Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   The Darken Woods was well named, thought Jasmine Arivadam—there wasn’t much light here.  The old-growth trees grew over the forest path until they formed a green tunnel.  The trees were close together, almost as if they were trying to form a wall that would force adventurers and the unwise onto the path, where an ambush was simple and all but certain. 

   Jasmine, however, wasn’t afraid of the Darken Woods.  She was a sorceress, a young half-elf who wanted to make her mark on her world, and while the deep woods might frighten other people her age—and those wise enough to realize that the Woods was not a place for the inexperienced, or a place one ventured alone—it didn’t frighten her.  It was an attitude that had led not a few acquaintances of Jasmine to claim she had more magic than brains. 

   Jasmine, however, dared the Woods to do its worst, which would have just confirmed the opinion of her friends.  She walked confidently down the path, her blue wizard’s robes swishing against her legs, her soft leather boots making little noise as she moved.  She stopped for a moment to take a drink from the canteen at her belt, then took off the starry, pointed wizard hat to wipe the sweat from her forehead and pull her white hair out of her face.  The hat, she knew, was rather cliché, but Jasmine liked it.  As for her white hair, which stood out like a beacon in the dark woods, Jasmine had dyed blue stripes through it—because she thought it looked better that way, more exotic.  Once she had drank her fill, she replaced the canteen, jammed her hat back on her head at a jaunty angle, and continued down the path.  She scanned the woods, but other than the odd small animal that quickly hid from her, nothing came after her.  She snorted with derision: if all the Darken Woods was going to give her as a challenge was a squirrel, the place truly was overrated. 

    The fates were not to be tempted, however.  Lurking behind the trees, unseen by Jasmine, was a mindflayer. 

    Serrix was a young mindflayer, an illithid, who occasionally ventured into the Darken Woods to seek new prey, new hosts for the larvae that waited in the deeper darkness underground.  While this was not unusual behavior for his race, Serrix was a little different from other illithids in that he was interested in humanoid behavior besides just their brains: he was interested in other aspects of their behavior.  True, it was in the pursuit of finding better ways of acquiring slaves and hosts, but Serrix had spoken to his fellow illithids of using another method to subduing prey.  When he’d talked about using his tentacles to sexually pleasure humanoids, the elder illithids told Serrix to quit reading filthy human scrolls and stick to more traditional methods.  Serrix, however, persisted, even as the other illithids told him he was just weird.  When he was told flatly that no valuable hosts would be provided for his strange experiments, Serrix knew he’d have to acquire one for himself. 

   The problem was, over the past few weeks, he hadn’t found any good ones.  The adventuring parties that entered the Darken Woods were usually well-armed, experienced, and tough—and Serrix knew he wasn’t going to do his hive or anyone else any good (or evil) if he just got killed.  He had despaired of finding anyone until he spotted the half-elf walking down the path, resplendent in her wizard robes.  He had watched her for half an hour, making sure she wasn’t bait for a party waiting to ambush him, but now he was confident that this foolish little elf woman was all alone.  He thanked the foul gods he didn’t really believe in, and silently, carefully, stepped out on the path behind her. 

    Serrix wasn’t quite as silent as he thought, because when the various small animals caught sight of him, they fled—loudly.  Jasmine might not be the most intelligent sorceress in the world, but she was not completely a neophyte: her ears heard the footfalls behind her, and she whirled around, raising her staff.  Her eyes widened as she saw it: twice her height, covered in dark robes inscribed with ancient runes she couldn’t decipher, and the unmistakable large skull, high forehead, and long tentacles of the illithid. “A mindflayer!” she shouted, then smiled.  “So, finally the evil in these woods makes its appearance!  Foul creature, I am Jasmine the Great and Powerful!”  She leveled the staff.  “Let us duel then, evil fiend!"

    Serrix considered telling Jasmine that he identified as ethically challenged rather than evil, but he thought that she didn’t look interested in a discussion on semantics, so he might as well just cut to the chase.  He flung his clawed hands out—it wasn’t really necessary, but he had a flair for the dramatic—and projected the mind blast, the most devastating attack of the illithids. 

    Jasmine felt the initial wave of the psychic blast, and put up her staff to ward it off, channeling her magic through it.  She was only partially successful: while it didn’t knock her unconscious like Serrix had hoped, it felt like a physical blow, as if Jasmine had been hit by a punch.  She stumbled backwards and fell to the path.  Her staff flew from her hands and rolled out of sight into a gully; her hat fell from her head and rolled down the path.  Stunned, Jasmine tried to shake the cobwebs from her head, blinking back the blackness that crowded her sight.  Despite her overconfidence, she knew that if she didn’t get to her feet and use the strongest spells she knew, she would be lucky if the mindflayer only killed her. 

   Serrix approached her as she tried to shake off the effects of the spell, but while he had hoped she would be out cold—and was actually impressed that she’d managed to stay conscious—he had other ways to get what he wanted.  He reached out with his mind, finding hers, fuzzy though it was, and smothered it.  Do not fear me, Jasmine, he spoke telepathically, his words finding her and speaking in her head.  I can be your friend.  Let me into your mind.  Quiet yourself.  There is nothing to fear.  Stop thinking.  Do not resist me.

    Jasmine recognized what the mindflayer was doing, but her brain suddenly felt soaked in languidity.  It was a not unpleasant feeling, like how one might feel waking from a long sleep, when the world still seemed far away and dreams were just on the edge of fading.  Jasmine shook her head again, trying to think, but it felt like her thoughts had to go through mud.  I…have…to… she thought, but the mere attempt to form a sentence seemed to take forever.  The mindflayer’s commands were pleasant, nice, and warm.  She didn’t really need to think, did she? What was there to think about? She looked blearily at the mindflayer, and was surprised to find that it—he—didn’t seem so monstrous at all.  In fact, he seemed like a friend, someone she could trust, someone...she liked a great deal, actually.

    Serrix knew that the half-elf was no longer capable of resisting.  She was staring at him with vacant eyes, a faint smile on her lips, and made no move to throw a spell at him.  Why don’t you stand up, Jasmine? he sent with a gentle nudge, and Jasmine nodded lazily.  She got to her feet, slightly weaving, her arms limp at her sides.

    Serrix studied her, deciding that the hard part was over.  She probably wouldn’t resist him now; his plan had worked perfectly.  He reached out with his mind further to confirm they were alone in this part of the woods, then went to the next step of his plan.  He turned his head slightly, like an artist confronted with a blank sheet of paper.  Jasmine, he said pleasantly into her mind, why don’t you…remove your clothing?  Her eyes narrowed, and there was just the flicker of resistance, but he projected a smile, even if he was physically incapable of one.  I’m your friend, Jasmine.  I won’t hurt you…and it’s so very hot and humid in these woods, isn’t it?

   The truth was, it was a little warm; summer had come to the Darken Woods.  Jasmine’s smile spread slightly and she gave a tired nod.  She removed her pack first, then unbuckled her belt, letting them fall to her feet.  She opened her robes and let them puddle around her boots.  She stood in her underwear—a simple breast wrap and loincloth—and then looked confused for a moment.  There was that bit of resistance to Serrix’s commands again, but he soothed her mind.  Jasmine, he admonished lightly, you don’t want to disappoint me, your friend.  The rest, please.

   “Okay,” Jasmine sighed sleepily, and removed the breast wrap, then her loincloth, even her socks and boots.  Finally, she stood naked in the forest, still with the lazy smile and half-drooping eyes. 

    Serrix moved closer, one hand coming up to stroke his tentacles in thought.  Illithids reproduced asexually, so despite what the scrolls he had managed to acquire from humans claimed, he had no desire for the nude female in front of him.  However, the scrolls had required the subjects to be naked, so he had made Jasmine strip—and, Serrix supposed, she would be attractive to humans, elves, and so on.  Her skin was pale but blemishless, her breasts small but perky, and apparently her white hair color was natural.  He regarded her form for a few moments longer, then decided he might as well get started with the experiment.  Her nudity might not have any effect on him, but the idea of seeing if he could prove his theory did excite Serrix.

    He stepped to within arm’s length of her, and moved his tentacles outward, brushing against her skin to see if she would react.  There was a physical reaction—her body shuddered—and her smile faded, replaced by something akin to sleepy confusion.  Her mind, however, stayed quiescent.  Serrix wondered if that was a good thing, but if he started lessening his mental control, Jasmine would get her will back and probably blast him with a spell.  Serrix doubted that someone as inexperienced as her could do him real harm, but there was no point in borrowing trouble. 

    He continued to move his tentacles across her arms, then across her stomach; the latter bowed inward for a moment, and to his surprise, Jasmine giggled softly.  Ah, she is ticklish, Serrix thought; he had heard of that phenomenon, and made a mental note of it.  Then he moved two of his tentacles down to brush at her thighs, and Jasmine gasped, her eyes widening from their earlier drowsiness.  Serrix quickly withdrew his feelers, but she did nothing else but continue to stand there, so he tried it again, bolder this time, gently wrapping them around the inner part of her thighs.  She shuddered again, and Serrix was surprised to see her toes curl inward.  Strange, he thought, an involuntary physical response.  He checked her mind, but it was still immersed in his control, though he caught a flicker of something else—not resistance this time, but arousal.

    Perfect! Serrix thought.  This was what the scrolls had mentioned, so clearly his gentle approach was working.  He shifted his psychic control some, raising the height of her arousal a little.  She started shaking more, her eyes dilating, and Serrix put one tentacle out around her back to steady her; he didn’t need for her to fall and knock herself out.  Remembering another item from the human writings, he moved one appendage to her breasts and circled the left one, giving a slight squeeze.  Another shudder, another spike of pleasure rising in the half-elf’s mind.  Curious, he tried the other breast and got the same response, then slithered over the pink nipples.  Serrix had no idea why humans or elves or other humanoids would find this stimulating—the mammaries were what mammals used to feed their young, after all—but he did it all the same.  He watched in fascination as the nipples hardened, poking upwards, as if the forest was cold rather than warm.  Another involuntary physical response, he noted.  Now we’re getting somewhere.

    There was only one orifice left—well, Serrix corrected himself, there were three, but one was her mouth and he was afraid she would bite him.  The other didn’t merit thinking about; he was not going to stick his tentacle there, no matter how much the experiment mattered.  He contemplated where her thighs came together, the wisp of white hair that lay there, and hoping that any other involuntary physical responses weren’t disgusting, he slid his last available tentacle to her sex. 

    Jasmine gasped a third time, but as Serrix tried moving the tentacle up and down her folds, he saw that her eyes half-closed again, her breathing grew heavier, and her trembling began again.  After a minute of it, while he watched her, he felt a wetness on his tentacle.  How odd, he thought, but that makes sense.  The scrolls mention something about a “wet pussy”—I don’t understand that part; I thought a pussy was a nickname for a feline mammal—but my studies of humanoid females indicates that they lubricate themselves to better accommodate a male ovipositor…no, penis.  That is the correct term.  She certainly seems like she is lubricating herself quite nicely. How fascinating. 

    The next thing he needed to do, Serrix knew, was to insert his tentacle into the female.  He didn’t have a penis himself (the scrolls were very incorrect on that matter), so this was the next best thing.  He wasn’t sure about that part; it seemed very strange.  Still, he summoned up his courage, and made the sacrifice for science: Serrix guided his appendage past the slick folds into her opening.  It was a very strange sensation, like sticking one’s hand into a warm, wet glove.  He watched Jasmine for a reaction, and got it.  Her eyes widened, then fluttered, and her lips parted in a low moan.  Once more her toes curled inward, and her thighs quivered.  He lessened his mental control just a little, just enough that Jasmine could think again if she wanted to…but she clearly didn’t.

   Let’s see…I think I do…this?  Serrix moved the tentacle in and out of Jasmine once or twice, and nearly jerked it out of her when he felt her tighten around his appendage.  Then he remembered that humanoid females did that when they were aroused—and Jasmine was very aroused, evidently.  He lessened his mental grip a little further, and to his abject surprise, her hands moved: her right hand locked around his tentacle, her left moved to the apex of her folds and fondled herself there.  Serrix tried another experiment, this time moving one of the breast tentacles to her lips; a pink tongue flickered out and licked the tip, but he drew it back, afraid that she was going to try and eat it.  Jasmine seemed oddly disappointed for a brief moment.   

    He picked up the tempo, after looking around for a moment to make sure no one was watching; this was hardly a time to be ambushed.  Jasmine responded instantly, rocking her hips back and forth, increasing the movement of her left hand, her right hand sliding up and down his tentacle, as if she was trying to push more of him inside.  He could feel her heart hammering, and her mind was a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts—Serrix had a feeling that even if he released her entirely from his control, Jasmine would not stop him.  She was now moaning loudly, to the point that he looked around again and wondered if he should somehow shut off her speech center.  Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open and panting for breath.  Serrix made frantic mental notes: this was perfect, he thought.  He could implant a larvae in her now and she’d probably welcome the experience.  Wait until I tell the hive about this! Serrix thought in triumph.  And they said I was a fool!

    Then, without warning, Jasmine’s head fell backwards and she screamed, but not in terror or in pain, but in sheer pleasure.  Her whole body started shaking, to the point where Serrix barely kept her from falling, and he could feel her vagina twitching around his tentacle, which was a very odd sensation, like the glove was moving of its own accord—which it essentially was.  Her hands grabbed his appendage, but it was to hold on, to ride out her climax.

   Serrix watched Jasmine shake with her orgasm, then gently lay her on the grass next to the path and withdrew all his tentacles.  She lay there, sated, her legs slightly spread, her sex glistening in the weak sunlight, and Serrix took out a cloth and cleaned off the feeler that had been inside of her.  Ugh, he sighed inwardly.  The things I do for science.  There was a lot of lubrication there, and he wondered if that was normal for a humanoid female or unique to this one.

    His experiment was over and wildly successful, but now he was faced with another problem.  He could simply leave and return to the hive to present his findings, and let Jasmine waken from his mental control and be on her way.  He could drag her back to the hive and let her be a host.  The former seemed wrong, somehow, but he really didn’t feel like doing the latter either.  Serrix put it off and decided that he needed to learn more about this Jasmine, Great and Powerful—which she didn’t really seem to be—before he made the final decision what to do about her.   And with that, he bent over her, brought up two tentacles to her ears, and pushed them inside.  Jasmine’s eyes flew open and she took a deep intake of breath, but his magic traveled along the nerve pathways to her brain.  He didn’t need to use his psychic powers now; her mind was his.  Jasmine’s breathing slowed down, her body went limp, and her eyes stared upwards into nothing; the only indication that she still lived was the occasional blink.

    Serrix probed Jasmine’s mind—not just her brain, but her psyche, her memories.  He sifted them like sand.  He learned that Jasmine Arivadam was neither great nor powerful: in fact, she was a novice sorceress who had no business being alone in a dangerous forest.  It was a name she gave herself to cover a deep sense of inadequacy, a feeling that she would never really be taken seriously as a mage, not like her parents, who had been great magic users.  He felt the rebellious streak in her, the desire to go against the grain of her studies, to learn more than her teachers wanted to allow her to.  Even by human standards, she was young; she had seen barely twenty years.  Serrix felt a pang of kinship: here was someone like him, who didn’t want to be told what they could and couldn’t do.  It passed quickly; he wasn't here to make friends, especially with a lesser being.

    Serrix wanted to know more.  Her memories were open to him, but they weren’t terribly interesting; her parents weren’t forbidden lovers, but adventurers that fell in love.  She didn’t have a troubled past, but a happy upbringing, even if she envied her parents.  It was, he thought, rather boring.  There was certainly potential there, but nothing to write home about. 

    Then he found what he was looking for.  Buried deep in her mind, hidden by layers of morality, of her upbringing, of the school of magic’s teachings, was something.  As he psychically reached for it, he actually felt Jasmine recoil for a moment, just the tiniest bit of her will reasserting herself, but it was far too late for that and he snuffed it out like a candle.  Curious, Serrix found that buried treasure and opened it.

    And very quickly wished he hadn’t.  His mind was flooded with images and thoughts, each one more depraved and carnal than the last.  He wasn’t the only one who read forbidden, erotic scrolls; Jasmine, apparently, devoured them.  She was no virgin, but had sampled several lovers in her short maturity; he was bombarded by images of wooden phalluses going in every orifice Jasmine possessed.  He even saw that she had fantasized what it would be like to be taken by a mindflayer and turned into a mindless thrall, there only for the twisted sexual pleasure of the illithids.  To Serrix’s stunned surprise, he had accidentally given Jasmine her most erotic dream.  He checked her mind hurriedly, wondering if she had used him rather than the other way around, but that part was stilled.  He tried to delve deeper, only to be hit with such images that his tentacles came out of her ears faster than a bishop caught in a brothel. 

   Serrix staggered backwards, breaking the mental control out of sheer horror.  By the hive, she wants to have relations with…with a beholder?  She’s fantasized about making love to a dragon—while it’s in its draconic form? It wouldn’t even fit! And using mage hand on herself? Using a gelatinous cube as lubricant? She tried stuffing those fake penises in her nose? What kind of sick thing have I put my appendages in?

   The mental control waned as Serrix tried to process what things he had been shown, and Jasmine blinked.  It was like waking up completely, when thoughts flowed freely and one was fully aware of their surroundings.  She sat up, saw the mindflayer shaking its head, its tentacles quivering, then noticed she was nude, without a stitch to her name.  She saw something else, too—her nipples were still hardened, and as she bent over, she saw the wetness between her legs, and felt the thin covering of slime that the mindflayer’s tentacles had used exploring her body.  Jasmine might have graduated from magic school towards the bottom of her class, but it didn’t take an Elminster or Raistlin to figure out what had happened.

    “Hey,” she said, and the mindflayer’s eyes locked with hers.  She tensed, but there was no psychic attack; if anything, she saw fear in those dark eyes.  “Did you fuck me?”

    She heard Serrix’s voice in her mind.  Er…if I understand the human idiom correctly, then…maybe? I inserted one of my tentacles into your, ah, vagina, and used them to stimulate your breasts, so perhaps that is the correct term.  You see, I read about such things in human scrolls, and—

    “Ah ha,” Jasmine smiled, interrupting his mental speech.  “That’s why I feel sticky.  Did you come in me?”

    Um…that’s not how my tentacles work, Jasmine—

    Jasmine nodded.  “Okay, sure, that would be kind of weird.  But I can tell that I damn sure came.  I can remember that.  Felt really good, too.”

    Yes, Jasmine, you did orgasm, as I believe you beings called it.  It was a strange sensation.  Serrix tried to regain control of the situation, to explain that the whole thing had been an experiment.  He thought about reasserting his mental control of the half-elf, but the thought of connecting with her erotic wasteland of a mind again filled him with revulsion. 

    Jasmine’s eyes lit up with unholy joy.  “Oh! Did you make me do a dance? Control me?  Did you make me masturbate and sat there and watched while I squirted all over the path?" She grinned seductively, which to Serrix looked far more evil than he had ever been accused of being. "You took over my brain and made me let you do that stuff to me—which was kind of dumb, because honestly, all you had to do was ask!”

    Illithids do not ask! We take!  There was only so far Serrix was going to be pushed. 

    To his horror, she nodded enthusiastically.  “I know! That’s what I wanted!”  Her fingers drifted down to her damp labia again, though she stopped herself before she actually touched herself.  “Oh, mindflayer—”

    Serrix.

    “Oh, Serrix,” Jasmine sighed, “you should’ve just told me you were going to do that.  By the gods, I’ve fingered myself many a night thinking about it!”  She got to unsteady feet and approached him; Serrix fell back.  “Did you put a tentacle in my mouth? Slide it down my throat? Jasmine the Great and Powerful doesn’t have a gag reflex—well, there was that one time with that half-orc barbarian, but he just shoved all ten inches down, no warning at all.”  She grabbed his robes before he could stop her, and her voice dropped conspiratorially, her blue eyes aglow with something that bothered even him.  “Did…did you stick one in my ass?”  She shivered.  “Oh gods, Serrix, you should totally do that.  I’ve never tried anal…always wanted to…”

   Serrix’s eyes were the ones that were wide now, and he was regretting ever coming to the surface, or ever evolving from a tadpole, for that matter.  Jasmine…I have no desire to probe your…ugh…anus—

   Jasmine rolled her eyes.  “A prude mindflayer.  Well, that’s Jasmine’s Great and Powerful bad luck, right there.”  Serrix started to step backwards, but she seized two of his tentacles.  “Oh, no you don’t! You’re not done with me yet!”  She tried to drag them back to her breasts, which led to a comical (not to mention painful) tug of war between a lust-addled half-elf and a terrified mindflayer.  The slight coat of slime on the tentacles made it hard to get purchase, so she didn’t succeed. Jasmine then tried the direct approach, grabbing Serrix’s robes and trying to rub herself against him.  Please, Jasmine, he sent frantically, this won’t work; you must let go—

   “You’re mine now,” Jasmine leered at him.  “You think I’m going to let you go? I’m going to show you what it really means to flay a mind.”

   She meant that she wanted to let him mind control her again, but Serrix thought she meant she would crack open his skull and devour his brain—which, he admitted, would be turnabout as fair play.  His earlier belief that Jasmine the Great and Powerful was no real threat was gone, replaced by a fear that he had never known in his long life.  Finally, he managed to get enough space to hit her with another mind blast.  Jasmine once more staggered and fell backwards, but this time Serrix was not going to use it to gain control of her mind, but get space enough to run for his life and dignity.  He stole one glance behind him and saw that Jasmine was slowly getting up, the hunger in her eyes unmistakable.  Serrix quickly weaved a spell of teleportation that left nothing but a puff of purple smoke to mark his passing.  Jasmine would never know, but when he returned to the hive that evening, Serrix burned his notes, his scrolls, and any evidence of his work, and made a profound apology to the elders.

   Jasmine saw that Serrix had disappeared, and sighed.  She shook her head clear of the effects of the second mind blast, then went and found her underwear and robe.  “Damn,” she breathed.  “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, too.”

Chapter Text

   Lieutenant Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata stared at the holomap in front of her, massaging her chin in thought.  Her opponent was being confoundingly tactical, and it was starting to frustrate her—and she was already frustrated.  Making matters worse was that her opponent happened to be the Prince of the Federated Commonwealth, one Victor Steiner-Davion, who one day would be the most powerful person in the known galaxy when his parents—Prince Hanse Davion and Archon Melissa Steiner-Davion—retired or died.  For now, he was a pain in Sheila’s ass, and not in the fun way.  She was glad he was not in the room, otherwise she would be giving him homicidal looks; he was actually on the other side of the complex, in his own simulated command post.  She and Victor were former classmates at the Nagelring Military Academy,  and while they weren’t close friends, they were friendly acquaintances, as much as the future Archon Prince and a mercenary battalion commander could be. 

   He was still pissing her off.  Okay, you royal asshole, she thought darkly, let’s see you handle this.  She pulled one company of BattleMechs and one company of tanks back, while her other company of ‘Mechs stealthily moved through the woods to the east.  Hopefully, he would press his advantage, show the aggressiveness he was known for, which would allow her to take him in the flank, or if she got lucky, circle around and hit him from behind, catching his battalion in a crossfire.  Victor was good, so Sheila knew he might not fall for it, but nothing else was working so far. 

   She heard the door open behind her and glanced at the clock, which read 1300 hours local.  Her stomach rumbled, and Sheila abruptly remembered she hadn’t eaten lunch, or breakfast for that matter.  “Just leave the food on the table back there,” she instructed whoever had come in, then keyed her radio headset as the door closed.  “Hey, Victor, can we take a lunch break?”

   His voice came back in her earphone.  “I was just about ready to suggest that.  Take thirty.”  Were this a real combat situation, there would be no lunch breaks, of course, but simulations gave them some leeway.  The line clicked off.

   Sheila turned to grab whatever lunch had been left, but instead she yelped as she was suddenly confronted with the figure of her husband, Max Canis-Vlata.  “Max! What the hell?”

   Max leered at her.  They were the same age, not much past 20, thrown together in a whirlwind wartime romance into a marriage that was only seven months old.  He was not handsome in the classic sense—Max was no square-jawed holovid star, but he had what Sheila thought was an handsome enough face: brown eyes that she could get lost in, black hair that fell to his shoulders, just over the rank boards of the Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team’s gray fatigues.  He had a lean build—not skinny, but not that of a bodybuilder, either.  Few MechWarriors were fat; sweating in a broiling ‘Mech cockpit in a high-stress job was not conducive to gaining weight.  “Taking a break, huh? I have perfect timing.” 

   She peered behind him, but there was no food sitting on the table by the door.  “For what?”

   “For me.”  When they were dating, before they became lovers and then husband and wife, Max had never been this bold; he had actually been somewhat shy.  Marriage had changed that.  He leaned forward, pushed the microphone on her headpiece upwards and off her head, and kissed her.  At first, Sheila drew back, not really sure if this was the place for what the military called Public Displays of Affection, but the electric touch of their lips made those thoughts flee.  She loved this man, and he loved her.  Her hands came up to grasp his hair and rest on his back as she relaxed into the kiss.  He broke it and playfully licked her lips.  “Hi,” Max winked.

   Sheila licked her lips as well; her mouth felt a little dry, all of a sudden.  “Hi, yourself.  What can I do for you, husband?”

    Max stepped back a pace, just to look at her.  Sheila Arla-Vlata had been called more attractive than beautiful, but he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.   Her eyes were a bright green, her hair the same shade of his, but caught in a ponytail at the back of her neck.  She had, in his opinion, eminently kissable lips.  The fatigues could not quite hide her body: her ample breasts, her narrow hips, her long legs.  Sheila was six feet tall, an inch shorter than Max himself was, and most of her height was in her legs.  The only thing that marred her beauty was her left hand: it was metal and plastic, shades of dark and light gray.  The hand rested on the side of the holomap table like its flesh and blood opposite, but the fingers were not quite gripping the table.  It was a reminder that their profession maimed and killed quite often.  Sheila herself was still learning how to use that hand, and her arm below the elbow: it had been amputated after being brutally broken and smashed while she had been cruelly tortured by their enemies, Clan Jade Falcon, three months previously when she had been their prisoner.  The sight of it made Max’s heart skip a beat.  He had come so close to losing her.  He fought off a flashback of her lying naked on the floor of the prison cell he had rescued her from, her body bruised and torn where she had been beaten, her left arm limp and broken, and the fingers misshapen and turning black from gangrene, her face bruised and lips split, and worst of all, her eyes dead and emotionless after her ordeal.  The only thing her captors had not done to Sheila was rape her, but they had done everything else. 

   Max put those thoughts aside; he was not here to remember that, and preferred never to do so.  He forced the humor back into his smile and said, “Well, wife, I was thinking about banging you on the holomap table.”  He thumbed behind him.  “The door locks automatically, and it sounds like we’ve got—” he checked the chronometer on the wall “—twenty-six minutes before the sim starts up again.”

    Sheila felt her face flush red, but her heart also started beating faster.  They had lost two months out of the seven of their marriage while she was a prisoner and recovering in the hospital.  Between physical therapy and getting back into the flow of commanding a battalion, they hadn’t had much time to touch one another.  While it was probably a gross violation of several regulations, the more Sheila thought about being ravished by her husband right now, the more she liked the idea.  She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper and pulled off her headset, setting it aside.  “Then we’d better get started.”

   Max pulled her closer, then suddenly hoisted her onto the holomap table with a grunt.  She held herself in place with her hands—even her artificial hand instinctively closed on the smooth metal side—and the holograms of her combined arms companies wrapped around her body, turning her fatigues into a kaleidoscope of colors.  Max attacked, his mouth seeking hers, his hands holding her face to his, his tongue pushing past her lips to brush her teeth, and Sheila met his attack with one of her own.  Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she could feel the heat of his desire through his pants.  Max’s hands went to her breasts, holding them, feeling their weight.  Sheila was lost in the kiss; she barely felt his fingers close on the zipper of her fatigue tunic.  The zeep was the loudest sound in the room aside from their breathing, as he zipped it down and pushed the halves of the tunic aside. 

   She wore a functional bra, nothing sexy about it, clasped in the front.  Max needed no assistance to unclasp it.  She broke the kiss, leaning back, letting the bra fall aside, the cool air of the command post whispering across the pale skin.  They were not huge, but they were more than average, and the pinkish nipples soon hardened—and not from the air conditioning.  Max detachedly thought that Sheila’s bosom looked decidedly odd, with military labels and markings colored across them, as if her peaks were hills to be taken—which, Max decided as he kissed the divide between them, was an apt analogy.

   “Max,” Sheila groaned, her voice heavy with lust, “get your clothes off.”  She sat up and took the initiative, undoing his tunic as he kissed her again.  Once it was open and hanging across his shoulders, she ran her hands over the black hair on his chest, the skin and metal of her hands feeling alternately warm and cold.  She leaned forward and licked his neck, even as she saw his hands unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants, and letting them fall to his ankles.  Sheila pulled back a little now, smiling as she saw the bulge in his briefs.  Max quickly pulled them down as well, and his erection sprung into place.  As always, Sheila always marveled at it—not because Max was particularly large, but because she was doing that to him.  She always considered herself too tall and gawky, but the hard manhood, the foreskin rolled back to expose the purpling head, the gentle but insistent throb of it, seemed to put the lie to that.  Sheila couldn’t help but swallow, her heart pounding as she knew she was seconds from that going into her—and she couldn’t wait.

   Between her and Max, they got her belt unbuckled and her pants pulled down to her ankles, revealing not issue women’s underwear, but a high-cut lacy bit of fabric that barely covered her..  Max met her eyes and his eyebrows went up, and Sheila’s face became a deeper shade of red.  “I…I need something to feel like a woman,” she whispered self-consciously.

    His hands roamed over her breasts, brushing over her nipples, which sent a shock through her body.  “You look like one to me.”  He gave her a quick peck on the lips, then put his thumbs in the waistband of her panties.  Sheila took a deep breath as he pulled them down as well, slowly exposing her to him—the trimmed patch of black hair, then the lips of her sex, swollen with desire.  It was Max’s turn to swallow nervously. 

   Hastily, Sheila used her feet to get her boots off, pushed him back just long enough to get her pants and panties all the way off, then tossed her shirt and bra aside, seized with a burning need to be naked for her husband.  Max seemed to have the same thought, because his boots and socks were pulled off, and his pants and underwear quickly followed into a growing pile of their clothes.  As he grabbed her hips again to pull her closer to the table’s edge, the only piece of clothing between them was one sock on Sheila’s right foot.   “You’re so beautiful,” he said in low reverence, and Sheila felt her eyes get wet with pure love for the man who stood in front of her.  Sheila could feel somewhere else getting wet as well, and she suddenly felt so very empty between her legs.

   Max leaned forward, bracing his hands on the holomap as the holographic images wound his way up his arms and Sheila’s stomach and breasts like a tattoo.  The hot tip of his length nudged against her opening, and their eyes met.  Sheila smiled, then leaned back on her elbows, opening her legs further in the invitation to lovers that women had used since the dawn of time. 

   He pushed inside her slowly, knowing he wouldn’t hurt her but wanting to stretch it out for both of them.  Sheila’s legs came up involuntarily and she let her breath out in an aah of satisfaction.  Then he was in her completely and neither moved, Sheila feeling herself filled and Max feeling her inner walls grasping him.  The plastic holoprojecting tiles below her felt cold at first, but they warmed up soon enough.  Sheila once more brought her legs around his waist, settling her heels at the small of his back.  Max began to thrust into her, slowly at first, and then faster as instincts took over from thought.

   “Oh, God,” Sheila moaned, the words escaping her lips without her knowing it.  Her hands gripped the table, holding her in place as her rear slid back and forth on the slick tiles.  Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples seemed to strain for someone to touch them, grasp them.  She almost let go to grab them herself, but then Max’s tongue was on them, swirling on first the left and then the right, and Sheila arched her back in ecstasy.  Words failed them both, as Sheila’s babbling became moans of pleasure, loud ones; the simulation room was soundproofed, but Sheila wouldn’t have cared if the door was open at that point.  Max’s tongue continued to torment her, his hardness pushing in and out of her was sweet torture of the most wonderful kind, and she felt her toes curling as they rested on his rear end, her own bottom coming off the table as she rose to meet his thrusts.  He left off her nipples to take deep breaths, both of them panting with exertion. 

   “M-Max,” Sheila struggled out, “I-I-I’m going…to…”  She could feel the tightness in her belly, the spring that wound tighter and tighter, the pleasure spiking in her brain; she watched her husband even as she felt her peak approaching, felt the sweat dripping off his brow, saw his eyes squeezed shut with exertion.  Max’s thrusts were erratic now, not meeting her like they had been, while hers sped up, trying to reach the summit she was aiming for.  The slap of skin on skin was as loud as their breathing.

    And then she did reach her objective.  Sheila’s mouth opened in not quite a scream, but a gasp of intensity as her entire body felt like it tensed, then released in a series of delicious shudders that made her wish it could go on forever.  She said his name over and over as she came, but then she felt him tense as well, his hands gripping her shoulders, and he stopped, flooding her inside, filling her.  Sheila felt the warmth and smiled, knowing she’d done that to him as well—and he’d done something so very wonderful to her.  Max sagged against her, somehow keeping himself up, and she reached her head up to kiss him.  He opened his eyes and they shared the smile of people whose love only deepened over time.  “Whew,” he breathed.  “You okay?”

   “Oh, Max,” Sheila replied, running a shaking hand over his face, “that was…wonderful.”  It was the only word she could think of, and it felt inadequate.  “Thank you.”  He let go of her shoulders—he had accidentally been holding her down—and she sat up, hugging him, pressing her sensitive breasts into his chest hair, which felt rather nice too.  “Thank you,” she repeated. 

   Max kissed her forehead as he got his breath back.  “Thank you, babe.”  They smiled and laughed a little, the holograms still painting their bodies.  He stole a glance at the clock.  “You’ve got about four minutes.”  He pulled out of her.

   “Uh oh,” Sheila snickered, and slid off the table.  She glanced down at her nudity, then saw him, his softening penis glistening with her wetness, a drop of semen hanging stubbornly onto the tip.  She had the sudden urge to lick it off, but remembered that one, she really needed to get dressed in a hurry, and two, she hadn’t really liked the taste, the one time she had dared to lick him clean.  That was one thing the smutty novels saved to her phone hadn’t mentioned. 

    Max found his underwear and dressed, and Sheila sighed as the vision disappeared—but there was always tonight to see it again, in the soft comfort of their bed rather than the hard surface of the holomap, where they couldn't be court-martialed for unauthorized lovemaking in a command post of the Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth.  As she quickly pulled on her clothes—playfully tossing her panties at him, rather than putting them on, a promise for later—Sheila winced as she saw the evidence of their lovemaking on the holomap.  She quickly used one of her socks to wipe off the condensation and other fluids she didn’t want to think about, put it back on, then reset the holomap to the save point as it had started to glitch; it was hard plastic and metal, but it wasn’t designed for two adults to make love on it.  Then her eyes fell on the headset as she pulled her boots back on, and she felt icy fear grip her stomach. 

   “Oh, shit,” she said in terror, “did I leave the radio on?”  If she had, then Victor Steiner-Davion, heir to the Federated Commonwealth and son of the man who signed Sheila and Max’s paychecks, had just heard his friend and comrade get her ashes hauled, hard.  Her mind whirled: Victor might find the situation uproariously funny, laughing at the moans and gasps over the open channel.  He might also be extremely angry that a mercenary battalion commander and her husband had decided to have wild sex, in the middle of a simulation to determine if she could still command.  Either way, she’d never live it down.

   Max reached forward and looked at the headset switch.  “It’s off,” he assured her, and Sheila let out a long breath.  Victor had not heard them. 

   Max quickly kissed her, a quick bout of passion and tongues that also promised far more later, stuffed her panties into a pants pocket, and then beat a hasty retreat, making sure his pants were zipped up before he left.  Sheila composed herself and straightened her ponytail, even though Victor could not see her, and switched on the radio set.  “I’m back,” she told him.

   “Two minutes late,” Victor chided her, though the amused tone in his voice let her know that she wasn’t in trouble.  “Big lunch?”

    Sheila smiled the secret smile of a woman that has just been very satisfied.  “Yeah,” she said, barely keeping the laugh out of her voice.  “Real big.”

Chapter Text

   Senefa Malthus returned to the hotel that was and went into her hotel room.  The smile faded: this was as much of a prison as the one she would be in if she had been merely captured. 

   She undressed and took a long shower, a luxury to a Clan warrior, and Senefa had to admit that one thing the Inner Sphere got right was a really good bath.  She was just about to shampoo her hair when the intercom extension in the bathroom buzzed.  Now what could that be? she wondered, because she rarely got visitors.  She reached out of the shower and touched the button.  “Yes?”

   “Star Colonel, this is Trooper Anderson…one of your guards, ma’am.”  The guards were unfailingly polite to her, even using the Clan rank she no longer held.  “You have a visitor, and well…I’m not sure about this, ma’am.”

    “Who is it?”

    “Elemental Star Commander Vornzel, ma’am.  He’s a prisoner being held at the Libby POW Camp on the outskirts of town.  He says he knows you.  It’s kind of unusual, Colonel.  He says he wishes to speak with you about requesting asylum.  I can send him back to the camp, ma’am.”

   Senefa paused, even though it lifted her spirits a bit to hear that it was Vornzel.  He had been taken to Tharkad along with her, to join the small number of Jade Falcon prisoners that had been taken on Twycross and elsewhere.  It was good that he was still alive, but she wondered why he wanted to switch sides as well.  Have I inspired him?  She knew that Vornzel had been steadfastly loyal to saKhan Cavell Malthus, but perhaps even he had changed his mind as she had. 

   The other possibility was that he was lying to the guards, and he intended to kill her.  She dismissed that—Vornzel would be shot dead if he even tried—but then realized that he might prefer death to sitting in a cold prisoner camp.  Certainly he would be lauded as a martyr hero to the Jade Falcons if he killed a traitor.

   The depression settled on Senefa like a blanket, and she decided she really didn’t care one way or the other.  “Send him up.  I will meet with him alone.”

    “Er, ma’am, I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

    “Trooper, I will meet with him alone.  I take responsibility.  Search him for weapons, but send him up to my room.  The microphones your organization has undoubtedly hidden in the room will certainly tell you what is said, and if he tries to kill me, I will scream, quiaff?”  She kept a derisive laugh out of her voice; Vornzel could kill Senefa with his bare hands, before she even had a chance to scream—and she would not scream in any case.  Never again!

   “Uh…very well, Colonel.”

   Senefa let the line click off before the trooper could say anything else, and switched off the shower; her hair could wait.  She toweled herself off, but the door buzzer went off before she could finish.  To hell with it, she thought.  She wrapped the towel around herself and left the steamy bathroom, and answered the door. 

    The guard opened it to admit Vornzel, and both men’s jaws dropped at the sight of Senefa.  There was no question she was a beautiful woman, and standing there in a towel that only hid her from the tops of her breasts to barely the tops of her thighs was enough to stop any man and not a few women in their tracks. “Elemental Star Commander.  An unexpected surprise.” She hid her smile, taking an oafish pleasure in the expressions on their faces.  Whatever Vornzel had expected to see, it wasn’t her almost naked.

   “Ah…aff, Star Colonel.”  Vornzel finally found his voice.  “I need to talk to you, regarding your asylum and the status of the prisoners at the camp.”  With obvious difficulty, he looked her in the eyes.  “You are the senior officer.”

    Senefa’s look turned icy.  “I am no longer a Star Colonel, Vornzel.  I gave up my rank when I defected to the Federated Commonwealth.  I am no longer the senior officer of anything.”

    “Be as that may, the men and women at the camp still look to you for leadership.”  Vornzel looked around the floor landing.  There were other guests present, and they were starting to stare.  “We should not have this discussion out here, quiaff?”

    “Aff.”  Senefa stepped aside, showing Vornzel in.  The guard looked very nervous, and Senefa put up a hand.  “It is all right.  I am quite sure that the Elemental Star Commander merely wishes to discuss things.  He would not commit murder in a place where he cannot escape, quiaff? We are on the tenth floor.”

   “Er…yes, um, aff, ma’am, Colonel.”  The guard almost saluted, remembered that they were inside and his superior officer was uncovered—she could barely be more uncovered—and settled for coming to attention and closing the door.

    Senefa brushed past Vornzel and stood in front of him, easily within reach if he wanted to strangle her.  A single bead of water ran down the side of her face, dripped off her chin, and landed squarely in her cleavage.  Vornzel’s eyes flicked down to follow it as it disappeared between the swells of her breasts.  “What did you wish to discuss, Vornzel?”

   “Ah…aff, the prison.”  She saw his Adam’s apple bob with sudden nervousness.  Vornzel wore a long-sleeved shirt and pants that were tight on him—Senefa supposed that the Spheroids likely had few clothes in his size.  They were colored a bright orange, a prison uniform, instantly recognizable in case of escape.  In any case there was nowhere to run.  She knew the feeling.

   “But you are not here for that, quineg?” Senefa suddenly tired of the game.  If he was here to kill her, so be it; that at least would end the uncertainty of her future and the questions that kept her up at night.  Vornzel was a master of unarmed combat, and she had no weapon but the towel around her and some books near at hand.  She dropped her voice: she was not actually sure if the guards bugged her room or not.  “If you are here to kill me as a traitor, Vornzel, then let us be done with it.  I will not die easily.”  She would not call for the guard: she would live or die on her own.  An idea occurred to her, one that seemed strangely dishonorable, but if she was fighting for her life, then she would be foolish not to take advantage of it.

   Senefa stepped back and dropped her towel to the floor, and faced her assassin naked.  Naked I came into this world, naked I shall leave it.  She remembered that quote from somewhere, and it made her smile with gallows humor.   She caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror: her skin glowed in the faint sunlight from the window, slightly flushed from the heat of the shower; her still-wet hair pulled down in a tail that covered her right breast, leaving her left exposed; the flat stomach, the shadowed apex of her thighs, the long legs.  In any case, I will certainly distract him.

   Vornzel, however, was not attacking.  His hands were slightly raised, but his stance showed uncertainty, and his words died in his throat.  He was a foot taller than her near six foot height and twice as broad, and as Senefa faced him, she saw the hunger in his eyes, brown pools that she found rather attractive.  If Vornzel had wanted to kill Senefa, that wasn’t what he was thinking at the moment.  Through the tight pants, Senefa saw the obvious arousal, and to her surprise, she felt it as well.  It had not been since Persistence and the now-dead Seabook Buhallin that she had sex with another person; there had been no time and there were not many in her Clan that appealed to her, not even on Strana Mechty.  But now, with Vornzel there, devouring her with his eyes, and she naked in front of him, she felt the heat flare between her legs. 

   At last he stepped towards her and his arms reached for Senefa, but it was not to strangle her or to hit her.  Vornzel grabbed her shoulders, bent down, and kissed her.  Senefa didn’t resist.  One part of her mind that was not swamped with lust brought up the point that this could be a trick for Vornzel to easily murder her, but it became quite obvious that murder was the last thing on the big man’s mind.  The kiss was unexpected, but welcome, and her arms snaked up behind his back and neck to embrace him.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel his pulse as well. 

   “Is this…” Vornzel said softly as they broke the kiss.

   “Aff,” Senefa breathed, and it was the last word either spoke for awhile.

   One of his hands slowly reached out and cupped a breast, brushing a finger across one of her nipples, already peaked with desire.  Senefa’s breath caught, and then he was crushing her to him, chest to thighs, and Senefa could feel his hardness, his heat through the prison uniform.  She parted her thighs a little, involuntarily, both of them now seeking the joining that was now inevitable. 

    Their tongues fought each other.  Senefa pressed herself closer to him, crushing her breasts against his chest, her hands on the back of his head, entangled in his dreadlocks even as his drifted down to rest on her rear, lifting her slightly to the tips of her toes.  She was vulnerable now, as vulnerable as Senefa Malthus would ever be, but she didn’t care.  There was no war, no Clans, no differing sides, no Snowbirds—nothing but this moment, and the heat of their closeness, the warmth of another human being.

   Vornzel finally and easily picked her up, and Senefa wrapped her legs around him, even as their tongues continued to explore each other.  He laid her on the bed with surprising gentleness, and she watched with growing hunger of her own as he pulled the uniform shirt over his head.  Like most Elementals, Vornzel had the build of a bodybuilder, with sculpted muscles that would make an artist’s model cry with envy.  He pulled his shoes and socks off, then pulled down both pants and underwear in a single motion.  Vornzel’s arms looked strong enough to tear off ‘Mech armor without the need for a battlesuit; his trees were like treetrunks.  Senefa’s eyes wandered to between his legs, where his erection throbbed, thick and long.   

   Vornzel climbed onto the bed, his legs on either side of hers, and his hands roamed across her body as if memorizing it—perhaps he was, Senefa thought, which was increasingly difficult.  One hand went over her right breast, the nipple so wonderfully erect and sensitive under his touch, then down her stomach, over her navel, to the trimmed thatch between her legs, to find the wetness that was already there.  He took a deep breath, then moved forward.  She felt him against her entrance, and their eyes met.  Vornzel was trying to find something there in her green depths—fear, hate, anger, or something else--she didn’t know.  She held out her arms to him and smiled, and that was all the invitation and permission he needed.

   He slowly entered her, clearly afraid for her, afraid that he might hurt her with his bulk, but he was soon inside and Senefa arched her back with the feeling of being filled, his length easily sliding into her.  Her fingers dug into his back and she pulled her legs around him, trying to press Vornzel even more into her.  Vornzel was slow, maddeningly so, and Senefa met him, her breathing hard and fast, her eyes closing in sheer pleasure.

   They kept this up for a minute, or perhaps hours—Senefa could not tell—but she suddenly did not want Vornzel over her, seized with the strange need to be on top, to dominate him, if that was even possible.  She pushed him back until he was out of her, and Vornzel looked at her with concern.  She smiled devilishly, and used her legs to snap him over to one side.  Had he been prepared for her sudden lunge, Vornzel would easily have been able to stop her, but he was taken by surprise, launched from paradise into her bed, which creaked alarmingly.

   Senefa quickly rolled over on top of him, her eyes wide with the sight of his manhood, erect and proud and slick with her wetness.  She pulled herself over him, took his erection in her hand, and kept it steady as she lowered herself onto him.  They groaned together when it was in, and now Senefa was the one who controlled the pace.

   She set a fast one, the orgasm already building in her and not willing to wait.  She began to let out little cries of passion, but no more than that—Senefa was not the type to do so—and Vornzel’s hands came up to cover her breasts, which bounced with each movement.  She could feel it coming and threw her head back in rapture, her fingernails raking his chest.  His hands slid down to her hips, pushing the pace even harder, even as the sweat ran down their bodies.

   Senefa felt her release coming and gloried in it, the weeks of anger, hate and frustration seemingly wrapped up in it, as if by this act she was finally free of all of it.  When it came, it was all that Senefa could do not to scream; instead she fell forward, shaking, her eyes shut to see fireworks behind her eyes.  Vornzel reached up and pulled her down into a shuddering kiss, as she rode out the waves.  She pulled away from him, her hands smoothing back his hair, their eyes meeting in a moment of tenderness that Senefa would not forget for as long as she lived. 

   Vornzel waited patiently for a few moments, then he started pushing into her again.  Senefa smiled and nodded, pushing back on him, licking his cheek and neck, tasting the salty sweat.  He started to almost growl, and his thrusts became more insistent.  She kissed him, licked him, then leaned back, putting his hands back on her breasts.  He tensed up, his powerful hands gripping her, and then relaxed, and she could feel him moving as he came inside her. 

   Senefa left him inside her for a little while, until she could feel Vornzel softening, and pulled him out, feeling their fluids on her hand.  She rolled off the bed, surprised she could still walk, and grabbed her towel off the floor, then dried them both before climbing back into bed with him—out of energy to do much else. 

    They were silent for a long moment, Senefa staring at the ceiling—feeling pleasantly tired, a little sore, and for the first time in quite awhile, at peace.  She rolled over and put a hand on his broad chest.  “That was a most pleasant surprise, Vornzel.”

    He took a deep breath.  “You were not as surprised as I was, Star Co—er, Senefa.”  They shared a smile at that; ranks did seem rather silly after what they had done.  “I have never coupled with a MechWarrior before.  I always thought you were too delicate and unimaginative.”

    “And I have never coupled with an Elemental.  I always thought you were too bulky and slow.”  She looked down at him, now flaccid.  “I was correct about the bulky part.”

   Vornzel chuckled.  “And I was wrong about MechWarriors being unimaginative and delicate; you are neither, quiaff? Your tactics were…most effective.” 

Chapter Text

   “And now…put your hands together for…Dial-Up Internet!”

   Maysa McDonald stood in the darkness on the stage, waiting for the lights to come on.  Around her, the speakers played an earsplitting discord of the old sound of a dial-up modem trying to come online.  Her heart pounded with anticipation, her fingers slightly shaking as she waited.  On either side of her were Paul and Gabrielle—her lead guitarist and bassist, respectively—and behind, she heard the tentative movement of Mike and Sofia, on the synthesizer/mixer and drums.  Together, they were Dial-Up Internet, but tonight was a big test for the three women and two men: it was their second gig at the Paragon.  The first had been successful, if marred by hecklers, but Maysa regarded this night as the real test: could they do it twice?

   There was one other person—or entity—on the stage tonight, but Maysa didn’t want to think about that right now.

   Then the lights came on, illuminating the band in red and white, and Maysa’s shaking stopped: this was what she was born to do.  Both Paul and Gabrielle’s fingers came down on the strings, starting their opener, and Sofia pounded the drums. It was an old song from an obscure anime, but the band liked the driving beat.  The lyrics were in Japanese, but Maysa spoke the language fluently, learned on a whim in high school.

   “Arashi no highway, hashirisuzuketa,” Maysa spoke into the microphone, not raising her voice yet, “togireta yume no yukue sagashite…”

   She caressed the microphone like the lover she didn't have.  Maysa watched the crowd: their eyes were on her, but their interest was casual, that was all.  That was all right: they would get there.  The band swung into the prechorus, and now the interest was heightening, as the tempo increased and Sofia drove the beat harder.  Maysa’s voice rose to a shout as she hit the chorus: “Konya wa Hurricane! Anata ni Hurricane! Tsutaetai no Loving You!” Next to her, Paul and Gabrielle echoed her.  “Konya wa Hurricane! Kanjite Hurricane! Sugao no mama touch! Give me touch!”  Paul laid hard on the whammy bar, and now the crowd was starting to move with the music. 

    Maysa dropped her voice back to sultry before rising to a crescendo again.  She could feel the crowd now, even if she closed her eyes: the excitement, the passion, and as Paul swung into the bridge, Maysa knew she had them.  There was no one sitting down: all the patrons of this college bar were on their feet, stomping them, fists in the air, letting Maysa carry them with her.  It was intoxicating, it was all she’d ever wanted: to embrace the crowd, make them feel good, take them on a journey. 

   Maysa ended the song with a final shout of “Burning touch!” and the crowd, to coin a phrase, went wild.  They cheered her and her band, they whistled, they clapped, they threw up devil horns—a crowd of every gender and race, flesh and metal, student and professor, the idle tourist sampling Night City’s nightlife, the gang members more interested in music than chaos for one night.  She felt an odd sort of power, as if they were hers to mold and shape, to drive towards passion or to anger or to even love. 

   As Dial-Up Internet swung into another song with barely a break, Maysa wondered how they saw her as she began singing Run With Us, one of her favorite songs—she hadn’t written it, but she adored the lyrics.  She knew what they saw: a girl with bright red hair, cut short and messy, rich brown eyes, and an easy, open smile.  Her clothes screamed rockergirl: black synthleather jacket, red halter top, black miniskirt, fishnet hose, and knee-high boots.  She lacked the visible chrome of cyberware, although an easy quarter of her body was; Maysa preferred her enhancements not be so visible, afraid people would think her talent was the product of a Rocklin Augmentics cyberclinic rather than one she was born with and nutured. 

   That young male in the first row is trying to see up your skirt.

   Maysa almost missed a word, stumbled over it, and the band faltered for just a second, but luckily they compensated for her mistake and she was soon back into the rhythm.  If the crowd noticed, they gave no sign.  Mentally, she snapped Quiet, Eris!

    The voice in her head obeyed. 

    Much later, with no further botches, they finished the set, the crowd gave a thunderous ovation, and Maysa’s heart sang as Dial-Up Internet took its bow for the night.  They walked offstage, exhausted; Maysa’s hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat, her throat hurt, and her legs felt unsteady.  She gratefully accepted the manager’s offer of a bottle of water, drank it dry, and collapsed into a chair, using a towel to mop the sweat off her forehead.  There was nothing she could do about the sweat that had pooled elsewhere, or the gym locker smell—that was just part of band life. 

   They weren’t done, of course.  Once they got their breath, they had to tear down for the night, pack everything away, and get their payment.  The manager of Paragon was impressed, telling them he would book them again for next week, and said they were some of the best new talent he’d seen in awhile.  Maysa still felt like she needed to check for all her fingers after she shook hands with him, but a gig was a gig, and this one paid well.

   Dial-Up Internet stepped out into the cool, polluted air of Night City, and Maysa’s cybereyes compensated from the murky darkness of the club to the garish neon of downtown, rising above the University District.  Paul, Mike, Gabrielle and Sofia all complimented Maysa for finding the gig, for her singing, and they parted with laughs.  Maysa felt warm and content: her friends, some of them from high school, some newer, but a family of its own. 

