#ufolily

It's tempting. A not insignificant part of Rudi wants to let this sick game run its course. He wants to let the vial dissolve, wants to watch as the poison spreads throughout Mars' body. He wants to watch it kill him.

It's a struggle to remind himself that Mars can't die yet. Rudi can't let him die yet. It would ruin everything.

And Mars knows that. That smile of his stays in place, smug and knowing. He meets Rudi's eyes, then looks meaningfully down at the scalpel hovering above his abdomen. A silent taunt, or a command.

Fine. Fine.

Rudi grits his teeth, tightens his grip on the scalpel, and makes the first incision.

Mars gasps when the scalpel starts slicing through his skin. It's too subdued of a response for somebody undergoing abdominal surgery without anesthesia, even if he is hooked up to a morphine drip. Mars' stomach is being sliced open. He should be in unimaginable pain. He should be screaming, thrashing, trying to get away—

But that gasp is the extent of his reaction. Other than that he stays quiet and perfectly still as Rudi continues cutting him open.

Rudi lifts the scalpel once the cut is long enough. A trembling breath tumbles from Mars' lips, colored with—something. Not pain. Rudi knows what pain sounds like, and this is… It's—

He looks at Mars' face. There's a flush high on his cheeks. His mouth is slightly open, lips shiny with spit. He's gazing down, though Rudi can't tell if he's looking at the scalpel in his hand or the long, deep cut on his abdomen. His pupils are blown wide, the gray of his irises just a thin ring.

Freak.

Rudi clenches his jaw and lowers his head, focusing his attention on the incision. He lifts the scalpel again to make two horizontal cuts at either end of the incision. When he's finished, his eyes flick up to Mars' face again without his consent.

His expression has shifted subtly, containing an edge of excitement.

Rudi sighs and sets the scalpel aside. "I haven't washed my hands," he points out. "You're going to get an infection."

Mars finally tears his gaze away from his stomach to meet Rudi's eyes. One corner of his lips curls up, his eyebrow twitching along with it. "Then it's lucky I have you there to nurse me back to health." His voice doesn't contain a single hint of irony. If anything, he sounds almost fond, like he actually thinks Rudi is looking out for him willingly.

Rudi's fingers twitch. He's glad he's no longer holding the scalpel; if he was, he might have plunged it into one of Mars' eyes, consequences be damned. As it is, he brings his hand to Mars' abdomen and digs his fingers into the edge of the incision. Blood instantly seeps from the wound, slick and hot; Rudi's fingers slip as he attempts to get a solid grip. It's a struggle, made all the more difficult by Mars gasping again, that same soft sound of not-pain.

After a few seconds of fumbling, Rudi finally manages to get hold of Mars' skin. There's a wet sucking sound as he peels it back. The inside of Mars' skin is pink and glistening with dark red blood. Rudi stares at it, a wave of nausea crashing through him. He swallows thickly, bites the inside of his cheek to ground himself and takes a deep breath—

—and gags at the smell in the air. Blood, metallic and sharp. Raw meat, too; it reminds Rudi of being in a butcher's shop, of getting served a rare steak with dinner. It's almost pleasant—which somehow makes it more disgusting.

Mars grunts, the first actual sound of pain Rudi has heard him make during all this. "You might want to get a move on," he says, voice tight. "I think I just felt something."

Rudi raises an eyebrow. "And you don't think that might be related to your skin being peeled back?"

Mars laughs, breathless. His stomach shakes with it; Rudi has to tighten his grip to keep hold of the flaps of skin. "Something inside."

Rudi's eyes move from the flaps of skin to the organs he's just laid bare. Another wave of nausea hits; this time he actually gags, worried for a moment he's going to throw up. He lets go of Mars' skin; the flaps fall back down, though they stay curled away enough that Rudi can still see the bloody mess of his insides, yellowish sacks of fat and dark red organs that almost seem to be pulsing—

He looks away, gagging again. His head swims, vision blurring. There's no way he can go through with this. This, finally, will be the game that breaks him. The game that Mars wins.

"Rudi." Mars' voice cuts through the ringing in his ears, sharp and sudden. "Look at me."

The previous tightness in his voice has disappeared. It's steady, commanding, and Rudi obeys in spite of himself.

