The question of Steve's lips weren't exactly a question. Like his sweet kisses, it lingered on Bri's lips and made her voice catch in her throat until she wasn't sure if she wanted to go further or stay on the shore. The question came up every single time the guard kissed her.
His lips were so soft and tender that the pale scars startled her, just as they did every time he smirked or pouted. Vertical lines of scar tissue decorated the young man's otherwise perfect lips. Every time he accompanied her and her father to a meeting with a stranger, there was always a tense moment when the security guard introduced himself and their guest had to juggle his security uniform, attractive appearance, and obvious scars all at once.
No matter how much he slaved away to look his best, the only fault that damned him was always stuck on the body part meant to bring pleasure and happiness.
She watched him open a little tin and slide the lip balm over his lips with his finger. It was almost sensual, the way he caressed his mouth and rubbed the ointment across its smooth surface. The book on her lap lay forgotten as the question grew in her throat like gathering dew. "St-Steve?"
"Mmmm~?" He turned to her and puckered his lips at her with a coquettish wink.
"Can... Um..."
Picking up on her hesitation, the guard put his tin away and scooted closer to her on the futon in the foyer. He was still somewhat new to her, even though they had already spent a few weeks clinging to each other under the sheets. His habits were as new to her as hers were to him, but he still wrapped one arm around her shoulder to reassure her that whatever she asked, she would not be judged. He nuzzled her temple with his nose. "Come on, love."
She turned her head and caught him in a chaste kiss. The sensation was also new to her but thanks to how enjoyable it was, she was slowly becoming used to it. The guard melted around her and kissed her just as gently. When she broke the kiss, she found herself reaching out to touch his lips. It was pure accident that she managed to stroke them along the scars reaching down toward his chin.
His smile fell slightly, but it was a smile nonetheless. She released the lungful of air that had been trapped in her chest by pure fear. When she stopped stroking his lips, they parted and gave her fingertip a gentle kiss. "You wanted to ask about the scars."
Electricity fizzled along her arms. She nodded. "I-If it doesn't bother you," she whispered.
“Well,” he began, but he hesitated. “I don’t know how much I should tell you. You’re very gentle, and... It’s kind of ugly.”
The idea sounded worse now that he warned her. Still, she couldn’t let herself lose her nerve when she was so close to finding what had happened to her guard. She was miles away from explaining the mark on her own face, but this was one small step forward. And she wasn’t up for sharing yet. As for Steve... “Just... J-just tell me what you think I can h-handle.”
Steve's eyes softened as they traveled over her face. His gaze didn't make her as shy as it did a few weeks ago. On the contrary, her heartbeat slowed to a more subdued pace; she cupped his cheek in her hand and was relieved to see his smile perk up again, albeit with a hint of sadness in his honey eyes. "Alright. You know that I've been a racer since I was a teen... I lived in Brazil-- Rio, where the racing circuit gave me a home away from Greece. We were probably the best in the world, plus we did some weapons runs for the army and rebels. Eventually the civil war got worse and our manager died. The circuit crumbled and we had to manage ourselves for the last few races. But things went bad when some of the others fixed the races, so I just took everything I had and ran for the army."
"Y-you left?" she squeaked. Just the thought of Steve on the run from what sounded like a dangerous operative got her heart back into anxious territory. She could see him hiding out in squalid apartments in Rio, moving under the cover of night when the steaming air and distant parties could help him slip out of the city.
"I had to," Steve murmured, now playing with her bob. "I knew the language and the city, but one of the circuit racers got to me before I could make a clean escape, so..."
He made a slow, cutting motion with two fingertips, going from just under his nose to the tip of his chin. The cuts started and ended at different places as if the monster didn't even want to give him the dignity of having symmetrical scars. His fingers slashed upwards and across his cheeks, slicing his nose and eyebrow in two different places. Now she could see the faint hair-thin lines where some unknown doctor had stitched his face together and all but erased the evidence of what had happened in Rio.
Suddenly Bri realized that the broad scars under his tattoos-- the same dark honey tattoos that swirled over his body like intricate filigree-- were the same age as those on his lips. The other racer had made sure to mark him as someone who shouldn't be taken into anyone else's arms. Steve had already turned his back on the circuit, so they had to make sure he wouldn't fit in anywhere else. He had covered those scars with beauty and flamboyance, but his face... She couldn't imagine him lying with his eyes and cheekbones bruised, lips torn and skin bleeding freely where a set of steel claws took his racing earnings from his body.