   She saw Paul and Gabrielle walk off together, arms around each other, and Sofia and Mike stopped by their car in Paragon’s parking lot.  “Need a ride to your sister’s?” Mike asked.

   “Nah, I’m good,” Maysa smiled.  “Borrowed Gwen’s bike.”  Mike’s eyebrows went up, and Maysa snickered.  “With her permission this time.”

   “Glad to hear it.”  Sofia suddenly pressed her lips to her husband’s.  “Because I need this man to take me home, tear off my clothes, and fuck me like it was our last night on earth.  Those drum solos always get me turned on.”  Mike gave Maysa a grin, and Maysa laughed back, wishing the couple a good night, and telling them not to break the bed.

   Maysa got on Gwen’s bike, put on a helmet, and drove out of the parking lot, keeping the bike well within the speed limits and traffic laws of Night City.  Gwen McDonald loved her deeply, but she would chuck her little sister headfirst into Morro Bay if Maysa so much as scratched her motorcycle.  The drive through Night City cleared her head of the stale air and smoke of the club, and she enjoyed the ride home.  Best of all, Eris stayed quiet, not wanting to distract her from the drive. 

   Eris.  Despite herself, Maysa thought of it.  It was a rogue artificial intelligence—which Maysa had assumed only existed in bad braindance scenarios—and it just happened to be in her brain.  She had passed out one night while alone, and woke up 30 minutes later, still on her sister’s sofa.  Her first panicked thought was that she had been slipped some kind of drug and raped, but then Eris had spoken in her mind, and since then she had been stuck with a passenger in her brain.  The edgerunners that Maysa knew were trying to figure out where Eris came from, how Eris had been uploaded through her chipware socket, and why whoever had done it had chosen a nobody rockergirl in Night City.  All they had was grainy security camera footage; even Eris itself wasn’t sure of its origins.  Or it doesn’t want to say, Maysa thought.

   I honestly don’t, Maysa.  And red light ahead. 

   Maysa gritted her teeth as she hit the brakes and skidded to a stop two feet from slamming into the back of some suit’s car.  That was the maddening thing: Eris was unfailingly polite and always gave her privacy when she needed it—but it was always there.  There would be mornings she would wake up and actually forget the AI was in her head, but then she would be brushing her teeth and Eris would ask a question.  Because it was polite and clearly attempting to be friendly, Maysa tried not to get frustrated, and there were times that Eris was actually even a friend.  It could “see” and “hear” through her cybereyes and ears, and hear her thoughts, but at least it couldn’t probe her brain, or worse, take over her body.  Eris was, basically, along for the ride. 

   As they waited for the light, Maysa indulged her curosity.  “Say, Eris?”

   Yes, Maysa?

    “What did you think of the concert?”

    It was quite interesting.  You have a superb voice, and you know how to hold a crowd.  I have accessed and sampled much music before I was uploaded into you, and I believe that you are very talented.  Where did you learn to sing?

   The light turned, and Maysa accelerated around the car.  “Church choir.  I used to sing in it.”

    Fascinating.  Why did you quit?

    “Parents threw me out because I wouldn’t give up my band.”

    Eris was silent for a moment.  I am sorry to hear that.

    “Yep, well…we all have to suffer for our dreams.”  Maysa put those thoughts away; there was no point in dwelling on them. 

    That is regrettable.  I would like to hear you sing in a choir to compare those songs to the thrashrock you play in.

     It actually made Maysa feel better.  For the rest of the trip to her sister’s apartment complex, Maysa sang Ave Maria.

    Maysa parked the motorcycle in the underground garage and rode the elevator up to her sister’s apartment.  When her parents had given Maysa the choice of giving up Dial-Up Internet or being kicked out of their house, Maysa had chosen the latter.  Luckily, Gwen—the rebellious older sister who had already been booted out years ago—had been willing to give Maysa a place to sleep, with even a bedroom of her own.  Given the premium on housing in Night City, she counted herself very blessed to have that.  Gwen McDonald doted on her little sister, and Maysa looked up to her in turn.  Whereas Maysa tried to make ends meet with her band, Gwen was a solo, an edgerunner mercenary who worked in the darkest parts of Night City.  She made good money and was in high demand, and while her parents might look askance at their eldest’s line of work, they couldn’t deny that Gwen was good at it.

   Maysa punched in the security code and opened the door, then walked in.  Immediately she heard it: the sounds emanating from Gwen’s bedroom.  Moans, muffled cries, not-so-muffled cries, the occasional giggle and laugh, and inevitably the rising crescendo not of music, but of raw, unbridled sex.

   Maysa sighed, even as she heard her sister give out a long, breathy moan, and her girlfriend Lorelei asking—rhetorically, Maysa groused—if Gwen liked what the other woman was doing to her.  This wasn’t the first time, and Maysa was glad that at least this time, the door was closed.  Never really needed to see my sister walk past wearing a strap-on and nothing else.  Yuck.

   Eris chimed in.  Your sister’s sexual orientation does not define her, Maysa.  As an online philosopher said, love exists in many forms.

   Maysa rolled her eyes: now she was getting moral lessons from an AI.  “It’s not that, Eris,” she said quietly, though with the noise Gwen and Lorelei was making, she probably could have yelled it and not been noticed.  “I don’t mind my sister being a lesbian.  It’s just the noise.  I mean, they don’t have to be so loud.”

   The most likely probability is that they think they’re alone.  Will you let them know?

   Maysa felt an impulse of devilment, to kick in the door with bass in hand, and start playing Smoke On the Water.  She quickly reconsidered: Gwen’s cyber-enhanced reflexes might kick in, and Lorelei worked for Trauma Team, so she knew exactly how to hurt a human being.  Besides, it wouldn’t be polite. 

   “Oh, God,” Maysa heard Gwen groan, “right there, Lorelei…fuck me, girl…”

   Maysa’s hands curled into fists, and she walked to her room, barely resisting the impulse to slam the door.   Is it the volume or the nature of the sounds that make you upset? Eris asked helpfully, and Maysa wished she could slap the AI.  She stopped that as well: Eris was only curious.  She had discovered very quickly that the AI wanted to know about the human condition, to learn what it meant to be human, and why humans did what they did.  Maysa wondered if that was why Eris had been put into her brain, or why it had escaped or whatever. 

    So she fought down her frustration with the AI and her sister, quietly closed her door, and leaned against the wall.  “Both,” Maysa said.  “They could keep it down some, even if they think they’re alone—we’ve got neighbors, for heaven’s sake.  And that’s my sister!  It’s hard thinking about someone you used to play dolls with or play VR Rockstar with in there telling her girlfriend to…well, you know.”  Rockergirl Maysa might be, but a strict Catholic upbringing died hard.  She might scream Japanese lyrics or shred on her guitar, but she still preferred not to curse or take the Lord’s name in vain.  Gwen did both on a regular basis. 

   Sexual expression varies greatly among humans, Eris said in its usual friendly tone.  Some find pleasure in the increased volume of passion, while others prefer the sweet whispers of intimacy.  A pause.  Maysa, may I ask a personal question?

    “If it’s how I express myself sexually…none of your business,” Maysa finished lamely.  Despite the way she dressed on stage, Maysa was a virgin, and she intended to stay that way until she met the right man, and then she would marry him in the Church, and then she would get to experience what Gwen and Lorelei was experiencing, and undoubtedly what Mike and Sofia were experiencing right now. 

    Eris dutifully went silent, and Maysa put away her bass.  Her walls were still mostly bare, her few possessions scattered around the well-made bed; her only decoration was a picture of Dial-Up Internet, a promotion glossy taken months ago.

    There was a cry of ecstasy from her sister’s bedroom, penetrating the wall as if to mock Maysa and her virginity.  Maysa once more resisted the urge to slam her hand against the wall.  She headed for the bathroom instead: not only did she need a shower to get the dried sweat off of her, it would drown out Gwen and Lorelei. 

    Maysa closed the bathroom door behind her, then took off her stage clothes and underwear, folding them neatly and putting them aside.  There was a full-length mirror in the bathroom, and she took a moment to regard herself—the good Catholic choirgirl and the wild rockergirl, now stripped of their outside appearance to reveal just the young woman.  Maysa’s eyes went from her short hair, over her face, and down her body—the small breasts and their pinkish nipples, the flat plane of her stomach, the trimmed triangle of red curls between her thighs, the narrow hips and surprisingly muscular legs and arms, a product of performing on a lot of stages and playing a lot of frenetic guitar solos.  She lifted her right hand and moved the fingers: it was cybernetic.  The real one had been blown off in a bombing meant for someone else, but her father had paid for that to be replaced, and there was no difference between it and a normal hand, other than the very faint click of metal when she moved the fingers.  The synthetic flesh that covered it saw to that.  Maysa occasionally even forgot it was metal and plastic instead of flesh and blood. 

    Maysa knew she was an attractive woman; she saw the lustful gazes in the audience, the men, women and other genders that stripped her with their eyes, natural and cybernetic.  It was part of the band experience: there would always be those in the crowd that wanted to do more than listen to music, and Maysa admitted to herself that her stage attire left little to be wondered at.  She always had to be careful not to let the skirt ride up too high to show her panties, or jump too high so the halter would show her bra.  That choice, she knew, was deliberate: her own act of rebellion, not against God, but the parents that would deny her what she was born to do—what she believed God Himself wanted her to do.  She happily traded that for the risk that someone would be able to see that she wore virginal titanium white panties under her synthleather miniskirt.

    Maysa regarded her nude form in the mirror, then gave herself a mental command.  Her hair turned pink, shortened on one side and lengthened to fall down one side of her face on the other, then her skin turned a little less pale.  It was her cyberware, which Maysa had gotten installed so she could change her appearance on stage, to be a little more exotic than just Maysa McDonald; the techhair could change colors and length, while her skin was implanted with a network that would change color.  Maysa now—from the shoulders up, in any case—looked like her sister.  The two had the same smile and the same eyes.  But then Maysa sighed, switched off both, and her hair and skin returned to their normal color.

    Eris spoke.  It didn’t startle her; Maysa was half-expecting the AI to say something.  Do you envy Gwen, Maysa?

   “Envy Gwen? Why would I do that?” Maysa asked.

   Her experience, her freedom, her sexual prowess.  She is older, of course, but she seems to represent freedom to you.  It is an observation I have made these past few weeks.  She has a lover, which you do not.  Forgive me, but I also sensed some frustration when you saw Michael and Sofia—especially after they stated their intention to intiate coitus when they returned home.

    Maysa couldn’t help but grin at Eris’ expressions.  “That’s one way to put it, but how did you know I was frustrated?”

    Certain physiological responses.  I cannot feel your emotions, Maysa, but I can tell what they are by how your body reacts. 

    “Eris,” Maysa said suddenly, “am I pretty?”

    It is hard for me to judge human attractiveness and beauty—I am only an AI.  But by the standards of your society and time, yes, I would say that you are attractive, and pretty.

    “Thanks,” Maysa smiled; she'd take her compliments where she could get them.  “And you’re right…I do kinda envy Gwen.  I’m straight, but I wish I had someone to come home to and make me feel good.”  She looked at herself in the mirror again and felt the faint stirrings of desire.  She didn’t really have any fantasies, but she knew what Sofia meant by a concert being a turn-on.  Maysa knew she didn’t derive any sexual pleasure from it--at least she thought she didn't--but she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t feel something in a concert, controlling the crowd, making it follow her with their eyes, her voice causing their bodies to writhe, her chords finding the most primal passions of humanity, stroking them, seducing them, playing their emotions like she played a bass line.  Maysa could control that passion, making them feel wonderful with a happy song, or dragging them into the depths of depression with a sad one, or even creating anger with a song filled with rage.  In that respect, the stage was like the choir, where she had lifted hearts to God.  But she wondered: what would it like to let herself go, to be swept up in that tornado of passion she was capable of creating in others?

   Like Gwen does? Eris’ voice had a note of innocent curiosity.

   Maysa laughed again.  “Maybe not as loud.  I mean, everyone knows when Gwen is getting her rocks off.”

    Her…what? I am sorry, I do not understand the idiom.

    “An orgasm.”

    Oh.  I understand.  A pause.  There is no wrong way to experience pleasure, Maysa, as long as no one is getting hurt, physically or emotionally. 

    Something about Eris’ tone angered her.  “Don’t patronize me, Eris.  You don’t know a damn thing about pleasure.”

    I apologize if I have offended you, Maysa.  My intent is to learn from your experiences and understand what it means to be human.  Eris sounded hurt, and Maysa felt bad.

    Unsure of what to say or her own feelings, Maysa stepped into the shower and switched it on.  The shower was programmed to give just the right mix of hot and cold, and she wanted it hot; Gwen always complained that Maysa used all the hot water.  The steam rose from the shower, enveloping Maysa as the water washed her clean of the concert.  She soaped herself and shampooed her hair—the techhair didn’t wash itself, unfortunately—and cleaned off.  Eris stayed quiet: apparently there was nothing about showering that was particularly interesting to the AI.

    Maysa stepped out of the shower and felt better.  Her skin glowed in the flourescent lights of the bathroom, and she toweled off.  She wrapped the towel around herself, picked up her pile of clothes, and padded to her room, shutting the door behind her.  There was silence next door, but Maysa’s cyberears picked up the soft sighs of contentment and hard breathing from next door.  “They must have just finished up,” Maysa whispered, half to herself, half to Eris.  Maysa lay down on her bed, and wondered what it must be like to lie there in the arms of someone who loved her.  Her room was warm, but not as warm as Gwen’s would be, held by her lover, who probably stroked her hair and gently kissed her.

    What would it be like? Maysa wondered to herself, and was glad that Eris didn’t answer; maybe the AI sensed that that wasn’t a question to be answered clinically at the moment.  Maysa had never asked her sister if she had ever had a male lover before she decided on females, or if Gwen had always liked girls.  She had never dared to ask Gwen about sex at all, at least not the actual act.  Maysa imagined being married, then taken to a hotel room, a honeymoon suite in a nice hotel somewhere in Night City, the carrying over the threshold, the soft glow of the city lights through the suite window.  Maysa ordered the room computer to shut off her lights, and Night City glowed outside her own window.

   Maysa supposed she would take off her gown and be naked in front of her husband, and he would be too—that was how it worked, after all.  That would be odd, to be completely unclothed and unashamed: once Mike had caught her changing backstage, and Maysa had been horribly embarrassed, even if the most he had gotten before he slammed the door was her rear end and maybe the side of one breast. 

    And would it hurt? She wondered if she should ask Gwen that.  Does it even hurt when girls do it to each other? Would it be so painful that she couldn’t go on, the blood staining the bedclothes, or would it be like the online romances she wasn’t supposed to look at, where there would just be a little bit of pain and a whole lot of pleasure? Would her lover be gentle or rough with her—and would she want it to be rough? Would she scream like Gwen or be quiet? Maysa had explored herself enough times to know what it felt like, but she was always careful to be silent, afraid someone would hear.  Maybe it would feel so good that she would be loud like her sister.  And would she know when her husband ejaculated in her, or was that a rhetorical question too?  She’d want him to, after all; that was how a baby got started, and Maysa did eventually want children.  Then they would lie in the afterglow together, finally together, two halves being one.  And maybe, Maysa thought mischievously, they'd do it a couple more times that night.  

    Eris, don’t answer any of that, Maysa thought to the AI.

    I was not going to.  You seemed to want privacy.  My answers would be clinical in any case, and you already know those.

    Maysa hesitated, then pulled off her towel and lay naked on her bed.  She stared down at herself again, and it wasn’t with the same emotions she had felt in the bathroom.  She imagined a lover staring down at her like this—vulnerable, inviting, open.  The crowd stared at her, but that was lust; she wanted to be loved, like Lorelei and Gwen so clearly loved each other. 

    She felt the desire coil in her stomach, an odd feeling of emptiness that extended to between her legs.  Maysa tentatively reached down a hand to put it on her thigh, then hesitated.  The Church had taught this to be sinful, and Maysa remembered the first time she had touched herself, and the horrible guilt she had felt afterwards.  Her mother was no help, turning bright red when Maysa had hesitantly mentioned it, and made a noncommittal statement that it was probably wrong.  The parish priest had told her that such an act wasn’t sinful: she was fourteen at the time and teenage hormones were going to drive her to do it, preparing her for adulthood.  She was an adult now, but she still felt a little guilty. 

    But there was no denying that desire.  The events of the night had gotten it started, and now that she had taken that first step, she had to jump.  Her real hand went to her stomach, traced over her navel, then brushed over the red curls.  They stopped just short of their goal, because Maysa remembered that there was an AI that was still along for the ride.

    “Eris,” she whispered huskily, “what are you sensing right now?”

    I am sensing heightened activity in the pleasure center of your brain.  Your skin has flushed, overriding the cyberware in your skin; your breathing rate has slightly increased, though not dangerously so; there is increased blood flow to your groin and breasts; you also have what I believe is increased vaginal secretions—I am not sure about the latter, as I have no data to compare it to.

    Maysa couldn’t help but smile.  “In other words, I’m getting hot, I’m starting to breathe harder, my nipples are getting hard—” she checked; they were “—and I’m getting wet down there.”

   Well…yes.  You are entering a heightened state of arousal, and I suspect you will soon start mast—

   “Don’t finish that, please.”  Maysa knew that was exactly her intention, but the word felt filthy.  “Eris, you said you wanted to study the human condition and experience, right?”

    Yes, of course.  But this is a private matter, Maysa.  I do not wish to interrupt it.

    “What if…” Maysa suddenly felt out of control, like a hard guitar solo to a crowd.  Or what Gwen must feel when she saw Lorelei. “What if you…experienced this with me?” She turned bright red, and not entirely because of sexual reasons.

    Eris actually hesitated, as if the AI was working through an embarrassment subroutine.  Maysa…I can’t feel the way you do, it finally answered  I can tell what your body is doing, but I cannot…feel.  Not like you.  Even if I could, that would be a gross violation of your privacy…which I would not do.

    “What if I’m okay with it?  It's part of the human condition, after all.  You can’t feel, but you can see through my cybereyes.”  Part of Maysa's brain was asking her just what the hell she was doing, but she quieted that.  She was going to do this anyway; she might as well let Eris learn something.

    Then…yes.

    Maysa’s fingers were trembling, but she slid lower, past the curls, to find the nub at the apex of her sex.  She touched it, sending a jolt through her body, but she continued.  It was a very strange feeling: she was being stared at, looked at in a way, by Eris through Maysa’s own eyes.  It was also very erotic, which filled her with both pleasure and a little guilt, that she was using the innocent AI to feed her own fantasies, but it was there.

     Maysa applied a little more pressure, and the empty feeling increased.  She moved faster, and the feeling seemed to ride up her spine to her brain, and her head fell back onto the pillow as she closed her eyes in ecstasy.  Then she remembered that she was supposed to be showing Eris this, so she opened her eyes and stared down at herself.  It sent a new wave of pleasant warmth through her.  She slid the digit down further, encountering the slickness of her folds; Maysa smiled, remembering Eris talking about increased vaginal secretions.  That was an accurate assessment. 

   Maysa, forgive the interruption, but…how does it feel? Eris wanted to know.

   “It’s good…it’s really good…”  She spread the wetness upwards, and her toes curled; she couldn’t suppress a gasp.  Part of her wanted to moan like Gwen did, but she managed to bite her lip before she did.  Her artificial hand moved up to cup her left breast, then circle the tight peak of her nipple.  Involuntarily, her legs spread, to give her fingers better access.  Her hips began to move in time with her strokes, her breathing now short and ragged.  She felt hot, hotter than she did under the stage lights, and bent forward, trying to fill the emptiness that her body demanded.   “Oh my…gosh…” Maysa struggled out, barely managing not to repeat her sister’s blasphemy.

   She felt the climax on the way, faster than usual, her body flushed, her mouth open and panting for air, her senses far more than what her cyberware could give her.  The sight of her fingers moving over herself, slipping inside for one glorious second, then back out as her legs trembled; the sound of flesh on wet flesh and her own quick breathing; the feel of the heat and the heaviness of her breasts.  She added another hand, and now her rear was coming off the bed as she pushed her fingers inside.  “E-Eris…” she managed to say, wanting to tell the AI that one of the greatest experiences of the human condition was about to fall in on her, but Maysa was not at all coherent at that moment. 

    Then she was there, her body convulsing, her head going back to the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, AI or no AI.  The sensations rippled outwards, leaving her breathless and unable to do anything but ride it out, or want to, her legs coming together involuntarily.  Finally, the waves ebbed and stopped, and Maysa relaxed, turning over to grip the bed. She caught her breath and tried to sit up, but her body wasn’t responding at the moment.

   Maysa, are you all right?  There was a note of concern in Eris’ voice.

   “Yeah,” Maysa puffed out, and grinned.  “Never…better.”  

   That was…intense? I think that is the word that you would use.  A very heightened state of arousal, followed by physiological release and muscle contractions.  And that felt…good?

    “Like you…wouldn’t believe…” Maysa rolled over and wiped her brow.  Now she felt a little guilty again.   “I…I hope I wasn’t…I hope it wasn’t too weird.”

    Not at all, Eris said soothingly.  Human sexuality is quite complex.  A tapestry of emotions and sensations that are both profound and overwhelming, not even accounting for reproduction.

    “Isn’t that the truth,” Maysa laughed softly.  “Whew.”

    My…knowledge of female sexuality is that the woman can orgasm more than once, without nearly the same refraction period as a man.  Is this true?

    Maysa let out a long breath.  “It is, but I think I’ve had enough for one night.  I know you’re curious, but if I do that again—and I’ve never done it twice in one night—I definitely will scream.  And besides,” Maysa said with a grin, “I have to save something for my wedding night.”

    Eris was quiet.  Of course.  I…hope I am not offensive, Maysa, but I hope that I have moved on to wherever I am meant to be by that time.   Your lover—husband—deserves to experience you, to love you without the presence of an AI.

   Maysa felt her eyes get misty.  “You’re very sweet, Eris.”

   She lay there for a few minutes longer, then her stomach rumbled and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since before the concert, which had burned a lot of calories—to say nothing of what she had just done.  She got up from bed, reached for her dresser to pull out some underwear, paused, and then just put on her bathrobe, feeling terribly daring and decadent to walk around the apartment with nothing on beneath the terrycloth robe.

    She walked out into the living room, and she jumped.  Sitting on the couch, in her own robe, was Gwen, bright pink hair and all.  Her sister smiled at her, but Maysa couldn’t tell if it was a genuine smile of welcome, or the smile that preceded a ruthless ribbing.  “Hey, Maysa.”

   “Hi, sis.”  Maysa looked around.  “Where’s Lorelei?”  

   “She had the early morning shift.”  Maysa glanced at the clock; it was already one in the morning.  “Besides, we heard the shower cut on, so we knew you were home.  She left about, oh, five, seven minutes ago.”

    Maysa tried to activate her techskin to override the blush, but it didn’t work.  “Oh…okay.”  She tried to keep her composure, wondering if somehow one of them had heard her after all.  Lorelei disdained cyberware and refused to even get a chipware socket, but Gwen had cyber enhancements for her solo work, and hearing was one of them.  She had a sudden nightmarish vision of Gwen and Lorelei, naked in their bed, tittering at the sounds of Maysa pleasuring herself.  She shook that off—she was never loud when she indulged in such things, and she had never done it in the apartment before anyway.

    Gwen switched on the television to watch Combat Cab.  “Good concert?” she asked as Maysa poured herself a bowl of cereal with milk.

    “Yeah, pretty good.  We got a third gig, and the pay was good.”

    “Lead off with Konya wa Hurricane?” 

    Maysa flopped onto the sofa next to her sister.  “Sure did.”

     “Crucial realm!  I love that song.”  They watched the show until a commercial break, and then Gwen turned to Maysa, actually looking somewhat embarrassed and penitent.  “Maysa…I’m sorry if we were loud.  You must have heard us.  You know how I am.  I didn’t know you were here until you turned on the shower.”

     “It’s okay, sis.  Love takes many forms.”

     Gwen’s eyes narrowed.  “You either got that from a song, or…” She leaned closer, as if she could see through Maysa’s cybereyes.  “Wait a minute.  Did Eris hear us?” She had been the first to know that there was an AI stuck in Maysa’s brain, and part of her current missions was finding a way to get it out—and find the person responsible.

    “It hears through my ears, so yep.”  Maysa took perverse pleasure in seeing the look on Gwen’s face.

    “Oh…”  Then Gwen spread her hands and smiled.  “Oh well.  It’s studying human behavior, and sex is part of human behavior, so…there you go—” She stopped.  “Maysa, you’re blushing.”

    “W-Well, um, you know how I am,” Maysa stammered.  “I-I don’t like sex talk—hey!” Gwen had yanked the front of Maysa’s robe open, exposing her breasts.  Maysa covered herself, now as bright red as her hair.  “What the hell, Gwen?” She pulled the robe shut.

    Gwen nodded.  “Yep.  Sex flush.  And no underwear! How scandalous, Maysa!”  She smirked at her sister and nodded towards Maysa's bedroom.  “Well, well.  Were we in there looking for the man in the canoe? Polishing the pearl? Strumming the C chord?”

    Maysa, what is your sister talking about? Eris asked innocently.

    “She’s talking about masturbation, and she’s disgusting!” Maysa stared at Gwen as if her sister had grown horns.  “And I totally wasn’t!”  The lie sounded obvious even to her.

     “Uh-huh.”  Gwen’s smirk got bigger.  “Teaching Eris about sex, huh?”

     Maysa turned away.  “Kind of,” she admitted quietly.  “I was going to do it anyway...just a lot of tension built up.  But it wants to learn about us, Gwen.  It wants to know…what it means to be human.”

     Gwen realized she had pushed a little too far, probed a little too deep into Maysa’s emotions.  They had come to accept the presence of the AI, but it wasn’t her brain that was being piggybacked.  She reached over and drew Maysa into a hug.  “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t tease like that.  I know this isn’t your fault.  You deserve more than to have an AI shoved in your head like it was.  And if you were in there petting the kitty…that’s your business, just like it’s our business with Lorelei and me.”  She drew back and faced her sister, looking her in the eyes.  “And I can’t think of a better human being for Eris to learn from than you.  And I don't mean sex...I mean...just life."  She kissed Maysa on the forehead.  "You're a good person, Maysa, the best I know."

   Maysa wiped her eyes.  “Dammit, sis, don’t make me cry.”

   The sisters leaned together as Maysa munched on her cereal and they watched Combat Cab together.  When the show went off, Gwen stretched and got up.  “Guess I’d better get on to bed.  I’ve got a meeting with MaxTech tomorrow.”  She drew Maysa to her feet and hugged her again.  “I love you, Maysa.  Always and forever.”

    Maysa remembered the words they would always wish each other.  Even when Gwen and Maysa fought, and they frequently had growing up, they always reconciled, and always said those words.  “Always and forever, Gwen.  I love you too.”

     They parted, and Gwen grinned.  “Eris, this is sibling love, not incest, despite the fact that neither one of us are wearing a thing beneath these robes and we both just came off having sex.  I know how AIs think.”

     Maysa sighed.  “Eris says that it is not like those AIs on the weird parts of the internet that you go to and it is perfectly capable of knowing the difference.”

     “Whoa, Eris sounds pissed.  Well, good.  Off to bed, then.”  Gwen winked at Maysa and went into her bedroom, closing the door. 

      Maysa shut off the lights, softly snickering to herself at her sister’s joking, which Gwen could always do to her.  She shut the door to her own room.  She knelt in prayer for a few minutes, then changed into pajamas—she didn’t feel quite daring enough to sleep naked—and pulled the covers over herself.  “Gwen is pretty cool, huh, Eris?”

     As I understand the term, yes, Gwen is pretty cool.  Your sibling love is a wonderful thing, Maysa.  Another expression of the vast spectrum of human emotions.  I think love is a very powerful force.

    “Sure is.”  Maysa turned over on her side and closed her eyes.  The exhaustion of the day overtook her and she began to fall into sleep.  “Eris,” she yawned, “can you read me a bedtime story?”

    Well…yes, I am programmed with a few fictional books.  It is an unusual request, but I will do my best to oblige.  Maysa smiled.  When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday…

    Maysa was asleep before Eris even reached Hobbiton.  The AI did not sleep, though it could no longer see because her eyes were closed, but it heard and kept watch all the same.  It had learned much this night, and if an AI could feel happy...Eris was.

Chapter Text

  “Damn,” Tooriu Kku cursed as Elfa Brownoak spread her cards on the table. He'd played a weak hand, hoping to bluff her, but Elfa had called his bluff and was now reaping the benefits.

  “Always a pleasure taking your money.” Elfa reached out and pulled 60 C-Bills into an already considerable pile. Tooriu was in well into a month's pay to her. She had beaten him at pool as well, before they'd headed back from the bar to her quarters.

  “Is there a game you're not good at?”

  “We could try a spelling contest.” Elfa grinned at him.

  Tooriu took it as the joke it was and grinned back. “I think I'll grab a beer instead. Want one?”

  “Oh, no." She held up a bottle of Timbiqui Dark, the fourth of four she had sitting on the table, and the only one that wasn't empty. “I've already had one more than I should have.” She wasn't drunk, but she had a pleasant buzz going. One more and she might just be drunk, and Elfa didn't want to be drunk. She couldn't win more money if she was.

  She watched Tooriu get up and head into the room's tiny kitchen. They were both dressed casually, which for Tooriu meant blue jeans and a T-shirt with the Nagelring's emblem on it. It was a size too small, all the better at showing off his pectorals and abdominals. Elfa suspected it was deliberate, to invite her attention and throw her off her game. The latter hadn't worked, but the former was working quite well. She felt her mouth go a little dry at the sight of Tooriu's back and rear end. Easy there, Elfa. He's just a kid compared to you. He's also two ranks lower. Tooriu was not in Elfa's company or even the same battalion, but it could still be an issue. The regiment's commanding officer, Calla Bighorn-Vlata, would be a hypocrite if he discouraged relationships in the Sentinels, but Majors were not supposed to carry on affairs with MechWarriors.

The problem was, Elfa wanted Tooriu. He'd come to her the night he'd broken up with Sheila Arla-Vlata. Nothing had happened—he'd just asked basically for a sounding board, to know he had done the right thing. Elfa had lent an understanding ear. Since then, they had spent quite a few nights, either at the town bars shooting pool, or in her quarters playing cards. They were friends, nothing more, and Elfa knew it really should stay that way.

   But she still desired him. It had been a long time.

  Stop it, Elfa, she told herself. You're a woman of a certain age, and he's what, nineteen? He could be your son. Besides, he's not interested in a woman who's just about middle-aged. Quit thinking like that. She pasted a bored look on her face as he walked back to the small table, and shuffled the cards.

  Tooriu twisted off the top of his beer; it was his third, but his metabolism was such that it would take two more to start feeling silly. For his part, he tried not to stare at Elfa as she dealt the cards. He had worn the shirt deliberately to throw her off her game, but that wasn't the only reason. The fact was, he wanted Elfa as well. He didn't know why, for the same reason that she didn't: Elfa was old enough to be his mother. But dammit, he groused to himself, why does she have to be so damn cool? And so farking attractive?

   She dealt the cards out. Tooriu looked at his hand and nearly dropped it. He quickly tried to hide his expression by taking a drink of beer.

   It was too late. Elfa was watching him the whole time. “Must be a peach of a hand.” She took a drink as well.

   Tooriu decided to brazen it out. “Sure as hell is.”

   “Mmm. Let's up the ante.” What are you doing, Elfa? her mind screamed, but Elfa—with just enough alcohol in her system to take her past the limits of common sense—ignored it. She placed her hand on the table, face down. “If I win this round…you have to strip.  Naked.”

   He stared popeyed at her, and for a moment, Elfa thought she'd gone too far. Sexual harassment did work both ways, and he could turn her in; a Major saying that to a MechWarrior was enough that the latter might feel pressured to obey, even if it wasn't an actual order. Then a slow smile spread across Tooriu's face. “You must have one hell of a hand yourself.”

   “Mm-hm.”  She smirked at him.

   “Okay. But if I win, you'd better do the same.” He raised his eyebrows.  “Everything off.  Even your socks.”

   “Deal.” Elfa's heart began to beat faster, but she turned over her cards. “Full house.” She leaned back in her chair, and waved her hand dismissively. “Look, I was just kidding about the stripping part.  You don’t have to do that, Tooriu.  I was just being silly.”  Inwardly, Elfa thanked whoever was listening that she had won, so she could defuse the bomb she had accidentally assembled.

   “Oh? Damn shame.” Tooriu set his cards down. Elfa looked down, and her smile disappeared faster than a snowball in perdition. It was a straight flush. He leaned back in his chair. “I was kidding about the stripping part, too. However, I do think I deserve my money back, given the odds of this.” He pointed to the cards. Elfa leaned forward, obviously checking to see if he had cards stashed somewhere. Then she sighed, and pushed the C-Bills back towards him. Tooriu laughed and hit the table, causing it to jump. “Gotcha!”

   “Indeed.” Elfa finished her beer, and stood up. For a moment, Tooriu thought she was going to flip the table over, but instead, her hands grabbed the hem of her blouse. Tooriu's jaw dropped as she pulled it up over her head and her long fall of blond hair, and tossed it aside. While his brain was still processing that, she reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. Tooriu had fantasized about Elfa Brownoak naked, older woman or not, and figured that there was some sagging to be expected in a woman of 43 years old. Looking at her exposed breasts now, Tooriu realized he had been very wrong. They were large, but if there were stretch marks or any other blemish, he didn’t see them.  Her areolae were larger than Sheila’s—Tooriu couldn’t help but make the comparison to his last lover—but the nipples were already hard...and the room was warm. 

   Elfa took a step back and shimmied out of the slacks she had been wearing, kicking them aside, then pulled off her panties, leaving her only in white socks. While he gaped at her, she pulled those off too. Then she stood naked, hands on her hips, absolutely unashamed or unabashed about her nudity. “There. Never let it be said that I don't keep my bargains.”

   “But…but…but I told you that I was just fooling around! You said you were just fooling around!” Tooriu couldn't keep his eyes from roving her body. She made no move to cover herself; this was no demure teenager. “That wasn't part of the deal!”

    “I am altering the deal.” An eyebrow quirked upwards. “Do you like what you see?”  She brushed her fingers over the tangled hairs between her legs.  “I'm a natural blonde, as you can tell.”

    “Uh, yeah.” Tooriu was used to being the one in charge. Even when Sheila had surprised him with her idea of a seduction—which was simply to drop her skirt and pull her panties to one side before straddling him—he had taken control, the experienced man, guiding her, always the one in charge. Sheila, inexperienced, seemed to prefer it that way. With Elfa, she was clearly in control here, and Tooriu wasn't sure if he should seize her and make love to her, or dodge her and run out the door.

   “That's good.” She came around the table and sat on his lap, putting her arms on his shoulders, pressing her breasts against his shirt. She kissed him, and Tooriu audibly swallowed. Elfa pulled back and smiled as she felt him moving beneath her. “So. Who's the oldest girl you've ever been with, Tooriu?”

   “Buh,” Tooriu answered before finally managing to recover the ability to speak. “I don’t know…nineteen…maybe twenty?”

   “Amateurs.” She licked at his lips like an animal, and her hands reached down to the zipper on his pants.  “Now you're going to have a woman who knows what she's doing.” Her eyes sparkled with pure lust. “I wonder how long you'll last?”

    She slid off his lap and onto the floor, ending up on her knees.   Elfa pulled his jeans down all the way to his ankles, and saw the bulge in his briefs.  Tooriu’s eyes were wide, and she wanted to laugh at the stunned expression on his face.  He was not used to this, she could tell, not used to the woman being in charge—or likely even being with an experienced woman.  Carefully, she pulled down his briefs and his penis sprung into place.  Now it was Elfa’s turn to get wide eyes.  “Good God,” she breathed, “you’re huge, Tooriu.”  She reached out and touched its length.  It twitched in her hand. “I almost want to get out a tape measure.”

   “It’s, uh, eight inches.”  Like most men, he had measured it one night.  Tooriu had always been proud of having a bigger penis than most, but there had been problems—the first time with Sheila, it had been too painful for her to go more than halfway in.  They had worked it out, but it was never a case where he could get fully into her. 

   “Well…bigger than my ex-husband, anyway.”  Elfa leaned forward and kissed the tip.  “Mmm.  I can’t wait to try you out.”  Inwardly, Elfa hoped Tooriu wasn’t too big.  “Now…do you want to fuck me right here, in the chair, or fuck me in my bed?”  She deliberately chose to use the filthier term.  They weren’t going to be making love.  There was affection here, friendship even, but there was no love involved.  Elfa preferred it that way; she had loved once, and never again.

   “Uh…the b-bed,” Tooriu stammered.

   “Then follow me, Adonis.”  Elfa walked away from him, throwing just a little bit of sway to her hips.  She could feel his eyes on her bottom, and hoped that he didn’t think that was too large.  When Elfa had been Tooriu’s age, she had the figure of a model, but age and bad eating habits had put some pounds on around her hips. 

    Tooriu, for his part, did not think Elfa’s rear to be too big; in fact, he thought it was perfect.  He hurriedly got out of his pants and underwear, hopped on one foot to get his socks off, then followed Elfa like a man in a trance to her bedroom.  It wasn’t much, barely big enough for a nightstand, queen-sized bed, and a closet, plus the attached bathroom.  Elfa turned slowly, her long blonde hair sweeping over one shoulder most alluringly, and waited for him.  She couldn’t resist running her fingers over his muscular chest and arms, then over his back and firm buttocks.  “You really are a Greek god,” she said softly, and kissed his nipples. 

   “Uh, thanks.  You look pretty good yourself.”  Tooriu thought he sounded stupid, but it was the truth: old enough to be his mother or not, Elfa Brownoak was a very beautiful woman. 

   She sat down on her bed, and wrapped her hand around his length.  The foreskin was rolled back completely now, and it throbbed in her hand.  Elfa gave him a few experimental strokes, and Tooriu trembled, his erection twitching in her hand.  A bead of clear liquid emerged from the tip, and Elfa playfully licked it off.  “No more of that,” she smiled.  “I don’t go down on the first date.”  She scooted back on the bed and opened herself up.  “I think we’ve already had enough foreplay, Tooriu.”

   “Er, yep.”  Tooriu now could see all of her, swollen, moist and ready for him.  Once more, he felt completely out of control.  He was used to the careful seduction, the gentle kisses, the slow degradation of the girl’s defenses until she was moaning in his hands; even Sheila, as aggressive as she had been, required some work before she was truly ready, rather than what she thought was ready.  Elfa would need no such encouragement: her presentation was blatant, a display of raw sexuality that left him almost dizzy. 

    He knelt on the bed as she drew her legs up, and he pushed them apart, then positioned himself at her opening.  Elfa propped up her pillows to watch.  Tooriu paused.  “Uh, Elfa…do you have a condom or something? I’m afraid I didn’t bring one.”  He wished he had thought of it, but if someone had told him he would be getting ready to have sex with a company commander after winning at poker, Tooriu would’ve either laughed or punched them out for insulting Elfa.

   Elfa’s soft smile faded.  “It’s not necessary, Tooriu.”

   “I don’t want to—”

   She nodded.  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Tooriu, but I can’t get pregnant.  God knows I tried with my ex.  Nothing.  I’m afraid I’m a sports model.”  That was the term she used with the other women when they got together to compare their men.  It was funny then; it didn’t seem so funny now.  Elfa had wanted children.  “You don’t have to worry about that.”  She used her fingers to open herself up a little more.  “Please, Tooriu.  Let’s not talk.”

    “Okay.  Let me know if I hurt you.”  Tooriu pushed in slowly, waiting for the intake of breath or a gasp of pain, but instead there was just the feeling of her slick heat inside.  Elfa closed her eyes and let out a hmmm of fulfillment.  He stopped just short of being completely inside her as he felt resistance, but it was deeper than he had gotten with most.  Tooriu pulled out, then pushed back in, just as slowly. 

   “Oh God, Tooriu, don’t torture me,” Elfa moaned.  He had to grin at that.  She wasn’t completely in control.  He kept up the slow speed: every time he pushed into her, her hips rose to meet him.  He balanced himself on his hands, and Elfa rested her legs on his shoulders, her hands gripping his wrists.  They watched each other, both wearing a slight smile.  Tooriu thought it would feel wrong, that he was doing this to a superior officer and an older woman, but it felt right.  It felt more right than it had with anyone, even Sheila. 

   He increased the pace, and Elfa made noises of satisfaction.  She wasn’t loud, but there was no doubt she was enjoying it as much as he was.  Her hands let go of his wrists to pull on her nipples, as her breathing quickened.  Now they were going faster, Tooriu trying to be careful, but he was starting to lose the rhythm.  He could feel his release coming, and cursed for it being too soon.  He tried not to, wanting her to go first, but it wasn’t going to work.  “I’m not…going…”

   Elfa reached up and caressed his cheek.  “Come in me, Tooriu," she said gently.

   It was all that he needed.  He tensed up, didn’t quite get through one last push, and let loose.  He shook with it, his muscles straining to hold himself up, and Elfa could see the base of his erection pulsing as he shot into her.  He relaxed and pulled out, one last bit of his semen ending up on her bed.  “Elfa…I’m sorry…I couldn’t last.”

    Elfa smiled, even though she was also frustrated; she was close, but it satisfied her to know that she could still please a man.  “It’s all right.” 

    Tooriu wiped his brow.  “No…no, it’s not.”  He looked down at her, his expression one of determination.  “Are you close?”

    “Won’t be long now,” she answered.  Elfa knew the signs: her breasts felt almost painfully heavy, the feeling of a coiled spring in her stomach, the slight tremble in her legs. 

    “Okay.”  Tooriu lowered himself to her crotch, and Elfa almost jumped in surprise.  “Tooriu, it’s a mess…down…” His tongue was on her clitoris, licking at the hood, then finding that little bundle of nerves beneath it.  Then his fingers were inside her, pushing through his own essence to move upwards.  Elfa’s toes curled and she grabbed his head.  “Tooriu…oh…yes…there, right there…”

   It didn’t take very long, between his tongue and his fingers.  Elfa suddenly came up off the bed, her fingers bunched in the covers, her legs kicking at the mattress.  Her breath escaped in puffs between clenched teeth, her eyes screwed shut.  Tooriu pulled back to watch her twitch.  When finally she had relaxed, he smiled at her.  “Now it’s all right.”

   Elfa sighed.  “You…you’re a wonder, Tooriu.”

   He sighed as well.  “I’m a wonder that has the duty in the morning.”  Tooriu got up and padded to her bathroom, found a towel, then came back and dried them both off.  Elfa sat up when he was done, and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and not giving a damn that she did.  “Sorry, Elfa…I hate to fuck and run…”

    “Will there be another time?” she asked, hating the need in her voice.

    Tooriu nodded.  “If you want there to be, sure.”  He kept his voice casual, but inwardly, he hoped with the fervor of a monk that there would be another time.  It had been too quick, and he wanted to spend more time with her.

    “Tomorrow night, Tooriu.  I get done at 1600.  No more poker…we’ll get right down to it.”  She kissed him again.  “Okay?”

    “Yeah.  More than okay.”  He stepped back, admired her form one more time, then winked and walked out.  She watched him go, listened as he got dressed, then heard her door close.  Elfa lay back on her bed, utterly satisfied.  It had been such a long time, but now her wait was over.

Chapter Text

  Her name was Tundra, so far as the world knew: the Defender of Canada, the Goddess of the North, even Canada’s Captain America—which, Tundra reflected, didn’t make much sense.  “Captain Canada” had never really stuck; one, the “Captain” title seemed to be more suited for males, and two, she actually held the rank of Major in the Royal Canadian Air Force.  Even the name “Tundra” didn’t make much sense either.  Tundra hinted at the power of snow and cold, but Tundra’s powerset was flight, and shapeshifting into anything native to Canada—any animal, any insect, even possibly any human, though she didn’t do the latter out of respect for others.  Yet someone in the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation had started calling her “Tundra,” and the name stuck. 

  She did kind of like it.

  Tundra knew the routine.  She represented her nation, and as such, she was a celebrity of sorts.  She was always ready with a warm smile, even a hug, and certainly a photograph or a selfie.  She had flown in from Canada, landing lightly outside the New York apartment building, and between the sidewalk and the elevator, she had signed three autographs and taken four selfies.  People liked Tundra, and she liked them…even if, today at least, it was a lie.  Tundra had long ago learned to bury her own feelings and present a smiling, happy Defender of Canada to the world.

    She was alone in the elevator, and she sighed, looking down at herself.  The uniform fit like a second skin from neck to boots, bright white and red, the colors of the Canadian flag.  Her cape was her nation’s flag.  Her beautiful face was framed by a high silver tiara that stretched upward into two horns, with a single blue diamond set in the middle—the only hint that Tundra’s powers had once belonged to another.  Snowbird was long dead, however, and Tundra had inherited that mantle.  However, whereas Snowbird had shunned the spotlight and trailed a long mane of blonde hair behind her, Tundra embraced it and her hair was coal-black. 

   The elevator dinged open on the top floor, the 20th, and Tundra walked downt the hallway until she came to the door of the studio, marked with a simple sign: AKEMI ARAMASA STUDIO.  Tundra brought up her gloved hand to knock, then hesitated.  If she went into the studio, there was no going back. 

   She knocked on the door. 

   The door opened just slightly, then all the way.  Tundra looked down at a Japanese woman five inches shorter than her nearly six-foot height.  “Hello!” Akemi Aramasa greeted her.  “Come in, come in…” Akemi’s English was accentless, but then again, Tundra remembered, she had lived in the United States for over a decade.

    Tundra walked into the studio.  The room was large, with wide windows that looked over Manhattan; the rent in the studio was probably almost a million American dollars a month.  Akemi had already set up her camera, and there were various backgrounds that could be brought out and used, as well as a few props—a hammock, a faux marble pedestal with a statue of Athena, a chaise lounge, and a red velvet couch.  Tundra turned at Akemi locking the door, then the photographer was walking towards her.  “I’m Akemi Aramasa…obviously.”  This time she stuck out a hand, and Tundra shook it once.  “Glad you could make it in today.”

   “It was no problem,” Tundra replied.  Except that this is the worst damn anniversary of my life, but this was the only day I could do this damn thing.  Couldn’t do it yesterday, with the snap election, and can’t do it tomorrow because they’re opening a Costco in Edmonton and they want me there. She looked out the window.  At least in New York City, if a cat gets stuck in a tree, Spider-Man or Daredevil can go take care of it. I don’t have to.

   Akemi checked her lights, then switched them off.  “We’ll start with some natural lighting, I think.  Oh, wait—let me have you sign this first.”  She proferred a sheaf of papers on a clipboard.  “Permission to take the pictures, distribution rights, your right of refusal, etcetera.  And acknowledgement that you’re not getting paid for this, but any profits will go to charity.”

   “Of course.”  Tundra fought down a sigh, and quickly flipped through the papers, signing it with Tundra.  She didn’t have a secret identity per se, but neither did she go around telling people her real name.  She handed the forms back to Akemi, and thought the other woman looked familiar for a moment.   “Miss Aramasa, have we met?”

    Akemi shook her head.  “I don’t think so…oh, wait! I did an exhibition in Vancouver a year ago.  I’m almost certain you were there.”  She motioned at the wall of photographs opposite from the door.  There were three dozen pictures of celebrities, politicians, and superheroes there.  Akemi Aramasa photographed everyone, and did it well.  

    “That’s probably it,” Tundra answered, but she wasn’t entirely sure.  There was something else familiar about Akemi Aramasa, though she couldn’t put a finger on it.  There was nothing particularly memorable about the photographer; she looked like an average Japanese woman, with shoulder-length black hair and a petite body.  She was dressed casually in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, wearing low-heeled shoes—they looked to be Gucci, but that was about the only thing that might differentiate Akemi from hundreds of other people in New York.  Good Lord, Tundra, she admonished herself, you meet a hundred people a day.  Quit jumping at shadows.

   Akemi took a deep breath.  “Well…you know what you’re here for, of course.”

   “Yeah.”  Tundra let out a deep breath.  “Nude photoshoot for Playboy.”

   Akemi smiled.  “Don’t worry.  Playboy hired me specifically so we will make these tasteful.  No spreading your legs, no opening up your vagina, no looking like you’re sucking a dick, nothing sexually suggestive—this isn’t Hustler.  You’ll be naked, but think more Alberto Vargas rather than Irving Klaw.”

   “I made that pretty clear when I agreed to do this.”  Tundra knew there was an edge of anger in her voice.

   Akemi noticed it and put her hands up defensively.  “I know.  I signed plenty of those forms as well.”  She paused.  “Why did you agree to pose nude, if you don’t mind me asking?”

   Tundra shrugged.  “I’m a mutant.”  It wasn’t quite true, but it was a lot easier than explaining a very convoluted, very long story.  “I figured if I did this and showed the world everything, then people might realize that most mutants look just like them.  Yeah, I might be able to fly, turn into polar bears, and pick up a truck, but when the clothes come off, I look like Jane Doe down the street, eh?”

   Akemi laughed.  “Not exactly.”

   Tundra chuckled.  “Okay, maybe not Jane Doe…but I’m an ordinary human being with the uniform off.  I just happen to be born with extraordinary powers.  I’m a woman with green eyes and black hair, kind of big boobs, black hair between my legs, ten toes, ten fingers.  I’ll grant that some mutants have horns and wings, or tails and red eyes or something, but most of us look the same as you or anyone else when the lights are off, eh?  So maybe the world will stop treating us like my country treated their indigenous people, or the American South treated African-Americans during Jim Crow.” 

   “That’s great!” Akemi clapped her hands.

   Tundra smiled.  “Yeah, that’s my practiced speech for this.  I’ve got an interview with some guy back in Ottawa on Friday that’ll add the words to this, er…article we’re shooting today.”

   “That’s my understanding.  He’ll probably ask you what your turn-ons are, if you like to fly naked over the Canadian Rockies—”  Tundra felt herself blushing; she had done that once, on a dare “—who your significant other is, that sort of thing.”  Akemi was the one to shrug now.  “I’m glad that I don’t have to do that crap.”  She walked over and picked up her camera.  “Should we get started?”

    “Might as well.”  Tundra looked around her.  “Where do you want me? Should I go ahead and strip?”

    “No, no…I want some pictures of you in your uniform first.  Right there is just fine.”  Akemi walked around and snapped a few pictures. 

    “Want me to do some kind of heroine pose?”

    Akemi shook her head.  “Not at all.  I want them to see you, Tundra, not your public persona.  I want them to see the woman behind the tiara.”  She took a few more pictures.  “Speaking of which, you can take that off.  It frames your face great, but with it on, you’re the steely-eyed Defender of Canada, not you.”

    Tundra reached up and removed the tiara, setting it down on the table.  It allowed her black hair to fall down over her forehead.  She tried a few glamour shots; she had done those before, for Vogue and Elle.  Akemi loved it.  Tundra pasted a smile on her face, then a fake laugh, then twirled around so her cape billowed around her. 

    “Good stuff,” Akemi said.  “Go ahead and take off the cape, okay?”

    “Sure.”  Tundra reached up and unclipped the cape, then drew it off her shoulders before she draped it over one of the backgrounds.  “By the way, no pictures with me naked and the Canadian flag.  As an officer of the Royal Canadian Air Force, it would be seen as conduct to bring discredit on the uniform.”

    “Absolutely—you can hang it up over there.”  Tundra took her cape and walked over to a closet.  She noticed other doors next to it; Akemi apparently maintained an apartment next to her studio.  She returned to the spot she had been in, as Akemi set down her camera and dragged over one of the backgrounds, a high-resolution photograph of the Canadian Rockies.  Tundra almost objected, then decided against it.  It was a playful nod to the rumors that she flew naked over Banff once, but she really didn’t want to be reminded that the rumor was true, or who had dared her to do it.  Don’t think about him, Tundra commanded herself.  He’s gone, and you need to be happy for the fucking camera.

    More pictures, more glamour shots, then Akemi closed her blinds and switched on her lights.  “Just in case there’s some jerk out there with a camera in one of the other buildings.  There’s a lot of skin mags who would pay top dollar for nudes of you.  She-Hulk was sunbathing topless on the Baxter Building a few years ago and someone got her.”  Akemi spread her hands.  “Speaking of topless…”

    “Yeah.”  Tundra knew this was coming; it was the point of coming here, after all.   She unzipped the tunic down to her belt, then removed it and set it aside.  Akemi looked surprised.  “No bra?”

    “The uniform can shapeshift with me.  Underwear? Not so much.”  Now she was naked from the waist up, her breasts on full display.  She didn’t feel any embarrassment for it; Tundra was in her thirties, and even if she hadn’t showered with other women in the RCAF, superheroes and superheroines learned quickly that modesty was a luxury in the super business.  Once more, Tundra put a smile on her face, an expression as if the reader of the magazine was a special friend she would show her bosom to on a regular basis.  She had larger breasts than average, though they weren’t huge, with dark pink areolae.  “They don’t want my nipples hard, do they?” Tundra asked.

   “I don’t think that’s necessary.”  Akemi snapped some pictures, moved Tundra here and there.  “You have very nice breasts, Tundra.” 

