#wolveria writes

You certainly couldn’t afford to fix it up. And as the old structure groaned and shifted against the freezing winds, you shivered from more than cold.

How long could one ice storm last? It had persisted in the day and grown worse into the night. You were too scared to sleep, and more than once you’d considered going out to your car, keeping the engine on and the heater running. You couldn’t drive it anywhere, not with it already boxed in by snow, but it would keep you alive.

When the battery is drained, you thought. It was rated to last several hours, and when it gave out, you could admit defeat and slink out to your car.

So, you huddled on your couch, the blanket wrapped tight around you, the heater on the floor at your feet. Despite yourself, you fell asleep, only to awake by a violent shiver.

The battery was dead. With a heater long grown cold, the ice storm raged outside.

Already fully dressed in your overcoat and boots, you grabbed your keys and a water bottle, and after several attempts you pried open the front door. A wall of white nearly as tall as you blocked your path, the ice and sleet and wind pushing against your door until it created an impenetrable barrier of frozen snow.

Even if you could get out, your car was most likely buried by now. You closed the door and locked it, the knob so cold you felt it through your gloves.

Panic tightened your throat as you realized the situation had gone from worrying to alarming. The phone lines were down, your cell phone had no service, and the storm was supposed to continue until tomorrow.

You glanced once more at the empty hearth, no firewood in sight. In the safety and warmth of day, you’d decided against buying any; the fireplace was old and you weren’t sure if the flue was safe to open. You’d heard of trapped gas killing people, and you didn’t want to die to an explosion either.

You regretted it now. Freezing to death didn’t sound much better.

You returned to your couch, shivering with the blanket over your head. You could make it to morning and dig out your car, or maybe call for help.

You drifted off with those thoughts, shivering and trying not to cry. You needed all the energy you could spare.

When you awoke again, you knew you were in trouble. Your breath billowed before you, the tip of your nose was going numb, and your fingertips were soon following. When you raised your head to gaze over the couch toward the kitchen, thinking maybe you should see if there was something you could break apart and burn in the fireplace, you saw it. A faint glow in one of the windows.

It was long frozen over so you couldn’t be sure, and you dragged yourself off the couch and into the kitchen. You tried to wipe away the frost with your sleeve, but it was plastered to the outside. Still, the glow remained. Maybe a trick of the light. You couldn’t be sure until you looked outside.

You almost didn’t. The closest neighbors were a mile away and the power was out. Nothing alive could possibly be out there, and you didn’t want to let the frigid air inside the house with its poor insulation.

But the glow remained, and the longer you stared, the more your curiosity tugged at you.

Pulling your hood over your head and yanking down your coat sleeves over your hands, you unlocked the back door and opened it.

It took several tries, the wood refusing to budge in your hand. When you finally pried it open, something fell off the jamb, a piece of frozen wood broken off. It was unlikely the door would fit into the jamb now, leaving the inside of the farmhouse further exposed to the storm.

You grit your teeth but the frustration quickly faded, replaced by confusion and a small dose of fear. You hadn’t imagined the light. It was coming from the barn.

Even with the white sheets coming down around you, you were able to glimpse the light through the storm. It had the warm glow of something powered by fuel, not electricity, and it contained a flicker that warned of flames. Had something caught fire in the barn?

The wind buffeted you, biting every inch of exposed skin with a ferocity that felt purposefully mean. But you pushed against it, your boots slipping against the slick stone steps. There shouldn’t be a source of ignition in the barn, no reason for it to burn in an ice storm. No, someone was out there.

Pulling up your scarf over your mouth, you bent your head and pushed against the wind. You were blind as you walked, but it didn’t matter. The yard and a field lay between the house and the barn, and only the snow blocked your way.

The angle of the wind shifted again, clearing some of the snow from the back porch. It was the only reason you’d been able to open the backdoor at all, and why the front door had been buried in snow. You continued to stumble, the wind biting at your face. The waterproof jacket and pants were rated for zero degree temperatures, but with the wind chill, it was far below that.

You could die very quickly out here, but the thought of that distant glow drove you onward. Someone might need help. You didn’t know what aid you could provide except to offer shelter in the farmhouse. It would be better than the barn, anyway.

The distance would have taken you under two minutes to walk on a normal day. You felt like you’d been walking for hours by the time you reached the barn. Your body was strange, disconnected. Your face burned, your lungs ached from the cold that leeched through the scarf, and you only kept moving because standing still meant death.

The main barn doors were locked shut, but the side door had clearly been broken into, the padlock missing. You pried open the latch, your fingers insensate and clumsy, and you stumbled inside, too exhausted to close it behind you.

Your feet dragging, ice clinging to your eyelashes, you weaved into the open loft of the barn. A fire burned before you, bright and hot, lined with stones to keep it from spreading to the rest of the structure.

At the fire sat a man. A very large man, you noted through your blurring vision. He wore furs, but it wasn’t a fur coat. It was mismatched, rudimentary, like he’d sewn the coat himself and didn’t know how.

You couldn’t see his face past the dark curtains of his hair. You only saw the eyes. Black, vast, and watchful.

You opened your mouth to ask if he needed help, and the world tilted sideways. You hardly felt the dirt floor as it came up to greet you, though it wasn’t gentle when it did.

The man rose to his feet. He walked toward you at a slow gait. Cautious, maybe, as if you were the intruder and this was his home.

He must be cold, was your sole thought as you closed your eyes.

***

Warmth. Blessed, life-giving heat.

It didn’t warm all of you, not with the chill against your back. But heat suffused your face and chest and legs, and light danced beyond your closed eyelids.

You opened them. Everything looked unfamiliar, and for a moment, you couldn’t even remember your own name.

The confusion receded just as quickly. You were in your barn, lying on your side in front of a fire, your heavy coat removed. And on the opposite side of the fire sat a large, hunched figure wrapped in black furs.

His face was covered by the wide, lumpy hood, though you could see the strands of his long hair hanging down.

“Hello?”

It was the first word you’d spoken in a long time, far past the existence of the ice storm, and it cracked with disuse.

The man didn’t move, though he must have heard you. Unless he was deaf? Or maybe he spoke another language.

You didn’t know. You found it difficult to talk yourself, your head still fuzzy and your body not entirely warmed yet. The howl of the wind outside beat in the high rafters. The barn was probably a hundred years old, and you hoped it would survive the night.

“I’m not angry,” you added.

The man flinched. Just a little, but enough for you to realize he could both hear and understand you.

“For using my barn,” you clarified, some of the rust finally shaking from your voice. “It’s okay. In fact, you probably saved me.”

He said nothing, so you continued on, probably from nerves more than anything else. You always talked too much when you were uncomfortable.

“The power was out and I didn’t have any firewood. And this storm is supposed to last until tomorrow. I probably would have frozen to death—” You shivered violently, nearly choking on your own words.

He lifted his head just enough to peer at you, and yes, you’d been right about the dark eyes. But that was all you could see with the black cloth over his mouth, but there was something about his left eye. It glittered in the firelight, just for a moment, like an animal looking at you from the dark.

Another shudder wracked your body. It was a trick of the light. Maybe he’d had cataract surgery or something.

Either way, he stared at you with an intensity that would have frightened you in any other circumstance. But if he’d wanted to hurt you, he could have left you where you’d collapsed. He didn’t have to bring you close to the fire and pull off your wet jacket, turning it inside out and draping the dry side over your body.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “For warming me.”

He dropped his eyes. The gesture was quick, almost shy.

You didn’t speak again, shivering hard as you pulled your coat up to your chin. You considered asking him if he wanted to go with you back to the house, but decided against it. You wouldn’t be able to start a fire this large in the fireplace, if it was even safe to use, and the storm sounded like it had gotten worse.

So, you stayed, and tried not to stare at the man. The fire danced in the small breaches of wind that managed to slip through the wooden slats of the barn, and each time you felt those icy fingers against your face, you shuddered.

You carefully rolled over, turning your back to the fire to warm it next. It also meant you were turning your back on the man. A stranger, an intruder on your land, one who could clearly overpower you if he wanted to.

But you closed your eyes, wondering why the discomfort and anxiety you normally felt around men was absent.

***

Cold, so cold. Your body twitched, little trembles that barely did anything to warm you. You rolled over and saw the fire had nearly died out. Worse, the man was gone.

You let out a pathetic, confused noise. Had he left? You could still hear the storm pelting the barn with wind and snow. Surely, he hadn’t gone outside. The furs would keep him warm and dry, but what little you’d glimpsed of his pants didn’t look waterproof at all.

You dragged yourself to your feet and stumbled toward the door you’d come through. When you unlatched it, the door nearly knocked you off your feet from the force of the wind on the other side. You’d left your coat back by the fire, and you raised your gloved hand in front of your face to shield your eyes from the biting, flying ice. You took a breath and plunged into the storm.

Misery. Every step you took and every pull into your lungs was a punishment. If there was a Hell with fire and brimstone, there had to be another made of ice and wind. In that moment, you couldn’t even remember what warmth felt like, or if you’d ever experienced it before.

Ice clung to your hair and every exposed inch of flesh had long gone numb. You were right about the storm growing worse since you came to the barn, and you could no longer see your house.

You spun around, panic squeezing your throat. You couldn’t see the barn, either. It had vanished into the white.

You tried to call out, but even the inside of your mouth hurt when you opened it. You coughed violently, which turned into a half-sob. Why had you come out here? How could you be so stupid?

But you couldn’t do nothing while the man went out into the storm. He was probably lost too, just as you were.

You didn’t know his name, didn’t know if he’d simply left you to fend for yourself. All you could feel was the tightness in your lungs, the frustration at yourself for having moved to the wilderness unprepared, and most of all, the loneliness that had driven you here. At least in your exile, your loneliness was your own doing and not a result of being forgotten and ignored by the people in your life.

You let the fear and anger and suffering build in your throat until you released it in a scream. Not even the wind could snatch the sound of your agony from your mouth, though it didn’t travel far in the storm, greedily eaten by its hunger.

You covered your face with your hands and tried to push down the sorrow that bubbled up your throat. Get your shit together. You were disoriented, but you’d only turned around once. If you walked straight forward, you should be back at the barn. You could find something to build up the fire. You would be fine. Alone once again, but alive.

When you lowered your hands, dark fur and black fabric filled your world. You looked up, an automatic gesture when facing someone’s chest, and those eyes froze you as solidly as the storm did.

He was covered in scars, you could see that much even with the cloth covering him. A delicate marred line ran over the bridge of his nose, another across his forehead, leading to others, as if he was made of marble and someone had tried to break him apart.

You barely noticed the cold, though that could have been because your skin had returned to numbness. You simply stared at him, would have continued to stare until you were found the next day as a standing, frozen corpse.

Instead, he bent down and grasped you under your knees and back, lifting you into his arms as if you were a child. You didn’t object, snow covering your boots up to your ankles, and the path you’d tread had already been filled in, leaving no trace of your footsteps.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face into his hood to hide from the cold. He smelled like animal musk, soil, and pine. He smelled like wild places and untamed things, and with the added storm, almost supernatural in its severity, you wondered if any of this was real.

But his arms under you were solid, as were his hands resting on your legs and side. He was cold though, even the inside of his hood lacked the body heat you were expecting, and by the time you entered the shelter of the barn, you were shivering again.

The man didn’t release you once inside, instead carrying you all the way to the fire. You spotted a large stack of branches and broken chunks of wood, as if they’d been splintered from the trunk of a tree.

“Y-you- you didn’t—” You struggled to speak through your clacking teeth. “Didn’t l-leave?”

He stared down at you for a long moment, long enough for you to observe him in the firelight. His lashes were long, thick, pretty. So were his eyes, even if they were reflective pools of pitch.

“No.”

The word startled you. Both because you hadn’t expected it, and because his voice was deep. Something rumbled beneath it, like thunder. Or a growl.

You blinked at him, but he dropped his eyes again, refusing to look at you as he carefully set you on your feet. You wobbled, immediately missing his solidness, even though he was as freezing as you were.

In fact, your sweater was drenched, clinging to your skin and soaking the shirt underneath.

“Shit,” you muttered. You saw the turn of the man’s head at your curse, but when you stripped the sweater over your head, he quickly looked away. He focused on putting the chunks of wood on the fire, placing the branches in a ring around it. The wood chunks were mostly dry, as if they’d just been cut, while the branches were damp with snow and would take time to dry enough to burn.

“Thank y-you.”

He paused in his work, though he didn’t look at you as he nodded and continued.

As he did that, you stripped off your shirt, also wet. You’d read somewhere that patients of hypothermia needed to have their soaked clothing removed before being placed in a warm area.

You glanced at the man, eyeing his coat. The fur had stayed free of ice, and therefore dry, but his fabric pants were definitely soaked.

“You should remove anything wet,” you said, returning to your spot by the fire and laying down, no longer shaking as badly. Not having camped much in your life, you’d underestimated how hot a fire could actually get, chasing the chill away quickly. When he didn’t move, seemingly frozen by your words, you said, “It won’t bother me. Avoiding frostbite is more important than embarrassment.”

He didn’t respond, so you pulled your coat over you, once again shivering. Only in your bra and pants, you might have to take your own advice soon. Water had leaked past the waistband of your waterproof pants, leaving you damp and uncomfortable.

The fire soon roared to life, and when you peeked your eyes open to see the man had returned to his spot opposite you, you reached down and shimmied off your pants. Your underwear was beyond saving, but you weren’t removing that last piece of protection when your coat only reached mid-thigh.

Even with the heat of the fire, the chill bit at your back, and your body went from a confusing mixture of hot and cold.

You dipped in and out of consciousness, jerking awake with a shiver, opening your eyes to make sure the man was still there. He was, and always, his dark eyes stared right at you.

Eventually, you stopped opening your eyes, unable to fully rise to consciousness as the chill seeped deeper into your bones. You thought you felt fingers on your forehead at one point, the touch tentative, as if afraid of hurting you.

You moaned, chasing after that feeling. Your body ached, your skin too tight, and distantly you recognized the familiar signs of chills and a fever.

When you shifted, you felt something solid next to you, and you immediately curled around it. It was chilled, damp, and your face scrunched in discomfort.

“Cold,” you complained. Immediately, the solid mass vanished, and you made a pitiful noise. Fingers briefly touched your face before they, too, disappeared. When you opened your eyes again, it was to something so odd that it woke you out of your stupor.

The man shrugged the coat off his shoulders, setting it aside before also removing his undercoat and shirt. Strange marks lined his body, bisecting segments of skin that didn’t seem to match. You didn’t see any suture marks, so they must have been made by precise surgical incisions.

Some of the lines were smooth and graceful, such as those along his forearms and biceps. The muscles were large, well-defined, continuing down into his chest and taut stomach. But at the same time, he seemed a little too thin, gaunt, as if he never ate enough.

He slipped off his boots and pants as well, the lines continuing down his thighs and calves. Lastly, he removed his gloves, and your eyes fastened on the dark blue color of them. Alarmed, you noticed his feet were discolored as well, as if he were in an advance stage of frostbite.

He hesitated at the waistband of his underwear before stripping that off too. You quickly looked away. It had been easy to talk about not caring about embarrassment when you’d still had all your clothes on.

But the man didn’t move toward you. Instead, he crouched next to the fire, far closer than you would have been comfortable with. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, wondering what he was doing, but mostly wishing your body could settle on one temperature so you could just sleep through the rest of this shitty night.

 Your gaze eventually drifted back to him, a moth to flame. His pale skin glowed with it, his dark eyes reflecting the fire as he stared into its depths. You couldn’t stop looking, curiosity overriding any trepidation you might have. Everything felt a little strange tonight, slightly unreal and outside of the normal rules. He had come out of the storm, a creature that almost seemed to be a part of it, and he’d saved you twice now.

It was about to be a third, you realized, as he warmed himself by the fire. He was doing it for you. It had been his cold skin that made you complain and shrink away. He didn’t seem to mind the cold, or the blazing fire inches away.

He met your gaze. You almost looked away, out of shame and guilt of getting caught, but you didn’t. You didn’t want him to think his scars and marks scared you. If anything, you found them fascinating. Lovely in their twisted beauty. Even the way he held himself was with inhuman grace, as if he’d learned to move his body in a way entirely different from yours.

Without his hood or the cloth over his mouth, you could finally see his face. Lined with scars, his cheekbones sharp and the rest of his face hollow, it gave him a sorrowful look, or maybe that’s just what he felt.

You said nothing, simply watched him. At least until he stood and turned toward you, as if he didn’t have a shred of shame or modesty. You stared down at the dirt, a little horrified at the trip your gaze had taken before it had arrived there. Like a fucking pervert, you’d looked at the one place you shouldn’t, directly at his cock, before quickly glancing away.

The image was burned into your mind. Even flaccid, it had hung with considerable weight, pale and smooth unlike the scarred tissue of the rest of his body.

You stiffened as he walked behind you, laying close to your back but not touching you.

“Cold?” He repeated the word back to you, and you nodded. Yes, you were still very cold, and the heat radiating from his skin could be felt even across the space between you. Your body craved it like a drug, and with only a pathetic brief show of hesitation, you shifted backward until you were pressed against him.