She whimpered and buried her face in his chest, shivering from the shock of it all. His warm hand came down to rub her shoulder, and he kissed her forehead until she reemerged. Her lower lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I d-didn't think--"
"Shh," he murmured, brushing a few stray hairs behind her ear. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's... It's been a while, and I'm not that upset over it anymore, darling. Hush..." He cradled her there against his chest, rocking her gently as she leaned up to give him a kiss that those lips sorely needed.
If the other racer wanted to make him unlovable, they had failed miserably.
Houston didn't even need to glance up from his work table to know who had decided to visit him. He sighed and continued soldering new filaments onto his backup optic. "Can I help ya with somethin', Bullet?"
Sieve sauntered into his workshop, carefully picking up random instruments on the counter. "Like I ask for help every time I come in here. I just wanted to say hi."
She watched the medic put the optic down, and her smirk met his tired grin. He shook his helm with a chuckle. "You never simply wanna say hi. Every time you visit, you usually wanna swap gossip, wheedle a surgery or two outta me…"
"Ah, now that you mention it," Sieve began, leaning on the counter. "How are you with, uh, mnemosurgery? Not really intense stuff, just minor--"
"No."
She blinked. "What?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. If he didn't keep his door wings locked down at all times, they would have been pressed against his back all by themselves. "I ain't gonna probe in your memories, Sieve. Y'know I ain't a mnemosurgeon. I specialize in upgrades, transplants, battle trauma, cosmetics… I fix bodies, not processors."
The racer puffed a mouthful of air through her vents. "Not even for an illegally gorgeous price?"
"Like Seis is payin' you millions."
"Might be," she tried. His critical expression told her that credits had nothing to do with his refusal. He gestured for her to sit on a medical berth with him, and she complied with a slight whine. "Come on, I just… It's not even a deep-down memory, just… A handful of recent memories. Does that sound good? I can give you 15 million creds for that, even more if you need some persuasion. I--"
"Sieverange," Houston sighed, helping her up onto the medical berth. He placed a servo on her pauldron, urging her to look up at him. "Hey… Anyone ever tell ya that memories're more precious than any currency imaginable?"
"Uh, no?"
"Well, I just did, 'n' it's somethin' ya really oughta think 'bout." He nudged her. "But I can talk to you 'bout what you wanna forget. What're ya tryin' to get rid of? Is Seismicwave buggin' ya?"
She shook her helm. "Nah, that bucket of bolts is actually treating me pretty okay. He's a brat, but I can handle him. No, it's actually a… A personal thing."
"Is it Diadem?"
"Shut up."
"Sorry," Houston sighed, cowed by her acrid glare. "No talkin' 'bout that… Who else, then?"
Her servo went up to tinker with her finials, brushing off some dust that wasn't there. "Uh, Breakwire."
"Breakwire."
"Yeah."
Houston blinked. "Ya fragged his butler."
"He's not just Seis' butler," Sieve huffed, door wings rising up ever so slightly. "He's my friend… I mean, I think we went past 'friend' a while ago, which is why I'm…"
Her vocalizer took on a hollow undertone under the stress it was in and suddenly Houston knew. He should have known that first moment she mentioned mnemosurgery. He sighed and slouched with his helm in his servos. "You got attached to Breakwire. Sieve-- Didn'tcha learn anythin' last time? The last couple-a times??"
"I know, I--"
"Darlin'," Houston interrupted, taking her gold-guarded chin in his servo. "Ya don't turn your coworkers into friends with benefits. Ya feel urges, I understand that. Just go 'n' find someone who you don't live with, someone who ain't got a past that might come up. Ain't that what I toldja? But now…" He groans. "What's goin' on right now?"
She looked down at her pedes dangling over the edge of the berth, tapping the tips together until they released little tinking sounds. "So… I'm falling for him. And not just his valve, I mean the whole deal. We switch positions, he doesn't shrug me away, he moans my name, he squeaks when I kiss his door wings. When he wants to frag, he leaves little hints because he's shy… He even makes us tea. Primus, Houston, this bot's perfect."