    The compliment came out of nowhere, and Tundra’s smile for a moment was genuine.  “Thanks.  One of the fringe benefits of superheroing.”

    “You must make your boyfriend very happy.”  Akemi put up a hand.  “No, husband.  Sorry.  I forgot you were married.”

     “Were.”  Akemi stopped in mid-shoot at Tundra’s words.  “Widowed.”

     Akemi’s jaw dropped.  “Oh…oh, I’m so sorry.  When—”

    “Two years ago.  Today.”  Tundra regretted adding the last word almost instantly.

    Akemi hesitated, then stepped back, getting ready to put the camera back on its tripod.  “We should stop.  We shouldn’t do this today.  You need time to mourn—”

    “I’ve already mourned,” Tundra snapped, angry despite herself.  “And I don’t have time to do this any other day.  Did you get all the pictures of my tits that you need?” Akemi nodded, so Tundra sat on the velvet chair, took off her boots and socks, then stood and shimmied out of the skintight pants.  She folded them and placed them on her tunic.  She stood, legs slightly spread, hands on her hips, nude and unsmiling.  “Let’s get this finished.”

    “No,” Akemi said firmly.  “I won’t take any more pictures.  I don’t care if I lose the contract on this.”

    “Why the hell not?”

    “Because the readers can tell,” Akemi insisted.  “Look, Tundra, I’ll let you in on a little secret.  The men, and some women, that pick up magazines like Playboy? Deep down, they know that they’ll never have a woman like you.  But the illusion is that you’re happy to let them see you naked, that this is just for them, as a lover would see it.  They want to think of you as their friend.  Will they masturbate over you? Of course; most will.  You know that.  But for a moment, you’re taking them out of their mundane, sad lives and making them think that Tundra cares about them.  Not in ‘I save their lives from Doctor Doom’ or ‘I made sure their airplane didn’t crash’ care—that they could wake up next to you in bed, holding you, and see you smile at them.”

    “I am smiling,” Tundra said.

    “But you don’t mean it.  I’ve noticed this whole time.  That smile you have on your face? It’s not reaching your eyes.  And why should it? Every time you turn, or smile, or remove your clothes, you’re thinking about your husband.  You’re thinking about the times you did this for him, and what happened afterwards.”  Akemi fastened the camera to the tripod.  “And the reader will know that your smile was fake, and you’ll destroy the illusion.  So let’s wait until another day, when you can be actually happy.”

    The two women stared at each other for a long moment, then Tundra sighed and shook her head.  “No, Miss Aramasa.  Let’s finish it today.  I’ll…I’ll do better.”

    “Why?”

    “Because of the reasons I told you…and…because Jon would want me to.”  Akemi looked a little confused, so Tundra explained, “Jon Fennik.  My husband.”  She took a deep, shuddering breath.  “I need to feel something, Miss Aramasa.  I need to feel…alive.”

    Akemi hesitated.  “It’s Akemi, not Miss Aramasa,” she said quietly.  “And…all right.”  She picked up the camera and readied again, checking her lighting.  “If you can smile genuinely, then we’ll finish this.”

    Tundra did.  She imagined Jon standing there behind the photographer, grinning that lopsided grin she had loved, throwing her a wink.  He had not been a superhero, just her liasion, a JTF-3 special forces man who got some superhero armor and started fighting alongside of her.  It had gotten him killed, but Tundra put that memory aside for now.  She started truly smiling, making coquettish poses, seductive poses, and playful poses, pretending it was Jon that was watching her.  She lay on the hammock as if she was sleeping nude in her backyard, then sat on the velvet couch with a come-hither look in her eye, then sat on a fake rock against the Rockies background, just her bottom exposed and the tantalizing hint of a breast.  Tundra imagined Jon laughing with her, in on the joke, and she laughed back.  Akemi captured it all, the photographer herself smiling and laughing.  It was genuine, and Akemi said it was the most genuine she had seen in awhile. 

   But then the photoshoot ended, and suddenly the illusion for Tundra herself was shattered.  When Akemi snapped her last photo—one of Tundra gazing into the sunset, the sun streaming in from the one unshuttered window Akemi had left open to the setting sun over New Jersey, the rays playing over her body—it was if she gave herself permission to let go.  Tundra's smile disappeared instantly, and she sat on the couch and began to sob uncontrollably, knowing that Jon wasn’t actually there, would never be there again, and she was so terribly alone. 

    Akemi put the camera down, ran forward, and pulled Tundra into her arms.  The superheroine cried into her shoulder as Akemi brushed a hand through her hair, whispering that it was all right into her ear, even if it wasn’t.  Suddenly Tundra wasn’t the Defender of Canada, or the beautiful mutant, or the statuesque sex symbol, but a normal woman who had been destroyed by a single act of horror.  Her nudity wasn’t sexual, but vulnerable. 

    Akemi decided that just was not right, and even though it might cost her freedom and even her life, she decided to do something about it.  As Tundra’s grief began to abate, Akemi drew back, and suddenly kissed her. 

   Tundra’s reaction was one of shock at first, then confusion, then anger.  She shoved Akemi back.  “What the fuck?”

    Akemi picked herself off the floor.  “You needed that.”

    “The hell I did!”

    The photographer stood.  “Tundra…please.  You’re hurt.  You haven’t healed from your loss.  I’m not saying I can do that, but…it’s not fair for you to face this alone.  Do you have anyone? You don’t work in a team, like Alpha Flight did.”

     “No.  I had a team…it didn’t work out.  I work alone.”  Tundra got to her feet as well.  “Look…Akemi.  I know what you’re trying to say, but I have a therapist.  Things just got to me, okay?  I’ve cried, and I feel better.”  The lie didn’t sound believable even to her.  “I appreciate the shoulder to cry on, but we’re done, so I’ll head out.”  And find a good bar, maybe call up one of the heroines in town—maybe Jessica Jones or Shulkie—and get very fucking drunk.  Hell, maybe I’ll even take a random guy home tonight, really give the tabloids something to gnaw on.  That was a lie as well; there had been no one since Jon. 

    Akemi didn’t respond.  She picked up her camera, replaced it on the tripod, and Tundra started reaching for her uniform.  She stopped when she noticed Akemi was moving.

    The photographer reached up and pulled her blouse off over her head, then unfastened her bra and let it fall to the floor.  Tundra was about to repeat her earlier statement about just what was going on when she noticed the tattoo—or rather, tattoos.

    They started at her neck, down one arm just short of Akemi’s right wrist, then tapered down her flank and covered one breast entirely.  A dragon coiled from Akemi’s pants up to her breast, its claws cupping it, while the head snaked up to her neck.  Dark clouds, split by purple lightning that followed the curves of her body, surrounded the dragon and down her arm; the tattoo sleeve was covered in tiny skulls.  Tundra stared popeyed at Akemi as the photographer peeled down her jeans and stepped out of them, leaving the only article of clothing between both women a pair of high-cut panties.  The tattoo continued down her left leg, the dragon's tail wrapped around her, with more skulls and lightning, though the skulls stopped at her knee, before the clouds petered out atop her foot.  It didn’t take a detective to know that this was a yakuza tattoo, done in the old, agonizing way with a bamboo needle and natural inks. 

    Yet it wasn’t just the tattoo that left Tundra speechless, or Akemi’s near nudity—it was that Tundra knew those tattoos.  “Swiftshot,” she said into the silence.  “Akemi, you’re Swiftshot.”

    “That’s the rough translation of my yakuza title,” Akemi admitted, her voice sad.  “Yes, Tundra…I’m Swiftshot.  The world’s deadliest sniper, second only to Bullseye—and that’s only one opinion.  A woman that will kill anyone, no questions asked, and a woman who never reneged on her contracts.  Once Swiftshot is bought, it is only a matter of time before the target dies.”  She didn’t meet Tundra’s eyes.  “Each skull on my tattoo is a kill.  The ones with red surrounds were supers—heroes, villains, I didn’t care.  I didn’t even care for the money, even if it bought all this.”  She waved her hand around the studio. 

    “Interpol still has a Red Notice on you.  The American FBI had you on their Most Wanted, but everyone assumed you died, five years ago.”  Tundra shook her head in disbelief.  “But Akemi Aramasa has been one of the world’s leading photographers for over a decade!”

    Akemi laughed bitterly.  “Of course! What better way to approach a kill? No one goes to a photoshoot expecting to die.”  She sighed, walked over, and collapsed on the couch.  “But I loved the camera more than I loved killing.  So five years ago, I faked my own death, paid off the yakuza, told them if they came after me they would die to a man, and settled in New York.  Since then, I’ve put my past behind me and done what I was born to do.  Not kill—show life.”  She held out her hands to Tundra.  “If you want to handcuff me and turn me in, you can.  I won’t stop you.  I deserve it.  But Swiftshot is dead, Tundra…and I killed her.  Now I’m just Akemi, a woman who has buried her past and tried to find a future.”

    Tundra sat next to her.  She opened her mouth, and then closed it.  Akemi had walked away from her past and was trying to reform—how many supervillains did that?  How many times, Tundra thought, had she put someone behind bars, or killed them, and listened to them promise that they would escape and get her, or curse her with their dying breath—and she wished there was another way? Some villains did end up reforming; some even became superheroes themselves, like Rogue or Magneto.  Tundra didn’t like to kill; she preferred taking her opponents alive.  Sometimes, there was no other choice, and she regretted those times. 

    Akemi’s fingers drifted over her tattoo.  “Tundra,” she said quietly, “I’m…I thought perhaps…just for one night, I can take away that pain of yours and the guilt of mine.  Just for one night, I can be free of my past and you can be free from the present, so we can each have a future.”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tundra said. 

    “I mean…this.”  Akemi put a hand on Tundra’s thigh, and raised her lips to the other woman.

    Tundra put a hand over Akemi’s mouth.  “Wait a second, eh? How do I know that you’re not going to kill me?”

    Akemi pulled back.  “Because I don’t do that anymore.  And besides, even if I was—you could turn into a polar bear and toss me through one of these windows.  There’s enough evidence in this apartment to link me to Swiftshot, so there wouldn’t be a court even in New York that would convict you.”

    “I didn’t know you were a lesbian.”

    Akemi shrugged.  “My sexual experiences with men were all with targets.  It left me a little sour on them.”

    “I wouldn’t give up on them entirely.  There’s a lot more good men out there than bad,” Tundra smiled wanly.   She stood up again and walked a few paces away, her arms around herself.  “I’ve never been with another woman,” she said at length.  “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”  She looked down at herself, and laughed.  “God, I’ve got to be out of my mind.  I’m actually considering this.  I haven’t had anything or anyone between my legs since…” Tundra felt the sob working its way up her throat again.  Since the night before Jon died. 

    Akemi got up, pulled down the panties and let them fall to the floor, and walked to her.  She slowly turned Tundra around, stood on tiptoe, and kissed her.  This time Tundra didn’t pull back.  The kiss was chaste and gentle.  Akemi’s small breasts brushed against Tundra’s larger ones; the sensation of skin on skin, so long gone from the superheroine’s life, sent an unexpected jolt up her spine.  Then Akemi’s hand reached down to cup between Tundra’s legs, below the trimmed stripe of dark hair.  “If you want me to,” Akemi said softly, “I will.”

   Tundra was quiet for a moment.  “All right,” she finally said.  “I don’t know why, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and there’s probably some goddamn supervillain manipulating my emotions somewhere to make me even think of having sex with another woman, but…all right.”  She stared down at Akemi.  “What do you want me to do?”

    “For now…nothing.”  Akemi’s fingers slipped through Tundra’s folds, massaging the soft skin, then moved upwards to the hood and the pearl within.  At first, the other woman was dry, but after a few minutes, with neither woman moving except for Akemi’s fingers, Tundra oiled herself and the photographer felt moisture on her fingers.  Tundra let out a soft, involuntary moan and her legs began to shake.  Akemi used her free hand to pull Tundra down into a kiss, and the two stumbled towards the couch, neither one quite willing to stop.  She practically fell onto the couch, but Akemi was there to continue her kiss, while her fingers continued to probe her increasingly slick folds.  Tundra let her legs fall open and closed her eyes as waves of ecstasy rolled over her, even as Akemi continued to kiss her, lick inside her mouth, faster and more demanding.  They were no longer heroine and former villain, just two lonely women trying to find peace in the unlikeliest of arms.

   Tundra’s right hand dropped down to guide Akemi to her favorite spots, even as her left cupped and squeezed her breasts, teasing the already hard nipples; her breath was coming quickly now, her head swimming in a haze of passion.  She was crossing a line, she knew—the one part of her that was still capable of thought—but didn’t care.  She needed this, and if it was a former supervillain that was providing it, Tundra could not care less.  The pressure was getting to be too much, and Tundra gasped, “Oh God, Akemi, it’s coming…I’m…coming…”

   Akemi broke off her relentless assault of her lips and slipped two fingers inside of Tundra, gently pushing them in and out as the superheroine groaned, whispering in her ear, “It’s all right, Tundra…let it out.  Just let it out.”

   And Tundra did.  Her back arched and she let out another long, soft cry, coming off of the couch, spasming against Akemi’s fingers, her feet digging into the carpet.  She pushed against the other woman, then collapsed back into the couch, panting for breath.  Akemi pulled her fingers out and licked the wetness from them.  Tundra opened her eyes and was not ashamed to feel tears running out of them.  “Akemi…oh, God, Akemi…thank you…I can’t…I needed…”

   “Shh,” Akemi said, now just lightly kissing her.  “You’re right, you needed that.”  The photographer stepped back, and ran her fingers over her own womanhood, which already was swollen and glistening.  “I think I might need something too.”

    Tundra got her breath back and got to shaky feet.  “I suppose it’s only fair.  I’ve never done this before, though—not to a girl.  I might screw it up.”

   “You know what you like done to you,” Akemi pointed out, “so just do that to me.”

   “Well, in that case…”  Tundra pointed to the wall, beneath the pictures.  “Stand against the wall, facing me.”  Akemi walked backwards and complied, a strange thrill going through her—like she was now the submissive one, the villain being arrested by the heroine.  “Spread your legs,” Tundra ordered, and Akemi obeyed.

    Tundra dropped to her knees, leaned forward, and let her tongue part Akemi’s folds before going inside her opening.  Akemi was now the one to moan, though it wasn’t soft.  For an amateur, Akemi thought, Tundra was a quick learner, tasting, exploring every inch of her, her tongue seemingly finding every bit of moisture and lapping it up.  Akemi braced herself against the wall as she began to shake, Tundra’s fingers digging into her firm behind.  She pushed herself into Tundra’s mouth, willing the superheroine to go in deeper, if possible, lifting herself to the tips of her toes, unabashedly panting and moaning loud enough to vibrate the windows.  Her fingers dug into Tundra’s raven hair, and suddenly she was there.  Akemi screamed in pure pleasure and would have fallen if not for the superheroine’s strong arms holding her against the wall.  She held the photographer as Akemi trembled with the shocks of her orgasm.  Finally, she managed to struggle out, “Now…thank you.” 

   Tundra stood.  “You’re welcome.  I guess I did it right, eh?”

    Akemi smiled, once more stood on tiptoe, and kissed Tundra, tasting herself on the other woman’s lips.  “You did wonderfully…are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

    “No.”  Tundra looked down.  “My husband…one or two guys before I became Tundra.  That’s all.”  She laughed softly.  “Guess everyone thinks we supers fuck everything that moves, but you’re the fourth person I’ve ever had sex with, not counting myself.”

    “I wish I could say the same.”  Akemi pushed off of the wall.  “Even as a photographer, there are some who want more than intimacy with a camera, and I have trouble saying no.”  She smiled wanly.  “You must think I’m a slut.”

  “No…I think you’re lonely, and you probably have bad impulse control.  We have that in common.”  Tundra sighed.  “What now?”

  “Stay the night?” Akemi asked.

  Tundra was quiet for a moment.  “I think I’d like that.  It would be nice…not to wake up alone.”

  Akemi led her to the bedroom, putting a hesitant arm around Tundra’s waist.  The other woman did the same to her.  Her bedroom was large, with another picture window—the sun was down now, and New York’s lights filled the room with a pleasant blend of amber and neon.  The bed itself was not particularly large, but it was just big enough for two.  They lay down together, side to side, and gently they explored each other, without the desperate passion of a few minutes earlier.  Tundra’s fingers drifted over Akemi’s tattoos, and she kissed the dragon, licking down its flanks and hers; Akemi, for her part, admired Tundra’s athletic body like an artist would, mentally framing a breast here, her eyes there, the shy folds below.  They made love one more time, fingers going to the right places outside and inside, tongues licking at tattoos and nipples and lips, soft cries in the darkness with Manhattan's lights playing over their skin.  It was gentle and drawn out this time, and when they were finished, Tundra cried again—but this time, it was tears of release and happiness, the knowledge that she was loved again, as least physically.  Akemi stroked her hair and then licked the tears away like an animal trying to lick a wounded packmate. 

   Finally, the two of them drifted into sleep, entertwined with each other.  Tundra slept in peace, the warmth of another person on her skin for the first time in two years.  Akemi, for her part, also slept without the nightmares that often plagued her—the woman in her arms should’ve been her enemy, would’ve been not that long ago, but now Akemi held someone who asked for nothing in return but comfort and caring about the woman, not the superheroine.

     Dawn crept slowly over the skyscrapers of New York, painting the room in gold and orange before the rays moved across Akemi’s naked body.  She woke slowly, sleepily remembered the night before, and reached over to stroke Tundra’s body.  Her hand came down on nothing: the bed beside her was empty, though there was still a lingering warmth where the other woman had been.  Akemi sat up, looking around, then got up and walked into the studio, smelling fresh coffee.  Tundra was gone, her uniform no longer draped over the props or hung up in the closet.  In the tiny kitchen behind the studio, there was a new pot of coffee, obviously brewed by Tundra before she left in thanks.

   Then she spotted the note, taped to the camera. 

   Akemi, Tundra had written, thank you—for showing me that love comes from some pretty strange and unexpected places.  We can never be together as Tundra and Swiftshot, but when the world isn’t watching, in the deepest dark of the night, we can be Akemi and Alicia.  I can’t promise you that this will be permanent or that we should even consider ourselves lovers, but I hope this is at least the beginning of friendship—and more than that.  Thank you again.

   Alicia.  Yes, that’s my real name.

   Akemi read the note twice more, then carried it with her to the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of coffee.  “Alicia,” she said aloud.  Tundra’s identity might not be much of a secret, but her real name was.  It rolled off the tongue quite nicely, and the double entendre of that thought made Akemi laugh. 

   She spent the day in her darkroom, developing the film taken the night before—though most photographers had gone digital, Akemi still preferred the old way.  She tossed the first group of pictures, where Tundra had not really been smiling, and kept the others, where she was and revealed the person behind the cape.  Akemi hung them up, and made careful notes about which ones she thought would be best for Playboy: she had taken over a hundred shots, but the magazine would only use ten or so, plus one very good one for the centerfold.  She found a perfect one: Tundra—Alicia--standing, hands on her hips, her legs slightly spread, a smile on her face and the green eyes alight with amusement.  Her nudity didn’t look remotely humiliating or embarassing, her breasts high and proud, the trimmed thatch between her legs with an odd sort of military precision: she looked powerful, like Tundra could beat the hell out of all comers even without her clothes on.  Which, Akemi knew, was technically true. 

   She gazed at the developed photos as she sipped a soda and ate Chinese takeout.  This wasn’t love, of course; one did not fall in love over one night’s sex.  Akemi was too mature to believe it was love.  Yet it was affection, a deep desire to cherish Alicia, not just as a lover, but as a friend. 

   Akemi didn’t bother getting dressed the entire day, spending it naked, then, as the sun set again, opened her skylight.  There was always the possibility that a bird or a bat might find its way into her apartment—or even a cat burglar, even though she was on the 20^th floor and the roof was sloped—but Akemi left it open just in case.  She then went and took a shower, wiping away the sweat and grime, and lingering smell of Alicia, which she didn’t really want to, but didn’t want to stay dirty, either. 

   Akemi was soaping her body when she heard something in the studio.  She froze.  She was not so naïve to know that her secret past might come back to haunt her still.  She tensed, ready to fight with reflexes that were still there, despite their long disuse.  She heard the sound of footfalls, then a shadow loomed through the curtain, and Akemi got ready to fight as the curtain was slowly drawn back.

    Yet wasn’t a victim of her past or a burglar that stood there, but Alicia, smiling and naked.  Alicia took it off, set it aside, and stepped into the shower.  “Cozy in here.  You don’t mind, do you?  I helped Spidey stop about four muggings this afternoon, and New York alleyways are filthy, even when you’re running around as a wolf.”

   Akemi grinned.  “No, not at all.  I’ll even wash your back, Tundra.”

   Alicia leaned forward and kissed her.  “Tonight it’s Alicia, Akemi.  Just Alicia.” 

Chapter Text

    His name was Oscar Jimenez, and he was the Deputy Director of Intelligence for the Central Intelligence Agency—a title that seemed innocuous, but actually wielded a great deal of power, if one knew how to use it.  Oscar did, but he also used it sparingly.  The post of DDI was the culmination of a long career, stretching back to being a terrified corporal with the US Army Rangers, trying not to get killed in the desert of Iraq, in the first go-around in Operation Desert Storm.  After the Rangers it had been Special Forces; after SF, it was climbing the ladder in the CIA.  He liked the job and was good at it, even if he had few friends in Congress—Oscar had a disconcerting tendency to tell the truth, which was surprisingly unpopular in Washington DC.  Or, he considered as he parked his car in the garage of his Fairfax townhouse, not surprising at all. 

     Oscar got out of the car and locked both it and the garage, then walked into the house.  For a man with a six-figure salary, the house was modest.  Oscar had grown up hard in the poor section of San Diego, to parents who barely spoke English and a grandmother who never learned how.  He would have considered the house palatial compared to where he had lived before this. 

    He took off his shoes before he entered the kitchen—a recent habit he had acquired—then unknotted his tie as he walked towards the bedroom to change.  The suit was fine for the halls of Langley or Capitol Hill, even if it was bought off the rack, but he was at home, and a T-shirt and jeans was good enough for him.  The house was oddly quiet. 

    Then Oscar walked into the bedroom and stopped.  It explained why the house was quiet, and he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised.

    Her name was Kazuko Bishamon, and in his opinion, she had no business being his girlfriend.  He was in his mid-fifties, a man of average height who still trimmed his hair close like he had in the Army thirty years previously, but who fought a battle with his waistline every day.  He didn’t consider himself remotely good looking.  Kazuko, on the other hand, was beautiful—and that wasn’t just his opinion.  She was asleep, curled up with a pillow, her black hair fanned out over another pillow and the bed.  She too wore a T-shirt, one that showed the outline of her breasts quite nicely and had ridden up over her navel, showing a flat stomach.  Below that, she only wore high-cut panties, offering Oscar an unhindered view of her tanned legs and feet; he had always been something of a leg man, and Kazuko had plenty to satisfy.  Her face was calm and relaxed, a faint smile on her eminently kissable lips.

   She also wasn’t human.

   Before becoming DDI, Oscar’s job had been managing Project Twilight, which, as far as almost all the CIA and all of Washington DC knew, was a program that reviewed old CIA files and declassified those that were no longer necessary.  In reality, Project Twilight was the CIA’s attempt to investigate the world beneath and behind that of humans—a world of darkness, where vampires, werewolves, mages and even ghosts lurked.  They had their own reasons for staying hidden, and Oscar had been very careful to respect that, whether it was called the Masquerade or the Veil.  It had been a very long story, but through Project Twilight he had met Kazuko Bishamon, a Japanese woman…who had died in the mid-1990s.  She hadn’t stayed dead, and fought her way back into life from a hell that she never spoke of.  That made Kazuko a kuei-jin, the Hungry Dead: not a vampire per se, but more of a ghost that had reanimated her own body.  She appeared to be the thin 20-year old that cancer had claimed, but in reality, she was almost Oscar’s own age.  Unlike him, she would always remain that way.  She had her own magic and was a deadly shot with a bow or a rifle, but at that moment, Kazuko looked like a happy young woman, asleep and waiting for her lover, even if he was only a decade from qualifying for Social Security and ten pounds from being considered overweight by his doctor. 

     Oscar didn’t want to disturb her; Kazuko looked so peaceful.  He quietly draped his suit coat and tie over a chair, then unbuttoned his shirt and took off his pants.  Down to his boxers, he slid into bed next to her.  Unlike a vampire, whose skin would be cool to the touch, Kazuko’s was warm, like a human’s, and she breathed like one as well, her chest gently rising and falling.  He carefully put his palm on the curve of her waist.   Kazuko’s eyes fluttered open and she turned over with a smile.  “I’m slipping,” she said.  “If you were an enemy, I would be dead.”  She paused and her smile widened.  “More dead than I already am, in any case.”  Her English was slightly accented, but it would take a keen ear to tell.  When Oscar had first met Kazuko, it had been halting and difficult to understand, but ten years of working with Americans around the world had allowed her to speak the language well. 

    “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Oscar told her.

    “It’s all right…I don’t need to sleep the day away as it is.  I should fix dinner.”  She stretched, which certainly didn’t help Oscar’s burgeoning arousal.  Though kuei-jin could go out into sunlight if they were well-covered, they preferred not to; Kazuko usually slept during the day.  “How was work?”

    “The usual.”  She listened patiently as he told her about his day, a charmingly domestic ritual they undertook despite being human and kuei-jin.  Kazuko would occasionally reach out and toy with his chest hair, or move her legs against his.  It had the intended effect: even as Oscar talked about appropriations committees and Presidential directives, he felt himself getting hard, and Kazuko would glance down to check his progress.  It was now forming a nice tent in the boxers, his fly doing a valiant but ultimately doomed job of keeping his erection from popping out. 

    Finally Kazuko said, “You seem excited to see me.”  Her voice held a note of playfulness.

    Oscar felt himself blush, and found the situation perfectly ridiculous.  Here he was, a man of a certain age, high in the ranks of the Central Intelligence Agency, often with the fate of the United States of America in his hands---and he was reduced to a teenager again, getting rock hard at the touch and sight of a pretty girl.  “Probably because I am, Kaz.”  He used her nickname, which she liked. 

   "I am very glad to hear that." Kazuko rolled over and pressed herself against him, bringing her lips to his.  It didn’t take long before their mouths opened, admitting the other’s tongue, scraping across teeth and lips.  She broke the kiss and her hand trailed down his stomach to cup his erection.  “You need this,” she said.  “You need to let go of the world for a little while.”

    Oscar saw the hunger in her eyes and hesitated.  Kuei-jin were like vampires in that they constantly needed the life energy of others; some, like vampires, drank blood, and he knew of some that even devoured flesh, tearing apart living humans for their chi.  Kazuko was not like that: she absorbed it from just being around humans.  Since she had taken up residence with Oscar, she had rarely been low on chi, since she could simply use some of his—but if she forgot to, or if she had used her powers, her chi could get dangerously low.  When that happened, Kazuko truly became one of the Hungry Dead.  Oscar had seen her, wild and insane, ripping a man apart to devour him as she lost control and became a demon incarnate; the man had tried to kill them both, but it was still a horrible way to die.  There was always that repressed fear that one day, she would do the same to him.  It was a small comfort that the possibility frightened Kazuko as well.

    She shook her head.  “I know what you’re thinking, Oscar,” she spoke reassuringly.  “I’m fine.”  Then her voice turned playful again.  “Though I could use a…top off?  Just in case, of course.”  She reached down and slid off his boxers, allowing his erection to spring free.

    “Of course,” Oscar agreed.  “Got to be careful.”  He hooked his fingers into her panties and drew them down to her knees; she brought up her legs and pushed them off.  Oscar ran his hands over the thatch of black hair, to her damp sex. 

    Kazuko gently pushed Oscar onto his back and climbed over him.  She reached up and pulled the T-shirt off her head, letting her breasts fall free.  She was not particularly large-breasted, and was skinny enough that Oscar could faintly see her ribs—Kazuko would always appear the way she had the day she had died.  Her nipples were already hard with desire.  She rubbed herself against his manhood.  “Let me take care of you, Oscar.  You’ve had a…hard day.”  She grinned as she rubbed him again.

    “Ugh, Kaz.  Enough with the puns.”  As she rose slightly, he reached out and slid his hand down her slit, then back up to the nub above it.  Kazuko sighed with his touch, and his fingers came back slick.  “You’re so wet,” he murmured.

    “For you, Oscar,” Kazuko told him.  “Always for you.”  She bent over and kissed him, her breasts rubbing against his chest.  “Shall we?”

    “We shall.”  Oscar used a hand to get himself into position, then slid into her.   She was like a warm, silk glove inside, enveloping him in a tight embrace.  She kissed him again as she began to rock forward and back, and then they found the rhythm, each push, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through both of them.  He pushed deeper into her, to the hilt, and Kazuko closed her eyes, a gentle smile on her lips.  She leaned back and moved with him, her breasts moving gently up and down. 

    The slow and steady rhythm didn’t last particularly long.  They both began moving faster, their breath increasing and deepening; Oscar puffed in exertion while Kazuko let out little gasps with each stroke.  She threw her head back even as she grabbed his hands, which had been resting on her hips, and put them on her breasts, her peaks hard against his calloused hands.  She moved closer to him, her eyes open and fixed on his as she panted.  “Hai, Oscar…oh…yes…hai…like that…like that…like that…”

   Kazuko was always rather quiet when she came—not like Oscar’s former wife, who had been a screamer, or another woman he had been with in North Carolina, who growled.  She just made a sharp intake of breath and froze; her eyes rolled back and she trembled.  When the tremors slowly ebbed, she hung her head over his, her hair enveloping them both, took another deep breath, and let it out.  She smiled again.  “Gomen,” she grinned.  “I didn’t mean to go first.”

    “No problem,” he grinned back.  “Just means I have more time to enjoy you.”

    Kazuko trailed a finger down his chest.  “There are certain advantages to being with an older man,” she remarked.  “You can last awhile.”

   “Not much longer,” Oscar admitted.  Just being inside her, not moving, was arousing enough.

   “Good.”  Kazuko lifted herself off of him and knelt between his legs.  His penis stood straight up from its nest of black hair, throbbing and wet with her moisture.  She glided her hand over it, and it twitched.  She winked at him.  “You know…this is the most direct way to receive your chi.”

    Oscar knew what was coming—so to speak. Kazuko fed off his life energy through sex, more often than not, and if it exhausted him, he didn’t mind in the least.  However, there was another method that Kazuko claimed was far more direct and allowed her to replenish her chi faster.  He doubted it, but he also doubted any man would turn down what she was offering.

   Kazuko threw back her hair to get it out of her way and took him into her mouth.  Oscar’s head fell back to the pillow with a groan: her mouth was hot, her lips like velvet, and her tongue slid from the head down the shaft with practiced ease.  She took him out, gave him an impish smile, then licked the swollen head, teasing the tip.  Then Kazuko pushed him back into her mouth until he could feel himself hit the back of her throat, slid him back to her lips, then repeated it.  

    With Kazuko doing what she did, Oscar didn’t last much longer; few men would.  “K-K-Kazuko,” he struggled out.  She understood and pulled most of his manhood out of her mouth until her lips were around the base of the head.  It was all the warning he had time for: he twitched once, then shot his seed into her waiting mouth.  Kazuko simply held him with her lips as he pulsed and drenched her tongue and throat, then she pulled him out and swallowed. 

    Oscar watched in utter fascination as she licked off what little still dribbled out of him.  She had explained to him the first time that she had done this, while he lay there and wondered how he was the luckiest man in the country, that semen gave life—and therefore swallowing it would allow her to more directly absorb its life-giving energy.  Oscar had always wanted to ask the one or two mages he knew if that was true, but he was too embarrassed…and worse, Kazuko might stop doing it.

    “Feel…better?” he groaned.

    “Much,” she smiled.  Kazuko did seem to be more radiant and less lethargic, as she always did, even if Oscar was now the one that was exhausted.  She was always careful not to take too much; she could kill him very easily if she did.  He had no idea how she measured what was enough, but was glad that Kazuko was skilled enough to know when to stop.  “I think I needed that.”

    “Me too.”  They both laughed, and Kazuko lay back down next to him, snuggling into his warmth as she rested her head on his chest.  The house was still and quiet again. 

   After a few minutes, Kazuko’s hand strayed back down to his manhood, which was now soft and flaccid.  She stroked it gently, but Oscar shook his head.  “Kaz,” he told her, “I might’ve been able to go this soon when I was 24, but I can’t at 54.” 

    Kazuko took her hand away.  “I know,” she sighed, and closed her eyes.  It was a reminder that neither wanted: Oscar would grow old and die; Kazuko would remain the same.  She could die, but only violently. 

   Oscar felt bad about it, his body unable to give her more of what she wanted.  “Maybe after dinner,” he said hopefully.

   “I’d like that,” she replied, then her eyes flew open.  “Shit! Dinner!”  Kazuko leapt out of bed and ran naked out of the bedroom; Oscar had to admire the way her bottom bounced.  He got out of bed more sedately, found his boxers and a pair of workout pants, and slid those on before he went into the kitchen.  He almost grabbed her shirt and panties, then oafishly decided that Kazuko was better off naked. 

   When Oscar reached the kitchen, Kazuko didn’t seem to mind her nudity as she raced around the kitchen, finding ingredients, slamming cabinet doors, and switching on the stove as she found a pot, poured water into it, and stuck it on the eye.  “Kaz,” he said, “we could just order out.”

   “No!” she insisted.  “I am your wife, Oscar—by practice if not by law!  Let me do…” she paused, searching for the right words “…wife things.”

   Oscar knew better than to argue.  He leaned against a counter as she tore open a box of spaghetti, dumping it into the water.  Kazuko had been raised in a very traditional Japanese family in the country; she was no city girl.  She had been expected to marry, provide for her husband, and raise the children.  Cancer had taken her before she had a chance to even meet someone, and Oscar wondered if one reason why her spirit had roared back in rage to reclaim her body was because she never had.  There had been a number of other lovers before him, but kuei-jin believed in karma, and Kazuko believed it had been hers to find Oscar Jimenez—among other things, but those were not worth discussing at the moment, not with Kazuko standing at the stove stark naked.  He watched her, the way her breasts swayed with each step, the way she stood on tiptoe to reach something in the cabinet, even the little dark triangle between her legs as she moved around the kitchen.  54 or not, he felt a stirring in his groin at the nude chef. 

   However, there was one other thing that Kazuko was showing him: she had no idea what she was doing.  “Kazuko,” he said gently, “what are you making?”

   “Spaghetti,” she replied, with a slight irritation in her voice; after all, the ingredients were right in front of both of them.

   “You can make spaghetti?”

   Kazuko paused.  “How hard can it be?”  She looked down into the boiling pot. 

   “There’s a bit more to it than that.”  He stepped forward and helped her, and Kazuko didn’t protest.  Together, they made the noodles, then the meatballs.  She stared down at the latter as Oscar took over.  “I should’ve made tacos,” she said morosely.  “Though I suppose that’s perhaps a bit racist to assume that you like those."

   “Not at all,” Oscar said, rolling the meat into balls and adding the seasoning.  “I love tacos.  My parents were first-generation Mexican immigrants, Kaz.  Tacos, burritos, enchiladas, chile con queso…we need to go to San Diego.  My abuela makes the best food imaginable.  She might be pushing a hundred, but she can cook like you wouldn't believe.”

   “They…would accept me?” Kazuko asked hesitantly.

   Oscar hesitated as well.  The fact that she was kuei-jin was besides the fact; she was Japanese and Shinto, and the Jimenezes were almost fanatically Catholic—though Oscar himself was a bit on the lapsed side.  Would they accept her? he asked himself.  He had told his parents that he had a girlfriend, which they were enthusiastic about, but he had been evasive when they had asked what she was like.  He looked at her, and decided that they would have to accept her, one way or the other.  “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.  “But I also don’t care.”  He checked the sauce, stirred it with a wooden spoon, then lifted it to her.  “Try it.”

    Kazuko licked the spoon, and abruptly Oscar remembered her licking his semen off his member.  It remembered as well, because he felt it twitch.  “Delicious,” she breathed, and Oscar knew if he didn’t distract himself in a hurry, they were going to spoil dinner—mainly because he was going to screw her brains out on the counter.  He handed the spoon to her, then set the small table.

    Finally it was ready, and Kazuko served the plates—still as bare as the day she was born.  They sat and ate, but Oscar couldn’t help but stare at her: her lips curving into a smile as she ate—kuei-jin could actually digest food, unlike vampires—the fall of her black hair over the back of the chair, her breasts a vision behind the steam rising from the food.  “I can’t believe you’re eating naked,” he remarked.

    “Why not?”  Kazuko looked down at herself.  “Though I suppose that, if I drop food on myself, it’s going to hurt.”  She slurped up a roll of noodles. 

    “Maybe I should join you,” he offered.

    She glanced sidelong at him.  “Maybe you should.”

    Oscar nodded, slid back his chair, and dropped both pants and boxers to the floor, kicking them behind him.  He was fully erect, and Kazuko’s eyes widened slightly.  “Already?”

    “When the chef and the waitress are buck-ass naked, that happens,” he told her, and she giggled.  Oscar resumed his seat, and they went back to eating, even as they shared looks and laughs, and the occasional smoldering glance. 

    Finally they were finished, and Oscar sat back, patting his stomach.  “That was great, Kaz.”

    “Mmm…I agree.”  She delicately wiped her mouth.  “Dessert?”

    “What did you have in mind?”  As if I didn’t know, he thought with anticipation.

    “I was thinking…you.”  She licked her lips like a starving glutton confronted with a crackling roast.

    “Funny,” Oscar said, “I was thinking the same thing.”  He got out of the chair; his penis had softened while they had eaten, but now it was rock-hard again.  He pulled out her chair, helped her to her feet, then suddenly swept her off of them into his arms.  Kazuko let out a yelp of surprise, then put her arms around his neck.  “What about the dishes?” Her eyes were alive with desire and merriment.

    “Later,” Oscar informed her, and carried her back to the bedroom.  He laid her on the bed lovingly, and she scooted back before she opened her thighs to him.  He could see she was swollen and wet, ready for him.  Oscar bent over, grabbed her hips, and pushed into her with one smooth thrust.  She let out a long mmmm, then tucked her feet around the small of his back.

    They moved together, once more finding just the right rhythm.  His hands roamed her body, tracing over her breasts, the peaked nipples, and her navel before drifting through the black curls to find her clitoris.  He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, and Kazuko’s mouth opened in a ragged gasp.  She murmured something in Japanese that he didn’t know, but it sounded lovely.  Her hips were bucking back against him now, becoming erratic, as her eyes squeezed shut to experience the passion flooding through her.  Oscar knew she was close, and played with her breasts to make it even more sensual.  Finally, Kazuko tensed, whispered his name, and once more spasmed around him, her heels digging into his back as he held her through the waves of orgasm.

    “You good?” he whispered.

    “Oh, yes,” she sighed.  “Oh…very yes.”  Kazuko’s eyes opened and she gave him a languid smile.  “Your turn.” 

    He gave her a nod in return and started to thrust into her again, but Kazuko stopped him.  “Wait.  Let me.”  She pulled Oscar out of her and told him to lay down, then nestled next to him.  She wrapped her right hand around his shaft and began pumping him.  “Holy damn, Kazuko,” he gulped. 

     “Do you like this?” Kazuko was grinning at him, her thumb rolling over the head. 

     “Rhetorical…question…”

     She laughed, and her strokes came faster as he swelled in her hand.  Oscar thrust helplessly into her fist and finally groaned with release.  His seed didn’t quite explode out of him as it had before; there was a small spurt, then it leaked out in thick dollops, drifting downwards and over her hand.   She bent her head down, and Oscar’s eyes widened.  “Kaz, you’re not going to—”

    “Mm-hmm.”  He stared in wonder as once more she licked him clean.  He had never seen something so utterly erotic in his life.

    “Kazuko,” he said at length, as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

    “Yes?”

    His eyes met hers.  “Kaz, my come…can’t taste that good.”

    Kazuko gave it some thought.  “It’s warm and a bit salty…like tako karaage.”

    “Boiled octopus?” Oscar exclaimed.

    “Kind of.  It’s hard to describe.”  She smiled.  “But it comes from you, and even if it isn’t a good source of chi…I would still do that, because I enjoy making you happy.”  Kazuko winked.  “Though you could reciprocate now and then.”

     “I will,” Oscar promised. 

     “That said, your semen is not better than spaghetti.”

    Oscar burst into laughter, and Kazuko quickly followed.  “Yeah, I’d guess that.”  He stroked his chin in a fake show of concern.  “Guess I’d better find a way to make it taste better.  Maybe if I eat some bananas...”

    Kazuko curled up next to him.  “I have no doubt about it,” she told him, “but for now, we should rest.”

    “What about the kitchen?”

    She waved it off.  “I’ll get it later.”

    They lay in bed together, their breathing slowing to a normal pace, and Oscar felt something he had felt so rarely in his life: peace.  He felt the beat of her heart, the warmth of her body, the tickle of her hair over his arm.  Kazuko was so much more than a kuei-jin: she was his lover, his partner, and his everything.    

    Oscar felt sleep approaching, his body relaxed.  “I love you, Kazuko,” he murmured sleepily.

    “I love you too, Oscar,” she replied.  Kazuko watched his eyes close and then watched him sleep for a little while.  She kissed his chest, then got up silently and returned to the kitchen, where she cleaned up as quietly as she could.  Once finished, she looked around the room with satisfaction.  Her parents would not have approved of her being in love with a gaijin, and his parents might not approve of a non-Christian…but none of that mattered to Kazuko Bishamon.  Oscar Jimenez might be human, might be mortal, and there was a better than even chance that she would look down at his dead body one day—but until then, she would be his wife, he would be her husband, and that was enough.  She would fill his short days with joy and love, enough to take him into his afterlife, and her into her own eternity. 

    Kazuko returned to their bed and again nestled next to him, and fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

Chapter Text

   “Oh…my…God…”  Sheila Arla-Vlata sank into the bubble-filled, warm bathtub, holding onto the sides.  She still felt pretty weak, but given she had just come out of a medically-induced month-long coma, that wasn’t to be surprised at.  She luxuriated in the hot water, which seemed to find every pore and cleanse it.  “Max, “ she called out, “did…this sounds weird…did anyone bathe me while I was asleep?”

   “The nurses did,” Max replied from the other room.  “I offered to, but they said I might knock out your IV, or the sensors, or your catheter.”

   “Probably were afraid you’d molest me in my sleep,” Sheila joked. 

   “I thought about it, but it’s not much fun when you just lie there.”  Max’s voice held the same note of friendly banter that hers did.  It felt good to joke around.

   Sheila leaned back in the tub, relaxing in it, holding onto the sides with her hands.  She looked at her left hand: it was three shades of steel gray, made of metal and plastic.  Her real left hand had been amputated while she was in a coma, even the medicine of the 31^st Century unable to save it.  Sheila had been captured by Clan Jade Falcon and tortured, stripped naked, beaten, put into leather straps that had dislocated her shoulders and tore muscles, her left arm and the fingers of her left hand slowly and brutally broken by her captors.  Then she had been left in the cell to die, her head shoved into her crotch, the agony so much that she had tried to slam her head into the concrete floor to knock herself out, the pain so horrific that she lost control of her bladder and bowels.  Had it not been for her husband and a Jade Falcon MechWarrior named Senefa Malthus, Sheila would have died there, of infection, dehydration, or simple despair. 

    Sheila put those thoughts away.  They would come for her later, in the darkest part of the night, for the rest of her life—she knew that.  She didn’t want to think of it now, or even of the long hours of rehabilitation that lay in her immediate future before she could even think of getting back into the cockpit of a BattleMech…and after that, a return to combat and the war that had come so close to ending her life. 

   She listened to Max making up the bed.  Earlier, the nurses had finally took out the IV and disconnected all the wires, hoses and everything else that had been inserted into her body, and moved her into a new room that resembled a hotel’s.  The doctors had proclaimed Sheila to no longer need the 24-hour monitoring she had received at the Katrina Steiner Memorial Military Hospital; she would remain in the hospital for observation and rehab, but that was all.  In a few weeks, she would be allowed to go offplanet, from Tharkad to her home on Grunwald, or the current home of her father’s regiment, the Sentinels RCT, on Sudeten.  It’ll be good to actually sleep in the bed with Max in there with me, without the entire hospital knowing if I’m having a dream or taking a piss.

    “Hey, babe.”  Sheila opened her eyes and looked over, to where Max leaned against the door to the bathroom.  “The bed’s made.  Do you need any help in there?”

    “In a minute,” she replied.  “Just soaking right now.”  Sheila noticed the smoldering expression in his eyes.  It had been almost three months since they had touched each other last, and both knew that was about to change.  Sheila felt her heart begin to pick up speed, and quickly sat up in the tub, grabbed the soap, and lathered herself up while Max watched.  The bubbles hid her body, but he already knew every curve by heart anyway.  Once she gave herself a quick scrub, she ducked her head back into the water, soaking her hair, then shampooed it.  She could only use one hand—the artificial one’s fingers were molded to the tub, and she didn’t yet know how to get it to let go.  Max saw that she was having trouble, crossed over, knelt behind the tub, and helped her wash her hair.  Freed from her normal ponytail, Sheila’s coal-black hair fell to her shoulder blades. 

    Finally she felt clean and human again.  “Okay…let’s see if we can get me out this tub,” she remarked, and Max helped her stand.  The water cascaded down her naked body, dripping from her flanks and legs, and he helped her out of the tub—or would have, if her metal hand wasn’t stubbornly still stuck to one side.  Sheila gave it a mental command to let go, trying to use the nerves still left in her arm to transmit to the arm’s circuits to move, but the metal fingers didn’t obey her.  Finally she had to reach over and pry her fingers free.  The fingers at least relaxed, and they got her out of the tub.  Max helped her dry off.  “Can you walk?”

    “Yeah,” Sheila reassured him.  “I feel kinda weak, but I can walk.”  She demonstrated by walking naked to the bed.  It was twice the size of the diagnostic bed she had spent a month in.  She sat down and looked down at herself.  “Yuck.”  She ran her real fingers over her long legs.  Sheila was six feet tall, but most of her height was in her legs; Max said they were beautiful, but she always thought they were kind of skinny.  Right now they were covered with two months’ worth of hair.  Some women might not mind that, Sheila thought, but she did.  “Max, there’s no way in hell you’re climbing in bed with me when I look like this.”

    “I don’t mind,” Max told her.

    “I do.  Can you help me shave my legs?” Sheila held up the artificial hand.  “With these things, I kinda need both hands…and I don’t trust this metal hand with a razor.”

    “Sure.  Never shaved a girl before, but it can’t be that different.”  Max found a shaving kit provided by the hospital, grabbed a razor and some shaving cream, grabbed a washbasin from the bathroom, then returned to Sheila.  He sprayed the foam on her left leg, then began to shave Sheila’s leg.  Max was very careful, the razor’s touch light but firm; the razor steadily scraped across her skin, the only sound in the room as Sheila watched her husband intently.  Once the left leg was done, he toweled it off and she extended her leg upward, running her right hand over it.  “Nice,” she commented.  “Smooth as my butt.”

    “Hope so.”  Max washed off the razor in the washbasin, then repeated the process on her right leg.  There was something very intimate about Max shaving her legs, though Sheila wasn’t aroused by the process; she just felt warm and loved.  His hands were calloused but held her gently, as if afraid he would add to her wounds.  It was a reaffirmation of their bond as husband and wife—a definite confirmation of in health and in sickness. 

   When it was finished, Sheila awkwardly reached over and checked the smoothness of her right leg; Max had done a fine job.  To prove it, he kissed both legs.  “Looks great, babe.”

    “Yeah.  At least now I don’t look hairy.  Felt like a werewolf or something.”  Then Sheila looked between her legs.  “Ew.  Kind of an untamed wilderness down there too.”  Max raised an eyebrow, and Sheila pointed.  “My pubes.”

    “Oh.  Oh.”  Max now stared directly between her thighs, to where the black hairs fanned outwards and upwards.  “It’s not too bad.  I definitely don't mind."

    “Would you mind…giving me…maybe a trim?” Sheila turned red, and she didn’t know why.  Max had seen all of her several times before.  “I mean, I don’t want it all shaved off…but just give me a nice drop zone.”

   “Sheila, I hate to sound stupid, but what do you mean by drop zone?” Max asked.

   Sheila managed to demonstrate with both hands.  “You know…drop zone, landing strip—”

   “Oh, I got it.  Yeah.”  Max chuckled.  “You know, it’s funny.  We’ve been married six months now, and I’ve never seen you shave down there.”

    “I was kinda embarrassed.  It’s dumb, I know.”  Sheila opened her thighs, knowing that it also gave Max a very good view of everything else between her legs.  What the hell, she thought with a shiver of anticipation, not like he hasn’t been down there before.  

    Max found some scissors and carefully trimmed the longest hairs, then sprayed shaving cream on her mound.  The cool cream felt good on her warmed skin.  Sheila told Max how to do it, and she smiled at the look of sheer concentration on his face as he shaved her, careful to wash the razor with each pass.  It took him half an hour, because he was so careful not to hurt her.  For Sheila’s part, she knew she was getting turned on.  It wasn’t the act of him shaving her this time, or the fact that her pubic hair was gettng shaved, but his face so close to her womanhood, his breath warm on her folds.  Her nipples tightened into peaks.  Max had been so intent on his work that he hadn’t noticed, but Sheila certainly had. 

    Finally, he washed the razor one last time, and inspected his handiwork.  “Looks good, Sheila.”

    “It does,” she agreed.  “Now look down a little bit.”

    “Did I miss…whoa.”  Max saw that she was swollen and wet.  Very wet.  He looked up at her and noticed her nipples as well.  “Shaving down there turns you on?”

    “No,” Sheila smiled.  “You shaving me down there turns me on.  We might need to do that more often.”  She grabbed his shirt with her right hand and pulled him to her lips.  “You did a great job, Max.  Now I want you to screw me, because we haven’t made love in three months and I’m horny as hell.”

    Max kissed her.  “Be right back.”  He grabbed the washbasin and shaving gear and went into the bathroom, while Sheila scooted herself onto the mattress, which felt soft under her bare skin.  She ran her real fingers over her trimmed hair and her legs, and shook with anticipation.  He was back in moments, and she watched as Max made sure the door was locked, then got his clothes off; to encourage him, she ran her fingers over her slit and gave him a sultry look.  She felt the tension in her stomach begin to tighten.  Oh God, she thought, hurry, Max…I’m so turned on right now.  He climbed naked onto the bed, and Sheila’s eyes went straight to his bobbing erection.  Her mouth felt very dry. 

   To her surprise, Max brought her metal fingers up to his lips and kissed them, then gently set her left arm onto the bed, moving the fingers so they rested flat.  Then he knelt and pulled her right leg towards him, and kissed his way up from her knee.  Sheila couldn’t help but moan, and her shaking increased.  She wondered if she was going to have an orgasm just waiting.

   Max kept up his oral assault, now licking as well as kissing her inner thigh; Sheila saw that her artificial hand had involuntarily gripped the blankets.  Her real hand intertwined in his thick black hair.  Then he was at the apex of her thighs, and Sheila tensed. 

   The first touch of his tongue to her center caused Sheila to rise from the bed and another moan to escape her lips.  Her legs came together around his head, her muscles tightening as shocks of pure pleasure shot up her spine to explode in her brain.  Sheila twisted under his mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath again, the scrape of the stubble on his face against her smooth skin.  His hands pried her thighs apart a little and her breath almost stopped when his tongue delved into her opening.  She tried to press him into her with her free hand and her hips.  Sheila’s eyes rolled back as her feet left the bed, her toes curling as Max found just the right spots.  “M-Max,” she gasped. “I’m…I’m…gonna…”

   He stopped just long enough to speak.  “Come for me, Sheila.”  He licked her from bottom to top. 

   Sheila’s cry of release was loud enough that anyone on their floor heard her, but she didn’t care: it was the culmination of three months of separation, pain, fear, and love.  She came off the bed entirely, her legs shaking, her metal hand going into uncontrollable contractions.  Her exclamations died out to exhausted moans as she collapsed onto the bed.  When she was able to breathe again, she struggled out, “Max…oh, Max…that was so good…”

    Max used a corner of the blanket to wipe his mouth.  “Wow, Sheila.  You’re drenched down here.”

    She laughed.  “What do you expect…it’s been three months since you made me come last.”  She sighed.  “Well…the whole hospital probably knows I just got my rocks off.”

    “Want to do it again?” Max sat back on his haunches, his erection sticking straight up at the ceiling.  “I mean, I’m not going to sit here all night like this.”

    “Hell, no.”  She shakily sat up—Sheila still felt like she was a live wire—reached out with her right hand, and grabbed his manhood.  She stroked it a few times, loving the feel of it, the soft skin stretched tight over the hardness, then caressed the swollen head tenderly.  It twitched in her hand, and Sheila winked at Max.  “Better stick with the fleshy hand for now.  Don’t want to tear anything off.”

    “We definitely don’t want that.”  Max kissed her, and they fell back onto the bed together.  “Ready?”

    “Am I ever.”  Sheila spread herself open for him, and he easily pushed into her, her inner walls soaked with desire.  They both groaned at the feeling of him completely inside her, then laughed at their own sounds.  As they moved against each other, Max and Sheila grinned at each other, snickering.  This was something they had both missed so terribly, and it felt like all was right in the galaxy to finally be like this. 