Mars raises his hand, slow and deliberate. When he's sure Rudi is watching, he folds his thumb into his palm, then closes his fingers around it and squeezes. He nods at Rudi, a silent encouragement for him to do the same.

Rudi does, copying the motion. Miraculously, he stops gagging. The nausea is still there, but he no longer worries about throwing up.

He opens his mouth to thank Mars—then snaps it shut when he notices the smug smirk plastered on his face. No way he's feeding his ego even more.

Rudi stays like that, breathing deeply through his mouth until the nausea passes. Only then does he relax the grip he has on his thumb. He grabs one of the flaps of skin with his left hand, pulling it back until the wound is big enough for him to stick his right hand inside.

He moves quickly. If he waits, if he hesitates, there's a chance he'll chicken out again—so he doesn't. As soon as the wound is wide enough, he sticks his hand inside.

It's—warm. That's the first thing he notices; a warmth like a fever, like one of Adi's hugs. It's almost painful, how not wrong it feels—

Until Rudi finally becomes aware of the wetness, the squish of Mars' organs around him. He can feel his blood pumping through his veins, a thrumming against his own skin. It reminds him, undeniably, inescapably, that his hand is currently inside of Mars' abdomen.

Lastly, he notices the sound. Mars' heavy breathing, occasionally trembling with—

With a moan. There's no mistaking it, this time—the something Rudi noticed earlier is pleasure, no doubt about it.

"You're disgusting," he says, voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

Mars chuckles. Rudi can feel the vibrations, the way his insides shake with it; he wants to pull his hand out, but—

"But you'll do what I want anyway," Mars says. "You have to."

Rudi grits his teeth. He hates that Mars is right. No matter how much he wants to, he has to do this.

"Go on." Mars tilts his head, an amused tinge to his voice. "Have a look around. Or did you forget there's a purpose to all this?"

"I—" Rudi snaps his mouth shut, teeth clacking together hard. The more time he spends arguing with Mars, the longer he has to stay inside of him—and he'd like for that to be over as soon as possible.

He gets to work exploring, gently moving his hand through Mars' abdomen. It's disgusting, even more because Mars continues to moan softly while he works. At one point Rudi has to take another break, squeezing his thumb hard against his palm to keep from throwing up—but eventually he finds the vial nestled between the folds of Mars' intestines.

As soon as his fingers close around it, Rudi pulls his hand out. He stands up fast enough to get a little dizzy, the vials clenched tight in his hand—then whirls around and throws it hard against the wall.

The vial—what remains of it, at least—shatters, the bright yellow poison inside splattering against the plaster. Rudi stares at it, unblinking, until his vision starts to blur. His chest heaves with his breaths, harsh like he just ran a marathon.

"Congratulations," Mars says. "You win. Although you should probably sew this wound closed, if you don't want your hard work to be for nothing."

Rudi snaps his head over to glare at him. Mars just smiles in response—and for once, for just a second, it almost seems to reach his eyes.

Her lab coat’s covered in ash, singed at the edges. She’s coughing, short of breath.

She barely notices Elke, her attention solely on the burning building.

Even at this distance Elke can feel the heat lick at her skin. When Confick reaches towards the flames, hand shaky, Elke jumps and pulls her back.

Confick finally acknowledges her as they touch. She half turns to Elke, eyes wide. Her gaze never fully leaves her workshop.

Flames reflect in her eyes like a mirror, and for a moment, it looks mesmerising.

“Let go,” Confick says finally. She tries to pull out of Elke’s hold before coughing violently. The smoke is still stuck in her lungs like a bad dream.

Elke only tightens her hold. Confick is desperate, but so is she.

“We have to go,” she pleads, “They’ll be here any minute.”

“No- I- I have to—“

It’s not hard to stop Confick from running back inside. Scientists were never known for their physical strength, and much of what little she had was already lost in the fire.

“Comeon,” Elke pulls again. In the pause, of Confick stuck within indecision, Elke takes her hand in a manner too gentle for their current urgency.

Confick follows without much resistance, now.

Past the roaming eyes of the city, they find themselves in an unassuming alleyway. A broken neon sign indicates an inn of some kind.

Elke looks at Confick’s tired form, at the busy night street. She’ll have to take a chance.

It’s a rundown place, but it’d have to do. Surprisingly, the room has a bathtub.

Elke nudges Confick towards the bathroom. “You should wash up.”