"Buuut?"
"But his Spark belongs to another bot," she spat, optics dimming until only the central points remain. Her finials flare alongside her helm as she glares at the floor. I have half a processor to hunt Whats-His-Name down and shoot him."
"Ya never really told Breakwire how ya felt," Houston pointed out. "It ain't like y'all were courtin' or bonded or anythin', he's just got feelin's for another bot. Which is somethin' you--" She cringed. "--always forget. I don't blame ya, it ain't like you should know better. Sieve. The thing is, you--"
"Houston, come on, I don't want to talk about it anymore," she muttered, jumping off the berth.
"Sieve, you don't--"
The femme's lipplates twisted into a grimaces. "Houston, please."
"Darlin'," Houston sighs, practically tugging her back onto the med berth. She's small enough that he simply has to grip her hips and hoist her onto the surface. "You don't wanna hear it, but you gotta. I'm real sorry, but I ain't gonna probe in your head 'n' cut out your affair with Breakwire. I won't do it, 'n' here's why: it's cruel for both of ya. Ya think he's gonna understand what happened when ya walk into work tomorrow? Y'all been workin' together for a while now, 'n' he's gonna know somethin's up when ya don't know what he's talkin' 'bout. He ain't gonna understand. I toldja before. Darlin', I'm sorry, but ya just ain't ready to feel love. What you're feelin' is infatuation, remember? Aw, c'mon, don't…"
He quickly pulled out a clean polishing rag for her to mop up the coolant brimming in her optics. She refused to touch the cloth so he cleaned the fluid himself. "Darlin', listen. You're not in love. You're… You're disappointed that you couldn't have him. I… I hate to have to tell ya that."
Sieve's lower lipplate trembled as she gazed at the cloth in his servo. She never cried in front of others, except for Houston. Mopping up the pieces of other bots' lives was something that he just did, and he never begrudged her for all of the pieces he had to deal with in her case. She took the rag. "I don't know… I hoped that, you know, we were wrong this time and I really was feeling it."
"Hoped?" Houston scoffed. "Sieve. Love is great, but… It's a burden if ya don't know what to do, 'n' I'm glad you don't gotta carry it. 'Least not 'ccordin' to your programmin'. I don't really know what's goin' on in that helm cuz I ain't a specialist. If it's true, then all you gotta do this time is… Just let Breakwire go, bit by bit. Don't frag him. Don't kiss him, 'n' don't--"
"And that's not going to confuse him? Why can't I just have him and maybe see if we can--"
"Because ya can't." His voice made her protoform quiver in her armor. His frown was even worse: it was a thin line on his faceplate, and coupled with his sharp optics, it was strong enough to make her shoulders droop. He was being a medic, just as she had asked him to do whenever she came in for help. It was what she needed, but it didn't make her feel any better.
His blue optics softened slightly. "He ain't yours. Chasin' him is only gonna complicate things 'n' make 'em worse. He doesn't feel the way you do 'bout him, unless you wanna talk to him 'bout it."
"N-n-no, I don't," she whimpered into the cloth. "And I know he doesn't love me. I was stupid to even tease him that first day. Frag."
"It ain't like you could help it," the medic sighed, rubbing her back armor.
She sniffled. "What if I could? I mean, what if you could… I don't know… Shut down my interface drive? If I can't frag and don’t want to frag, I won't get caught up in messes like this."
"Sieve, that… That ain't ethical. You express yourself through playfulness. You're allurin, 'n' interfacin' is a big part of that. It's just part of your personality! Takin' that away is just gonna make it hard for you to interact with the world."
"So I'm just a pretty face who says 'Hi' by opening her legs."
"No, ya ain't," Houston rumbled. "You're a playful hellion who lives for all the greatest sensations in life, which I think is pretty fantastic. You just… Get into trouble. I can't fault your interface drive for that, so I ain't gonna mess with it."
"Houston, please, just take it all away. It's gotten me into more trouble than I--"
The medic sighed and pulled her off the medical berth, practically wheeling her towards the door. "Just go home 'n' get some recharge. Refill your coolant before that, though, 'n' make sure you defrag your hard drive so you get the most out of recharge. Darlin'… I'm real sorry, but what you're askin' is only gonna make things worse."