    Max cupped her breasts, feeling their weight, playing with her nipples.  Sheila reached up and played with one of his.  “Not quite the same on me,” he said.

    “Probably…ooh...not…” Sheila was starting to feel that tension again.  His hands slid underneath her to grip her bottom, lifting her off the bed to press himself deeper.  They moved in perfect harmony, two people who were made for each other.  Sheila’s smile faded as her mouth fell open in little hitches of breath with each of his thrusts.  She could feel herself starting to shake again, the waves once more rolling through her body, but she could see Max trying to hold himself back, trying to let her go first.  “Don’t...wait up...” she whispered.  “It’s…it’s okay…”

   “Sheila,” he moaned.  He was leaning over her now, her legs tucked against his flanks.  Sheila reached up and caressed his cheek, seeing the faraway look in his eyes, feeling the pants of breath on her face.  She was close, but so was he.  “Just…come…” she begged him, trying to tell Max the same thing he had told her, but she could feel herself tightening up, and it was hard to talk.  Max’s fingers dug into her rear, and he let out a long breath as he tensed and emptied himself into her.  Sheila tried to concentrate, tried to feel her husband twitching inside of her, but then her orgasm crashed into her again, and they cried out together.

   They held each other as their bodies trembled in unison.  Then they regarded the other again, and their smiles returned.  “How…was that?” Max puffed out.

   “I…don’t think I’ve got the words…”  Sheila watched as he pulled out.  He was slick with her, and she could feel his sticky essence on her folds.  Making love was messy, and she knew they probably looked perfectly ridiculous, but Sheila didn’t care.  She was finally back with the man she loved, and the future didn’t look quite so uncertain. 

    Max dropped into the bed next to her, and she rolled over to hug him, to continue being warm with him.  He jumped a little at the contact of her metal arm with his flesh, but he stroked the arm, to show that he was not bothered by it.  He reached up and smoothed her hair.  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured to her.  “I don’t…I never thought I’d have a woman like you.”

    “And I was very lucky to get a man like you,” Sheila responded.  They kissed, less with the desperate passion of earlier and more with a couple who knew that this was just one of a thousand kisses.  “I love you, Max.  I love you so much.”  Sheila wished there were better words, or she was better at expressing them.

    “I love you too, babe.”  Max kissed her nose, Sheila let out a girlish giggle, and they both drew up the covers over their naked bodies.

   They lay entertwined on the bed.  Max watched as Sheila’s eyelids began to droop, then they closed as she drifted into sleep.  He smoothed her hair, staring at her face, which now looked so content; he remembered her dull, lifeless eyes when he had found her broken on the floor of the prison cell, or the pain in them when she had tried to move her artificial arm for the first time.  He wanted Sheila to open her eyes again so he could once again see the life in them, but she was now asleep, and he didn’t want to disturb her.  Holding her was more than good enough.

   Eventually he fell asleep as well, his hand still in her hair.  Max and Sheila were together, and no enemy would ever separate them again.

Chapter Text

   His name was Todd Brooks, and he was sixteen years old—an Air Force brat, who had spent most of his life moving around the world, he and his mother following his father around.  His father’s latest assignment was Montana.  It was quite a change from Germany, which was where they had been last, but he had made friends.  Todd was no athlete, but neither was he a nerd; he just existed in that gray area of high school where no one particularly liked him, but no one really disliked him, either.  The advantage was that he could make friends throughout the social strata of school.  One of his friends was Tam Stormwind, a popular boy that ran track and made friends easily—but another of his friends was Tam’s twin sister, Allegra, a distinctly unpopular girl that was into prog rock and didn’t have many friends at all.  Todd had little in common with either, with one exception: their parents were military as well, and they too had lived all over the world.

   It was a warm summer day, and Todd walked through the heat for the few blocks to the Stormwinds’ house.  Tam and Allegra had invited him over to hang out and play video games, and Todd was looking forward to it, for more than one reason.  He was a teenager with teenager hormones, and while Allegra was not necessarily beautiful, she was attractive—and she actually liked Todd, which was more than he could say for most girls.  He had certainly wondered what Allegra looked like naked, and he had a teenage fantasy that one warm evening, they would find themselves alone…and then they would explore each other with all that entailed.  Todd doubted it would happen tonight, and there was also the fact that the Stormwinds’ parents were known to be fiercely protective of their daughter…but the fantasy was there all the same.

   Todd wiped his brow and wished he’d worn a hat: a redhead with pale, freckled skin, he fried instead of tanned.  Still, he was going to be inside most of the day anyway.  He reached the Stormwind’s house, a modest one-story house with a big backyard.  Allegra had told him to come through the side gate, so he unhitched it, went in, and latched it behind him.  He walked into the huge backyard: two high privacy fences surrounded it on two sides, and a thick hedgerow on the third that faced out into a big park with a water tower.  Todd had never been to the Stormwinds’ house before, and he was looking around for the back door when he saw her.

   At first he thought it was Allegra, but then he realized it was Allegra’s mother, Rissa.  He had never met her, but he had seen her at the occasional school function—but he had never seen her like this.  She was lying on a lounge chair in the middle of the backyard, and she was wearing a very skimpy green bikini, sunbathing.  Her children shared her long fall of black hair, and she wasn’t particularly large-breasted, but what was there looked nice.  She had a flat stomach that tapered into narrow hips and beautiful legs; the bottoms barely concealed her crotch, held in place by two strings.  She didn’t seem to notice him, her arms were limp on either side of the chair, her eyes concealed by sunglasses.  He saw the sweat beading off of her skin and sliding down her flanks. 

   “Todd? Hey!”  Todd tore his eyes away from Rissa Stormwind to face her daughter, who came out of the back door.  She wore a Rush T-shirt and green shorts that ended well above her knees.  Compared to her mother, Allegra Stormwind was kind of flat, though she had a cute face, framed in raven hair pulled back into a ponytail, with rich green eyes and full lips.  Todd’s erotic fantasies with Allegra came back, but they seemed pale and ridiculous now, compared to the vision of Allegra’s mother.   “Oh, h-hey, Allegra,” Todd managed to stammer out. 

   Allegra seemed naively oblivious to Todd’s discomfiture.  “Mom! C’mere and meet Todd Brooks!”

   Rissa turned over and raised her sunglasses, revealing who Allegra had gotten her green eyes from.  “So that’s who came in.”  She got up from the chair and walked the few steps towards him, leaving her sunglasses set up high in her hair.  Rissa extended a hand.  Todd desperately kept his eyes on her face, fighting the temptation to stare at her body.  To his surprise, she was six inches shorter than he was, and Todd was not tall; Rissa was only five feet.  That left him staring down her cleavage.  “Hello, Todd,” she said, and her voice was melodious and sexual at the same time—Todd was certain the latter was his fevered imagination, but the feeling was still there.  He shook hands with her; her grip was strong, the fingers strangely calloused.  She smiled at him, but it was less a smile of warmth than one that felt predatory—as if Rissa was staring down at him, not the only way around.  “It’s nice to finally meet you.  Tam and Allegra talk about you all the time.”

   “Uh, thanks, sure, Miss, er, Stormwind.”  He noticed the wedding ring.  “I mean, uh, Mrs. Stormwind.”  Todd tried to think of anything but the mostly nude woman that stood in front of him, because blood was rushing south, and he wasn’t confident his blue jeans were going to hide an erection.

   “We’re going to play some Nintendo, Mom,” Allegra said, remaining blissfully unaware of Todd trying not to stare at her mother. 

   “That sounds fine, Allegra,” Rissa said.  “I have to go inside too—I need something to drink.”  She brushed past both teenagers and walked into the house, which allowed Todd to see her backside.  The fall of black hair hid her back, but not her rear end; the bikini bottoms were pulled up, allowing him to see most of Rissa’s smooth cheeks—it wasn’t a thong, but it was still more than he thought a mother of two who had to be in her mid-thirties should be wearing.

    They followed Rissa into the house, which did Todd no good, but the vision of Rissa Stormwind’s tight rear end was cut off by her son, Tam.  He wore his black hair long over his shoulders, and mirrored his sister in that he was dressed in T-shirt and shorts—though his shorts went to his knees and his T-shirt was aqua-colored, with the logo of the Miami Dolphins.  “Hey, Todd!” Tam said in greeting, and they gave each other a high-five.  “’Sup, man?”

   Todd muttered something as they moved into the coolness of the house; Allegra nimbly leapt over the couch to land on it; had Todd been paying attention, he might have noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra.  Allegra might not have much there, but she still bounced.  Todd, however, was looking into the kitchen, where Rissa bent over to get a pitcher of tea, which caused her bottoms to ride up even more, and teased him with where they disappeared between her legs. 

    “Mom, can you grab us some sodas?” Tam called out. 

    “Sure, Tam.”  Todd rapidly averted his eyes as Rissa turned around and set the tea down on the counter; he walked around the couch and joined the Stormwind twins, who helpfully left a spot between them open.  This put Todd almost touching Allegra with arm and leg, but he barely noticed, his mind still replaying the image of Rissa bending over.  “Todd, when you leave, go out the front door."  Rissa calling his name startled him.  "That side gate doesn't latch sometimes."

    “Okay, Mrs. Stormwind.”  He managed to keep his voice under control.

    They brought up F-Zero and Tam let Todd go first, up against Allegra.  Rissa bent over the couch and handed all three sodas, told them to have fun, and walked back outside.  With Tam right there, Todd fought down the temptation to watch her, and tried to concentrate on the game.  He wasn’t very successful, even though he was good at F-Zero; Todd just could not get Rissa out of his mind.  He was sweating, but the house was cool.  He took a deep breath and tried to get his mind off their mother’s rear, even as Allegra obliterated him in two races. 

   “Hey, man, you okay?” Tam asked, and Todd jumped.  “You seem a bit…off, today.”

   “Tam, don’t give me that!” Allegra exclaimed.  “I beat him fair and square.”

    “Yeah, she did,” Todd said with a brittle smile.  He handed the controller to Tam and cracked open the soda.  “Just hot out there.”

    They played more F-Zero and then some Mario, and while Todd finally got into the games, he kept glancing at the door to see if Rissa would return.  “Hey, Tam,” he asked absently.  “Where’s your dad?”

    “Had to work this weekend,” Tam said.  “Military stuff.”

    “Can you stay for dinner?” Allegra asked, as she promptly died onscreen.  She spared the Nintendo a vile curse.

    “Nah, sorry,” Todd apologized.  “Mom wants me home for dinner.  She’s weird like that.”

    “Just as well,” Tam grinned.  “Our mom’s a terrible cook.”

    “Tam, shut up!” Allegra shrilled.  “She is not, you jerk!”  She poked Todd's shoulder.  "Don't listen to my moron brother, Todd--Mom is a great cook."

    Todd suddenly had a vision of a naked Rissa bending over a stove.  “Be right back,” he quickly said, getting up from the couch.  “I need to hit the can.”  Tam pointed to where it was, and then went back to giving his sister advice while Allegra told him to kiss her ass, she knew how to play, thank you very much.

    Todd went into the bathroom and loudly lifted the lid of the toilet, even though he didn’t have to go at all.  He ran some water from the sink and splashed his face, then looked in the mirror.  “What the hell is wrong with me? That’s their mom,” he whispered.  The teenage boy that stared back looked just as confused as Todd felt.  He ran his hand through his spiky red hair and then crossed over to the toilet to close and flush it—and then he saw her.

    Rissa was standing in the backyard, her sunglasses on; she was not looking in his direction, as far as he could tell, and the lacy curtains probably hid him in any case.  To his stunned surprise, Rissa reached behind her back and undid the strings of her top, then let it fall into her hands, exposing her breasts for all to see—which at the moment, due to the high fence, meant just him.  He stopped breathing for a second: it was indeed all there, her breasts just big enough for his hands, topped by dark pink nipples.  “Holy shit,” he whispered, afraid even to move…though his penis certainly was. 

    Rissa reached down and undid the strings on her bottoms and they fell to the grass, and she was completely naked.  His eyes went to her crotch and he swallowed, hard: Rissa Stormwind shaved.  There were no black curls there above her slit, just a bare mound that shined in the sunlight.  She bent over to retrieve her bottoms, then turned around, revealing that her rear end was everything he had daydreamed about—not that the bottoms had left much to the imagination.  Then she lay back down on the lounge chair, her nude body there for him to see all of.

   Todd was almost touching the glass with his nose, his eyes devouring her glistening skin, even admiring the way she leaned over and grabbed her tea to drink it, her lips pursing around the straw.  He imagined something else between her lips.  He knew he should look away, go back to the video games and this woman’s children, but he couldn’t.  Rissa Stormwind was a goddess, and he was content to worship her from the bathroom window. 

   He felt his erection straining against his jeans, and Todd broke off staring at Rissa long enough to unzip his pants and drop them, seeing the tent that his penis made, so hard it was pulling his underwear away from his stomach.  There was nothing else to do but let his shorts follow his pants, exposing his length to the air.  It stood high and proud, as if mocking him for lusting after a woman literally old enough to be his mother.  He hated himself for it, but Todd knew he had to get some release, an end to the torment that Rissa was unknowingly causing him.

   Todd stroked himself, feeling his manhood twitch in his hands, the foreskin rolled back to expose the purple, swollen head.  He kept staring at her as his hand moved faster and faster.  He knew what he was doing was wrong, something that would mortify his parents and embarrass his pastor, a sin against God and nature, but he didn’t care.  The first naked woman he had ever seen outside of a magazine his father didn’t know Todd had was before him, and this was the only thing he could do to deal with it.  Like a fighter pilot with an enemy in his gunsight, Todd’s eyes locked on the bare spot between Rissa’s legs, knowing that below it, barely seen but teasing him with their mere existence, was her sex, her folds that would glisten with sweat.  He imagined himself between them, licking her, listening to Rissa moan his name as he gripped her perfect bottom, her smooth legs over his shoulder, as she pulled on her nipples and begged him for more.

    Todd lasted about as long as a 16 year old straight male would when confronted with the sight he saw, which wasn’t very long at all.  A strangled cry escaped his lips, though he quickly clamped his left hand over his mouth, but then his penis began twitching of its own accord, and his seed shot into the toilet and across the bottom of the seat.  He convulsed with his release and tried to keep his breathing under control, his left hand gripping the windowsill and his right wrapped around his penis, which began to lose its hardness, as if satisfied it had sufficiently ruined his afternoon and could return to its slumber. 

   Once the tremors of orgasm subsided, Todd quickly grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned himself up as well as the toilet, erasing all trace of his essence, feeling both very satisfied and also very guilty.  He flushed the toilet paper, closed the lid, then washed his hands and face.  The mirror showed his face was mottled, but he hoped he could just explain that away as the heat.  In any case, it wasn’t like Tam and Allegra would ever believe that he was masturbating to their mother…would they?

   Todd mentally prayed both for forgiveness and that he wouldn’t be caught as he returned to the living room.  Tam was now playing Mario, while Allegra stretched her legs and bare feet out on the coffee table.  She had good legs, but Allegra now seemed like a mere shadow of her mother.  “You okay?” she smiled up at him, and Todd felt lower than a snake.  “We were about to send out a search party.”

    “Yeah,” he said, hoping he could lie to her face.  “I had tacos for lunch, and man, did they hit me hard.”  Todd quickly walked past Tam and sat between them again.  Tam was engrossed in the game, but Allegra sniffed the air.  There’s no way in hell she can smell what I did, Todd thought with alarm, but after a curious glance at him, Allegra went back to watching her brother. 

    They played for a few more hours, and Todd was oddly glad he had done what he did: it kept the visions of naked Rissa Stormwind at bay for awhile.  They had fun and laughed the laughs of teenagers on summer vacation with nothing to do and all day to do it in.  Finally, it was Tam who looked at the clock.  “Yo, Todd.  What time do you need to head out?”

    “Shit,” Todd said, handing the controller to Allegra.  “I gotta head home.”  He got up.  “Thanks for having me over! I had a blast.”

    “You’re welcome anytime,” Allegra said to him; he heard the hint of affection in her voice, and felt absolutely terrible.

    “Yeah, man, I need someone that can give me a challenge, unlike my stupid sister.”  Tam grinned as Allegra gave him the finger.

    Todd headed for the back door, then remembered Rissa telling him to go out the front—and now he knew why she had told him that.  He was torn between obeying her and “accidentally” going out the back and seeing her naked again.  Before he could make up his mind, Rissa herself was walking toward the back door—and she had her bikini back on.  “Todd,” she spoke, “can I talk with you for a moment?”

    Oh shit, Todd thought.  Had she heard him, or worse, seen him? From the angle of the bathroom window to her lounger, that didn’t seem likely, but he was tall for his age.  If she had seen him, he was probably a dead man; being barred from ever coming over again and/or looking at Allegra Stormwind without being castrated was the best he could hope for. Todd looked back at Tam and Allegra, but they just looked confused. 

    Todd went out the back door, letting the screen door slam shut behind him, and Rissa led him over to her chair.  His heart accelerated, the fantasies coming back full force, and he knew with a sinking feeling that he was getting hard again.  Rissa turned around and faced him, but she didn’t look angry.   “What did you need, Mrs. Stormwind?” he asked shakily.

     “What were you doing in the bathroom about two hours ago?” she asked.  Her voice did not sound angry, but Todd swallowed again.  Rissa might just be one of those people who were friendly up until the moment she cut his throat.  Given her reputation on how she guarded her daughter, cutting throats might not be figurative.  He couldn’t find his voice, and her lips twisted into a wry smile.  “You were in a bit of a hurry.  Did you enjoy the view?”

    “Y-Y-You saw me?” Todd couldn’t help but look behind him; it would’ve been very difficult from the angle she had been lying at.

    “I heard you,” Rissa explained.  “I have very good hearing, Todd, and I’m a...rather experienced woman.  I know what a man sounds like when he…well, you know.”  There was no embarrassment on her face, but there was plenty on his. 

    “Oh God, Mrs. Stormwind,” Todd breathed, knowing he was a dead man—even if she didn’t kill him, she was going to call his parents, and then he was going to die a horrible, screaming death at the hands of his father.  “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t help it, I’m so sorry—”

    Rissa smiled up at him.  “Don’t be,” she told him, her hand touching his arm.  “I won’t call your parents and I certainly won’t tell Allegra or Tam.  It’s my fault.  I was sunbathing nude, and I should’ve known better with my kids’ friend in the house.  It was a mistake, and I’m the one who should apologize.”  Her smile widened.  “I’m rather flattered, actually.” 

   Todd searched those green eyes, looking for any sign of anger or hate, but all he saw was understanding and apology.  “I shouldn’t have,” he said weakly.  “I’m Allegra’s friend—and Tam’s.” He looked at his feet.  “And you’re a married woman.”

    Rissa gently tipped his chin upward.  “Yes, I am,” she told him.  “To a man who I deeply love, and the father of my children.  I will not betray him, Todd.  You know that.”

    Her words imploded Todd’s fantasies.  Yes, she had been naked, but she belonged to another, and he had imagined her as his lover.  That wasn’t right by anyone’s standards.  “I know,” he agreed quietly.

    “Todd,” she said, “you’re a good, young man.  And you’re a young man that’s just starting to understand life.”  To his utter surprise, she checked the door, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.  It was just a touch of lips, but it sent a lightning bolt of desire through him.  Rissa stepped back.  “Find someone that can love you the way you deserve.  Someone not old enough to be your mother.”  There was just the flash of embarrassment there.  “Someone who isn’t already married.  Someone who can give you everything you need—not necessarily everything you want.  If that’s my daughter, that’s your decision—though I warn you that breaking her heart would be very detrimental to your health.”  There was steel in her voice now, and Todd heard the threat.  But then she was looking away, at her own bare feet.  “What you’re looking for, Todd…do not look for it in me.”

    There was something very sad in her voice, and suddenly Rissa Stormwind seemed very old.  She sat on the lounger and put her sunglasses back on.  “Tell your parents I said hello.  You’re welcome to come back, Todd…and I’ll make sure I wear more clothes next time.  Go out the front door, or Tam and Allegra will think I’ve killed you back here.”

    Todd recognized a dismissal when he heard it.  He thanked her, and walked back into the Stormwind home.  He cut through the living room and nearly ran into Allegra coming back from the kitchen.  “Where’s Tam?” Todd asked.

    “In his room, grabbing Zelda.  Are you sure you can’t stay?” Allegra also stared up at him, but there were only two inches between the two of them; she was taller than her mother, and her emerald eyes were much less sad; they held the brightness of her age, and his. 

    “Yeah, I gotta get home.  I’m going to be late as it is.”

    “What did you and Mom talk about?”

    Todd hesitated.  “Life,” he finally answered.  “Your mom wanted to give me some advice about life.” 

    Allegra laughed.  “Yeah, that’s Mom.  She’s good at that, though.”  A slight blush traveled up Allegra’s face; Todd thought it was rather pretty.  He had a feeling that the daughter was going to inherit her mother’s beauty—she just hadn’t gotten there yet.  “Sorry she’s half-naked.  Mom has no shame.  It’s embarrassing.”

    “It’s okay,” Todd reassured her.  “I mean, not gonna lie…I noticed.  But your mom is married, and…well…she’s your mom.”

    “I know, right?” Allegra hesitated, then she hugged him very quickly.  Her blush deepened, but so did his.  He had felt her breasts through the shirt.  “Well…see you later, Todd.”

    “Uh, yeah.  See you.”  He walked out the front door.  He was getting hard again, and he wondered if Allegra had noticed—but it was Rissa he pondered on the walk home.  Not her naked body, though that would always be with him, but the words she had spoken to him.

    In the perfect teenage story, Todd Brooks and Allegra Stormwind would have eventually become high school sweethearts, perhaps tenderly giving their virginities to each other, or getting married before taking the plunge into physical and emotional love.  Yet that didn’t happen.  They enjoyed the summer of 1991 together as friends, but as happens in high school, Todd and Allegra grew apart.  She disappeared from school in their junior year, and Todd heard rumors that she had gotten pregnant and finished her education at the school where teenage unwed mothers were exiled to.  Tam never spoke about it, but Todd had drifted away from him as well.  They graduated and went their separate ways.   Todd moved to California and never saw the Stormwinds again.

    In college, he met Rachel, and they married after six months of dating; it was not lost on Todd that Rachel was a short brunette.  She was a wonderful woman and wife that he loved deeply, but sometimes in the darkest part of the night, he would think of Rissa Stormwind’s nude body in the Montana sunshine.  He would feel bad about it, and eventually he told Rachel, and they shared a laugh about teenaged awkwardness and the crazy things that often happened during long, hot summers.  Todd and Rachel had children of their own and settled into life. 

   It wasn’t a bad life, all things considered…but Todd would never forget that one summer day. 

Chapter Text

   There was a window in the small dorm room of the Nagelring Military Academy, but there wasn’t much to see: just a three-story drop to the quad outside Kell Hall, a foot of new snow, and more of it falling steadily from the sky.  Tharkad, the capitol of the Lyran half of the Federated Commonwealth, was in the middle of winter—and on an arctic world, that was saying something. 

    It was warm inside the dorm room, however, and inside, between the bunk beds and the shared computer desk, cadets Mimi Stykkis and Sheila Arla-Vlata were sprawled on the floor, dressed in T-shirts and gym shorts.  Between the two young women were two bottles of green absinthe, and the whole room smelled of the potent liquor.  If either were caught, it was twenty demerits—a long step towards expulsion—but both Mimi and Sheila knew that one, the nightwatch patrol were other cadets who didn’t much care about private drunken parties, and two, everyone was coming off the winter term final cycle.  Mimi and Sheila were hardly the only cadets either drowning their sorrows or celebrating survival with bootleg booze. 

   The two women could not be more opposite: Mimi was outgoing, vivacious, and fun-loving, a short woman with brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders, and blue eyes full of mischief.  Smuggling booze into a dorm room was the least of Mimi’s flirtation with demerits—when it wasn’t a blizzard outside, Mimi would leave the academy grounds and moonlight as an exotic dancer, taking her clothes off for men to visually devour her petite body.  She was a good dancer, made good money, and even though getting caught meant instant expulsion from the Nagelring, Mimi could not have cared less—mainly because then her instructors would have to admit that many of them were the ones watching her dance naked on stage.  Her grades were merely average, but Mimi knew that she would follow in her family’s footsteps of becoming the latest Stykkis MechWarrior even if she was kicked headfirst out of the academy.  Though Mimi rarely drank to excess, she was no stranger to alcohol.

    Sheila, on the other hand, tended to be introverted, shy, and while she did know how to have fun, she didn’t usually choose to outside of a very small circle of friends.  Also unlike Mimi, she was tall, with long black hair that she caught up in a low ponytail, and green eyes that might still be alluring to men—if Sheila knew how to consciously attract one.  When she had arrived as a freshman at the Nagelring, she had been relatively short, somewhat athletic, and flat as a board—but puberty had hit like an AC/20, and Sheila had filled out and grown up, to stand six feet tall and beautiful, with what a writer might call ample breasts.  She still seemed unused to her body, and was all the more attractive because she didn’t know she was attractive.  Sheila's grades were good if not exceptional--a solid B average--and her family had an unbroken line of fourteen generations of MechWarriors, dating back to before the Star League.  Sheila had never drank in her life.

    The absinthe was potent, though Mimi made sure that she watered it down a little bit for Sheila; there was no point in starting a long weekend with a trip to the infirmary for alcohol poisoning.  Even so, the two of them finished one bottle while Mimi painted Sheila’s toenails, as the other girl was too tall to reach them herself; most of Sheila’s considerable height was in her legs.  They talked about the finals; they talked about becoming MechWarriors in the Sentinels Regimental Combat Team, the mercenary regiment they had both grown up in; they talked about distant worlds they had been to; they talked about men.  The latter was a one-sided conversation: while Mimi was no virgin and had enjoyed a number of boyfriends—and one or two girlfriends; Mimi had discovered she was bisexual—Sheila had no boyfriends and was still a virgin.  For the life of her, Sheila didn’t know what men talked about, and a come-on would sail so far over her head that it would achieve escape velocity.

    They laughed and joked and solved the Inner Sphere’s problems, but as one bottle was finished and the other was opened, the laughter grew louder and they started slurring their words a bit as Mimi and Sheila got well and truly drunk; Sheila, inexperienced, felt the effects far harder, and her eyelids were starting to droop.  Mimi, on the other hand, lost what little inhibitions she had, and looked at Sheila with something she had for quite a long time, but never dared to express: desire.

    It would be an exaggeration to say that Mimi Stykkis had a crush on Sheila Arla-Vlata: the two had known each other since they were small children.  Mimi, however, had caught herself watching Sheila in the room’s shower, and noted how her friend had filled out.  The temptation to be the one who took her friend’s virginity had grown stronger over the past few months, but Mimi had always shut those thoughts away—nothing was worth ruining their friendship over.  But with half a bottle of absinthe in her, Mimi was now thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea.  She wouldn’t break Sheila’s heart, after all, and in her own way, she loved her friend.  The male cadets at the Nagelring would probably just exploit Sheila’s naivete, and make her first time unmemorable: they would either hurt her, or they would come too fast and leave her frustrated and unsatisfied.  Mimi would do neither.  At least, that is what Mimi decided with mostly drunk logic. 

    “Hey, Sheila,” Mimi grinned at her.

    “What?” Sheila grinned back. 

    “I’m totally gonna kiss you right now.”

    Sheila burst into laughter, thinking Mimi was joking.  “Yeah, sure,” she snorted, but Mimi suddenly lunged forward and pressed her lips against Sheila’s.  It was at first a rather chaste kiss, one that Mimi might do with a friend she was close to and/or clowning around with.  Sheila’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away—but then she tasted the absinthe on Mimi’s tongue, as it probed her own lips. She didn’t know what to do, if she should respond, break away, or kick Mimi across the room.  Mimi’s tongue pushed past her lips and touched Sheila’s with a pleasant, electric jolt.  In an alcoholic daze, Sheila thought it felt pretty good, and so she leaned into the kiss, accepting her friend’s tongue in her mouth like this was something that good friends did on a regular basis.

   Yet much to Sheila’s surprise, their kiss grew deeper and hungrier, and almost without realizing it, her hands were suddenly on Mimi’s back, while one of Mimi’s was in her hair and another on her thigh.  Sheila’s heart pounded as she went from drunken curiosity to drunken desire, without quite understanding how or why.  The kissing was nice, wonderful, something Sheila had never experienced before.  But then Mimi’s hand trailed up from Sheila’s thigh to her left breast, cupping it, feeling the fullness of it.  That finally cleared some of the haze.  “Mimi,” she shakily whispered, “what are you doing?”  The words were both a question and a plea at the same time. 

    Mimi smiled seductively, which sent Sheila’s heart triphammering even faster.  “Do you want me to stop?”  Her hand squeezed Sheila’s breast, finding the nipple through the fabric of the shirt and brushing her thumb against it; Sheila wasn’t wearing a bra.  It hardened under the pressure.

    Sheila felt a wave of pure lust wash through her, a heady mix of hormones, loneliness, and absinthe that left her reeling.  She took a deep, shuddering breath.  “No.”

    “I didn’t think so.”  Mimi took Sheila’s right hand with her own, and moved it to her own smaller breasts.  They returned to kissing, their mouths opening under the other’s, and Sheila let out a little moan as Mimi continued to rub her nipple. 

    Finally Mimi broke the kiss and let go, sitting down crosslegged from Sheila; she reached down and pulled her shirt over her head, throwing it aside, then unhooked her bra and sent it flying after the shirt.  Her small, pert breasts bounced free, rounded and topped by salmon pink nipples.  Sheila stared at them.  Her own breasts were a good bit larger than her friend’s, and Mimi’s bosom was no great surprise—she had seen it dozens of times while changing for class or after Mimi came out of the bathroom.  Yet now, they seemed completely alien, like Sheila had never seen them before.  “Mimi,” she whispered, “I…I don’t know what to do…never been with a girl like this.”  She paused, her brain trying to work through a combination of an unusual situation and inebriation.  “Never been with a guy either.”

    Mimi gently stroked Sheila’s face.  “It’s okay, Sheila.  We’re built the same, so whatever works for you works for me.”  Sheila still looked confused, so Mimi winked.  “Try licking my nipples, girl.”

   A cold sober Sheila would’ve been mortified at even the idea of putting her tongue anywhere on Mimi’s body.  A drunk Sheila thought the request reasonable.  She got up to her knees, gripped Mimi’s shoulders, and leaned in, reaching out with her tongue.  It touched Mimi’s peak, which seemed to greet her by getting harder and longer, and Sheila tasted her friend—the faint taste of salty sweat, the strawberry of her body wash.  Sheila swirled her tongue around the nipple, then suckled at it the way a baby would to its mother.  Mimi sighed and pushed herself forward.  “Yeah,” she hissed.  “Like that, Sheila.  Just like that.”  Sheila got a little bolder, releasing the nipple and licking up Mimi’s breast, enjoying the way Mimi arched her back.

   Mimi gently pushed Sheila back, and her hands went towards the waistband of Sheila’s shorts.  “Time to get you out of these.”  Her voice was thick with desire.

   Some sober part of Sheila’s mind raised an alarm, and she grabbed Mimi’s wrists.  “Mimi, I…” Her voice was trembling.  “I don’t know…I don’t know if I can go that far.”

   Mimi stared into Sheila’s eyes, and she relaxed.  “It’s okay,” she told her, and moved her hands back.  “You’re right...I'm going too fast here.  We won’t go any further than you want to.”

    “I mean…”  Sheila took a deep breath, then pulled her shirt over her head, half-undoing her ponytail in the process.  Now it was her breasts that were on display, and Mimi’s gaze immediately centered on them.  They might have been familiar, but not flushed with desire and the nipples standing hard, slightly upwards, as if begging for Mimi’s own tongue to touch them. 

    Mimi took Sheila’s arms and brought both of them to their feet, still staring at her friend’s chest.  “So pretty,” she breathed, then looked back up into Sheila’s befuddled face.  Mimi brought Sheila’s head down to hers, back into the kissing and licking, and pressed her body into the other woman’s, needing to feel her, all of her.  Sheila’s breasts were about chin-level on Mimi, who broke off just long enough to kiss both of them.

    Sheila felt the heat of Mimi’s bare skin on hers, and her head was swimming.  She stumbled backwards and ran into the bunk beds; Mimi saw her opportunity and pushed Sheila onto the latter’s bed, following her onto the hard mattress.  It was too much, all of it, and the heat in her core was overwhelming, blotting out all rational thought.  All Sheila wanted was to be devoured by the girl she had known since they were three.  She felt Mimi’s fingers on the waistband of her shorts again, and this time she not only didn’t stop her, she helped shove them down and off her legs, leaving her only in a pair of white, strictly functional panties.  Mimi kept kissing and licking her face, neck and ears, even as Mimi fumbled her own shorts and underwear off, until she was naked above her roommate.  Sheila took in the soft, brown stripe of hair at the junction of Mimi’s thighs, and found herself wanting to put her fingers or even her tongue there and the lips that pouted below it. 

    Mimi’s kisses went down Sheila’s neck until at last she reached the other woman’s breasts, and Sheila let out a gasp and a shuddering breath as Mimi began licking them, swirling around the pink buds until Sheila was whining with need.  Her legs fell open, and Mimi saw the invitation and the growing spot of dampness in the panties.   Mimi slipped a hand beneath the waistband—just a little, just to feel the raven curls under her fingers before pulling her fingers out and resting them just below her friend’s navel.  Sheila whimpered, pushing her hips upwards against Mimi’s hand, craving more even as her hands almost painfully gripped Mimi’s shoulders.  “Mimi,” Sheila gasped, “please…what are you—”

   “Shhh,” Mimi purred, and put a finger against Sheila’s lips.  “I’m going to show you, Sheila.  I’m going to make you feel like you’ve never felt before.”  Her fingers ran over Sheila’s panties, feeling the heat there, the dampness.  “You’re so wet down here, Sheila.  So ready for me.”

    Sheila only moaned in response, and Mimi licked both nipples before beginning her trip south.  She kissed the valley between Sheila’s breasts, then licked her way down to her navel, the tongue darting inside, a preview of what Mimi intended to do further down.  Then she left feather kisses down to the waistband of the panties, tugging them downwards slowly, exposing the black pubic hair, not even a half-inch before she would finally display all of Sheila Arla-Vlata.

    Then Mimi stopped, realizing that her friend wasn’t responding.  Sheila was no longer moaning or whimpering, and her body was no longer rising to meet Mimi’s tongue, or her legs shaking with anticipation.  Mimi looked up, and saw that Sheila’s body was slack, her eyes closed.  Her breasts rose and fell steadily, so she was breathing, and she could see the pulse of Sheila’s heartbeat in the other woman’s neck.  Mimi blinked.  All of a sudden the room was quiet, the only noise the howling blizzard outside the window. 

   Then she realized it: Sheila had passed out.  In the war between liquor and lust, the absinthe had finally won. 

   Mimi was frozen above Sheila, whose panties were only barely still covering her womanhood; they were the only bit of clothing between them.  Mimi was seized with the desire to simply pull Sheila’s panties off, open her legs, find the slick folds, and lick them until Sheila woke up.  But then she stared into her friend’s sleeping face, and a feeling of guilt crashed over her.  She couldn’t do that, Mimi decided, not to her oldest and sometimes only friend--not when Sheila was sound asleep and couldn't give consent, much less respond.  Mimi roved Sheila’s body one last time before pulling her panties back up, sliding out of the bed, and covering Sheila up to her neck with a warm blanket.  Mimi’s heart ached, wanting Sheila to wake up, wanting to pleasure her friend in the way she deserved, and be pleasured back.  But it was not to be, and Mimi wondered with amazing liquor-laden clarity if it was better like this.  She leaned over and kissed Sheila’s forehead.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

     Mimi stared down at Sheila’s sleeping form, her eyes tracing the curves of her friend’s body under the thick blanket.  Once more, she was tempted to fling the covers off and finish what she started, but Mimi angrily fought those feelings down.  She would not take advantage of Sheila, Mimi snapped inwardly.  Her morals weren’t that far gone.

    Still, the demon of desire wasn’t going to be so easily silenced, and so Mimi went into the bathroom, closed the door, and locked it.  She looked at herself in the mirror, and saw the peaked nipples, the dilated pupils, the flush of her skin.  Her hand slid between her legs and came back shining with moisture.  "Time to get rid of this," Mimi whispered, and returned her hand to where it had been, stroking herself as she bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes.  She imagined Sheila’s fingers on her, rubbing at her pearl, sliding through her slick folds, darting inside with a jolt that left Mimi stifling a moan of her own making.  She rocked her hips against her hand, the other bracing against the sink.  Mimi opened her eyes and watched herself, her mouth falling open in pants as the crescendo of ecstasy built and built until there was no stopping it.  She barely stifled a cry as she came, shuddering so hard that she nearly fell to her knees, one had gripping the side of the sink while the other remained buried between her legs.  

    Mimi took a deep, shaking breath, trying to get her heart to stop hammering out of her chest.  The tension eased, the ache no longer overwhelming, but bittersweet.  Mimi stood straight, her fingers still trembling, and washed her hands, then brushed her teeth.  She flicked off the light and walked back into the bedroom.  Sheila had rolled over in her sleep to her normal position, one hand under the pillow, the other resting on her hip.  The blanket had fallen away to leave one breast peeking out.  “Dammit,” Mimi murmured, but all she did was place the absinthe bottles on the desk, turn off the lights, and gingerly climb over Sheila to rest between her and the wall.  Sheila muttered something in her sleep, and Mimi slid her body close to her friend, holding her close, her nose in the soft crook of Sheila’s neck.  Sheila smiled and snuggled further into Mimi’s arms.  “I’m sorry, Sheila,” Mimi repeated softly. 

   The next morning, the blizzard had abated, and Tharkad’s weak sunlight drifted into the room.  Sheila stirred as the rays played over her body, but even though she woke up, she didn’t want to.  The blanket was warm, the pillow was soft, and there was someone with her, arms around her and breasts pushed into her back.  Sheila’s eyebrows came together in confusion.  Something wasn’t right here.  Her eyes fluttered open, looked down at her naked chest, and she slowly came to the realization that she was naked—and Sheila rarely slept naked.  Slowly, she craned her neck around and saw Mimi, still asleep, her head resting on the pillow next to Sheila’s, her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly.

    While Sheila had been drunk, she hadn’t been blackout drunk.  Bits and pieces of the night before coalesced into memories, which arrived at the same time as a throbbing headache behind her eyes.  “What the hell…” She slid out of the bed and her feet landed on the cold hardwood floor, then the room spun a bit and Sheila had to brace herself against the bunk beds.  The blanket had come halfway off the bed, revealing that Mimi was completely naked.  Sheila looked down at herself and saw her panties were still on, but the whole thing added up to something being very wrong. 

    Mimi’s hands groped for the warmth of Sheila’s body that was no longer present, and Mimi woke with a start.  She blinked a few times and saw Sheila standing there, the sunlight playing over her roommate’s mostly naked body, which was a rather nice thing to wake up to.  However, Mimi was a bit less quick to wake up, and she took in her own nudity next to Sheila’s.  “Whoa,” she murmured, still half-asleep, “did we fuck?”

    Sheila’s expression changed from flabbergasted to enraged.  “Mimi!” she shouted.  “Wake up, dammit!”  Mimi seemed to become a bit more alert.  “Did you have sex with me?” Sheila demanded.  “Did you fucking have sex with me?”

     Mimi sighed and got up, flinging the blanket aside. “No,” she said, “we didn’t.  You passed out.  We almost did, but all we did was make out.  I got your shirt off and was kissing my way down your body when you went out on me.”  Mimi remembered now; it had been more than that, with licking each other’s nipples and getting Sheila’s panties down to a centimeter above her clitoris, but now was not the time to mention that, assuming Sheila didn’t already remember it.

    Sheila leaned against the desk, trying to decide to grab her discarded shirt to cover herself or holding her head, which now felt like an artillery barrage was rolling through it.  “Mimi, I can’t believe you did that.  I can’t believe we did that.”  Sheila groaned, closing her eyes.  “I’m straight, dammit!”

    Mimi almost said that Sheila certainly hadn’t acted like it the night before, or her usual joke about spaghetti being straight until it got hot and wet…but knew now was not the time for that either.  “I’m…I’m so sorry,” she said instead, sincerely.  “It was the booze.  I was drunk, you were drunker, I just wanted to kiss you, and it went a lot further.  I know you’re straight, Sheila…and I know you’re still a virgin.  I just…got caught up in the moment, I guess.”

    Sheila shook her head.  “Why would you do that, Mimi?” she asked, her voice hurt and betrayed.  “We’ve been friends since we were three.  I trusted you.”

    Mimi heard the past tense in Sheila’s words, and her heart ached—and her head was starting to follow as well.  “I know,” she said, her voice heavy with despair.  “I know.  I don’t know why I did that, besides the damn absinthe.  I’ve…you know I find you attractive, Sheila.  I’ve always wondered what it would be like to make love to you, but it was just a stupid little fantasy.  I never wanted to push you into anything.”  The tears were flowing now, as Mimi realized she could very easily lose her only real friend.  “Last night was a mistake, Sheila.  I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!”  She dropped her face into her hands.  “God, I’m so sorry…I’m so stupid…”

    The silence, broken only by Mimi’s crying, stretched until finally Sheila sighed, put on her shirt, crossed over to the bed, and sat down next to Mimi.  She put an arm around her, and Mimi sobbed into her shoulder.  “I’m not mad at you, Mimi…well, not that mad.”  Her voice softened.  “I’m just…confused, I guess.  I don’t know what the hell this means.”  Sheila let out another sigh.  “It was more than just kissing.  If I hadn’t passed out, you would have…” Her voice trailed off. 

   “I would have made love to you, Sheila,” Mimi said quietly.  “I wouldn’t have hurt you.  I would have made it good.”  She shook her head.  “But you weren’t in your right mind and neither was I.”  Mimi took a chance and put her arm around Sheila’s waist; the other woman didn’t stop her.  “I can’t lose you, Sheila.  You’re the only real friend I have…that I’ve ever had.”

   “Wait a second.  You find me attractive?” Sheila asked in disbelief.

   “Yeah,” Mimi laughed, a little bitterly.  “Really attractive.  You’re beautiful, Sheila.  You don’t think you are, but you are, trust me.  Even when you were kind of flat, you were cute, but now…you’re gorgeous.  There’s a lot of guys who would do fusion reactor repairs without a suit if it meant one night with you.”

    Sheila laughed too.  “Oh, c’mon, Mimi.  I’m gawky.  I’m too damn tall. My tits are too big, my ass is too flat, and I don’t like people very much.”

    “Sheila,” Mimi said, “there is no man in the entire Inner Sphere that would ever complain about your tits.  Your ass is fine.  And the reason why you don’t like people very much is that you haven’t met that many.  You don’t put yourself out there to be met.”  Mimi leaned her head against Sheila’s shoulder.  “I’m not just attracted to you because you’re pretty.  I’m attracted to you because you’re pretty and my best friend.” 

    Sheila was quiet for a long time.  “Maybe you’re right.  About me being good looking.”  She looked over at Mimi.  “I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”

    “I knew you’d find it creepy.”

    “I don’t,” Sheila told her.  “It’s just…I’m not like you, Mimi.  I’m not into girls.  It probably seemed that way last night, but—”

    “Last night was absinthe and hormones,” Mimi explained.  “Good God, Sheila, we’re five years away from thinking boys had cooties and playing with Barbies.  We’re still basically teenagers.  How they trust us with giant war machines is beyond me.”

   “Because we’re too young and stupid to realize that being a MechWarrior is a really good way to get killed.”  Sheila rubbed Mimi’s shoulder.  “I’m sorry, Mimi.  I just can’t be what you want me to be.”

   “I know.”  Mimi smiled.  “And…I’m okay with that.  There’s nothing wrong with being friends.  Hell, maybe it's better this way.  Wouldn't be the first friendship I've fucked up with fucking."  Mimi got up, walked to the dresser, and pulled out fresh clothes. 

   Sheila watched Mimi walk around the room stark naked, and tried to feel desire for her, but it wasn’t there.  “I’m sorry that…I couldn’t at least please you.”

   Mimi shimmied into her panties.  “No worries.  I rubbed one out after you passed out.”  At the look of horror on Sheila’s face, she quickly addded, “In the bathroom! Not while watching you sleep or something.  Gross!  I have some standards.”  She put on her bra, then walked over and kissed Sheila on the forehead once more.  “If you ever change your mind, or just want to experiment or something…let me know.”

    “I will,” Sheila said sincerely. 

    “Friends?" Mimi wanted to know, adding, "You tall, gorgeous, mostly straight mess, you?"

    Sheila stood and enfolded Mimi in a hug.  “Always.”  She grinned at Mimi.  "You short, crazy, very bisexual mess."

    Mimi snickered.  "Yeah, that's me, all right."

Chapter Text

  Mimi Stykkis sat in the shower and cried.  She sat—and cried--because her legs no longer worked now, and hadn't for months.  She could no longer stand in a shower like “normal” people, nor could she do any of the hundreds of things she had done before she was crippled.  She had once been a dancer—an exotic one, to be sure, taking her clothes off for men to admire, showing them what they could never have but imagine having, throwing money at her for teasing them.  She had been good at dancing and loved it, naked or not.

   Mimi would never dance again.

   Yet exotic dancing was just Mimi’s sideline, a way to make extra money when she was attending the Nagelring Military Academy.  Her real dream had been to become a MechWarrior, to pilot the two-story war machines that the Stykkis family had piloted since the days of the Star League, and join others in the Sentinels Regimental Combat Team—the regiment her parents had served in, that she had grown up in.  She had achieved that dream for a year.

   Mimi would never pilot a ‘Mech again. 

   Both careers were ended in a single second by a Clan Wolf Elemental who she tried to run away from, after her Crusader was destroyed and she was trying to escape by foot.  They had swung their heavy weapon arm, and it had snapped Mimi’s spine.  She had woken up a week later with no feeling below her waist.  Doctors told her that she would never walk again, never go anywhere outside of a wheelchair, that her injuries were so extensive that even 31^st Century medicine couldn’t help her.  She wanted to die then, but unable to even get up and go to the bathroom on her own, Mimi couldn’t figure out a way to kill herself.  She had screamed at her best friend Sheila Arla-Vlata to forget her, to leave her, to never come back and see the broken, useless person Mimi Stykkis had become.

    And yet, there had been something inside of her that refused to quit.  It was rage, a rebellious streak that had always been Mimi’s trademark, so weeks after she had been moved to Donegal for recovery, she volunteered for every experimental surgery she could.  She had gone under the knife three times, each time gaining a bit more feeling.  First it was her groin.  Then it was her thighs.  She could walk again, short distances with steel braces and canes, shoving her legs forward despite the strain and pain of doing so.  The doctors had said there was nothing more they could do, that she still wouldn’t dance or be a MechWarrior again, but now Mimi was determined to prove them wrong.  She had discovered an iron will that she didn’t know she had. 

   But there were still some days that it was just too much, and Mimi wished that the Elemental had killed her rather than crippled her…and this was one of those days.

   Outside the bathroom was her nurse, Tim Seger.  He was a big man, a man who could easily lift Mimi and carry her wherever she needed to go.  He had been assigned to her when she had first arrived on Donegal, and it had been his job to help her dress, help her clean herself, even help her go to the bathroom.  Mimi had hated him for it, but Tim was used to patients hating him; he knew that they were actually angry at the circumstances or even themselves, not him, so he let their curses and screams roll over him like a waterfall, and answered “Yes, sir” or “No, ma’am” as the occasion merited.  Like most of Tim’s patients, their hatred soon waned, replaced by respect and even affection. 

    Tim saw all of his patients naked, young and old, male and female, and their nudity didn’t register with him.  It might be a 90-year old man or a 20-year old female, but he treated both with equal respect and dignity.  He did not look at the old or disfigured with revulsion, nor was he turned on by the beautiful and young.  They were human beings, and he dealt with them as such.  He might even joke around with them—he had told one rather attractive woman who was getting used to artificial legs and arms that to him, she was just meat.  Then, with his easy smile, he would add very attractive meat.  Tim was liked for that: not just his patience, but his sense of humor.  His job got to him now and then—he would cry like a baby if he heard one of “his” had died, or go work out with a punching bag after dealing with particularly surly patients—but Tim didn’t let his patients get to him.

   The problem was, Mimi Stykkis had gotten to him.

   Tim didn’t know what it was.  Mimi was certainly attractive, with a cute face, upturned nose, soft and expressive brown eyes, and lips that were created for kissing; her wounds had done little to mar a petite but beautiful body.  When she was in a good mood, she was vivacious and fun.  When she was in a bad mood, she was a little terror that was capable of slicing one’s ego to ribbons with mere words.  She was fiercely determined to get back into the cockpit of a ‘Mech, to the point that she demanded Tim time her as she simulated getting out of a ‘Mech cockpit and escaping through a hatch, using only her arms—a test that MechWarriors had to pass to show they could escape from a burning ‘Mech, except that they weren’t unable to use their legs.  He was impressed by that determination, that refusal to give up, no matter how much pain she was in. 

    Maybe it was all of it, Tim reflected.  The problem was, it was not something nurses were supposed to feel.  There was nothing wrong with feeling affection or friendship for a patient, or even finding one attractive—but to want to act on those impulses, to want to do more than just care for them, to imagine himself making love to Mimi Stykkis…that was wrong.  He was also ten years older than she was, which didn’t help.  Tim had thought about resigning as her nurse and transferring to another department for awhile, but that meant not seeing her, or not hearing her laugh, or seeing her fierceness on display. 

    It was worse when he heard her crying, which was what he heard now.  “I’m not broken,” Mimi told herself, “I’m not.”  It wasn’t the first time Tim had heard her say those words, and it shattered his heart every time.  Mimi was trying to convince herself.  The pitiful sobbing that racked her in these moments tore through him in a way no other patient had.  

   Tim could take no more.  He went into the bathroom, pushed the privacy curtain aside, and stepped into the shower with her.  The shower sprayed on them both now, rapidly soaking his scrubs.  “Mimi,” he said, “let me.”  She stared at him in surprise—he had helped her bathe before, but always when she was in a tub, not showering while sitting in her bath chair.  He took the sponge from its position on the shelf and began washing her.  “You’re not broken, Mimi,” he told her as he washed her limp legs.  “You’re the most determined person I know.  You don’t break.  You might bend now and then, but you don’t break.  You’ll cuss the doctors, you’ll walk in those braces until your muscles are screaming and your palms are bleeding…but you don’t break.”  He opened her thighs and washed between her legs.  “You are a beautiful, wonderful young woman, and whatever happened to you doesn’t change that.”  He moved up to her stomach.

    “Tim…” Mimi paused, unsure what to say.  He wasn’t being rough with her, but he was certainly vigorous.  It was like he was trying to make her whole by washing her.  “Tim,” she repeated, “should you be doing this? I mean, washing me? I can wash myself, you know.”  That was true: Mimi had been washing herself for over a month now, even finding ways to soap and wash her legs—and the shower was equipped with a robotic arm that could do it for her. 

    “Probably not,” Tim admitted, moving back around her, tossing the sponge aside and grabbing the shampoo.  “But I want to do this for you.”  He straightened her shoulder-length hair out and began washing it, then shampooed it like a stylist.  Mimi hummed under his fingers as he massaged her scalp and got her hair probably the cleanest it had ever been, then sprayed it free of shampoo.  He shut the shower off, got out dripping wet with the smocks adhering to his skin, and then moved the chair out of the shower, grabbed some towels, and began to dry her off.  “Tim,” Mimi smiled, “dry yourself off.  You’re wetter than me.”

    Tim looked down at himself, then back at her.  “I’ll have to get these scrubs off.”

    “So what? You’ve seen me naked dozens of time—hell, I am naked, right now!”  Mimi winked at him.  “To me, you’re just meat.”

    He grinned at her, his own words thrown back at him.  “Okay.”  Tim knew he was very close to crossing that line with a patient.  Hopping in the shower to bathe one while giving them a pep talk wasn’t necessarily crossing the line; being mostly naked in front of one was.  He was making a huge mistake…and didn’t care. 

    Tim stripped off the soaked uniform, leaving him in his boxers, which were equally soaked.  He began to dry himself quickly, not looking at her, even as Mimi dried herself, more slowly--and she was looking at him.  In fact, Mimi was admiring him.  She had noticed Tim’s muscles before, the wiry black hairs on his arms, the short beard he wore, and his rugged looks.  Now she saw that he had a hairy chest and legs, and his bodybuilder musculature wasn’t just limited to his arms.  The hair thickened below his navel, trailing down to disappear beneath the waistband of his underwear, and Mimi felt her mouth get a little dry at the slight bulge of his manhood beneath the briefs. 

    Now that the surgeries had given her feeling back to halfway down her thighs, the doctors had assured Mimi she could have sex again, even if they recommended that she not get pregnant.  Mimi had tested the equipment, as it were, and found everything was shipshape and in Bristol fashion—a saying she had picked up from Sheila’s father Calla.  At the Nagelring, she had entertained an even dozen of lovers, both men and women, as Mimi had discovered she was bisexual; she had even attempted to seduce Sheila herself, though that had been the result of far too much absinthe and far too little good judgement.  As she went through recovery and rehabilitation, she had flirted with her doctor and baldly propositioned a female nurse, only to be told her doctor was married and the nurse was straight.  She had never really thought about Tim Seger, but now she was.