Confick doesn’t reply. For a moment Elke thinks she’ll be ignored entirely, but Confick exhales. “Fine.”

Elke leaves her to it. Or, she tries to, until she starts getting antsy. Only ten minutes passes, but the bathroom was much too quiet.

She knocks on the door, once, twice. No answer. Elke mumbles a silent apology then opens the door in a hurry. Beyond the door—

Is Confick. Confick is fine.

She sits in the tub, despondent. Eyes closed. Something about her feels so far away somehow.

The click of the door alerts Confick of Elke’s presence. She hums in acknowledgement, not looking up.

Elke isn’t sure what overcomes her, but words escape her quicker than she’s able to think.

“Can I wash your hair?”

Confick finally opens her eyes. Looks straight through Elke like she could see the way her intestines twist and her heart beat.

She seems to consider it for a moment, then nods. It was barely there, but it was something.

Elke moves a stool behind the tub. Rolls up her sleeve.

It was a strange sight. It felt like only yesterday when Elke sat behind Confick in class and paid more attention to her than the professor. And now she has her hands in her hair, so close, it feels unreal.

Elke gently combs through each strand. Rubs the mystery shampoo-conditioner concoction in, and sorts through knots like she was undoing braided lace. Not a sound comes from Confick the entire time.

When was the last time Elke had been this close to someone? Not since—

Soapy suds escape into the bathroom drain as Elke points the shower head at Confick’s hair. It’s only as she stands to place the shower head away does she notice how wet her clothes have gotten. She’d have to take those off.

It must be the residual fire on her skin that makes her continue to say things she would never say. Because Elke places a hand on the side of the tub, and catches Confick’s attention.

“Can I—“ she pauses. It’s hard to form the question. CorTech might find them any moment, yet Elke was trying to take advantage of whatever this is.

Confick shuffles her legs to the side ever so slightly.

There’s room now, and Elke feels dizzy.

With wet clothes left on the stool in a messy heap, she joins her.

The two of them barely fit. Confick’s legs touch Elke’s, and the water feels much hotter than it really is.

Elke isn’t sure where to rest her eyes, finally deciding to simply glance at Confick’s face. She’s quiet, looking at the grout in the tiled walls. It was weird to see her hair wet. There’s bruises on her neck.

Time doesn’t seem to pass. Even as the water cooled beyond lukewarm, as Elke’s fingertips pruned. Quiet, just like they were back in their classroom, and Confick had no idea who she was.

Elke almost slips when she climbs out the tub, legs numb. It takes her pulling at Confick again to get her out of there, too.

There isn’t much choice in the bedroom. Just a single bed between the two of them. Confick doesn’t protest. But Elke never expected her to.

When they lay side by side like packed sardines Confick lets her with no complaints. Elke almost wishes she did, just to hear her say something. If only to hear there’s life in her voice.

In the dead of night, Elke sneaks a look at Confick. Her eyes are shut and her breathing is shallow.

Finally being able to rest, Elke lets the events of the day run by her. It’s been three years since graduation, since Elke saw Confick in person. She never changed, no matter how tired she sounded over the phone.

Elke can’t be the best ending. If Confick asks how she found her, she’d have no better answer than ‘I’ve had you in my mind for years’. But that’s left unsaid, buried, and Elke was the same anyways. It’s better not to ask.

It’s hard to say what’ll happen tomorrow. Elke might wake up in the morning to the same pristine bedroom and that girl’s gentle smile, or CorTech’ll have banged down the door.

They can talk about it all tomorrow.

For tonight, Elke closes her eyes and leans ever so slightly into Confick’s space. Focuses solely on the heat from her.

Hence the egg. Confick isn't the only one who can run experiments—and today, Elke is determined to find out where her limits lie.

"Get off," Confick says. "I want to take a shower." She shakes her leg so Elke finally realizes she's still holding onto her calf and lets go. Confick rolls off the bed the moment she does, heading towards the bathroom without looking back.

Elke hears the shower click on a few seconds later. She gets up as well, pausing for a moment while she waits for her legs to steady, then follows Confick into the bathroom.

The door is unlocked. Confick doesn't even look at Elke until she opens the shower cabin and sticks a wash cloth inside. "Can you wet this for me? I have to do groceries."