You relaxed and let out a long exhale. He was practically burning up, somehow heated by the fire well past the normal temperature of a human body. Making a satisfied noise, you lifted up your coat to lay over him as well, shielding you both from the intruding, frosty air.

“That’s nice,” you said, a smile in your voice as the chills finally left, leaving only warmth behind. “Thank you.”

After a long moment, he spoke again, the words vibrating against your back.

“You are welcome.”

It was a pleasant voice. Deep and slow, thoughtful almost. An English accent. You liked it.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the heat, allowing it to start to pull you back to sleep. It was almost funny. All of a sudden, you didn’t want the ice storm to end. Not yet.

Your breathing had slowed and you were on the cusp of sleep when the man spoke again.

“Why did you leave the fire and go into the storm?”

You pulled yourself from the edge of sleep to answer, your words slurred.

“Was… worried.”

“In regard to?”

You smiled a little. He hadn’t spoken at all, and now when he did, he sounded strangely formal.

“You.”

He had been tense against your back since he’d laid down, but he went even more rigid.

“You fear me.”

You shook your head, and in your fever, or exhaustion, or maybe it was the insanity of the night, you reached behind you until you found his arm and pulled it around your waist. His heat wasn’t searing now, but it still felt like warm stone against your skin.

“I was worried for you.”

You thought you heard a small, sharp inhale, but nothing more than that, as if he were holding his breath. But his heart pounded slow and steady, so strong you could feel it against your back.

A reminder that, at least for tonight, you were no longer alone.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Mobius took out a folder and opened it, mind already focused on his next task. “You’re dismissed, Agent. Keep up the good work. And remember what I said about that ass-whoopin’. Have a feeling a new case will be coming up soon, and we need him to take this seriously.”

“Yes, sir.”

He raised his eyes from his paperwork, fixing you with an amused stare.

“Where’d you learn to be so stuffy? Certainly didn’t get it from me.”

Your shoulders loosened and you returned his smile, though it wasn’t nearly as full as his.

“Sorry. I just… want this all to be over with.”

His own smile faded, his own sadness at so many souls lost slipping through.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

After the meeting, you went in search of Laufeyson, but he wasn’t in the last place you’d accosted him. That was fine. You were tired and needed sleep, not to mention a break from the variant’s ego and vanity. He was draining, and you would have to recharge before facing him again.

Your room was small, modest, and sparse. Easy to keep clean and had everything you needed, including your plain twin bed with white and beige sheets. You barely got dressed into your pajamas before falling into bed, asleep soon after your head hit the pillow.

You opened your eyes to the sound of screams, the stench of acrid smoke, and the pain of two hands wrapped around your biceps, dragging you up a set of modern-looking stairs. They would have been quite luxurious if it hadn’t been for the flickering floorboard lights and the layer of dust covering everything.

Your captors were difficult to focus on, but their limbs were distorted and their features terrifying. They weren’t human, whatever they were, further proven by the clicks and small, angry screeches that came from their mouths filled with too many teeth.

Finally, after years of climbing those horrible steps, you were dragged through a door into bright sunlight. The setting sun was colored bloodred through the rising smoke of the city, cast into the room without the barrier of glass. The walled windows lay sprinkled on the marble floor, the opulent penthouse marred with battle.

You struggled, but your tennis shoes slid across the polished floor, unable to find purchase. You were led to a dais where a tall man stood, armored in dark green and muted gold, and you knew, you just knew, you had to get away.

He spoke before you arrived, his voice low and sharp, though it appeared he was having a conversation with the air.

“I care not for Lord Thanos’ impatience. I have earned this glorious victory, and it is I who shall bask in my achievement. His Majesty has waited this long, he can wait a little longer.”

The creatures came to a stop and one of them clicked his maw in its detestable language, and the man turned—oh, he wasn’t a man at all. It was him. The one they said was a god, come from some other world to rule all of humanity.

He didn’t look like a god. He simply looked angry.

“Go,” he snapped at the beasts. “Leave her.”

They released you, and you didn’t move, frozen under that withering gaze. The god drew his eyes up and down your body, his displeasure turning into something else. Curiosity.

He took a step towards you. Your fear broke through, unfreezing your limbs heavy with shock, and you bolted.

A steel grip snatched you by the arm—Jesus, he was fast—and spun you around, hauling you up onto the dais. You trembled, body aching with excursion as your frantic mind tried to understand how you’d come to be here. How all of this had happened.

The god let go of your arm and grabbed you by the jaw, the expanse of his hand easily encompassing it. His cold eyes dove into yours, searching them for something, his lips pulled into an unpleasant, sharp smile. Your hopes of escape were braced between those pearly white teeth.

“You’re mine.”

His voice was smoother than expected, low and pleasant as it tickled up your spine. You really were certain he would devour you, and that too felt familiar.

“You’ll always be mine. Don’t forget that.”

He squeezed your jaw harder as he pulled you forward, and his lips claimed yours. His kiss was just as aggressive as his anger, as hardened as his battle armor, and as cold as the wind swirling through the open air.

Despite covered in ash, soot, and most likely blood, despite having been terrorized and dragged here against your will, his lips pulled from you a quiet sigh. This was somehow familiar, somehow right, and though you couldn’t explain it, this was where you belonged—

Cold ripped through you, tore into you like a winter storm, your breath blown away on the wind. The god pulled back, the smile was gone, and his eyes shiny with regret. He still held you close, even as he slid the dagger out from your side, warm blood spilling out to chase away the blade’s freezing touch.

“I had to,” he choked in apology. His eyes brimmed with tears, and you watched in distant amazement as one slid down his cheek. “I had no choice. I never do. Don’t you see? Free will is a lie.”

He pulled you into his arms, the strength having vanished from your limbs, and he spoke gently into your hair, the words haunting as they chased you down into the darkness.

“Don’t you see we’ve been here before? It’s our destiny to lose.”

You bolted upright, clutching your racing heart as you fought to catch your breath, wincing at the blaring noise next to your head. You fumbled at the nightstand and picked up your TemPad, blinking at the blocky readout on the screen.

ALERT: NEW NEXUS EVENT DETECTED. LOCATION: ASGARD. CRITICAL. REPORT TO DEPARTURE GATE 4.

“Shit.” You dropped the TemPad on your bed and raced around your room, pulling on clothing and stumbling as you continued to curse. “Shit. Shit.”

Asgard. That could only mean one thing: it was definitely the Loki you were looking for, and he was about to make his big move.

Too focused on rushing out the door and trying to locate Laufeyson, you pushed the strange dream to the back of your mind. You’d had odd dreams before, ones you didn’t share with your colleagues because you had the inexplicable feeling that none of them had dreams like that, if they had them at all. It was better to set this one aside for now and dissect it later.

After all, it was no mystery where and when it had taken place. The lush but destroyed penthouse was Stark’s, caused during the Battle of New York, though in this version of events, it appears Laufeyson had won.

Again, you shoved the dream aside, harder this time. You couldn’t allow the distraction and needed to shake the very real, very vivid pain of the dagger sliding between your rips. You shivered as you entered the bullpen where your desk was located.

No Loki there.

You checked the scenic walkways with a view over the city. You searched the time theater where you’d conducted your interview. You even peeked into Mobius’ office, confident that he’d already gone to investigate the nexus event.

Nothing. No sign of a mischievous demigod.

Panic as well as foreboding gripped your throat until you heard a familiar derisive laugh as you entered the commissary.

Laufeyson sat on one of the dining tables, a foot propped up on a plastic chair, a small crowd of TVA agents gathered around him.

Well, perhaps gathered wasn’t the right word. They were in the middle of their meals, wide-eyed and helpless expressions all around as if they didn’t know what to do. Laufeyson had decided to regale them of tales, perhaps true, of his glory days. A captive audience if there ever was one, most of the clerks and assistants too polite to excuse themselves from the tall figure with the wolfish grin.

And then he met your eye. The dream rushed back to you. You couldn’t breathe for the span of a heartbeat, reliving the gentle warmth on your lips and biting cold at your ribcage.

Laufeyson blinked and his expression brightened, and he gave a little wave, his grin wide and annoying. You shook it off.

When his grin grew wider as you grew close, you had no problem grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him off the table, making a beeline for the direction of the Departure Gates, ignoring his small huffs of indignation.

“So long, fellow TVA employees!” he called back to the commissary. “I shall recount the tale of the bilgesnipe I released into Thor’s chambers another time!”

“That story isn’t nearly as interesting as you make it out to be,” you grumbled, and nearly lost your footing when Laufeyson started to walk beside you instead of needing to be dragged.

“Of course it is,” he said, plunging his hands into his pockets. “It’s a legend adored by everyone, especially children and simpletons.”

You sent him a glare and he put up a hand, adding, “That wasn’t an insult. I quite enjoy simpletons.”

The glare did not lessen.

“You let loose a bilgesnipe into Thor’s room,” you said, “and he didn’t even notice the destruction or the beast afterwards because his room was already a huge mess. That’s the event.”

Laufeyson opened his mouth, shut it, and frowned.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Agent?”

Your expression deepened into a scowl. You didn’t have the time or patience for his antics right now, not when you might actually catch your killer with this next mission.

“We happen to have a nexus event, one where we shall find the even more evil version of you, and you would know this if you’d been paying attention to the pager we gave you.”

“Oh, this ancient thing?” He unclipped the black, square device from his belt, turning it over in his long fingers. “I turned it off. It annoyed me.”

“Ugh,” was your only response as you turned the corner, the Departure Gate thrumming to life before you.

You held onto his elbow as you went through, belatedly realizing as the crackle of electricity and time displacement ran over your skin, that you’d forgotten to tell Laufeyson exactly where and when you were going.

You both emerged out the other side, a team of soldiers standing guard, Hunter B-15 close by. And hunched over a dead Einherjar soldier, you spotted the silver hair of your boss, already on the scene.

You tried to move forward, but the elbow you were holding didn’t bunch an inch. Laufeyson was staring upward, eyes widen and jaw slack as he took in the golden arches and gilded columns of the Royal Palace of Valaskjalf of Asgard.

Laufeyson’s former home.

There was no time to see if he could adjust to his new settings; Mobius was already on his feet, his features furrowed into investigator mode.

“Lots of bodies but no sign of our variant yet,” he said, mouth pulled into a grim line. He glanced at the variant beside you, curiosity narrowing his eyes, but he didn’t comment on Laufeyson’s sudden, uncharacteristic silence.

“Should we split up and search?”

“It’s a risk,” Mobius said. “Not just from the variant. We’re in the middle of the Asgardian Palace. Anybody we run into is likely to be a little pissed we’re here. You know, stab-first, ask-questions-later kind of deal.”

You frowned, taking in the scene before you. Five Einherjar lay dead, though you couldn’t see any obvious wounds. Typically, the variant left evidence of a short sword as his weapon of choice, and something tugged at the back of your thoughts.

“Maybe we should—”

“I can lead you to him.”

You turned on Laufeyson and crossed your arms.

“I can,” he insisted, his smile long gone. “I grew up in the palace, I know it as well as anyone. Better, actually. There are hidden passages and corridors that no one in living memory would know.”

“Except for you,” Mobius added, his eyes still fixed in that dubious way.

“Except for me.”

Laufeyson met his glare without mirth or amusement.

“Do you wish to find this variant or not? I can help you. That’s why I’m here.”

Mobius turned his attention on you, brows raised.

You hated to admit it, but Laufeyson had a point.

“I’ll go with him,” you told your boss. Or, more accurately, placated him. He wouldn’t be happy you were going off with Laufeyson alone. “If we find anything, I’ll let you know.”

His deepening frown informed you that you were correct.

“Don’t go too far,” he warned. “Last thing we need is to red line in a place like this.”

“Yes, sir.”

You turned away, making sure the tall demigod was at your side. He was, and not looking particularly happy.

“Chanterelle?”

You paused and half-turned to your boss, catching the baton he tossed your way. His lips were pulled into a wry smile.

“Make sure he behaves.”

“I think he’ll be just fine.” You met Laufeyson’s eye, your words a warning rather than an affirmation. “You’re going to be on your best behavior, won’t you, partner?”

Something flashed across his features, too quick to catch, and then he graced you with a wide grin.

“I’m always on my best behavior, Agent.”

You rolled your eyes and shot Mobius a look, and he returned it with just as much wry humor. You guided Laufeyson away with a hand on the small of his back, leading him away from the scene of the carnage.

“So,” you said, “where should we start looking?”

“If the variant were me, and he is, I’d be heading the Odin’s Vault. Lots of treasure in there to sell if I was in need of gold, not to mention the artifacts that can be used as powerful weaponry.”

You nodded, it made sense. But when he guided you down a golden hall you knew led away from the Vault, you slowed your pace.

“Where are you going? The Vault’s that way.”

“Yes,” he allowed, fixing you a look over his shoulder. “That’s the long way. This way is a shortcut.”

Frowning, you quickly caught up to him, peering ahead into the massive room opening before you. Wonder and awe swept over you despite your best efforts as you slowed, turning in a circle to gather in the magnificence of the Royal Palace library. Seeing it in a life record was one thing, it was entirely another to stand in the buttery warm sunlight as it streamed in through the glass dome, surrounded by towering shelves on several levels, the smell of old tomes and parchment giving the space an air of ancient secrets and forgotten knowledge.

You turned to Laufeyson, a faint smile still on your face, and then it faded. You looked left, then right, then behind you. You even went to the nearest row of shelves and leaned around the corner.

Laufeyson was gone.

“Damnit!”

You covered your mouth, the curse echoing off the marble floors, but silence followed.

“Damnit,” you repeated at a more reasonable level. “Damn you, Loki Laufeyson.”

You pulled out your TemPad to warn Mobius that your variant was on the loose, and the soldiers should not prune him, by accident or otherwise.

Your wrist was seized by a hand with long fingers, the forearms covered in loose green sleeves.

Your head jerked up, the blood draining from your head to your feet.

“You curse my name,” he said in a low purr, “but I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

Before you stood Laufeyson, just not your Laufeyson. His resplendent robes went to his calves, a dark shade of forest green trimmed in gold thread, and his dark hair was slicked back, reaching just past his shoulders.

Your throat worked but no words came out, and he continued to hold your wrist as he appraised you with eyes the shade of ice.

“Hmm.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Not what I was expecting, but you shall do.”

There was a hunger to his gaze, a predatory glean that had you attempting to yank your arm back to your chest. Laufeyson’s hold remained fast.

“Oh, I don’t think so, my dear.” His smile was wide and sharklike. “It took too much careful planning for you to ruin it now. How did you like my present? I left them where they could be easily found.”

Your thoughts churned, struggling to catch up, and something snapped into place, stealing your breath.

“You… you killed the Einherjar? Why?”

“Because it wasn’t supposed to be.” He lowered your arm to your side but still kept a tight grip. “And when things are out of place, that’s when the puppet masters behind the curtains make their appearance.”

He tilted his head, eyes once again roving over your body.

“I thought the time-manipulators would be garbed in something a bit more… impressive, but one must work with what they’re given.”

This wasn’t the variant you’d be searching for. This had been a trap set by another variant, one that somehow knew about the TVA.

The TVA was in danger.

Mobius was in danger.

“Now,” he squeezed your wrist painfully,” give me your fascinating little device, and I will—”

A switch flipped. Something unlocked within your unconscious, a cold presence that forced its way through your mind.

You twisted your arm away so hard your bones popped out place, the joint dislocated, but you didn’t pause. The baton crashed across his face, knocking the demigod back on his heels.

His amused expression vanished, replaced by a vicious snarl. You lashed out again, striking him across the shoulder, then upwards into his chin, and when he was off balance again, you flipped the baton around and shoved the glowing edge against his chest.

At the point of contact, his body was engulfed in a multicolored fire of nothingness, his body becoming undone. He had just enough time to give you a look of pure fear before there was nothing left but glittering sparks falling to the floor.

You remained there for a moment, arm outstretched, muscles trembling and locked, until your body unfroze, and you stumbled. You cried out and dropped the TemPad, your wrist stiff and throbbing with agony.

Panicked, you looked around the library, but you were alone. Alone, because you’d pruned the Loki. Brutally, efficiently, and completely without intention.

You stared down at your baton, grip now shaking where it had been firm a moment ago. Your body had been a stranger to you, as if someone else had reached inside your skin and taken over. It hadn’t been you doing those things. You couldn’t have. Never in your existence had you ever fought like that before.

“Not at the moment.”

“Then what is it?” You frowned a little, more at yourself than him. “Is it me? I know this is a strange situation. I used you as a heater and I haven’t even asked your name yet.”

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, an even more dangerous look that nearly stopped your heart. His face wasn’t just sweet, it was almost innocent. And that made you feel even more guilty using him for warmth.

“Deucalion.”

It took you a moment to respond, dredging up where you’d heard the name before from Greek mythology.

“The son of Prometheus?”

That hint of a devastating smile again.

“The very same.”

“Your dad must think a lot of himself.”

A low noise emerged from his throat, turning into a laugh. A laugh. Maybe the most dangerous thing of all, the way his face brightened, his eyes glittering with surprisingly wicked humor.

