u/Orchard25Reddit

Inspired by this original prompt by gahidus.

**

Jess skipped out of the way of another strike that left a shallow crater on impact on the sparring room floor. Even both keeping their powers in check, it was an occupational hazard of training with Mark, the Supernatural Institute's resident powerhouse. The almost obscene network of muscles that spanned his body rippled as he straightened up and grinned at her. Jess, feeling a warm flush and skipping of her heart that had nothing to do with their exercise, broke character for a moment and grinned back.

Mark glanced down at the hole in the floor, half-bashful, half-pleased with himself. It was one of the reasons they elected to now train in the disused sparring room far removed from the main complex.

The other reason was, well...

**

"Come on, you're sharper than this," Mark had said.

Jess, brushing back a loose strand of hair that had escaped the practical knot at the base of her neck, had picked herself up a little irritably. "Dude, you're a brick wall. We both know I'm not getting out if you pin me."

Agility was Jess's most natural power, always had been, but she couldn't help but feel a little annoyed - any ordinary person, even extraordinary person, she could have easily grappled her way free from. Mark, of course, was not any more ordinary than she was, and strength was his specialism.

"Don't let me catch you, then?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Ugh. Training with Mark was a double-edged sword. Their cohort was full of recruits with more esoteric powers; he was the only one around here who could really challenge her on the mat, and putting him on his ass was infinitely more satisfying than just another session grinding in the Institute's purpose-built gym. They pushed each other to a higher standard. But, of course, it wasn't always fun in the moment, to be pushed.

"Great," Jess had said sarcastically. "Don't let you pin me to the floor. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Okay, can you lose the attitude a bit?" Mark was still treading a little cautiously from where she'd brought him down a few minutes earlier. He'd folded his colossal arms as he'd looked at her with a little vexation, and she'd been as pleased with it as when she'd swept him to the floor.

Jess hadn't meant to say it. She'd meant to make some quip about how this was just another part of training, but somewhere it had gotten lost in translation. Amongst the sweat that glistened on both their bodies as they'd looked, slightly out of breath, at one another; at the razor-sharp line of her sparring partner's jaw and the easy way that he carried himself. At the fact that genetic mutation had handed them both a life where they were destined to always be strong, but always seeking out peril, and the fact that alone sparring with Mark, she felt wonderfully, vitally alive - and, though she'd have blushed to say it, unusually, comfortingly... well, safe*.*

"Make me," she'd blurted out.

Mark had blinked. He'd looked at her, for once genuinely disarmed, and Jess had blushed furiously, but placed her hands on her hips and stared him down quite firmly.

And then - with much pausing, checking of boundaries, verbalising and affirming with their words what they could say more bluntly but less articulately with their bodies - he'd made her.

**

Jess blurred out of the way of another strike that this time left a dent in the solid wall behind her. So the stakes they fought for were a little unorthodox. It gave their sessions a little more excitement. Motivation, even. God, she relished the fun she had when she beat him. But losing was a hell of a lot of fun, too.

It all came down to the same calculations, too. If their sessions dragged on, if she could evade him and get the jump on him with her superior speed, she'd eventually bring him down. If he caught her and got a proper hold of her, though, it was all over.

Her whole body thrummed with anticipation.

Mark closed in again. This time, Jess let him get a little closer. He'd developed a bit of a tell, the way he shifted his weight when she lured him into a quick change in direction, and if she let him commit to another strike, she could catch him out before he had a chance to recover. She waited, and she waited. And then, once she knew he wasn't feinting, she made her move.

And he caught her anyway.

Jess for a moment was genuinely too shocked to react. Had he gotten faster? Or had she blundered, waited too long, made her move to obvious? Her momentary distraction was all it took, to eliminate any last vestige of a chance she might have had of escaping. By the time she was moving his arms were already locked, pinning hers in place. Jess fought, and her strength would have been enough to snap an ordinary human on impact, but against Mark she may as well have been trying to wrestle a mountain. The fight was done.

The rest was just starting.

They went to ground, Mark's weight on top of her pinning her to the mat. Jess squirmed, she fought. It accomplished nothing. Mark had her trapped. For all her powers, her preparation, her instincts, she was now all but helpless.

A slight whimper escaped her.

Above her, Mark chuckled. "Aw. You knew what would happen if I caught you. Should have been a little quicker, shouldn't you?"

Vast, muscular thighs wedged either side of her. One arm - the arms that had spotted for her in the gym, dragged her out of danger's way in the field more times than she could count, let her fall a little too easily into them at the end of a particularly bruising day - was enough to pin both of hers behind her back. His free hand was roving over her bare thigh. Hands that had checked and bandaged her injuries after missions, more capable of gentleness than they looked. That meant safety. Now rough, greedy, and a jolt went through Jess as she felt him drag the taut fabric of her leotard to one side-

"Fucking soaked." She heard his voice above her, proud, goading. "Did you let me catch you? Or were you just too worked up to think clearly?"

Jess railed against him again, and cried out as the flat of a hand stung with impossible force against her bare ass. "Manners," Mark reprimanded her. "I won, remember? And this is my prize..."

His fingers were almost cruelly gentle as they dipped between her legs, spreading her dripping pussy for him, and Jess was unable to contain the faint whimper from escaping between her gritted teeth...

**

"And you're definitely comfortable with this?" Mark had asked her for the umpteenth time.

*Jess had rolled her eyes, but not tried too hard to contain her smile as she'd nudged him with more affection than exasperation. "*Yes, *Mark, I'm definitely comfortable with it. We're just... playing, aren't we? Wait-" She'd hesitated, suddenly second-guessing herself, "*you're comfortable with this, aren't you?"

Mark had grinned and reached out to stroke her cheek gently. They were mostly redressed, a long, shared session in the shower following a much longer session on the mat. It almost amazed her, how gentle he could be after how rough he'd been with her earlier. But that, Jess supposed, was why she liked it when he was rough with her. "Yes, Jess, I'm very comfortable fucking you until you whine my name. Just so long as I know you are."

"Okay, I did not whine-" Jess had stopped herself, watching him laugh, and beginning to blush again in a manner that warmed her right to her core. God, she'd felt so free. "Cool," Jess said. "But, don't expect me to go easy on you next time I kick your ass."

"I was counting on it," Mark had grinned.

**

They didn't go easy on each other.

There was nothing easy, about the way that Mark's free hand moved to yank her hair free from the tie she wore it in while sparring, and any softness in the way his calloused fingers touched her, circling her clit, teasing her entrance as she squirmed underneath him, was cruel in its own way, relishing that she was as helpless to keep her own arousal in check as to dislodge him on top of her. He was in complete control.

Fuck, Jess wanted him.

Fingers pressing suddenly inside her, making her gasp. Two at first, easily entering her soaked pussy, and then no sooner had she acclimatised than a third, the stretch alone enough to make her quiver. Another huge hand twisted her hair at the base of her neck, holding in close to her scalp, a haze of faint pain, firm pleasure and possessiveness blurring her senses. For how long Mark held her like that, she didn't know, legs and body weight alone above her keeping her all but immobile, as his fingers curled upwards inside her, sending a jolt through her as it mingled with the sensitivity of his thumb rubbing her clit.

And then his fingers were slipping out of her, and he was forcing her thighs apart as he reached for the waistband of his shorts. "So needy," he almost purred. A hand under her chin, and Jess made a muffled sound of protest as the fingers slick with her own wetness slipped into her mouth, taunting her with her own arousal. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting..."

Jess let out a muffled scream. Even with the warm-up of his fingers, the teasing strokes against her pussy to play on her imagination, the first stretch of Mark's cock entering her remained overwhelming. The fingers left her mouth to move to take a firm grip of her hair once more.

A long moment passed, then, in which she started to acclimatise to the feeling of him inside her, and a silent question filled it, the same as he asked her aloud after every session: Is this okay? The rough, perilous dynamic they'd slipped into almost suspended for a moment as reality hung in the air. That she had her safeword, that her boundaries were there. That this was, always, for her as well as for him.

Pinned beneath Mark's body, the feeling of his cock inside her more tantalising with every second, Jess stayed as she was.

"Good girl," Mark murmured.

And then he fucked her.

Teasingly slow, brutally fast. Hard, long, deep strokes into her setting off some primal part of Jess's brain that only came alive here on the mat, the same rough, savage satisfaction of an intense sparring session underscored by that of being wanted, craved, taken. And like a sparring session, she fought, she struggled, she did her best to test her partner's strength. He passed easily. Manhandling her as if her efforts amused him, the firm hand at the base of her neck pulling her back onto each thrust, the impact of his cock inside her somehow sweeter with the hold he had of her hair. A free hand that muffled her cries over her mouth moved to snake under her body, arm trapping her even closer to him as his fingers found her clit again, coaxing her there in time with each stroke. Whispering to her all the while: "You fucking love this, don't you? Feeling so helpless, feeling so powerless... too rough? Too much? Tough. Shouldn't have let me catch you, should you? Poor little thing..."

But nothing else was quite like the release. The sheer, earth-rending joy of feeling her body be overwhelmed, of her orgasm pulsing through her as the weight of Mark above her pressed her to the mat. Again, Jess almost screamed. The thrusts slowed to a halt, his balls pressing against her ass, as her climax pushed Mark over the edge behind her, embrace almost crushing her body against his as he came inside her. She was spent, she was helpless. She was his.

And then it was fading. Pulsing away, the tension leaving her just as the exhaustion set into her body, and Jess was laying on the floor of the sparring room, and Mark above her was suddenly again Mark her sparring partner, her ally, her friend. Jeez, they were really going to have to stop calling each other something other than just friends.

The body that had been immobilising her was now caressing her, brushing her unbound hair back as his lips brushed the top of her head, gently coaxing her out of that feral recess of herself that she slipped so deeply into when they were on the mat like this to her usual self. "Fuck, Jess," he managed.

Jess giggled tiredly. Sometimes she was amused at how much Mark doted on her after a session like this. Mostly, she was just quietly pleased. "You're getting better at selling your feints," she said to him with a smile.

"Well," Mark quipped, looking her appreciatively up and down. They'd get cleaned up in a moment, slink off to the showers and back to their lives battling for mankind. But right now, it was nice just to let him help her up off the mat, her legs still trembling a little. Win or lose... they had a hell of a lot of fun together. "I've got a good motivator to."

Jess beamed. Oh, she was going to hammer him next time they fought.

"Twenty-three. One hour, eleven minutes."

Claire's teeth were gritted. A stray lock of hair, wet and matted by the sheen of sweat that covered almost every inch of her body, clung to her forehead. She couldn't reach to brush it away. She couldn't reach anything.

Around her, her lab assistants were clustered, clipboards at the ready as they recorded their observations. One or two met her eyes, sympathetic, concerned even, silently asking once more whether she was still serious, if the test should carry on. Claire couldn't have mustered much energy even if she'd had more of her mobility available, but with what little fortitude she still had left she managed a little nod. They weren't finished yet.

Her lead assistant on the project turned to their minute-taker. "Beginning again..."

"I'm not sure we can put out an ad for tests for this one," Claire had said at the beginning of that week. "Too ethically questionable even if people readily volunteer. For obvious reasons the testing on this one is going to have to be... well, rigorous*, and we can't subject our testers to anything that's going to call into question whether everyone has given ongoing, informed consent."*

"Well then how do we go on with this one?" her lead assistant had asked uncertainly.

Claire had managed a furtive half-smile. Nervous, sure, but the thrill of the words were why she'd decided to turn her qualifications to this industry in the first place. "I guess I'm just going to have to test it on myself."

She had just a moment longer of respite. Claire could feel the anticipation in her belly, the jangling of nerves that instinctively almost made her squirm, fruitlessly, against the array of taut straps that pinned her body to the medical table in the centre of the room. The wait agonisingly long. The relief it provided unbearably short.

And then it started again.

The humming of the smooth, round head of the vibrator that the firmest of the straps held in place against her clit, swelling from a gentle buzz to an onslaught that drove her mind all but blank. At the same time, the turning of the mechanism of the fucking machine; the dildo, exquisitely proportioned, building easily to firm, relentless strokes inside her. Wringing the pleasure once again from her immobile, helpless body.

By her own regulations, she couldn't have one during the testing, but Claire wouldn't have minded a gag between her lips. As it was, as the machine worked her over once again, all she could do was scream.