She drove three quarters of the way to Seismicwave's base before it hit her. Catching sight of a rock formation flanking the canyon, she skidded across the red ground and took shelter behind the warm rocks, transforming before curling into a ball. Her engine wheezed and purred in her chassis, which would not have distressed her if it hadn't been her Spark's fault. It spun so quickly in its chamber that its active signal was disrupting her navigation systems. Everything felt too intense and it made her dizzy even in vehicle mode...
Beep! A comm message bleeped in her inbox. "S-Sieve? I-Is everything alright? Y-you went on p-patrol earl this m-morning and, and I didn't hear from you s-so Seis… He asked where y-you were--"
He had called her because Seismicwave was asking for her... She shoved that bitter thought aside. It was stupid, really. He hadn't done anything wrong, so there was no point in thinking cruelly of him.
"S-S-Sieverange?"
"I'm here, Breaky. I'm okay."
"A-are you sure?"
"I'm fine. I just stopped by Houston's, and I'm on my way back, okay? Let Seis know that I just needed to check my nav systems after my patrol."
Eve froze and turned around, sure that something in her ear had thrown off her hearing. "Say that again?"
The blonde teenager shuffled her feet again, clearly fighting off a strong blush. "Aha... Yeah, I just thought hey, if you trained me in something, I'd be better off in case I... Yeah! I've seen you spar with Houston and I think you could really show me some moves to help me get stronger!"
One perfectly tweezed eyebrow arches up towards the security guard's hairline. She considers Waverly's suggestion for a moment as she carefully peels off her sparring gloves and unwinds the bandages cushioning her knuckles. In turn, Waverly watches her with the wide-eyed interest of a pupil who is all too ready to learn. Eve was just so cool, so ready to take on any challenge! Houston was strong, too, but Waverly was sure she could learn more from someone who wasn't blessed with sheer size. She pulls her lower lip into her mouth, worried that she will be turned away...
Eve's dark red lips curl up at one corner and she takes a step forward. All curve and muscle, she approaches Waverly like a wolf investigating a young golden retriever. "And how does Hous' feel about this?"
"H-he's cool with it!" The blonde subconsciously takes a step back. "He says I'm stronger than I look! But he also worries about me sometimes."
"Well, who wouldn't be worried?" Eve asks, rubbing her upper arm. "You're short, adorable, and very pretty. Someone just might come along and--" Waverly feels her back hit the wall. Eve braces one arm near Waverly's head as she leans in. "--corner you."
Her olive skin nearly glows in the overhead lighting, and the wisps of short, dark hair falling out of her bun simply frame her sharp cheekbones in a way that makes Waverly's breath catch in her throat. First the muscles, and now this! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
Waverly gulps. "E-eheh..."
Suddenly her starched shirt collar feels a little too tight, too warm... Oh no, her face is heating up! Eve was practically inches away from her! Waverly squeaks and pulls her head in between her shoulders, wishing that she wasn't so horrible at hiding her weakness for muscles and charming badasses. Dang it! "UHH--"
"Aww, are you okay?" Eve almost sounds kind and gentle, but it's all an act. She's teasing her.
"Y-yeah..."
Eve tilts her head in interest and Waverly knows she noticed the blush-- the stammering... Those muscles are sooo close, and those scarred red lips are still smirking at her... Waverly can almost smell the other woman's perfume clinging to her neck and shoulders. "How old are you again?" Eve brushes a few stray strands of hair behind Waverly's ear and the poor girl nearly melts on the spot.
"S-s-seventeen!" she manages to squeak, fighting the way her heart beats in her throat--
The human cage around her disappears. Eve stands a few feet away from her new pupil, wrapping her bandages around her gloves. "Oh... Then... I'll need SIrius or someone else to write a permission letter, just in case something happens to you during your training."
"H-happens?" she stammers. Her brain barely registers that those muscles are slowly sauntering away, but she shakes her head and rushes to trot after the security guard. Her head still buzzes with warm perfume. "Like what?"
"In case I go a little too hard on you," the other woman responds, gathering her fresh uniform from her locker and walking off. Waverly keeps up with her as Eve continues. "But I'll go very gentle on you at first. We'll start tomorrow at lunch, but only cardio work to strengthen your leg muscles and help you manage your breathing. Are you okay with that?"