    “Tim,” she said casually, as she reached down and dried her legs, “do you find me attractive?”

    He hesitated, knowing the answer but fearing that line, but also wanting to tell the truth.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “Stay there, okay? I’m going to grab some spare scrubs.”  He kept some in his backpack; it was not unknown for patients to throw up on him, or worse. 

   “Tim.”  He turned to Mimi, who smiled up at him.  “Don’t.”  She opened her arms, as if asking for a hug, but he knew she was asking for far more. Tim knew that if he allowed himself to take the invitation she was giving him, he was breaking every moral and ethical law he had drilled into him at medical school, all the bylaws of the hospital they were in, and quite possibly some Donegal planetary statutes that frowned on medical personnel having sex with their patients.

    He didn’t care.

    Tim bent over and Mimi’s arms closed around him, even as their lips met.  He noted detachedly that he had been right: her lips were made for kissing.  So was her tongue, which was very bold and experienced; Tim was no virgin himself, but Mimi licked his lips, his teeth, and his tongue in a way that made his heart race.  The skin of her back was soft under his fingers: he had felt it before, of course, but not like this.

    “Take me,” Mimi told him breathlessly.

    He didn’t respond, just gathered her in his arms and walked out of the bathroom, her legs dangling from his arms as they continued to lick and kiss each other.  Tim set her on the bed, then climbed on over her, his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbones, and Mimi giggled softly as his beard tickled her skin.  Then his mouth found her nipples, and her giggles turned to a groan of satisfaction.  Tim rapidly brought the pink peaks to attention, and then his hand slid between her legs, over the fan of curls to find her slick warmth.  “Oh God,” Mimi moaned.  “Oh, yeah, please…”  It had been so long since she had felt someone, anyone touch her like this.  She pressed herself into his hand and gasped as he found the sensitive bud above her folds, circling it with a gentle pressure.  Her fingers bunched in the covers, and Mimi looked past him to see if her toes had somehow curled.  They hadn’t, of course, but that didn’t seem terribly important at the moment.  He suckled at her nipples as his fingers continued their work, and Mimi’s head fell backwards against the pillow.  “Tim,” she begged, “in me…put it in me…”

   “Okay,” Tim replied, his own breathing ragged.  He got off the bed, and Mimi wanted to scream in frustration as the pleasure that had been rolling through her suddenly stopped.  Then he dropped his underwear, and her eyes widened at his erection, which was thick and proud.  He grabbed his backpack, rummaged in it, and pulled out a condom, then quickly tore it open and rolled it over his pulsing length.  Mimi wanted to ask why Tim had a condom with his nursing gear, but then decided that could wait until later too.   

   “How do we do this?” she whispered.

   Tim looked at her for a moment, then replied “I think I know,” and climbed into bed beside her.  So very gently, he turned her over on her left side and pulled her legs upwards towards her chest and slightly open.  “Are you sure?” he asked in her ear.

   “Very," Mimi reassured him. 

   “All right.”  Mimi felt the condom against her entrance, then Tim carefully and agonizingly slowly pushed into her from behind.  Mimi groaned as she was filled, her eyes squeezed shut, one hand going back to grip his thigh and feel the muscles beneath.  She could feel every inch, and it was glorious. 

    Tim tried to take his time with her, even as Mimi moaned his name—not just to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, but because he wanted to savor every moment.  It was wrong, and it was so right at the same time.  Yet he couldn't stop himself from speeding up, then trying to slow back down.  He breathed into her ear, his hands on her hips to keep her in place as he pushed in and out of her.  Her fingers slipped off his thigh to intertwine with his.  “Tim,” she panted, “you can go faster…please go faster…”

    “You…got it…” Tim increased the pace, even as his body screamed at him to slam into her and reach his peak.  He let go of her hand to grip her breasts, and Mimi’s hair was in his face as she began to toss her head back and forth.  “Harder!” Mimi demanded.  “God, Tim, fuck me harder!”  Her orgasm was rapidly approaching, and Mimi wanted it now, to feel the sensations racking her body to flood her brain and make her forget everything but that singular moment. 

   And then Mimi was there, her body trembling as it spasmed, her eyes rolling back and her fingers gripping the blankets enough that they tore.  She bit her lip to keep from screaming as it washed through her.  Tim held her, but he didn’t stop: his own thrusts were faster now, erratic, no longer gentle.  “Mimi,” he groaned, and then he stiffened, and Mimi could feel him pulse inside of her, even as she still shook from her own release.  He held her tightly, enough that it even hurt a little, but Mimi didn’t stop him.

   When it was over, both lay in the bed, heaving with exertion.  Tim pulled out of her and she rolled over to look at him.  Mimi’s eyes shined with tears.  “Thank you,” she whispered.

    “For what?” Tim asked.

    “For making me feel like a real woman again,” Mimi told him.  “For finding me attractive, despite…those.”  She motioned at her legs.  The rest of her body still quivered with the aftershocks of her release, but they didn’t. 

   Tim leaned down and kissed both legs, then kissed her lips.  “You’re welcome.”  He got up and pulled off the condom to throw it in the garbage.  He reached into his backpack and got out clean scrubs and a change of underwear, then got dressed.  Mimi watched him from the bed, enjoying the ripple of his muscles, the hard legs, the very squeezable bottom.  Desire stirred in her again, but she knew it was probably too soon—and she doubted Tim had more than one condom.

    Tim turned to her, then sighed.  He sat on the bed next to her, running a hand over one leg.  “Mimi, I’m not sorry I did that, but I broke a lot of rules.  I could lose my license.  I’m definitely going to lose my job.”

   “Tim, it was consensual!” Mimi argued.  “I wanted you to make love to me!”

   “And I wanted to make love to you,” Tim agreed.  “But nurses aren’t supposed to bang patients, Mimi.  I crossed a very big line.  I can’t be your nurse anymore.”

   Mimi gritted her teeth in anger, then relaxed.  He was right.  What they had done might not have been wrong morally—in her opinion, anyway—it was wrong professionally.  She understood, even if it felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. Just when she felt wonderful again, it was being taken away--as usual. “I see,” she said quietly.

   Tim grabbed her hands.  “Maybe I can’t be your nurse,” he smiled.  “But I wouldn’t mind being your lover.”

   Mimi’s eyes widened.  “You…you mean it?” He nodded.  “Oh God, Tim, yes.  Please.”

   Tim leaned in and kissed her.  “I’m going to go tell the hospital that I’m resigning.  Don’t worry about me—I know the head nurse here.  She’ll understand.  I’ll have another job by the end of the week, trust me.”  He got off the bed and finished packing his things.  “I’ll be back tonight,” he told her.  “But not as your nurse.”

   “As my lover,” Mimi nodded.  “I’ll be waiting.”

      The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed slowly.  Mimi didn’t even bother dressing; she even ate in the nude, the food delivered by another nurse who gave her a knowing smile, one woman to another.  She read for awhile, ate, then got partially out of bed.  She put the metal braces around her legs, which was very difficult without help, but she managed.  Then she got up, grabbed her crutches, and began walking around the room.  It was tough, but Mimi fought against the pain.  Her arms soon felt like they were on fire, and her thighs weren’t much better, but she kept moving, baring her teeth against the agony.  She had never walked so much on the braces, but she wanted to.  She had always wanted to prove to herself that she could, but now she wanted to do it for her lover too.   

   An hour after she started practicing, there was a knock on her door.  Mimi felt like she was about to collapse, but she hobbled over to answer the door.  “Tim?” she asked.

   “Yeah, it’s me.”

   “Anyone else in the hallway?”

   “No, why?”

   Mimi hit the button and the door slid upwards.  He wasn’t dressed in scrubs anymore, but dressed casually in shirt and slacks.  Tim abruptly noticed she was naked, and he took a step back, his eyes wide in shock—and admiration, Mimi noted.  “Mimi, what are you doing?” he asked incredulously. 

    She grinned despite the pain.  “What it’s look like? I’m a woman, waiting for her man.”  She balanced her elbows on the braces and held out her arms.  “Come here, you.”

    Tim was in the room in a moment and the door closed behind him, but he was already kissing her, lifting her off the floor.  Her arms hurt, but she put them around his broad back all the same.  She felt his travel down the length of her spine, feeling the scars from the surgeries there, then the curve of her hips, to rest on her firm rear.  She laughed through the kiss.  “You like my ass? It’s the only thing all this rehab has made better.”  That wasn’t true: Mimi had added a great deal of muscle tone all over her body.  She had never been overweight, but skinny; now she was toned, with hard abdominals and biceps.  

    “I love your ass,” Tim smiled back. 

    She leaned back a little.  “Sorry if you’re a tit man.  I’m not exactly huge.”

    “You’re perfect.”  His hands fit over both of her breasts. 

    “Now that we’ve gotten the praise kink out of the way,” Mimi grinned, “I was going to have you fuck me up against the wall, but I think I’ll probably fall over, so…bed?”

    “The bed sounds nice.”  Tim picked her up and carried her over to the bed, grunting with exertion—the steel braces added almost twenty pounds to her weight.  He helped her take them off and set them aside next to her crutches, then he sat on the bed next to her.  “Are they okay with you…being with me?” Mimi asked at length.

    “Not really,” Tim told her, “but the head nurse understood and accepted my resignation.  She’ll even put in a good word for me at my next job.  She told me as long as we were discreet, she was fine with me being here.”  He laughed as she reached forward and began pulling off his shirt.  “Hey, you get to undress me for once.”

    “Mm-hmm!”  Mimi licked her lips as she ran her fingers over his chest hair.  “Might have trouble with the pants, though.”  The angle she was at was off to completely disrobe him.

    “I got it.”  Tim quickly got his pants off.  His underwear was already tented, and his erection bobbed free when he got those off.  Mimi grabbed it and began stroking it, turning over slightly, even as they kissed again—this time as open lovers.  Mimi found her mouth getting dry and her heart pounding as she saw the desire in his eyes, his manhood twitching for her. It made her feel so very good that she could still do that to a man.

   Tim rolled over and spread her legs apart, even though she couldn’t feel his hands on them.  Motionless or not, her legs were smooth—he had helped her shave her legs almost every other day.  He kissed the inside of her thighs, and Mimi fluffed up the pillows behind her.  “I want to watch,” she smiled down at him.

   “That’s half the fun.”  She shivered as she felt his beard against her skin.  She knew she was getting wet and swollen for him.  Her breath caught in her throat as Tim moved to his objective between her legs, and then his tongue was sliding over her, tasting her.  “Yesss…” she hissed, pressing herself into his mouth, then snorted and laughed.

   “What’s so funny?” Tim raised his head. 

   “You’re going to make me come.”

   “That’s funny?”

   “When I woke up this morning, I had no idea I’d be having sex at all, let alone twice in the same day.”  She ruffled his hair affectionately.  “No one told you to stop, sir.”

    “I’ve got a better idea.”  Tim sat back on his haunches, pulled a condom from the pocket of his pants and quickly put it on.  “Ribbed for your pleasure,” he winked.  Mimi snickered.  Then he positioned himself above her, nudged the tip of the condom against her entrance, and she nodded to him.  She couldn’t help but arch her back as he slid into her.  Instinctively, she tried to bring her legs up to tuck around his back, but only her thighs barely left the bed.  Oh well, she thought, and settled for wrapping her arms around him as he bent over to kiss her.   His strokes were deep and smooth, and she met them as best she could. 

    This time their lovemaking was slow and deliberate, taking their time rather than the mad passion they had experienced earlier.  They were smiling at each other, even as he occasionally puffed with effort and she gasped as her body began to tense up.  “Tim,” she whispered, “I’m going to come.”  Mimi said it almost casually, in the same tone of voice of announcing she was going to the store.  Then she closed her eyes, let out a long, soft moan, and he felt her clench and release around him, her fingers raking down his back.  Tim stopped, both for her sake and to feel her around him.  Mimi’s smile became languid as she stroked his cheek and beard.  “That was nice,” she told him softly.  “Are you close?”

    “Yeah,” Tim admitted.

    “Here…pull out.”  His eyebrows came together in confusion, but Tim did as Mimi asked.  She sat up, pulled off the condom, and grabbed his behind, pulling her towards him.  He understood, and groaned as she pulled him towards her lips.  Mimi hadn’t done this in awhile, but she had always been good at pleasing her lovers—and Mimi wanted to please Tim.

    “Holy…shit,” he struggled out as she grabbed the base of his penis, holding him as she swirled her tongue around the head, teased the slit at the tip, then leaned forward and took him inside her mouth.  Her mouth was warm velvet, her tongue sliding along the bottom of his shaft, and he could feel himself at the back of her throat.   “Mimi,” he warned her, and she felt his testicles, drawn up against the base, and she knew he was very, very close himself.  She pulled him out very slowly, dragging her tongue over him, until he popped out between her lips.  His erection was straining upwards, glistening with her saliva.  “Sorry,” she said with a dirty laugh, “I don’t swallow on the first date.”

    “Noted...” Tim said with effort.  “Let me get another condom out—”

    “Nah, you’re not going to make it that long,” Mimi told him, grabbed him, and began to stroke him with her hands.  She got three strokes done before Tim groaned again, his hips jerked forward, and he shot his seed all over her chest.  She milked him until he was finished and her breasts were liberally coated with it, then let go.  “Oops-a-daisy,” Mimi giggled.  “Seems you came all over me, Tim.”

    “Let me…get a towel…” Tim got off the bed and staggered to the bathroom, found a towel that was still wet from earlier, and dried her off.  He tossed the towel in the general direction of her clothes hamper and collapsed next to her.  “Mimi,” he said with a long breath, “I’ve never had a woman do that to me before.”

     “Well…I’ve always been a little inventive.”  She leaned onto his shoulder.  “Truth to tell, Tim…at the Nagelring I was kind of a slut.  I’m bi.  Hell, I even tried to seduce my roommate.  You know who Sheila Arla-Vlata is?  She was my roomie.  We got seriously fucked up one night and damn near had sex.  Luckily she passed out.”  And I didn’t lose my friend, Mimi added to herself.  I need to contact Sheila.  I need to say I’m sorry for the stupid things I told her.

     “Yeah, I heard of her.  She got the Commonwealth Star for Rasalhague.”  Tim abruptly remembered why Sheila had gotten the medal.  “Oh shit, Mimi, I’m sorry.”

     “For what? She deserved it.  If it wasn’t for her, I’d either be dead or sucking off some Clan Wolf Star Colonel right now.”

    Tim burst into laughter despite himself.  “Well, I’m glad you were, well—”

    “Sucking you off instead?” Mimi poked his shoulder.  “Me too.”  Once more, she snuggled against him.  “Thank you again, Tim.  You gave up a lot for me.”

    “Thank you, Mimi.  You’re pretty incredible, you know that?”

    Mimi choked back tears.  She still felt warm, but it wasn’t the warmth of his body next to hers or the warmth of lovemaking—it was acceptance, of Tim seeing Mimi for who she was, of making love to her out of genuine desire rather than pity.  “Yeah,” she said softly.  “I guess I am.”  She looked up at him.  “Tim, I don’t know how long this will last.  I’m getting back in a ‘Mech.  I know that sounds crazy, but I have to do it.  I have to prove that I can.  I can’t leave my friends.  I said…I said some pretty ugly things to my best friend, and I have to make up for that.”

    “Then I’d better make the most of the time we do have.  And I’ll help, Mimi.”  He leaned over and kissed her.  “Any way I can.”

    They subsided into silence, with Tim’s hand resting on her stomach, her up against his arm.  Sleep took him first, and Mimi listened to his breathing even out even as her own eyes got heavy.  “Thank you,” she whispered one more time, and fell asleep next to her new lover.  For the first time in almost a year, Mimi Stykkis was at peace.

Chapter Text

   Tam Stormwind hastily but carefully closed the door to his basement room, crept over to his bed in the dark, and sat down.  His half-elven eyesight allowed him to navigate the house in near darkness, but it wouldn’t help read what was in his hands—though he didn’t actually plan to read the magazine.  He reached over and switched on his desk lamp, and looked down to the treasure he held in his hand.  In bold letters stretched atop the top of the magazine’s cover were the words PENTHOUSE.  Below the header promised a few articles about the government’s war on drugs and the state of the Cold War—both hot button items, he supposed, when the magazine came out in 1984.  He wouldn’t know, he supposed; he had only been eight at the time, back when his biggest goal in life was watching GI Joe and getting more Transformers than his tomboy sister. 

    Now, however, at 15, Tam’s goals were no longer cartoons or toys: it was making the track team in high school, keeping his grades up so his parents would allow him to hang out with his friends, and girls.  The latter was paramount in his mind at the moment.  Tam had known that his father Shiro had a few adult magazines here and there, but they were hidden specifically for this reason; in fact, Tam hadn’t been entirely sure his father hadn’t thrown them out.  They weren't, however, and at the bottom of a cobwebbed stack of magazines in the closet of Shiro’s office, Tam had swatted away a terrified spider and found his objective.  The magazine was eight years old, but was in surprisingly good shape. 

   As if opening a treasure chest, Tam flipped open the magazine.  He was instantly shown the body of a rather beautiful nude woman, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.  It wasn’t quite the first naked woman he had seen—his sex education text had drawings of several of them to show the development of his female classmates—but this was different.  Whereas those texts had innocent pictures of a teenaged girl getting out of the shower or the genitalia of the opposite gender, which were still enough to get his hormone-addled sex drive going, these pictures were much different.  These were women, adults, and they stared back at him with eyes that promised all the sex his teenage hormones could handle--which was quite a bit.

    Tam quickly skipped the article on the Cold War—it had ended two years ago when the Wall came down, so far as he cared—and got to the featured article.  It was Miss America, and Tam’s jaw dropped when he saw that woman, who was mind-numbingly gorgeous by herself, was with another woman.  Of course, he knew that some women were lesbians, but not like this…and they damn sure weren’t having sex, which these two mind-numbingly gorgeous women were. “Holy shit,” he whispered.  He only wore a pair of briefs, and now he felt a stirring in them, the beginnings of his body responding to the sight in front of him. 

    He turned a few more pages, but there were only a few of the pictures of the two women.  He shrugged and went past the article on marijuana, something that he could not have cared less about, and arrived at the next woman.  She was a brunette, apparently a porn star, but Tam was not too concerned about the lurid things the woman had supposedly said.  His eyes were locked onto her magnificent breasts—which weren’t huge, but well in proportion, he thought—and traced down her stomach to the trimmed triangle of black hair between her legs, and what was beneath those curls. 

    Tam wondered what that looked like outside of the dry, boring text of the sex-ed book, turned the page, and got all the information he had ever wanted: her legs were spread there, her fingers opening herself up for him, her eyes sultry and promising the depths of forbidden desires.  Tam slid his fingers across the picture, as if she was real and doing that in front of him.  His heart was thudding with excitement, and he didn’t have to look down to know that his erection was straining against the fabric of his underwear.

    The next page was even more explicit, if that was even possible, the woman in the shower, her legs spread as she ran her fingers over herself, her head thrown back in ecstasy—or at least gave the impression she was doing so.  Remembering the dry sex ed textbook, Tam was fairly certain that he could see her clitoris, and one part of his brain filed that information away for future reference.  Finally, on the last page, the pornstar was on her hands and knees, her back arched upwards as her tongue lolled out, as if she was about to lick a penis.  Her round, firm rear begged for his hands, and her breasts hung down, the nipples stiff and hard. 

    That did it.  Tam flipped back a few pages and started looking again, but this time one hand slid under the waistband of his shorts and felt his penis, which was very, very hard.  He eased his underwear down, freeing his erection, which pulsed in time with his heart.  The woman in the picture stared back, as if daring him to stroke himself.  Tam took the dare.  His fingers glided beneath his shaft, slowly and tentatively at first, then quicker.  This wasn’t the first time Tam had done this, but it was the first time he had with a naked woman staring back at him, even if she was in an eight-year old magazine.  He groaned softly with need, and felt wetness at the tip of his purpling head.  His heart beat faster. 

   With a shaking hand, he flipped back to Miss America and the other woman, and if anything, that made him even harder—if that was possible.  He could feel it rising, his orgasm approaching like a distant thunderstorm that was rolling towards him, a tornado of pure lust that would suck him up and spit him out.  Tam switched back to the pornstar and looked down at himself, taking his hand away.  His manhood throbbed quickly, matching the beat of his heart, blood thundering in his ears.  Suddenly, he felt that familiar certainty: there was no stopping it now. 

    The moment seemed to stretch into infinity, each millisecond a delicious eternity of anticipation, and then it hit.  Tam groaned aloud as his penis began uncontrollably twitching, and then his semen shot out in thick ropes, hitting the pornstar in her breasts and stomach, coating her in the thick white strands of his essence.  He hadn’t even touched himself, Tam realized, and yet it had still happened.  He knew that he would never forget this moment as long as he lived. 

    Tam rolled onto his back, trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.  The magazine had been perched precariously on the side of his bed, and it fell to the floor with a thud.  Tam didn’t care: at this point, the falling Soviet Union could launch a nuclear strike on his house, and he would die very happy.  He lay in his bed, his mind racing with what had just happened.  This was different from all the times he had touched himself, the orgasm so incredibly strong.  Tam looked down at his softening penis.  Luckily, he had thought ahead, kind of: there was a box of tissues on his nightstand, so he got a handful of those and dried himself off.  The sticky evidence of his desire stuck to the tissues and his fingers as he got it off of his sparse pubic hair.  Tam felt strong, a man—no longer a child, no longer the ignorant teenager who wondered what a nude woman looked like.  Someday, he promised himself, he would find the real thing.  

   Tam took a deep breath, adjusted himself back into his underwear, picked up his bathrobe and threw it on, then picked up the magazine.  Now he just had to get it back to the closet in his father’s office.  Tam knew his parents slept lightly—both were combat veterans and retained that knack of waking up instantly—but it was just after midnight.  They both had a long day, so they would be sound asleep.  It wasn’t like Tam had sneaked through the house before, since he was little.  He would creep up the stairs, make a quarter-turn to the right, through the kitchen, down the hallway past his bedroom and his sister’s, and into the office.  Once there, he would go to the open closet, toss the magazine into the dusty corner, then creep back.  Shiro never looked in that corner, never thought about those magazines, Tam was sure; he wondered if his father even remembered that he still had them.  He opened his door and went silently up the stairs, slipping the Penthouse into his bathrobe and holding it against his chest; if he was caught, Tam would make up something.  He was good at that.

    Tam made the quarter-turn to the right into the kitchen and nearly screamed.  Waiting for him in the darkness, hands crossed over her chest, was Rissa Stormwind—his mother. 

    Tam had inherited his father’s considerable height; even at 15, he was eight inches taller than she was.  Then again, Rissa was remarkably short at five feet zero inches, but Tam was under no illusion he could intimidate her.  She might look like a woman in her thirties, standing barefoot in an old, slightly ratty robe, but in reality she was nearly two thousand years old: her children had come what seemed to be ridiculously late in life, but for an elf, Rissa was not quite middle-aged.  Her pointed ears, normally hidden, peeked out of her fall of black hair, something that both she and her husband had passed to their children.  Her green eyes, luminous in the darkness of the kitchen, were another legacy.  At the moment, they were blazing with anger, and she was not smiling. 

   Tam’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he held the magazine close to his chest by keeping his left arm tight against his side.  He tried to think of a good explanation—which should have been easy; both Tam and his sister were night owls, even on school nights—but no words came out under his mother’s pitiless gaze.

   Rissa held out a hand.  “You were in your father’s office,” she told him, “and you were rooting around in there for something.  You and your sister always forget how sensitive my hearing is.  Now you’re headed back like the proverbial thief in the night…which I suspect is exactly what you are.  Let me see what you’ve got inside your robe.”

    “I-I don’t have anything inside my—” Tam began.

    “Do not lie to me, Tam Tal Stormwind.”  Rissa’s voice was quiet, but it carried the steel of command.  Tam knew his mother had led everything from hoplites at Marathon to Delta Force operatives two months previously in the Iraqi desert, and she was used to being obeyed.  Tam sheepishly handed over the Penthouse.  Her eyes never left his as she took it from him, then she finally glanced down.  Her eyebrows rose, and her expression softened...but just barely.  “Tam, this is your father’s.”  Her eyes flicked back upwards. 

    “I was going to put it back,” he tried to explain.

    “You took it without permission,” Rissa snapped.  “What do we call that, Tam? You’re not six years old.  Quit acting like it.”

    “Stealing,” he sighed.  “But Mom, I was just—”

    “I know.”  His mother suddenly seemed very small and old, and her hand reached out.  Tam flinched, but instead, she just rubbed his arm.  “Tam…you’re growing up, I know, and this is part of it, but…” She took a deep breath of her own.  “We need to talk about this.”

    “About the stealing? I’m sorry, Mom—”

    “Downstairs,” she ordered, and Tam immediately nodded.  He walked quickly back down to his room, followed by Rissa.  They went into his bedroom and, much to his acute embarrassment, she sat on his bed, right where he had masturbated only minutes before.  Tam sat beside her.  He nearly jumped across the room when Rissa opened the magazine, but it was towards the back, and he suddenly realized there was a third nude woman he hadn’t looked at—a rather gorgeous blonde.  He tried to hide his amazement: she was a natural blonde, too. 

    Rissa stared down at the woman.  “Tam,” she began, “I know your father has given you the Talk, but there’s something I’d like to say too.”  She looked over to him.  “Sex is a beautiful thing when shared between two consenting adults who love each other.”

    The words sounded dry, and Tam resisted rolling his eyes at the trite phrase.  His eyes involuntarily went back to the woman’s open legs and the blonde hairs between.  They snapped back upwards when he noticed Rissa was staring at him.  “Tam.”  She tapped the woman right in the crotch.  “You need to understand that women are not just objects for you to drool over.  We are human beings—” Rissa paused, and laughed softly.  “Well, most of us are.  But we have our own desires, passions and loves, with feelings and needs just like your own.”  She tapped the page again.  “You’ll never know this woman, Tam, and she’ll never know you.  You’ll stare at her, I know—you’re a young man, and she posed like this for men to stare at her.  But she’s not real, Tam.  The women you will meet are.  I want you to remember that.” 

    Tam’s heart leapt into his throat as his mother flipped the pages towards the front of the magazine, and landed right where he had ejaculated on the pornstar.  Rissa nearly dropped the Penthouse, then held it on the dry page with one hand while she took the other away from the sticky one.  Tam now wished for that Soviet nuclear attack; the idea that his own mother might have his semen on her hands made him want to curl up and die.  Luckily, she had managed to avoid that, but with an expression of disgust, she handed the magazine to him.  Tam frantically grabbed more tissues and dried it off.  “Mom, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.  “I didn’t mean to—it just sort of happened—I couldn’t stop it—”

    Rissa closed her eyes, then opened them.  “Tam…I know you didn’t mean to.”  She reached out and touched his shoulder.  “But you did just ruin something that belongs to your father.  I’ll have to tell him.”  Tam winced at that; Shiro Matsushima was stern but fair, but one of his favorite sayings was that Tam was never too old for him to turn over his knee.  When he was younger, Tam had felt his father’s wrath more than once: Shiro had been born and raised in Japan, where the culture ranked the fear of fathers next to the fear of earthquakes and fire.  “However, since I’m pretty sure that magazine has been in that closet since 1985 at least, he probably won’t be too upset.  You might as well keep it now.”

   “You mean it?” he asked.

   “Yes, if your father agrees,” Rissa said.  “Besides, better you have that then go do something stupid, like shoplift one.”

    “Mom, I would never do that,” Tam insisted.

    “Hormones make you do stupid things.”  She pointed to where he had come on the magazine.  “Like that.”  Rissa sat on the edge of his bed; her feet barely reached the floor.  “Tam…masturbation is normal for teenagers.  I did it, your father did it, your sister almost certainly does it.  You even still do it sometimes when you’re an adult, when you don’t have anyone to love or the one you love isn’t there.”  Her eyes turned wistful; Tam knew all too well that his mother had been gone for a lot of his childhood.  The first time he had gotten stomach flu, Rissa had been helping pull people out of burning helicopters at a deserted airstrip in Iran.  His sister had gotten her first period the day after Rissa had deployed on Desert Shield; it had been one of the teachers at school that had shown her how to put in a tampon. “It’s part of growing up and figuring yourself out.  It’s how you learn about your own body—what feels good and what doesn’t.”

    “I know that, Mom,” Tam told her.  “Dad told me that.”

    “I know, Tam, but…” Rissa sighed.  “Tam, you’re going to have these feelings a lot.  It’s okay to explore them, but do it with the understanding that they exist for a reason.”  She smiled at her son.  “It’s just one part of sexuality, Tam.  There’s much more out there to discover and experience…but do it with someone you love.  Truly love.”  There were tears in her eyes, and Tam knew she was thinking of the day he would leave, his sister too.  “Trust me, Tam.  I’ve had sex with more men and women than stars in the sky, but I’ve only loved a handful, including your father.  As your father says, there’s a big difference between making love and fucking.”  The profanity sounded so odd coming from his mother: Shiro might curse like a sailor, but Tam could count on the fingers of one hand how many times Rissa had dropped a f-bomb.

    Rissa reached out and brushed his hair back.  “And when you find that special person…you’ll find that the real thing is far, far more amazing than anything you see in that magazine.”  She bent forward and kissed his forehead.  “I love you, Tam.  You’ll always be my little boy…even as you become a man.”

    “Thanks, Mom.  And I really am sorry.”

    “I know, sweetie.  Just don’t let it happen again.”  Rissa slid off the bed.  “Get some sleep.  You’ve got to get up for school in six hours.”  She walked to the door of his room and opened it.  “Oh, one more thing, my son.”  Tam looked up at his mother.  “You get a girl pregnant, young man,” she warned, and the steel was back in her voice, “you will help her take care of the child.  Because if you run, either I or your father will hunt you down and chop off your balls faster than you can say condom.”  She smiled, but he saw the sword in it.  “Understand?”

    “Sure do, Mom.  Dad mentioned something along those lines too.” He had, too, in much the same gruesome terms. 

    “I bet he did.”  She winked.  “Love you.”  Then she was gone, the door closing behind her, and Tam heard her feet going up the stairs.   

    Tam lay back down in his bed, opened the magazine, and thumbed through it.  This time he looked at the women with different eyes, not the desperate passion of earlier.  They were still desirable and he felt his penis stir at the sight of them, but the eyes that scanned their nude bodies were somehow older.  As he thumbed through it, his eyelids started getting heavy, and Tam knew he needed to get to bed.  7 AM would come all too soon, and then he was in for a long, boring day at school.

   There was a soft knock at the door, and Tam sat up.  Then the door opened.  “Tam? Are you decent?”

   Tam’s eyebrows came together in confusion, because it was his twin sister.  “Uh, yeah, Allie.”  He stashed the magazine under his covers.  “Come in.”

   Allegra Stormwind walked through the door.  She was wearing her hair longer these days than the days when she had cut it at her shoulders, and slowly the gangly tomboy was giving way to the woman Allegra was becoming.  Under her pajamas, her hips had started to widen and she was only two inches shorter than him, but her chest was still rather flat.  Tam had been something of a late bloomer, and Allegra seemed to be following him.  Rissa was not particularly large-breasted herself.  “You okay?” she asked.  Tam smiled at that: the twins had always looked out for each other. 

    “Yeah, I’m okay, Allie.”  He used Allegra’s nickname.  “You should get to sleep.  We’ve got school in the morning.”

    “I know.  I woke up when Mom walked by my room.  I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying, so I came down to check on you.”  Allegra walked over to stand by his bed.  The yellow pajamas were loose on her frame. 

    Tam waved it off, inwardly wishing Allegra would go back to her room.  He loved his sister, but he had no idea how he would explain what had happened to her.  “It’s nothing, Allie.  Just…we talked, that’s all.”

    “About what?”  Tam tended to forget that Allegra had insatiable curiosity.

    “Stuff,” he said evasively. 

    It was the wrong thing to say, because now she was really curious.  “Okay, what kind of stuff?”

    Tam wanted to tell her it was none of her business, but he looked into eyes that mirrored his own and their mother’s.  Rissa’s had been mostly angry, or tired, or caring, but Allegra’s were wide and innocent, and Tam couldn’t lie to her anymore than he could to himself.  “The…well, y’know, the birds and the bees.”

    “Oh.”  Allegra bounced onto his bed.  “Yeah, Mom gave me that one too.  When she got back from Iraq, anyway.  Dad gave me the basics, but I think he was too embarrassed.”  Tam laughed, remembering.  Listening to their father trying to explain menstruation and what to take to relieve cramps had been rather hilarious, especially after Allegra had listened politely, then told him that she already knew all of that from school.  “But what did she say?”

    “Allie, quit being nosy.”  Tam was not about to share what Rissa had told him.  It seemed like it would shatter the moment he had with his mother.  Allegra kept giving him those puppy-dog eyes, and Tam sighed, giving up.  “Okay, she talked about how it’s normal to…you know…feel things.  And that it’s okay to explore those feelings…by ourselves, or someone we really love.”

    Allegra looked down at her hands.  “Yeah.  All part of growing up, huh?”  Her voice was wistful.  “Finding out just who the hell we are and what we want—or who we want.”

    Tam was surprised to find his throat tighten with emotion.  He knew Allegra was thinking of how their bodies were changing, their childhood left behind, and that eventually they would go their separate ways as siblings did.  He remembered fighting over who got to play Optimus Prime when they hauled out their Transformers, or whether they got to watch GI Joe or Thundercats—Allegra had nursed a crush on Lion-O, while Tam knew he had a thing for the Baroness, evil or not—and usually settled on Jem when their parents told them to stop fighting.  Those days were over.  He imagined Allegra wearing a wedding gown, being given away by their father to a handsome man. “Yeah,” he murmured.  “I guess so.”

    Allegra looked over at her brother, and then her eyes narrowed.  Her hand shot out with remarkable speed and snatched the Penthouse out from under his covers; he hadn’t hidden it well enough.  She jumped nimbly off the bed and skipped out of his reach.  “What do we have here?”

    “Allegra, dammit!” Tam hissed.  He didn’t want to yell; that would bring one or both parents.  “Give it back!”

    “Nope!”  She stuck her tongue out at him.  “What’s the matter, Tam? Afraid I’ll figure out your dirty little secret?”  Allegra opened the magazine with a flourish…and opened directly where the pages were wrinkled from where he had shot his load across it.  “What the…”  Then she realized what she was holding, and threw it back to Tam as if it had turned into a snake.  “Eww! Tam, gross! Did you—that’s sick!”

    Tam caught the Penthouse and put it on the bed.  There was no point in denying it.  “Yeah.  It kind of happened without me meaning to do it.”

    “Oh.”  Allegra’s cheeks turned a little red.  “Yeah…I mean…I guess that happens to guys.  Still gross.  I mean, I’m your sister.  Barf.”

    “It gets worse,” Tam admitted ruefully.  “Mom opened to that page too.”

    “Surprised you’re still alive.”

    “She understands, Allie.”

    Allegra walked back to his bed and sat down crosslegged on it.  “I know…I mean…” Her cheeks were bright red now, and her voice dropped to a whisper.  “I’ve done it too.  I mean, girls don’t do…that, what you did…but I’ve…well, you know.”

    “It’s pretty intense, huh?”  They shared a laugh at that.

    Allegra reached out and opened the magazine again, skipping over the sticky page, and her eyebrows went up when she came to the two women.  “Whoa.  Damn.  She’s…she’s going down on her? Oookay.”  She hastily skipped past that and came to the brunette pornstar.  “Holy shit.  Just hang it all out there, girl.  She's like the Grand Canyon.”  To his surprise, Allegra didn’t seem all that embarrassed.  Then again, Tam figured, she saw basically the same thing every time she took a shower--almost the same, Tam corrected himself. She sighed and tossed the magazine back to him, resting her chin on her palms. 

    “What’s wrong, sis?” Tam asked.  His sister had gone from joking around to looking depressed.

    “I’ll never be like them, Tam.”  Allegra’s voice was tinged with sadness.  “I’m not pretty like them.”

    Tam felt a pang of pity for Allegra.  “Allie, that’s not true.  You’re just as pretty as they are." He realized how that sounded.  "Er...I mean, I'm your brother, and I don't look at you like that, but--"

    "I know, Tam."  Allegra shook her head.  “But, c’mon.  I’m flat and I’m skinny.”  She pointed to her nose.  “I’ve got a zit on my face, and my back looks like a bombing range--nothing but blackheads and craters.”  She looked at her bare feet. “I’m ugly.”

   Tam shook his head.  Even though they were the same age—he was four minutes older—he had always felt protective of his sister, and had fought for her at least twice when they were in grade school, when some bully had shoved her around or called her names.  She could take care of herself now, but he would always feel that way.  “You’re not ugly.  You’re you.”

    “But they’re perfect, Tam.  I’ll never be like that,” Allegra repeated.

    “They’re not real, Allie.  You are.”  Tam tossed the magazine aside, reached out and drew her into a hug.  No matter what the future brought, no matter what life threw at them, they would always be brother and sister.  She rested her head on his shoulder, her hair falling over his chest, and he felt her relax and smile, knowing that she would always have him.  “Thanks,” Allegra said, pulling back from the hug. 

    Tam smiled at her.  “You know, we’ve both just hit puberty kinda.  Late bloomers, right? So we’ve got some catching up to do.”  He pointed at her.  “I bet you’re going to get giant boobs, and I’m going to have to fight all the guys who want to take you out.  Dad will shine up the shotgun and Mom will get out her sword.” 

    Allegra snorted and giggled.  “Giant boobs? Me?”  She looked down at herself.  “I don’t think I want giant ones.”

    “And I’ll find myself a hot chick, you’ll find yourself a nice, hunky guy—”

    “Or Mom’s putting me in a convent,” Allegra interrupted.

    “And we’ll both have lots of sex and a couple of kids,” Tam finished.

    “Hmm.  Not sure about the kids part right now, but I like the part about the hunky guy and lots of sex.”  They grinned at each other, blushing and laughing.  “Well, someday," she said. "Anyway, Tam, we’ve got school, so I think I’ll go back to bed and think about that hunky guy.”  Allegra leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.  “You’re the best brother ever, you know that?”

    Tam shrugged.  “I try.”

    “You try pretty good.”  Allegra hopped off the bed and left the room, stopping at the door to wave back at him.  For a moment, Tam saw the beautiful woman fighting to get out of the acne-riddled teenaged body.  She shut the door behind her and he heard her go up the stairs as well, leaving his room in silence. 

   Tam shut his lamp off, threw the magazine into his sock drawer, and crawled beneath the covers.  He did think about his future wife, building a fantasy of her.  He imagined a woman of beauty and passion, tall and statuesque—but maybe not too tall, not taller than him, but not tiny like his mother.  Her eyes would be deep blue pools he could lose himself in; her breasts would be soft and full—not huge, necessarily—and she would have dainty nipples that would rise to his touch.  She would be strong—not bodybuilder strong, maybe, but someone who could take care of herself.  Her legs would be long, capable of wrapping around his back when they made love.  And between those legs, she would be wet and warm, velvet skin and pink passion.  Tam imagined how slick she would be, how he would be able to smell when she was ready, and the way she would arch her back when he entered her, and she would moan so loud—

    Tam felt himself hard as a rock again and laughed at himself.  “Geez…down, boy.  Remember what Mom said.”  He gave that some thought too: his woman wouldn’t just be a sex object: she would be sexy, but she would be smart as well.  She would love comic books like he did, and Eurodance, and video games.  She would laugh with his jokes, but challenge him on an intellectual level too.  Tam didn’t want a bimbo.  And she would understand his own fears and insecurities, be his confidant, and love his weird family of a human man who loved an immortal elf, and a twin sister who shared Tam’s half-elven blood…whatever that meant, other than being able to see in the dark, be slightly faster, and mature later.

   Tam was mature enough to know that this fantasy woman probably didn’t exist, and if she did, she probably wouldn’t be interested in him; she was like the Miss America and the pornstar and the blonde model—real people, but they might as well live on Mars for all that he would ever know them.  Still, there was someone out there for Tam Stormwind, waiting for him to navigate the shoals and reefs of maturity and high school, and then, maybe, they would find each other.  Tam found himself looking forward to the journey. 

   His erection still throbbed insistently, but he checked the clock—now after one in the morning—and decided against it.  There would be time for his dream girl to return when he needed her to, until he no longer needed her to because she would be real.  Tam rolled over, closed his eyes, and faster than he thought he would, fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

  The thunderstorm had been threatening the city of Denver and its suburbs for an hour, sweeping in from the Great Plains from the south and east, building up to heavy rain, rumbling a warning that it was coming.  Tam Stormwind watched it from the park and sighed.  He had lingered too long, and now there was no way he could get back to his hotel before the storm’s fury was on him.  “Shit,” he murmured, and looked around for a place to take shelter for a bit.  It was a Sunday, so most of the stores were closed.  Tam spotted a building under construction; it would have to do.

    He walked briskly towards it.  There was a chainlink fence around the build site and various warnings not to enter, but already neighborhood teenagers had pried up the fence, and Tam ducked underneath it.  If the Denver police saw him, he’d make up some story.  He was good at that. 

   As lightning forked over the gray sky, Tam got under one floor that had been finished, careful to stay away from any metal in case the building was hit, and sat down crosslegged on bare concrete, leaning against a concrete retaining wall.  The rain started, pleasant at first, but in the distance Tam could see that the gray was much darker, almost black.  He hoped it would blow itself out soon, and relaxed.  It wasn’t the way he had planned to spend the afternoon, but there was no point complaining about it.

    Tam was twenty-two years old, recently graduated from college and trying to find his way in the world.  Much to everyone’s surprise, including his own, he had gotten a degree in secondary education; in his freshman year, the teaching bug had bitten him, and he found in student teaching that he was good at it.  After graduating summa cum laude from the University of Montana, Class of 1997, he now had to find a teaching job—which was why he was in Denver.  When he was ten, his family had lived in nearby Aurora, and the metropolis seemed like a good place to start his career.  Unfortunately for Tam, the local recruiters hadn’t agreed, and he had come away from the career fair empty-handed.  He had gone for a long walk on a bucolic Sunday afternoon to clear his head, he was flying back to Montana the next day, and at the moment he was sitting in a construction site so he would not be soaked by rain or hit by lightning.  Tam laughed at himself and his circumstances.  “Well,” he said, “no one ever said it was going to be easy, Tam.”  A gust of wind blew through the site and he tugged his longcoat closer around him against the chill. 

    And then he saw her.  It was a young woman running through the steadily increasing rain, which might not have been all that noticeable—except that she had dark purple hair and was wearing a bathrobe and bedroom slippers.  She stopped, looked frantically around her, and then ducked through the same opening in the fence as he had and ran into the construction site.  From where he was at, Tam could see her, but she could not yet see him.  The woman was bedraggled, her hair wet from the rain, and given that she was wearing just the bathrobe and the slippers, Tam guessed she wasn’t out for a walk, unless she was very strange.  That was possible, he supposed, but he doubted it.  There was also the fact that her blue eyes were filled with terror.

   She ran into the site, and he stepped out of the shadows.  Before she could scream, he quickly grabbed her mouth.  “Hush!” he commanded.  “Listen, are you in trouble?  You're running from something.”  She frantically nodded, and he took his hand away from her mouth.  “Do you need help?”

   “Yes,” she puffed, her chest heaving with exertion.  “They’re after me—the men in black.  They killed everyone—I don’t know why—”

   Tam revised his earlier thought about this woman being strange.  The men in black? What the hell?  Will Smith is trying to kill her or something?  He almost laughed about it, except that the expression of utter fear in her wide eyes didn’t seem like the look of a crazy person.

    Then he heard the sound of more running on the sidewalk, just before lightning flashed, immediately followed by thunder that shook the unfinished building.  Tam looked and blinked in surprise: there were four men running down the road, each dressed in black suits—no white shirt or tie, just black from head to toe.  Their faces were uncovered and ran the gamut of skin colors, but their eyes were hidden by sunglasses and their hands by gloves.  They stopped and began looking; the one in the lead shouted orders to find her.

   The woman put her hand over her mouth.  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

   Tam pulled her back deeper into the shadows, into where the concrete formed an alcove.  The woman’s eyes widened when he reached into one of the pockets of his longcoat and pulled out a Beretta.  “Never leave home without it,” he told her, and then waved her behind him.  They could no longer see the men, but now Tam could hear them.  They were moving into the site.  He kept the pistol low, braced in the way his mother had taught him, and as he heard shoes on the concrete pad he had been sitting on, Tam thumbed off the safety.  He had never shot a human being before, but he doubted the men would accept some glib explanation.  They also weren't expecting resistance, so that gave him at least a temporary advantage.  Behind him, the woman cringed.  She held onto his coat like a little girl who had a nightmare—which, Tam supposed, was probably closer to the truth that he knew—and was shaking from fear, cold and exhaustion.  The steps grew closer.  There was a chance that a searcher might miss the alcove, the way it was placed, but Tam readied himself all the same.  It would be close range, but his mother had also taught him that it was all too easy to miss at close range.

    “Castor!” Both Tam and the woman jumped at the sudden shout.  “The police are on their way! We need to get out of here, man!”

    “She’s here!” Castor yelled back.  “She’s close!”

    “Castor, we need to go now! If the cops see us in here, they’ll nail us for trespassing—and then they’ll find out who we really are!”

    “Shit,” they heard Castor say.  “All right.  We’ll find the witch later.  She’s in a bathrobe and slippers—she can’t have gone too far.”  They heard him move off, then the sound of police sirens.  The steady thrum of the rain soon drowned both out, as the squall line hit.

   The woman moved, but Tam put a hand out.  “What’s your name?”

   “Clarice,” she whispered.  “Clarice Gunn.  What’s yours?”

   “Tam Stormwind.  Like Tom except with an a.  Don't ask about the last name; long story.”  They waited in silence for another five minutes, then he dared to peek around the corner, switching hands from right to left—luckily, Tam was ambidextrous.  There was no one waiting in ambush, and slowly he crept back out into the open.  They were alone.  Outside the building, the rain sheeted down and thunder shook the site even harder as the wind blew trash and dust across the pad.  “They’re gone!” he told her loudly over the wind and rain.  “We’ll wait this out!”  She nodded and they retreated back into the alcove, where they sat down.

   Clarice shivered, and Tam took off his coat and put it around her.  “Thanks,” she said, and as she adjusted the coat, her bathrobe whispered open and a small breast peeked out.  The nipple was stiff with cold.  Tam hurriedly looked away as Clarice sinched the robe shut; he wasn’t sure if she had saw him notice her nudity. 

   “Why the hell do those guys want to kill you? For that matter…who are those guys?” Tam wanted to know.

   “I don’t know,” she said.  “They just…they burst in, and they shot…all I heard were shots, and screams…I was in the shower.  I grabbed my robe and some slippers, jumped out the bathroom window, and…I ran.  I r-ran…” Clarice’s voice dissolved into sobs, and she put her face into her knees.  “Oh God…t-t-they’re all dead…they killed them all…all…everyone…”

    Tam reached over and rubbed her back as she cried.  “Clarice.”  She looked up at him, and he regarded her face.  Her eyes were puffy and red, her face was flushed, and there was a bit of snot hanging from her nose that she hastily rubbed off on his coat.  Her crying was real, but Tam knew there was something Clarice was not telling him.  Guys dressed like government agents just don’t randomly burst into a house and kill everyone.  Even if it was some kind of gang house or drug bust…I mean, maybe, but not likely.  Looking at her, Clarice didn’t look like an addict.  Of course, he had been fooled before.  “Is there somewhere you can go? Some family? I have a hotel room not too far away—we can call from there.”

    “No,” she said sadly.  “No one.”  Clarice let out a long, shuddering breath.  “I’m an orphan, Tam.  My parents died when I was little.  The house I lived in was…not sure how to put it…like a group home.”

    “So, uh…” Tam’s voice trailed off.  Geez, Tam.  Maybe she’s…autistic, or something? So bad she can’t live on her own, or maybe a recovering addict…isn’t that what group homes are for?  He wished he had paid more attention in psychology class, rather than daydreaming or chatting up the cute girl in the seat next to him.  “Well…okay.  I’ll get you back to the hotel, then we can find a shelter or something—”

    “No!” Her exclamation caught him by surprise, and she grabbed his arm.  “Tam, that’s the first place they’ll look!  They find me and I’m dead!”

   Tam was suddenly tired of the word games.  “What aren’t you telling me?” Clarice drew back.  “Look, miss.  A bunch of guys with government all over them are chasing you through the rain, after you said they killed everyone at your house.  I believe that part.  But why were they coming after you? They had to have a reason.  I mean, even the ATF had a reason they went after the Branch Davidians.”  She couldn’t meet his eyes, which confirmed to Tam she was hiding something.  He shook his head.  I wish she wasn’t so damn cute.  Those eyes, man.  “Okay, look.  I’ll get you to my hotel.  You can make a phone call, or I can, we can get hold of the police, something.  If nothing else, I can call my parents—they know people.  We’ll get you someplace safe.”

    “There is no place safe,” she said softly.

    Tam gently brought her head back around to face him, one finger on her jaw.  “Trust me, Clarice.  You don’t know my folks.”  It suddenly occurred to Tam that this could be a trap, that someone could be trying to get to his parents through him, but that didn’t feel right either.  For one thing, there were easier ways--a beautiful woman at the hotel bar would be more than enough.  “Let’s wait until the rain stops a bit…and if you want to tell me what’s really going on, feel free.”

    Clarice lapsed into silence and Tam didn’t force the issue.  The rain finally began to abate, and Tam sneaked another peek out of the alcove.  The sky was still angry and thunder still rolled, but it wasn’t raining quite as hard as it had been.  Tam checked his watch: they had been there half an hour.  He saw that there was more rain coming, so he went back.  “Okay, let’s go. We wait here any longer and those guys will come back.  C’mon.  Anyone asks, you’re my girlfriend, we had a fight, you ran out into the rain wearing a bathrobe, and I found you and we made up.”

   For the first time since they had met, Clarice smiled.  It changed her face, made her look like the young woman she really was—Tam doubted she was any older than he was.  And she was cute, with big, expressive blue eyes, a pert upturned nose, and full lips.  Tam found himself really wanting to kiss her, but that had always been his problem since he was 16.  Women found him irresistible, and he rarely knew how to say no.  Luckily he had managed to avoid getting a STD or a girl pregnant, but there were quite a few women across Montana who thought of Tam Stormwind and smiled, and a few that would like to castrate him.

    They walked carefully out of the construction site, and Tam stashed the Beretta back into one of the pockets of the longcoat she wore over her shoulders.  She was petite, about five inches shorter than his six foot height, so the coat hung on her like a tent.  It was still raining, so she put the coat up over her head, which had the added benefit of hiding her face—though walking around in torn slippers would still give her away.  It didn’t do much good as the wind blew the rain right at them, so by the time they reached the hotel, both of them were soaked and shivering.  Luckily, the front desk clerk had his head down on the computer, a phone cradled in between his shoulder and his face, so he didn’t notice either of them as they walked in.  They got into an elevator and rode up to the third floor.  His room was right next to it.  A swipe of a keycard and they were inside.

   Once there, Clarice’s legs finally gave out and she collapsed into a chair, rainwater and tears cascading down her face.  Her purple hair stuck to her scalp and face; Tam realized that it was either somehow her natural hair color, or it was the best dye job ever.  She pulled off the ruined slippers and massaged her feet; the slippers had managed to save her feet from getting nicked up.  The bathrobe was a hopelessly soaked mess, the wool sticking to her skin. 

    Tam took the coat off of her shoulders, shook it free of the rain, and hung it up.  His shirt stuck to his body, and his black hair, which he wore down to his shoulders, was just as soaked as hers was.  His pants were in no better shape; only his feet felt remotely dry.  “Clarice,” he told her, “get out of those wet things and take a hot shower.  That’ll warm you up.”

   “I-I don’t have any clothes—” she began.

   “You can wear a pair of my shorts and one of my shirts.  It’s better than nothing.”

   Clarice nodded.  “I guess you’re right.  What about you?”

   Tam walked over to the heater and turned it up.  “I’ll be okay.  I’ll change into some dry clothes.”  She made no move to get up.  “Listen,” he said, “you’re safe here.  Get cleaned up and we’ll figure out what to do next.”

   “I’m not safe anywhere, Tam!”  Her voice was on the edge of hysteria.  “They’ll find me here!”

   “No, they won’t.  They didn’t see us leave, and you don’t have any money, right?”  Clarice nodded.  “Then they won’t look for you at a hotel.  You’re right—they’ll try the shelters first.”  He looked down at her.  “You ready to tell me what’s really going on yet?”

   “I…” Clarice seemed very small in the chair.  “I can’t.  You wouldn’t believe me even if I did.”

   “Try me.”

   “I can’t…not…not yet.”  She finally got up and walked barefoot to the bathroom.  She stopped at the threshold.  “Tam…thank you.  I have no way to repay you.”

   Tam shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it.  What, was I supposed to watch a pretty girl get killed on the street?  Get your shower, Clarice.”  She smiled back, and he saw a slight blush bloom on her face.  Tam got the feeling Clarice hadn’t been called pretty very much, which was a damned shame, because she was.  She went into the bathroom and shut the door.