"So the idea is this," Claire had explained proudly as she'd unveiled the little box containing the pills her many months of research had refined. "A drug to prevent the user from reaching orgasm for the duration of its effects, but without dulling or numbing the experience of physical pleasure. Perfect for longer sessions for service tops, indulging an orgasm control kink, or just for anyone who can only experience one orgasm at a time wary of finishing too quickly..."

Amused glances around the room. "Now, to see just what kind of potency we're working with or dosage to recommend," Claire had gone on, "is where things get a little trickier. Because the best way I can think to test it - the only way to get an exact measurement, really - would be to subject the tester after taking the drug to continual stimulation that would otherwise be enough to bring them to orgasm, and see how long it takes before they finally get there..."

She'd felt a little thrill even saying the words aloud.

It was there again. It took no time at all with how worked up she already was at this point. The buzzing of the vibrator had reached its peak. The machine was fucking her to its unerring, unwavering rhythm, long, deep strokes adding another layer of ecstasy to the pressure on her clit. Claire's back was arched, her fingers and toes flexing involuntarily; her legs struggled instinctively to close as the straps kept them pinned in place, incapable of doing anything but laying there and enduring the pleasure that was bombarding her.

And then she felt it. The invisible wall that her mind and body seemed to hit, when under normal circumstances the tension would have been broken by a climax. Every nerve screamed, as it had the many times before now, to be allowed release, to give in to the pressure being exerted on it. Some part of her refused. She couldn't cum. No matter how badly she wanted to. How badly she needed to.

And then the stimulation paused. Just where she would have otherwise simply broken, and Claire bit back a sob as the vibrations once again slowed, the strokes slackened to a halt; leaving her, quivering, to gather herself for a moment again to prepare to go on.

"Twenty-four," her lead assistant said softly. Twenty-four orgasms denied. Twenty-four times her whole self had begged internally for release. Twenty-four times the drug had refused. "One hour, fourteen minutes."

She reached out and stroked Claire's forehead gently, reassuringly. Tears stung in the corners of her eyes, but again, Claire quietly nodded. Go on.

It was, after all, for science.

Her assistant turned, once again, to their minute-taker. "Beginning again..."

Jess's head was spinning. An opaque white void that served as a loading screen stretched out in all directions around her. She was loosely conscious somewhere of her body still seated in the gaming chair by her desk, but for all the world, she could have stepped out of her bedroom and into another reality.

"Obviously, in an ideal world we'd see your real, first-time reaction to the game," the devs she'd met with had explained to her. "But this is a pretty immersive experience, so we'd recommend testing it out on your own a couple of times first. Better to get the hang of it in your own time."

No kidding. Jess had slipped the headset on expecting... well, what, she didn't know, but she was sure it could only be underwhelming compared to the lofty claims they'd made about the game (Eras of Legend: Unite History's Greatest Civilisations!) - an open-world adventure spectacle. But it was proving to be as immersive as they'd promised: she'd designed her character - pleasantly surprised to be able to pick some armour that covered her whole body - and appeared from thereon to step inside her avatar and view the world from its eyes. It barely even felt like playing - she was in the game itself.

And now the world around her was solidifying; she found herself on the deck of a ship, sails and rigging rapidly forming out of the ether around her, billowing in a high wind that suddenly whipped at her face, bringing an entirely realistic chill along with it. Jess shivered a little and, presuming she was in some sort of tutorial that would explain itself, ducked down a narrow flight of wooden steps that led below decks.

By now, the environment was fully rendered. Jess found herself in what appeared to be some sort of communal crew quarters: the flickering lights of half-melted candles illuminated a long, low-ceilinged chamber dotted here and there with scuffed tables and chairs. Seated at them or lolling against the walls, nursing glass bottles and metal tankards, were her first other characters: a varied, anachronistic mix of adventurers just as the game's synopsis had promised - broad, fair-haired Viking raiders, scale-armoured Mongolian nomads, north African corsairs with their hair bound in cloth. She could make out snatches of jovial conversation, all languages she didn't understand; Jess wondered if this was an intentional part of the tutorial, or if there was some dubbing function she hadn't yet figured out how to turn on. Maybe it was a staunch commitment to realism.

Having said that, the cabin was certainly more... aesthetically pleasing than would probably have been strictly realistic. Jess somehow doubted historical sailors would have had their hair so glossy, or their teeth so immaculately white. There were at least as many women as men, too; a Japanese woman in samurai garb and a classical tunic-wearing Greek man smiled at her from across a game of dice at a nearby table, and the realism was almost enough to make Jess blush.

A door at the end of the room swung suddenly open, and Jess straightened up as what she took to be a Cornish pirate captain stomped inside, immediately commanding the attention of the rest of the room. Ugh, of course even he was pretty; older, sure, but the face framed by a billowing beard and low-slung black hat immediately striking. Well, Jess supposed, the devs had a product to sell. "Another successful raid complete," he boomed in English. "You have all proven your mettle many times over..."

Jess waited with faint excitement for what she imagined would be the instructions for some more action-oriented content. Would they be off on another such raiding mission? The devs hadn't given her any instructions beyond to just muddle around the early stages of the game to her own liking and get a feel for the world. Still, the body she was inhabiting felt strong, vital, and she'd have liked to get to put her new character through its paces a bit before getting bogged down in game lore.

"Tomorrow, we dock at the Isla de las Calaveras," their captain went on. "But for tonight, I give you no more orders than to enjoy your time to yourselves!"

Cheers, jostling and banging of tankards on tables around the room. "But be at your stations at dawn, you gaggle of reprobates!"

The captain stomped out of the room, and the other avatars around the room exchanged furtive smiles and glances. Jess frowned in confusion. Was there some kind of time-skip function in the game that she hadn't yet come across? The devs surely weren't expecting her to sit around watching people drink and gamble all night...

Something across the room caught her eye. Two of the crewmates - a muscular blonde Nordic woman and a taller, darker man she guessed may have been meant to be Spanish or Portuguese - were kissing lazily across the table. Jess smiled a little to herself, wondering if this was just the care they'd put into the background animation - but even as she watched, another pair of figures across the room leant into each other's arms, lips wandering affectionately. And then another - two men this time, an Arabian merchant and a red-haired Scottish sailor-

A faint gasp came from somewhere behind her, and Jess turned a little too sharply, now suddenly feeling herself growing quite realistically warm and flustered beneath her avatar's armour. The Japanese female samurai was out of her armour, and her Greek companion was peeling back layers of fabric to bare her throat and the top of her chest, marking the freshly uncovered expanse of skin with kisses. Even as she watched, he nipped gently at the loose skin there, and she moaned, happy and breathless, tilting her head back to invite him further on.

Somewhere, some actress recorded that moan, Jess found herself thinking wildly.

All around her, now, people were beginning to undress. Jess had heard about this - fan-made mods and even whole servers for the studio's open-world games that added more... adult features were no secret, and the parent company had never done too much to discourage or disavow those that produced them. Had she somehow found herself in one now? She'd thought she'd been given something with factory settings. This surely couldn't be right. She should pause the game. She should log off, explain bashfully what had clearly gone wrong, play the game as had presumably been intended.

Jess didn't move.

All around her, armour and gear was clattering to the floor. Places were being cleared; people - characters, she reminded herself - were standing up, reclining in the few upholstered chairs together or helping one another onto the broader tabletops. A second man had joined the first in undressing the samurai woman, strong hands simply ripping her undergarments before each leaned in to take a freshly bared nipple in their mouths, her whining excitably as she gripped their shoulders for support. Jess looked around her. Everywhere, indistinguishable from reality, bare flesh and torn fabric. Men with women. Men with men. Women with women. Elegant, powerful bodies explored with wandering fingers and lips, half-bathed in shadow by the candlelight...

Either these mods were both alarmingly expansive and unerringly realistic, Jess thought, or the feeling of herself getting worked up was her real self in the chair. Frankly, she couldn't blame herself if it was.

And then a Caribbean woman with braided hair turned to her at the nearest table. "Don't you want to join us?"

Jess stared in shock. "I..."

For the first time, she was conscious of the divide between game and reality. The question had clearly engaged some kind of in-world, multiple choice protocol. The rest of the action seemed to slow down around the room as, almost subconsciously, Jess was aware of having a choice of pre-set options. She could say no, and then she'd... well, skip onto the next stage of the game, presumably. She could not engage with this, if she wanted to; this glitch, this... fanservice? Whatever it was. If she wanted.

Instead, Jess found herself nodding. "Please," was all she said.

The other woman smiled brightly at her, and then - how could it feel so real? - Jess felt their lips press together, soft, inviting, the nameless woman's hands gentle but firm at her waist. It all felt so in line with reality: the flutter in her belly, the instinct to let her eyes fall closed and melt into the touch. Was that part real? Was her brain doing all the heavy lifting, reacting just as she would in reality? Well, reality if reality was like this. If she knew she was safe, and in control, and surrounded by beautiful people.

Maybe these modders weren't so bad.

More hands were joining her. More lips, and no sooner had her heavy armour been prised mercifully off than they were trailing paths down from her jaw over her neck, her shoulders, following in the wake of the fingers that were rapidly manoeuvring her out of her tunic-

She was playing catch-up. All around her, the crew were ravishing one another. A lewd, voyeuristic thrill went through Jess as she looked around the room; erotic pandemonium, spread legs and bucking hips and voices calling out in a dozen or more languages. But she, now, was the new centre of attention, and she had never been so quickly brought up to speed. The same hands that ripped away her tunic and leggings with effortless roughness were gentle as they caressed her breasts, her newly bared thighs and belly. The lips that were soft against her skin parted to whisper in her ear, just what they were going to do with her. What she would beg them to do with her.

And then Jess was being half-carried, half-dragged over to a bigger, broader table in the centre of the room; she was being laid down on top of it; naked for all to see; her legs dangling over the edge were being spread, and the first slow, teasing trace of fingers against her pussy found her dripping with heavy anticipation-

"I think she likes being overwhelmed," a Viking raider grinned.

"She loves it," the Caribbean woman cooed. Her hand stroked Jess's forehead softly, brushing the hair back from her brow. "Just relax, sweetie. We'll take care of you. And you'll take care of us."

Again, Jess nodded, and found herself swallowed up in another kiss, muffling the moan that would have escaped her at the firm, purposeful movements of the fingers that were now rubbing her clit. Others were joining them, roving over her naked body, the wave of sensations only amplifying what was being done between her legs rather than distracting from it. Another low, urgent whine escaped her as another two fingers pressed inside her; slow, curving motions that added another dimension to her pleasure. She could still hear the sounds of others fucking all around her...

"Let her give a little back," somebody prompted from out of her line of sight.

Thick, throbbing cocks were all around her now. Jess reached out, emboldened by the all at once unfathomably exhibitionist and unfathomably voyeuristic situation she'd found herself in, and grasped the nearest two in her hands, enthusiasm as she stroked the best substitute she could offer for the concentration that had so utterly deserted her since they'd begun playing with her. She'd never felt so lewd. She'd never felt so glad of it.

"You're doing so well," the Caribbean woman said gently. Jess wondered whether she'd have heard the same command in-game had she taken down a particularly troublesome pirate or solved a particularly challenging puzzle. "What do we think? Can she handle another cock?"

"Maybe if you help her," an Italian Renaissance cartographer grinned.

The other woman gave Jess a quick, affectionate kiss on the forehead, and then she was suddenly shimmying out of the last of her clothes and clambering onto the tabletop. Jess had only time to take in her sleek thighs settling either side of her face before her companion was leaning down over her, gripping her legs and spreading them lovingly apart. The fingers that had been pleasuring her suddenly withdrew, and Jess, blind to what was happening, could only feel momentary disappointment before - her hips threatened to buck off the tabletop at the feeling - the round, thick head of another cock was stroking between her lips. "Good girl," the other woman purred, pushing her hips back down against the tabletop as she leaned down over her. "Now, just follow my lead..."

At the same moment as Jess felt the pressure against her entrance, the sudden rush before feeling herself be stretched open, the Caribbean woman's fingers spread her pussy to leave a long, lingering lick against her clit. Jess quivered. The whine that escaped her was muffled by the presence of the other woman's body; her hands were slack as they grasped the men either side of her, too distracted to concentrate on the woman above her even as she was suspended there so invitingly. All she could do was feel. Feel the deep, immersive pleasure, as someone out of sight began to fuck her, and the luscious, loving movements of the other woman's lips and tongue accompanied each hard, deep thrust...