"Yep! I'm cool!" Waverly pipes up "When will I start doing that jujutsu thing you do? Or boxing?? I want to get into heavier, more physical stuff so I can finally work with you and Houston, and--"
Eve's eyes latch onto hers and for a moment Waverly worries that her eagerness made the guard have second thoughts. But then those strands of blonde hair fall back in front of her eyes and Eve slowly brushes them back again. This time her fingers trace Waverly's jaw.
Sirius’ staff list was impressive. His mansion covered far more than 25,000 square feet—and that didn’t include the mansion grounds. Of course, his roster included Brianna the maid/assistant, Steve the security chief, and Houston, a physician who happened to know quite a bit about viticulture and kickboxing. The other staff included a few winery lab techs (Houston’s underlings), two groundskeepers, two other maids, one cook who helped Brianna with larger meals, an old steward who looked after Sirius’ financial holdings, two shipping and delivery workers, four janitors, a handyman, and two rather oafish guards who helped Steve patrol the mansion grounds at night.
Brianna was sure that there was more, but that was all that came to mind. She was a little busy wrapping her head around the rumors. Most of these rumors had to do with Steve, and they weren’t all in an unfavorable light.
She was surprised to hear that the attractive security guard was single, or as single as he could be while keeping a few people’s sheets warm at night. On second thought, his appearance and demeanor screamed “playboy”. One quick wink from those dark lashes made women blush, and the way he licked his lips made some men shift their gaze from his well-built chest down to his narrow hips. If his high collar failed to hide the light bruises on his olive skin, his expertise with makeup and disguises ensured that Sirius never looked too closely at what he did on his off hours. Steve eased a few folks into dark corners for whispered promises and fleeting gropes, lured them into closets…
He even seduced one of the other guards on top of his work desk, which was a story so raunchy that Bri had to excuse herself from the break room, ears burning. She could only take so many whispers about how warm and soft Steve’s thighs were, how sweetly he moaned, or how his hands could make any woman melt into a puddle. He had only slept with one guard, one of the maids, and one of the groundskeepers, but it was enough to make him notorious.
She never stuck around long enough to give him a chance to hunt her down, too. She had to attend to her duties or she would face Sirius’ cold wrath… But the guard was nice to look at… His olive skin looked so warm, and his dark brown hair was probably softer than--
“Why, hello there~…”
Damn. Bri freezes in the act of collecting a few teacups from the tea cabinet, trying not to shiver herself into a seizure when she feels a warm hand on her back. It’s a friendly gesture, but not one that she wants right now. “I-I… H-hello, I…”
He looks so much prettier up-close—and did he always smell this nice? Steve looks down at the tray in her hands, his face breaking into a gentle smile as he gently eases it out of her hands. “Here, I’ll hold it while you get the cups. Is this for Sirius?”
“Y-yes,” she says in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Her fingers suddenly feel cold and clumsy as she places the portly teapot onto the tray, avoiding any contact with his hands. She spoke to him a few times since he started working at the mansion and it was always hell on her nerves. Thank God he took the tray. “I-it’s nearly t-t-tea time, so… Y-you can bring it t-to the kitch—the kitchen.”
“Mm-hmm,” he responds, following her to the kitchen, where she immediately begins preparing Sirius’ special brew.
She expects him to throw a wink her way and saunter out of the room, but after a minute he remains where he is, leaning against the central island and silently watching her pack the diffuser. It feels like she’s being observed, like a rabbit going about her business while a fox’s amber eyes track her every movement, down to the way her heart beats in her throat. All she can do is pour a bit of cream into the little ceramic creamer and pray that her unsteady hands don’t give her away. Suddenly he makes his way to the monstrous espresso machine in the corner, boots stepping silently on the aged tile. “You can’t have coffee, can you?”
Bri nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of his voice. “Ah! I… N-no, I can’t. I-it’s…”
“It’s too much for your nerves,” he finishes, turning to look at her. “As is sugar.” Something changes in that gaze. No longer predatory, his dark eyebrows knit together as he watches her nudge the cream boat and sugar pot on the tray with delicate hands. Now it just looks like he’s learning something from the little routine she does every day. Part of his lower lip disappears under his teeth and he rubs his faint stubble. Her cheeks feel slightly warmer. “And some teas might be too much, then?”