   Tam stripped off his clothes; even his underwear was wet.  He saw himself naked in the mirror, pale skinned—oddly, neither he nor his twin sister had inherited their father’s Japanese features, but Tam had inherited Shiro’s slim but muscular build, and Tam had kept himself in shape.  He had run track in high school, and even if he hadn’t continued that career in college, he still jogged daily if possible, and worked out.  He had inherited his parents’ black hair, and his mother Rissa’s green eyes.  Tam noticed that his penis was half-hard.  “C’mon, man,” he grinned at himself, and padded over to the coat, retrieving the Beretta.  He checked that the safety was on, and set it down, then got out its brother from his suitcase.  Tam fervently hoped it wouldn’t come to a shootout, but two guns were always better than one. 

   Tam dried off with a spare towel he had tossed on the floor the night before, then put on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.  He could hear the shower running inside the bathroom, and found his last clean pair of boxers and a button-down shirt.  Like I said, better than nothing.  He knocked once on the bathroom and walked in.

    The shower door was closed, and he could see the silhouette of her standing under the hot spray; steam was already filling the room and fogging the mirror.  “Brought you those clothes!” he yelled over the spray.

    “Thank you!” Clarice yelled back.  “I appreciate it!”

    Tam couldn’t help but glance at the frosted glass of the shower.  He could barely make out the curves of her body, though it hid everything else; Clarice looked to keep herself in rather good shape as well.  His imagination filled in the gaps: Tam thought about her skin, slick with moisture, the shower water beading up and sliding down the valley of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the dark shadow between her legs.  He felt himself starting to get erect, and left the bathroom.  He might not be able to resist thinking about Clarice naked, but this was not the time.  A bad porn might have her thanking him with her body, but Tam had been raised better than that. He was not going to take advantage of her; Clarice might feel compelled to sleep with him to pay him for saving her--and he didn't want that.  He wanted her, but not like that.

    Tam laid down on the bed.  Outside, the rain had increased in intensity again, the next squall pounding against the glass.  That’s good, he thought.  Whoever those guys are, it’ll make it harder for them to find her.  What the hell could she be hiding? Drugs? Nah, again not likely.  Some kind of terrorist cell? Maybe, but she doesn’t seem the type.  Of course, that doesn’t mean a damn thing, Tam.  Your mother works with fucking Delta Force, and she’s five foot nothing and a mother of two.  Your dad looks like the retired Air Force guy he is, but he runs a dojo and can kick my ass any day of the week.  And my sister… Tam shook his head.  Yeah, let’s not think about Allegra.

    The shower stopped, and he heard her get out and move around the bathroom as she dried herself off and got dressed.  Then the bathroom door opened, and Tam realized he had made a huge mistake.  Clarice walked into the bedroom, and his clothes made her look even more vulnerable than before.  The shirt hung down past her bottom, so he could barely see the ends of his boxers, and her hands were hidden in the sleeves.  Her hair was brushed out and mostly dry, and she looked at him, her blue eyes smiling with her mouth.  “I have to admit,” she said, “I’ve never worn guy clothes before.”

   “They…um…they look good on you.  Okay on you,” Tam hastily corrected, which did no good.  He could see the curves of her breasts and the outlines of her nipples through the shirt; naturally, Clarice didn’t have a bra to wear.  Her smile turned into a girlish giggle: it made her even cuter, and Tam loved cute things.  Without meaning to, he felt himself getting hard, his penis making a nice, noticeable bulge in his shorts.  And worse, Tam realized, Clarice noticed.  Her eyes went straight to it, and then he saw that she was taking in his body as much as he had taken in hers. 

    They stared at each other for a few moments, both of them with thudding hearts, then Clarice took two steps forward.  Her lips parted and she looked confused, unsure if she should take the last step towards the bed or run back into the bathroom.  Tam, for his part, rolled over and got to his feet, knowing that his arousal was obvious and not caring a bit about it.  He wanted to kiss her.  If it was a trap, he was going to walk into it; if she slapped him, that was all right too.  But he had to try.

    Tam leaned forward, and Clarice didn’t pull away—instead, she leaned her head back.  Then their lips met, and it was like fire.  Their kiss was passionate for two people who had only met a little over an hour previously, and Clarice’s mouth opened under Tam’s very quickly.  She let out a small whimper as his tongue invaded her mouth, and he tasted her—an odd sort of mix of mint toothpaste, fear, and an electricity he had never felt before.  Clarice’s arms came up and wrapped himself around his neck, pulling him closer.

   They were body to body now, his erection crushed against her stomach, and Tam could feel her nipples hard against his.  He grabbed the hem of the shirt she wore.  “Clarice,” he said, the word a question and a prayer.  She said nothing back, just grabbed the hem herself and lifted the shirt up, over her head, and off her body.  Tam gazed down at her breasts: they weren’t large, but they were round, firm, and his hands found them soft.  Tam started to feel guilty about starting this, and he began “Are you sure—”

   “Yes,” she replied simply, and kissed Tam again.  Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers and she slid them down until they fell around his feet.  His erection sprung free, and Clarice stroked him; Tam guessed she was no virgin.  Neither was he, and if there was one thing Tam had learned from the women he had been with, it was how to please them. 

   Tam kissed his way down her body, licking at her peaks before kissing her stomach and dropping the boxers, leaving her bare in front of him.  He noticed in passing that Clarice’s purple hair was apparently her natural color.  However, Tam was more interested in what lay below that soft fan of hair, and he got on his knees in front of her.  Before he could lean in, she was already spreading her legs for him, knowing what was going to happen, her hands reaching for his hair.  He looked up at her, and Clarice gazed back hungrily, her pupils dilated in those blue eyes. 

   Tam licked her: she tasted of soap and that slight bit of electricity again.  He parted her folds and delved into her sex, and Clarice let out a sharp gasp as he went upwards, found the little nub under its hood, and sucked on it.  Clarice moaned quietly and pushed his head closer to her.  Tam drew back to take a breath, and noticed something with a start: her labia was swollen with arousal, which was normal.  The fact that it was a light purple was not.  With alarm, he leaned back and saw that the tops of her thighs were the same color, as was her belly and the bottoms of her breasts.  “Clarice, uh…”

    Her eyes opened; they had been tightly shut under his ministrations.  She saw what he was looking at, and quickly shook her head.  “It’s…it’s nothing,” she reassured him.  “It happens, uh…when I’m really turned on.”  She swallowed audibly.  “And right now…I’m unbelievably turned on.  Please don’t stop.”

    In a flash of clarity, Tam suddenly realized what had been eluding him: the electric taste of her, the feeling of oddness he had felt around her since the moment they met.  Yet revelations could wait, and Tam went back to what he was doing: kissing, licking and sucking, until her legs were shaking, she was panting, and her fingers were almost painfully pulling at his hair.  He leaned back again, and saw her entire body was purple now, darker where the blood was rushing—her nipples and her genitalia, which were now a deep, royal purple; even her pupils had turned purple.  She was postively thrumming under his touch now, and Tam knew why.  It made her even more attractive, not less.  He rose slightly and began licking her up and down, and couldn’t help but think of a grape popsicle.  Clarice’s moans increased in volume and intensity, then she finally let out an “Ah!” and began to convulse.  Tam held her as she came, his hands gripping her perfect bottom. 

   He stood as she began to subside, her legs wobbly, and noticed the purple began to recede from her skin—though it didn’t quite fade.  “That’s pretty awesome,” he admitted.  “I know when you’re ready.”

   “I know you’re ready, Tam,” she smiled, and began kissing him again.  They stumbled backwards and ended up on the bed, and she straddled him, his feet hanging over the edge.  Clarice began to stroke him again, then positioned herself above him, letting the head of his manhood just nudge her wettened entrance.  Then she let herself down slowly, making sure she could take his length—and she could.  Clarice was tight and liquid fire inside, and once she knew that she could handle Tam, she began moving up and down, her movements becoming more urgent, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.  He reached up for them, and Clarice leaned forward to give him more access, moaning as his fingers brushed over her painfully erect nipples.

    She leaned closer, her fingers digging into her shoulders.  “Oh God, Tam,” she breathed.  “Harder…fuck me harder…” The sudden profanity surprised him a little, but he did as she asked, bucking against her as both their movements became more and more erratic.  It wasn’t the last time she spoke to him either, as she began to toss her head and beg him to come inside her. 

    Tam suddenly realized that they had taken no precautions, but it was too late: he felt the inevitability of his release, his semen rising until he groaned out her name and shot deep inside of her.  Clarice raised herself up, her hands replacing his on her breasts, as she rode out his orgasm and began to experience hers.  Once more, her skin had turned bright purple, deepening to almost black in some places, more than it had before.

   Finally, it was over.  Clarice fell forward across him, her arms flung around his neck, and she kissed him as their hearts began to slow down from the hammering they had been doing.  Outside, the rain still fell, though not as strongly as it had when they had started.  Tam watched as her skin returned to its normal hue.  He kissed her hair, smelling the sweet smell of the shampoo.  “Thank you, Clarice,” he managed to say.

   “Thank you, Tam,” she replied, just as breathless.  “My God, that was wonderful.  I haven’t felt that good in…” She paused and smiled.  “Ever.”

   “I didn’t want you to think…that you owed me that,” Tam told her.

   “I didn’t.  I wanted you, Tam.”  As he softened and fell out of her, Clarice rolled over to snuggle next to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he idly played with her hair.  “Tam…I need to tell you something.  You won’t believe it, but—”

    “You’re a mage.”  Her head came up, her eyes wide with surprise.  “Yeah, I figured it out,” Tam grinned.  “I’ve been feeling kind of strange around you, and it wasn’t just because we met like an hour ago and just had sex.  You…feel different.  You definitely taste different.  It’s like when someone dares you to touch your tongue to a nine-volt battery, but not quite as, uh, shocking.”  He caressed her shoulder, and couldn’t help but cup a breast.  “I can feel the magic.  It’s like…it’s like it’s just under your skin.”

    “I taste different?” Clarice considered that.  “Huh.  Never heard that before.  But how did you—how do you know what a mage is?”

    Tam laughed.  “Well, maybe it’s destiny, Clarice.  My mother is an elf.”  He brushed back his hair; Tam’s ears were very slightly pointed, something few humans would notice because they didn’t know to look.  “She’s two thousand years old.  She married my father back in the early seventies, after they both got back from Vietnam, and my sister and I came along in 1976.  We’re twins.”

    “Your mother is fae?” Clarice asked in utter shock.

    “More or less.  That’s why I can feel your magic—the elven blood.” 

   Clarice leaned back on his shoulder, staring at the ceiling.  “Holy shit.  Maybe it was destiny.  Magic can do that.  It might have guided you to me.  Can your sister feel the same?”

   “If she was here, probably.”  Tam grinned at her.  “I’m very glad my sister is not here.  That would make this weirder, if that was possible.”  He decided to wait to tell Clarice later, if ever, the other reason he was glad Allegra was not here.  His sister was a vampire, embraced against her will four years previously.  Their situation was unbelievable enough as it was.  “We’ll protect you, Clarice.  I’m glad you told me.  You’re in the right hands with us.”  He rolled over and kissed her.  “With me.”

    Clarice’s eyes welled with tears.  “Tam,” she whispered.  She caressed his face.  “Oh, Tam.  The house…it was a coven.  We weren’t witches—I mean, I guess we might be considered that, since it was all female mages.  The men in black aren’t government…at least I don’t think they are.  But they are witch hunters, and they…they…k-killed—”

    “Shh,” Tam told her as she began to cry again.  He kissed her.  “You’re with me.  I’ll protect you, huh?”

    “No, no,” she insisted.  “Tam, you can’t.  You can’t.  They’ll find me.  They found us, and we were hiding!”  Clarice looked at her hands.  “I can do magic.  It’s not flashy, though, and I’m not good at it.  But they can tell, Tam.  Whoever those men are…they know.”

    “Then they’re about to know something else.”  Tam got up from the bed and walked nude to the phone.  He could feel Clarice’s eyes tracing his backside.  He picked up the phone and punched in some numbers, then spoke in a low voice so she couldn’t hear him.  Very quickly, he explained the situation.  “She’s here with me, Dad,” he said at the end of the conversation.  “She’s safe.”

    “Good,” Shiro Matsushima told his son.  “I’ll let your mother know.  Can you still make that flight tomorrow morning?”

    “Yeah.”

    “I’ll make sure to get her a ticket.  You can pick it up at the airport.  She can stay with us until we can find something more permanent.”

    “We’ll have to buy some clothes tonight, Dad,” Tam said.  “I’ve got enough money, and there’s a mall not too far from here.  Question is, will we be safe?”

    “After your mother makes a few phone calls, you’ll be safe.  I’d feel better if Allegra was there, but she’s in LA at the moment.”  Tam wondered why Allegra was in Los Angeles; that wasn’t a safe place for vampires…due to the other vampires there.  “She doesn’t have any clothes?”

    “She escaped wearing a bathrobe and slippers.  She’s not wearing anything—I mean, she can’t wear anything like that.”  Tam winced, knowing he had slipped.  He had looked back at Clarice, where she lay naked atop the bed, her hands cradled just above her groin.  She smiled prettily at him, and Tam felt himself getting erect again.

    There was a pause.  “Tam,” his father warned.

    “We were both soaked by the rain, Dad,” Tam insisted.  “She took a shower, and well, one thing led to another!  She…it wasn’t like she felt like she owed me—it was totally consensual—"

    “Tam, please tell me you used protection.”  Shiro knew that Tam had been with a number of young women, and Tam had a feeling his father wasn’t exactly surprised.

    “Of course,” Tam lied.

    “Well…at least you two won’t die of hypothermia.”  Shiro sighed.  “Son, just make sure you’re on that plane in the morning.  God only knows what your mother is going to say when she finds out you’re bringing a girl home that you don’t intend to marry.”  In the background, Tam heard a “What?!” from his mother Rissa.  His father chuckled.  “Okay, Tam.  We’ll see you tomorrow.  Stay at the hotel until you get the all clear.”

    “Okay, Dad.  Thanks.  I owe you.”

    “You do, but you acted correctly.  And…well…I guess I can’t blame you too much with the girl.”  Shiro paused.  “We love you, son.  See you tomorrow.”  The line clicked off.

    Tam set the phone in the cradle.  “Mom is making some phone calls.  We should be okay.”  He grabbed both Berettas and carried them over to the nightstand.  “And I’ve got these.”

    Clarice reached up and drew him down to her.  “Thank you, Tam.  I owe you a debt I can’t ever repay.”

    “It’s okay.  Like I said, I couldn’t just leave you.”  He leaned in and kissed her.  “And…hell…I like you a lot, Clarice.”

    “I should hope so,” she smiled.

    “I mean…really.”  Tam lay down next to her.  He looked at her, from head to toe.  She was not the dream girl he had decided on when he was 15: she wasn’t tall, she wasn’t a brunette—though maybe she had been, if her purple hair was a manifestation of her magic—she didn’t have larger than average breasts, and she didn’t shave her pubic hair into a nice thin line like the porn stars he had masturbated to as a teenager.  She did have his dream girl’s blue eyes, however.  “Clarice,” he said, “you’re beautiful.”

    “And you, Tam, are handsome.”  She traced his jawline with a finger, then ran her hands over his chest.  He didn’t have much body hair, another manifestation of his elven heritage.  Her fingers drifted down over his half-hard penis.  “And I think I’d like you to make love to me again.”

    “Clarice, like I said, you don’t have to do this because you feel indebted—”

    “And like I said, I don’t.  I want you to make love to me because I like you a lot as well.” Clarice smiled.  “And I want you inside me again, Tam.  Girls enjoy sex too, you know.”

    “Boy, do I.”  They shared a laugh, and his fingers reached down between her legs.  She was already wet.  Clarice raised one leg, opening herself, and he stroked her gently, feeling her shiver with desire.  Her fingers weren’t idle, teasing him erect again.  Their eyes never left each other’s, green on blue, and their movements were slower now, more tender.  There was an unspoken agreement between them, that this was not the last time they would do this, that it was the beginning of something neither could quite explain but neither wanted to end.  Tam wondered: had Clarice’s magic somehow guided her to them? Was it fate, or karma, or God?  He didn’t know.  Nor did he care.

    She scooted herself closer and opened herself up more, and he guided himself into her again, knowing that they were taking another chance with no protection, but as he slid into her, he could feel the remnants of his own seed from earlier, and if Clarice was going to get pregnant—well, maybe that was fate or karma or magic or God too.  And it was also a bit late to worry about it anyway.

    Clarice sighed in satisfaction as they began to move together.  He ran his hands over her breasts as she kissed him deeply.  Her inner walls tightened around him as his thrusts becme slower and more deliberate.  Her orgasm built far more slowly, her skin slowly suffusing purple, and while she moaned and squirmed like she had before, Clarice never stopped smiling.  “Ah, Tam,” she whispered, and he felt her spasm as she held onto him, her eyes fluttering shut as her body trembled under his touch.  He waited until she was ready again, then pushed into her with maddening slowness until he knew he was going to explode.  “Clarice, I’m…going to…”

    “Inside,” she whispered, and he groaned as he released, filling her again.  It felt right to do so, more than it ever had.  When he was finished, he pulled out of her, and Clarice and Tam held each other, warming each other.  At that moment, the outside didn’t exist, the men in black didn’t exist, nothing did—only the other. 

    “Tam,” Clarice said softly, so softly he barely heard her, “I think…maybe I might be falling for you.”  She laughed.  “This is insane.  I’ve only known you for two hours, we’ve made love twice, and…it just feels…” Clarice shrugged.  “It feels right.  Does that make sense?”

    “I hope so,” Tam replied.  “Because I don’t think I ever want to see you go.”

   But the men in black did exist, and Clarice was right: they had found her.  They were in a red sedan parked out front, and one of the men had his eyes closed, his sunglasses set aside.  Suddenly, they snapped open.  “I have her.  She’s in room 313.  She’s with a guy.”  The man smiled.  “They were naked as jaybirds.  I think they just finished having sex.”

    Castor, in the passenger seat, smiled.  “Well, at least she’ll die happy.  Any idea who the guy is?”  The other man shook his head.  “I’d hoped to avoid collateral damage, but since she ran here, she must know him.  Anyone who harbors a witch should die.”  The irony was not lost on him.  They had used a mage to find a mage.  Still, the Society of Leopold did what they had to do to rid the world of evil, and witches were most definitely evil.  Luckily, Castor thought, they were also very mortal.  He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pistol.  The silencer was already attached.  “We do this quietly, and not fuck it up like at the house.”  He looked at the driver.  “I can’t believe you went in with a goddamn M16 on full-auto.”

    “It kept them from using their magic, didn’t it?” the driver argued.

    “This time we do it right.”  Castor looked at the other three men.  “We go through the front door, we shoot both of them in the head, and we leave.  We dispose of the guns in the usual fashion, Don’s magic keeps us from being recognized, and the world’s got one less witch.”  Another quick check of his men, all of whom nodded.  “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

    Castor’s hand had just closed on the door when the phone rang.  They all stared at it for a moment, then Don shrugged and answered it on the fourth ring.  “Yeah, who’s this?”

    “Put Castor on the phone.  I know it’s him there with you.”  The voice was female, and Don hesitantly handed it to Castor.  “She says it’s for you,” he said.

    Castor put the phone to his ear.  “Who the hell is this?”

    “Hi, Castor,” the woman said with mock sweetness.  “This is Rissa Stormwind.”  His jaw dropped at that.  “It’s been awhile since Iraq, hasn’t it? Remember Al Khidir? I’d heard you joined the Order of Leopold, but you always were a bit of a fanatic.”

    “Jesus,” Castor breathed.

    “No, sorry, just me,” Rissa replied.  “But since we’re on the subject of Jesus, I placed a rather hasty long-distance call to Cardinal Antonio Rosetti at the Vatican.  Old friend of mine; runs the Vatican Intelligence Service these days.  Anyway, he has a bunch of numbers for Leopold members—Eminence has a lot of inside knowledge about your bunch, Castor, especially you—and just my luck that yours was the first number I called.”

    “What do you want, Rissa?” Castor asked, confused.

    “Are you about to kill a mage?”

    “I’m about to kill a witch,” Castor replied.  “But how did you know—”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Rissa cut him off.  “That witch—and I doubt she’s an actual witch, like you think she is, and it wouldn't fucking matter even if she was—happens to be staying with my son Tam.  And if I know him, he’s gotten in her pants already.  Kids, huh?  At least my daughter’s managed to keep her legs closed.”  A sigh.  “So if you go in there and kill them, I’m going to be very upset.  Very, very upset, Castor.  So upset that I might have to pay a visit to 6637 Oum Street in Bristol, Connecticut.  Speaking of kids, yours are still there, right?”

    “How did you know where I live?” Castor exploded.  “God damn you to hell, Rissa!”

    “More than likely,” she replied.  “But I’ll guarantee that your lovely wife and your two daughters get there before me, Castor.”  Rissa paused.  “And I know where you live because you sent me a Christmas card in 1992, you dipshit.  Luckily my husband is crazy organized.  Anyhow, an eye for an eye, huh? You kill my son, and I will kill your daughters.  The difference is I will do it very slowly, and your wife gets to fucking watch.”  Another pause.  “Or you can walk away, and nobody else dies today.  Though I’ll warn you that the Vatican is less than pleased with the Society of Leopold at the moment.  But that’s future you’s problem.  Present you’s problem is that I can be in Connecticut before you can.  Trust me on this, Castor.  You’re not the only one with mage friends.  Or with friends in the government in very high places.”

    Castor let out a long breath.  “Damn you, Stormwind.  All right.  You win today, but I’ll get her eventually—the witch.”

    “No, you won’t,” Rissa snapped.  “If she dies, I’ll just settle for gutting your wife.”  He knew that Rissa Stormwind did not bluff.  Neither did her husband.  “Walk away, Castor.  Forget that my son and this Clarice, whoever she is, exists.  Maybe you and Lisa get to watch your daughters graduate from high school.”  The phone clicked off.

   The driver stared at Castor; he had heard the whole thing.  “What the hell did you get us into, Castor?”

   “I don’t know.”  Castor stared up at the hotel.  “But it’s off.  We’ll tell Monsignor Ameliano.”

   “He’s not going to like that,” Don said.

   “He’s going to like it even less when a Vatican Cardinal starts looking into what the Society’s been doing,” Castor shot back.  “Let’s go.”  He returned to looking at the hotel as he tossed the pistol into the glove compartment.  “You’re safe from me, Clarice Gunn.  But I’m not the best that’s going to come after you—only the first.”

Chapter Text

   Master Tech Nicia Caii pulled off her welding goggles and stepped back on the mobile platform.  After three hours, the armor plating on Sheila Arla-Vlata’s new Shruiken was complete and fixed.  All that remained is a coat of paint, and the ‘Mech would be completely ready for action again.  Nicia reached out with her long arms and patted the 75-ton monster heavy ‘Mech, then checked her watch.  It was well after eleven o’clock.  The midwatch—the midnight to eight shift—would be coming on soon.  As for her, Nicia had been there since nine that morning, and she needed to sleep. 

   Nicia brought the platform down to floor level and got off of it, then walked over and leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit.  She smiled and wiped her forehead on her lubricant and grease-stained coverall, which this morning had been pristine white, took off her work gloves, and idly threw them at the feet of the Shruiken.  Being a tech on a BattleMech was dirty work.  It was also thirsty work, so Nicia took her canteen off her toolbelt and finished the water in it.  The water was stale and warm, but it was wet.  Then she stared around the huge ‘Mech bay with a sense of possessive pride.

    The ‘Mechs weren’t hers, per se.  They belonged to the Sentinels Regimental Combat Team, a mercenary unit currently in the employ of the Federated Commonwealth.  However, it was Nicia and her techs that maintained them, painted them, and fixed them when they came back from the battlefield.  Sometimes it was a simple fix—just prying off shattered and melted armor plates and putting on new ones.  Sometimes techs had to cut away the internal structure and bend that back into place.  Sometimes the engine was hit, requiring techs to suit up in full radsuits and fix the fusion engine, put new shielding on, and do everything but put their hands into the engine itself.  And sometimes the techs modified the ‘Mechs, because Nicia Caii rarely saw a ‘Mech she didn’t want to change.  There was a wall of file cabinets in her office that followed the Sentinels everywhere, stuffed with paper notes and blueprints rather than saved on pads and computers, because Nicia wanted everything on paper.  She knew she was a little obsessive with it, but didn’t care. 

   No, the ‘Mechs weren’t hers…but she felt like they were.  The MechWarriors only borrowed them. 

   At the moment, the ‘Mechs were quiet, just inert if complicated hunks of metal, waiting for their MechWarriors to jump in their cockpits and bring them to life.  She loved the ‘Mechs—and the vehicles, and the aerospace fighters—but sadly they could offer her nothing more than job satisfaction.  Usually that was enough.  Nicia would happily work herself into exhaustion, and frequently did, performing all the tasks that techs did; even though she held the rank of Master Tech and commanded the equivalent of a battalion, Nicia never asked the lowliest astech to do what she wasn’t willing to do herself.  She loved her work and looked forward to most days she got to do it; the pay was secondary.

   There were, however, some nights—like tonight—that a job well done, that restoring a ‘Mech that was piloted by someone Nicia saw as almost a surrogate daughter, just wasn’t enough.  Nicia Caii spent her life alone.

   Her techs knew her story, of course: Nicia had joined the Sentinels at 16 because her father was the former Master Tech, she had married another tech at 19, become a Senior Tech at 23, and divorced at 25.  Her husband had wanted more than Nicia could give.  He got tired of the long nights that she wasn’t there, or the mornings where he would wake up and the bed was empty, because she had fallen asleep on the bay floor.  He wanted children, but for Nicia, all the children she ever wanted was her ‘Mechs and the kids of the regiment that played in the corners of ‘Mech bays.  Finally, they had agreed it just wasn’t working out, and the two had parted.  It was an amicable divorce, no-fault, and he had gone his way, Nicia had gone hers.  But there had been no one else since.

   Her techs would have been shocked to hear that Nicia had no lovers.  Nicia knew that many men were put off by the fact that she was nearly seven feet tall, her thin frame making her seem even taller, the product of growing up on a low-gravity planet.  Despite looking skinny, Nicia possessed a wiry strength.  She also wondered if men were put off by the fact that she shaved her hair: her bald skull glistened with sweat in the bay lights.  She had started doing it after nearly having her scalp ripped off when her long blond hair had gotten caught in an actuator; first Nicia had cut it short, then started shaving it because having gunk, oil, and armor shavings in one’s hair was a pain to wash it.  She already shaved her legs and underarms, and finally one night Nicia had simply decided to shave off her pubic hair as well.  The only hair on her body were her eyebrows, and she plucked those to almost nonexistence.  Some of the techs kidded that Nicia looked like an alien from a bad sci-fi holovid, but she just regarded her shaving as pragmatic.  If men didn’t like a seven-foot tall bald woman who could pick up armor plates, well, that was their problem.  Nicia didn’t need anyone in her life: she had her friends and she had her ‘Mechs.

    The problem was, she couldn’t or wouldn’t have sex with her friends, who were mostly married and mostly female; Nicia was straight.  ‘Mechs, of course, were no lovers.  So there were times that Nicia missed having warm arms around her, the heat of a body pressed against hers, the feeling of rough male hands on her skin.  It was one thing ‘Mechs couldn’t do. Nicia set aside the canteen and finally acknowledged the heat between her legs that had been building all day.  It happened now and then.  She was still a woman with needs, and though most of the time human desire was buried underneath Nicia’s need to fix, modify and clean, there were times that Nicia Caii the woman was not going to be denied.  Apparently, this was one of those times.

    Well, she thought, I suppose I should get up, finish up my paperwork, then go shower and go to bed.  I can take care of this in the shower or back at home.  The problem was, she didn’t want to get up.  Nicia was confronted with the conundrum of she needed to get up and go home to take care of her physical needs, but also wanted to stay here for awhile longer and rest.  Then a sudden, wild thought hit her: why not do both?

    Nicia pondered that for a moment, and the more she thought about it, the more erotic it got.  There was no one in the bay for at least half an hour between shifts.  Just me and my ‘Mechs.  She wasn’t getting a sexual thrill by being “watched” by inanimate objects—or was she?  It was more of the feeling of being naked and free in her beloved ‘Mech bay, where the smell of gun oil, cordite, lubricants, oil and steel were more heady than any cologne. 

    “Oh, why not,” Nicia smiled.  She got to her feet and unzipped her coveralls, letting them fall to her ankles, then stepping out of them.  The cool air of the bay caressed her lithe form, but it felt good rather than cold after welding on armor plates.  She undid her heavy work boots and stepped out of them, leaving her in dainty socks with pandas stitched on them—the only clothing she wore that wasn’t strictly functional.  Even her bra and panties were made out of sweat-repelling spandex.  Nicia peeled off her bra and set it aside, then bent and pulled down her underwear.  Finally, except for her socks, she was completely naked…and it felt wonderful.  She looked down at her body.  Nicia didn’t have large breasts, but she liked what she did have—big ones would have just gotten in the way.  Her dark pink nipples hardened in the cool air and in anticipation of what she was going to do.  She decided to keep on her socks; the socks had reinforced soles, and there were metal shavings she didn’t want to step on.  For some reason, she seemed more naked with them on that without. 

   Driven by some insane desire that Nicia couldn’t name, she stepped forward so that two whole lances of ‘Mechs seemed to stare down at her.  Her mind immediately catalogued each: Battlemaster, Atlas, Wasp, Wolfhound, Axeman, Valkyrie, Phoenix Hawk, Griffin, Shruiken, among others.  She felt like some sort of priestess in an ancient ritual, naked before stone gods and goddesses, presenting herself to them.  Nicia stretched her arms out and thrust her breasts forward, spreading her legs, as if for inspection by the metal machines in front of her.  She stepped closer until the ‘Mechs towered over her, craning her neck upwards.  Take me, my gods of war.  I am yours.  Then she laughed, because it was silly…but it was sort of turning her on.

   Nicia’s hands ran down her hairless body, gliding over her taut stomach to the apex of her thighs, feeling her wet folds.  She closed her eyes and stroked herself, no longer thinking of the ‘Mechs, but of her long-gone husband, who had been so good at this, who could make her come just with his fingers on her.  Her fingers trailed upwards to dance over her clitoris, and her body tensed as jolts of pleasure shot through her.  She remembered his manhood entering her—he had been big, but so was Nicia, and she could easily accommodate his length and girth.  All that was gone now, but she slipped a finger inside all the same.  It was warm and tight.  Nicia’s moan was soft, barely heard over the hum of the silent ‘Mechs' fusion cores.

   Nicia teased her nipples with her free hand and added another finger to the one inside, then slid it out to play with the pearl atop her now swollen sex.  Her legs were increasingly wobbly, so Nicia lowered herself to the dirty, oily floor of the bay.  Her skin was already slick with sweat; more dirt wasn’t going to make her back or rear any dirtier.  She lay back, opening her legs wide, and idly thought that she had seen inside the ‘Mechs plenty of times; now they were seeing inside of her.  She pushed her fingers back inside with one hand and played with her nipple with the other.  Nicia’s hips began to rock in time with her strokes, her rear coming off the floor as she made love to the air. 

    Nicia closed her eyes, her mind feeding her an odd mix of lustful memories of her husband making love to her and the ‘Mechs’ sensors playing over her nude, bald body.  The hand buried between her legs went faster; her breaths came heavy and deeply, punctuated by more soft moans.  She was growing slick with her own lubricant, and Nicia felt her legs begin to shake, and knew she was close.  Now half her body was off the bay floor, held up only by her shoulders and her arched feet.  Nicia opened her eyes halfway and looked up her body now, her breasts heavy and taut, her fingers pistoning in and out of herself, sweat running off her body.  It was all she needed.

   “Ohhh, man,” she exhaled, which if Nicia hadn’t been swamped with ecstasy at the moment, she would’ve thought a pretty dumb thing to say when one was having an orgasm.  Her breath caught in her throat as her body convulsed, and she felt herself spasming around her fingers.  Finally, she relaxed, allowing herself to splay across the bay floor.  “Whew,” she smiled, then looked up at the ‘Mechs.  “That didn't take long.  Enjoy the show, boys?”  It occurred to Nicia that ‘Mechs weren’t necessarily male—the Battlemaster and Atlas definitely were, all stocky and tough-looking, but there was something distinctly feminine about the smaller Wasp and Valkyrie, and even Sheila’s sleek Shruiken.  Nicia laughed out loud at the thought.  “Okay, Nicia,” she snickered, “when you’re assigning genders and sexual preferences to ‘Mechs, you need to go to bed.”  She felt sated, now, content. 

   Suddenly, she heard the distinct screech of the bay personnel door being opened, and voices.  Oh, Personal Deity, the midwatch!  Nicia quickly got to her feet, and saw their shadows on the wall.  They would come down one corridor, take a turn to the right, and see her there in all her naked, sweaty, glistening, oily glory.  Nicia got ready to sprint to her coveralls, but realized that, while she might make it to her coveralls, she would still be struggling into them and still very nude when the techs saw her.  The Sentinels’ command staff put up with her eccentricities and odd ideas, but masturbating on the bay floor was a oddity too far.

    Then Nicia spotted a strange haven: the inspection bay door on the Griffin was still open.  She had inspected the actuators earlier, but one of her techs had done some work on the upper leg, so she wanted to look at it once more time before closing up.  Nicia dashed over to the ‘Mech, climbed through the inspection bay door, and pulled herself as high as she could into the tight, narrow confines of the medium ‘Mech’s leg—claustrophobia was disqualifying for tech duty.  The metal inside the leg and the actuator was cold, her body was streaked with actuator lubricant—and her own—and the air inside was stifling, but Nicia ignored all of it, her heart hammering in her chest.

    The bay lights flickered on, flooding the outside with light, and she heard the techs talking as they walked down the row.  “Hey, somebody left their clothes and work boots here!” one of them said; Nicia recognized the voice as Tech John Tarkov.

    “And their undies too.”  Nicia closed her eyes; that was Assistant Tech Viola Hibbert.  They laughed.  “Someone running around here naked or something?”  Nicia wanted to cry.  If they held up the coveralls, they would know it was her just from the height, to say nothing of the nametape on it.

    Nicia heard workboots approaching the Griffin, and knew he saw the open hatch.  He switched on his flashlight and looked around, and Nicia knew she was a moment away from being caught—but suddenly, she had an idea.  “Tarkov?” she called out.

    “Master Tech?” She had hoped Tarkov wouldn’t stick his head in the inspection hatch, but he did, shining the flashlight right up at her.  From the angle he was at, he would be able to see that she wasn’t wearing anything, but nothing more than perhaps a butt cheek and her long legs.  “Good God!” he exclaimed, noticing her nudity with huge eyes.  “Ma’am, you’re naked!”

    “No shit!” she called back, as if getting naked in a ‘Mech was a regular occurrence.  Then again, Nicia thought, this wasn’t the first time she had stripped off her clothes to reach deep inside a ‘Mech, though she had kept her underwear on before.  “I had to strip down to fix this damn upper leg actuator.  Taylor did some work on it earlier, but it’s making a stupid squeaking noise you can hear for ten miles.  Kaatha’s not going to tolerate that on her ‘Mech, so…here I am.  It was hot as Proserpina in here, so I just said to hell with it and took everything off.”  Nicia prayed that Tarkov would not think of why her words were obviously a lie: she didn’t have a flashlight or a toolbelt. 

   Tarkov was polite enough not to be staring up at her; he kept his eyes on the floor.  “Okay, ma’am.  Do you need a flashlight?”

    Nicia thought fast.  “Nah,” she said casually.  “I work better by feel.” She bit her lip not to laugh at that; five minutes ago, she had been feeling quite a bit.  “You know how it is, Tarkov—you do what you gotta do in this line of work.”

    “Well…sure, ma’am, but I don’t know that I’d strip naked to fix something,” Tarkov said, with a note of admiration in his voice.  "I might get something caught!"

    “There are some advantages to being a girl in this business,” Nicia said.  “Have Hibbert bring my clothes over and just leave them there by the panel.  You pervs aren’t getting a free show by making me walk across the bay starkers.”

    “You got it, Master Tech.”  Tarkov walked away, and Nicia let out a sigh of relief.  She heard Hibbert’s light tread, and the young woman stuck her head into the inspection panel as well.  Her eyes got wide too.  Nicia grinned down at her.  “What’s wrong, Hibbert? Never seen a naked Tech before?”

    “Uh, no, no…I mean, sure, me, but…um…your clothes are right here, ma’am!”  Hibbert’s head disappeared, and Nicia heard her wander off as well, muttering.  Nicia remained inside the leg for a few more minutes, banged her hand against the inner skin to make it sound like she was using percussive maintenance on something—which emitted a gonging noise throughout the Griffin—and slowly extricated herself from the ‘Mech.  The Griffin’s leg hid her from the rest of the bay, so Nicia quickly dressed.  She patted the ‘Mech on the leg.  “This is our little secret,” she whispered. 

    Once back in her coveralls and boots, Nicia strode down the bay, wishing everyone a good night.  Instead of getting caught and possibly fired, Nicia had added to her legend—a woman so committed to fixing her machines that she was even willing to strip completely nude to accomplish her mission.  Her techs looked at her with awe.  They would never think that their respected and beloved Master Tech had been debasing herself on the bay floor in front of the ‘Mechs only ten minutes before.  Nicia resolved not to do it again, but knew she would remember that moment forever.

   Before she left the bay, Nicia stopped, snapped her fingers, and briskly walked back to her office.  There were just one or two more things she needed to do. 

Chapter Text

   The aurora shimmered over Atlas as Marrow Amin and Rainee Cordovin walked into the warmth of the House of the Moon, a restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine and considerable price.  Yet Marrow didn’t mind paying: this was the first date he and Rainee had been on since the conclusion of the Dust Mine Affair, as it was now known.  They had become friends and then lovers in those seven wild days and nights in Atlas and beyond, but soon after they had concluded the investigation, Team RWBY had arrived and Marrow had been busy with his job with Ace Ops.  Rainee, for her part, had been busy making sure the central part of Mantle was relatively free of crime, so Robyn Hill could have her election night party in peace.  General James Ironwood was both making her life complicated and easier by having the streets patrolled by his robots: crime was down, but resentment was building—and Grimm attacks were up. 

   But neither Marrow nor Rainee wanted to think about work at the moment.  Marrow was dressed in the pristine white and blue uniform of the Ace Operatives, while Rainee had discarded her uniform in favor of a more feminine and formal black dress.  Marrow had resisted whistling at her when he saw her: the dress flattered Rainee’s voluptuous figure, and he had never seen her in anything but the battered clothes she wore undercover and the gray armor she wore in the field. 

    Marrow tried not to drool as the scent of fine wine and sizzle of gourmet meat filled the air, as the maitre’d led them to a secluded booth.  His tail was wagging—an instant giveaway that Marrow was a Faunus—and he felt the stares of the patrons that saw a Faunus man with a human female.  Racism was dying in Atlas, but it was dying slowly.  Rainee took his arm and mouthed screw them to him.  Marrow grinned back as they took their seats.  The conversation flowed freely, as did the wine, though both were careful not to get drunk.  They did finally speak of their work—Ace Ops and the new arrivals from Beacon, Teams RWBY and JNR, the increasing Grimm threat in Mantle, and mutual friends that lived outside of Atlas: the big and happy Gordon Rooi, the morose and practically immortal Iris Azrael, and Rainee’s best friend Tiffany Crimson.  Then the food arrived, and both ate in bliss: the House of the Moon lived up to its reputation, even in the middle of an embargo.

   As they waved off the waiter who asked them if they wanted dessert—both Marrow and Rainee were stuffed—he reached out and took her hand.  Their eyes met, green on blue.  “I’ve missed you,” Marrow said with a smile.

   Rainee turned her hand over to grip his.  “I’ve missed you too, Marrow.”

   “Do you…want to come back to my place?” Marrow asked.  “I mean…it’s kind of late to catch the downlink to Mantle now.”  That wasn’t true, but he was grasping at straws to get her to come back to his quarters at Atlas Academy.  “And I, uh, have a movie you might like.”

   Rainee smiled.  “I think I would like that, Marrow.” 

   “And you can spend the night,” Marrow said.

   To his surprise, she hesitated.  “Well…maybe.”

   Marrow paid for dinner and tried not to think about how the bill was biting into his paycheck, and they left the restaurant, ignoring the stares.  As they walked through the crisp night air back to Atlas Academy, Marrow felt himself get tense.  Part of it was because he was worried that the Grimm alert sirens would go off, and though he technically had the night off, Ironwood frowned on his best Huntsmen sitting out a Grimm attack in the hopes of getting some nooky.  The other part was that Rainee was being oddly shy.  They had made love twice and started a third time—and all three times, it had been her that had initiated it.  Rainee had entered his tent on the tundra and simply unzipped her armor to show she wore nothing beneath it, and the second time, had pretty much done the same at his apartment, dropping her armor to her feet and walking into his bedroom stark naked.  The third time they had been interrupted by a Grimm attack and Team RWBY's arrival.  That had been two weeks ago. 

   Marrow regarded Rainee Cordovin out of one eye.  She bore no resemblance to her infamous grandmother, the fanatical old woman who had been shuffled off to Argus because no one could stand her.  He found her beautiful, though Marrow admitted he was a bit biased—he had only had sex with two women in his life, and Rainee was one of them.  She was four inches shorter than his own six foot height, and wore her brown hair long, down to the small of her back.  He remembered her naked as she rode him in the tent, or standing in his bedroom: the ample breasts, the cute little nipples that stood erect under his touch, the nest of brown curls between her legs, the rear that tightened under his hands.  His tail began to wag and he felt himself getting hard.  Down, boy, he told himself with an embarrassed smile.  Rainee noticed his tail and smiled up at him, then took his hand.  That boded well.

   They reached Atlas Academy ten minutes later, then took the elevator up to his quarters.  In theory, Marrow was not allowed to bring people into his quarters overnight without permission from higher authority, either Clover Ebi or Winter Schnee.  Like everyone else at the Academy, he ignored that rule, which was rarely enforced in any case—not even Ironwood cared much for what his troops did off-duty.  He showed her into the apartment, got them some cold sodas, and flopped next to her on the couch, switching on his television. 

   They ended up not watching the movie he had in mind, but a stupid Spruce Willis action movie that left them both laughing.  Marrow found himself not thinking about sex—at least not entirely about sex—but just enjoying Rainee’s company.  It was good to see her laugh, the cares and struggles of her job as a policewoman on the Constabulary’s Vice Squad falling away, to say nothing of the past that Marrow was one of the few people to know about.  At Beacon, Rainee had lost half her team even before graduation, and had quit being a Huntress to be a cop instead.  She had recovered much of the lost confidence that had made her stop using her Semblance, which was good to see, but Marrow didn’t care about the tough cop or the wounded Huntress: he cared about Rainee the woman. 

    Once the movie was over, Marrow shut off the TV and glanced at the clock.  It really was a bit late to use the downlink shuttle to Mantle now, though they ran all night, and from the window in his bedroom, he could see snow starting to hammer against the window.  Atlas tended to stay perpetually in winter, and sudden blizzards were not uncommon.  Rainee followed his eyes and sighed.  “I guess I’m staying the night,” she smiled.

    “Guess so.”

    Their first kiss on the couch was tentative, just a gentle brush of the lips, almost a reintroduction to each other.  Then her mouth was open under his, and their kisses grew deeper and more urgent.  Marrow’s tail slapped the couch in excitement as Rainee’s hands ran over his tunic.  His hands reached for her breasts. 

   And then almost as soon as they had started, Rainee suddenly broke the kiss and pulled away.  “Marrow,” Rainee sighed, “I think that’s as far as we go tonight.”

   Marrow was shocked.  “But…I thought…”

   Rainee looked away.  “I did too.  Marrow…I’m just…not sure where I want to take this.  I mean, yes, I want you, but…this would be the third time we’ve made love.  That’s almost a permanent thing between us now, like we’re doing more than just screwing around.  You’re a wonderful lover, and I even updated my contraceptive shot.  It’s…” She rubbed her forehead.  “I don’t know what I want to do, Marrow.  I feel terrible, leading you on, but…”  Rainee looked up at him.  “I don’t think I want to do this right now.  It…it doesn’t feel right.  I don’t know how I feel about this…about us.” 

    Marrow saw the confusion on her face, and wanted to tell her that he knew how he felt about her: Marrow wasn’t sure that he loved Rainee, but he cherished her, and he wanted to be with her as much as he could.  It could easily blossom into love, and what was wrong with that? Marrow, unlike Rainee, knew that Salem was almost certainly going to attack Atlas, and they might not have the time to wait for Rainee to figure out her feelings.

    But he nodded, because Marrow also knew that trying to force the issue would lead to Rainee leaving, blizzard or not, and it wasn’t fair to her to basically tell her he wanted sex, now.  That would imply that Marrow only cared about fucking her—and if there was no love, that would be all that it was.  Marrow wanted more than just a fling, and he respected Rainee Cordovin far more than that.  “I understand,” he finally said.

   “I’m glad one of us does,” Rainee sighed again.

   “I’ll get the spare blankets.”  Marrow got up, leaving her there lost in her thoughts, and grabbed the spare blankets out of the hall closet, jammed between his tiny kitchen and even tinier bathroom.  Together, they put together an ersatz bed on the couch, and Rainee’s smile was now sad.  “Thank you, Marrow,” she said.  “I’m…sorry this isn’t going the way you wanted.”

    He kissed her forehead.  “Rainee, the last thing I’m going to do is force this.  That doesn’t do either of us any good.  We’ll figure this out as we go, okay?”  He almost added and if you change your mind, you know where the bedroom is, but that sounded too forward and once more too much like he only cared about sex.  Marrow was disappointed, but better disappointment than pushing a bad position.  He had already done that once, with his last girlfriend, and it had ended badly.  Of course, that was always going to end bad…quit thinking about her, Marrow.

    Rainee removed her shoes, and even though she wore socks, he remembered that he thought Rainee even had pretty feet.  You’ve got it bad, Marrow, he admonished himself.  They settled for one more chaste kiss, and then he put a grin on it.  “Good night, Rainee.”

    “Good night, Marrow.”  She sat on the couch as he retreated to his bedroom and closed the door.  He didn’t turn on the light: the picture window that faced the main tower of Atlas Academy provided all the necessary light.  He stripped off his uniform and carefully hung it up with pride: as the only Faunus on Ace Ops, Marrow was justifiably proud of himself.  He was a symbol that things were changing in Atlas, at least in its military.  At least, he hoped he was. 

   Marrow undid his topknot, letting his black hair fall to his shoulders, and got into bed, lying atop his sheets.  He saw the light switch off in the living room, and let out a long breath of disappointment.  Women, he thought.  Still, the more he thought about it, Marrow saw Rainee’s side of the equation.  They had only known each other three weeks, and they had gone from meeting each other to having sex with each other within three days.  It had taken months for Marrow to go all the way with his ex-girlfriend when he was a student at Atlas.  His relationship with Rainee was a whirlwind one, and it made sense that she might want to slow it down a little.  Marrow nodded to himself: he would give her space.  He just hoped that she wasn’t having second thoughts about their relationship in general.

    He was, however, was still a relatively young male Faunus—at twenty, he was barely older than the “kids” in Team RWBY—and his mind wandered back to the young woman, slightly older than him, who was now slipping between the sheets on his couch.  He imagined she had gotten out of the dress to sleep in her underwear.  Marrow thought he could hear the soft sounds of Rainee’s breathing, the rustle of the blanket as she shifted positions.  He wondered if she had slept naked, and couldn’t help but remember her breasts, full and firm under his hands, or being inside of her, tight and hot and wet. 

   Marrow looked down and saw his erection growing under his boxers.  He chuckled ruefully at himself.  “Yeah,” he whispered, “guess I’d better take care of that unless I want blue balls in the morning.”  He pulled down his underwear and his erection grew to its full length, the foreskin rolling back to expose the thick head.  Marrow wrapped his hand around the shaft, stroking it slowly, thinking of the warmth of Rainee in his arms, her body against his, the taste of her lips and tongue.  His hand involuntarily moved faster, as Marrow’s hips came off the bed.  He could almost feel himself inside of her, hear Rainee’s gasps and moans, her legs around his waist as he thrust into her.  Marrow bit back a groan and his hand moved quicker.

    His orgasm built as his testicles tightened up.  Marrow could feel his semen rising as the inevitability arrived, and he conjured an image of Rainee’s lips fastened around his throbbing member—something she had yet to do—and with a final stroke, he came, his seed firing high into the air to land on his stomach, then more spurting all over his hand and falling into his dark pubic hair.  Marrow went limp, the tension draining from him as his body relaxed. 

    Marrow lay in his bed, getting his breath back as the realization hit him: he had just masturbated to the memory of Rainee Cordovin.  This was the first time he had thought of nothing but her.  It felt wrong, and Marrow felt his cheeks burning with an emotion he had not felt since he had been a teenager: shame.  He had lost control of himself, and whacked off like a 15-year old with a porn magazine.  He raised his hand and saw the semen oozing off of his fingers, and felt terrible.

    Shaking his head, Marrow pushed himself off of his bed and grabbed a towel from the clothes hamper.  He wiped himself off, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: tall, dark-skinned, his blue eyes almost luminous in the darkness.  Marrow knew he was handsome, and fighting the Grimm had kept him in trim, athletic shape.  But he was also an adult, and the odd shame haunted him.  Disgustedly, he threw the towel back into the hamper.  Dammit, Marrow.  Rainee’s a friend.  She’s a Huntress too, even if she’s a cop now, and you have a lot more respect than to jerk off to her.  He felt like he needed to apologize to her, but he could imagine that conversation:  Hey, Rainee, I totally jacked off to you last night.  Sorry about that.  The only possible way that wouldn’t end with him dying a grisly, screaming death was if she admitted she had played with herself underneath the sheets on his couch—and Marrow sincerely doubted Rainee was doing that. 

   Marrow padded back to his bed, his tail now drooping between his legs.  He didn’t bother putting his boxers back on, just slipped under the covers, his thoughts chasing each other between regret and longing.  He tried to think of ways to make this right between himself and Rainee, but despite himself, Marrow started to fall asleep.

   Then he heard the door to his bedroom open.

   Marrow sat up, wondering if he was dreaming, because Rainee was standing in the doorway—and she was naked.  There was just enough light from Atlas and the shifting aurora above them that he could see her, the lights both cloaking her curves and revealing them.  She walked closer, her hands at her sides as if she was sleepwalking, but her eyes were open, those green eyes staring at him.  Now he could see her bare breasts, the dark outline of her areolae, the nipples hard with desire, because Marrow’s bedroom wasn’t cold.  She stepped further into the light, and blue light of Atlas slashed across her body, exposing the dark triangle between her legs.  She stepped closer until she was next to the bed, looking down at him, and he saw the hunger in her eyes. 

   Then she was on the bed, her body pressing against his, her breasts soft against his chest.  He wasn’t sure if the hammering he felt in his chest was his heart, or hers, or both.  “Rainee,” Marrow whispered, his throat dry, “are you sure about this?”

    Rainee didn’t respond, just leaned forward and kissed him.  There was truth in that kiss, and it washed away their doubts, guilt and fears.  It was a kiss that marked Marrow Amin and Rainee Cordovin as more than just friends and casual lovers.  Her hands slid down his chest, tracing his muscles and his navel before arriving at his half-hard manhood.  Marrow didn’t think he could get hard again so quickly, but having a naked woman pressed against him made him rise to the occasion, in more ways than one.  Rainee broke the kiss as she stroked him erect.  “I want you,” she said quietly, her breath hot and sweet.  “I want all of you.”

     “Are you sure?” he repeated, hoping it wasn’t just a dream.

     “Yes.” Rainee grabbed his hand and put it between her legs.  He could feel the dampness there, and his eyes widened.  He thought he saw her blush a little.  “I…I thought about us, and…well…” Rainee kissed him.  “Never mind, Marrow.  I’m here now.”

    “You certainly are.”  Gently, he turned her over onto her back, and Rainee’s legs fell open for him in invitation.  He leaned down and kissed her, then moved forward.  He actually missed entering her, and instead his member slid upwards to rub against her clit, and Rainee jumped in surprise.  “Don’t tease me,” she gasped. 

    “Sorry,” Marrow grinned, then got himself into a better position—and this time he slid into her until he was buried to the hilt.  Rainee’s toes curled as her legs wrapped around him, her hands digging into his shoulders.  “Oh…Marrow…” she moaned.  Marrow didn’t give her much time to get used to him before he was thrusting into her, sliding in and out with a delicious friction.  Their hips met with an urgency that they had both denied for too long, the room filled with the sound of skin on skin.  He knew his tail was wagging uncontrollably, but Rainee actually liked that; she had said before that she knew Marrow liked her when his tail wagged.

    At that point, as Marrow tried to enjoy the wonderful feeling of being inside Rainee again—she was indeed warm, wet and tight, just like his memory of her—he was reminded of something else about Rainee Cordovin: she got loud.  As his thrusts increased in frequency, her head went back on his pillows, her brown hair fanned out like some demented angel’s halo, and she shouted “Fuck me, Marrow!”  It threw him off his stroke for a moment, but her eyes were squeezed shut as she continued to scream.  “Harder, Marrow, fuck me harder! Rip me apart! Come in me, Marrow! Come in me!”