And then the scene was gone.

"No!" Jess was back in the loading room again. White nothingness surrounded her; her body was hers again. Yes, that racing heart and pounding of blood in her temples was definitely hers. The jitter that went through her at the slightest of movements in her gaming chair was also hers.

A message flashed up around her. Connection difficulties at this time. Please try again later.

"But I-" Jess could almost still feel it. The thrill of baring herself, of feeling so freely and so wonderfully dirty. Her bare skin in the candlelight, her pussy stretched, the warm wetness of the tongue against her clit-

Jess took the headset off. She was still in her bedroom. Nothing had changed. None of it, she reminded herself, was real.

A small, red light was flickering on the console as it tried and failed to reconnect. Would she be able to get back on, if it had been some kind of glitch that had taken her there, or would she just get the regular game from hereon?

She almost couldn't bear to try.

**

"So, how did you find it?" her contact at the company asked her the following morning.

Jess hesitated, cursor hovering over the unmute button. Her eyes wandered, almost involuntarily, to the headset beside her monitor on the desk, and her belly gave another now-familiar lurch. "It was... immersive," she said after a moment. "Definitely immersive. But I might need to play it a little more, to get the hang of it."

"Of course," her contact said. "No rush at all. Let us know how you get on."

Jess allowed herself a small smile off-camera. "Sure thing."

I originally wrote this last month for the July Image Prompt contest on eroticliterature, and thought with the month over I'd share it here too.

**

"I couldn't remember if you wanted milk or not," Casper said. "So I made both and just thought I'd have whichever you didn't want."

Luca smiled in faint exasperation but accepted one mug from him. "They don't make real coffee in England, anyway. But thank you."

Even the faint brush of their fingers together on the handle was enough to make Casper's pulse quicken slightly. Would this ever stop feeling... forbidden? Would they ever just be able to sit down to a quiet morning together without it feeling like something they'd stolen from the world? He could only hope so. But perhaps - again, his heart skipped along just a little faster - perhaps this heightened sense of excitement in those moments when they were able to be close would still linger even without it.

"Do you feel like watching the early match tonight?" Casper suggested.

Luca was still hovering by the kitchen island, uncharacteristically mussed-up with his dark hair unbrushed, a loose black T-shirt falling down past the waist of his pyjama bottoms. He didn't look like he had plans of going anywhere further than the couch anytime soon. "Who plays again?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee a little too casually.

It was a defensive question. Luca always knew who was playing. Even when it didn't involve him or his team in any capacity, football never left his mind. But he had taken the second, silent question from what Casper had said? "Do you feel like going out?"

Going out wasn't something they made a habit of. The English tabloids were vicious, and catching two top-level players together - on a date, as it would be - would be the gossip story of the season. It was an invasion into their lives that neither of them, frustrating as it was, was yet ready to sanction.

But this time was different. The World Cup was on, and every sports journalist in the country was glued to it. Many of their club teammates were there already - neither Denmark nor Italy, of course, had qualified for them to join them. Nobody would be watching for what two players back in Europe were up to in the meantime. "Brazil and somebody else," Casper said with a shrug. "I forget."

"That might be good."

"Maybe." A moment passed, as Casper considered testing the waters a little further. "They'll probably be showing it in every bar," he added, looking down at his drink as if it had only just occurred to him.

Luca watched him, gaze uncertain. When they'd first met, Casper had found him utterly inscrutable; he'd embarrassed himself more than once in training, trying to guess what he was going to do next when it had been his job to mark him. Off the pitch, he'd soon discovered, Luca wasn't as adept at guarding his feelings. "Are you asking me out?" he said eventually, trying and failing to inject a little humour into his voice.

"Well, what if I am?"

Luca sighed. "I... you know, the..." He paused for thought, muttering under his breath. "La stampa scandalistica..." Casper had played one season in Italy just after he'd left Denmark, but it was easiest for them both generally to speak in English to one another. "The news writers," Luca went on. "Even if they are all in America now, it only needs one person to send them a picture from their phone, you know?"

"I get it." Some part of him was relieved, but he knew from Luca's expression that he had failed to conceal the flicker of disappointment. Casper took another sip of his coffee, brushed back a lock of blonde hair as nonchalantly as he could - and then his guard dropped fully. "I wish this was easier," he blurted out.

Luca was regarding him with the same expression as when he'd first brought their coffees. A little exasperation, but with something more tender escaping through. "Me too."

Silence hovered between them, and then Luca spoke again. "I knew this will be difficult," he admitted. "That there will be lots of... sneaking around, a lot of secrets. I thought, maybe it was too much to ask."

Casper, in spite of himself, chuckled a little. "You didn't have to ask me." It had happened all too suddenly. They'd been the last ones up in the early hours of the morning at their hotel after a hard-fought win on the road. One moment they'd been talking, laughing about their own misadventures as they'd ground their way up the professional ranks, and then...

Casper could tell, from the look in his eyes, that Luca was remembering it too. "Well, I thought it was polite," he said coyly.

Casper glanced down at the loose fabric of Luca's pyjama bottoms. They didn't do a terrific job of disguising his thoughts. "Well, it worked," he replied with a smile.

Luca was right. There were, inevitably, going to be a lot of hoops for the two of them to jump through, as they tried to make this... whatever it was work. But, even if for now it was stolen moments... they kept on winding up feeling worthwhile. "We could stay in," Casper supposed.

"I could cook," Luca offered.

"Sure." Casper took a step towards him and set his coffee cup down. "Later."

He leaned upwards to close the last of the space between them, and their lips pressed together firmly, brusquely, his body pushing Luca's back against the countertop. The other man's hand slipped round to rest at the nape of Casper's neck, drawing him in deeper to the kiss, fingertips nestling their way into the curls around the collar of his baggy hooded top.

The excitement was still there, alright. But kissing Luca was starting to feel wonderfully... easy.

And all too natural, when his free hand began to wander downwards, grazing the inside of his boyfriend's thigh, and the taller man drew back just enough to grin down at him. "How much later are you thinking?"

They all but raced up the stairs to Luca's bedroom. Bundling across the top of the covers until they had come to rest with Casper on top of him, his weight all but pressing him to the mattress as they kissed again. He felt as if he knew every muscle in Luca's body by now, sharpened together in days at the gym or clattering into one another for a heavy challenge on the turf. It had been quite something else, to feel them for the first time. And again, now, as Luca's arms encircled him and drew him in closer; as Casper's fingers wandered under the hem of his shirt, grazing the firm lines of his abdominal muscles; of his calves as he swept his legs over Casper's to pin him there on top of him...

"Depends how long you last," Casper managed with a grin between kisses.

His hoodie was gone, and then their pyjamas; for a little while they were content just to lay like that, soaking up the presence of one another there and naked for them. Casper could feel Luca's cock twitching beneath him, and he grinned as he straightened up, looking between them both playfully. "How long were you thinking about this?" he asked jokingly.

Luca raised his eyebrows. "Since the last time I saw you, obviously."

Even now, it made the butterflies rise in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't protest. Casper had known, too, the pitfalls this would likely lead to, the precariousness of anything happening between the two of them. But he hadn't been able to forget it. The visceral joy of what they'd done together that first night at the hotel. He'd wanted it again. He'd needed it again.

When Luca's fingers slid now around the shaft of his cock, Casper was no better at containing himself. "Me too."

They were sliding across the bed together until Luca was able to prop himself up against the headboard, shifting into a seated position where they could kiss comfortably even as they stroked one another. Luca was groaning, hips rocking as he practically fucked Casper's hand; he could feel precum fresh and trickling over his fingers. Luca's free hand was wandering underneath him, squeezing and fondling Casper's ass; a finger played gently around his opening, even the barest contact enough to send a shiver through him combined with the steady, firm motion of Luca's dominant hand between his legs.

"Don't make me cum yet," Casper murmured.

Luca paused their kiss to smirk up at him. "You're close already?"

Casper blushed a little. "Well," he said defensively, "not close close, but-"

He was cut off as Luca rolled them both over, and he was greeted by the softness of a pillow against his cheek. "Put your ass up, then," Luca whispered.

Casper did as he was asked, the familiar feeling of lewdness evoked from making himself so provocative. He heard Luca rummaging around in a bedside drawer, and a moment later the wet chill of lube trickling down between his cheeks. "I-"

Again, Casper trailed off into a whimper as a single finger entered him, Luca gentle at first as always as Casper adjusted to the sensation. It was a different, subtler, deeper feeling, and when Luca reached under him to resume stroking his cock, the two combined were enough to send another shiver of anticipation through him.

Luca took him slowly. Slow strokes, gentle pressure; Casper reached out for his boyfriend beside him to fondle him at the same time, though his attention was already firmly divided. Slow enough that Casper was rocking restlessly against him by the time that Luca added a second finger, the stretch achingly sweet with how restlessly he'd been waiting for it; enough that when he paused to squirt another measure of lube onto his free hand before returning to stroke Casper's cock, the sensation was enough to have him desperately bucking his hips into his touch-

"Herregud," Casper gasped.

"Okay?" Luca asked softly.

Precum was dripping from him, mingling with the lube on Luca's fingers. "Just - fuck me," Casper managed.

He could sense Luca's demeanour change. He had the patience to be a remarkable tease when he wanted to be, but ultimately - their lives were frantic, their careers short, and he'd looked at him with all the same loss of restraint when they'd first locked the door to Casper's room that night - he was every bit as impatient as Casper was.

Fingers drawing out of him, and then Luca's hands were straightening his hips, more lube was dripping down over his hole. Casper raised himself up, giving him a comfortable angle to work with. The familiar pressure, the momentary strain as Luca's cock first pressed into him, and then-

"Oh, fuck-" The wonderful, all-consuming feeling of being filled, his boyfriend sinking into him as his hands gripped Casper's waist. The two of them slumped into a prone, lazy tangle atop the bed, Luca's weight bearing down on him.

"You feel so fucking good..." A fleeting kiss on the top of his head, Luca's breath warm against the back of his neck. Casper groaned, letting himself relax, become loose and languid in his boyfriend's arms.

He loved it when they fucked like this. These deep, lazy strokes with Luca more rocking inside him than thrusting, muscular legs resting either side of him. The rhythmic slap of his balls against Casper's ass, the surety of feeling his body atop his...

Again, as before, for a time they almost basked in it, relishing having one another so close; the languorous, easy pleasure of their bodies together. But of course, they wanted more. Rocking, slowly, turned to thrusting, to pounding. Deep breaths turned to gasps. The pleasure of Luca inside him went from warm, to primal, to-

"Oh my God, don't stop!"

To curling his toes and arching up into him with every thrust; Casper was pushing back against Luca's cock, the depth and angle of every stroke flipping some feral switch in his brain. This would never fade. If someday, they could step out together and be in love for the whole world to see - there would never be a part of him that wouldn't feel utterly filthy in the most wonderful way for this.

When Luca's hand slipped down again underneath his body, it was over. Casper came, shuddering as his cock pulsed in Luca's grip. Ass squeezing rhythmically, and he felt Luca slam into him a final time before unravelling behind him, Casper's orgasm tipping him over the edge as he rested there inside him. The dizzying, gratifying sensation of cum filling his ass even as it dripped from his cock. Complete, content. Done.

They stayed like that for a minute before Luca eased out of him, bending down to press another kiss to the juncture of his collar and shoulder. "Now, aren't you glad we stayed at home?"

Casper laughed faintly, rolling over to pull him down into another kiss. They could clean up afterwards. "There's always tomorrow, I guess."

Written for the August Contest, Image Prompt #11. I know this is a bit of a deviation from the backstory implied by the speech bubbles, but it's the first thing that sprang to mind for me for the image.

**

Donna stared down at her phone in mild incredulity. A part of her had expected it. She'd thought she might feel resigned if it came to pass. In fact - alongside the slight pleasant feeling of one's suspicion being proven right - she could feel her temper flaring.

She threw down the phone and snapped her fingers. "I call upon your protection!"

The crack like a whip and sudden puff of smoke no longer made her wince, but her heart rate certainly quickened just a little as the shape of Michael, her recently discovered guardian angel, unfurled in front of her.