“Y-yes,” she stammers, noting that the tea is ready for delivery. “S-sorry, I have to t-take this now. H-h-have a good day!” Taking the tray into her hands and balancing it with expert ease, she floats out the door before Steve can catch up to her.
The muffled sound of boots on thick carpet comes sooner than she had anticipated. Steve cocks his head as he accompanies her down the hall. “Can I take that for you?”
She focuses on keeping her steps light and graceful, determined not to spill a drop of cream or tea. “N-no, thank you, I got it. B-but thank you.”
“No problem,” he says politely, opening a door for her to access the main part of the mansion. After this corridor, she will be upstairs and hopefully two floors away from the on-duty security fox—guard. However, he remains at her side all the way up the first flight of steps. “You’re taking medications to regulate the way you metabolize sugar, and maybe adjust for your caffeine sensitivity, right?”
She stops at the top of the stairs, turning to look at him and praying that she can gather the nerves to send him away. “I-I’m sorry, but—“
“It’s none of my business,” Steve cuts in, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. From this angle, he almost looks innocent, especially when he leans on the banister. “I asked because I’d like to take you out for coffee sometime. But after watching you now and then, I realized that coffee might not work out… Would lunch be a better option?”
Steve wanted to have coffee with her. Steve. Bondage-loving, sexuality-swapping, crazy-Saturday-nights Steve wanted to go out for coffee. With her. Can’t he see that she is a nervous wreck? Can’t he see her scar? Her grip tightens on the tray handles.
“I don’t see what could possibly keep my tea waiting this long.”
Bri sighs at the voice crackling through the radio at her hip. Sirius had been kept waiting long enough. She lowers her gaze to the tray. “I-I-I’m sorry, I… I’m n-not in-interested in… that… right n-now. B-but thank you.”
She nearly flies up the last flight of stairs, wishing that she could just hide in Sirius’ study for the rest of the day.
[I'm SO PROUD of this because I stopped a few times to meticulously go through my thoughts and try not to terrify Bri. The read more is very early because yes, this gets pretty smutty VERY early on. Yesss.]
“Mm… Ahh~!”
He carefully twisted her nipples just enough to make her mewl in pain, and her hands quickly clasped his head. The delicate fingers wandering over his scalp urged him to lavish a little more attention to the rest of her and he complied, lapping up the traces of her wetness and releasing his own breathy moan when she mewled again. His erection was beginning to feel hellish against the sheets but he pushed that to the rear of his mind, devoting his attention to her moist entrance. As he traced the rim with the tip of his tongue, Bri tried to raise her hips in an angle as if to order him to go a little harder. He chuckled and released her nipples so that he could take hold of her soft thighs, hooking her knees over his toned shoulders to give himself more clearance. “Enjoying yourself?”
She barely had the sense to nod and mumble a breathless “Yes”, but she continued caressing his hair with a dazed, dreamy expression. Much to his surprise, she shifted her pelvis closer to his mouth, biting down on her lower lip in her usual shyness. “M-more?”
“Of course, love,” he whispered, lowering his mouth until it closed over her. Inspired by a sudden naughty thought, he shifted his chin downwards and tickled her briefly with the tip of his tongue to make her squirm, just before he reached in to part her folds with his fingertips.
She seemed to fight with herself for a moment, her hands clenching into tight fists before she decided to fondle her own breasts and squeeze them for a bit, whimpering as he traced her rim with his tongue again. Then he tickled her a little bit more. For a moment she giggled but it soon turned into surprised moaning as he shoved his tongue into her, curling the tip and desperately trying to get as much of his tongue in as possible. At the same time he reached up and moistened the pad of his thumb with her lubricant before kneading her clit with its slick hood, thrusting his tongue as hard as he could.
His timid lover arched her back and clenched her fist in his hair, moaning loudly as she rocked forward against his face, trying to fuck herself with his tongue. “Oh! Oh, S-Steve, ah~!”
