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The Relic was glitching hard, but unlike the usual pain, your nerves were humming with pleasure.
Eugh, fuck—Johnny, this is so gross.
"Didn't try very hard to stop me, kid," he said dryly. "Use more spit."
Your lips were wrapped around his old Malorian 3516, your head bobbing. Your tongue swirled around the barrel, and the feeling of the ridges against your soft inner cheeks made you moan.
The earlier parts of the evening came only in flashes. You could make out buying a bottle of lube at the nearest vendor, and beer at another, using your leg implants to jump to the tops of buildings, and emptying the rounds from Johnny's old gun, each bullet falling to the concrete with a soft ping.
"Had an itch to scratch, so to speak," Johnny said, as you put the pieces together.
Your vision blurred again, fading in and out, and you could sense his impatience. Your body buzzed with electricity, from every 'ganic nerve to chrome panel.
You couldn't believe this is what he did with his freedom. You knew he liked to have his fun in your body, but this time he let up enough control so you could watch, and feel.
You were so out of it, blitzed in every way, you could practically see Johnny's metal arm sliding the barrel along your slick cunt, and your clothes were torn. He teased your clit with soft, quick vertical swipes, parting your lips, and you let out a soft whimper. You both couldn't look away.
This was so gross and stupid, your bare ass on a roof, half naked and cold, touching yourself and seeing visions of a long dead, twisted old man.
"Then stop me, V," Johnny said snidely.
Your hand moved faster, mashing the hard steel against your sensitive nerves and delicate skin. You had a perfect view of your own hole, and Johnny used your other hand to hold up your leg.
"You're such an ass," you said through grit teeth, pussy clenching around nothing.
"Keep complaining and we oughtta do that too," he chuckled, just as the tip sunk inside you.
You panted softly, your core buzzing. It slid in so easily. You didn't expect him to be so gentle at first, he had prepared you so well. You took in more, feeling the ridges of the weapon kiss your velvety insides, imagining Johnny's veiny cock. You could feel his pleasure at that thought, his pride swelling and throbbing as if it were your own.
"Doin so good, thought I'd have to force your legs apart…"
"I hate you," you whined, pace quickening.
"Eat shit, princess."
The rockerboy glitched in front of you, breathing heavily, eyeing your body and stroking his cock. You admired his pretty member in the dim glow of the city, your pussy tightening around his weapon. You defiled his gun, all while wearing his shades, and his dog tags—
"Fuck, that's hot," you moaned, Johnny's voice growling the words in unison. He went rougher, fucking you up to the hilt, until you couldn't take any more.
"Johnny—" Your facade was cracking. You couldn't pretend you didn't want it, as insane as his idea was. It felt so good, he was so hot, and he'd gotten you so drunk when he took over your body earlier…
"Keep going," he muttered, jerking himself off frantically, wishing he was inside you. Fuck, he was inside you. His gun, his soul, fuck it. You were a snug fit.
Your eyes rolled back as the barrel brushed your sweet spot, the friction so delicious. The trigger guard kissed your clit with each thrust, heat searing in your inner thighs, heart racing.
Even behind your eyelids, all you could see was Johnny, rutting into your tight cunt over and over again.
"Faster," you gasped, your hole tightening around the gun, aching to be filled.
It didn't really feel like you were touching yourself—Johnny was fucking you. You could practically feel his warm breath, his cock sliding in and out, his hands cradling your face.
"More, V," he groaned. "Keep goin', that's it…"
You writhed as you reached your peak, hips rocking. Johnny pumped his cock as you painted his weapon with cum, his mouth hanging open as he desperately humped his hand, orgasming with you.
You let out your cries, the busy Night City streets bustling below you, the usual cacophony of cars and chatter and gunfire obscuring the sounds. You came hard around Johnny Silverhand, chanting his name, your own echoing around in your skull, just as desperately.