“He was his own entire world. For a time.”

His expression slowly fell, the light fading from his eyes, and he didn’t seem to see you as his gaze fixed on something far away. The faint sorrow on his face was devastating in a whole new way, and you felt like you’d just kicked a small, defenseless puppy.

You rested your head on your bent arm. Without an ounce of hesitation, you told him your name.

His eyes came back into focus, fixating on your face. The sadness finally left his expression, replaced by that gentle softness. It was quickly followed by a wince and something else. Embarrassment?

“I apologize again. I cannot… touch you.”

“Why?”

Yes, that was definitely embarrassment shining in his eyes.

“I believe I am broken.”

“Broken?”

Maybe he was sick or had mental problems. Not that you could judge when it came to that.

The man seemed to flush, even though his face remained as colorless as before.

“Certain parts of my body are… behaving abnormally. Touch appears to make it worse.”

You blinked. He was fucking with you, surely.

“Certain body parts.”

“Yes.”

“Which ones.”

He dropped his eyes and rolled onto his back, as if he was trying to angle himself away from you.

“I do not wish to offend.”

He seemed completely and utterly sincere. Your brief irritation melted away. He wasn’t messing with you or making fun of you. He was just very, very weird. And awkward. It was cute.

“You won’t,” you said with a half-shrug. “Besides, remember what I said about embarrassment? Not as important as staying warm and frostbite-free.”

You rolled over until you were facing away from him.

“We’re both cold,” you said, ignoring the way your heart pumped faster. “Come lie next to me. I promise I won’t care what your body does.”

You were serious. The cold was creeping in and the storm was just as violent as ever. You weren’t going to freeze to death just because of a stranger’s boner.

Besides, you knew his name, right? He wasn’t really a stranger anymore.

He was silent for a long moment, so long you thought he would be the reasonable one and tell you no, or that he should put his pants on, at least.

Instead, his solid mass pressed against your back, tentative at first, and then more firmly. He kept his lower half away from you though, confirming exactly which part of him was aroused by your closeness.

“Deucalion,” you said softly. “I said it was okay. I meant it.”

He still didn’t move, so you reached back and found his arm once again, gently pulling it across your waist. That was all you did, not wanting to pressure him into intimacy he didn’t want. Because this was far into the realm of intimacy, and probably had been for a while. You didn’t know when, only that the crossing had been so easy you hadn’t really noticed.

He made a small noise, confused or maybe conflicted. You waited, barely breathing. The air rushed out of you as he pressed the entire length of his body against you.

Something hard dug into the small of your back. Before you could react, his hips flinched away, a slight hissing sound through his teeth.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, curling your palm around his knuckles. “It’s okay.”

After a moment of complete stillness, he did it again, this time easing into it with as much care as if both of you were made of glass.

“It feels…” His voice was strained, breathy. “…Odd.”

“This?”

You pushed your ass against him, as gently as he had done, but the soft noise he made was gutting. A whimper. And more than that, he pushed his face into your hair, as if to hide himself.

For the first time, a flare of heat licked inside you, strong and violent enough to make your head spin.

“Y-yes,” he stammered.

You actually felt a tremble from him, and you suspected it wasn’t from the cold. God, you could get drunk off the way he sounded, breathless and slightly off-balance. His arm around you and his body against yours was an addiction.

“You haven’t done this before?”

It felt like an insane question to ask someone you’d just met, especially someone who was clearly attractive and must have had his fair share of partners.

“Procreation?” he asked.

…Well. Maybe he was super religious, or something.

“Yeah,” you said, for lack of anything better to say. Oh, God, what if he’d escaped some kind of crazy cult that banned any sort of sex except for the leader who had, like, twenty wives.

“No. I am unable to have children.”

He was confirming the religious thing with every word he said.

“You… can’t have kids?”

What else were you supposed to say to that?

“No.” He paused. “At least, my father did not think so as stated in his notes.”

Notes? Who the fuck took notes about their kid’s fertility? The more you heard about this guy, the more you wanted to strangle him.

“Well, fuck your dad.”

That was not the way you’d meant for that to come out.

“I mean,” you said quickly, “who cares what he thinks. You can have sex with anyone you want.”

The silence stretched on. You frowned.

“You have had sex before. Right?”

Another long moment of silence. Finally, he said, “What use is the act of procreation if I cannot procreate?”

Yeah, you were definitely going to kill his dad if you ever met him.

Carefully, you turned over until you were facing him. The fire was comfortably warm against your back, and while he was no longer burning hot, he wasn’t cold either. He looked at you, his eyes so dark they felt like they could swallow you whole. From this close, you realized his hair wasn’t black at all. It was a pretty dark chestnut, with the hair on his right side near the temple a faded grey.

Gently, as if you were about to touch a horse ready to bolt, you placed your palm against his cheek. The texture felt slightly different from one side of the scar line to the next. Your heart ached as your thumb carefully stroked the mark across his cheek. Suddenly, sex was the furthest thing from your mind.

“Who did this to you?”

There was something fragile, delicate in his eyes, and he leaned into your palm. His eyelids eventually closed, his cheek pressing into your hand like a touch-starved animal. If that didn’t break your heart, his next words did.

“My father.”

You lost sight of him through the tears that obscured your vision. That ache in your chest blossomed into agony. You still weren’t sure if this was real, or if this was just the hallucination of a dying brain as you froze to death somewhere out in the storm. But the pain felt real, as did the sorrow that settled deep in your bones.

With his thumb, the man gently brushed the tears from your cheek as they spilled down your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, apologizing for more things than you could name or understand. For what had been done to him, the kinds of wounds you couldn’t imagine, told by each cruel line on his body. Who would do this to their own child? What was the point of such brutality? “I’m so sorry.”

When the tears fell and you could see once more, you didn’t expect the faint smile on his face. It wasn’t a happy one, but it was gentle, sweet. Lovely.

“It happened many, many years ago. I confronted my father, and we made our peace.”

“He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

You didn’t know his dad, you didn’t even know him. But you knew enough to know he hadn’t deserved this. No one deserved this. Especially not someone who would save a complete stranger in a storm.

“Regardless, I gave it to him on his deathbed.” His hand lifted from your face, traveling upward into your hair. He gently touched the strands, his expression far again, but at least this time it wasn’t filled with sadness. “It was for me as much as it was for him.”

His focus returned to the present, his eyes on your face, the expression there so warm it was hard to look at him. Like you might burn up if you looked too long.

Your hand still cradled the side of his face, and the look he gave you was so… you didn’t have any other word for it other than accepting. As if he knew you, had known you all along.

“You do not fear me.”

It was both a question and a statement. You gave him a small, confused smile.

“Why should I?”

He was scarred, dwarfed you in size, and talked like he knew Charles Dickens personally, but it had been clear from his very first actions that he wasn’t going to hurt you. What was there to be afraid of?

He looked at you the way you’d been feeling most of the night, that this couldn’t possibly be real and that he might wake up at any moment. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“You look at me the way she did.”

“Who?” you asked faintly.

“Someone I lost. Someone dear to me.”

This was a bad idea, especially if he was thinking of some ex-lover. But he’d just basically confessed he was a virgin. And besides, it didn’t feel like that. You could feel the tenderness in his words, the sorrow of this woman’s absence, how deeply his love ran for her. But you didn’t feel slighted or compared. If anything, you were… glad. Glad someone had been there for him at a time when he probably needed it.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated softly. He stroked his thumb along your cheekbone, a mirror of what you’d done a few moments before.

“You are alone.”

Caught by surprise, you didn’t say anything, simply stared up at him. Maybe he did know you.

“Yes,” you finally answered.

“As am I.”

You believed it. He had been out in this storm, alone, just as you were. That begged another question often in connection.

Are you lonely?

The answer was there in his eyes, plain as anything. And you knew from the close way he observed you he could see the depths of your own loneliness, and how your self-driven solitude had made it that much worse.

You leaned in. He simply watched you, as if he didn’t know what you were about to do. Maybe he didn’t.

The press of your lips to his was light, questioning. He said nothing, did nothing, and when you opened your eyes, he was still staring at you, his eyes a fraction wider.

But he didn’t push you off or tell you to stop. So you tried again, letting the kiss linger a little longer this time. His lips parted, not to let you in, but to release a small gasp. His expression was surprised, not disgusted, but you didn’t know if that was exactly permission to continue.

You pulled back, and the fingers against your hair twitched. He leaned in a little, as if in chase. He didn’t want you to move away. You smiled faintly, affection warming your chest like its own campfire.

When you pressed your lips to his a third time, he didn’t remain a statue. His mouth softened under yours, his fingers curling into your hair, and his eyelids fluttered halfway before closing entirely.

And when your lips parted, teasing him by nibbling into his bottom lip, he purred.

Not a metaphorical purr, an actual, deep, animal rumble in his chest. And the raging flame licked its way up your cunt, wanting. Desperate to have his hands on you, his mouth on yours, anything just so long as he was touching you.

Your hand slid downward and cradled the back of his neck, holding him steady as your mouth parted and your tongue licked along the seam of his mouth. As if he too were catching fire, the grip in your hair tightened as your lips clashed together.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his tongue, but he was a quick learner, copying what you were doing, and soon he was exploring your mouth as if he wanted to devour you right there. That animal noise continued in his chest, sometimes a purr and sometimes a flat-out growl. Your legs quivered and turned to jelly, and you weren’t entirely sure if it was fear or arousal, or if the two were mutually exclusive.

His mouth, unlike his body and especially his hands, weren’t that odd ambient temperature. He was warm, alive, and eager as he kissed you back with more enthusiasm than anyone had given you before. As if he could do this the rest of his life and be happy. But you knew it could feel even better than this, and you wanted to show him.

You rolled forward and pressed your barely clothed body to his naked one. He shuddered and broke the kiss clumsily, his mouth open with surprise. You loosened your grip on his neck and placed your hand on his shoulder in what you hoped was a comforting gesture.

“We don’t have to do anything more than kiss,” you said, your voice still breathless. It was difficult to keep your eyes off his lips, knowing what they could do now. “Or we can stop entirely. Whatever you want.”

He looked uncertain, and guilt started to creep in, until he asked, “What… do you want?”

That was easy. Besides surviving the storm, there was only one thing you wanted.

The hand on your cheek was no longer there, but you found it and pressed your hands together, weaving your fingers until they were intwined. His pale-blueish hue was a contradiction against your skin, and his hands were so much larger than yours that it was ridiculous, but you still fit together perfectly.

“You.” Your smile was warm and a little sheepish. “I know we just met, but is it weird of me to say I feel like I know you?”

Or that you’d known him even before you met him? That some piece of you had been missing since the day you were born, and you felt like you’d been walking wounded ever since? And only now that you’d been at your lowest, alone and scared, did someone appear. Someone you felt you’d been waiting for all your life.

You didn’t ask those questions, because that would have been crazy. Those were the things a crazy person would say.

But the look he gave you, his dark eyes so gentle and warm and understanding. As if he knew what you were thinking because he felt it too.

“No,” he said, and his fingers carefully squeezed yours. “Not… weird.”

Your smile returned, unashamed, even if you were still a little embarrassed at yourself. How easy it was to look at him and simply…

Love.

When he lowered your hands, you looked up at him questioningly, but he only smiled softly. And this time, he was the one to lean in and capture your lips. He pressed the length of his body against yours and didn’t pull away. You opened your mouth to him, and he eagerly explored, all shyness and hesitation gone.

You hooked a leg carefully around his hips, wanting to pull him closer without startling him. He responded immediately, rolling his hips in that clumsy, eager attempt that meant he didn’t know what he was doing but yearned to try. His cock slid against your stomach, smearing precome onto your skin. It was hot and wet, evidence of his need.

But he pulled away again, his expression unsure. One moment, he was graceful and certain with his body, and the next he pulled away as if ashamed. You wanted to hurt whoever had made him react this way, starting with his dad.

He had let go of your hand, so you used it to reach behind you and unclasp your bra. His eyes were on you, hooded and curious as you pulled off the garment and placed it aside. He tilted his head as he gazed at your breasts, but he didn’t otherwise react. Gently, you took his hand and placed it on your left breast. He reflexively squeezed, not hard but curious, exploratory.

With his other hand, he took yours and carefully placed it on the right side of his chest, mirroring what you’d done for him. His skin was colder than yours, parts of his jigsaw pattern a color that reminded you uncomfortably of dead flesh. But when your fingers bumped over his nipple, he took a sharp inhale. You did it again, fascinated by the way his eyelids fluttered, his lashes long and beautiful, like that of a deer.

Your hand drifted down to the left side of his chest, the strange circular cut over his heart. It bisected where his left nipple should be, but it was missing. Either he’d been born without one, or it had been removed and never replaced. Judging by the marks of cruelty all over his body, you guessed it was the latter.

He passed his fingers across your nipple, just as you had done to his, and you shuddered. He did it again, his expression rapt as he watched the nipple stiffen far more than his had done. He met your eyes, questioning, silently asking if that was right.

“It feels good,” you assured him. “You feel good.”

You’d wondered what a little bit of praise would do, and you weren’t disappointed. His bashful smile couldn’t be completely hidden as he ducked his eyes, shy but clearly pleased.

You trailed your hand from his chest downward, noting with a smile how he shivered and made a quiet noise when your fingertips trailed along his stomach, as if he were ticklish. But when your hand lightly grazed along the length of his cock, he flinched away from your breast and completely froze.

“May I?” you asked, watching him. If you saw any sign of reluctance or discomfort, you would stop. But he didn’t look uncomfortable, just concerned.

“I do not want to… frighten you,” he whispered, his expression pained, the look in his eyes unbearably fragile. If you could guess, he’d frightened others before, probably by doing nothing more than existing.

This wouldn’t be enough to make up for the rejection he’d clearly experienced, but you wanted to try. You leaned in and gently kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

“You can’t scare me.” You wrapped your hand around his shaft at the base, marveling how warm he was, his skin soft but his flesh hard in your palm. As you held him, you looked him straight in the eye. “Because I see you.”

The look on his face was devastating, pleading, wanting, and when you squeezed he shuddered and let out a needy gasp. Carefully, you nudged him onto his back, following on top of him. You let go of his cock long enough to pull off your underwear, tossing it aside.

It was just you and him now, bare flesh against naked skin, the heat of your cunt pressed against the length of his shaft. He looked up at you with something close to awe, his hands hovering over you as if he didn’t know where to touch, or if he should.

You took his hand and pressed it to your cheek, nuzzling into his palm.

“Touch me,” you whispered into his skin. “Wherever you want. However you want.”

He swallowed hard enough for you to see the apple of his throat bob, and he placed his hands along your back with such care, as if you might break apart. It was sweet, but you didn’t want careful. You wanted to see what he would look like when he let go of all that pain and fear, wanted to know what he would look like writhing under you.

Figuring he needed some encouragement, you began to roll your hips, sliding along his cock in a rocking motion.

His reaction was immediate and visceral. He arched his spine, eyelids fluttering as his eyes rolled back into his head. And the noises he made. Soft gasping, desperate animal sounds.

You wanted more of that, more of him. You ground on him harder, practically riding the underside of his cock, groaning as your clit throbbed at the friction. His hands didn’t seem to know where to go, so they fell to your hips, gripping them as if he needed something to steady him.

You continued this slow torture until he shuddered and whined, and when you stopped moving, he panted for breath. He met your gaze, heavy lidded and hazy but wanting more. He was ready, or as ready as he was going to be.

You leaned forward, both to get a better angle and to reassure him with a kiss. His mouth was eager, his lips parting easily under yours, and you were almost too distracted to remember what you had planned. But you lifted off of him enough to allow his cock to spring free, hard and erect and weeping.

You didn’t even have to reach for his cock and hold him steady. You angled backward, his cock upright enough for you to push back and catch the head against your entrance.

He broke the kiss with a strangled noise, his gaze dark and wanting, so eager but clearly nervous. You watched him as you slowly pressed down, wincing a little as his cockhead spread you open. His eyes went wide.

“I’ll h-hurt you,” he stammered, and his expression was so earnest you knew he was truly concerned. But you just smiled and grazed his cheek with the back of your hand.

“I’m going to enjoy myself just fine.” You ran your fingers softly through his chestnut hair, down to the grey strands at the side of his head. “But if you want to stop, tell me. I’ll listen.”

There was so much trust in his eyes it made your stomach twist with the weight of it. Already, you had the power to hurt him if you wanted, but even the idea of it made your heart ache. Especially after seeing the evidence of the brutal hands that had already touched him.

His lips parted, and after a moment, he rasped, “Do not stop.”

You didn’t think three little words had ever made you salivate before, as if you were a hungry wolf being propositioned by the lamb. You braced your hands against his shoulders and pushed down, doing as he asked and not stopping even when his cock stretched you wide and aching.

The expression on his face was worth it, overwhelmed and consumed as his mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his eyelids fluttering shut. You didn’t stop until he was buried deep within, your ass resting against his hips.

You panted for breath, closing your eyes as you adjusted to him occupying a space within your body. It felt so right, warm and safe and complete. His fingers trembled where they curled around your hips, and when you opened your eyes, his were still closed.