"Again?" The divine being raised his eyebrows sceptically as he looked around her bedroom at the complete lack of mortal peril. "Look, I know technically I'm obliged to come whenever I'm called, but if this is to get another spider out of the shower, I'm going to-"

"It's not a spider," Donna said shortly.

Ugh. Of course he'd had to be cute. The white robes and faint blue aura that clung to him ought to have washed his ivory palette out, but his features were so... well, angelic that it only served to make him more striking; a broad, towering figure flanked by the furling shapes of his softly glowing wings. He brushed a loose strand of silvery-blue hair back as Donna folded her arms brusquely. "My date cancelled there," she said. "That's the third one in the last two weeks."

"Well, I do hear these things are often fickle these days," Michael proposed.

"Could be." Donna pursed her lips in mock thought. "But I can't help but notice that no matter how well things have been going, they've all cancelled almost immediately after I first told you about it."

Michael's gaze drifted down towards the floor. Predictable. Her guardian angel hadn't taken terribly well to his latest assignment being as ward to a young woman not long out of college and not yet quite ready to leave her clubbing days behind her - all the more enthused, indeed, now that she knew she could count on permanent safety - but he couldn't dislodge that moral code that had been bludgeoned into him. "Ah," he murmured. "That's... certainly an unfortunate turn of events."

"Are you going to tell me you had nothing to do with it?"

Michael hesitated. He was honour-bound, Donna knew, not to lie to her when asked a direct question. "I... suggested they consider alternatives," he offered cautiously.

"Mmhmm?" Donna nodded sarcastically. "And just where exactly does that fall in your remit of 'protecting' me?"

Despite the uncharacteristic bashfulness in his expression - power and the permanent ability to soar out of danger, she supposed, would give you a certain confidence - Donna could see him bristle a little at her words. Angels took their jobs seriously. "Humanity's changed a lot since I first got transferred to guardianship," Michael pointed out. "You know how many colleagues I've had have to rescue people from aggressive suitors? It seemed like a justifiable precaution to take."

"So, what, then?" Donna asked rhetorically. "I can't fuck anyone unless you say so?"

She enjoyed the little flinch from him at the word. She had never seen him flinch before. She pressed the advantage while she had it. "I'm not naïve," she said shortly. "I meet guys in busy public places first, I tell friends where I'm going, I can spot a red flag-"

"I never said you were."

"-and on top of all that, now I have you. So why all the fuss?" Donna challenged him. "I mean you're acting like you're-"

Two dots suddenly joined inside her head. Donna trailed off, and for a moment was too shocked to continue.

It was the sudden wariness with which Michael now regarded her that caused her to break, in spite of herself, into a sharp grin at the realisation. "Like you're jealous."

God, he even had the gall to look a little indignant. "I am not jealous."

"You are." She was twisting the knife now. "Oh, some angel you are; you're just a guy. A guy with a crush on his boss."

Was - was her guardian angel blushing? "You're not my boss," he said curtly.

"Aren't I?" Donna couldn't resist. She'd been mentally psyching herself up for a proper argument, but this was so much better. She took a step towards him, almost enough to close the distance between them in the tiny bedroom of her almost as tiny apartment. "You do the work," she said playfully. "You come when I snap my fingers..."

She reached out and grazed a finger against his chest, enjoying the way his eyes followed her, the look of indecisiveness as if simultaneously frustrated and contented by her touch. "Are we going to have to have a meeting?" she teased. "Is there an angel version of HR?"

"Stop it," Michael said lowly.

A part of her was still seething with him. Another part was still in the headspace she'd found herself in when she'd picked up her phone. "Or what?" Donna grinned, running the fabric of his shirt between her fingers. When he stayed silent, she went on, carrying that same confidence that she'd been wielding ever since the discovery of having him at her back. "You'll have to protect me from yourself? Fend yourself off? Or maybe you'll just-"

In an instant, Michael's hand had closed around her wrist, her skin almost glowing in the blue shroud that clung to him. She wondered if he could feel her pulse quickening. "I said stop it," he repeated.

She wasn't sure which one of them he was speaking to. She wasn't sure if he was.

Donna paused where she was in front of him, head tilted back to look him in the face. "Make me," she said softly.

The words had barely left her before their lips pressed together. It was the first inelegant thing she'd ever seen or felt him do, and for a moment Donna was too shocked to respond, to do anything but soak up the feeling of her heart hammering and the sudden pressure of their bodies on one another.

Then she found her bearings. She stretched up onto her tiptoes and let the fingers of her free hand snake up into his hair. She kissed her guardian angel*,* quite furiously, and she couldn't say truthfully that this was sure to be the most effective way to make her point, but she was damn sure she'd made it.

Then they were separating, breathless, confused, eyeing one another as they tried to gauge what line they'd just crossed. "Yes," Michael said after a moment.

Donna looked at him uncertainly. "'Yes' what?"

"There are archangels I would be in no shortage of trouble with," Michael surmised. His eyes were roving over her even as he spoke. "Those are my bosses. We're not meant to- clients, we don't-"

He was staring almost raptly at her mouth.

Donna should have left it there. It had been fun, grilling him a little, but she should have left the door firmly shut on whatever world of celestial intrigue that... whatever this was was liable to open up. Why did he have to be pretty? Oh, she'd gotten too used these past few weeks to decisions suddenly bearing fewer consequences...

"I won't tell if you don't," she blurted out.

Her guardian angel raised his eyebrows. "That's- I mean, that's not quite what I-"

"Michael." Invoking his name was enough to let him know he was about, once more, to be asked a direct question. "Do you want to fuck me?" Donna asked softly.

It was practically a groan, but once more, he was compelled to answer truthfully. "Yes. But-"

"Maybe your instincts were right," Donna interjected. She sat down on the edge of her bed. "Maybe those guys were bad news. So if I had someone to... keep me occupied without them-" She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Wouldn't that be helping to keep me safe?"

Michael looked at her, almost warily, and she wondered if she'd pushed it too far this time, was meddling with something liable to land them both in a buttload of divinely ordained trouble, was-

Was kissing her guardian angel again, and the tiny gasp that escaped her was enough to make him pause, looking down at her for clarification, and she reached up to drag him down towards her and make clear as brusquely as possible that yes, this was fine, this was great-

Which led to them tumbling across the surface of her bed, the vast shape of Michael above her pressing her against the mattress as he leaned down towards her again. His wings folded down on either side of like a set of curtains affording them both privacy. This time, Donna could focus on the details that before had been a blur: the softness of his lips against hers, the fingers cupping her cheek as if they'd never held anything so precious. Still protective, she thought with slight amusement. That was fine by her.

The same care lingered in Michael's touch as he reached for the straps on her dress, easing it down her body until she was left in just her underwear. She was fumbling with the fastenings on his robes, conscious of the network of hard muscle even through the fabric. So the classical depictions of angels hadn't been too far wrong...

The robes fell open. Donna's lips parted in faint shock. "Oh my God. Wait, sorry, is that offensive?"

"No, no." Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, is everything...?"

"Oh, I mean, yeah, I just..." Donna suppressed a slight giggle. "I just expected you to be wearing something... more, under there? Not that I'm complaining..."

Her guardian angel folded his wings again to shrug out of the garments entirely, and Donna took him in properly for the first time. Solid but still elegant, the faint glow present across the expanse of newly bared fair skin.

"Your turn, then, I think," her guardian angel said softly.

His lips moved to her neck as he drew her easily into his arms again, marking a trail down her collar and the freshly bared surface of her chest as his hands slipped behind her back. In a moment her bra was gone, and another gasp escaped her as his mouth moved to her breasts, kissing, sucking, nuzzling adoringly...

The trail continued downwards, her stomach muscles tensing as Michael kissed down her belly, past her navel, throwing a leg over one shoulder as he nuzzled his way down the seam of her thigh, every touch laden with anticipation. Donna was practically squirming by the time he pulled her underwear to one side. There was something almost obscenely delicate about the way he handled her, the graze of his lips against her skin, the care with which he manoeuvred her body. The feeling of his fingers spreading her cunt and the first slow, worshipful stroke of the flat of his tongue-

"Oh, fuck," Donna breathed.

Another large hand pressed gently but firmly on her belly as her hips threatened to buck up off the bed. Protective. Donna let her eyes fall shut. She let her fingers wind into her guardian angel's hair and her body attune to the racing of her heart and the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She let herself give in to the rush of sensations, of slow, exploratory kisses and flicks of his tongue that puzzled out what made her shiver with excitement, that settled gradually into a fixed, steady rhythm of long, lingering licks against her clit...

It all felt, dare she say it, heavenly.

The fingers of Michael's free hand were now gently teasing her entrance. With nothing to stop them this time, Donna's hips bucked involuntarily into the contact. "Try and keep still," he murmured, pausing momentarily to look up at her with amusement.

Perhaps, Donna supposed as she sat up slightly to grin down at him, she'd been assigned a guardian angel in part due to her own tendency towards misbehaviour. "Make me," she said once again.

It worked.

Strong hands moving underneath her, and suddenly she was being flipped over, her cheek pressed against the softness of her duvet. Hauling her hips upwards to leave her ass sticking lewdly in the air.

What she wasn't prepared for, though, was the thrill that went through her at the way in which Michael groaned as he slid inside her, low and desperate even as she felt herself stretch around his cock. The hand at the nape of her neck fingers twisting in the locks of her hair, pulling her back onto him as if he could never have had enough of the feeling of her against him. For a moment, Donna wondered just how many rules he was breaking, to have her like this. To be hers, to let her be his.

After that, her mind went all but blank.

This time, neither of them wasted time with teasing, skirting around what they wanted. They warmed up quickly to a rough, frenetic pace, and Donna pushed back joyously against her guardian angel, each thrust feeling as if it was working tension from her body that until then she hadn't known she'd been bearing; long, deep thrusts at the most exquisite angle as his free hand moved to straighten her hips slightly. Her right hand roamed blindly behind her, craving to touch some part of him, and he grasped her wrist loosely, pulling her back more firmly against him...

"Just- tell me if I'm at all too rough," he whispered.

"You're just the right amount of rough," Donna managed.

He released her wrist to let his arm snake beneath her body, and her whine of excitement was muffled with her face half-pressed against the bedclothes as he began to rub her clit again...

It was rough, but it was tender. He was strong, but he was gentle. A guardian angel. Donna had never felt more glad for it.

Her orgasm hit her in a sudden, overwhelming rush, each wave reverberating through her body until she could do nothing but lay still and soak up the feeling. She heard Michael groan behind her, felt him come almost to a stop with his cock fully inside her as the contractions pulled him over the edge after her. Warm, wet cum filling her as the pair of them sagged together against the mattress, riding out their climaxes together.

Dazed, giddy, Donna lay with her guardian angel's body above her, panting as her heart rate gradually began to descend again. Michael's arms protectively encircling her, keeping the bulk of his weight off her even as he held her to him. Leaning down to kiss the crown of her head almost in reverence.

It all felt, Donna mused, rather wonderfully safe.

When they'd quite composed themselves, he eased gently out of her and rolled off to allow her to straighten up. "So," she said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage, "I guess you should probably leave that out of your... mission report, or whatever."

Michael managed a bashful laugh. "I'll... gloss over it, one way or another."

She was sweaty, sticky, achingly content but about ready for a hot shower to clean herself up. She wondered if he'd join her. Was he allowed to get his wings wet?

But first... "Still, though-" Donna fixed him with a penetrating stare, and tried not to sound too hopeful. "We are gonna... do this again sometime, right?"

"If it's in the interests of your safety?" Her guardian angel smiled at her, glowing with something more than his usual aura. "Absolutely."

Donna grinned. Something told her she wouldn't try too hard to keep herself out of peril. "I'd like that."

This is a loosely related follow-up to a work I first posted on this sub some time ago here, though can be read as a standalone too.

**

The fair queen suppressed a shiver.

Even once one of her handmaidens had removed her blindfold, the faint candlelight had stopped far short of reaching the corners of the dungeon room, the chamber far too deep below ground for natural light to penetrate. To anyone else, the rooms that still resided beneath the castle would have carried an air of foreboding, a warren of austere stone and ghostly shadows. But for the queen, it was her sanctuary. Her escape from the weight of absolute responsibility that followed her wherever she went above ground: of expectation, of duty, of always remaining absolutely composed and in control. Her guilty pleasure.

Footsteps from beyond her line of sight, and the queen caught her breath at the sudden sensation of fingers tracing through her hair, as a familiar, soft voice spoke in her ear, close enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. “Quite ready, Your Highness?”