Confick looks at the washcloth with disdain—though if Elke is being honest, it's always kind of hard to tell with her. That expression might just be her default. "You should take a proper shower, if you're going out."

Elke rolls her eyes. "Nobody will care. People go straight from the gym to the grocery store all the time; I'm going to be far from the worst smelling person there."

Confick sniffs, but takes the washcloth and holds it under the stream of water until it's wet, then hands it back. Elke wipes her neck and armpits, then scrubs between her legs. "Thanks," she says, hanging the washcloth on a hook to dry. "Text me if you need anything from the store."

She leaves without waiting for Confick to reply. After all, if she waited for that, she'd never leave.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Elke is already nearly at the register when Confick finally texts her list. It consists mostly of normal food items and hygiene products, but like always there are some items that stand out. WD-40, LED light bulbs, a pencil sharpener. Elke has stopped asking what they're for.

She replies with a thumbs up emoji, then closes her messaging app. She doesn't put her phone away immediately; instead her thumb hovers over the icon of a different app. Now?

Somebody bumps into her while reaching for something on the shelf in front of her. Elke steps out of the way with a muttered apology and slides her phone back into her pocket.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

When Elke returns to her apartment, Confick is sitting at her desk. It's covered in disassembled machinery and electronics to the point where Elke has to set the items Confick requested on the ground next to her. Confick makes a small noise of acknowledgement but doesn't thank her—which is about what Elke expected.

She heads into the kitchen to put the rest of the groceries away. Halfway through, she pulls out her phone, opens the app, and turns the vibration on the egg to its lowest setting. She listens carefully for any reaction, but—nothing.

When she's done putting everything away, Elke makes her way back to the tiny office Confick has taken over pretty much entirely. She stays in the door opening, leaning against the doorjamb as she watches Confick work.

Confick doesn't even look at her. Her hands and breathing are both steady, her skin pale and smooth. No sign at all that she's wearing a vibrator.

Elke walks further into the room, leaning forward with one hand on the back of Confick's chair. "What are you working on?"

"Not anything you'd understand," Confick says.

It's not said cruelly or with the intention to hurt—but it still stings. Sometimes Elke thinks Confick forgets they shared most of their university classes.

Elke hums. "Tell me anyway."

Confick sighs. The moment she opens her mouth to respond, Elke turns the vibration up two more settings to three out of ten.

That finally gets a reaction. Confick's breath hitches, her hand shakes. She turns her head, tilting it up to level Elke with a withering glare.

Elke stares impassively back. Come on, she thinks. If you want me to stop, say something.

Confick doesn't. She glares for a second longer, then turns back to her work and explains what she's doing. To Elke's frustration, it is difficult to follow. Even when she knows what Confick is working on, is intimately familiar with the research she's building on, she still can't quite understand. Genius, forever out of her grasp.

Elke listens to Confick talk until she can't take it anymore, then retreats into the living room. She watches TV, some medical drama she barely pays attention to in favor of playing with the settings of the vibrator. She turns it up, down, off entirely for a while, then all at once to six. No matter what she does, Confick remains silent in the office.

At some point she exits. Elke thinks she's finally pushed her to her limit—but Confick walks straight past her to the bathroom. No need to wonder what she's doing in there; a minute or so after she enters, Elke hears the toilet flush.

Confick emerges a few moments later, looking unfairly composed. The only sign that Elke has been teasing her for literal hours now is a slight flush on her cheeks.

"Feeling okay?" Elke asks.

Confick sniffs. "Just fine." With that, she retreats back to the office.

Elke sighs and turns her attention back to the TV. She turns the vibrator the fifth setting and keeps it there until she starts to get hungry enough to finally get up and grab dinner.

Just as she's reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets for a pack of instant ramen, Confick emerges from the office again. She doesn't head to the bathroom this time, instead joining Elke in the kitchen.

Elke closes the cabinet. "Are you going to make dinner?"

Confick nods. She walks past Elke to the fridge, arm brushing against Elke's back. Her skin is warm enough to feel through the fabric of her shirt, almost feverish.

Elke smiles. She stays where she is until Confick has passed by again, then moves to lean against the counter somewhere out of her way. "What are you making?"