You leaned down and gently pressed your lips to his cheek. The next went to his temple, his forehead, to the bridge of his nose. All along his face wherever you could reach, until a small smile sprouted on his mouth and he remembered to breathe again. When your lips strayed too close to his, he turned his head and caught them, and you could feel his smile even with your eyes closed.

Finally releasing him from the kiss, you leaned back and gave a small rock of your hips. He swallowed hard, his doe eyes once again wide and startled. You did it again, watching him carefully, ready to slow down or stop if he needed.

But the more you moved, the more he couldn’t stay still, and just like you had guessed, he wasn’t a passive participant. He squirmed, made small, gasping moaning noises, his hands moving from your hips to your waist, then down to your thighs. He seemed to want to touch everywhere, his long fingers exploring every inch of skin he could reach.

You moved faster, losing the thread of your own control as your walls clung tight to his cock. He was huge, big enough that you had to angle yourself a certain way or the head of his cock would bump against your cervix. It was almost enough to make you not care, the pleasure of riding his cock unlike anything you’d experienced before.

Something within him switched; the little moans and gasps turned into something deep and stormy, a growl curling from his chest. His hands on your hips were suddenly tight, possessive, as he pulled you down onto his cock.

You cried out, throwing your head back, and you sensed the noise made him hesitate. But once he saw you clearly enjoying yourself, your nails pressed into his chest as you desperately tried to ride him, he once again tightened his grip. This time, he shoved his hips upward, slamming into you as he brought you down on his cock.

You gave another wordless cry, your brain a jumble of nonsense and pleasure. He really did learn quickly, but it was more than that. He mastered what he learned and made it his own, as if he was the virtuoso and you were the canvas that brought his works to life.

He freed one hand from your hip, and it crept up your chest until it cradled your neck. The hold was careful but firm, his thumb and forefinger encircling your throat and finding your pulse points with expert ease. He simply held you there, as if wanting to feel the evidence of your life beating under his touch.

He was nowhere close to cutting off your air, but the pressure of his hand was enough to make you squeeze around him. You bent your head back, exposing your throat to him, now you the lamb and he the wolf.

He fucked up into you harder, driving into you like a man possessed, and you knew there would be a landscape of bruises later, a temporary portrait of his desire and need for you.

You gasped his name, and he growled, the hand on your throat squeezing just a little bit tighter. And something within you broke, sprang free, unfurled and spilled out.

You shuddered and writhed, calling out his name again, your cunt throbbing and squeezing him tightly. He groaned, a low snarling noise, and you continued to fuck him even if you couldn’t hold the rhythm anymore. He helped you, slamming up into your body until he gave a final roar.

And it was a roar, snarling and growling and terrifying. Something was definitely wrong with you, because instead of recoiling, you keened and arched your back, gasping as he held you still. His cock throbbed deep within you, spilling into you for so long you didn’t think it would ever stop.

He released your neck, quickly and suddenly, as if just realizing where his hand was. His chest lifted and collapsed with the force of his panting, his hair askew and his focus heavy with pleasure. The firelight caught the moisture around his eyes, tears he had spilled at some point.

With him still deep inside you, you leaned forward and carefully wiped the tears away with your thumbs. And in a gesture you’ve never done to anyone before, you kissed both of his closed eyes, one after another. When you pulled back, he opened them and looked up at you, his expression so open and raw and beautiful, you thought you might cry too. No one had ever looked at you that way before.

“Was that all right?” you asked softly, fingers trailing in his hair. You couldn’t seem to stop touching him. Maybe he felt the same; his fingers traced along your bare back, making lazy, swirling patterns with his fingertips.

“Mmm.” He made a noise that was part hum, part laugh. “I was… unaware it was possible to feel such things. Or that I was capable of feeling them. You are… remarkable.”

Your face burned. This man was going to be the death of you if he kept saying things like that, especially when giving you those big dark doe eyes.

“Yeah, I feel the same way. About you, I mean,” you quickly added.

“You do?” A little divot formed between his brows.

“Oh, yeah.” You gave a small, embarrassed laugh. If only he knew what you really thought about his sweet disposition, his feline-graceful body, and the things you still wanted to do to him. “And this, all of this, is definitely new to me.”

He continued to look at you with that same expression of confusion and concern.

“But you are so beautiful.” His words were soft, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “How can it be possible no one has shown you such appreciation before?”

You were no longer looking him in the eye, having buried your face into his chest at the word beautiful.

“Most people don’t find me attractive,” you confessed into his skin. You would have been happy to hide there, but he gently lifted you until he could see your face, his fingers delicately warming your cheek.

“Then they are fools,” he spoke, the words gentle as a caress. “They do not see you as I do.”

Your eyes burned but you swallowed it down.

“What do you see?” you asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

But he just smiled that devastating smile, one hand on your cheek while the other curled into your hair.

“Perfection.”

The sun rose to a cloudless blue sky, and its dawn light peeked over the horizon, painting the snow in peach, pink, and gold.

You stood in the middle of your field, only able to do so because Deucalion had carried you there. The snow reached past your knees, so he found a spot where the wind had blown most of it away, revealing the frozen ground.

You both watched the sunrise, his bare hand in your gloved one. Both of your hoods were down, and while the cold no longer burned your exposed skin, you kept your scarf over your mouth, and he kept his dark cloth over his. Everything was blanketed in a clean slate of white, icicles dangling from the trees as if the world was made of crystal.

You hadn’t spoken much after what happened in the barn. You’d just curled up to him, enjoying this newfound heat that seemed to radiate from his chest, and fell asleep with his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

You woke up to find him in the same position, his eyes watching as you slept, soft and gentle. It was hard to pull away from him and get dressed, but you could see the faint light in the windows, and the world outside was silent. Sometime during the night, the storm had passed. You hadn’t noticed.

When you’d opened the side door out of the barn, a partial wall of white greeted you, nearly reaching half your height. Without a word, he’d lifted you into his arms and walked over the threshold, straight through the barrier, as if the snow was just a suggestion rather than a real obstacle.

He carried you toward the distant farmhouse, still intact but covered in snow. But as soon as the sun had peaked over the horizon, he’d paused, gazing at it with wonder. You’d asked if he’d wanted to watch the sun rise, and he said yes, finding a place to set you down.

And as you watched it, you knew you weren’t exactly the same person as you’d been a day ago. It was funny how quickly things could change, especially when you weren’t expecting them.

“Where are you from?” you asked, your voice finally breaking the still silence.

“Far from here.” He paused. “I have traveled much of the north. It is easier to live there in seclusion. I do not typically venture so far south, but this winter drove me further and further away from the pole. I could have stayed, but waiting for the spring to thaw my frozen limbs did not sound appealing.”

You glanced at him, waiting for him to laugh or say he was joking. He didn’t. He simply watched the rising sun, but after a moment, he dropped his eyes. There was something so sad in his face. You realized he was probably thinking about having to return to wherever he lived, far to the north where it was even darker and colder, to live out a life even more empty than yours.

“Stay with me.”

The words were out before you could think. He blinked and turned his dark gaze on you. Hope and fear were there in equal measure.

“Stay,” you repeated, squeezing his hand. “With me.”

He continued to stare, his gaze unblinking. You panicked.

“As long as you want. Or until the snow melts. It’s up to you. I’m not-not trying to pressure you. Or make it weird. I just figure, you know, I have this big house all to… myself…”

You trailed off as he took a step toward you, erasing all the space between you. He pulled the cloth away from his mouth, and carefully pulled down your scarf. The winter cold didn’t touch your face for long; he leaned in, having to bend down to reach you at his height.

His mouth tortuously close, his lips just out of reach, his breath mixed with yours in a gossamer cloud of white.

“Yes,” he said in a low, rumbling sound. A purr. “With you, I will stay.”

So, you ate. You kept yourself alive, but nothing more than that. This stagnant hell continued long enough for you to eye the second story window of the master bedroom and wonder how long it would take you to pry open the lock. There was no way down. That fact wouldn’t stop you.

But on the third day of your captivity, the sound of a door slamming shut downstairs startled you awake. The booming voice that followed made your body lock on reflex.

“Honey, I’m home!”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The throat of a stranger shaped the words, but the power and timbre behind the voice was one you would recognize anywhere.

The sound of distant voices drifted from below, and you almost clamped your hand over your ears. One of the voices was low and hollow, the other wry with sarcasm. That cursed voice somehow reached you even with distance and the closed door.

“Oh, please, I’m sure it’s not as serious as all that. Go and get her.”

049’s response too quiet for you to catch, he still managed to sound annoyed. 035’s words held a kind of dark humor to them that crawled over your skin.

“Would you rather I do it?”

You didn’t hear a response from 049, and 035 crooned, “Good boy.”

You expected to hear a growl, screaming, maybe a body hitting the ground. Instead, there was silence, followed by the soft, heavy footfalls of someone climbing the stairs.

The bedroom door opened, but you managed not to flinch. Not until the mattress dipped behind you and a gloved hand rested on your shoulder. The touch was light, cautious, and you still shuddered as if it struck you.

“It will be easier if you simply give him what he wants,” 049’s quiet voice drifted over you. You sat up, moving away from him and his unwelcome touch.

You perched on the far end of the bed, your back to him. There was no point in asking what 035 wanted. You knew. You always knew.

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

049 didn’t answer. He only followed you out of the room, trailing behind as you crossed the landing and descended the stairs. You did so slowly, each step heavy with dread, inching closer to the gallows, or at least, that’s what it felt like.

He waited at the island counter, a plastic shopping bag in front of him. You couldn’t see inside, and you didn’t want to.

Covered head to foot in the black tactical uniform of a Mobile Task Force soldier, SCP-035 leaned against the counter, his posture lazy and dripping with ease. The face of the body he wore was covered by the opaque face shield, the glossy black material reflecting your image, haunted and distorted.

As if waiting for the most dramatic moment, 035 flipped up the face shield, and the porcelain mask grinned its dark humor at you.

“Well, look at you, sweetheart. Positively awful. Did you miss me that much?”

The hopelessness, depression, and fatigue weighing down your body vanished. You lunged, reaching for him, fingers shaped into claws as if you could tear him to pieces with your bare hands.

You were yanked back by a strong arm slung around your waist. You hadn’t even heard 049 follow down the stairs after you, but of course he had. 035 apparently had a new lapdog willing to follow all his commands.

“Fuck you!” you screamed at the masked anomaly. “You used me! Lied to me!”

035 made an oooh noise, and with a hand next to his mouth, as if he were telling a secret, he said, “She’s really mad at me.”

Your answer came in the form of a noise so full of rage and hate that something strained in your throat. You twisted and fought like an animal. 049 had to hold onto you with both arms, but his grip was like an iron cage holding you against his body.

Eventually, you just couldn’t scream anymore, the rage burning out of you too swiftly for you to maintain. You gasped for breath, 049’s holding you up now rather than holding you back.

035 simply waited you out, still leaning against the counter, his ample amount of patience telling you some worrying information. He had time. There was no rush. The MTF squad he took this body from was no longer alive, and no one was close to finding you yet.

He looked at his hand as if inspecting his fingernails, impossible with the gloves he wore.

“You done?”

You managed to find one kernel of hate left as you glared at him, baring your teeth in a silent threat. He pushed off from the counter and sauntered toward you.

You retreated backwards, right into 049’s chest, pressing yourself to him as if your back was to a wall. He remained as immovable as one, his hold around your middle forcing you to remain still as 035 stalked forward, a predator inspecting his dinner.

“I get it. You’re pissed,” he began, one slow step in front of the other, “but you understand why I had to do it, don’t you? It was the only way.”

He stopped in front of you, bringing up a hand to caress the side of your face. You flinched, your flesh crawling as his gloves touched your skin.

“That festering prison was slowly killing you. It was, piece by piece, unraveling my mind.” His fingertips traced over your cheek as his voice grew faint, distant. As if he were seeing something else. “And you should know that either of those things would spell disaster for anyone at that facility—”

You turned your head and bit down as hard as you could. His finger bones shifted and cracked between your teeth.

035 sighed.

“Reid, if you would just listen—”

The wad of spit hit him in the middle of the mask, right over his porcelain nose.

This time, he didn’t sigh. He just stared at you a long moment, the eye holes of his mask filled with an eerie violet glow, as if whatever malice within him couldn’t be contained to his stolen flesh.

“Okay.”

He looked past you, over your shoulder, to 049. 035’s tone was full of permafrost and arctic chill as he said, “Hold her.”

Those two words unleashed a flood of fear inside you. You thrashed, desperate to run, but 049’s steel grip prevented you from escape. You were trapped, and whatever scenes of torture and pain that surfaced in your mind were nowhere close to the reality that awaited you.

Because 035 grabbed the fabric of your dress and shoved it up around your hips. He wasn’t going to torture you with removing fingers or cutting you open. This was much worse.

“Reid, you need to calm down.”

You turned your head away, squeezing your eyes shut, but he wouldn’t let you hide. 035’s gloved fingers on your jaw gripped you with too much strength as he made you look at him.

“Open your eyes. Open them.”

The anger in his words made them hum, vibrate with power, and you opened your eyes. Not because he forced you to do it, but because you feared what would happen if you didn’t.

He’d wiped the spit from his face, but his eyes glowed brighter, so bright they almost hurt to look at, burning into your vision as an afterimage. Two dark eyes that watched you even if you tried to look elsewhere.

“I didn’t use your body to humiliate you. Nor did I use it on a whim. We are free now. You, and me.” He cocked his head, angling it slightly to look at the SCP behind you. “I even brought your beloved doctor along. I didn’t have to, you know. But I thought it would please you. I did this, all of this, for you.”

You grimaced, both from his words and the pressure of his fingers on your lower jaw.

“Your reasons are the same for why you do anything,” you rasped, your voice raw from screaming. “You did this for yourself.”

He stared for a long moment, until the grip on your face eventually relaxed. His cruel grasp turned into a soft, deceptively gentle caress against your aching jaw.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But you still benefit, don’t you? I, the selfish, self-centered prick, gave you your freedom when no one else would. Not Puli, not Kenny-boy, and certainly not the good doctor. Sticks in your craw, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You didn’t realize that last question wasn’t for you until 049 let out a low growl, the noise vibrating against your back. But 035 only chuckled, apparently unbothered.

“But here you both are,” he crooned, his words smooth like poison down the throat. “Enjoying each other’s company, all due to my good grace. And yet, here you both are, giving me that look, like I’m dogshit on the bottom of your boot.”

The touch on your jaw tightened. You grimaced, the pressure too much to ignore, until it abruptly vanished.

035 stepped back until he reached the island counter, leaning against it, his elbows resting on its surface.

“You know what, why don’t you get it out of your systems, hmm? I’ve been this generous so far, what’s a little more?” He tilted his head, the ceramic smile curved and wicked. “Go on, Doctor. Warm her up for me. However you wish. Dealer’s choice.”

049 stiffened at your back. He’d remained silent so far, and when he spoke, it came out as a rusty croak.

“What?”

You could have sworn 035’s smile grew larger, though that was impossible.

“I didn’t stutter. Time’s wastin’. Either you get her ready to be fucked, or I do it without any preparation. And no one is going to enjoy that.” He paused. “Well, I will. Obviously.”

When 049 still didn’t move, the mask gave a long, tired sigh.

“This body has a shelf life, and a rather short one at that. Now, Reid, I did my due diligence. I looked through the entire dead litter of MTF soldiers, and I picked out the one with the biggest cock, just for you.”

He chuckled at his own words.

“See? I’m not completely selfish. I take your feelings into account. You deserve a nice, big, fat dick.” He rubbed his porcelain chin, as if another thought had occurred to him. “Although, you really enjoyed those tentacles. Maybe I’m overcomplicating things and we should return to the tried-and-true methods—”

“Just do it.”

035 went quiet, but you weren’t talking to him. You turned your head, addressing 049, even if you couldn’t bear to meet his eye as you spoke.

“You said it’ll be easier to give him what he wants, right?”

You could almost feel 049’s gaze burning the side of your face.

“Yes.” The word was dragged out of him against his will. “That is… what I said.”

“So, do it.” You spoke through your teeth, angry. At him, at 035, at yourself for getting into this stupid fucking mess. Because in the end, it was your fault. You were the one who let your guard down. You were the one who knew exactly what 035 was, and still, you let him in. Who else did you have to blame but yourself?

You finally met 049’s gaze. He still hadn’t moved, his pale eyes intent on your face, his hands still trapping you against him, but they remained frozen like the arms of a statue.

“If you don’t, he’ll make it worse.” It came out quiet, pleading. He owed you this, at least. “Please.”

049’s hands twitched, then tightened around your waist, his gaze darkening. A reminder that his reluctance was due to 035’s involvement, and that if you were alone, he would have no qualms with finishing what he’d started in the bedroom.

Either way, he would do this because it’s what you asked of him, not because of 035’s command. You didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

When you turned forward again, 035 still lounged against the counter, his head tilted at an amused angle.

“Yes, yes,” he said, mocking. “Band together against a common enemy. Make me your villain. Yadda yadda yadda. Whatever gives you permission to do what you’d do anyway if I wasn’t here.”