Lily. Always so understanding. “I-”

The queen’s sentence ended in a muffled gasp at the sudden shock – could it really now be called a shock? – of a small, slightly jagged sliver of ice tracing over her bare skin. It moved, sleek and fluid, from the point just below her ear where she’d felt Lily’s warm breath, a sudden spike of cold that traced down her cheek, her collar, down her neck and grazed the top of her bare chest. “Take your time,” Lily murmured, the smile in her voice plain even from out of sight.

The queen breathed deeply. Strings of water droplets adorned her naked body like tiny jewels, each one a memory of how she’d been teased. “Yes. I’m ready.” For… what, exactly, she did not yet know, but she’d been tantalised plenty. She was never short of admiration for her maids’ creativity.

“It’s too hot.” The queen’s fan had been slack in her grip as she’d sighed, acutely aware of the sweat leaving her clothes clinging uncomfortably to her – why did she always even at moments like this have to remain presentable? – as she’d scanned through the mountain of documents before her with as much concentration as she could feign. “So much for a summer recess,” she’d muttered. “The Lords are bickering worse than ever.”

She’d accepted a glass from Lily with palpable relief. “And going through business slower than ever,” the other girl had pointed out. “I can’t imagine they’d be devastated if these weren’t back to them today.”

The queen had gazed at the copy piled up in front of her with a measure of guilt, though her mind had already been wandering to thoughts of slipping out of her dress and into a cool bath. Could she? No, she’d never be able to settle. It was a summer’s day made for doing a grand amount of nothing, but the familiar nervous energy that always came to the surface when she began a task wouldn’t leave her unless she was occupied with something.

Something like…

“Bess isn’t busy.” It would have been a casual, throwaway remark for most people, but the queen had heard the silent question in Lily’s voice. She’d felt a flush beginning to creep around her collar that had had nothing to do with the weather. “Is… is she now?” she’d said tentatively.

She could spare a couple of hours, couldn’t she? And she’d have to. Bess’s sessions, once they began, tended to take their time to conclude.

“I can promise you one thing,” Lily had added. “You would certainly be cool*.”*

She’d grinned at her, a smile that the queen hadn’t been able to help but return.

She was cool, alright. The palpable relief of escaping the scorching heat above had grown deeper with every step she’d descended into the stone rooms below ground. Before her maids had stripped her, had strapped her down to the table that now stood as a centrepiece to what had once been the main holding room. All made over, of course – the queen had taken great care with her quality of life improvements. The upholstered surface was soft beneath her back, the straps that crisscrossed her body and pinned her wrists and ankles down forgiving enough for her to pull on them with all her strength without hurting herself – but stern enough to not yield an inch.

Before the ice had come out – a solid block that the other girls had gleefully smashed smaller pieces from before they’d begun to work on her. The queen had lain for she knew not how long – helpless, squirming within the tiny sliver of space still afforded to her, as the contours of her body had been mapped and teased and tormented from all sides in a ticklish, skin-tingling bombardment of her senses. “Good girl.” Bess, who always took charge in these situations, had stroked her hair gently, even as her smile had promised infinitely more yet to come. “But you’re going to have to keep still for us…”

The queen had learned early on that Bess, a little older and with a certain shrewdness behind her kind eyes, had a wonderful knack for anticipating her wishes even before she’d quite found the means to articulate them. It made her an extremely helpful handmaid – and a formidably capable domme. “Because you do want what comes next, don’t you?”

Bess’s voice had been dangerously, delightfully soft, and it was as much the heat between her legs as the cold that bit into her limbs that had made the queen twitch once more under her touch. “Yes,” she’d breathed.

Bess had kissed her softly, and then had disappeared from her side, leaving her to the other girls’ ministrations, the nerve-tingling feeling of the ice beginning to melt against her flesh, and the racing of her imagination.

Now she had to imagine no longer. The girls had circled round her again, and Bess was approaching, another small, rounder piece of ice, slightly tapered at one end, held in her outstretched hand. “Let me explain,” Bess said slowly, deliberately. “You’re going to cum for us-”

Again, the queen felt herself practically throb.

“-but first, you’re going to show us how well you can control yourself.” The muscles of the queen’s stomach had clenched as Bess had traced the ice over the bare skin of her belly, hand coming to rest just over her navel. “I’m going to leave this resting here,” Bess had said. “And it’s going to stay here, until it melts. And then, and only then, will you be allowed to cum. Sound fair?”

“I-” The queen had raised her head as best she could, doing her best to size up the piece resting on her stomach. How long would she have to endure of whatever Bess had planned? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? More?

It had been several sessions ago, now, that her fondness for edging had been teased out by Bess. “Why do you suppose it is?” the queen had mused, grinning with that sense of utterly satiated serenity that came over her once the dust had settled. “That I get so much pleasure from being… denied pleasure?”

Bess had smirked and shrugged. “Pleasures can be opaque sometimes. But, well… everyone wants what they can’t have, Your Highness. And,” she’d added as an amused afterthought, “I suppose on that note… you’re not the most used to having someone say ‘no’ to you, are you?”

“What happens if it slips off?” the queen asked now cautiously.

Bess smiled. “Then we replace it with a fresh piece, and we start again. You won’t cum until one has completely melted on your body. Actions have to have consequences, after all, don’t they, Your Highness?”

There it was. That jumble of feelings, mingled excitement and trepidation and longing that only came alive in her down here. The queen didn’t know if she could do it. That would depend on her self-control. On how gentle – or cruel – her handmaids were with her.

But fuck, every part of her wanted to try.

Again, the queen managed a firm nod, and her voice was quite steady as she spoke again. “I’m ready.”

Again, Bess grinned. “I hope so.”

She straightened the ice where it dipped just slightly into the groove of her belly button, and stepped once more into the shadows.

Then it began.

The queen’s concentration was sharp. Her focus was occupied, as best as it could be, by the balance of the piece of ice on top of her, the set of her body, doing all that she could to compose herself. Even, though, had she had nothing else to occupy her thoughts, she suspected what came next – as it often did – would have become something of a blur. Of so many hands, soft palms and nimble fingers, fanning out over her body even as she did all that she could to stay limp and unmoved; of soft lips and tongues that grazed, warm and tender, over the same pathways that earlier had been marked by the sharp bite of the cold. The girls, of course, knew all of her weaknesses by now. They knew that kisses in the shallow hollow of her throat made her weak; knew the faint tug of the tresses at the base of her neck and soft graze of nails against her scalp brought something feral out of her. Knew the precise combination of loving praise and crude taunts that brought her to some hazy place in the middle of feeling safe and feeling dirty; calm, agitated, comfortable, desperate, wanting, yearning to-

“I need to-,” the queen’s gasped pleas were swallowed up in another kiss. A pair of mouths – whose, she neither knew nor cared – were at work sucking on each of her nipples: slow, measured movements that only left her aching more acutely for – fuck – for the slow circles of fingers between her legs, spreading her cunt, agonisingly conscious of her own wetness, at the urge to buck her hips into the movements against her clit that were so patently, so deliberately not enough. “I need to cum,” the queen managed.

“No,” Lily said gently, simply. “Not yet, Your Highness.”

The chill of the ice was still there against her belly. How much time had now passed? It would be melting faster as the minutes trickled by, but the skin of her belly was surely now slick in its wake and ready to dislodge at even the slightest of movements-

Fighting every instinct in her body – the instinct to push against her restraints and press herself further into the hands that were coaxing her apart – the queen kept herself still. Perhaps it was her competitive spirit, or something that sat on the edge between pleasure and discomfort, or the part of her that almost melted for itself internally as again, lips pressed affirmingly against her forehead – “good girl” – that kept her from exercising her safeword to bring proceedings to a halt. She wanted this. She wanted this side of herself that the rest of the world didn’t get to see.

And so she endured.

She endured when the ice returned, and the lips and tongues and fingers were suddenly joined by the ticklish chill that it took every ounce of restraint she had to keep from squirming beneath. She kept still as those same fingers pressed easily inside her; slow, gentle strokes soon giving way to deeper, firmer movements, knuckles curling, finding with practiced ease the spot that made her almost sob with pleasure at the pressure. But never enough. That, they knew now too – her tells, her edge, and the fingers slowed, the ministrations ceased, always, always early enough to deprive her of her release. How could the ice still not be gone when her skin felt as if it was burning? She needed it now. She needed it, she needed it, she-

“Mmpf.” A faint, choked whine escaped her, and the queen desperately held herself in check, as half a dozen hands once again came to a stop, frustrating her once more. God, she’d chosen them well.

“Poor thing,” Bess cooed, moving back into her line of sight. Her fingers stroked the queen’s cheek affirmingly. “But I think… you’re almost there.”

The queen glanced from her face down to her midriff, where she could just make out the faint translucent shape of what remained of the solitary ice chunk. “Think you can hang on?”

The queen nodded once more, the motion clipped, trying not to move herself too much. “Good girl,” Bess murmured.

Her fingers brushed the queen’s lips. She had produced another fragment of ice from somewhere, and its sleek surface brushed the same path against the queen’s mouth, the damp cold this time almost a relief. “That’s it…”

Bess moved the ice away for a moment, and as the queen watched brought it to her own lips, sucking on it thoughtfully. She was too distracted by the wonders being wrought across her body to pay it much thought, but suppressed another slight gasp as Bess kissed her again, mouth now suddenly, acutely cold against hers. Just one more rush to her senses, in the strange haze of warm flesh and cold water and sticky sweat that her time strapped to the table had brought. “Like it?” Bess asked softly.

The queen nodded tentatively once more. Bess grinned, slipped the melting ice now fully into her mouth, and nuzzled her way affectionately down the queen’s neck, the familiar path of kisses now suddenly layered with a whole new test for her senses. “Oh-” the queen almost purred. “That’s- fuck-”

Again, she was too distracted to pay it any great consideration. Bess’s lips, the two mouths still dutifully focused on her breasts, the sea of arms around her as she was rubbed and fingered and gloriously taken apart, as the edge of orgasm beckoned to her yet again-

And then it happened, too swiftly for her to prepare herself. The others retreated, enough for Bess to dip between her trembling thighs, and the queen was only conscious of fingers spreading her lips before she felt the sudden, icy kiss of Bess’s mouth against her clit.

The queen couldn’t help it. She squealed as her body jerked at the sudden sensation. The tiny shard of ice that had remained skittered off the wet surface of her belly and onto the table. “I- no-” the queen sputtered. The edge she’d been on was still there, tantalising, but agonisingly fading as her clit throbbed with sensitivity. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

“Pity.” Bess made an exaggerated pout of sympathy. “And you were so close.” She stroked the queen’s thigh gently. “Guess we’ll just have to start again, Your Highness.”

She grinned wickedly at her. The queen stared back at her, speechless. She couldn’t bear it. Every nerve in her body was shot. She’d been squirming and begging to cum before the next ice shard had so much as been placed on her body.

The thought practically made her tremble with excitement.

Bess had produced her next segment of ice. “Good luck,” she said, voice once again dangerously soft.

Summer evenings were long. The queen had never been more grateful for it, as she lay back once more, and her maids began to break her once more.

He loves every moment of it, from start to finish.

From the tentative, shy look that comes over her that by now clues him in right away: that tonight, once again, she wants to do something a little less vanilla. Even now, a little bashful about suggesting it. Gently coaxing it from her, what she wants, what she needs, suppressing a faint smile at her visibly growing excitement as they go. Broad brushstrokes, as ever. The details, as she relaxes, are left to him.

He loves the familiar, methodical process starting with the cords around her wrists, her ankles; the ties that spread her body across their bed, the little remaining slack that will give her just enough room to squirm. The gag that parts her full, smiling lips. The blindfold, loosely tied, that envelops her in darkness, hiding eyes wide with anticipation. Every addition another sign of trust, of her letting go, putting herself in his hands. He might love her for that most of all.

For the fleeting, feather touches that feel doubly provocative with her unable now to see where they’re coming next. For any remaining pretence that she isn’t more than ready, as his hands ghost over her sides, her thighs, her belly, lips roving, making her shiver as they brush by her neck, her collar, her breasts. He does love to make her wait.

If nothing else, for the little intake of breath that comes when she finally hears one of their toys whir into life.