"Stir fry," Confick says. She doesn't elaborate further, and Elke doesn't ask her to; instead she trains her focus on Confick as she turns the vibrator up to six, then seven, then eight—

Confick's hand slips, the knife she's wielding coming dangerously close to her fingers. She doesn't immediately go back to cutting, takes a few trembling breaths as she waits for—something. For Elke to turn the vibrations back down, presumably.

If that's what she wants, she's going to have to ask for it.

"Need some help?" Elke asks.

Confick glares at her over her shoulder. Her entire face is red now, sweat beading at her temples.

Elke pushes off the counter and stands behind Confick. She grabs her wrists gently and moves her hands back into position. They're shaking just slightly. "Keep going," she says.

Confick hesitates, but eventually does as she's told.

Elke lets go of her wrists. Instead of stepping back the way Confick probably wants her to, she places her hands on her waist and slowly slides them forward and down across her stomach.

"Elke," Confick says. Her voice is low, annoyed. A warning—but not, notably, a command to stop.

"Relax," Elke says. She pops the button of Confick's pants and tugs the zipper down. "I'm helping."

She pauses with her fingertips touching the elastic of Confick's underwear, waiting for Confick to stop her. When she doesn't, Elke slides her hand down.

The first thing she notices is that it's hot, hot enough that she feels like she'll burn herself if she's not careful. The second is that Confick is absolutely soaked. Sticky arousal coats her fingers as soon as she comes into contact with Confick's cunt, so much that she's surprised there's not a wet spot on her pants.

Elke hums as she pets delicately across Confick's folds. When she presses her fingers against her entrance, she can vaguely feel the vibrations of the egg inside of her. Then as she moves her hand up, she feels Confick's clit, hard and swollen and practically throbbing with need. She presses the pad of one finger against it, a delicate but still firm touch—

—and Confick drops the knife entirely, slamming her hands flat on the counter to stay upright as she comes. Her entire body shakes, trembling in Elke's grip. A bitten off moan escapes from her, short and soft but still more than Elke is used to from her.

Elke presses herself flush against Confick's back, chin on her shoulder so she can press her lips against her ear. "Is that the first time you've come?"

Confick doesn't respond. She keeps shaking, staring down at the cutting board between her hands like it has personally offended her. Elke pulls back with a sigh and turns the vibration down to four. "Well?"

"Yes," Confick says, voice shaky.

The vibrator has been on for at least six hours. To not have come all this time—it must have been torture.

Yet she still didn't take it out or tell Elke to stop.

Elke pulls her hand out of Confick's underwear. She does her pants back up, then steps away entirely. Confick shoots her a confused look that Elke returns impassively. "You can keep cooking."

Confick's brow furrows. Only when Elke starts making her way back to the couch does she hesitantly reach for the knife again. Elke waits a few minutes longer before she turns the vibration up another notch again.

She thinks, idly, of shoving her hand down Confick's pants again. Of rubbing her clit until she comes, or pushing a finger in alongside the tiny vibrator and fucking her like that. Or maybe she'll wait until Confick is done cooking, spread her legs apart at the dining table and eat her out until she's shaking.

Elke pulls away from Confick's neck with a sigh, sitting upright on her thigh. To no surprise, Confick's face is blank—but is a little flushed. That's something, at least.

She moves her fingers lower, slides them through Confick's wet folds before dipping the tip of her finger into her hole. Her insides are soft and warm, her walls fluttering.

"Did you already come?" Elke asks, smiling wryly when Confick nods. Typical—Elke couldn't tell at all.

"Then," she removes her hand and grinds down on Confick's leg again, "do you mind helping me out a little?"

Confick sighs, put-upon. She moves her leg, pushes back against Elke's grinding just the tiniest bit. It's not enough—not nearly—but it's more than Elke was expecting. Seems she caught Confick in a giving mood.

Elke decides to push her luck. "Actually, can you lie on your side?"

Confick's expression doesn't change, but somehow Elke can still tell she's being judged. "You're sitting on my leg."

With a huff, Elke lifts herself onto her knees. She's fully prepared for Confick to continue lying flat on her back, but to her surprise she actually does as she's asked and rolls onto her side. Her knee nearly catches Elke in the ribs; she just barely manages to catch her leg in time to avoid getting hit, shifting it to rest on her shoulder.

Elke shuffles forward on her knees until her cunt is hovering right over Confick's. She looks at her face; it's blank as ever.

"This is okay, right?"