You couldn’t see, but you could imagine the glare 049 was giving him, but the mask simply laughed.

“Go on, please,” he jeered. “Don’t mind me. Enjoy yourselves. I know I will.”

He was probably the only one who would be, since you certainly weren’t going to. And even 049’s movements seemed grudging as one hand moved under your dress, his fingers brushing up your thigh.

035 made an impatient noise and picked up a celery stick from the countertop. The family had been in the middle of preparing dinner from the state of the kitchen. You didn’t know where the bodies had been moved. Even the corpse at the bottom of the stairs was gone.

“Don’t be greedy, Doctor,” 035 said, pointing the celery stalk like an orchestra conductor. “Give me a show. I want to see it all.”

049 gave another annoyed growl, but 035 ignored it, instead tapping the celery to the side of his ceramic cheek.

“Don’t worry about Reid, she’s certainly not shy. She knows what she wants. I like that in a woman. Especially a woman who can take several of my tentacles at once—”

“Fuck you.”

035 cackled, actually threw back his head and cackled like a lunatic.

“Our conversations never fail to entertain.” He tossed the celery stalk over his shoulder, apparently already bored with it. “I’ve missed talking to you, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t miss you,” you spat. “Nothing disappoints me more than knowing you’re still here.”

You said the words without thought, spouting whatever came to mind, throwing any venom you could draw from your hate and fear. What you didn’t expect was for 035 to go silent, his body as motionless as a stone.

“Hurry the fuck up, Doctor,” he said, his previous amusement curdled into something darker. His fingers gripped the edge of the counter as if to keep him in place. “I fear I may soon be in the mood to hear screams of a different sort.”

049’s grip tightened, and you had no delusions it was possessive rather than protective. But even so, no matter how flimsy, he was the only barrier between you and 035. Because you were beginning to realize you’d actually wounded him, and you had no doubt he would make you pay for it.

The SCP’s hands moved again, his fingers catching the hem of the dress, pulling it upward, baring you. His other hand went to your underwear, hesitating for a moment before tugging the fabric down around your thighs.

035 didn’t say a word. He simply watched as 049’s hand dipped between your legs, his gloved fingers sliding over your clit to your entrance. You didn’t have to see their slick surface to know you were soaking wet.

The heat of shame and anger crawled up your neck. You weren’t aroused or turned on, so what the hell was wrong with you?

049’s breath caught in his throat as he pushed inside your entrance, made easy by how drenched you were. You closed your eyes, unable to look at 035 any longer. The darkness behind your eyelids was the only refuge you had.

“Spread her legs,” he said, his tone still strangely flat. Almost angry. “I told you, I will watch this.”

You wish you could cover your ears like you could your eyes, or just be somewhere else entirely. Let them use your body like a doll, while you remained blissfully unaware.

But instead, you felt everything. 049’s hands forcing your thighs apart, his pressure against your skin careful but unyielding. When you were apparently spread enough for 035’s satisfaction, he returned to your cunt, dipping inside with two fingers, exploring you not unlike the way he’d done in the bedroom.

You hated the thought that what he’d done to you before made this easier, but it did. You already knew what 049’s fingers felt like, the pleasure they could bring, and your body responded eagerly. His thumb pressed to your clit and you groaned, your muscles relaxing, your head tilting back to rest on 049’s shoulder.

Shit. Was it too convincing? Would 035 know this wasn’t 049’s first time touching you like this? Would he even care? 035 seemed to be enthusiastic with the idea of sharing you, but he had a streak of jealousy you’d witnessed before whenever they’d removed you from your cell.

With the next stroke of 049’s deft attention, you didn’t care what 035 thought. Your only concern was how 049 pumped his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit. It was an awkward angle for him, but he didn’t show any sign of discomfort as he coaxed you closer and closer to the edge.

A few more strokes. You tightened around him, letting the pleasure wrap around you, giving you an escape from this nightmare, even for only a short moment.

Just a few more strokes—

“Stop.”

No!

049 went still. His fingers inside you, his thumb pressed against your clit, you hoped he might continue anyway. Until he pulled out.

No no no!

You let out a frustrated cry, so close to release. The pressure in your lower belly was too tight, almost to the point of pain, and certainly past the line of discomfort.

“You… fucking…” Gasping for breath, you opened your eyes, shooting 035 your most hateful glare. “…Bastard.”

“Guilty.” He held up his hands, pushing off the counter with his hips as he stepped forward. “Sorry, I know you were enjoying yourself.”

He wasn’t sorry at all, you didn’t need to see an expression on his porcelain face to know that.

“And as much as I enjoyed watching you…”

035 turned to the counter and grabbed something off of it. You barely saw what it was before he tossed it in your direction. 049 caught it in midair, examining it in his hand, one cuff dangling in his fingers. The handcuffs clearly weren’t police issue; the cuffs were padded and colored bright neon pink.

“…I would much rather participate,” he finished, his attention still on the shopping bag and its contents. “Lock her wrists behind her back. We can’t have those naughty little fingers wandering into places they shouldn’t.”

Meaning, one touch that wasn’t protected by plastic or fabric would nullify his abilities. Except… he’d been able to control your body once before, which clearly required touching your bare skin. It seemed he wasn’t taking chances a second time.

Your question of how he expected to fuck you without touching you was answered when he turned around and held a plastic square in his hand.

“Wrap it before you tap it,” he said before laughing at his own obnoxious joke. And then, in a deeper, more seductive tone, he said, “Wouldn’t want to knock you up, I’m much too young to be a father.”

He cocked his head.

“Although… that is an idea. And sadly, not one I came up with.” 035 tore open the package with his gloved fingers, the condom inside a bright, lime-green color.

“What?” 035 laughed, seeing your look. “I like green.”

You said nothing.

“Anyway,” 035 continued, “the Site Director had some very interesting plans in the works. Ahead of his time, really. You should be thanking me for breaking you out when I did, trust me.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, and you really wished you could believe he was just running his mouth like usual. But there was a chord that struck uncomfortably true, and knowing Leahy, there weren’t many lines he wouldn’t cross.

049 pulled your arms behind your back, trying to be careful, but you barely paid attention as he tightened the cuffs around your wrist.

“But you,” 035 lifted his chin, indicating 049. “My good doctor, you have a breeding kink, for certain.”

049 ignored him. The mask displayed his comedic grin before reaching down and unzipping his pants. The front of his trousers had tented as soon as 049 had started touching you, but you’d forced your eyes away, unwilling to look if you didn’t have to.

But you watched this time. The cock he slipped from his trousers was, indeed, impressively large. You wished it wasn’t. You didn’t want any part of him inside you, and you didn’t want a stranger inside you, either. Especially a stranger who was, technically, already dead.

Bile burned the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down. Brain death happened instantaneously after contact with the mask, but the body did continue to function for a short while, until 035’s secretions started to rot it past the point of usefulness.

So, maybe the body was still alive. Either way, you didn’t want to think about it.

035 stroked his cock, unnecessary given how hard it was, but even now, he was a showman. He spread the opening of the condom over the tip, gradually sliding it down the length of his shaft. You didn’t know if the breathy quality in his tone was because the touch was pleasurable, or if he got off on you watching him.

“It’s funny. I’ve never bought condoms before. Had to guess at the size.” He chuckled. “You know, they didn’t bat an eye at me walking in wearing full riot gear. Must get a lot of role players at that sex shop. I was able to get what I needed and walk right back out. I didn’t even kill anyone.”

He said it as if you should be proud of him. You said nothing, because like most of his conversations, 035 wanted an attentive audience, not a participant. You were more of a heckler anyway, and while he seemed to enjoy that about you, you had a feeling this wasn’t one of those moments.

You just wanted him to hurry up, fuck you, and be done with it. Except this was 035, and he never made anything straightforward and easy.

After he was done rolling on the condom, he tucked the edges into his trousers, making sure there was no exposed bit of flesh. He grabbed two more items from the bag, slipping one into his pocket before you could see what it was. He held the other in his hands, and when he approached with it, you balked.

049 held you firm. Even though you knew he wasn’t on your side, it still felt like an act of betrayal.

“I didn’t want to use this—okay, I’m lying. I do want to use this, but it’ll also help curb the spitting.”

It wasn’t a ball gag, though that might have been less humiliating. 035 gripped your hair in one hand to keep your head still as he slipped the harness over your head. It was made to fit a human, but the silicone bit between your teeth was clearly meant to mimic a horse bridle.

Hot shame bubbled up your stomach. 035’s mask was close, enough that the overhead kitchen light reflected off the smooth, porcelain surface. Almost within kissing distance.

You launched forward, instinct rather than any real planning, and that’s why you almost succeeded.

But 035 tightened his grip just in time, stopping you before your forehead could crash into his. Bare skin against porcelain, a brief touch that would have been enough to rob him of his abilities and his stolen body.

You let out a frustrated scream against the gag between your teeth. With the bridle strapped around your head and your hands cuffed behind your back, you truly did feel like a wild beast straining against its captors.

“Right,” 035 said, as if being inches from having his fun ruined didn’t particularly worry him. “No kisses for you.”

He flipped down the black face shield, effectively ruining your chance to try again. There was no part of him you could reach now.

Maybe 035 reveled in that fact, because the hands on your thighs were greedy, covetous, eager. 049 held one arm around your waist, the other next to your thigh, the fabric of your dress bunched in his clenched fist. You didn’t think he was holding it to make things easier for 035, but you couldn’t figure out why else he was gripping it so tightly.

In the end, it didn’t matter that you had a bit in your mouth. If you told him no, 035 wouldn’t have listened. And this way, you wouldn’t be tempted to beg. You could make all the noises you needed to make, but they wouldn’t get your pleas for mercy.

When 035 dipped his fingers inside you, he groaned. It was the first time you’d heard the noise outside of the confines of your own head. It sounded entirely sincere in its pleasure, and you almost wished he was acting. That is enjoyment of this was just to mock you, because then it would be so much easier to feel nothing. To not respond as his fingers curled inside you, touching you in new ways he was never able to before.

It would be endurable if you knew the way he leaned into your body was a performance, the way he rested the face shield against the side of your head was pretend.

But it wasn’t. He withdrew his fingers and pulled something out of his pocket, the last item he’d purchased. He popped open the bottle of lube and spread it over the condom. It was almost considerate, until you remembered that lube would keep the condom from tearing. A single small opening would be enough to rip away his control of the body he wore.

Before he put away the bottle, 035 offered it to his co-conspirator, his cheery voice completely insincere.

“Would you like some? Or are you going to stand there like a creepy-ass statue?”

049 didn’t say anything aloud, but whatever look he gave was answer enough, because the mask laughed and said, “Suit yourself.”

035 grabbed the back of your thighs, and without warning, lifted you up, forcing your legs around his hips.

You let out a noise of surprise, but neither of them dropped you, 035’s fingers digging into your ass now as 049 seemed to refuse to relinquish his grip around your waist. 035 didn’t seem to mind, or at least, it wouldn’t interfere with what he really wanted.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

You glared at him, unable to move with your legs trapped around his waist, your arms tied behind your back, the dress that belonged to a dead woman bunched around your hips. 035 could do what he wanted, and you had no say in it.

So, you gave him the only thing you could—your silent defiance and your hateful stare.

035 tilted his head, and though you couldn’t see the mask through the face shield, you imagined the grin there as he said, “Good enough.”

Without releasing your ass, he guided his cock, prodded your entrance, and thrust.

He didn’t ease into it, didn’t stretch you out. He shoved halfway inside you without care or consideration.

You screamed around the bit, more in shock than pain, though it didn’t feel great. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d chosen a well-endowed body, and right now, it felt more like a punishment than 035 thinking he’d done you a favor.

A snarl echoed from behind you, 049’s grip tightening.

“Relax,” 035 said, but even he sounded strained. “Both of you. Fucking chill.”

He adjusted himself, and added, “I do want the two of you to enjoy yourselves. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t know fun if it ran you down in the street.”

You gave your own version of a growl, but 035 gradually pulled out before pushing in again, slower this time, and that angry noise turned into an unwilling moan.

“See?” he crooned against your ear, or as best he could with the face shield in the way. “I can be nice.”

You turned your head away, shutting your eyes tight. You didn’t want nice. You didn’t want to feel anything as he slowly worked his way further inside you, filling you so completely you could barely breathe.

“Oh, fuck,” 035 cursed, the words unsteady. “Even with the condom—Christ. If I knew it felt like this, I would have tried it sooner. Never used a body like this before. Seemed a waste of time.”

His hands kneaded your ass, his hips giving an exploratory roll, grinding against you. You bit the silicone between your teeth so hard you thought you might break something.

“Or maybe, it’s just you,” 035 said, giving a breathless laugh. “You’re like… catnip for SCPs. An anomalous aphrodisiac.”

His tone took on a singsong quality.

“Getting poor creatures everywhere acting stupid over that pussy-y-y-y—”

You yelled shut up!, or tried—it only came out as garbled growls. So you did the only thing you could with your body so tightly bound, the only thing you could think of to rattle him.

You squeezed as hard as you could, your walls tightening around his cock.

“Jesus-fucking-wept.”

035 jerked his hips, as if against his will, and he gave a groan before laughing again.

“Message received, loud and clear, sweetheart.”

He gripped your ass so hard it almost hurt, and thrust inside you, the impact brutal. But you were stretched out now, ready for it, and pleasure warmed your gut. Already you could feel your arousal dripping out of you, and the noise of 035’s cock plunging in and out of your wet cunt was obscene.

You were quickly losing yourself to a tide of sensation, your earlier denied pleasure building faster than usual. You almost didn’t notice as warmth pressed more firmly against your back. Both of 049’s hands were on you now, keeping to your middle but against your bare skin as he’d moved under your dress.

Tipping your head back, you rested it against 049’s shoulder, a steady anchor that kept you from floating away. The curve of his beak brushed the side of your neck, his yearning and desire obvious in the way he touched you, tentative and needful. He wanted you, but unlike 035, he apparently didn’t want to share.

Maybe 035 figured that out, or maybe he was sensing your impending orgasm, because he abruptly stopped and pulled out of you.

You meant to snarl, but to your horror, it came out as a needy whine. 035 ignored you, his cruel attention turned on 049.

“Come on, Doc. I can feel that goddamn fire hose of yours poking my leg.”

049 made a low noise that was so inhuman and disturbing that anyone else with a brain would have run. But 035 just leaned in close and said to you in a stage whisper, “You know his ‘robes’ are just his skin, right? So, he’s not technically wearing any pants. Which means, if the good doctor pops a stiffy, it suddenly becomes a very public problem.”

“That is none of your concern,” 049 spoke, loathing dripping off his words. “And your incessant mockery and chicanery tells me that I have made the wrong decision to—”

His words cracked apart with the strangest noise he’d ever made, as if someone had stepped on his tail.

One of 035’s hands had let go of you, and you could guess where it had gone when 049 shuddered against your back and something warm pushed against your entrance.

“Have a seat,” 035 crooned, before pushing you back, directly onto 049’s crotch.

The warmth at your entrance was forced inside, spreading you open, even wider than 035 had, until he bottomed out, your ass against his hips.

With your legs still around 035’s waist, he’d shoved you onto 049’s cock, fully and completely.

Your head was crowded with static, too pleasurable for you to keep your eyes open, your back arching as he filled you completely. It clearly wasn’t the cock of a human inside you, and you wished you could say that was a turn off.

Instead, you dripped around him, your walls convulsively tightening. You were at the point where you would beg for them to fuck you if you didn’t have the bit in your mouth.

But 049 remained frozen, as if he dared not move, his cock hotter than would have been normal for a human. It also twitched whenever you moved, as if he were on the verge of coming just from this. But you didn’t care, purposefully clenching down on him, wanting him to move.

The sound he made was gutting, desperate and needy, and fuck, if he kept making noises like that, you might come anyway.

035, either out of impatience or growing jealousy, clicked his tongue and said, “I have to do everything around here,” and lifted you up, before shoving you back down, forcing you to take 049’s cock down to the hilt.

049 trembled, his grip on you growing even tighter, and he stammered, “S-stop.”

“I’m not holding you hostage,” 035 said, obviously enjoying this as he continued to use you as a sex toy, fucking you on someone else’s cock. “You can leave at any time.”

049 didn’t move, seemingly caught between wanting to escape this humiliation, and wanting to keep fucking you. In reality, it felt like 035 was fucking 049 using your body, but you were so close to coming that you didn’t care what they did to you, so long as it continued to feel like this.

Your cunt tightened around 049, the pressure building higher this time, and his groans were desperate, maddening. He thrust his hips to meet your downward stroke, and you shook, so close, so close—

You knew he would do it, but when 035 pulled you off 049’s cock, you still gave a frustrated sob. 049 wasn’t much better off, his fingers on your waist trembling, a deep growl in his throat as he attempted to pull you away from your masked captor.

“Uh-uh, don’t be greedy,” 035 spoke, smooth and silky. “Share and share alike.”

When 035 slid back inside you, you really did think you were going mad. The tension was beyond pain, your whole body was a nerve on fire, your mind on the edge of something not remotely sane.