He loves that by now, he always knows. The upper limit of what she can handle, the lower threshold that will keep her merely frustrated on edge. Both, in time, will have her testing the slack in those restraints. He loves the sounds that she makes through her gag. The little starts that become whimpers that become inarticulate pleas, for buzzing wands that make fleeting, teasing ventures between her legs without ever yet lingering where she wants them; for curved shafts whose tips press tantalisingly against her entrance before retreating. “Is that what you want? Go on, use your words…” He’ll never, ever get tired of teasing her like this, too.

Nor, of course, of murmuring encouragement, gentle words as he continues to rile her up. “You’re being so good…” Whispers in her ear as he reclines next to her on the bed, her shivering at the sudden proximity. “Look how wet you are for me. You really need this, huh?” Fingers through her hair, kisses on her forehead. “Good girl. But, I know you can wait a little longer…”

The twin forces visibly pushing and pulling at her. The praise on her mind, the desperation to give in to her body. Hips straining not to buck, legs fighting not to quiver.

And then, of course, the reward for both their patience. The sudden surety of a vibrating pressure against her clit that doesn’t move, a thrusting inside her that doesn’t cease. She doesn’t even have time to gather herself. He loves it for that. For the raw, practically feral state she’s in as she finally cums, testing the restraints to their fullest. Each time, as he watches her tremble, he can barely believe she has more left to give. But more there always is. He’s not done with her yet.

Any last vestige of self-control, any remaining self-consciousness or bashfulness, fades then. It gives way as he positions his body to pin her down against the bed, as he realigns the toys wringing yet more from her: more pleasure, more stimulation. Moans that were passionate become primal, as she twitches, overloaded, overwhelmed, one orgasm blurring into the next in a haze of sensation. He loves that he knows she can handle it. He loves that she wants to handle it. And more. Always, more.

And then enough. The vibrations slow and stop as the toys are turned down and off. Just as lovingly, he works backwards, kissing her wrists and ankles in turn as he loosens the restraints to free her still-trembling limbs, slipping the gag gently from her mouth. Lifting off the blindfold, meeting her eyes: dazed, delighted, slowly returning to reality.

If he loves breaking her, he adores putting her back together. Drawing her into his arms, marking her still-flushed bare skin with more kisses, murmuring to her as she comes to rest her head against his chest, coming back to herself. “You’re okay. You did so well...” The way she relaxes against him, and the knowledge that there, in their embrace, she feels safe.

Until the personas are gone, and they’re simply themselves again, sans more released tension than either of them could have believed beforehand. Later, they’ll fall asleep together in front of a movie on the couch, and grin bashfully at one another once they come to. He’ll love that, too.

Or maybe… well. Maybe he just loves her.

Based on Image 7 from the July contest. This was written pretty hastily (there's a lot of pics in this contest I'd like to write for) so hopefully is up to scratch!

"I couldn't remember if you wanted milk or not," Casper said. "So I made both and just thought I'd have whichever you didn't want."

Luca smiled in faint exasperation but accepted one mug from him. "They don't make real coffee in England, anyway. But thank you."

Even the faint brush of their fingers together on the handle was enough to make Casper's pulse quicken slightly. Would this ever stop feeling... forbidden? Would they ever just be able to sit down to a quiet morning together without it feeling like something they'd stolen from the world? He could only hope so. But perhaps - again, his heart skipped along just a little faster - perhaps this heightened sense of excitement in those moments when they were able to be close would still linger even without it.

"Do you feel like watching the early match tonight?" Casper suggested.

Luca was still hovering by the kitchen island, uncharacteristically mussed-up with his dark hair unbrushed, a loose black T-shirt falling down past the waist of his pyjama bottoms. He didn't look like he had plans of going anywhere further than the couch anytime soon. "Who plays again?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee a little too casually.

It was a defensive question. Luca always knew who was playing. Even when it didn't involve him or his team in any capacity, football never left his mind. But he had taken the second, silent question from what Casper had said? "Do you feel like going out?"

Going out wasn't something they made a habit of. The English tabloids were vicious, and catching two top-level players together - on a date, as it would be - would be the gossip story of the season. It was an invasion into their lives that neither of them, frustrating as it was, was yet ready to sanction.

But this time was different. The World Cup was on, and every sports journalist in the country was glued to it. Many of their club teammates were there already - neither Denmark nor Italy, of course, had qualified for them to join them. Nobody would be watching for what two players back in Europe were up to in the meantime. "Brazil and somebody else," Casper said with a shrug. "I forget."

"That might be good."

"Maybe." A moment passed, as Casper considered testing the waters a little further. "They'll probably be showing it in every bar," he added, looking down at his drink as if it had only just occurred to him.

Luca watched him, gaze uncertain. When they'd first met, Casper had found him utterly inscrutable; he'd embarrassed himself more than once in training, trying to guess what he was going to do next when it had been his job to mark him. Off the pitch, he'd soon discovered, Luca wasn't as adept at guarding his feelings. "Are you asking me out?" he said eventually, trying and failing to inject a little humour into his voice.

"Well, what if I am?"

Luca sighed. "I... you know, the..." He paused for thought, muttering under his breath. "La stampa scandalistica..." Casper had played one season in Italy just after he'd left Denmark, but it was easiest for them both generally to speak in English to one another. "The news writers," Luca went on. "Even if they are all in America now, it only needs one person to send them a picture from their phone, you know?"

"I get it." Some part of him was relieved, but he knew from Luca's expression that he had failed to conceal the flicker of disappointment. Casper took another sip of his coffee, brushed back a lock of blonde hair as nonchalantly as he could - and then his guard dropped fully. "I wish this was easier," he blurted out.

Luca was regarding him with the same expression as when he'd first brought their coffees. A little exasperation, but with something more tender escaping through. "Me too."

Silence hovered between them, and then Luca spoke again. "I knew this will be difficult," he admitted. "That there will be lots of... sneaking around, a lot of secrets. I thought, maybe it was too much to ask."

Casper, in spite of himself, chuckled a little. "You didn't have to ask me." It had happened all too suddenly. They'd been the last ones up in the early hours of the morning at their hotel after a hard-fought win on the road. One moment they'd been talking, laughing about their own misadventures as they'd ground their way up the professional ranks, and then...

Casper could tell, from the look in his eyes, that Luca was remembering it too. "Well, I thought it was polite," he said coyly.

Casper glanced down at the loose fabric of Luca's pyjama bottoms. They didn't do a terrific job of disguising his thoughts. "Well, it worked," he replied with a smile.

Luca was right. There were, inevitably, going to be a lot of hoops for the two of them to jump through, as they tried to make this... whatever it was work. But, even if for now it was stolen moments... they kept on winding up feeling worthwhile. "We could stay in," Casper supposed.

"I could cook," Luca offered.

"Sure." Casper took a step towards him and set his coffee cup down. "Later."

He leaned upwards to close the last of the space between them, and their lips pressed together firmly, brusquely, his body pushing Luca's back against the countertop. The other man's hand slipped round to rest at the nape of Casper's neck, drawing him in deeper to the kiss, fingertips nestling their way into the curls around the collar of his baggy hooded top.

The excitement was still there, alright. But kissing Luca was starting to feel wonderfully... easy.

And all too natural, when his free hand began to wander downwards, grazing the inside of his boyfriend's thigh, and the taller man drew back just enough to grin down at him. "How much later are you thinking?"

They all but raced up the stairs to Luca's bedroom. Bundling across the top of the covers until they had come to rest with Casper on top of him, his weight all but pressing him to the mattress as they kissed again. He felt as if he knew every muscle in Luca's body by now, sharpened together in days at the gym or clattering into one another for a heavy challenge on the turf. It had been quite something else, to feel them for the first time. And again, now, as Luca's arms encircled him and drew him in closer; as Casper's fingers wandered under the hem of his shirt, grazing the firm lines of his abdominal muscles; of his calves as he swept his legs over Casper's to pin him there on top of him...

"Depends how long you last," Casper managed with a grin between kisses.

His hoodie was gone, and then their pyjamas; for a little while they were content just to lay like that, soaking up the presence of one another there and naked for them. Casper could feel Luca's cock twitching beneath him, and he grinned as he straightened up, looking between them both playfully. "How long were you thinking about this?" he asked jokingly.

Luca raised his eyebrows. "Since the last time I saw you, obviously."

Even now, it made the butterflies rise in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't protest. Casper had known, too, the pitfalls this would likely lead to, the precariousness of anything happening between the two of them. But he hadn't been able to forget it. The visceral joy of what they'd done together that first night at the hotel. He'd wanted it again. He'd needed it again.

When Luca's fingers slid now around the shaft of his cock, Casper was no better at containing himself. "Me too."

They were sliding across the bed together until Luca was able to prop himself up against the headboard, shifting into a seated position where they could kiss comfortably even as they stroked one another. Luca was groaning, hips rocking as he practically fucked Casper's hand; he could feel precum fresh and trickling over his fingers. Luca's free hand was wandering underneath him, squeezing and fondling Casper's ass; a finger played gently around his opening, even the barest contact enough to send a shiver through him combined with the steady, firm motion of Luca's dominant hand between his legs.

"Don't make me cum yet," Casper murmured.

Luca paused their kiss to smirk up at him. "You're close already?"

Casper blushed a little. "Well," he said defensively, "not close close, but-"

He was cut off as Luca rolled them both over, and he was greeted by the softness of a pillow against his cheek. "Put your ass up, then," Luca whispered.

Casper did as he was asked, the familiar feeling of lewdness evoked from making himself so provocative. He heard Luca rummaging around in a bedside drawer, and a moment later the wet chill of lube trickling down between his cheeks. "I-"

Again, Casper trailed off into a whimper as a single finger entered him, Luca gentle at first as always as Casper adjusted to the sensation. It was a different, subtler, deeper feeling, and when Luca reached under him to resume stroking his cock, the two combined were enough to send another shiver of anticipation through him.

Luca took him slowly. Slow strokes, gentle pressure; Casper reached out for his boyfriend beside him to fondle him at the same time, though his attention was already firmly divided. Slow enough that Casper was rocking restlessly against him by the time that Luca added a second finger, the stretch achingly sweet with how restlessly he'd been waiting for it; enough that when he paused to squirt another measure of lube onto his free hand before returning to stroke Casper's cock, the sensation was enough to have him desperately bucking his hips into his touch-

"Herregud," Casper gasped.

"Okay?" Luca asked softly.

Precum was dripping from him, mingling with the lube on Luca's fingers. "Just - fuck me," Casper managed.

He could sense Luca's demeanour change. He had the patience to be a remarkable tease when he wanted to be, but ultimately - their lives were frantic, their careers short, and he'd looked at him with all the same loss of restraint when they'd first locked the door to Casper's room that night - he was every bit as impatient as Casper was.

Fingers drawing out of him, and then Luca's hands were straightening his hips, more lube was dripping down over his hole. Casper raised himself up, giving him a comfortable angle to work with. The familiar pressure, the momentary strain as Luca's cock first pressed into him, and then-

"Oh, fuck-" The wonderful, all-consuming feeling of being filled, his boyfriend sinking into him as his hands gripped Casper's waist. The two of them slumped into a prone, lazy tangle atop the bed, Luca's weight bearing down on him.

"You feel so fucking good..." A fleeting kiss on the top of his head, Luca's breath warm against the back of his neck. Casper groaned, letting himself relax, become loose and languid in his boyfriend's arms.

He loved it when they fucked like this. These deep, lazy strokes with Luca more rocking inside him than thrusting, muscular legs resting either side of him. The rhythmic slap of his balls against Casper's ass, the surety of feeling his body atop his...

Again, as before, for a time they almost basked in it, relishing having one another so close; the languorous, easy pleasure of their bodies together. But of course, they wanted more. Rocking, slowly, turned to thrusting, to pounding. Deep breaths turned to gasps. The pleasure of Luca inside him went from warm, to primal, to-

"Oh my God, don't stop!"

To curling his toes and arching up into him with every thrust; Casper was pushing back against Luca's cock, the depth and angle of every stroke flipping some feral switch in his brain. This would never fade. If someday, they could step out together and be in love for the whole world to see - there would never be a part of him that wouldn't feel utterly filthy in the most wonderful way for this.