"Do whatever," Confick says. It's the standard response; she'll let Elke do whatever she wants, as long as what she wants doesn't involve any work on Confick's part.

How funny. She acts like she's doing Elke a favor—and she is, but at the same time…

It's not like Confick's not getting anything out of it, either.

Elke lowers herself so their cunts slide together. It takes a few tries, but eventually she manages to angle herself so their clits bump against each other. She moves her hips in little circles, shudders every time her clit grinds against Confick's. It feels good—but even better is the view of Confick's flush darkening.

"Does it feel good?" She asks, knowing she won't get a response. Confick isn't especially talkative at the best of times and she's even more taciturn during sex—unless Elke manages to catch her while she's brainstorming fixes for a coding error. Then she'll keep right on talking to herself, during.

Elke likes those times the best.

This is nice in it's own way, though. Confick lying back and letting Elke do whatever she wants to her, letting her use her—it's enough to drive her crazy. She might be able to achieve faster results with a different toy, but she doesn't want fast; she wants Confick.

Elke's first orgasm builds slow and hits hard. She digs her fingers into the flesh just above Confick's knee, pulls her leg against her hard enough that Confick makes a small noise in protest. Even so, she doesn't make any move to shake off Elke's grip, so Elke doesn't loosen it until the waves of her orgasm have passed.

The space between them is wetter now than when she started. Confick's face is even redder, too; some of the extra slick is probably hers. For all Elke knows, she could even have come again.

She starts moving again, starting slow before building to a faster rhythm than before. Confick doesn't protest, doesn't move—but by the time Elke's second orgasm hits, her flush has started creeping down her neck.

Elke pauses for a moment to catch her breath. She's satisfied, could easily stop now—but she knows the chances that she'll get Confick into this position again are unlikely. Better to take advantage of it while she still can.

She trains her eyes on Confick's face as she starts chasing her third orgasm, grinding hard and fast against her. Confick's flush deepens even more, creeps further down her body until it covers her shoulders and part of her chest.

That flush on her breasts is pretty. A reddish-pink that's similar in color to Confick's areolas, her stiff nipples. Idly, Elke reaches town to tweak one—and nearly does a double take when Confick actually makes a sound in response.

She can't quite tell what it was, whether it was a moan or a whine or something else entirely. The sound doesn't repeat when Elke does it again—but there is a sudden increase in the fluid leaking from Confick's cunt, enough that Elke is almost certain she came again.

Elke knows she should stop, should give Confick a moment to recover at least—but knowing that she just came, that this feels as good for her as it does for Elke is enough of a turn-on that she speeds up instead, rubs their clits together more insistently as her own orgasm starts to approach.

Confick's breathing gets heavier. It's a beautiful sound; Elke is torn between continuing to look at Confick's face or closing her eyes so she can focus on the sound of her breathing—when, on the next exhale, Confick lets out a trembling moan.

That's enough for Elke to tip over the edge. She clutches Confick's leg to her again, tilts her face towards it and bites down on Confick's thigh to keep the desperate whine that threatens to escape her inside. It means she hears the sound Confick lets out in response, something halfway between a whimper and a sigh.

It's incredible. Confick is never this responsive. Even though Elke's orgasm is barely finished, she moves again, wanting more, wanting—

"Enough," Confick says. Her voice is rough, trembling and a little wet. When Elke focuses on her face, her eyes are shiny with unshed tears. She isn't quite crying, but it's close.

Holy crap. Elke sways, feeling a little faint.

The sight is so arousing she grinds down again on instinct—only to stop abruptly when Confick honest to god sniffles. "Enough, I said. Stop."

Elke doesn't move immediately. It's only a moment of hesitation, but it's long enough for Confick to tack on a weak please.

Jesus. What the hell did Elke do to her?

Elke pulls back, dropping Confick's leg from her shoulder. It flops limply onto the bed; Elke expects Confick to either stay like that or get up to shower like she usually does, but instead she pulls both her legs up until she's curled into a loose ball, twisting her torso to bury her face in a pillow. Her upper back is just as red as her face and chest had been, and shiny with sweat besides. Her hair sticks to the nape of her neck with it; Elke reaches out a hand to brush it off—

And Confick flinches away from her.

"Are you okay?" Elke asks. She's never seen Confick behave like this before.