He quickly repositioned his mouth over her clit and continued sucking and swirling his slick tongue around the throbbing nub. Two of his slim fingertips slipped into her while she was distracted, but once Steve curled them inside her and rubbed at the sweet spot he had discovered early on, Bri adjusted her hands to cup his head. “Steve! Ah, AH! O-oh my God—“
She leaned against the pillows piled at the headboard and he purred at how cute she looked. Her hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and she was so far gone that she stuck the tip of her tongue out of her moaning mouth, running it over her shining lips. He moistened his tongue a little more and twisted his wrist to massage her as deeply as he could, forgoing the thrusting motions in favor of something more intrusive. Of course he knew his way around female anatomy, but he still prepared himself for a sharp blow to the head when he dug his fingers in and firmly caressed around her cervix.
Instead, Bri jerked her hips forward and cried out, pulling his head so that he had no choice but to close his wet lips over her clit and grind his fingers inside her, driving her closer and closer to her climax. “Steve, k-keep—Ah! Oh, oh God, I’m—”
Her breath came in ragged gasps and mewls, almost like a tame little beast that suddenly realized what primal instincts were. She thrust her hips up in his hands and nearly cried from the tension building up in her core, and the more he caressed her, the louder she squealed. All it took was for Steve to flick the hardened tip of his tongue along the underside of her clit, suckling as if he needed to taste more of her. “Nghh—Oh, Steve!”
He could feel the tension in her hips snap like a line of rope in a storm. She arched her back, grinding her head into the pillows and moaning as wave after wave of white-hot pleasure wracked her soft body. She bore down on his fingers with enough force to squeeze around them, spasming and panting as if possessed. He kept sucking and thrusting all the way through it until she was a flushed, shivering armful of Bri. As soon as she began squirming to allow her sensitive parts to recover, he licked his lips—wiping his nose on the back of his hand—and kissed her warm stomach.
For a moment she just sighed in utter bliss, and he crawled over her like a sated predator until he could nudge the tip of his nose into her neck. Gathering her in his arms, Steve scooted back to lean on the headboard with his sweetheart clinging to his shoulders. He nuzzled her cheek with a tender chuckle before offering his mouth to her.
Bri quickly tilted her face and pulled him into a kiss, still breathless and rosy. “Steve…”
“Mmm?” He idly ran his fingers over her shoulder, marveling at how radiant her skin looked in the fading sunlight. It was almost like she had stolen the last few beautiful rays from the sun and absorbed them into her eyes and every inch of her frame. “You’re not going to scold me, are you?”
“N-no,” she breathed, nuzzling his neck with her forehead. “That… That was amazing.”
“No,” he murmured. He lowered his nose into her hair and took a slow, lingering breath in and out, memorizing the lightly perfumed, faintly wild way she smelled. “You are.”
In that moment, he knew.
He was in the most alarming and most welcome danger he had ever experienced in his life, that of falling in love.
It looked like Rapid was still in the middle of his foul mood, but Houston stuck his faceplate in Rapid's field of vision anyway. Rapidshock narrowed his optic at the floor and hugged himself even tighter, almost vibrating with unease. Houston sighed and planted a quick kiss on his boyfriend's head, right between his antennae-horn constructs. He thought they were so cute that he just had to kiss them whenever he could.
Luckily, Rapid didn't shrink back too far. The dark blue bot tilted his helm towards Houston and shuffled his pedes like a shy teenager. Now, that was cute. Houston smiled and kissed him again, this time on the plating above Rapid's optic. "Cutie."
"I'm not a cutie," Rapid seethed. He nuzzled the medic's cheek anyway, releasing a quick flicker of static through his charged visor as his way of smooching Houston. "You're such an idiot."
Houston chuckled, rubbing the shorter bot's shoulder. "Yeah, I know... Sorry I pissed you off earlier, Darlin'. I still ain't used to mindin' my own business 'round bots who wanna keep to themselves." Rapid seemed to uncoil further as Houston looked him in the optic. "Rapid. I'm not gonna pry anymore, 'kay? All I ask is for you to let me know when somethin's botherin' you."
Rapid nodded meekly, standing on the tips of his pedes so he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend's neck. "Mm-hmm."
"I mean it," Houston muttered. He pulled Rapid into a blissfully warm hug, careful not to squeeze the smaller bot too tightly. "Even if you want me to scoot over on the bed or if you want a couple days to yourself. You just gotta tell me so I can do my best to make you happy."
Breakwire looks at Sieve's background check, oooooo
He didn't know why it took him this long to look up his coworkers' personal information-- scratch that, her "credentials"-- but when he did, Breakwire was at a loss.