When Luca's hand slipped down again underneath his body, it was over. Casper came, shuddering as his cock pulsed in Luca's grip. Ass squeezing rhythmically, and he felt Luca slam into him a final time before unravelling behind him, Casper's orgasm tipping him over the edge as he rested there inside him. The dizzying, gratifying sensation of cum filling his ass even as it dripped from his cock. Complete, content. Done.

They stayed like that for a minute before Luca eased out of him, bending down to press another kiss to the juncture of his collar and shoulder. "Now, aren't you glad we stayed at home?"

Casper laughed faintly, rolling over to pull him down into another kiss. They could clean up afterwards. "There's always tomorrow, I guess."

"And what about what I want? Do I get any say in this?"

Vivienne sighed. "Look, Your Highness, I don't make the rules. I'm just here to do my job, pay off my debts and hopefully never have to return to this kingdom again."

The princess had come to a dead stop on the roving mountain pathway, her arms folded in what she must have thought was a decisive manner, blonde curls framing a face set in a scowl. Vivienne considered for a moment whether she could simply throw the smaller girl over her shoulder and keep on walking, before giving it up as a bad job. She'd humour her for now. "The prince was... extremely specific," Vivienne went on. "And no offence, but I didn't slay a dragon and climb about fifty flights of stairs for you to bail on me now."

"Bail on you?" the princess spluttered. "I- look, this is madness. I've never even met this- I don't want to marry a prince. I had so much planned for what I'd do when I finally got out of there; now you're telling me I have to just go and be someone's... trophy wife for the rest of my life?"

It was, Vivienne had to admit, a pretty raw deal, and in spite of herself she felt a twinge of sympathy for the slight figure before her as she swept a coil of her own braided dark hair away from her brow, sweltered from the day's trials and tribulations even with the sun beginning to set below the line of the mountains and the chill of oncoming evening beginning to settle upon them. But that was her life. The jobs weren't exactly virtuous, but she showed up, she fixed whatever problem needed fixing, and she took your reward and left. Now, at long last, she'd be able to get the target off of her own back, too. There was no need to tamper any further.

"The King's word is law here," Vivienne surmised. "And he never refuses his son anything. You can either come with me, or you can wait for him to send the royal guard up here to drag us both back with them, and I'd rather go with a little more dignity, hmm?"

The princess's eyes brimmed with what might have been tears. She could only have been a few years younger than Vivienne herself, but with her mystique taken away, Vivienne could see only a sheltered, abandoned young woman, just beginning to get to grips with the cruelties of the world she'd been released out into. "So that's it? We'll just do what we're told to? I thought you said you were an outlaw."

Vivienne was reminded, uncomfortably but not unenjoyably, of the wide-eyed look the princess had given her when she'd thrown open the barred door of the tower, exhausted and soot-blackened but triumphant. As if she, Viv, were some sort of hero rather than a menace. No, that was dangerous thinking; heroes got themselves killed.

"Well, what did you think you'd be leaving for?" Vivienne said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

"I..." The princess shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. I thought I'd be... free. That I could adventure a bit, see the world, y'know..."

Vivienne laughed semi-hollowly. "Adventuring's more trouble than it's worth, princess."

"You do it," the princess pointed out.

"That's different," Vivienne shrugged. Far below them in the valley, the outer walls and rugged turrets of the city were faintly visible. Security for anyone else; a problem for her. "I don't know how to do much else."

The other woman had made her way to a rock outcropping that jutted out over the pathway and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, Vivienne approached to join her. She'd done bodyguard work escorting travellers before - admittedly, all travellers who had wanted to be escorted - and sensed out here in the open that it was better to play the game, for now. Besides, the princess might make a reckless break for it if she was dead-set on freedom, and the prince would hardly appreciate his bride being delivered in haphazard fashion.

"Freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be," Vivienne tried. "It's not much fun being an outlaw. Always looking over your shoulder, not having anybody to turn to in a crisis..."

"It sounds preferable to being a prisoner," the princess sniffed. "However luxurious the cell."

"So what are you going to do?" Vivienne countered. "Try your luck out in the wilderness? You'd be a nice snack for a couple of mountain wolves."

The princess shuddered a little, even as she glanced irritably at her slender arms within the sleeves of her dress. "Well," she said matter-of-factly - it occurred to Viv that, for all her trials and tribulations as prisoner in the tower, this was a girl who still in all likelihood wasn't used to hearing the word 'no' terribly often - "you could help me."

Vivienne shook her head. "Not happening. I go back there without you, I'm in much worse trouble than having to marry some rich kid. I need my reward."

"Who's to say they'll even give it to you? Do you think anyone will argue with the king if he sends you to the gallows as soon as you've handed me over?"

That was a thought that had occurred to her, alright. It was an occupational hazard of sorts in her line of work. Still, Viv shrugged with what she hoped was more confidence than she felt. "Wouldn't have gone off to slay a dragon if I wasn't averse to a little risk, would I?"

"Please."

Something odd was happening to her. Viv wasn't unused to being pleaded with - stagecoaches and ship captains and others laden down with wares worth stealing and on the wrong end of a sword, usually. Something this time, though, was different. The princess was looking at her not with terror, but for something else - for reassurance. She wasn't the danger this time. She was the possibility of a way out.

A way out. When she, Vivienne, had had nothing, easier escape routes had presented themselves to her than a life of banditry. They'd been visible on every street corner or sequestered into non-descript houses in the darker districts of the kingdom's bigger trading cities. Ultimately, she'd taken the more violent, perilous path instead. Better to risk going out like that, if that was going to have to be her life.

"It's not my problem," is what she should have said. "I'm just doing my job."

Instead, Vivienne found herself saying "I have certain... contacts, who may be able to help you, up to a point. Of course, they're not the most generous-"

"We have money," the princess said immediately. "Not to match the king's, but-"

"It won't need to be." This was madness. But, well, that was hardly out of character for her. "Look, I can't promise any of this will work," Vivienne went on. "We're sort of going off-script here. But if you're dead-set on trying-"

"I am."

There was apprehension in the princess's face, but a determination that Vivienne had a certain degree of admiration for. "They're not good people," Vivienne warned her.

"I don't care about that."

Again, Vivienne hesitated just a little. "I'm not a good person," she added.

"I think I can judge that for myself."

Viv suppressed a laugh. "Sure. Just... don't get your hopes up too high."

She stood up slowly. "Well, in that case, I suppose we're making camp here for the night."

**

The mountains weren't exactly hospitable, and Vivienne would have had half a mind to climb and fasten herself into one of the taller trees had she been by herself. The princess, she suspected, was not a tree-climber. The mercenary wasn't terribly enthusiastic about sharing her tent, either, but she couldn't exactly leave the other girl out to freeze, either. The prince wouldn't... no. It no longer mattered what the prince would think.

"You know," Vivienne grumbled, "It would have been decidedly convenient if you could have just fallen in love with that royal sap. Aren't princesses supposed to marry princes, or something along those lines?"

The princess had been tossing and turning restlessly next to her. The more unkind part of Viv wanted to blame it on being away from a lifetime of creature comforts, but she had to concede that had their roles been reversed, she'd have been nervous in the other girl's position. She was nervous enough about this whole venture in her own position as it was. "What does it matter what I'm supposed to do?" the princess said indignantly. She was just visible in the near-darkness next to Vivienne; their blankets were, admittedly, a little stretched accommodating two people, and the princess had been drawing closer and closer to her as the cold of the night had set in until their bodies were almost wedged together. Viv had to concede she wasn't entirely opposed to the arrangement. "I don't want to," the princess went on. "It was never- it's not quite what I-"

She seemed to catch herself then, and even in the near-darkness Viv imagined she could see her blush. "What you had in mind?" Viv offered.

The princess nodded.

"So why not?" Vivienne's arm had come to be placed uncomfortably under her body to accommodate the princess' gradual sliding across the tent floor, and she wriggled it free and propped herself up on her elbow next to the other girl. "I mean I can see why, because I know the prince is a monumental tool, but you've only got my word for that. What if he's just fine and dandy and now you'll never know because you've never met him?"

"I don't have to meet him to know he's not my type."

"You have a type?" Now Vivienne was smiling in spite of herself. "Where'd you get to be so well-versed in romance, stuck in a tower guarded by a dragon?"

"I-"

If she was going to risk all of this to smuggle this woman to safety, Viv thought, she may as well at least have what little fun she could in teasing her in the meantime. "I mean, it's a little more complex than it appears in storybooks," she went on. "Have you ever even been kissed?"

"That's not-"

"Now, I'll grant you, I'd rather slay another dragon than entertain the prince, but I can say that as someone who's-"

"Okay, no, I haven't!" The slight quaver in the princess's voice audible even through her anger was enough to make Viv feel an uncharacteristic pang of guilt. "Of- of course I haven't," she went on. "I mean, where would I? It's not as if there was anyone to..."

She trailed off once more. Feeling oddly protective, Viv straightened the knotted expanse of blankets that had been only partially covering her. "To what?" she prompted, a little more gently this time.

With their bodies almost pressed together, Viv could sense the tension of the princess drawing back into herself, but she fancied that the other girl's shoulders relaxed with the admission in something like relief. "To try it with."

Had Vivienne not known better, she would have called the silence that followed almost... expectant.

"Well, maybe waiting wasn't the worst idea," she offered eventually. "My first kiss was a bit of a disaster. Tried so hard to be dramatic I actually bit my own tongue."

The princess made a sound that might have been a giggle. "You're making that up."

"For once, I'm not." She wasn't so bad, the princess, Vivienne thought. You should leave her alone, then, a voice said in her head. So she stays that way.

"Then what did he say?" the princess asked.

Vivienne half-smiled in the dark. "They weren't a 'he'."

She would regale the princess with one or two more stories, as the last embers of the fire they'd lit flickered away just visible beyond the fabric of the tent. A few more questions answered, one or two of her own wayward romances, and the princess's embarrassment would turn to bashfulness, to laughter, and then to... curiosity.

Quite how what followed unfolded, Viv couldn't quite explain. All she knew was that in the near-darkness under the bundled layers of blankets, when she cupped the princess's cheek in her calloused hands and pressed her own lips to hers, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

She'd had better kisses, Viv supposed, but nobody got it quite right on the first try.

"Can we... do that again?" The princess's voice, tentative, but hopeful.

Vivienne grinned. "Yeah, we can."

She turned out to be a fast learner.

Everything thereafter was a blur of fast and slow. It seemed as if one moment she'd been leaning in again, letting the other girl take the lead a little more this time, and the next layers of fabric were coming away under her grasp; the princess's bare skin was pristine, goosebumps just rising under the chill of the night, and-

And yet for all the rush, it felt as if Vivienne had all the time in the world, to meander her way over her body, the hollows of her throat and collar, the curve of her shoulder, the-

"Oh!" The princess's fingers were knotted in her hair as Vivienne sucked at the surface of her bare breast. Women were so much more impractical to undress, Viv thought wryly, but so wonderfully rewarding for it.

"Okay?" she asked her gently.

"Yes," the other girl breathed. "Just- don't stop."

She didn't.

This whole business - running out on the prince, rescue missions, good turns - may have turned out to be a calamitous mistake. By the time they'd wriggled out of the remainder of their layers, Vivienne was past caring. By the time she'd kissed and nuzzled her way down the princess's belly to her centre, had pushed her thighs blithely apart and felt the first taste of her wetness on her lips, felt the shudder of anticipation that had run through her... this was a mistake she would be only too happy to make.

"You're going to love this part," Vivienne told her gently.

The feeling was more than mutual.

Ragged breaths and bucking hips and the primal, urgent sounds she made when Vivienne had found the pattern, the pressure, the pacing that was right for her. Kissing, sucking, experimenting until she'd settled on a rhythm with her tongue flat against her clitoris, hands gripping her thighs, holding her steady. Viv loved it.

"Can you..." The princess's voice quavered once more. "Use your fingers?"

Viv broke off only long enough to grin up at her. "How could I refuse a princess?"

It wasn't her final instruction. The other girl must, Vivienne supposed, have had a fair bit of time to herself in her tower to try this. And was used to getting what she wanted.

Flushed, panting under their messy nest of blankets, the princess came for her. Pulsing around Viv's fingers, squirming under her tongue, nails raking the back of her neck with a feral energy she had never earlier seemed to possess. No wonder, Vivienne thought, that the prince would be so desperate for the girl to be his.

The princess's orgasm passed. Vivienne sidled up her body, the princess's slender arms encircling her, and the next kiss, now, was loose and giddy with newly found confidence. Lips playing over hers as they lay tangled together, newly naked and sweating even in the chill of the mountain night.