“Don’t give me that look, Doc. I’m not leaving you out in the cold.” 035’s hand disappeared from your hip, and when something else prodded your entrance beside his cock, lucidity returned so fast it felt like a slap.

You shook your head, crying out, giving a muffled no! no! It won’t fit! The words were garbled, but your meaning came across anyway.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” 035 chuckled meanly. “It’s fine. If you can fit a baby through this thing—”

You shouted again, trying to struggle out of his grip. Even if you could tell him you’d never had a baby before, and that wasn’t how it worked, you doubted 035 would listen.

But when the head of 049’s still couldn’t breach you, and your angry cries were devolving into the beginning of actual tears, he stepped away, the pressure vanishing. It forced 035 to grab you with both hands to keep you from falling, and the instant relief had you sagging against 035’s chest.

“I won’t harm her,” 049 growled.

035, who didn’t seem to care about the refusal, stroked your back, seeming to enjoy now having you all to himself.

“It’s a little too late for that, Doc.”

His tone was… odd. Strange enough that you struggled to pay attention. But then he pulled out of you, and you barely had time to adjust before he was walking, your legs still locked around his waist.

He didn’t move far, relocating you into the living room. The entire front of the house was made of glass panes, including the living room, and the darkness of the outside world crept inside. Only the pale moonlight lit the space, the kitchen light too distant and faint to touch you here.

035 sat in the corner armchair, pulling you down with him until you were in his lap. Your knees rested on either side of his hips, your ass against his spread thighs, but at least you were sitting.

Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked your cuffs. You rubbed your wrists; even though the cuffs had been padded, the strain against your arms still hurt.

“Comfortable?” 035 asked, his helmet tilted in amusement. Your only answer was a dull stare. The fight had left you, and you just wanted to find a dark corner and be left alone so you could sleep. And maybe wake up and be back at your cell at the Foundation, something you’d never wished before.

Maybe he was able to guess your morbid thoughts. 035 had always been unfairly adept at reading you, because he lifted a hand and stroked your cheek with unusual tenderness.

“You’ve been doing so well. Even if you would end my existence if given half the chance.”

You only continued to stare at him, too tired to react, to even try to pry off his face shield and touch his mask. He was too fast, and you were exhausted. And he was wrong. You didn’t want to kill him, or even hurt him. You just wanted…

…What did you want? To escape from here? And do what? 049 had been right. You didn’t have a plan, didn’t have anywhere to go.

Why were you still fighting this?

But when 035 lowered his hands and grabbed you by the hips, sliding you forward along his thighs until his latex-covered cock pressed against your stomach, you stiffened and resisted. You had no reason to fight, but you still did, anyway.

035 sighed and mumbled under his breath, “You’re such a brat,” and then in a louder voice he said, “What do you want?”

You realized he wasn’t talking to you, his head angled over your shoulder, and you half-twisted to look.

049 stood behind you a short distance away, his posture slightly hunched and almost awkward. It wasn’t difficult to see why. His cock hung low, heavy from where it protruded from his pelvis. It was a ruddy color, standing out from the black of his “robes,” and it looked swollen to the point of pain.

“Oh, right,” 035 said with an unkind laugh. “You’re stuck like that until you rub one out, huh. Guess you better get to it, champ.”

049’s gaze was so full of cold fury, you didn’t know why he didn’t simply reach forward and snap 035’s neck. He could, easily. It didn’t make sense why 049 was going along with any of this when he could get rid of 035 with a squeeze of his fist.

But within the deep shadows behind the chair, something writhed, a hint of smooth appendages that were more a suggestion of the mind than something physically there. At least, not there yet.

“Not a fan of that look, Doc,” 035 spoke, the casual amusement in his voice underlaid with something frigid and unseen. Black ice lurking in the dark. “Careful. I might assume you’re no longer happy with our arrangement.”

You didn’t know what deal they’d made, but the air in the room was becoming more suffocating by the second, and you didn’t want to get caught between dangerous anomalies intent on killing each other.

If you were the bone these two dogs were fighting over, the only way to survive might be to break in half and give them each a piece.

You reached out. 049 retreated a step, startled, but you grabbed a fistful of robes and tugged him closer. When you released his robes, you half-expected he would flee. But he remained still, as if mesmerized, watching as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.

You’d been right, the skin was hot, but it was soft too, silky as you ran your fingers along the strange bulges and ripples along his length.

When you reached for the back of your harness and unbelted the buckles, 035 didn’t stop you. You sensed his attention and curiosity, because if there was anything that entertained 035, it was watching what someone would do after they were pushed past their boundaries.

You removed the bridle, wiping the drool from your mouth. Then you tugged 049 forward and wrapped your lips around his cock.

049 was strangely quiet, as if shy, or reluctant to make any noise. The taste of him was strange, musky, and salty. You didn’t hate it. As you swirled your tongue over the head, you thought you could get used to it.

You hollowed out your mouth, squeezed the base of his shaft and looked up at him, unable to stop once you started. 049’s eyelids had fluttered shut, bliss and pleasure on his face, even though all you could see were his eyes.

One hand on his shaft, you blindly reached with the other, finding 035’s cock, still hard and waiting. Your hand squeezed and traveled downward, closer to the base of his shaft, almost to the end of the condom—

You were ripped away from 049 by hard, gripping hands. 035 forced you forward, against his chest, the black face shield reflecting your own startled expression.

“Nice try, sweetheart.”

Before you could say a word, 035 leaned back in the armchair, almost vertical now, and he bent your back into an arc, as if… showing you off.

As he lifted up your dress, exposing you, you realized he was doing something worse. Everything up to this point had been a game. Foreplay. 035 had been teasing you before, and now, he meant it.

035 spread you wide, and that was your only warning before he plunged inside you. Without the bit in your mouth, your cry was loud and harsh. 035 didn’t tease you, he didn’t even seem interested in dirty talk anymore. He just gripped your hips and fucked up into you as if he was a man possessed. Which was exactly what he was.

He only slowed when a second set of hands crawled along your waist, holding you firm. When 049’s cock nudged against your hole, you flinched and shoved your hands hard against 035’s chest, a desperate attempt at escape. The mask grabbed your wrists and twisted them behind your back, not bothering with the handcuffs this time. He held you just as easily with his abnormal strength.

035 shushed you as you tried to retreat from the intrusion. The bit was gone, but it was as if you’d forgotten how to speak, and all that left your mouth was unwilling moans and pitiful whimpers.

“Shhh,” 035 continued, as if trying to soothe you. “You wanted him inside you. Isn’t this better than a blowjob?”

You shook your head, making a noise that might have been a no, but neither of them listened.

“Here,” he said to 049, and you felt the motion of him tossing something to the other SCP. “Since you’re so worried about harming her.”

You heard the sound of the lube bottle flipping open, and a moment after, cold liquid dripping down your ass to where 049’s cock was almost inside you. He retreated only long enough to spread the lube over his shaft, and when he pressed against you again, the head of his cock slid inside.

You had nowhere to retreat except to hide your face in the crook of 035’s shoulder. It was dangerously close to his mask, you might even be able to reach it, but he lifted his jaw and tucked your head under his chin. You could practically feel his enjoyment of your attention, unwilling or not.

049 continued to push inside, spreading you wider and wider. It might not have been as bad if 035 wasn’t also still deep inside you. It was too much, you were going to break, be torn to pieces, but he kept going. 049 didn’t stop until his hips were flush against your ass.

You could barely breathe. 035 didn’t give you any further time to recover, pulling out of you before thrusting back into your body. You wanted to scream, it was too much, but you didn’t have the air to make a sound. Worse, you’d been on edge for so long that the massive intrusions weren’t unwanted anymore.

035’s movements were much more violent and punishing than 049’s cautious, testing thrusts, but they found a rhythm that was unraveling you. You were drooling worse than when you’d had the bit in your mouth, leaving smears of saliva on 035’s jacket. And still, they continued to fuck you, your body nothing more than a warm receptacle for them to chase their pleasure.

Except they were driving you towards your own pleasure, and no one stopped you this time. When you tightened around them both, 035 made a snarling noise that no human throat should be able to make, and he fucked you so hard you knew there would be bruises later.

Your orgasm wasn’t a tide, it was a wall, a building collapsing on top of you. The snap in your gut, stretched past the point of breaking, rippled throughout your body until you felt it even in the tips of your toes. You might have even blacked out for a moment, you didn’t know, because there was no room for sanity where the pleasure crowded in, filling you with that and nothing else.

And it didn’t stop. It continued like a storm-battered shoreline, wave after wave, unending because they wouldn’t let it end. You would have begged for mercy if you could remember how to form words.

Instead, you eventually collapsed, unable to do anything but breathe as they continued to fuck you.

But not for much longer. 049 slowed first, and when he shoved in as far as he could go, you felt something large and firm press against your ass. You cried weakly, unsure if you wanted to push back against it or retreat.

049 went still, a low groan in his throat, close to a whimper. He throbbed and pulsed, and it seemed to continue forever. When he pulled out, come spilled out of you, hot and sticky, dripping down your thighs.

And still, through it all, 035 fucked you, though his movements had lost their rhythm. Finally, he pulled you off of him, shoving you back so you were perched on his thighs. You could barely sit up, forced to hold onto the armrests now that he’d released your wrists.

035 tore off the condom, pumped his cock twice, and came with a groan. He spilled onto your stomach, your thighs, and most purposefully, your cunt.

He was exposed. All you had to do was reach forward and grab him, and it would be over. But as soon as you had the thought, as if he knew even now you couldn’t be trusted, 049 reached down and grabbed your wrists, keeping them in place.

Out of everything they had both done, that was the thing that sent a shard of glass through your chest. Your vision blurred, and you didn’t care enough to blink it away.

“Why?” you finally whispered, your throat raw and abused. “What was the point?”

035 was still catching his breath from where he laid back on the armchair, his hum amused rather than thoughtful as he flipped up the face shield. The porcelain mask seemed to grin up at you as he tucked himself away, carelessly tossing the used condom so it landed on the floor.

“Do I need a reason?” He sat up, the movement unnaturally graceful, showing that he was the puppeteer to the body he wore. “Did you?”

His hand went around your throat, not to restrict your airways, but to keep you from trying to headbutt him again.

You shook your head, in denial rather than answer, but 035 continued.

“What was your reason for saying yes to me, hmm? What was the logic behind you allowing me to fuck you back in our cell?”

049 stiffened behind you. He already knew what the two of you had done, but apparently, he still didn’t like hearing about it.

“I was… desperate.” The words hurt coming out, like you were choking on that shard of glass. After the mind-numbing pleasure, you felt wrung out, used, and raw. Maybe that was why you answered so honestly. “Scared. Alone. You were… you were all I had.”

His other hand went to your hair, stroking it. His thumb brushed your cheek, wiping away the spilled tears. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, gentle, soft. Crueler than his mockery. “You answered your own question.”

You stared. Did he really think you were that stupid? That he fucked you like his own personal toy because, what. You actually meant something to him?

“You-you’re sick.” Your teeth chattered together, your body unsure whether to shiver from stress or the aftereffects of pleasure. “Obsessed. All you know is twisted affection.”

“But it’s still affection, yes?”

You said nothing. 035 sighed and tugged down your dress, as if that would fix any of this. As if it would give you back the dignity he’d stolen. That they’d both stolen.

“Get cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

You should have expected 035’s dismissal right after he got what he wanted, his boredom after he was no longer entertained. Except it felt like a cheap act, one that even he couldn’t put in the effort to pull off.

So you continued to glare at him even after 049 pulled you to your feet, hoping he saw the accusation there, the loathing and contempt you felt for him. He could have your body, but he would be denied the thing he wanted most.

But as you stripped down in the privacy of the upstairs bathroom and got into the shower, you wondered if he would eventually have your mind, too. No matter how much you scrubbed your skin, leaving it raw and tender, you couldn’t get clean.

The warm rain-style spray of the shower beat against your back from where you lay curled on the floor. 035 wasn’t the kind to be satisfied after one taste. He wouldn’t tire of you until he broke you entirely.

In some ways, 049 was worse. 035 was who he was, and you’d never held any illusions about that. But you’d expected more from the plague doctor. Some sign or signal that he was truly bothered by keeping you like this.

You curled up tighter, shuddering as even now, your body thrummed and pulsed with the aftereffects of your long, tortuous orgasm.

They were going to ruin you. And with their phantom touches roaming your skin, your body aching and empty, you knew how it would happen. They would make you a willing participant in your own destruction.

If you didn’t escape soon, one day, you would no longer want to.

But the air was too briny, the tang too sharp instead of the softer sent of trees that stayed green no matter the season. And you’d certainly never awoken like this back home, naked and cradled within the arms of another.

His hand rested on your side, tracing the patterns of your fur, indicating your companion was awake. Of course the ARC trooper would be awake before dawn had broken, and you smiled as you stretched, hooking a leg over his and wrapping your arm around his chest.

Echo chuckled and squeezed you further against his side. “Morning.”

“Good morning.” The blanket still covered you both, but you didn’t like how the morning chill seeped across his skin. It reminded you of cryochambers and frost-coated limbs. “Are you cold?”

“Not remotely,” he said, a smirk in his words. “You run hot. Also, you’re pretty warm, too.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. The others only groaned when Echo made a particularly bad pun, with Tech saying something like, “Don’t encourage him.”

But you liked this side of him, and like his namesake, it was an echo of his time with Domino. A way to honor his previous squad while also annoying his current one, and Echo was nothing if not efficient.

“Is that so?” you asked, the innocence of the question lost as you kissed across his shoulder, careful of the bandage, and to the base of his neck. “Perhaps we should test how hot I can get.”

Echo laugh-groaned, his arm slung across your back as he pushed upward with his hips in a way that felt automatic rather than conscious. His cock quickly stiffened against your thigh, and you considered continuing what you started last night.

“I would love nothing more,” he said, trying to sound serious but failing as you kissed up his neck, “but morning patrol will arrive soon, and the cleaning droid will be here in about twenty minutes.”

You contemplated continuing anyway—you were growing more confident in your abilities and were sure you could make him orgasm in a quarter of that time—but you sighed and pulled away.

“Another time?”

“Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.”

You smiled and pressed your lips to his, slow and warm, but when he opened his mouth to you, you nearly gave in to temptation and accepted the risk of getting caught. It was the hardest battle you’d ever fought to pull away.

The dark, hungry look Echo gave you didn’t help matters, but the ARC trooper showed the impressive restraint of his station by not kissing you again like he clearly wanted to. You left the warm bubble of the quilt and pulled on your body glove and robes, and even with one hand Echo efficiently donned his own armor without needing assistance.

Probably for the best; the temptation to undo those clasps and pry off those plates would have been too much.

“We didn’t get to imbibe any of your illicit alcohol,” you commented as you rolled up the quilt. Echo pressed the commands on his comm to close the transparisteel wall shut, cutting off the briny scent of the sea.

“Something to look forward to.” And then he muttered, “If I manage to hide it well enough that the boys don’t find it.”

The way he said it made it sound like he needed to hide the bottle from cadets rather than fully grown clones, and honestly, that wasn’t an inaccurate assessment of the situation.

“Or so Bax and Terminus don’t find it on their next inspection.”

“I don’t see any danger of that.” Echo grinned. “Think they’d rather be fed to a pit of rancors than attempt to wade through Tech and Wrecker’s garbage again.”

You winced. You really needed to make it up to them in some way, though you suspected all they would really want is to stay as far from the Batch as possible (with Echo as the exception). You could certainly do that, even if your plan to keep your squad occupied wasn’t exactly selfless.

With you carrying the quilt and Echo with the bottle in hand, you left Viewing Gallery 12 in much the same way you found it. Even the open wall had prevented the room from capturing the lingering scent of sex, though if you were honest with yourself, you had enjoyed the lingering musk in the meditation room after you and Hunter had—

You stopped your thoughts hard. You’d already spent a satisfying night with Echo, how could you possibly need sex again? So you kept your thoughts careful and ignored the faint throbbing between your legs. You were sure you’d feel better after a shower and finding some way to burn off your excess energy.

To your surprise, Echo didn’t lead you back to the barracks, but to a sparsely used storage closet. He removed one of the back panels and placed inside the bottle and quilt after you handed it to him.

“Clever,” you said, smiling as he replaced the panel, the fit so smooth it would have been difficult to spot the edges.

“And necessary if I want to keep anything for myself,” Echo grumbled. “Crosshair is the worst thief I’ve ever met. Hoards like a pack of womp rats, too.”

“Oh?”

You didn’t bother to hide the silent laughter on your face, and when Echo next looked at you, his gaze had that dark, hungry look again.

“Yeah. Some things, though… I don’t mind sharing.”

Without thinking it through, your lips were on his, your hands cupped around his jaw, backing him up into the wall of the small closet as you tasted and licked into his mouth. Echo froze briefly, caught off-guard, before he pulled you close. He groaned against your lips as you tried to rub against him, too many layers of cloth and armor between you.

You only broke away when the chime sounded for first meal, and you rested your foreheads together as you caught your breath.

“Hold that thought?” you asked, and Echo’s smile turned mischievous.