Confick grunts, the sound muffled by the pillow. Elke waits patiently for more of a response, some kind of explanation—but when it doesn't come, she hazards a guess.

"How many times did you come?"

Finally, Confick lifts her head from the pillow to pin Elke with a glare. "Seven," she says flatly.

Elke reels. "Seriously?"

Elke stares at the back of Confick's head. She didn't even turn around to look at her when she complimented her work. Even now, she's already turned her face down to her notes.

Wetness pools between Elke's legs. She rubs her thighs together, bites her lip at the shock of pleasure the pressure sends through her.

The rest of the lecture is agony. Elke fidgets in her seat, unable to focus on anything the professor is saying. Her pen hovers over her notebook, but she doesn't write anything down. All she can seem to focus on is Confick's words. Simple, but elegant, running through her head until it's filled with nothing but Confick's voice, her praise, her—

Elke presses a hand flat against her chest. Under her skin, her heart pounds, a rapid thump-ta-thump against her ribs.

She's so wet she thinks the people in the seats next to her can probably smell it.

When the lecture finishes, Elke is out of her seat like a shot. She haphazardly tosses her things into her bag before shoving past the other students still in their seats with a few muttered excuses.

It's a fight not to run once she's in the hall. She speed walks to the bathroom instead, rushes into the first unoccupied stall. She locks the door behind herself, throws her bag onto the floor without caring that it's probably covered in piss, and sits on the toilet without even bothering to pull her skirt down.

Elke spreads her legs and reaches under her skirt. Her underwear is soaked, clinging to her labia. Even just pulling it to the side feels good, a wet drag that has her bite her tongue to keep from making noise.

The sound of people talking, of faucets turning on and off as people wash their hands is muffled by the door but still audible. Elke does her best to stay quiet as she unceremoniously sinks a finger into herself. She's so wet that the slide is easy, sweet pleasure without even the sting of pain to distract her. Her mind is free to run where it will—and it goes, of course, to Confick.

Simple, but elegant. Elke wonders if maybe that is what Confick thinks of her in general. Certainly, anybody would be considered simple compared to Confick's genius. Elke, especially, couldn't hope to compete on the basis of intelligence alone—but perhaps Confick admires that about her.

Would she compliment Elke's work more if she knew of the sleepless nights that fuel it? The hours spent pouring over books, going over the same material that her fellow students seem to absorb without difficulty over and over again—would Confick commend her for it? Would she—

Elke bites down on a groan when her finger bushes against a particularly good spot. She brings her other hand down between her legs as well, rubs clumsy fingers against her clit. It's hard and swollen, almost hot to the touch. She only manages to circle it once, twice, before a moan slips out of her and she realizes she won't be able to stay quiet like this.

Reluctantly, Elke moves her hand away from her clit and places it over her mouth instead. Her fingers are sticky with slick; the smell of it fills her nose, makes her dizzy.

It's pathetic, really. She was so desperate she couldn't even wait until she got home, couldn't curl up in the dark of her apartment and slip her hand between her legs the way she usually does—she had to do this here, in a public bathroom, where anybody could hear her.

If Confick knew she was doing this, she'd think Elke was disgusting.

Elke groans at the thought, the sound thankfully muffled behind her hand, and sinks a second finger into herself. She twists her wrist—the angle is slightly awkward, hurts a little, but it's all worth it when she thumbs at her clit as she thrusts her fingers in and out. The pleasure is so intense she nearly squeals, has to bite her tongue to keep the sound in even with her hand over her mouth.

Simple, but elegant. Pathetic. Disgusting.

Confick's voice fills her head, her ears. Things she's heard her say before and things she hasn't, but can imagine. Good girl. Freak. Simple, but elegant.

Elke hunches forward as her orgasm tears through her. Her hips jerk forward even as her hand falters, her rhythm becoming sloppy. Her eyes roll back, then slip closed. She keeps her hand clamped over her mouth to keep any of the myriad desperate noises trying to tear their way free of her contained. Her lungs burn, her extremities tingle, her head swims—

And then, with one final messy thrust of her fingers, it's over. The last of the aftershocks brings a sort of calm with it, an inexplicable serenity. Elke removes her fingers from her insides and wipes them on a sheet of toilet paper, then wipes the fingers of her other hand and her sticky chin. Once she's relatively clean, she puts her clothes in order.