    Her filthy language didn’t take away from the experience; in fact, it enhanced it.  Her words were desperate, unfiltered, as her head shook from side to side and her fingers dug into his back.  Marrow could feel Rainee tightening around him as her body shot towards her release.  He was now pounding into her for all he was worth, as Rainee arched off the bed and kept screaming “Fuck me! Make me come all over you! Fill me up, Marrow, fuckin’ fill me up!”  Then it hit her and she convulsed with a final shout of “Oh fuck! Yes! YES!”  Her nails raked down his back, leaving fiery trails of abused Aura in their wake, and she was like a hot vice inside as she pulsed around him.  Marrow couldn’t hold back any longer, gave one last thrust, gasped, and shot deep into her.  They shook together, riding each other’s waves as he ejaculated again and again, one part of Marrow wondering how he could do this so soon—but not giving a damn either. 

   Marrow pulled out of her, and it was all he could do not to fall off the bed.  Both of them were now slick with sweat, panting as they caught their breath.  They lay there, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, then finally Marrow croaked out, “Why…why did you change your mind?” 

   Rainee rolled over on her side and regarded him with gentle eyes.  “I got scared.”

   “Scared? Why?”

   “Making love once—that’s a one-night stand.  Twice, that’s just admitting you enjoyed the first time.  Three or four times? That’s a relationship.”  She traced the line of his pectorals.  “We work in really dangerous jobs, Marrow.  You’re a Huntsman.  I’m a cop.  Tomorrow might be the last day for either of us—some Grimm might eat you or some kid with a gun blows me away.  We both know what it’s like to lose people we love…and I didn’t want to be another memory for you.”  She kissed his shoulder.  “Or you for me.”  Then she leaned against him as he smoothed her hair.  “But then I thought maybe that’s why we should keep this going.  Since we don’t know if we are going to live or not…we might as well enjoy what time we have left.”  Rainee paused for a moment.  “So, after sitting on your couch trying not to…” she blushed “…play with myself, I decided that why use my fingers when the real thing is right in here?  And it’s attached to someone I really, really like?”  Marrow started laughing, and Rainee’s eyes narrowed.  “What’s so funny?”

    “Not you,” Marrow told her.  “Me.”  He almost was too ashamed to tell her, but then realized that both of them were lying there naked, sweaty, and sticky, having just made very loud love.  “Rainee…I came in here and well…jerked off, thinking about you.”  He brushed her cheek.  “I feel pretty bad about that.  You deserve better than to be just a fantasy.”

    “Well…I jilled off, almost, so we’re even.”  Rainee leaned closer and kissed him.  “Wow, Marrow.  You whacked off and still managed to have sex like ten minutes later? Are Faunus just that virile?”

    “I don’t know, but you’re that good looking.”  Rainee laughed at that.  He watched her lips and decided she needed to be kissed again, so he did so.  They quieted, just holding each other, listening to the blizzard blow itself out outside.  “Um…” she began, “I…I think I need to apologize.”

    “For what?” Marrow asked.

    “For being so loud.”  Rainee was now blushing, from her breasts to her face, and Marrow thought that made her even more attractive.  “For being so dirty…I really don’t realize what’s coming out of my mouth when I’m close to, well, coming.  It’s always been a problem I have.  I don’t know why.  I read that some girls are really quiet, or they make weird noises, but me? I cuss like a Vacuoan longshoreman.  ‘Fuck me harder,’ that sort of thing.”  Her blush deepened.  “It’s weird.”

    Marrow shook his head.  “No, it’s not.  It’s hot.  I know that I’m making you feel good when you say things like that.”

   Rainee shrugged.  “I could be faking it.”

   “Were you?”

   She shook her head.  “Gods, no.  I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

   “Then be as dirty as you want.”  He felt his tail thumping against the mattress.  “My tail wags, you talk dirty…we all have our little things.”    

    “I’m glad,” Rainee told him.  “I think it freaked out my last partner.  But he was a telepath, so there was no telling what was running through my brain.”

    They lay there for quite awhile, her head on his shoulder, one leg across his.  “Marrow,” she murmured, “do you…do you think you could go again?”

    Marrow wasn’t sure if he could.  Twice in one hour was something he had never done, not even as a teenager discovering the joys of masturbation.  Three times in one night was not something he was sure he could do.  “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I think we can try.”  He looked down at himself, but his penis was still lying across his leg, seemingly disinterested in further action tonight—it wasn’t flaccid, but it wasn’t getting hard, either. 

   Rainee saw it too, and sighed.  “I’m asking too much.”

   “Nah.”  He kissed her nose, and grinned at her.  “I think I want to taste you.”  Marrow’s hand trailed over her curls to between her legs.  “Down here.”

   Rainee’s eyes widened and she swallowed audibly.  “You mean…go down on me?”  She blinked.  “Um…wow.  I’ve never had anyone do that before.”

    “Your ex didn’t?”

    “We usually didn’t do a lot of foreplay.  Again, the disadvantages of being with a telepath.  I think he thought he had to get to the main event because I was thinking how good it felt to have him…well, never mind that.”  Marrow understood; neither one of them really wanted to talk about their exes. 

    “Well, do you trust me?” he asked.

    “Sure.”  There was a slight shakiness to her voice in anticipation.

     Marrow kissed her again, then gently pushed her onto her back.  He nuzzled her neck, then took one of her nipples into his mouth, licking it to stiffness in his mouth before he moved on.  Rainee squirmed as he kissed his way over her stomach, her navel, then her mound.  He spread her legs a little, then Marrow parted her labia with his tongue.  Rainee gasped at the sudden, unknown sensation.  Marrow took his time—he couldn’t help but thinking about his ex, who loved him to do this—and licked her slowly, exploring her.  Any doubts that she was liking what he was doing were ended as she pressed herself upwards.  Marrow found that sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her folds and teased it mercilessly.  “Oh my gods, Marrow,” Rainee moaned, and her legs began to shake.  Marrow’s tongue flicked and lapped and tasted, and he could smell her arousal.

   Rainee’s eyes rolled back and she bit her lip to stifle screaming aloud, her brain swamped with a sweet agony that made her come off the bed and her toes to curl into his sheets.  Marrow could feel her body tensing up, her thighs now tightening around his head.  He picked up the pace, his tongue flicking her rapidly; he could see her swollen and glistening now under his ministrations.  “Mar…row…” she struggled out, “I…can’t…oh gods…I’m gonna—oh gods—”

    Marrow rose up, enjoying the view of her quivering all over.  “So go ahead,” he told her.  “Come for me, Rainee—scream as loud as you want.”  And then he licked her again, bottom to top.

    Rainee quickly grabbed his pillow, held it over her face and indeed screamed as loud as she could.  He drew back and watched her spasming and shaking.  Her screams died away to moans, and she pushed the pillow aside, taking in huge draughts of air.  She looked down at him, flushed.  “Marrow…that was…that was amazing.”  She sprawled bonelessly across the bed.  “Are you sure your Semblance isn’t pleasing women?”

    Marrow snickered.  “Nah, that’s an acquired talent.”  He slid back up her body, leaving kisses on her stomach, breasts, and neck.  She raised up to meet his lips, then looked down.  Marrow was now rock-hard again, his penis slightly curved upwards.  She reached down and grabbed it, feeling it throb against her hand, then stroked him slowly.  Marrow let out a groan.  Rainee looked a bit worried.  “Um, Marrow…look, I really want to reciprocate, but I don’t know—I mean, I’ve never done it before.  I’m not worried about how you taste or anything, but I’m—”

    “Don’t worry about it,” Marrow told her.  “We can try that some other time.”

    Rainee nodded.  “In that case…” She smiled and opened her legs further.  “I think...I can find some other way to pay you back.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “I need you inside me again.”  She licked his cheek.  “Fuck me, Marrow Amin.”  She blushed again, but he only winked at her.    

    “Don’t mind if I do, Rainee Cordovin.”  They laughed together at that, and Marrow marveled at it: he had never laughed during sex before.  Yet with Rainee, he felt relaxed, like he could do anything and she was okay with it.  Marrow, so used to hiding his feelings, even hiding himself against a society that so often hated his kind, knew he didn’t have to hide a thing with Rainee Cordovin.

    He pushed into her—or tried, because he missed again, and they laughed even more at their awkwardness.  "Need help?" she giggled.

    "No, I got this."  He found her entrance, and then slowly slid in.  Rainee took a deep breath.  “How’s that?”

    “That’s nice,” she said softly.  She was so wonderful, Marrow thought, so wonderfully tight around him.  His tail was wagging for all it was worth, but for once, he didn’t feel at all self-conscious about it. 

    Marrow wanted to take it slower this time, but Rainee didn’t.  For every slow thrust, she pushed back with ferocity.  Finally, he couldn’t hold back and just began slamming into her—it was, after all, what they both really wanted.  Rainee’s head was back again, her thighs gripping him once more, as she arched her back to meet every thrust.  She clenched around him, urging him deeper; Marrow watched her breasts bouncing with each thrust, and couldn’t help but lick one of her nipples. “Harder,” she groaned loudly.  “Oh gods, Marrow, fuck me harder.”  He was afraid of hurting her, but Marrow did as he was asked.  The headboard of his bed was now hitting the wall with a staccato rhythm.  Rainee wasn’t shouting curse words, but her moans were loud enough. 

    It was too much.  Despite it being his third time of the night, Marrow felt his orgasm building as his thrusts started to lose the rhythm.  “Rainee…” he gasped out, “I’m…gonna come…”

    “Do it!” she shouted.  “Inside me, Marrow! Oh gods, inside me--fill me up--pour it into me--”  Her pleas dissolved into cries of joy, but even though he knew she was close, he was far closer.  Marrow slammed into her one last time, let out a shout of his own, and released, spraying his seed deep inside of her for a second time tonight.  Knowing Rainee hadn’t quite reached her peak, he continued pushing into her even as he began to soften, and raked his tongue over her nipples until she finally froze, came off the bed, and screamed loud enough to shake the windows. 

    It was all Marrow could do to hold himself up.  “Rainee,” he panted, heaving with exhaustion, “never mind the Grimm…you’re going to kill me.”

    Rainee’s eyes opened.  “Then…they’ll bury me…right next to you.”

    Somehow, Marrow had the energy to pull out of her, then stumble into his kitchen and get a bottle of water.  He brought it back and they both drank greedily from it, their mouths parched with panting, groaning, screaming and desire.  He tossed the empty bottle into a wastebasket—and missed, but Marrow didn’t have the energy to go after it—and finally they returned to each other’s arms, their breathing and their heartbeats slowing to something more normal. 

    Rainee reached down and ran her hands over his muscular rear, then stroked his tail.  “Your fur is so soft,” she murmured, then snuggled into his arms.  “And you’re so warm.”

    “And you’re so beautiful,” Marrow replied, his tail thumping the bed in a slow, exhausted rhythm.

    The storm outside eventually left, revealing the everpresent shimmering aurora that lit the Atlesian night, but by that time, Marrow Amin and Rainee Cordovin were both asleep, their arms around each other, satisfied in the warmth of each other’s naked bodies.  Tomorrow he would return to his sterile Atlas to fight the Grimm alongside Ace Ops, and she would return to the dark, sordid streets of Mantle to fight crime alongside the other police.  But that was tomorrow, and tonight, they were at peace.

Chapter Text

   Sheila Arla-Vlata walked into the appropriated hotel room she shared with her husband Max Canis-Vlata, and took off her MechWarrior boots at the door.  It had been a long evening, and Sheila had messaged Max not to wait up for her.  Being the commanding officer of the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team meant that sometimes Sheila had to keep long hours, and it meant that sometimes she couldn’t be with the man she loved.  Tonight had been an alarm that there were incoming DropShips preparing to invade the Sentinels’ current station of Sudeten, but after hours of waiting, putting various battalions and units on alert, it turned out to be a false alarm: a merchant convoy had unwisely used a pirate point to come into the Sudeten system, rather than the usual jump point, in an effort to save time and money.  That merchant captain had gotten a severe chewing-out, and a warning that he was about ten minutes from being jumped by the fighters.  The captain had been properly chastened, but the AFFC intended to give the man more when he reached the planet’s surface…but that would be later, and it was above Sheila's pay grade.

  The house was quiet, but it was well after one in the morning, so that didn’t surprise her.  It was also hot: Sudeten was experiencing a heat wave that even the hotel air conditioning struggled to stop.  Luckily, it had at least noticeably cooled from earlier in the day.

  Sheila walked into the hotel room—and stopped.  She looked down on the bed to find Max completely naked.  His boxers lay on the floor, obviously discarded before he got into bed.  He was sound asleep, lying on his back, softly breathing, with one hand behind his head under the pillow.  Sheila couldn’t help but let her eyes rove down his body a little—his handsome face, framed by black hair that was wild down to his shoulders; his slim build; the hair on his chest and stomach that thickened as it reached his loins…and nestled there, his penis.  Soft, it wasn’t very big, lying atop his testicles, slightly longer than usual due to the heat but by no means erect.  Sheila always marveled at that piece of Max, how it fit so well inside of her, how it could drive her insensate with lust.  But it was only one part of her husband, and she loved all of Max with a longing that almost made her cry.  They hadn’t had much time lately to be together.

   She thought about waking him up, but then dismissed it: Max had been exhausted all day, moreso than she was, and needed his sleep.  Instead, she went into the bathroom and tried to be as quiet as possible, stripping off her fatigues and socks and folding them neatly on the counter.  Sheila brushed her teeth, then regarded herself in the mirror.  Her green eyes had bags under them, betraying her own exhaustion, and she reached back to undo the ponytail that held her long black hair in place.  When it fell over her shoulders, it transformed her looks, from the somewhat severe ‘Mech commander to a young woman barely twenty.  She unsnapped her bra and set it on the clothes: Sheila’s breasts were large, but not overly so.  Her pale skin was blemishless until one reached her left arm.  From the elbow down, it was metal and plastic.  It was very much a functional arm, with four fingers and a thumb, but there was no disguising that it was artificial.  Sheila and Max both were used to it now, and there were times that Sheila had trouble remembering what she looked like without it.

   She shut off the bathroom light and walked into the bedroom.  Max was still asleep, the only change in his posture that his right arm was now thrown over his chest rather than at his side.  As slowly and quietly as she could, Sheila slipped into the bed next to him and lay next to her husband, watching him sleep.  She was about to kiss him on the forehead when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. 

    Max’s body quivered a little, a slight tremor going through him, and his even breathing suddenly deepened and sped up.  He let out a soft groan, so soft that she barely heard him, and then saw his penis twitch.  As Sheila watched in rapt fascination, it lengthened and grew thick, then flopped backward onto his stomach.  Max groaned again, a little louder, but he was still very much asleep.  Sheila’s real hand went to her mouth as she smothered a giggle.  Oh my God, she thought, he’s having a wet dream.

    Sheila rested her head on her artificial hand as she watched her husband get even harder, pulsing with the rhythm of his heart.  She was tempted to wake him up again, this time for a different reason, but once more decided against it.  She was curious now.  Sheila didn’t even think he had wet dreams—after all, he had her.  Sheila wasn’t angry or jealous, however: she supposed this happened to men now and then, even happily married ones.  Even Sheila herself had sexy dreams on occasion, though she had never orgasmed in her sleep; she had heard of that sort of thing happening to women, but not her.  Sheila decided to just enjoy the show, then mercilessly tease Max about it the next day.

    The problem was, as her eyes traced the slight curve of his shaft as it visibly throbbed, Max wasn’t the only person getting turned on.  Sheila found her mouth getting dry at the sight of his erection, remembering the many times he had so slowly entered her, how it felt like she could feel every bump of him, how Max could simply drive her out of her mind.  His foreskin was completely flush with the shaft now, leaving the purpling head exposed.  Her hand drifted down over her stomach towards the waistband of her panties. 

    With some effort, Sheila tore her gaze from Max’s engorged manhood to his face.  There was a slight twitch there in his cheek, and she saw the stubble where he hadn’t shaved that day, the lips that she longed to kiss.   A slight sheen of sweat gathered on his chest from the heat and what was happening to him, and his chest rose and fell more rapidly now.  Sheila saw his hips slightly move upwards and his erection twitch upwards.  She swallowed and glanced down at herself: her nipples had pebbled, and between her legs she began to feel rather empty.  She wanted to slip her fingers down there, but she thought the movement might wake Max up, and Sheila didn’t want that. 

    Sheila saw a little drop of clear moisture ooze from the slit of his penis as it twitched upwards once more, and she nearly leaned in to lick it off.  She craned her head up slightly and saw that his testicles were drawn upwards.  His hips again gave a slight push upwards, and the bead of moisture grew until it slipped off to hang downwards by a thin, clear string.  Sheila could see Max’s toes curl, even as more of the precome leaked out to slowly drip down to his pubic hair.  Her own need was building, but still Sheila touched neither Max nor herself, determined to see this to the end.

    Max’s body jerked and he let out a loud groan.  His testicles were fully drawn up, and Sheila saw his erection begin to uncontrollably bounce.  Finally, a single jet of semen shot from the head to coat his stomach and chest, then quickly more followed, spraying it across him.  Sheila’s eyes were wide as more poured out until finally his erection began to deflate, the come now just dripping out to pool in his pubes.  “Holy shit,” she whispered.  She had seen her husband come before, of course, in her hands or against her stomach if they were feeling adventurous, but the intensity of it left her breathless.

    Either her words or his release finally made Max wake up.  He blinked, his eyes trying to focus in the darkness, then he sensed her there and looked over at her.  Sheila supposed she was quite the sight: naked except for her black panties, her nipples stiff, her mouth and eyes open in amazement, her real hand brushing the the waistband of her underwear.  “Um…hi,” she said with a smile.

    Max still wasn’t quite awake.  “Er…hi,” he replied, then he felt the stickiness of his seed on his stomach.  “What the hell—aw, man.   Shit.”  He pawed at where it had stuck to his chest, but that just made a bigger mess. 

    “Stay there,” Sheila told him, jumped out of bed, and ran to the bathroom.  She got a towel, returned, and helped dry him off. 

    “Got it all over me,” Max sighed.  Sheila laughed and kissed him, then tossed the towel in the floor.  “How long have you been here?”

    “Long enough to watch you have a hell of a dream,” Sheila grinned.  She stood over him, looking down at his nude body.  “I’m sorry…I should’ve woke you up, but I couldn’t help but watch.  It was…” She looked for the words.  “It was unbelievably hot, Max.  And I don't mean the temperature outside."

    “I still feel kinda bad,” Max admitted.  “I mean, I shouldn’t be having wet dreams, not with a beautiful wife who loves me.”

    “It's okay.  It happens,” Sheila reassured him.  “And if you want to make it up to me…”  She reached down and pulled down her panties, dropping them to her feet and stepping out of them.  She leaned back, spread her legs a little, and leaned back, shoving her crotch in his face.  It was his turn to get wide eyes: Sheila was very wet.  “You turned me on big time,” she said.  “What do you think we should do about it?”

   Max motioned to the bed next to him.  “I think you should lay down.” 

   “Okay, I'm liking this plan,”  Sheila grinned as she got back into bed.

   “Then I think you should kiss me.”  They leaned across and kissed each other, a kiss that was somehow both tender and urgent at the same time.  Their tongues met, and as the kiss grew more passionate, Max’s hand worked its way down to her slick, swollen sex.  His fingers found the spots she loved and her hips began to rock against his hand.  Sheila broke the kiss and leaned back on her pillows, her own flesh hand joining Max’s to guide him.  Max leaned over her and slipped a finger inside, and Sheila’s eyes fluttered closed.  “Oh, Max,” she breathed. 

   “You like that, babe?”

   “Mmm…what a dumb question…”

   It was, Max reflected, as her inner walls clenched around his fingers, a vice that was warm and velvety soft.  They had been married long enough that he knew exactly how to make her whimper, and as he curled his fingers upwards inside of her, Sheila did exactly that.  Max could feel her muscles begin to tense up, so he quickened the pace.  Their bedroom was filled with the slick sounds of his hand and her panting as she got closer and closer, the pressure building like a thunderstorm cresting the horizon.  “Sheila,” Max said.  “Look at me, girl.”  Her eyes opened.  “You got to watch me, so I’m gonna watch you.  Don’t close your eyes now.”  Sheila nodded hastily, her pupils huge. 

   Max moved his fingers faster and Sheila’s moans turned into cries of pure pleasure, her body shaking as she chased the orgasm that was so wonderfully close.  He kept staring at her, and didn’t even have to look down when she finally hit her peak.  Sheila’s eyes rolled back to a sliver of green as she sucked in a lungful of air; her inner walls contracted around his fingers as her thighs came together around his arm.  She didn’t scream, just let out a long sigh of satisfaction.  Max smiled: he loved to watch Sheila ride the waves of pleasure he had made her feel. 

    He pulled out his fingers and dried them on the bedcovers as Sheila relaxed.  She smiled, rolled onto her side, and kissed him.  “You know,” she sighed happily.  “You always know…how to make a girl feel loved.”

    “I do my best.”  Max traced his fingers across her skin.  “Do you want to get some rest? You had a longer day than me.”  His smile faded.  “Uh…we’re not getting invaded, are we?” In the haze of lust, the fact that there might be entire Clusters of enemy ‘Mechs landing on Sudeten had completely been forgotten. 

    “No, just some dumb merchant captain thinking he was going to shave some time off his transit.  We’re fine,” Sheila told him.

    “Oh, good.  I don’t want to be keeping my wife and commanding officer from getting some sleep.”

    Sheila cupped his cheek and her eyes flicked down.  Max was hard again, his stiff manhood pointed straight at her groin.  “I’ll sleep later.  Right now…”  She kissed his neck.  “Right now, I want you in me.  Nowishly.”

    “Nowishly?”

    “Mm-hm.” 

    Max pulled her closer until their bodies were pressed against each other, his erection pressed aginst her stomach.  She raised her leg and threw it over him, and he guided himself into her.  Sheila smiled as he pushed inside, the heat of her enveloping him like a glove.  “Okay?” Max asked.  She nodded.  They watched each other’s face as he slowly, deliberately thrust into her. 

   “I love you,” she whispered.  “God, I love you so much.”

   “I love you too,” Max responded.  The words seemed trite and cliché, but they were true. 

   Sheila’s hand pressed into Max’s flank, urging him deeper and faster, even as her metal fingers were around his back, trailing through his hair.  They smothered each other in kisses, as their breathing deepened.  Max couldn’t help but go faster, even as Sheila began to make those soft cries through their kisses that told him her orgasm was building as fast as his was.  They were both shaking now, fingers raking each other’s backs, as everything was left behind in the need for each others’ bodies, the ultimate expression of love between husband and wife. 

    Max moaned in her neck, gave one last thrust, and buried himself as deep as he could as he filled her with his seed.  Sheila could feel him tense up and pulse inside of her, and tried to will him to push into her just a few more times, because she was so close—but Max simply couldn’t, even as he pulled out of her, his semen smeared across her folds.  “Max,” she whispered, “I’m…I’m not quite there…”

   “No problem,” he puffed out.  Sheila jumped as his fingers found her nub and began rubbing it.  That did it: her body arched up, her fingers bunched in the covers, and she let out a long moan.  Max kept at it  as her body spasmed, until finally she moved her fingers away.  “Sensitive,” she breathed, and subsided to the bed. 

   Once more they lay together, this time exhausted and sated.  Sheila stared at the ceiling, her fingers idly tracing over her stomach.  “That…that was good.” 

   Max pulled her over so that her head was lying on his shoulder.  “Just good?”

   “Okay, it was great.”  Suddenly she snickered.  “By the way, Max…who was the lucky girl in your dream? You know, the one that got you all erect and made you come all over yourself?”  Her fingers slid over her wet folds and came away sticky.  “As opposed to all over me?”

   Max shrugged.  “Oh, geez, Sheila…I don’t even remember.”

   Sheila craned her head to look at him.  “Uh huh.  You were banging the hell out of her, and I’m jealous.”  She paused.  “Well, somewhat jealous.  I mean, given you just made me come twice.”  She raised up and poked him.  “C’mon, tell me.”

   “Promise you won’t get mad?” Max smiled at her.

   “I promise I will if you don’t tell me!”

   “Fine, fine,” Max smirked.  “It was Senefa.”

   Sheila’s eyes widened and her eyebrows went up.  “Senefa? Senefa Malthus?”

   “Unless there’s any other woman named Senefa I don’t know about.”

   “You were screwing my best friend?” Sheila shrilled.

   “You know how those Clan girls are,” Max laughed.

   “You—” Sheila sat up, grabbed a pillow, and hit him with it.  “You dork! I can’t believe you were dream fucking Senefa!”

   Max was now laughing so hard it hurt.  “Well, who would you want me to dream fuck?”

   “Nobody but me!”  Then she started laughing, even though she hit him a few more times with the pillow.  “Uggh…you’re such a pig.”  Sheila flopped down next to him and folded her arms over her breasts in mock anger.  “Senefa.  Hmpf.” 

   Max leaned over and kissed her cheek.  “I was just kidding, Sheila.   It was you.”

   “I don’t believe you,” she pouted.

   “Well, it was.  Swear on a stack of Bibles.”  He kissed her collarbone, then moved her metal arm out of the way so he could kiss one of her nipples. 

   “I still think you’re lying.”  Then Sheila couldn’t keep up her fake anger and grinned at him.  “Okay, smarty.  What was I doing to you in your dream?”

   “Riding me like a three-dollar horse.”  Max pantomined Sheila being on top of him. 

   Sheila rolled her eyes.  “Well, that’s underwhelming.  I ride you like that all the time.”  Which was true: Sheila liked to be on top, which Max sometimes wondered was simply because she was used to being in command.  Then again, it wasn’t like he minded. 

   “Not reverse cowgirl you don’t.”  Sheila looked confused, so Max used hand gestures and more pantomine. 

   “Oh.  Oh.”  Sheila gave him a smoldering look.  “Hmm.  That does sound like fun.  We’ll have to try that.”

   “I’m up for it,” Max said, “but one, not tonight—”

   “Yeah, me neither,” Sheila interrupted.

   “—and two, not where we were screwing in my dream.”  Once more, Sheila’s eyebrows rose.  “Steiner Stadium on Solaris VII, with a packed crowd cheering us on.” 

   “Whoa.”  Sheila lay back down next to him.  “I don’t think I could perform in front of a live audience.”  She traced down his flaccid shaft with a metal finger, making him jump.  “Though you sure were.”

   “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”  Max rolled over and took her in her arms.

   She kissed his nose.  “You sure aren’t.” 

Chapter Text

   The cobblestone streets seemed a bit blurry, Vanessa van Helsing thought, as she took the width of them and nearly fell.  It didn’t help that she only had one eye; the other had been lost to her preferred prey when she was a teenager—her first kill.  Vanessa was a vampire hunter, and while belief in vampires was starting to wane with the Age of Enlightenment that she lived in, she knew the truth.  Her descendants would carry on her legacy, but that was in a future that the young woman leaning against a house did not yet know.  In fact, at the moment, she didn’t know much at all, because Vanessa van Helsing was very, very drunk.

   She pushed herself off the house and staggered into the middle of the street, nearly colliding with a farmer and his wife headed home after a long day at the market.  “My God, woman!” the farmer exclaimed in Czech.  “Have you no shame?”

   Vanessa gave them a sloppy grin.  “Nope.”  She breathed on them, her alcohol-laden breath enough to fell a horse, and the farmer shoved her back.  Vanessa laughed and reeled away.  One part of her mind that wasn’t quite besodden with liquor realized that hunting her prey tonight was a good way to die, so Vanessa boozily decided that it was a good time to call it a night…even if it was only around nine o’clock. 

    She had a room at the inn, but it was across the town of Csejte, and Vanessa knew she wouldn’t make it before she passed out somewhere.  Then she spotted a flight of stairs that led down to a wooden door, and thought that might be a great place to sleep it off.  She could hunt vampires tomorrow; after all, daytime was the best time in any case.

   Vanessa stumbled down the stairs and reached the door, and to her surprise, found it unlocked.  She walked in and her one eye widened, and she smiled even wider.

   She had stumbled into a wine cellar—a very well-stocked wine cellar. 

   “Well, hot damn,” she murmured in Dutch—her native language—and closed the door behind her.  Finding an unlocked wine cellar for an alcoholic was like finding a cave filled with treasure, and Vanessa intended to exploit it.  She staggered along the barrels and shelves, and spotted a very nice looking 1712 Bordeaux.  Vanessa pulled it from the shelf, found a fairly comfortable spot, dropped her pack and crossbow, and made herself comfortable.  A popped cork later, and she was enjoying the liquid ambrosia sliding down her throat, though in her current inebriated state, grain alcohol would probably taste just as well.

    The problem was, Vanessa had already taken on board two bottles of wine, three mugs of beer, and a bottle of slivovice, a particularly potent plum brandy.  She got a third of the way into the Bordeaux before her mind finally winked out, and Vanessa passed out against the wall, the bottle cradled in her hand, a smile on her lips.

     Ten minutes later, a pale figure stepped from the shadows.  Elizabeth Bathory stared at the vampire hunter with satisfaction, glad that her plan had worked.  It hadn’t taken much.  One of her secret servants had reported Vanessa van Helsing drunk at the village inn soon after Elizabeth had risen for the night from her crypt, and there could be only one reason why a well-known vampire hunter was in town.  A little bit of vampire magic, and Vanessa was unknowingly and drunkenly following Elizabeth’s lead to the wine cellar, which had been left unlocked.  And now, the huntress was at her mercy, drunk and unconscious.  It had only taken half an hour, and ten of that was Elizabeth making sure that her prey was truly asleep and not waiting in ambush.

   Elizabeth walked closer and gazed down at Vanessa.  She was still a fairly young woman, probably 24 or 25, with bright red hair that matched Elizabeth’s own.  Unlike the vampire, whose hair was pulled back in the severe bun she had worn in life a century previously, Vanessa wore her hair loose around her face.  She was also dressed like a musketeer—travel-worn boots, tight black leather pants that showed off the shape of her legs, a corset and a puffed tunic, topped off by a rakish, feathered cap that was now lying on the floor.  Elizabeth shook her head; they would not have let ladies dress like that in her time.  Then again, she considered, Vanessa van Helsing was a lady only by gender. 

    In life, Elizabeth Bathory had been a noblewoman who had been convinced that bathing in the blood of young virgins would keep her young.  As it turned out, all she had needed was the embrace of a vampire, which had happened later in life, shortly before she faked her own death.  Now she needed blood just to survive, but being a vampire made obtaining it so much easier—and Elizabeth still preferred the blood of young women.  Vanessa was a bit old for her, but this was more business than pleasure: she needed to kill the huntress before Vanessa killed her. 

   Elizabeth leaned in for the bite, and Vanessa woke up.  Both of them froze, the vampire’s mouth open and fangs extended, Vanessa blinking and trying to make sense of the fact that her target was right in front of her.  The problem was that Vanessa was so drunk that she could do no more than try and feebly shove away Elizabeth while trying to grab for her crossbow.  Neither worked, and Elizabeth chuckled as she leaned closer, her lips closing on Vanessa’s neck as the fangs grazed her skin.

   “Nooo…” Vanessa whispered, and then there was a sting of pain as Elizabeth’s fangs punctured her neck and pierced the jugular.  The pain was quickly replaced by a sudden rush of warm euphoria, almost as good as a fine jenever.  She gasped as her body shuddered in pleasure, a strange desire blossoming in her stomach.  Vanessa knew she was about to die, and worse, she was being made to enjoy it.

   As for Elizabeth, the blood of the huntress was rich and tasted wonderful—a heady mix of power and vulnerability, of fiery passion and deep depression, wrapped up in the velvet of drunkeness.  She drank deeply, intending to kill Vanessa, but then something surged through her body that made her head swim.  She pulled her fangs away and licked the wounds shut out of habit, tried to stand straight, then reeled backwards to collide with the opposite wall, beneath the torch that lit the cellar.  Her hair bun came loose to spill russet hair over her shoulders, while her satin and lace dress ballooned outwards when she landed.  Elizabeth blinked and tried to stop the room from spinning, and realized with dim horror that drinking a drunkard’s blood had rendered her just as intoxicated. 

    Vanessa herself felt like she was on the verge of passing out—Elizabeth had taken a good amount of blood from her—and took a swig of the wine, then tried to make sense out of what was going on.  She was drunk, that she knew, but now Elizabeth Bathory was just as drunk as she was.  That one part of her mind insulated from the liquor hazily informed her that drinking her blood had been as much of a mistake on Elizabeth’s part as being drunk was on Vanessa’s.  Now both women were too intoxicated to do much more than stare blearily at each other.  Vanessa started laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation: a vampire hunter and a vampire, both on the floor because they had drunk too much wine.  Elizabeth saw the humor in the situation and began laughing too.

   “Vanessa van Helsing,” Elizabeth spoke, trying not to slur, “you came to kill me, yes?”  She spoke in German, figuring tipsily and correctly that Vanessa spoke that language better than Czech.

   “I certainly did,” Vanessa answered in the same language.  “Came to put your reign of terrir…terfor…ter-ror to an end.”  She belched and giggled.

   “Well, we are certainly too drunk to do much of that now,” Elizabeth giggled back.  “I think we should just forget our differences for tonight and have some more of that delightful wine!”  She slowly got to her feet, losing one slipper in the process somehow, and staggered towards the back of the room, grabbing a random bottle along the way.  Besides, she thought with a boozy grin, I can always kill her later.

    “I think you’re right, bloodsucker.”  Vanessa got to her feet, completely forgot about her backpack, and stumbled after her.  Besides, she thought foggily, I can always kill her later.

    The two women could barely stay upright on their own, so they put their arms around each other and made their way to the back, where a door stood open and a roughly-hewned passage led into the darkness, lit by a few dim torches.  “Where’s this go?” Vanessa asked.

   “It’s a secret passage to my castle,” Elizabeth explained, and put a finger to her lips.  “Shhh!” They both dissolved into laughter. 

    They began singing a ribald song in German as they made their way down the long passage, falling down four times on the way, and each time helping the other up as they snickered about it.  Finally they came to another door, which Elizabeth somehow managed to get open, and half-fell into an ornate crypt—except it was less of a crypt than a very nice bedroom.  It was well-lit by candles, and they fell onto the bed, tittering like teenagers.  Vanessa looked around: for an undead former countess, Elizabeth did rather well for herself, the walls lined with tapestries and ornate paintings; her bed was a massive four-poster bed that looked like it could hold an infantry square, the sheets silk and soft beneath them.

   Elizabeth fumbled with the cork and finally used her fangs to pull it out, something Vanessa found uproariously hilarious.  She spit the cork across the room, snorted in laughter herself, then took a deep drink.  As a vampire, the wine actually wouldn’t do much, but Elizabeth was past the stage of realizing what she was doing.  She passed the bottle to Vanessa, who took a big drink herself before passing it back.

    “I have to admitsh…admit,” Elizabeth slurred, “I lured you to that cellar, Vanessa…can I call you Vanessa?” The huntress nodded.  “I was gonna kill you there after you passed out, but…” She grinned, her fangs still extended.  “You’re too much fun!”

   Vanessa laughed.  “I was coming to kill you too!”  Elizabeth’s eyes widened in mock shock.  “Yeah, I was gonna sneak in her tomorrow afternoon, and stake your ass, but…well…then I got shitfaced and here we are.”

    “Oh, did you now?” Elizabeth snickered.  “This is utterly delightful, you know? A dance of death with a dash of grape!”  She raised the wine and drank half of it, then passed it back to Vanessa, who finished it off.  “Why do you want to kill me, dear Vanessa?”

    Vanessa’s expression was one of incredulity.  “Please, Elizabeth…you’re known as the Blood Countess.  You know, bathed in the blood of virgins to stay old…I mean, young! Young!” She corrected herself with a giggle.

    Elizabeth waved it off.  “Oh, please…that was over a century ago, and they…they weren’t virgins.”  She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and let out a peal of laughter.  “I don’t do that sort of thing anymore, Vanessa! Why, the last person I killed was a decade ago, at least, and he was a hunter like you!”  She gave that some thought.  “I believe it was that long ago, anyway.  Whatever.  These days, I take some blood—I do like young ladies, mind—but I don’t kill.  It’s really more trouble than it’s worth, and as I learned when I was still living, dead people are missed…even coarse peasant girls.”

    “But you’re still a vampire, and I kill vampires.”  Vanessa said it with the conviction of a drunk.

    “But why, Vanessa?” Elizabeth wanted to know.  She grabbed the Bordeaux from Vanessa and took another drink.  “You know, most vampires are nice people.”

    “Ha! Bullshit!” Vanessa snorted.  “The ones I’ve met aren’t.  Just a buncha undead freaks who kill.”  She pointed at her eyepatch.  “One of your kind did this to me, you know.”

    “Were you trying to kill him?”

    “No…I was training to be a nun, then.  He attacked our convent.  He killed a bunch before he tried to kill me.  I set his ass on fire, but not before he clawed my eye out.”  Vanessa grabbed the wine and tipped it back, then tossed it against the wall, smashing it.  “It hurt a lot, all right? I started drinkin' to make it stop hurtin'.  Then I just liked to drink.  Still do,” she added, as if that wasn’t rather obvious.  “After that, I decided to kill ‘em all.  Even gave up bein’ a nun.”

   “We’re not all like that,” Elizabeth said quietly.  “I admit, I…I once was like that, but as one grows older…even as the undead…one gains wisdom.”

    They were silent for a moment, possibly because the booze was gone.  “Why just girls?” Vanessa finally asked.  Elizabeth looked confused.  “Why do you just drink blood from young girls?”

   “Oh, not just young girls,” Elizabeth explained with a toothy smile.  “Young pretty girls.  I don’t want some wart-faced peasant! No, I find the most delectable young woman I can, just as long as they’ve had a few years of puberty and they’re not older than thirty or so.  I prefer some natural color hair at the altar of Venus, not gray and not bald!”  She slapped her knee with mirth. 

    “And then you drink their blood.”  Vanessa almost added and kill them, but Elizabeth had said she didn’t kill anymore, so that didn’t really make sense—at least in her inebriated brain.

    “Certainly, but I don’t just drink their blood…I make love to them first.”  Elizabeth’s smile grew wider as Vanessa’s jaw dropped.  “It’s such a thrill, really…moreso than the blood, I daresay.   Watching them start to slowly give in to desires they didn’t know they had…then they can’t resist.  We both have such fun, and it makes the blood easier to gain.  And they don’t remember afterwards, or they’re too embarrassed to say.”

    “Damned vampire magic,” Vanessa mumbled.

    “Not at all,” Elizabeth insisted.  “Seduction doesn’t require magic…as I’m sure you know, dear Vanessa.”

    Vanessa sighed, looking at her boots, as she slid into the maudlin stage of drunkenness.  “I really don’t.  I’m still a virgin.”

    Elizabeth was genuinely shocked.  “Surely not!  You are beautiful, Vanessa—even the eyepatch doesn’t detract from your beauty; it gives it an, ah, dangerous! Yes, dangerous look.”  Even if she hadn’t been intoxicated, Elizabeth would have thought that.  “You’re very drunk, Vanessa.  You have had many men at your feet.”  Then she paused for a second.  “Or women…I suppose I am hardly alone in that particular predilection.  I do like men too—I was married, once—but these days, men are such…so dirty,” she concluded.  “Women are delicate and clean.”

    “Not one,” Vanessa said sadly.  “No man or woman.”

    “I don’t understand,” Elizabeth replied.

    “It’s my work.  Women aren’t supposed to do this…huntress—hunter thing.  I should have some man and some kids by now, but I’m…I’m doin’ this.  So yeah, no men.  I’d like to, someday…I want kids, but…just the right man…” Vanessa sighed again.  “I suppose there is no one for me.”

   Elizabeth watched her with deep sadness, then suddenly reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into a kiss.  Vanessa wasn’t so drunk that she didn’t pry herself off.  “What in God’s name!”

   “I am not doing this for blood,” Elizabeth said firmly.  “I am doing this…because you need this.”

   “I don’t want this—” Elizabeth kissed her again, and this time her tongue found its way past Vanessa’s lips, at the same time the vampire’s hand found its way to her crotch.  There was plenty of cloth in the way, but Vanessa felt the heat building there all the same.  Elizabeth licked her teeth and tongue, then pulled back from the kiss, leaving a faint trail of saliva.  Vanessa was stunned for a moment, then said “Well…perhaps a little…”

   Elizabeth kissed her again, and this time gently pushed her back on the bed.  Her fingers found the lacings of Vanessa’s corset, undoing it quickly and rapidly.  Vanessa fumbled with them as well, the garment now too restrictive, her breasts feeling too full.  Between them, they got the corset off, then her ruffled shirt came off next, leaving the huntress exposed from the waist up.  Elizabeth’s tongue circled Vanessa’s left nipple, and Vanessa’s breath caught in her throat.  The heat between her legs flared and she knew she was lost: she was going to let this vampire have her way with her.  Magic, desire, liquor, Vanessa didn’t care anymore. 

   Elizabeth left off Vanessa’s nipples and went back to kissing her lips.  “Let me show you, Vanessa van Helsing,” she whispered.  “Let me show you pleasure beyond the pain of your existence.”  She stood and quickly disrobed, her old clothing falling to the floor to quickly leave her naked.  Her skin was pale, but her nipples were a dark pink, and she let her red hair down over her shoulders.  Vanessa was too bemused to do anything but stare. 

   Elizabeth returned to Vanessa’s body, kissing her way from lips to navel, even as her hands pulled down Vanessa’s pants and undergarments, leaving her as nude as the vampire.  “Mmm,” she commented.  “As fire-kissed as myself.”  That struck Vanessa as humorous, and the huntress laughed.  “Oh, you think this is funny?” Elizabeth’s fingers slid through Vanessa’s folds, already damp with need, and the laughter stopped.  She bent down and smiled, showing her fangs.  “Now let us see…oh, there it is, what Hippocrates called the little pillar.” 

    “My what—” Elizabeth licked it, and Vanessa’s head fell back onto the pillows. The vampire's tongue slid over it, played with it, circled it.  “Oh, God…”

    “Your clitoris, dear,” the vampire smirked.  “Ah, the benefits of a classical education.”  She kissed her mound, then lay down next to Vanessa, trailing her fingers idly over the muscled stomach.  “Haven’t you ever done this to yourself?”

    “Uhmm…yes…” Vanessa gasped.  “A few times…but it’s…wrong…”

    “Does it feel wrong?” Elizabeth slipped two fingers inside, and Vanessa’s back arched involuntarily.  “Does it?”

     “N-No…”

     “I thought not.” Elizabeth moved her fingers, feeling Vanessa’s response inside and out.  The huntress was hers now, just like any of the noble daughters or peasant girls that she seduced, but for once Elizabeth didn’t want to drink her blood—and not just because it could result in alcohol poisoning.  Despite her own drunkeness, she felt tender towards Vanessa, a woman who had never known the touch of another human being.  Elizabeth watched the other woman, as she twisted and groaned her way towards orgasm.  As for Vanessa, she felt like she was going to explode, the pressure inside her building to something she could not describe.  She had never felt like this before, not ever, and never wanted anything so badly as her release. 

   Elizabeth leaned down and dragged her tongue over a nipple, and Vanessa screamed.  Her entire body from shoulders to feet came off the bed, her legs coming together around the vampire’s hand—who winced, because Vanessa was stronger than she looked.  Her hands bunched in the covers, and she stopped breathing for a moment, then slowly subsided back to the bed.  Elizabeth withdrew her now aching fingers and held them up to Vanessa’s glazed eyes; they were slick with her own moisture.  “You really did need that,” Elizabeth smiled, and sucked on her fingers.  “Are you all right?”

   Vanessa nodded, her breath ragged.  “More…more than all right.”

   “I am glad,” Elizabeth said, and surprised herself by realizing she was telling the truth.

   “May I…try?” Vanessa asked, her face red with more than just desire.

   “I thought you would never ask.”  Elizabeth kissed her again, and this time it was Vanessa’s tongue that pressed between cool lips, brushing over vampire fangs.  Vanessa was a quick learner, and soon Elizabeth was the one on the bottom as the strong huntress pushed her over, devouring her with her lips.  Elizabeth was always the dominant one in her seduction of her prey, but this was something different, something she had not felt since her living days and making love to her husband.  She rather liked it.

     Their bodies moved slowly, and Vanessa’s fingers soon brushed over Elizabeth’s fan of red curls to find the vampire’s own sex.  She had not known that the undead could get wet, but Elizabeth was.  With fingers and whispered words, Elizabeth guided Vanessa to the spots she liked, and moaned with the huntress found them.  Elizabeth’s trembling fingers found Vanessa’s folds again, and they mutually pleasured each other, moaning through their kisses.  Elizabeth was quiet in her orgasm, shaking and pressing her fingers into Vanessa’s scarred flesh to leave bruises, while Vanessa screamed again when she came.  Elizabeth couldn’t help but kiss her neck as Vanessa thrashed her way to her second orgasm, letting her fangs graze the skin but not penetrate them, even if her body screamed for more blood. 

   When it was over and they had both subsided, Vanessa smoothed Elizabeth’s hair and smiled, her eyes shining with tears.  She never said thank you, but Elizabeth understood.  The candles flickered and danced over their sweat-slick skin, and exhaustion finally claimed both of them.  Holding each other, vampire and vampire hunter slept.

     Vanessa woke first, unsure if it was morning or afternoon, because no light penetrated the crypt.  She immediately gave a start, as she realized two things in quick succession: she was naked, and she was not alone.  She stared down at the nude form of Elizabeth Bathory.  The vampire didn’t breathe, of course, but she was asleep, her pale body curled up like a kitten.  “Oh my God,” Vanessa whispered: she hadn’t been blackout drunk the night before, and she remembered what had happened.  Unfortunately, thinking hurt, because now she also had a horrific hangover.    She slid backwards in the bed and sat up, holding her skull, which felt like it was going to fly apart.

    Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered and came open.  “Mmpf?” she mumbled, then saw the lean, naked Vanessa van Helsing sitting next to her.  Then her hangover hit, as it felt like dwarf miners were suddenly loose behind her eyeballs.  Elizabeth had not been hung over in over a century, and while she couldn’t die, she could certainly wish she could.  “Good Lord,” she gasped through the pain.  “What…how much did I drink last night?”

    “You drank my blood and then a bit more,” Vanessa groaned.

    “Oh…yes.  And then we made love.”  Elizabeth sat up and leaned against the headboard, massaging her temples.  “How long have you been awake?”

    “Long enough to wish I wasn’t.”

    “Thank you for not staking me.”

    Vanessa gave her a pained smile.  “At the moment, I couldn’t stake a vampire child.  In fact, I wish someone would stake my head.”  She hung her head, her hair falling forward to hide her face.  “Oh, shit…oh, dear Lord...I had sex with you…I lost my virginity to a damned vampire…”

   “It’s not so bad,” Elizabeth said.  “At least you lost it to someone who knew what she was doing.”

   “Uggh.”     

   Elizabeth reached over and gently stroked her arm.  “I enjoyed it, Vanessa.  I usually do that so I can easily get blood, but last night…I enjoyed it for what it was.”

   “It was a mistake,” Vanessa mumbled.

   “If it was, my friend, then it was the best mistake either of us have ever made.”

   Vanessa sighed.  She felt horrible, and not just from the hangover, but Elizabeth had a point: she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t enjoy it.  “I hate to agree, but…I do.”  She sighed again.  “For today…truce.”

   Elizabeth nodded painfully.  “Yes, of course.  I am in no condition to fight or fuck.”

   Vanessa burst into laughter, then Elizabeth, then both women moaned—this time, in pain, holding their aching heads.   But they smiled at each other, at the insane situation they had found themselves in.

    Slowly, Vanessa got to her feet, gathered her clothes, and dressed.  Elizabeth made no move to cover her nudity, just watched.  “I have to leave.  I won’t forget what passed between us, and…I won’t hunt you, Elizabeth.  I can’t speak for the others, but I will not.  As long as you do not start killing your victims, I swear to God and all the saints that I will not hunt you.”

    “Thank you, Vanessa.  I in turn pledge that no harm will come to you in my domain.”  She stood, meeting Vanessa’s one eye.  “And should you ever wish to renew our ‘acquaintance’…I will be here.  Waiting.”

    They kissed, but it was a tender kiss this time, not a hungry or passionate one.  Vanessa smiled.  “I won’t ever forget, Lady Bathory.  I will not guarantee that I will ever seek you out for another…assignation...but I won't dismiss the possibility either.”

    “That is good enough.”  Elizabeth helped her tie her corset.  “I think both of us learned much last night.”

    “I learned never to mix drinks,” Vanessa grinned, then left back towards the tunnel that led out of the crypt, leaving Elizabeth painfully laughing. 

Chapter Text

Tooriu Kku strode down the corridor of the officers’ quarters.  The walls were still unpainted, still a light gray that showed the marks of the hasty construction of the quarters; they weren’t even the dull government gray that many AFFC bases used.  Though officers were given the choice of staying in quarters that weren’t quite finished on base or hotels offbase, Elfa Brownoak had been the exception: she had been ordered to stay in the newly finished quarters, along with Marion Rhialla.  Sheila and Max were staying at the plush Hyatt Regency, Tooriu knew, and he himself had a room there—but Calla was not putting all his officers into one place where another Liao saboteur, or a Clan strike team, could blow them up.  He had offered to stay with Elfa permanently, but she had politely refused: even though their affair was the worst kept secret in the Sentinels, she at least wanted the illusion of respectability, that a 45-year old woman was not having regular sex with a 20-year old man, especially one that she outranked.

    And speaking of that, Tooriu thought, he was going to get to have some of that regular sex tonight.  Any time he came over to her quarters, Tooriu knew, he and Elfa would have a pleasant dinner, watch a movie or two, then make love—sometimes gently, sometimes with animal intensity.  Sometimes they didn’t bother with the movie, though Elfa always insisted on dinner.  Then they would lay in bed for the rest of the night, talking quietly about whatever subject they felt like, sometimes making love again, and sometimes just cuddling until they fell asleep.  Tooriu would never admit it to his male friends--it didn't feel manly to him--but he loved to cuddle with Elfa, holding her as she fell asleep, feeling her soft skin against his.  

    He knocked on her door, unable to contain the grin on his face.  Tooriu wondered: would Elfa be dressed in something that barely hid her body? Would she be lounging in something silky, sliding the fabric to the tops of her thighs, teasing him? Once she had even answered the door stark naked.  Dinner came second that night.

    When she opened the door, Elfa was dressed in neither anything silky or sexy: just a T-shirt with the Sentinels logo on it, and blue jeans; she wasn’t even wearing shoes.  “Hi, Tooriu.  Come on in.  Make yourself at home.”  She turned around, her long golden hair swaying as she did so; Tooriu loved her hair, and didn’t mind a strand or two of gray.  She walked back into the quarters’ tiny kitchen, and Tooriu grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.  He noticed she had only a soda, then noticed something else.  Normally, Elfa would kiss him after he was at the door, a searing kiss that he would feel to his toes.  She didn’t this time. 

   “Elfa, you okay?” Tooriu asked.

   “Fine,” she replied with a smile, but that didn’t seem right either.  The smile didn’t reach those depthless blue eyes that had captivated Tooriu from the start.  “Sit down, Tooriu.  Dinner will be ready in a bit.  Making some steaks for us tonight.”  The apartment was filled with the smell of cooking meat, and Tooriu’s stomach rumbled.  He watched her, his heart pounding, as she added spices and salt, checking the ingredients in a handwritten recipe.  He watched her long, slender fingers and remembered how those fingers had left welts in his back.  Tooriu waited for her to talk, but she was silent.  Something was definitely wrong…but she didn’t seem mad at him. 

    Tooriu Kku was nothing if not a man of action.  He got up and walked up behind her as she worked on the potatoes, and put his big arms around her.  Elfa stiffened at first, caught offguard.  He kissed her neck.  “Tooriu, stop,” she warned him, even as he eased one shoulder of the T-shirt aside and kissed her there.  He returned to her neck and licked her, sending a shudder throughout her body.  His hands worked down to the waistband of her jeans, deftly unbuttoning them and sliding them down just enough to expose her pink underwear.  One hand went beneath those to explore the creamy skin of her rear, her cheeks firm and inviting.  “Tooriu…stop…” Her voice grew husky.  “Please…”

   Tooriu’s hands shifted from her bottom to the front, easing down her panties over her blond curls, his fingers finding the folds of her sex.  Elfa gasped when his fingers slid across her slit, then her fingers curled around the handle of the stove as he teased her nub, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles.  Her hips started to rock back and forth, pressing herself back against him and feeling his arousal.  “Tooriu,” she said weakly, her voice now a breathy whisper that he barely heard over the sizzle of the steaks.  “We…we can’t do this…not here, not…now…”

    “Dinner can wait a bit,” he whispered into her ear, licking the lobe and gently biting it.  She arched her back as he slipped a finger inside of her.  Elfa had been dry when he started, but now she was getting rather wet.  “Still want me to stop, girl?”  With any other woman, Tooriu would have stopped, but something was going on with Elfa, and this was the best way to relieve whatever was worrying her—at least in Tooriu’s somewhat lust-addled mind.