“I’ll hold more than that, if you want.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped back, but Echo chased after you with a kiss, then another, not stopping until you started laughing. Only then was he satisfied, and he took your hand and squeezed it, leading you out of the maintenance closet. He was forced to drop your hand once you entered the corridor, but your fingers still tingled with pleasant warmth long after he let go.

You headed to the mess hall together, even though you both needed showers. You were starving. Canteen fare was preferable to the emergency ration bars stuffed away in your pouch.

The others hadn’t arrived yet, so you grabbed your tray, heaped it with food, and settled into the table unofficially designated for your squad. Before you could take your first bite, Echo chuckled low under his breath from where he sat beside you, and you asked, “What?”

“Hunter’s going to have an interesting breakfast.”

“How do you mean?”

He didn’t look at you, instead examining the hard biscuit in his hand.

“Between the two of us, I’m not sure he’ll smell much of the food.”

You were grateful your species couldn’t noticeably blush; you would be turning all sorts of colors as you stared down at your tray.

The others joined soon after, and if there was one thing true about the Batch, it was that they were both observant and incredibly unsubtle. Neither you nor Echo had to say a word before Wrecker slapped Echo on the back with a delighted guffaw. Crosshair looked between the two of you with a sharp, one-sided smirk, and only Hunter and Tech didn’t draw attention to the table.

In fact, you hadn’t thought Tech noticed anything at all until he sat down with his tray of food in one hand, datapad in the other, his attention on the device as he said, “I assume you two had a pleasurable experience?”

You froze like a battalion of battle droids held you at blaster point, and Echo actually choked on his cup of caf.

“All right, that’s enough,” Hunter said, though he failed to keep the humor out of his words. “Leave the lovebirds alone.”

“You want to hear details just as much as we do,” Crosshair drawled from his plate of flat cakes. “Spill it, reg.”

“A gentleman doesn’t tell.” Echo had recovered from his caf going down the wrong way, and he assessed Crosshair with a look that said this entire conversation was beneath him.

“I doubt you were a gentleman last night,” the sniper volleyed back. “In fact, I bet you employed all sorts of risky maneuvers—”

“So, Crosshair,” you interrupted. “You still owe me a session at the firing range.”

Crosshair’s smirk told you this misdirection wouldn’t work for long, his sharp eyes sizing you up from what he could see above the table. “In a hurry to pin down your next target, Master Jedi?”

You didn’t know how he managed to make your place in the Order sound like a sinful debasement, but he did, with far too much ease.

“Not at all,” you responded, holding your own cup of caf up to your mouth and eyeing him over the rim. “I can bide my time.”

“Oooh,” Wrecker said in a hushed tone that was somehow more obvious than if he’d spoken at normal volume. “Is that how you and Echo did it?”

Echo’s fork went clattering to the floor as his hand twitched, and Wrecker just laughed, unrepentant at the ARC trooper’s glare.

“Not quite,” you said. “As I recall, we didn’t wait long. It was very enthusiastic. Even ravenous,” you added, remembering the bite you’d delivered to his shoulder.

You soaked in the resulting silence as you sipped your caf, as if it was a sweet cream you added to the drink. They were still staring when you finished, and you gazed around their shocked expressions with feigned innocence.

“What?”

You glanced at Echo, worry creeping in. You hadn’t thought about the fact he might not want that kind of information shared with his brothers. But he met your look with a conspiratorial smile, and you relaxed.

“Wow,” Wrecker said, breaking the silence first. “Way to go, General!”

There was a collective wince and quick shushing from Wrecker’s loud volume, but the man simply grinned, too pleased to care. Hunter rubbed the side of his face with a sigh, while Crosshair sat back, his own expression alarmingly interested. Tech had returned to his datapad, but you had the sense he was still paying close attention.

“Anyway,” you emphasized, sensing the danger in Crosshair’s look, “what do you all have planned for the day?”

“Smooth.”

Everyone ignored Crosshair.

“I have to be on an officer comm in an hour.” Hunter’s wince betrayed how much he was looking forward to that. “Not sure how long that’ll run, but it could be a while.”

You remembered seeing something about that, though it was only meant for clone officers. You sent him a commiserating look.

“I’m about halfway through fixing the storage device,” Tech offered, somehow accurately spearing the food on his plate despite his eyes focused on his datapad. “Progress is going well.”

“I’m going to the training ring,” Wrecker boasted.

“You always go there.”

Wrecker tossed a piece of bread at his brother, but Crosshair easily dodged the projectile.

“What are you doing then?” Wrecker verbally prodded him. Crosshair shrugged, but his narrowed gaze slid to you.

“Maybe I’ll be at the firing range.”

Wrecker gave a frustrated groan.

“You’re always at the firing range!”

“I am not.”

“Are too!”

Knowing the argument could go on for a while, you looked at Echo. All he offered was, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Unfortunately, Crosshair overheard, his smirk like that of a tooka kitten that lapped up all the milk.

“Our Jedi fried your circuits, did she?”

The next chunk of bread hit its mark in the center of Crosshair’s forehead, because ARC troopers were good at striking fast and unexpectedly. Crosshair’s leer told you he wasn’t even close to being done with the teasing, so you quickly finished your food and rose from the table. You really did need that shower.

You’d almost forgotten why until you walked past Hunter and his nostrils flared. You suddenly felt too hot, too exposed, and eager to continue where you and Hunter had left off.

Perhaps engaging your men in these kinds of activities on Kamino was a bad idea, but you didn’t have much choice at the moment. Besides, you would have to leave the planet on the next mission, and you’d be completely alone with your men on a cramped ship.

…Yes, you needed that shower and a way to get rid of this excess energy before you did something you regretted. Not that you regretted any of this as much as you should. But getting caught and having your commanding officer violations read in front of the Council, possibly sending Yoda into a grave with some of the more shocking things on the list, was something you preferred to avoid.

“State your name and business.”

“Todo 360. I am a techno-service droid.” He peeked out from between his hands. You kept your eyes on the droid, reaching out with your senses and still finding nothing.

“Your business?”

The droid looked up, appraising you with its circular, button light eyes.

“Well, I, uh. It is a delicate matter, one we should discuss in private. Elsewhere.”

At your refusal to move and your hard stare, he added, “Your contact isn’t coming.”

“You made him send that message.”

“He was compensated fairly.”

“Guess I need a new CI.”

“I assure you, I would not force a Jedi to burn their contacts if it wasn’t a matter of urgency.”

“First it was delicate, now it’s urgent.”

“It is both.”

“Right.” You sheathed your lightsaber and reattached it to your belt. You didn’t sense any danger from the droid, and from what you could remember of its model, it wasn’t built with weaponry. “If you wish to appeal to the Jedi Order for aid, there are official channels to do so. I hope you’re able to resolve your matter.”

“It’s about Mister Bane.”

Halfway through your turn to leave, you froze. Then you slowly faced the droid again.

“What did you say?”

“Mister Bane.” The droid twisted its delicate hands into anxious knots. “He… requires your assistance.”

You scoffed, a hint of anger and some other complicated emotion flashing across your thoughts.

“If he requires aid, he can go through the same official channels I spoke of earlier.” Not that you believed the Council would give aid to the infamous bounty hunter, though they might help him into a jail cell.

You turned your back on the droid again.

“Goodbye, Todo 360.”

You walked exactly three steps before something tugged on the back of your cloak; the droid had snagged the heavy fabric in his hands, activating the repulsors on his feet to give him more force. Not that you couldn’t have easily swatted him away, but the droid’s behavior was so desperate it gave you pause.

“You can’t go,” he spoke, a little tremor in his voice. “You’re the only one who can help him.”

Something in his words caused a chill to settle over your skin.

“Is he hurt?”

Seeing you weren’t about to walk away, the droid deactivated his boosters and landed on his feet with a clumsy stumble. He still held onto your cloak, as if afraid you might try to leave again.

“N-no. Not hurt.”

“Is he ill?”

“In a way.”

You frowned.

“What does that mean?”

The droid sighed, something you didn’t know droids could do.

“It would be easier if I simply showed you.”

“He’s here? On Coruscant?”

The droid nodded, the servos in his neck whirring to move his head.

“I was afraid to move him anywhere else.” His hands twisted again. “He doesn’t know I’m here, and he would be very unhappy if he did.”

You appraised the strange little being.

“You’re not just a messenger. I assume you’re his droid?”

He straightened his stooped posture, puffing out his chest.

“I am Mister Bane’s partner.”

“His partner?”

“He relies on me. Counts on me. I would never let Mister Bane down.” He tugged on your cloak, emphasizing the point as he said, “Which is why you must come with me.”

You didn’t move even as the droid tugged ineffectually at your cloak.

“Why me? Surely, he has allies he could go to.” Especially considering you weren’t his ally to begin with.

“No one he can trust.”

“…I’m sorry. Are you implying Cad Bane trusts me?”

“Of course!” chirped the droid. “You’re Mister Bane’s m—”

He slammed a hand over his mouth, even though the mouthpiece was more for aesthetic than actual speaking.

“I’m his… what?”

“Nothing!” he squeaked and pulled frantically at your cloak. “Please, Master Jedi. I’ve already been away too long, and I do not wish to leave Mister Bane alone in his condition.”

You frowned and considered shaking off the droid and going back to the Temple. It’s what you should do. The right thing to do. Whatever Bane had gotten himself into wasn’t your concern.

I do not wish to leave Mister Bane alone in his condition.

You’re the only one who can help him.

You sighed.

“I’m not a healer.”

The droid perked up visibly, sensing your surrender and his victory.

“Not to worry! As I said, he is not injured, and his malady is… Well. You’ll see. Come, come.”

And with that, the small droid activated his hover mode and led the way, and you followed the blue lights of his repulsors into the darkness.

Of all the places for the droid to lead you, you didn’t expect it to be a ship hangar, one that you knew was used by criminals because one could buy the convenience of not being asked questions or checked for a valid ship signature.

Todo led you up a ramp into a ship that was easily the meanest, most predatory-looking vessel in the yard. An assault-class transport that must have been a custom job by the looks of the various weapons hanging off the ship, and it fit someone perfectly who was in Bane’s chosen profession.

As Todo sealed the ramp and hatch behind you, you felt like you’d been led into a den of nexu. Or at least, one particularly nasty nexu who wouldn’t appreciate you treading in his territory.

You took in the hard angles of the interior, the cold, utilitarian surfaces, and realized you were behind enemy lines, without backup, and without having commed anyone first. If Bane wanted to set a trap for a Jedi, this was how he would do it.

But the Duros remained out of sight, and when you reached out, you nearly balked. He was across the ship, definitely not lying in wait to ambush you, and he was certainly in no condition to fight. The agony you sensed wafting from him was like tendrils of steam, leaking through the cracked barrier of his mental shields.

Without a word, without even thinking, you headed in his direction, only pausing when the droid intercepted you, hovering in your path and barring you from going any further.

“There are some things you should know before—”

“Why didn’t you call for a doctor?” you interrupted him with a growl. “He’s suffering. He could be dying.”

“Mister Bane is not dying.”

“You can’t possibly know that without a doctor to examine—”

“This has happened before.” The droid once again wrung his hands. “At least, that’s what he said. It was a long time ago, before our partnership.”

“Todo.” You walked forward until you were towering over the small droid, your voice low and careful. “What’s wrong with him?”

If droids could swallow nervously, this one would.

“He’s in heat.”

“…”

“Well, that’s a crude way of putting it, more accurate to mammals. What he’s experiencing is an involuntary mating cycle, one that’s activated when a Duros finds a new mate.”

You didn’t move.

“So, you see the problem,” the droid continued, his voice driving higher as if he were on the verge of a hysterical breakdown. “Mister Bane didn’t realize what was happening until the cycle was nearly active, and I did manage to find a brothel for him on Canto Bight, one that is discreet about this sort of thing. They even had a few Duros females available! Very useful since mating cycles don’t end for the equivalent of a standard week, and he would have to go through several—Anyway, it was the perfect plan, but once we arrived, he completely lost control! If anyone even attempted to get close, he attacked them, and I barely got him back to the ship before local planetary security arrived.”

The droid didn’t have any lungs, but he was still out of breath by the end of his rant, a result of his circuits overheating rather than a lack of air.

“You… you see the problem?” he repeated weakly.

You stared into the distance, sensing through the partitions and bulkheads to the source of agony so potent you could almost feel it shivering across your skin.

“He told you about the bite?”

“Yes. Mister Bane was concerned it would expose him.”

“Expose him how?”

“Well… a claiming bond can leave the claimer quite vulnerable. And you, being a Jedi, aren’t exactly lacking in ways to harm him.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him that way.”

The words were out before you realized what you were saying, but the droid nodded as if he’d expected your response.

“I know. He has the same weakness.”

You blinked, but the droid continued, shaking his head with his hands on his hips.

“When I suggested he use the mating bond to lay a trap for you and sell you off to Dooku, he threatened to melt me down for slag. It was only a suggestion! He’s far too sensitive when it comes to—”

“Will he attack me?” you cut him off before he could continue his thought.

The droid deactivated his repulsors, slowly sinking to the ground, his blank expression thoughtful.

“I… I don’t know. He’s deep in the throes of it, and without any relief, he’s not in his right mind.”

And he’s not exactly pleasant when he’s in his right mind, either, you thought.

“Please.” Todo looked up at you, his button eyes somehow conveying a look of raw pleading. “I do not know if he will attempt to harm you, but I do know he will harm himself. This… involuntary biological process is difficult to endure, especially for him.”

You sensed something there, a deeper meaning full of pain, but it was a private pain. One you may never understand, but you felt to be real.

And then Todo’s voice became small, as if afraid to admit it aloud.

“He has no one else.”

You took a deep breath, held it, and then breathed out.

“All right.”

The droid’s head perked up.

“You’ll help him?”

You unclipped the lightsaber hilt from your belt and pretended not to see the droid flinch back. You handed it to him, the ignition outlet faced away.

“Please keep this somewhere safe for me.”

The hilt looked comically large in Todo’s arms, but he held it as if it were a delicate treasure.

“Of-of course. And if you need anything, I am at your service.”

Your eyes kept drawing to the corridor, the one you knew would lead to the place Bane had sequestered himself.

“I suggest, Todo 360, that you don’t attempt to approach or disturb us until it’s over. No matter what you hear.”

“But—”

“Todo.”

“—what if he hurts you?”

You expected the droid to be worried about you hurting Bane, not the other way around. Interesting.

“I can handle Cad Bane. Promise you won’t go in that room.”

“I… yes, all right. I promise.”

You gave a small smile and bent to place a hand on his large head, and he looked up at you.

“Everything will be fine.”

With the droid silently watching you, you walked down the corridor, and prepared yourself for a very different kind of battle.

It will be fine, you told yourself. Beings all over the galaxy have sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s an experience like any other.

And once it was over, you could finally return to your duties and stop this distracting fixation you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how many times you meditated.

It’ll probably be mundane. Overexaggerated. Pleasant, but ultimately, forgettable.

A jamb rattled, but it wasn’t the front door. The quiet sound came from the balcony.

You remained still, head tilted as you focused on the being who had managed to sneak up to your balcony without detection. That wasn’t the most shocking part. The balcony was at least three hundred meters from the streets below, which no stairs or ladders could reach.

The balcony door swung open, and an imposing figure stood against the background of sparkling skyscrapers and starlight. A long coat, a wide brimmed hat, oxygen tubes, and the glint of pistols at his hips.

He strode into the room, his red eyes surveying the dim light. You’d forgotten to turn them back on after meditation.

You appraised him, curiosity overriding your nerves. He was a Duros, tall and lanky and scuffed at the edges. Was he supposed to look like that one bounty hunter? Something… Bane. Cad Bane. Yes, that was it.

The costume was immaculate from what you could tell, but you hadn’t purchased the roleplay package, simply going with the most basic option. Perhaps the service wanted your repeat business, but you didn’t plan to do this more than once.

“Cad Bane” looked you up and down, his attention lingering on your robes marking you as Jedi. You had placed your lightsaber in one of the drawers, not wanting to make the companion nervous at the sight of the weapon, but this one seemed anything but nervous. From his confident bearing to his excellent disguise, there was no doubting he was a professional.

That same stare followed you as you uncurled your legs and moved to the edge of the bed. You pulled off your boots and then stood, removing your heavy brown cloak. His eyes stayed on your hands and your face, and he never once blinked.

“You’re early,” you said, and that seemed to break him from his staring.

Surprisingly, he reached up and pinched the brim of his hat, tipping it toward you.

“I’m never late for a payday. And ye owe my client a lotta credits.”

His accent was rough, as rough as the man, and you guessed it was similar to what the real Cad Bane sounded like. Perhaps it was practice, or he might even be using a voice modulator.

You were still distracted by the voice when he moved again, and at first you thought he was going to the case on the nearby polished wood table. You’d paid half upfront, and the companion was expected to take the remainder with him once his job was done, but he ignored the case. Instead, he slowly circled you, those red eyes watchful.

“Weren’t expectin’ no Jedi to hand over the payment. We doin’ this or not?”

Well, apparently he wanted his payment up front too, or maybe it was part of the act. You went along with it, walked to the table and picked up the case.

