Pyramid Song

V couldn't speak yet, only pulled Judy up by the shoulders, kissing her fiercely—tasting herself, tasting Judy, tasting the metallic tang of Night City clinging to their skin. Her hands slid down Judy's back, tracing the dip of her spine to the swell of her ass, pulling her closer until their hips aligned. The friction was immediate, electric. Judy groaned against V's mouth, grinding down instinctively. "My turn," V growled.

Judy moved up and sat on Vs face without hesitation, thighs pressing against her temples. V grinned at the sudden shift in control, her hands gripping Judy's hips as she buried her face between her legs. The taste was familiar—salt and desire—a flavor she craved more than any synth-weed or synthahol. Judy's gasp echoed off the bare concrete walls as V's tongue found her clit, circling with deliberate pressure before flattening against her in broad, hungry strokes. One hand braced against the headboard, Judy arched her back, her breath catching in ragged hitches. "Fuck, V—yes—just like that."

V hummed against her, the vibration drawing a sharp cry. Judy’s fingers tangled in V’s sweat-damp hair, pulling her closer. Outside, the neon glow from Heywood’s billboards painted streaks of violet and acid-green across their skin, turning sweat-slick curves into liquid light. The distant wail of NCPD sirens mingled with Judy’s moans—a chaotic symphony V knew by heart.

Judy’s thighs tightened, trembling. V could feel the tension coiling in her muscles, the hitch in her breath signaling the edge. She slowed deliberately, circling lightly with her tongue until Judy whimpered. "Don’t you dare stop," Judy gasped, her voice raw. V laughed low, muffled against her, then doubled down—sucking hard.

The sound Judy made was primal, half-scream, half-sob. Her hips jerked forward, grinding against V’s mouth as release tore through her. V held her steady, drinking in every shudder, every gasp, until Judy collapsed sideways onto the mattress, limbs loose and breath ragged.

Silence settled, thick and intimate, broken only by their slowing breaths and the distant thrum of Night City’s perpetual heartbeat. Judy traced idle circles on V’s stomach, her skin cooling in the apartment’s stale air. "Still think I work too much?" V murmured, turning her head to catch Judy’s lazy smile.

"Maybe," Judy teased, her fingertip brushing the fresh bruise on V’s ribs. "But you make convincing arguments." She shifted, resting her head on V’s shoulder, the scent of sex and cheap synth-cotton sheets clinging to them. Neon light bled through the blinds—acid-green from the afterlife bar sign across the street—painting stripes across Judy’s back like a tiger’s markings.

V traced one with a calloused thumb. "Could stay like this forever." The words slipped out soft, ****. Outside, a gunshot echoed—distant, routine—but here, tangled in damp sheets, it felt like another world.

Judy propped herself up on an elbow, her eyes catching the flicker of a holographic fish ad outside. "Forever's a long time in Night City." She leaned down, her breath warm against V's ear. "But right now? Yeah." Her fingers drifted lower, tracing the curve of V's hipbone. "You still owe me that dinner at that new noodle stall in Kabuki. The one with the real pork."

V groaned, pulling Judy closer. "Scavs shot up the place yesterday."

"Excuses." Judy nipped V's earlobe. "Find another. I want dumplings and your undivided attention." Her hand slid between V's thighs, fingertips brushing damp skin. "No guns. No Johnny."

"I can work with the no gun part but Johnny's kinda stuck with me. For now."

Judy's fingers found her slick entrance, teasing slow circles that made V's hips jerk. "Then tell him to keep his commentary to himself." She pressed a finger inside, knuckle-deep, drawing a sharp gasp from V. "Or I'll find a way to fry that engram."

Outside, the neon pulse of **** bathed the room in shifting hues—toxic yellow from a Trauma Team billboard, blood-red from a Joytoy hologram. The light caught the sweat beading on Judy's collarbone as she leaned down, her breath hot against V's jaw. "Focus on me," she murmured, adding a second finger. The stretch burned sweetly, chasing away thoughts of chrome and corpses. V arched, biting back a moan as Judy's thumb found her clit, rubbing tight, insistent circles.

The rhythm built—a counterpoint to the distant thud of bass bleeding up from Lizzie's Bar below. Each thrust of Judy's fingers echoed the city's heartbeat, each gasp swallowed by the hum of faulty climate control. V’s world narrowed to the slide of skin, the bite of nails at her hip, the scent of Judy’s sweat mixed with gunpowder residue still clinging to V’s own skin. She fisted the sheets, knuckles white, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled low and tight. "Close," she managed, voice ragged.

Judy’s lips grazed V’s throat. "Then let go." Her thumb pressed harder, circles tightening, fingers curling *just so*. The climax ripped through V—silent at first, a breathless tension snapping into shuddering release. Her back arched off the mattress, muscles locking as electric fire flooded her veins. Judy held her through it, fingers gentle now, stroking through aftershocks until V collapsed, spent and gasping.