gave her time to adjust before he was pumping slowly and deeply into her, making her moan with every stroke as chrome fingers tangled into her hair at the base of her skull.
“H-Hands!” she cried when he hit her sweet spot.
He continued his steady pace, hot breath against her ear. “Wade,” he whispered softly. She didn’t miss the subtle plea in his voice.
“Wade…” she moaned, testing his name on her tongue. She liked it a lot. It suited him. But she couldn’t help but wonder why he had volunteered this intimate knowledge. A deeper part of her hoped he wouldn’t regret it later. As she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close, he groaned into her ear. She loved the way his body enveloped her so completely, like he craved this connection just as much as she did, and yet it confused her, because it didn’t feel like just fucking. But if it wasn’t just fucking, she didn’t know what it was. She just knew she’d never been touched like this before.
Mr. Hands lifted himself onto his elbows, looking her in the eyes. The new angle somehow made every thrust even more pleasurable. He was stroking nerve endings she didn’t even know she had. “You’re getting so deliciously tight, V. Think you can come again?”
“Would that make me a good girl?” V asked playfully. His nostrils flared.
But for the first time, he didn’t have a response ready. All he could manage was an affirming groan as he continued his pace. Sweat was building on his brow, stray locks of greying hair sticking to his forehead. He was hanging onto control by a thread, she realized. He’d set his sights on making her come again.
And he thought she couldn’t call him a gentleman after this? The man was clearly unhinged, maybe as fucked in the head as she was.
As she came with a gasp, she was glad she’d known someone as fucked up as him before she died.
He grunted, somehow still keeping pace as her walls spasmed around him, threatening to push him out with the strength of her climax.
“Come for me, Wade,” she urged, stroking the side of his jaw through his soft, disheveled beard. “If you resist any longer I’ll throw you down on the floor and do it myself.”
With that, his jaw slackened and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. One, two, three pumps and she felt his pulsing cock spill into her, the feeling of closeness the nearest she had to the holy.
And like Adam and Eve in the garden, when the new world was innocent and simple, they lay naked and spent in each other's arms. No thoughts of tomorrow, no thoughts beyond how good they felt to each other, and how good it was to just be.
How divine it was to be alive, breathing in the heady scent of another.
With her ear to his heartbeat and his hand tracing lazy lines on her back, a lump formed in her throat. She wanted to live. She wanted to so fucking bad that it hurt. She wasn’t ready for this clusterfuck called life to be over, not when she was still discovering every day how much she didn’t know and hadn’t experienced.
A soft kiss pressed to her forehead and she looked up to deep blue eyes. “I’ll ping some contacts over the next few days,” he said, brushing strands of hair from her face.
“Why?” V asked, voicing one word in place of a million questions.
He smiled. “It’s the narrator’s job to deliver a happy ending. Dorothy only makes it home because the narrator says so.”
“It’s the writer who does that,” she replied grimly.
He arched a brow, unaffected. “You’re above fatalism, V.”
V groaned. “You’re right. Just… scared. I can’t get my hopes up again.” She nestled into his chest to hide her face.
They remained quiet for a time. The burdens of the world past his door would return with a vengeance, but for a few more moments V could enjoy the rare indulgence of a comforting embrace.
“So…he live up to his name?” Johnny asked, materializing in the leather passenger seat of the Quadra Sport R-7.
“Huh?” V asked, making some final adjustments to the seat settings. She was driving this beauty out of Dogtown immediately. It was honestly a miracle the sports car hadn’t been vandalized or stolen while it sat waiting outside the club.
“Earth to V,” Johnny said. “Fucked you stupid, I see. Not two brain cells left to rub together–”
“Shut up, Johnny,” she said automatically, barely listening as she configured her radio station preferences on the car’s UI.
A lit cigarette glitched into his cyborg hand. “At least you’re chilled now. And you got some sexy wheels.”
V revved the engine with a grin, impressed by the powerful sound and the way it rumbled through her. Could Mr. Hands hear it from upstairs, she wondered.
They were quiet as they drove through Dogtown, passing the heavily guarded gates and eventually leaving Pacifica. She tuned the radio to 88.9, Pacific Dreams, and took in the bright lights of the city as they travelled further north.
“Johnny?” she asked. With her eyes fixed forward, she’d nearly forgotten he was next to her.
“Yeah, V?”
She swallowed. “Don’t need to talk about it or anythin’. But… thanks.”
“Sure, kid.” He cleared his throat. “I’m proud of ya’. Finally put yourself first for a change,” he said.
A blush crept up her cheeks, whether at the praise or at the recollection of her rendezvous, she couldn’t discern. “Yeah. Yeah, guess I did.”
They hit a red, and she turned to look at him. She loved how he could fill any seat like a lounge chair. “Glad to see I’m finally rubbing off on ya.” He paused. “Think…you should make a habit of it. Prioritizin’ yourself,” he said, his tone serious, heavy with implication.
“I’ll get right on that. Maybe stop at Regina’s on the way back,” she joked.
He flashed his sharp canine in a grin, shaking his head.
And don’t be afraid to hope, he added silently.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but the light turned green, so she swallowed them down and kept driving.
I won’t.