“Right here.” You opened it and turned to show him the ingots inside, and immediately his weathered face creased into a scowl.

“You tryin’ to cheat me, or are Jedi too pious to count? Ye owe me a million credits, not a thousand.”

So, this was part of the roleplay scene. It made sense now, why they would pick someone so intimidating for a Jedi client. You could easily imagine living out a scene like this, trying to pay a local bounty hunter for intel with said bounty hunter trying to talk up the payment. A little thrill of excitement went up your spine, because you knew what came next in this hypothetical scenario.

The negotiation.

You closed the case, unbothered as you placed it behind you on the table, leaning your hips back against its edge as you crossed your arms.

“Perhaps there’s a way I can make up the difference. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. Don’t you?”

He just… stared. And stared. And then a smile crept on his face, mean and sharp.

“Unless ye got a crateful of ingots hidden in those robes, then no, ye can’t make up the difference, Master Jedi.”

He growled out the title as if it was filth in his mouth. Distain, animosity, a clear dislike of who and what you were, but his eyes… there was something in them. Curiosity.

It was the only assurance you had that this was just an act, because his tone and demeanor radiated hostility. He was almost too good at his role.

He didn’t move at your approach, and he didn’t blink when you ran a finger up the inner edge of his duster.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

He didn’t answer this time, his unnerving eyes simply watching. And it was unnerving. Facing down a battalion of droidekas was less intimidating than being under that baleful gaze. Where did they find this man? He could take up the mantle of bounty hunter instead of companion, and you wouldn’t have known the difference.

Careful not to dislodge the air tank on his back connected to the oxygen tubes, you tugged at his duster, trying to slide it over his shoulders. But it was firmly attached to the tank, so you moved on to his vest, beginning to undo the latch at his throat when he grabbed both your wrists, his hold as tight as iron.

You looked up at him, uncertainty poking at your mind. You couldn’t get a read on him, his mental shields unusually strong, the strongest you’d sensed from a non-Force user.

You quietly said, “Or we can stop here. No reason to continue if both of us aren’t comfortable, right?”

He tilted his head as he considered you. And then he backed you into one of the posts of the canopy bed, the strength from his thin frame deceiving. Your back pressed to the wood, he released one of your wrists and took your chin in his long fingers, his eyes half-lidded, like a nexu comfortable and assured it was the biggest predator in the room.

“Lemme think about it.”

You relaxed. It was still part of the game; you hadn’t yet crossed any unspoken rules or boundaries. You opened your mouth to offer your relieved agreement but never got the chance. With the point of his finger, he tilted your chin upward, and pressed his lips against yours.

You froze, every thought ground to a halt. Even your muscles went rigid, your breath caught in your throat. And then you nearly startled when his tongue licked across the seam of your lips before sliding into your mouth.

The companion was… surprisingly gentle. You expected him to continue the rough, hardened bounty hunter act, but his hand moved into your hair, holding the back of your head, and you simply melted. There was no other word for it.

When he parted from your mouth too soon, you slowly opened your eyes, feeling strangely warm and intoxicated. Is this why so many species touched their mouths together? You’d hadn’t understood why, had thought it couldn’t be more special than any other kind of touch. You had severely underestimated the effects of kissing.

“Word of advice,” he said, his lips tantalizingly close, his breath warm over your skin. “If yer gonna seduce someone, use what’s suited to yer skillset. The aggressive approach wasn’t workin’ for ya.”

“No?”

Your response was muddled and slow, the pleasant sensation still heavy on your body, as if he’d poisoned you through his lips.

“No. Yer sweet. That’s yer angle.”

He leaned in, this time sucking on your lower lip before running his tongue across it, the touch sending sparks through your body.

“Ye taste sweet, too.”

You tried to close the distance and felt a brief pressure on your lips before he pulled away, chuckling at your impatience. His mouth glided down your jaw and neck, and you felt a hint of those sharp teeth you’d glimpsed, and something electric and hot crackled through your abdomen.

You gripped his coat to steady yourself, the press of your bodies unintentional. The companion let out a low growl, his hands at your hips in a bruising grip.

“Get outta those robes. Now.”

You almost sighed in relief, both at the fact this was finally happening, and at being given direction. You were in unfamiliar territory and wanted him to take the lead, trusting him to guide you.

Despite being the one to tell you to get undressed, his dexterous fingers found the latches and clips holding your robes and tabards together, and you were impressed how easily he did it. Jedi garments weren’t the easiest to disrobe in a hurry, but you supposed he must have experience with undressing all sorts of species and outfits.

It was only after the robes and tabards were piled on the floor that he stepped back, his eyes appraising the only pieces you had left: a matching pair of lacy black underwear and bralette, the latter designed to cup and push up your breasts.

“So, that’s what Jedi wear under those robes,” he mused, his eyes narrowed and his mouth curled in wry humor.

Your skin heated. No, this definitely wasn’t what a Jedi wore under their robes, usually opting for body gloves or skintight underclothes. But you decided that wouldn’t be appropriate for a night with a brothel worker, and had bought the lingerie pieces yourself. You’d never owned anything so delicate and sensual, and with those eyes hungrily tracing your skin, you knew the purchase had been worth it.

“Go on.” He leaned back against the table with its case of ingots, taking a toothpick out of a pack on his belt and fixing it to his mouth. With his other hand, he pulled first one, then both of his pistols from their holsters, placing them on the table behind him. At your curious look at the removal of his props, he added with a smirk, “Don’t take my blasters to bed unless I plan on usin’ ‘em. And you’re gonna be sweet for me, won’t you, darlin’?”

You were unable to meet his gaze while he spoke to you in that purring tone, not when you were so bare before him, and you nodded your head. You reached behind you and fumbled with the latch to your bra, and when it stayed firmly in place, you flicked it open without touching it. At least your grasp on the Force was still strong, because your body was its own willful thing, a tremble moving up your legs and spine.

You were doing this. You were actually doing this. You were going to have sex, with a complete stranger, someone whose name you didn’t even know. You were going to—

Once you dropped your bra to the floor, your fingers were trembling too hard for you to properly grab the waistband of your panties. But then another pair of hands covered yours, fingers long and delicate and assured.

“Ye got the stink of fear all over ya,” his low voice dipped in your ear. “Finally decided to come to yer senses?”

You shook your head, no longer in the mood for games and playing pretend.

“That’s not it. I… I’ve never… This is my first…”

You couldn’t finish, shame closing your throat. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t feel ashamed, that there was nothing wrong about what you were doing.

“Yer first…?”

“Time.”

He went silent for so long that you looked up, a mistake as he stood too close, his hands still covering your hips.

“Yer a virgin.”

“Yes.”

Were you supposed to tell the brothel beforehand? No, no, of course you were supposed to tell them. They’d made you fill out an extensive questionnaire on your preferences and tastes (most of which you’d answered “unknown”), so it only made sense they would want to know if this was your first sexual encounter.

Swallowing your pride, an apology written all over your face, you said, “I’m sorry. We can stop here, call the whole thing off if you want—”

He picked you up by the back of your thighs, hooked your legs around his waist, and swiftly lowered you into the middle of the bed in a movement so smooth it took away your breath. His mouth claimed yours, rough and fast, the words slipping out in a rough growl.

“Yer outta yer mind if ye think I don’t want ye just like this.”

He sounded like he meant it, like he didn’t have a different client every night, servicing them just like he was about to service you. As if you were actually something special, something unique, and he was loathe to part with it.

“Okay,” you gasped when he moved his mouth from your lips down to your throat. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I’ll… I’ll do it. I want it.”

“Want what.”

You could feel the smile against your throat, his hands moving down to your hips where only a thin black piece of cloth separated you. Well, that and his layers of armorweave and leather. You tugged at his vest zipper again, but that only made him grab your wrists to trap them between your chests.

“Never knew you lot to be tongue-tied.” He slipped his hand down the curve of your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping past the waistband of your underwear to tease just above your sex. “Fact, this might be the first time I’ve met a bashful Jedi.”

You growled in your throat, frustrated and uncomfortable from the now soaked piece of cloth sticking to your skin.

“And I’ve never met a bounty hunter that likes to play instead of finishing the job.”

“Haven’t met many bounty hunters, have ye?”

You let out another frustrated noise, and he smiled. Actually smiled. It was a strange thing to see on such a rough face, but it lifted away the harsh edges and the years from his features. It also made you wonder how old he was. Certainly on the older side, which was a surprise, as you’d expected someone young and supple. You actually found you preferred this more.

“I’ve met a few. Just… not like this.”

“I’ll bet.”

Again, his smile reminded you of a self-satisfied tooka, but when the curve of those fangs revealed themselves, a strange flush warmed your belly. Tired of the teasing, you pried your trapped hands out from between your chests and cupped his face in your palms.

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a second, you wondered what the point of that was. The game was over, wasn’t it? You were going to have sex, he would take his money, and then it would be done. What was the point of pretending now?

And then you decided, you didn’t care. You kissed him hard, careful with your hands with the body glove and oxygen tubing in the way, but careless with your mouth, your lips demanding and almost angry.

You wanted something real. And if you couldn’t have that, you’d at least make it memorable.

His response was immediate and absolute; the companion ripped off the remaining piece of lingerie, tore them clean off, and pressed his hips hard to yours. You groaned into his mouth, something hard and warm trapped underneath the layers of his clothing. It might be pretend, but at least the reaction you could elicit from his body was real.

You expected him to immediately move to the main act, but instead, his fingers slipped further down, lightly toying with your labia and clit, as if gently stroking an animal.

You broke the kiss to arch your back, and he took advantage of your exposed neck, nipping the skin as he found your opening and carefully pressed against it.

“You’re going to… get your gloves wet,” you stammered, your voice odd and breathy. You remembered the fingerless gloves, and you didn’t know why the thought of them being ruined concerned you. Your brain was an amorphous mess of unconnected thoughts and babbling words, as if his hands on your body had managed to short circuit the synapses in your brain.

“Don’t care,” he mumbled into your skin, and as if to prove it, he pushed the long pad of his finger into your entrance.

You shuddered so hard it was almost a jerk, and he gently hushed you, petting your hip with his other hand as if calming a spooked fathier.

“Relax. I got ya.”

His finger pushed further inside, stopping where the edge of the glove began, and crooked his finger. The pad of his finger stroked something previously unknown to you, and you bucked your hips against his hand, a strangled gasp in your throat.

He chuckled and continued the stroking motion. But it was his thumb pressing against your clit that had your eyes close and your toes curl. It was already more pleasure than you’d ever experienced, it was hard to imagine there could possibly be more.

But there was, building deep in your gut as he moved his fingers in tandem, stroking and rubbing and plying you open until you were mindless with sensation.

And then he removed his fingers, and it all stopped. You panted, stunned, your sex throbbing with the sudden aching emptiness. But he drew up his fingers, and you saw how slicked they were before he slid one into his mouth.

He hummed in apparent pleasure at the taste, and you were suddenly jealous of those fingers and the attention they were getting. You took his thumb, the one that was still wet from the slickness of your clit, and ran your tongue along it, tasting yourself on his skin.

His eyes blazed with something that was almost frightening, and then he jerked out of your grip, his hand disappearing as you heard the sound of a zipper being pulled.

Something hot and surprisingly wet slid between her legs and over your abdomen, and your eyes went wide at the realization of what it was. And that it was far, far too large.

But despite the heat in his eyes and the frustration that leaked through his mental shields, he was careful, rubbing the length of his strangely shaped cock against your labia.

And then he pushed both your legs up until they hooked around his shoulders, opening you up and spreading you wide for him, and the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance.

You were soaking wet, aching and nearly in tears from your own desperate frustration, wanting something you couldn’t quite pinpoint, and you said, “I can endure the pain.”

Some of the lust-filled haze cleared from his eyes, and there seemed to be something else there. A wistfulness you didn’t understand.

“I know.”

And then he pushed, and you wondered if you’d spoken too soon. His cock, tapered at the edge but textured strangely along the shaft, stretched you open far past the point of pain. But you endured it, having endured far worse, until he was fully sheathed inside you, his hips flat against yours.

The pain throbbed in time with your heartbeat, but your face stayed expressionless, and you kept your breathing as steady as you could. And you were glad you did; the companion searched your face as if trying to find something, his own sabacc-face very good, and only the faint strain you sensed past his shields and the tautness of his body told you that he was fighting off his pleasure to remain as still as possible.

Finally, he let out a huff of air, a faint shadow of a smirk on his lips.

“Jedi,” was all he said. And then he kissed you, demanding and distracting, the pain between your legs fading into a dull throb, and then blossoming into a warm ache.

He knew you were ready when you moved your hips against his, clumsy and inexperienced, and he gripped your hip tight to keep you still. At your frustrated noise, he simply grinned, pulled out no more than an inch, and thrust back into you.

Stars and galaxies danced before your eyes, and you were gone, lost as he continued to thrust and rock into your body. You understood the point of this now, why people sought this out since the beginning of time. The thrum of your skin vibrating with pleasure and ecstasy was new, but the sensation of being outside yourself, losing yourself to something more, was not. It was as close to feeling one with the Force as possible without actually dying and crossing to the other side.

And when your peak crested and broke, you cried out, holding onto your companion and giving yourself over to him, wishing you knew his name to call him by it.

Neither did he call you by yours, which you were glad for as he only knew the fictitious version, and instead he lowered his lips to the muscle between your neck and shoulder, and bit down hard. You cried out again, in another orgasm or the same one that never seemed to end, and his cock inside you seemed to thicken.

With a curse, he pulled out at the last moment, his length hard and throbbing as he spilled onto your stomach, the fluid surprisingly cool instead of the warmth you expected. It was a soothing balm against your heated skin.

Your body sluggish and tingling, something like affection bubbled up inside you, and you lifted your head and pressed your lips to his. It was his job, you understood that, but he was still a living being, connected in the Force as you were. Which meant you weren’t strangers, not really, and you were grateful for the experience you’d shared.

And just like that, whatever cracks that had appeared in his mental shield slammed shut, his expression closed off as he broke the kiss. He moved your legs off his shoulders, his actions not unkind but absent of their previous sensuality.

Right, you thought. Business concluded.

The sudden raw, stinging pain in your chest rose without warning, and you ignored it and turned onto your side. You’d paid for the full night, you were damn well going to use it.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

“Likewise,” you said evenly, as if the pleasure you’d felt a moment ago hadn’t been entirely mind-altering. As if the experience itself hadn’t shifted your entire perspective permanently.

He didn’t leave immediately, and you sensed his attention on your body, but with how tightly his shields held, you couldn’t tell if it was curiosity, or lust, or pity. Most likely, the latter.

And then he was gone, out the way he’d come through the balcony door, the faint hiss of the rockets on his boots propelling him away from the landing. You didn’t know why he didn’t use the door now that he no longer had to pretend.

You curled up, the afterglow fading into a vague cold emptiness you didn’t understand. The aftereffects of the chemicals flooding your system, probably. You would feel better after a shower.

You startled awake at the series of knocks on your door. Rushing out of bed, you winced at the dried mess on your pelvis, having dozed off before you had that shower. Pulling on your brown cloak and wrapping it tight around your naked body, you didn’t sense much time had passed since you fell asleep.

Opening the door, you blinked and shielded your eyes from the sudden change in light. When your eyes adjusted, you found a blue Twi’lek standing next to a white-gold protocol droid in the hallway.

“Master Jedi?” the droid asked.

“Yes?” Your skin heated at the idea someone had complained about the noise, but it was the Twi’lek who spoke next.

“Forgive the intrusion.” He paused, taking in your ruffled appearance with an arched, painted brow. And then his gaze settled on your neck, specifically a point that ached but you couldn’t immediately recall why. “I’m your companion for the evening. But… if you wish to reschedule our appointment—”

You blinked, and only then did you take in his appearance. Delicate gold circlets spaced along his lekku, his outfit tailored to fit his appealing, muscled frame, his arms bare and featuring similar circlets to the ones on his head.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice was faint, your brain only static. “You’re… you’re my companion?”

The Twi’lek and droid exchange a questioning glance before he answered.

“I am. Is something amiss?”

Yes. Yes, something was very amiss.

“No, not at all. I, uh… will no longer require your services for the evening. I apologize, and I will, ah, compensate you for the inconvenience. You can keep the deposit, too, of course.”

The Twi’lek still looked confused, even a little alarmed, especially as his gaze kept roaming to the spot on your neck, but the protocol droid replied with its programmed perkiness.

“Very good, madam. We are grateful for your patronage, and please remember to leave a positive review—”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to do that, thank you, goodbye.”

You shut the door in their surprised faces and braced against its surface as you tried to swallow your panic. And then remembering the Twi’lek’s stare, you darted to the bathroom.

The lights blinded you when you switched them on, but you ignored the discomfort and stared at your reflection in frozen horror. Dried blood had trickled down from the twin puncture wounds between your shoulder and neck. Right where your companion had bitten you.

No. Not your companion.

Your trained grace and balance abandoning you, you stumbled to the table where the case of ingots still sat. You opened it, blinking in confusion, not one of them missing.

Across their surface rested a note written in scratchy, scrawling ink.

It’s on the house.