"You're going to have to show me how to do that before I go," the princess murmured.

Viv smiled down at her. "Gladly... Your Highness."

"And what about what I want? Do I get any say in this?"

Vivienne sighed. "Look, Your Highness, I don't make the rules. I'm just here to do my job, pay off my debts and hopefully never have to return to this kingdom again."

The princess had come to a dead stop on the roving mountain pathway, her arms folded in what she must have thought was a decisive manner, blonde curls framing a face set in a scowl. Vivienne considered for a moment whether she could simply throw the smaller girl over her shoulder and keep on walking, before giving it up as a bad job. She'd humour her for now. "The prince was... extremely specific," Vivienne went on. "And no offence, but I didn't slay a dragon and climb about fifty flights of stairs for you to bail on me now."

"Bail on you?" the princess spluttered. "I- look, this is madness. I've never even met this- I don't want to marry a prince. I had so much planned for what I'd do when I finally got out of there; now you're telling me I have to just go and be someone's... trophy wife for the rest of my life?"

It was, Vivienne had to admit, a pretty raw deal, and in spite of herself she felt a twinge of sympathy for the slight figure before her as she swept a coil of her own braided dark hair away from her brow, sweltered from the day's trials and tribulations even with the sun beginning to set below the line of the mountains and the chill of oncoming evening beginning to settle upon them. But that was her life. The jobs weren't exactly virtuous, but she showed up, she fixed whatever problem needed fixing, and she took your reward and left. Now, at long last, she'd be able to get the target off of her own back, too. There was no need to tamper any further.

"The King's word is law here," Vivienne surmised. "And he never refuses his son anything. You can either come with me, or you can wait for him to send the royal guard up here to drag us both back with them, and I'd rather go with a little more dignity, hmm?"

The princess's eyes brimmed with what might have been tears. She could only have been a few years younger than Vivienne herself, but with her mystique taken away, Vivienne could see only a sheltered, abandoned young woman, just beginning to get to grips with the cruelties of the world she'd been released out into. "So that's it? We'll just do what we're told to? I thought you said you were an outlaw."

Vivienne was reminded, uncomfortably but not unenjoyably, of the wide-eyed look the princess had given her when she'd thrown open the barred door of the tower, exhausted and soot-blackened but triumphant. As if she, Viv, were some sort of hero rather than a menace. No, that was dangerous thinking; heroes got themselves killed.

"Well, what did you think you'd be leaving for?" Vivienne said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

"I..." The princess shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know. I thought I'd be... free. That I could adventure a bit, see the world, y'know..."

Vivienne laughed semi-hollowly. "Adventuring's more trouble than it's worth, princess."

"You do it," the princess pointed out.

"That's different," Vivienne shrugged. Far below them in the valley, the outer walls and rugged turrets of the city were faintly visible. Security for anyone else; a problem for her. "I don't know how to do much else."

The other woman had made her way to a rock outcropping that jutted out over the pathway and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, Vivienne approached to join her. She'd done bodyguard work escorting travellers before - admittedly, all travellers who had wanted to be escorted - and sensed out here in the open that it was better to play the game, for now. Besides, the princess might make a reckless break for it if she was dead-set on freedom, and the prince would hardly appreciate his bride being delivered in haphazard fashion.

"Freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be," Vivienne tried. "It's not much fun being an outlaw. Always looking over your shoulder, not having anybody to turn to in a crisis..."

"It sounds preferable to being a prisoner," the princess sniffed. "However luxurious the cell."

"So what are you going to do?" Vivienne countered. "Try your luck out in the wilderness? You'd be a nice snack for a couple of mountain wolves."

The princess shuddered a little, even as she glanced irritably at her slender arms within the sleeves of her dress. "Well," she said matter-of-factly - it occurred to Viv that, for all her trials and tribulations as prisoner in the tower, this was a girl who still in all likelihood wasn't used to hearing the word 'no' terribly often - "you could help me."

Vivienne shook her head. "Not happening. I go back there without you, I'm in much worse trouble than having to marry some rich kid. I need my reward."

"Who's to say they'll even give it to you? Do you think anyone will argue with the king if he sends you to the gallows as soon as you've handed me over?"

That was a thought that had occurred to her, alright. It was an occupational hazard of sorts in her line of work. Still, Viv shrugged with what she hoped was more confidence than she felt. "Wouldn't have gone off to slay a dragon if I wasn't averse to a little risk, would I?"

"Please."

Something odd was happening to her. Viv wasn't unused to being pleaded with - stagecoaches and ship captains and others laden down with wares worth stealing and on the wrong end of a sword, usually. Something this time, though, was different. The princess was looking at her not with terror, but for something else - for reassurance. She wasn't the danger this time. She was the possibility of a way out.

A way out. When she, Vivienne, had had nothing, easier escape routes had presented themselves to her than a life of banditry. They'd been visible on every street corner or sequestered into non-descript houses in the darker districts of the kingdom's bigger trading cities. Ultimately, she'd taken the more violent, perilous path instead. Better to risk going out like that, if that was going to have to be her life.

"It's not my problem," is what she should have said. "I'm just doing my job."

Instead, Vivienne found herself saying "I have certain... contacts, who may be able to help you, up to a point. Of course, they're not the most generous-"

"We have money," the princess said immediately. "Not to match the king's, but-"

"It won't need to be." This was madness. But, well, that was hardly out of character for her. "Look, I can't promise any of this will work," Vivienne went on. "We're sort of going off-script here. But if you're dead-set on trying-"

"I am."

There was apprehension in the princess's face, but a determination that Vivienne had a certain degree of admiration for. "They're not good people," Vivienne warned her.

"I don't care about that."

Again, Vivienne hesitated just a little. "I'm not a good person," she added.

"I think I can judge that for myself."

Viv suppressed a laugh. "Sure. Just... don't get your hopes up too high."

She stood up slowly. "Well, in that case, I suppose we're making camp here for the night."

**

The mountains weren't exactly hospitable, and Vivienne would have had half a mind to climb and fasten herself into one of the taller trees had she been by herself. The princess, she suspected, was not a tree-climber. The mercenary wasn't terribly enthusiastic about sharing her tent, either, but she couldn't exactly leave the other girl out to freeze, either. The prince wouldn't... no. It no longer mattered what the prince would think.

"You know," Vivienne grumbled, "It would have been decidedly convenient if you could have just fallen in love with that royal sap. Aren't princesses supposed to marry princes, or something along those lines?"

The princess had been tossing and turning restlessly next to her. The more unkind part of Viv wanted to blame it on being away from a lifetime of creature comforts, but she had to concede that had their roles been reversed, she'd have been nervous in the other girl's position. She was nervous enough about this whole venture in her own position as it was. "What does it matter what I'm supposed to do?" the princess said indignantly. She was just visible in the near-darkness next to Vivienne; their blankets were, admittedly, a little stretched accommodating two people, and the princess had been drawing closer and closer to her as the cold of the night had set in until their bodies were almost wedged together. Viv had to concede she wasn't entirely opposed to the arrangement. "I don't want to," the princess went on. "It was never- it's not quite what I-"

She seemed to catch herself then, and even in the near-darkness Viv imagined she could see her blush. "What you had in mind?" Viv offered.

The princess nodded.

"So why not?" Vivienne's arm had come to be placed uncomfortably under her body to accommodate the princess' gradual sliding across the tent floor, and she wriggled it free and propped herself up on her elbow next to the other girl. "I mean I can see why, because I know the prince is a monumental tool, but you've only got my word for that. What if he's just fine and dandy and now you'll never know because you've never met him?"

"I don't have to meet him to know he's not my type."

"You have a type?" Now Vivienne was smiling in spite of herself. "Where'd you get to be so well-versed in romance, stuck in a tower guarded by a dragon?"

"I-"

If she was going to risk all of this to smuggle this woman to safety, Viv thought, she may as well at least have what little fun she could in teasing her in the meantime. "I mean, it's a little more complex than it appears in storybooks," she went on. "Have you ever even been kissed?"

"That's not-"

"Now, I'll grant you, I'd rather slay another dragon than entertain the prince, but I can say that as someone who's-"

"Okay, no, I haven't!" The slight quaver in the princess's voice audible even through her anger was enough to make Viv feel an uncharacteristic pang of guilt. "Of- of course I haven't," she went on. "I mean, where would I? It's not as if there was anyone to..."

She trailed off once more. Feeling oddly protective, Viv straightened the knotted expanse of blankets that had been only partially covering her. "To what?" she prompted, a little more gently this time.

With their bodies almost pressed together, Viv could sense the tension of the princess drawing back into herself, but she fancied that the other girl's shoulders relaxed with the admission in something like relief. "To try it with."

Had Vivienne not known better, she would have called the silence that followed almost... expectant.

"Well, maybe waiting wasn't the worst idea," she offered eventually. "My first kiss was a bit of a disaster. Tried so hard to be dramatic I actually bit my own tongue."

The princess made a sound that might have been a giggle. "You're making that up."

"For once, I'm not." She wasn't so bad, the princess, Vivienne thought. You should leave her alone, then, a voice said in her head. So she stays that way.

"Then what did he say?" the princess asked.

Vivienne half-smiled in the dark. "They weren't a 'he'."

She would regale the princess with one or two more stories, as the last embers of the fire they'd lit flickered away just visible beyond the fabric of the tent. A few more questions answered, one or two of her own wayward romances, and the princess's embarrassment would turn to bashfulness, to laughter, and then to... curiosity.

Quite how what followed unfolded, Viv couldn't quite explain. All she knew was that in the near-darkness under the bundled layers of blankets, when she cupped the princess's cheek in her calloused hands and pressed her own lips to hers, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

She'd had better kisses, Viv supposed, but nobody got it quite right on the first try.

"Can we... do that again?" The princess's voice, tentative, but hopeful.

Vivienne grinned. "Yeah, we can."

She turned out to be a fast learner.

Everything thereafter was a blur of fast and slow. It seemed as if one moment she'd been leaning in again, letting the other girl take the lead a little more this time, and the next layers of fabric were coming away under her grasp; the princess's bare skin was pristine, goosebumps just rising under the chill of the night, and-

And yet for all the rush, it felt as if Vivienne had all the time in the world, to meander her way over her body, the hollows of her throat and collar, the curve of her shoulder, the-

"Oh!" The princess's fingers were knotted in her hair as Vivienne sucked at the surface of her bare breast. Women were so much more impractical to undress, Viv thought wryly, but so wonderfully rewarding for it.

"Okay?" she asked her gently.

"Yes," the other girl breathed. "Just- don't stop."

She didn't.

This whole business - running out on the prince, rescue missions, good turns - may have turned out to be a calamitous mistake. By the time they'd wriggled out of the remainder of their layers, Vivienne was past caring. By the time she'd kissed and nuzzled her way down the princess's belly to her centre, had pushed her thighs blithely apart and felt the first taste of her wetness on her lips, felt the shudder of anticipation that had run through her... this was a mistake she would be only too happy to make.

"You're going to love this part," Vivienne told her gently.

The feeling was more than mutual.

Ragged breaths and bucking hips and the primal, urgent sounds she made when Vivienne had found the pattern, the pressure, the pacing that was right for her. Kissing, sucking, experimenting until she'd settled on a rhythm with her tongue flat against her clitoris, hands gripping her thighs, holding her steady. Viv loved it.

"Can you..." The princess's voice quavered once more. "Use your fingers?"

Viv broke off only long enough to grin up at her. "How could I refuse a princess?"

It wasn't her final instruction. The other girl must, Vivienne supposed, have had a fair bit of time to herself in her tower to try this. And was used to getting what she wanted.

Flushed, panting under their messy nest of blankets, the princess came for her. Pulsing around Viv's fingers, squirming under her tongue, nails raking the back of her neck with a feral energy she had never earlier seemed to possess. No wonder, Vivienne thought, that the prince would be so desperate for the girl to be his.

The princess's orgasm passed. Vivienne sidled up her body, the princess's slender arms encircling her, and the next kiss, now, was loose and giddy with newly found confidence. Lips playing over hers as they lay tangled together, newly naked and sweating even in the chill of the mountain night.

"You're going to have to show me how to do that before I go," the princess murmured.

Viv smiled down at her. "Gladly... Your Highness."