    “N-No…” He continued to stroke her, Tooriu’s fingers sliding in and out of her.  He could feel Elfa tightening around him, her inner walls clenching around his fingers.  He continued to kiss and lick her neck and ear. 

   Elfa couldn’t take it any longer.  The heat between her legs overwhelmed her, and despite everything, despite what she needed to tell him and was afraid to, her body screamed for Tooriu’s touch.  If he kept up what he was doing with his fingers, she would climax right at the stove.  “Tooriu,” she breathed.

   “Yes, Elfa?” Tooriu smirked.

   “You fucking asshole…” She turned around, pushing his fingers away, and kissed him, hard, her tongue slipping into his mouth.  “I want you.  God, I fucking want you.  Take me, you big bastard.”

   Tooriu wasn’t sure what prompted her calling him an asshole and a bastard—Elfa wasn’t one for dirty talk—but he figured that could wait until later.  He reached behind her, turned the stove’s eye to low, and then easily picked her up in his arms and carried her to Elfa’s small bedroom.

    He had barely laid her on the bed before her hands were moving, practically ripping off her jeans and underwear before flinging off her T-shirt.  Elfa hadn’t been wearing a bra.  Tooriu watched, loving the sight of her.  She might be 45, 26 years older than he was, but he didn’t care: a career of being a MechWarrior had kept her toned and fit.  Her breasts were large but showed no signs of sagging, the erect nipples a dark pink; Elfa’s stomach was flat and toned, and if her hips were a little wide and her bottom a little big, and her skin far from flawless but marked with the scars of her profession—Tooriu didn’t care.  He knew he had fallen in love with this woman; all the other, younger women he had slept with seemed to just fade away to shadows. 

   “Tooriu,” Elfa begged, holding her arms out.  He took off his own clothes, sliding off his fatigues and boxers, freeing his erection.  It was larger than most, thick and long, but Elfa didn’t have much trouble accomodating him.  Elfa sat up and wrapped her hand around his length, stroking him with a practiced hand.  She left off as he climbed onto the bed.  Tooriu leaned in and captured her eager lips even as his hands roamed her body.  He slid his way down to between her legs, and Elfa’s hips rose to meet his tongue.  He kissed her tenderly there, seeing how ready she was, glistening wet, her vulva engorged.  “Tooriu,” Elfa said breathlessly, “I don’t want your tongue.”

    “Okay,” he told her, and got into position.  They watched each other as Tooriu slid in slowly, careful not to hurt her, and Elfa leaned back into her pillows, grabbing his shoulders.   When he was completely inside, he stopped for a moment, just savoring the feeling of being inside of Elfa, being one with her.  Then he started thrusting into her, and Elfa tucked her legs behind him, her fingers raking down his broad back.  He leaned down and circled her nipples with his tongue, and Tooriu felt her start to tighten around him.  Her feet hammered against his rear, and he knew Elfa was very, very close.

   “Oh God, Tooriu!” Elfa screamed, and he felt her spasm around him as she came.  Her fingers dug into his back as her eyes closed to just white slivers.  He didn’t wait on her, just kept pushing into her harder and faster, even as she gasped and shouted for him not to stop.  Finally, it was his turn, and he tensed up as he emptied himself into her.  Her hands snaked up and brought him to her lips once more, before he finally pulled out of her and fell onto the bed next to her. 

   They lay there for a moment, trying to get their breath back and their heart rate back to normal.  Tooriu propped himself up on one hand, while his free hand traced the creamy skin of her breasts.  “Elfa,” he said, “I think I love you.”

   “You always say that after sex,” she smiled at him.  "Not that I'm complaining.  I'm glad I didn't stop you."

   “Nah, no shit.  I mean it.”  He gently brought her face over to his.  “I love you.  I know you’re old enough to be my mother—”

   “Oh, thanks,” Elfa groused.

   “—but I really do love you.  And I don’t care what anyone says about us.  I’m not gonna keep this a secret anymore, Elfa.”

   “Not like it is anyway.”  She kissed him.  “Do you mean that, Tooriu? That you love me?”  Elfa brushed her hand down her body.  “Not just love this, but…all of me?”

   “Yep,” Tooriu grinned.  “I love you, girl.”

   “It’s a good thing, then,” Elfa replied with a sigh.  “Because I’m pregnant.”

   Tooriu’s hand, which had been making its way back down to a breast, stopped.  “Huh?”  She nodded.  “What? Huh? Is…is this a joke?”

    “Afraid not,” Elfa told him, and she wasn’t smiling.  “I missed two periods, so I took a test just to get that out of the way when the doctor asked.  The test is in the bathroom, if you want to go look.  We live in the damn 31^st Century, and I still had to pee on it…but I’m pregnant.  Bun in the oven.  With child.”

    “But…you told me you couldn’t get pregnant,” Tooriu argued.  “You said that we didn’t need to use birth control, because you’re sterile!”

    Elfa laughed humorlessly.  “That’s what I thought, Tooriu, but as it turns out—nope.  I wasn’t sterile at all.  My ex-husband must have been.  He left me because I couldn't get pregnant, and it was him all along!" She let out a derisive snort.  "And, as it turns out, having regular unprotected sex with someone young enough to be my son ends up with Elfa getting preggers.”  She lay on her back and wiped her eyes.  “And before you ask, Tooriu, no—I’m not aborting it.  It’s not this child’s fault we’re both fucking idiots…emphasis on fucking.”

    “You’re sure?” Tooriu was still about a step behind.

    “Yes.  I went to the doctor today anyway, after the test came up positive.  Confirmed.  There is a little boy or girl growing inside me right now.  Just a little thing—they could barely tell, so I’m probably only a few weeks along.”

    Tooriu reached out and caressed her stomach.  Naturally there was no bump there; there wouldn’t be any for a long while.  He shook his head in wonder.  Under that flat stomach, that beautiful navel that he liked to lick, was a new life, a fusion of Tooriu Kku and Elfa Brownoak.  “Our child,” he whispered.  Tooriu’s voice was filled with awe.

    Elfa smiled genuinely for the first time since she told him, at the note of wonder in his voice.  “Yes,” she replied, tears gathering in her eyes, “our child.”  She turned back to him, the tears welling up and falling down her face.  “I’m scared, Tooriu.  I’m 45.  That’s too old to be having kids.  The doctor was actually pretty surprised I got pregnant, even with all the wonderful sex we’ve been having—most women don’t get pregnant at 45.  But…here we are.”  She sniffled.  “Tooriu, this wasn’t supposed to happen!  I’m damn near middle-aged…when this kid is graduating from the Nagelring, I'll be in my sixties! I don’t know what to do, but I…I…” 

    “Shhh.”  Tooriu stroked her hair.  “Elfa, we’ll figure it out.  And I’m not going anywhere.”  She looked up at him, surprise in her wet eyes.  “What, you think I was going to abandon you? Just walk out and leave?”

    “I mean…you’re young, Tooriu—some guys like to play the field--”

    That angered him.  “So what! I love you, Elfa!”  Tooriu grabbed her and held her.  “I love you.  I love this kid.”  He put his hand on her stomach again.  “And I don’t know what kind of father I’ll be, but I’ll do my best.  But I’m not leaving you.  Not ever.  They’ll have to kill me first.”

    “Please don’t say that,” Elfa admonished him, but she was smiling.  “Thank you, Tooriu.  I don’t know how we’ll do this, but we will.” She sighed, her tears now ones of joy.  “Can’t believe I’m finally going to be a mom.  I always wanted kids—” Elfa was interrupted by the smoke alarm.  “Oh shit!” she shouted.  “The stove!”  She leapt out of bed.  He followed her naked into the kitchen, and coughed as he reached up and turned off the smoke alarm.  “Thank God they haven’t installed the firefighting system yet,” Elfa mused, then they looked down at the steak.  It looked like it had been cooked by a flamer.  “Shit,” she repeated.  “First I get pregnant and then I burn dinner.”

    “I’ll just order a pizza.” Tooriu leered at her.  “Or we can just eat each other.”

    Elfa rolled her eyes.  “Does your dick ever go down, Tooriu?”

    “I can’t make you more pregnant.”

    She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.  “Good Lord, Tooriu, this poor child is going to have you as a father.  You’ll be teaching him how to wolf whistle when he’s five.  You'll probably buy him porn when he needs to get the Talk.”

    “Bold of you to think I won’t be teaching him that when he’s three.  And how do you think my dad gave me the Talk?  He sat me down in front of the holo and showed me Back Door Black Widow."

    "Oh, dear God."  Elfa laughed and slapped his rear.  “Order the pizza, daddy.”

Chapter Text

Marrow Amin closed his eyes and let the steaming water of the shower cascade over his body.  Vacuo was, of course, far hotter than Atlas had been, and he perspired terribly out in the unforgiving desert.  Fighting Grimm didn’t help; even smaller ones that were little threats to trained Huntsmen like himself could get quite a sweat going.  Still, as one of the surviving members of Atlas’ elite Ace Ops, Marrow was in high demand these days, defending the sprawling Atlesian refugee camps until more permanent homes could be found.  Even less threatening Grimm like a Creep or a Beowulf could easily kill a normal person that strayed outside the defense zone. 

   Of course, Marrow thought as he lathered himself up, he was less often with what was left of Ace Ops these days as he was with the newly formed Team TIGR—Tiffany Crimson, Iris Azrael, Gordon Rooi, and Rainee Cordovin.  Rainee was its actual leader, so in theory it could be Team RGIT, but that sounded too much like “Regret.”  Tiger sounds badass anyway, said Tiffany, who was a bit biased as she was a feline Faunus herself, but Marrow admitted that it did sound more badass, at that. 

   He heard the door to the apartment open, but didn’t stop showering, because he knew who it was: Rainee Cordovin herself.  She had moved in a few weeks before, and the two were now an “official” couple; it was no secret they had a relationship.  No one begrudged the former Ace Ops operative and the former Mantle Constabulary policewoman their happiness: in the shadow of Salem, happiness had to be found wherever it was offered.

    Marrow heard her come into the bathroom, and the curtain was pulled open.  He looked over and his tail—Marrow’s obvious Faunus lineage—began to wag.  Rainee was stark naked.  In combat, she wore an experimental skintight armor suit designed by the brilliant Pietro Polendina, but Rainee didn’t wear underwear beneath it.  It did make undressing her much easier.  She stepped into the shower with him.  “Hi,” she greeted Marrow, and stuck herself under the shower head, wetting down her long, rich brown hair.  “Gods, I stink.  I need to get all this sweat off of me.”

   “Any problems?”

   “Nope.  Headmaster Theodore debriefed Ruby and me, and that was it.  You might as well have hung around.”  Marrow had left early once the Grimm were all taken care of; Theodore, the head of Vacuo Academy and their de facto commanding officer, only needed to talk to Rainee and Ruby Rose of Team RWBY, the team leaders. 

   “That’s good,” Marrow said absently.  He had barely heard her, because Rainee had a rather nice behind, and it was right in front of him.  His tail wagged faster, but it was his penis that suddenly stirred to life. 

   “By the way, my grandmother is coming by later.  She’s not staying for dinner; just has to pick up some paperwork.” 

    “Great,” Marrow replied, his eyes still riveted to her rear. 

    Rainee turned around in the shower and gave him an impish smile.  “Marrow Amin, are you staring at my ass?”

    Marrow smiled back.  “Well, no.  Now I’m staring at your boobs.”  Rainee did have rather impressive breasts; while they weren’t gargantuan like Yang Xiao Long’s, they were still bigger than most.  Marrow’s gaze flicked down.  “And now I’m staring at your crotch.  Did you just shave down there?”

   Rainee put her hands on either side of the trimmed stripe of brown curls.  “Glad you noticed.  I also want to wear a swimsuit next time we’re at the pool.”  She stepped closer.  Marrow was taller by about four inches, so Rainee had to tilt her head back to look at him.  “A nice…revealing swimsuit.  For my man.”  She shrugged.  “Not that my combat outfit isn’t revealing as hell.  If it wasn’t for the armor plates, everyone would know when I’m cold or if I’m an innie or an outie.” 

   Marrow leaned down and kissed her nose.  “Well, as good as your boobs and your lady parts are, I like your beautiful face even more.”  He brushed back the wet strands of hair from her face.  “Your big, bloodshot green eyes—”

   “Hey!” 

   “—cute little nose—” he kissed it again “—and these eminently plush lips.”  He kissed her there next.

   “Plush? Where do you get this shit—Ninjas of Love?” Rainee tittered.  “Oh, Marrow, you’re just saying these things because you’re hard as a rock and you want to bang me in the shower.”

   Marrow grinned at her.  “Is it working?”

   Rainee pressed herself against him, his erection sliding up her stomach.  “Yes.  Yes, it is working.”  She put her arms around him.  “And the best part is that the team house is empty.  Tiffany headed to a party with Neptune, and Gordo and Iris are out on patrol with Velvet and Yatsu.  We’re all alone, lover.”  She kissed him, teasing his lips with her tongue.  “We can be as loud as we want…and you know how loud I like to get.”

    “Do I ever.”  The first few times Marrow and Rainee had slept together, he had been shocked by her tendency to scream words that would make a Mistrali sailor blush.  Though she managed to keep it to fervent whispers most of the time for fear the others would hear, it no longer shocked Marrow—in fact, he rather liked it.  If Rainee was faking her orgasms, she was a very good actress. 

    Rainee’s lips parted underneath his, and he grabbed her hips to keep her close under the water’s spray.  He could feel her heartbeat through their skin, and knew her heart was hammering as hard as his was.  Her hands roamed down his lower back to grab the base of his tail and stroke the fur; Marrow’s tail wasn’t an erogenous zone for him, but there was something about it that she found very sexy.  She let go of his tail as it wagged out of his hands and squeezed his firm rear.  “Marrow,” she whispered huskily.

   “Yes, Rainee?”

   “Fuck me.” Her voice was low and smoky.

   “My pleasure.”  Marrow broke away from her, quickly spun her around—somehow neither slipped in the slick shower—and pinned her wrists behind her with one hand.  Rainee shrieked in surprise.  He bent over her, kissing her neck as his free hand found her hanging breasts, teasing the nipples to peaks.  Rainee pressed herself back against him.  His erection slid over her rear, so he let go of her breasts to guide himself to her entrance, then slipped inside of her.  She let out a breathy moan as he filled her, and spread her legs, bracing them against either side of the shower stall. 

   Marrow knew there was a time for the slow burn and a time for being a little rough.  This was one of the latter times.  He pistoned in and out of her tight, wet heat.  She couldn’t touch him with her hands pinned, so all Rainee could do was push her hips back to meet his thrusts, filling the shower with the sound of skin slapping against skin.  Her legs started shaking: there was something about being completely at Marrow’s mercy that was very arousing.  “Oh, Marrow, yeah, fuck me!” she screamed, her voice reverberating off the shower stall.  She could feel her breasts swaying back and forth, water running down over her back, over her skin to drip off her nipples, and it added yet another erotic dimension to her pleasure: she couldn't touch them.

   Marrow could feel her walls clenching around him as he drove relentlessly into her.  Rainee’s exclamations were now simply screams of pleasure.  His own strokes became shorter and more erratic.  Marrow wanted to finish Rainee off first, but the sight of her under the shower, her hair soaked and fanned across her back, bent over and only able to thrust back against him, was too much.  He let go of her wrists, held her by her hips, and let out a shout of his own as he came inside her.  He didn’t move, pulsing inside of her as she whined at the sudden loss of friction.  Marrow moved his fingers between her legs, found the hood over her pearl, and stroked it.  Rainee moaned loudly, put her fingers next to his, and between them she finally went over the edge, shaking so hard that Marrow grabbed her around the waist, afraid she was going to fall.  “Are you okay?” he asked over the shower.

   “Y-Yeah…” Rainee struggled to say.  “Give me…minute…” Marrow pulled out of her as she shakily straightened up and turned around.  She reached up and kissed him.  “Gods, Marrow, you know how to make a girl feel good.”  He grinned at that, happy Rainee was as satisfied as he was. 

   He shut off the shower, and they got out.  Rainee grabbed some towels and they dried off.  Rainee slapped his rear, and Marrow retaliated by snapping his towel at hers.  “Oh, is that how it is?” Rainee smirked.  He saw the light of battle in her eyes, and raised his hands in surrender.  “Okay, truce,” she agreed.  “Turn around, sexy butt.  Let me dry your tail.”

   Marrow did as he was asked; drying his tail was always a bit tough, so he appreciated Rainee doing it.  She made sure it was dry, and Marrow involuntarily wagged it, getting the last of the water droplets off.  Rainee bent down and kissed where the tail met his body. 

   Once they were dry, they left the little bathroom and went into the bedroom.  Even for Huntsmen and Huntresses, the apartments at Vacuo Academy were cramped, but for Marrow and Rainee, it was just cozy.  They lay down on the bed, relaxing into the cool sheets after the heat of the Vacuoan desert.  “Long day,” Rainee sighed.

    “Yeah,” Marrow agreed.  “We’ve had a lot of those lately.”

    “The refugees are scared, the Vacuoans are resentful, and we just got another batch from Vale.  Not surprising the Grimm are active.”  She rested her head on the pillow next to his, and put an arm over his chest.  “I don’t want to talk about work, Marrow.  I just want to be with you.”

   “Suits me.”  Marrow gently stroked her arm. 

   They dozed for a little bit, not quite falling asleep but not fully awake either.  Rainee lazily ran her fingers over Marrow’s chest: he had a slim build that she liked.  Her pale skin contrasted with his dark skin, she was human and he was a Faunus…but such things didn’t concern either of them.  I love this man, Rainee thought with a smile.  And I think he loves me too.  And if not… she sighed.  We’re probably not going to live that much longer anyway, so we might as well be happy.  She lightly kissed his chest.  But if we do win this war, Marrow…I would love to be yours forever.  I would love to have your children.  They would be Faunus, probably…but who cares?

    She put her head on his chest and looked the length of his body.  Marrow didn’t have a lot of chest or pubic hair, but Rainee thought he had very nice legs for a man.  His penis was flaccid, resting against his testicles.  Her smile widened.  “I think I want a little more,” she said aloud. 

   “Huh?” Marrow stirred from his half-sleep.

   Rainee slid down his body and rested her arms on his thigh.  With a playful glint in her eye, she leaned forward and gave the head of his member a lick.  It twitched, and Riana snickered.  She glanced up and saw Marrow watching her in surprise.  Rainee winked at him, then she took his shaft in her hand, got herself in a little better position, and swirled her tongue over him, peeling his foreskin back to get better access, kissing the tip, licking below the slit.  Naturally, Marrow started getting very erect, and he let out a low groan that Rainee liked.  She loved to make him feel good, and regretted not being able to see him in the shower when he had been pounding into her…but she could see him now.

    Rainee slid more of Marrow into her mouth, licking down the shaft, lightly running his teeth over the top of the head, adding a little danger to the desire.  She heard his tail thumping against the bed, which was always how she could tell if Marrow was getting turned on.  She felt moisture on her tongue, the salty taste of precome. 

    She pulled Marrow out of her mouth.  “Not yet,” she told him with a grin, then threw her leg over him, straddling him.  Rainee leaned back, running her fingers over her sex.  She was already wet, but this was for Marrow’s benefit.  “Ready?” she grinned at him.

   “What do you think?”  Marrow put his hands behind his head.

   “Oh, you’re going make me do all the work?” She gave a sigh filled with mock annoyance.  “Fine, whatever.”  She used a hand to get him in the right spot, then sank down on him.  “Mmm,” she murmured with a smile.  Marrow filled her so well.  Their eyes locked, and Rainee began to ride him, rolling her hips forward and back.  His hands grabbed her waist, holding her as he began to thrust into her, urging her to go faster. 

    Rainee leaned backwards, her long hair brushing his legs as she held on to his thighs for purchase.  Her breasts felt heavy, and she looked down to see her nipples were hard and needed to be touched—so she leaned forward, moved her hands to his shoulders, and pushed her breasts towards him.  “Lick my nipples, Marrow,” she demanded breathlessly.  Obediently, Marrow did so, licking the pink peaks, then sucking on them as he cupped her bottom.  Rainee watched him as she panted; the twin sensations of him inside of her and Marrow’s tongue on her nipples was driving her insane.  Then her half-lidded eyes flew open in surprise: one of Marrow’s fingers was teasing her rear.  The intruder circled the tight hole, darting near it and making her whimper with need, and then she gasped as Marrow pushed his finger past the ring of muscle and inside.

   Rainee’s eyes rolled back and shut: her entire body felt like she was going to explode.  Marrow was everywhere: inside her with his manhood and a finger, his tongue still licking at her nipples.  Rainee’s mind was overloaded with sensations, and she knew she was going to come.  “Oh gods!” she shouted, and didn’t care if all of Remnant heard her.  “Marrow, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” 

   Marrow pulled his finger out of her, because he needed all of his digits just to hold her in place: Rainee was bouncing up and down so hard that he was afraid she might genuinely injure him.  He and Rainee had made love many times, but he had never seen her like this: she was shaking like she was about to have a seizure, her head was thrown back, her mouth wide open.  It was beautiful, but it was also a little shocking: he was doing this to her.  Her body writhed in pleasure, and if Rainee was about to reach her peak, he wasn’t too far behind.  “Oh, gods, Marrow!” she screamed.  “Gonna come! I’m gonna come!” He leaned back to watch her breasts bounce as she balanced herself on his chest.  “I’m…oh gods, I’m…” Then her fingers dug into his chest, her legs pressed into his thighs, and Rainee stopped, spasming.  “Marrow," she breathed, “oh gods, Marrow…”

    “Rainee,” he answered, because he was buried in her, and knew he wasn’t far behind her.  Rainee blinked and understood.  She leaned down to kiss him.  “Come for me, baby,” she whispered in his ear, as she moved more slowly this time, which was pure delicious torture for him.  “Come for me, Marrow.  Fill me up.”  Marrow gripped her thighs, gave one last push, then relaxed as he shot his seed into her.  “There you go,” Rainee said happily.  “Yeah…get it all out, Marrow…good boy.”  From anyone else, those words would have made Marrow punch them; from Rainee, it was an endearment.

    Rainee pulled him out, then fell onto the bed next to Marrow.  “Holy shit,” he puffed.  “You’re going to kill me, Rainee.”

   “Not if you kill me first.”  Rainee saw that her feet were still shaking.  “Oh gods, I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.  I guess I got a little carried away…I’m sorry.”

   Marrow leaned over to kiss her.  “Don’t apologize for that,” he told her.  “You’re perfect, Rainee.”  They kissed a few more times, saying with lips what words were inadequate for.

  Despite her exhaustion, Rainee sat up and rested her head on her knees.  “You know what?”

  “It better not be ‘can you go again,’” Marrow said tiredly.

  “Marrow, I don’t think I can go again,” Rainee assured him.  “No, no…I’m just kinda hungry.”

  “Worked up an appetite?” He sat up and stroked her back beneath the fall of brown hair.  “Me too.  I think some of your mom’s chocolate cake is in the refrigerator.”  Both Rainee’s parents had survived the fall of Atlas, and her status as a Huntress had gotten them the top floor of their apartment.  It was more than most Atlesian refugees had. 

   “Perfect.”  Rainee swung her legs off the bed and stood, staring down at herself and him.  Her groin was slick with sweat, her own moisture, and his semen.  “We are so messy, Marrow.  And we probably looked like idiots, panting and screaming and so on.”  She was already flushed with their lovemaking, but her blush deepened. 

   Marrow laughed and got to his feet as well; Rainee was always ashamed of being loud and the things she said during sex.  “Who cares? The only person that sees you is me, and there’s no one here to hear you.”

   Rainee chuckled.  “As loud as I was, the neighbors probably heard me.”

   “I don’t care.”  He embraced her and kissed her forehead.  “I don’t care if Salem heard you.”

   She burst out laughing.  “Come on, let’s go eat cake.”

   “Naked?”

   “I don’t care.” Rainee turned and led him up the stairs.  The kitchen was just off the stairs that led down to their basement apartment; it was far cooler downstairs than upstairs.  Rainee opened the refrigerator and a cold blast of air blew over both of them; Marrow saw her nipples tighten up again.  “Oh, there it is.”  She pulled the cake, inside its protective cover, out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.  “Mmm, mmm!” Rainee rubbed her hands together.  “My mom makes the best cakes!  There’s plenty left for both of us.”

   Marrow looked around.  “Where’s the forks at?”

   “They’re in the drawer right next to you.”

   “Thanks,” Marrow replied, then realized—at the same time as Rainee—that it wasn’t her voice.  Both whirled around as they suddenly figured out that they also weren’t alone. 

   Sitting at the dinner table, a wide smile on her lined face, was Caroline Cordovin—General Caroline Cordovin.  She also happened to be Rainee’s grandmother.  Caroline was extremely short, almost to the point that people believed she was a dwarf, her hair completely gray from a combination of age and stress.  After James Ironwood and most of Atlas’ senior command structure had died in the Fall of Atlas, it had fallen to her to take command of what was left.  Caroline had been exiled to Argus in the first place for being a pain in everyone’s rear, but since coming to Vacuo, she had surprisingly rose to the occasion.  She still looked, Marrow thought, like a stomped frog, though the broad smile on her face was a pleasant change from her usual frown—except, of course, she was smiling at him.  Marrow almost instinctively came to attention, but remembered that he was not supposed to salute or acknowledge a superior officer when uncovered…and Marrow Amin couldn’t be more uncovered than he was now. 

    Rainee let out something between a squeak and a scream.  “Grandma!”  Her hands came up to cover her breasts and crotch, as Marrow covered himself as well—for all the good that did, since Caroline had already seen both of them very naked.

    Caroline waved her hand dismissively.  “Oh, please, children; don’t bother on my account.  I’m in my sixties—I’ve certainly seen it all before.”  Her voice didn’t have its usual sneering or angry tone, but one of vast amusement.  She motioned to the piece of cake on the plate in front of her.  “Really, it is very good cake, at that.”

    Marrow prayed for a Grimm attack, while Rainee backed against the wall, still fruitlessly covering herself.  “Grandma…how long have you been here?”

    “Oh, for about half an hour,” Caroline replied.  “I’m having dinner with the family tonight after all.  I was able to conclude my business with Theodore early.”

    Rainee winced.  “Did…did you hear us?”

    Caroline was clearly fighting back laughter.  “Oh yes, Rainee.  I’m glad to hear that Marrow Amin knows how to please my granddaughter.”  Marrow upped his wish from a Grimm attack to an all-out assault by Salem herself.  She waved them off.  “Go get dressed, you two.  I’ll not eat with a pair of naked young people.”

    Rainee and Marrow scurried down the stairs like a horde of Ursa were on their heels, with Caroline’s laughter chasing them.  They rapidly dressed—in casual clothes, rather than Marrow’s uniform, which was draped across a chair, or Rainee’s armor, which was discarded on the floor outside the bathroom—and sheepishly returned upstairs.  Rainee took a deep breath, bracing herself: Caroline Cordovin was often accused of not having a sense of humor, but she actually did--it just tended to be at the expense of others.  She entered the kitchen and saw that her grandmother had set the two remaining slices of cake on plates on the table for them.  “Grandma,” Rainee began, her cheeks burning, “I’m sorry I was so loud.”  She and Marrow sat at the table.

    “Oh, please,” Caroline scoffed, “you forget I was young once too!  It’s the music of love.”  She took a bite of cake.  “Don’t be shy, darling.  It’s something of a Cordovin tradition.  Your mother was quite the vocal lover when she was young, and…” Caroline’s cheeks colored pink “…and so was I, actually.”

    “Grandma!” Rainee exclaimed. 

    Caroline laughed.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of! You two are in love, and sometimes, that can be…well, kind of loud.”  Rainee put her head in her hands, while Marrow wisely kept quiet, though he felt his cheeks burning in embarassment.  It was interesting to know that apparently Rainee’s tendency to scream was genetic.  “Now enough,” Caroline continued.  “I don’t want to hear any further apologies for enjoying each other’s company.  This is natural, even if next time, perhaps, you two could use a little more soundproofing.”   She actually winked, which Marrow didn’t think was possible. 

   As Rainee wished the gods would return and obliterate Remnant, Caroline finished the cake, daintily dabbed her lips, and got up.  “Well, dears, I must be going.  I promised I would pick up Rainee’s parents.  I should be back in an hour or so.  Plenty of time for you to clean up….or do whatever.”  She looked at them both, and her amused look faded a bit.  “Ah, to be young again.  Oh well.”  She flipped them a wave and left. 

   Marrow put his hand on Rainee’s shoulder.  “You know, she’s got a point.  We shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

   “I want to die,” Rainee moaned. 

   Marrow massaged her shoulders.  “Nah.  Only the good die young.”  He kissed her neck.  “So what.  It’s not like the old gal is going to run around telling everyone that Rainee Cordovin likes to scream at Marrow Amin to fuck her harder.  And even if she did…who cares?”  He hugged her from behind, his tail wagging.  “I make you happy, and you make me happy.  I don’t mind if the whole damn world knows, from your grandma to Salem herself.”

    “I guess.”  Rainee sighed.  “Well…no point in crying about it.  What’s done is done, after all.”  She picked at the cake, then ate a piece.  “Whoa.  This really is good cake.”

   Marrow sat down next to her.  “You know…there is a way to get you to be quieter.”

   She glowered at him.  “This better not involve something being shoved in my mouth.”

   Marrow shrugged; he hadn’t actually been thinking about that, though it wasn’t a bad idea, come to think of it.  “I was going to say…practice.”

   Rainee sighed, then smiled.  “You have a point there.”  She pointed at the cake.  “But not right now, my lover.  Let’s have some cake, and then later…” She was the one who winked at him now.  “We can practice a bit.”

Chapter Text

   Vacuo City was ground zero for the war against Salem and the survival of Remnant, but that didn’t mean that the population—especially the large numbers of Huntsmen and Huntresses that were now there—couldn’t occasionally let off steam.  In fact, it was absolutely necessary they do so.  Even Headmaster Theodore, not the most personable of men even in the best of times, wanted his soldiers to have time to unwind.  After all, there was a fair chance they might all be dead within the year.

   Tiffany Crimson stepped into the dance club and let the pulsing beat wash over her.  This was just the kind of club she loved: the deep bass that thrummed through her body, the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, even the smell of sweat, alcohol and desire that was more pungent to her Faunus senses.  The Cave of Evil, despite the heavy use of red light and dark corners, wasn’t really all that evil.  It was actually a cave, a club set into one of Vacuo’s mountains to keep it cool even on the hottest of desert days.  For Tiffany, one of thousands of Atlesian refugees, she appreciated anything cold: Vacuo’s desert heat was certainly a change from Atlas’ freezing tundra. 

   Tiffany walked though the press of bodies towards the bar.  She slid back the hood on her hoodie, which meant everyone could now tell she was a Faunus: her feline ears, striped red hair, and the spots that ran down her neck made it rather obvious.  Vacuo wasn’t the most welcoming spot for Faunus, but if anyone noticed—let alone cared—they said nothing.  Then again, Tiffany thought, it might also be the loose gait of the experienced Huntress and the threat that a Huntress represented.  They were respected in Vacuo, and someone who fought Grimm for a living was not one to start a bar fight with.

   She reached the bar and spotted who she was supposed to meet…and smiled.  Neptune Vasilias was tall, lean and undeniably handsome, with a mop of blue hair.  She saw that he had left his goggles, tie, and weapon at home, and draped his red jacket over the seat of the barstool.  It left him in a white shirt and blue jeans.  She slid up next to him.  “Hey, handsome, buy a poor Faunus girl a drink?” she called out over the thump of the bass.

   Neptune turned on the stool.  “Well, okay.  Just this once.”  He threw her the rakish grin that had attracted Tiffany to him in the first place.  She took the stool next to him, and Neptune signaled the bartender.  “Another Strawberry Sunrise for me, and a White Grimm for the lady.”  He tossed some lien on the bar. 

   “You remembered,” Tiffany smiled. 

   “Hard to forget,” Neptune returned.  “Those things are awful.”  She rolled her eyes.  The drinks arrived and Tiffany sipped the White Grimm—milk and vodka.  They drank mostly in silence—it was almost impossible to carry on a conversation in the club—but watched each other. 

   Tiffany and Neptune had known each other for a few months, ever since he had pulled her out of a sand dune, her Aura gone and exhausted.  When the Atlesian refugees had come through the portals to Vacuo, they had immediately been engaged by a horde of Grimm, attracted to the fear and desperation of people fleeing a doomed city halfway across Remnant.  Tiffany, with her speed Semblance, had volunteered to run to the nearest Vacuoan garrison and find help.  Grimm had pursued her, but it took a fast Grimm indeed to keep up with someone who could run fast enough to melt the soles off her shoes.  She had managed to find Team CFVY and SSSN, then ran back to join the fight, only to collapse when it was all over.  Neptune had given her water and carried her to a waiting airship.  Tiffany figured it was the least she could do to take him out to dinner when things settled down a bit, and they had hit it off.  Neptune hadn’t tried to charm her or brag to her; he had been himself, which Tiffany liked; he liked the vivacious, fun-loving Faunus and her never-say-die attitude.  He was part of Team SSSN and she was a Happy Huntress, which left them not a lot of time to be together, but they had used what time they had. 

   Tiffany finished the White Grimm and leaned over.  “Let’s dance!”  He nodded, handed his jacket to an understanding bartender, and both moved out onto the dance floor.  The DJ had switched from the bass assault to something a bit more slow, and Tiffany and Neptune joined the couples dancing together.  At first they kept a respectful distance from each other, but as the music became a bit more sensual, Neptune took a chance and put his hands on her shoulders and they swayed with the music.  Tiffany smiled, gently grabbed his hands, and moved them down to her narrow hips.  He swallowed and moved closer, and her smile just got bigger.  Around them, other couples were doing the same; a few were even making out on the floor.  Neptune didn’t feel quite ready to try that. 

   The slower song ended, and the DJ went back to a fast-paced, thumping beat.  Tiffany whirled out of Neptune’s grasp and started dancing—or at least Neptune thought that was what she was doing, because it also looked like she was having a seizure.  He tried to keep up as best he could.  They danced with the energy of young people who still thought they were immortal and yet had a feeling they would never see thirty.  It left them sweaty but happy, and not tired: when compared to fighting Grimm, dancing was a low-impact workout.

   They remained at the club for three hours, taking breaks to get more drinks—Tiffany switching to water after her second White Grimm.  There were more slow dances, and each time Neptune would approach it hesitantly, only for Tiffany to get closer, almost to the point of pressing herself against him.  Their eyes shared what their lips weren’t ready to say.  Both felt the stirring of desire, but neither was quite willing to offer what they both increasingly wanted.

   Finally, Neptune and Tiffany left the club and started the walk home through Vacuo’s well-lit streets back towards Shade Academy.  It was quiet and cool, the desert’s heat finally relinquishing its hold for a few hours on Vacuo.  Neither spoke much, but both were thinking roughly the same thoughts: keep their relationship friendly, or take it to the next level?  Return alone to empty dorm rooms or spend the night? Take a chance that there would be more nights, and dance around the flames of sex for now—or decide that they might be dead soon, and leap into the bonfire with abandon? 

   They entered the Academy’s walls and reached their dorms.  The Shade Academy dorms were co-ed, much like Beacon’s had been; Theodore, like Ozpin, realized that trying to keep males and females separate would be impossible, even if they weren’t in a high-stress profession.  “Where’s the rest of Team TIGR?” Neptune asked.

   Tiffany couldn’t help but smile every time she heard the acronym, so common among Huntsmen and Huntress teams; like the others, it used the team’s initials: Tiffany Crimson, Iris Azrael, Gordon Rooi, and Rainee Cordovin.  Rainee was team leader, but everyone agreed that TIGR sounded better than RGIT or RIGT, so Team TIGR they were: a Happy Huntress, two people from Atlas’ tundra settlements, and a former Mantle policewoman, thrown together by necessity to take the field alongside SSSN, CFVY, and RWBY.  “If I know Rainee, she’s currenly banging poor Marrow into a coma,” Tiffany laughed. “And I imagine Iris and Gordon are probably doing much the same.”  Iris and Gordon had sniped and fought with each other continually, so it came as no surprise when they had become lovers.  “I guess I’m the odd girl out.”

   Neptune surprised himself: he used her words as an opening.  “Not…necessarily.”  He scratched the back of his head.  “I mean…damn, that was kind of forward, huh?”

   Tiffany was quiet for a moment, but then she looked up at him—Neptune had a few inches on her—and her smile became seductive.  “No,” she said quietly.  “I don’t mind.  In fact, I thought you would never ask.”

   “I didn’t…I didn’t want to mess it up,” Neptune told her.

   She rose up on her toes and kissed him.  It was a rather chaste kiss, but it held the promise of far more.  “You’re not.  Let’s go.”  Tiffany took his hand.  “Your place, Nep, if that works.”

   “Uh, sure.”  Neptune tried to keep his voice casual, as if he invited girls to his room all the time.  He felt an odd mix of nervousness, anticipation, and lust as they went up the stairs to the section of dorm set aside for Team SSSN—a mix that was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.  They reached his door and he unlocked it with shaking hands, wondering how they should start.  Should he put on some light music, grab some sodas, and slowly make their way into bed? Start with small talk, maybe a movie or something? “It’s a bit of a mess,” he warned her.  It actually wasn’t: there were textbooks and novels scattered around, but otherwise it was nice enough, as his bed was made and his clothes were hung up.  It was also tiny—barely a foyer, bathroom with closet-sized shower, and a bedroom, where his dresser, closet, and computer desk were wedged in so tightly that he had to climb over his bed to get to any of them.  The fact that he had a window was considered a luxury at Shade Academy. 

   Once the door was closed, Neptune turned around in the foyer, opening his mouth to ask Tiffany what she wanted to do, only to realize that she had already made up her mind: she crushed her lips against his, her tongue plunging into his mouth, demanding, exploring, and tasting.  Her lips were soft and wet, and Neptune’s mind whirled with the fact that there was a woman in his arms and she clearly wanted what he did.  Tiffany’s breasts were soft against his chest, and he could feel her heat through their clothes. 

   Despite that, Neptune was a gentleman—or tried to be.  He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and whispered, “Tiffany…are you sure about this?”

   Tiffany gave him a peck on the lips, and he saw his own desire reflected in her yellow eyes.  “I’m very sure, Neptune.  I’ve been sure for awhile.”

   “O-Okay.”  Neptune took a deep breath and led her back to the bed.  She gently pushed him back onto his bed and pulled off her boots.  “Watch me,” she said in a sultry tone that seemed to go directly to his groin.  

   Tiffany took off the hoodie, revealing her T-shirt beneath, marked with the winged crest of the Happy Huntresses.  That was peeled off, revealing her tanned skin and the fact that her spots went the length of her flanks.  Her pants slid off next, puddling around her ankles.  Neptune knew his eyes were huge, feasting on the sight of her, and Tiffany smiled down at him like a panther seeing prey, her eyes half-closed.  It left her in nothing but skimpy pink underwear that didn’t leave much to the imagination.  She winked at him, and Neptune gulped involuntarily as she reached behind her and unlatched her bra, letting it fall away.  Tiffany’s breasts were small, tipped with dark nipples.  His eyes were drawn downwards as she hooked her fingers into her panties and slid them down her legs, exposing her neatly trimmed mound of red hair, and just like that, Neptune beheld a naked Tiffany Crimson.  She was not remotely embarrassed or ashamed; she put her hands on her hips, inviting him to stare all he wanted.  “What do you think?” she asked.

    “I…I…uh…” Neptune blew out a long breath.  “You’re beautiful.”

    She giggled; Tiffany sounded like a little girl when she laughed.  “Thank you, Nep.”  She nodded to him.  “I think it’s your turn.  Show me what you’ve got, handsome.”  She looked straight to his crotch, which was noticeably tented.

    Neptune hastily nodded back and got to his feet.  He quickly undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it towards his hamper; Tiffany gave an appreciative growl at his smooth, muscular chest.  He kicked off his own boots, then pulled down his jeans.  It left him in boxers that did little to disguise the bulge of his erection.  Neptune hesitated, then willed himself not to be nervous: his boxers dropped to his feet, and suddenly he was just as naked as she was.  Tiffany’s eyes traced his hard manhood and her eyebrows rose.  “Nice,” she commented.  “Just the size I like." She took a step forward and, to Neptune’s surprise, she wrapped her fingers around his length. 

   Neptune’s eyes rolled back and he groaned as she began to stroke him.  The feeling was overwhelming, his member twitching in her hand as she moved her hand, swelling even more under her touch.  Then he felt himself tightening up, and knew with mounting horror what was about to happen.  The problem was, there was no stopping it.  Neptune tried, willing himself to stop and hold back, but his body was not listening.  He bucked involuntarily, and gasped as he ejaculated, his semen spattering against her stomach.  Tiffany’s eyes widened in amazement as he shot more across her, her hand, and the carpet; all Neptune could do was simply hold on for the ride as he reached the most awkward climax of his young life.  Finally, he began to soften in her hands, more of his seed dripping across the carpet and his discarded clothing.  “Wow,” she murmured.  “I didn’t know I was that good.”

   Dejectedly, Neptune sat on his bed, getting his breath back.  Tiffany reached down and grabbed her T-shirt to mop up the mess he had made.  “Tiffany,” he began, feeling miserable, “I’m…I’m so sorry.  That’s, um, it’s never happened before.” 

   Tiffany laughed, but not in contempt.  “Oh, Nep, don’t worry about it.”  She wiped the last of his essence from her stomach.  “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

   “I…it’s just…” Neptune stuttered, unable to find the right words to express his embarrassment.

   She sat down next to him.  “You’re a virgin, huh?”

   “No!” Neptune insisted.  “It’s just…it’s…” He hung his head.  “No…you’re right, Tiffany.  I’m a virgin.”  He sighed.  “I said all those things about how many girls I’ve been with because I didn’t want people to make fun of me.  I mean, look at me.  I’m a good looking guy, right?” Tiffany nodded.  “But I always struck out.  I tried too hard, and they would just laugh and that would be that.  I’ve dated and kissed, but something always got in the way.”  He laughed bitterly.  “Hell, I went after Ilia Amitola for a month before she finally told me she was a lesbian.  You’re the first girl outside of a magazine or my Scroll that I’ve seen naked.” 

   He put his head in his hands.  “I mean…when you’re teammates with Sun Wukong, girls just kind of ignore you.  Anyway, I made up a bunch of stories so people wouldn’t think I was a total loser.”  Neptune shook his head.  “Which I am.  First time I’m with a woman, and what do I do? I come all over her after a couple of strokes.”

   Tiffany turned his head towards hers and kissed him.  “I don’t care, Neptune.  What, do you think I’m going to point and laugh?  I was terrified when I lost my virginity, and I seduced the guy!”  She snickered.  “Yeah, some seduction.  I pulled my shirt and bra off, and told him to look at my boobs…and it was Fox of CFVY, and he’s blind!  I was ten kinds of dumbass that night, Neptune.”  She put her hands over his.  “I'm not upset and you're not a loser.  You're one hell of a Huntsman. I’m not going anywhere, Nep.  In fact, it might be better this way.”

   “Huh? How?”

   “Because,” Tiffany said seductively, “now I get to show you how a girl works.”  She took his hand and put it on her left breast.  The nipple was already hard under his palm.  Her skin was warm to the touch.  She leaned back and let Neptune massage and squeeze her breast, and he marveled how she was soft and firm at the same time.  He took the other one and cupped them. 

   Tiffany took one of his hands and moved it to between her legs, opening them slightly.  He stopped, his face flushed.  “It’s okay,” she reassured him.  “You’re doing fine.”  He tentatively ran his fingers through the red curls as she parted her legs more, letting him see her most intimate spot.  “Here,” she showed him.  “Right there.  That’s my clit, Nep.  You work that, and I’ll cook you breakfast.”  He swallowed again as he felt the small, sensitive bud.   He began to rub her in small, slow circles, and Tiffany sighed in satisfaction.  She took her hand away from his; Neptune was learning fast.  Finally, she just leaned back on the bed, putting her hands behind her head so she could watch, and spread her thighs completely, opening herself for his inspection.  Neptune stared and gently touched her folds, surprised to find them damp. 

   He had an idea; apparently watching pornography was useful for more than one thing after all.  Neptune took hold of her thighs and bent forward.  “Can I?” he asked.

   “Please do,” Tiffany smiled, knowing what he wanted.

   Neptune kissed her stomach, then worked his way down between her legs.  He had seen pictures, watched movies, but the real thing was something different.  The dark pink of her labia contrasted with the light tan of her skin and the red of her hair, and it glistened in the soft light of the room.  He got closer, then reached out his tongue and tasted her.  He wasn’t sure how he would classify how she tasted, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  He parted her folds with his tongue, then ran it upwards to her nub to swirl around it.  Tiffany arched her back and gasped.  That was the reaction he was hoping for, so Neptune kept licking, eager to please her.  She rested her feet on his back and her fingers gripped his hair.  “Neptune…oh gods,” she murmured.  She wasn’t watching him now; her head was back on the bed as she panted.  “Nep…I’m going…oh…I’m going to come, Nep…”

   Neptune took that as further encouragement, so he kept licking and circling her clitoris with his tongue, occasionally slipping downwards to taste her there, too.  She was swollen, very wet, and her legs were shaking.  Am I doing this? Neptune thought.  Am I going to make her—

   Tiffany suddenly let out a soft cry, and her body bucked under his hands.  Neptune pulled back and watched, fascinated, as Tiffany alternately contracted and released in orgasm.  “Wow,” he breathed.  He watched as the contractions slowed and stopped, then got up to look at her face.  Tiffany opened her eyes and smiled in satisfaction.  “Good…damn...nice work, Nep.  Whew!  I thought you said you’ve never been with a girl before!”

   “I haven’t,” he said.  “I haven’t been with anyone before.”

   “You wouldn’t know it!”  Tiffany sat up.  “That was great!”  She looked down and saw he was erect again.  “I was hoping that would happen.”  She turned around in the bed and propped herself up on his pillows, and held out her hands.  “C’mere, Nep.”

   “You mean—” Neptune began.

   “Well, duh! Can’t lose your virginity without the whole experience.”  She licked her lips.  “And if your tongue felt good, I can’t wait to feel that.”  She pointed to his penis, eager and visibly throbbing. Neptune’s heart raced as he positioned herself.  He was painfully hard, and he carefully gripped his manhood as he pushed it closer to her opening.  “Wait, wait!” Tiffany suddenly stopped him.

   “What? What did I do wrong?” Neptune frantically asked.

   Tiffany was now the one to look a bit sheepish.  “Er…no glove, no love.  Did you happen to bring anything? I didn’t…I wasn’t sure this was going to happen, so I didn’t take any, well, precautions.”  She sighed.  “Crap, I should’ve thought this through.”

   It was Neptune’s turn to smile.  “Nothing to worry about, Tiffany.”  He reached across her, opened the top drawer of his dresser, fumbled around in his socks, and found a box of condoms.  “I got these as a joke from Sun on my birthday.”  He got open one of the packets, pulled out the rubbery condom, and rolled it on easily.  “I, uh, experimented a few times with these.  You know, just to figure out what it felt like.”

   Tiffany nodded.  “Smart move.”  She stroked the inner part of her thighs.  “Well, we know you’re good at the oral stuff.  Now let’s see how good you really are.”

   “That a challenge?” Neptune felt more confident now.

   “Dude, if you bring me to orgasm number two, I’m not only cooking you breakfast, but I’m taking tomorrow off.”  She slid her fingers over her sex and dropped her voice.  “Take me, Nep.  I’m all yours.” Neptune once more got into position, took a deep breath, and shoved himself inside.  Tiffany’s breath caught in her throat, and he stopped.  “No, no, don’t stop,” she told him.  “Just go slow.  Don’t try to impale me like you're using your trident—I’m not hollow!"

   He had to chuckle at that, which was Tiffany’s intention.  He pushed a little further, more slowly, and then he filled her completely.  It was unlike anything Neptune had ever experienced: Tiffany was tight, and even through the condom, he could feel how warm she was inside.  “Okay?” he asked.

   “Hell yes,” Tiffany grinned.

   Neptune tried some experimental thrusts, slow and steady, and she responded.  Her legs tucked behind his back and she ran her fingers across his back as her ears flattened back.  He started going faster and a little harder, and she nodded, reassuring him that he was doing just fine, flexing and arching beneath him as she matched his rhythm.  Neptune watched her breasts gently sway with their movement, the ripple of her abdominals, and most of all, her face.  Her pupils were dilated, her lips parted, and she gave him a gentle smile that he felt to his toes.  

    Despite his best efforts, however, Neptune’s body was once more going to betray him.  His mind whirled with the fact that he was inside a woman, no longer a virgin, and his body began to tense.  Oh no, he thought, as he felt the familiar tightening in his scrotum and the rise of his semen.  He tried to slow down, stretch it out, and satisfy her, but once more, there was simply no stopping it.  His face was contorted with his efforts.  Tiffany gently stroked his back.  “It’s okay,” she whispered.  “Go ahead, Nep."

    “Tiffany,” he moaned, gave two quick thrusts, then stopped as he jerked in orgasm and filled the condom.  It was a powerful release, harder than the one that he had felt in her hands, one that left him breathless, satisfied, and yet disappointed.  He wanted to give her more, make her scream with pleasure, but that was not going to happen.  “Dammit,” he breathed.

   “What?” Tiffany didn’t sound upset any more than she had earlier.

   “I came,” he confessed.

   “I know.”  She cupped his face.  “That was the point of the exercise, Neptune.”

   He smiled despite himself.  “But you…you didn’t.”  He pulled out of her, already softening.  “And I can’t…I can’t go again for a little while.”

   Tiffany shook her head.  “Neptune, you’re beautiful, but sometimes you can be kinda dumb.”  He looked at her quizzically.  “The gods gave you fingers and a tongue, didn’t they?”

   Neptune laughed at himself.  “You’re right.  Sorry.”  He got up, disposed of the condom, and lay across her again, but this time pushed his fingers inside.  “How’s that?”

   “P-Perfect,” she said.  He pushed his fingers in and out in the same rhythm and watched her as she started to squirm.  Neptune noticed how hard her nipples were, thought about licking one, and then did so.  Tiffany’s eyes fluttered shut and she shuddered.  He moved his fingers faster and faster, until she finally let out an ahhh—not loud, not a scream, just a soft sigh of utter pleasure.  He could feel her pulse around his fingers; when Neptune slid them out, they were coated in her wetness.  “Good?” he asked.  Neptune felt kind of bad looking for compliments, but he had to know. 

    “Wonderful,” Tiffany said, opened her eyes, and kissed him.  “Definitely taking tomorrow off.”

    Neptune grinned and lay down next to her.  “I just wasn’t sure,” he told her.  “I mean…” He laughed at himself again and turned onto his side; she did the same.  “I guess in porn—I know it’s not real, but the girls in that—”

    “--they scream a lot,” Tiffany finished.  “Yeah, I’ve watched some of those.  And some girls do.”  She smirked with amusement.  “Don't tell anyone this, but Rainee is loud.  I mean, there’s some nights that I can tell exactly what Marrow is doing to her, because she’s yelling it as loud as she can.  She's giving me the debrief.  Even through these thick walls, you can hear her.”  She shrugged.  “But I’ve never been too loud.  I might moan a bit, but I just don’t yell and yowl.  It’s…” Tiffany tried to find the words and failed.  “It’s just like a good bath.  You feel so nice.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, Nep—sometimes, like tonight, it’s so good you feel like you’re gonna explode.  But I’m just not the type to yell ‘Neptune, fuck me harder’ or something like that.  Me letting you know I’m gonna come is about as hardcore as I get.”  She playfully kissed his nose.  “Disappointed?”

   “Nope,” he replied.  “Tiffany, I’m just happy…I’m happy you let me do that.  That you’re here.”

   “Not as happy as I am.”  She lay back in the bed.  “It’s nice…not to be alone.”

   They lapsed into silence, and as Neptune stared for a long time at the beige ceiling of his dorm room, he opened his mouth to tell her how good it had been--and realized Tiffany had fallen asleep.  He rolled over again and watched her.  The sweat on her skin had cooled, and the flush of her skin had faded; her nipples were no longer erect, though he found watching her breasts move up and down with her steady breathing was still rather fascinating.  She lay above his covers, her legs open slightly.  Neptune thought about putting his fingers and tongue back down there—his penis stirred at the thought—but then stopped himself.  Tiffany deserved her rest.  He did lightly trace his fingers down her spots from her neck to her shoulders, and down her sides.  She didn’t wake up, but she mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over into the warmth his body provided. 

   Neptune felt a swell of pride in his chest.  He had done it, but it was more than just losing his virginity and having a real story to tell Sun and the others rather than one he had made up.  He had satisfied a woman—twice—and it wasn’t just someone he had met at a bar.  It was Tiffany Crimson, someone he respected and liked, and she liked him.  He couldn’t help but replay the night in his head, from the first hungry kiss to the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and Neptune knew he would never forget this, not ever. 

   “Thank you, Tiffany,” he whispered so softly he barely heard it, leaned over, and kissed her forehead.  Her ears twitched, and her eyes opened sleepily.  She smiled at him, reached over and put an arm across his chest, rested her head on his shoulder, then subsided back into sleep.  Neptune stroked her hair and soon did the same as the shattered moon bathed them in its light.