Not only did Sieverange come up as an underground pre-war racer (the fastest in the femme records, if his research was up to date), but she also had a plentiful list of run-ins with Iaconian law enforcement and successful missions with Cybertron Intel's Civilian-Military Aggregate. He sat back in his swivel chair and read through the multiple monitors holding her information. Her work with the Aggregate was mostly sabotage-oriented, including field missions as a team saboteur.
One mission summary showed that she had weaseled her way into some Decepticon barracks and installed an unholy array of security cameras that gave the Aggregate a few leads on future combat sites. Why hadn't she received an awa... Oh. He groaned at the last few lines of the summary. She had shown up a few hours later than she was supposed to, displaying plenty of paint transfers on her shaky frame and looking quite proud of herself. Apparently she had fun in there. "Oh Primus, Sieve..."
Her pre-war information was a little cloudy, but from the police reports he discerned that Sieverange had been a bit of a live wire. Working under the name "Silver Bullet", she had been one of the top-tier racers in Iacon. During the last racing season before the war, she had had her aft beaten by only two bots: a special-frame Neutral and, of course, Blurr. Her progress during the other seasons was ridiculous. She was built for racing, but it looked like she was more ambitious and competitive than anything else.
Blurr was always the planetary champion at the legal matches, but everyone knew about the underground racing circuit that he and his buddies raced against, too. The underground teams held a monopoly over the raw, fuel-perfumed streets of Iacon just as Blurr and his legal circuits ruled the sparkling speedways. The only difference was that Blurr & co. were protected from the law. The Silver Bullet wasn't.
He clicked on a few links, and he felt his cheeks warm up at the attached posters recovered from the pre-war period. The scanned image was grainy but there was no denying that the silver femme in the lineup was his coworker. The other bots were a fascinating troupe-- their manager Blensoot was a robust, well-sculpted black mech who made Breakwire's door wings flick up in extreme interest-- but Breakwire barely registered that this poster was a relic. Half of those bots might be offline by now, and their outrageous nighttime soirees were only echos summarized by lines of text on a background check.
He closed the tab and looked at her basic information again. Her cocky ID photo grinned back at him, but it was a different grin than he was used to. Barely healing at the time the photo was taken, the cuts on her lipplates were still rimmed with bright blue. If he squinted, he could see faint healing tracks criss-crossing over the rest of her faceplate, joining at her lips. She must have had them lasered and buffed over before she came to earth, but the other scars his lips knew so well were clearly too deep to fix.
"Oh, who's that ugly bot?"
Breakwire jumped so high in his seat that his elbow slipped off the desk and he slammed his forehelm on the keypad. "P-PRIMUS!!"
Suddenly a warm pair of servos wrapped around his shoulders, and the thrum of a spark against his door wings lulled his own spark into a steadier rhythm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that..." Sieverange coaxed him into his seat and draped herself over his shoulder, turning her helm to pepper his neck and cheek with kisses. "Sorry, Breaky."
"S-Sieve," he stammered, still buzzing and twitching from the shock she had given him. "I-I'm just looking at..."
"Ooh, my background check," Sieve purred. She pointed at her photo. "Look, you can see where my faceplate was still patchy. Wow... What other stuff have you found out? Maybe I can add a few things."
"Th-that won't be n-necessary." Breakwire drew his knees together in his seat. "You're not mad?"
"Mad?" The femme snorted in amusement. "Pfff. Why would I be mad? There's nothing that I'd want to hide from any bots. At least nothing that made it onto your thorough background check." She kissed his audio again before withdrawing and practically slinking to the door. "I'm brewing energon, okay? Be right back, darling."
Once he was sure she had gone, Breakwire turned to the monitor again and frowned to himself. One paragraph bothered him. He had barely managed to drag another window over it, and luckily the racer hadn't caught sight of the move.
"NOTE: Circuit manager was offlined (CASE#98452.459-1) and the rest of circuit assumed management. Subject enlisted and left circuit shortly afterwards. Murder case is uncleared, and subject remains a suspect along with remaining members of circuit."
[Sieverange meets Houston for the first time. Oh, boy.]
---------------
"How're ya feelin'? Light-headed?"
"Nnnnrghhh..."
Houston chuckled and made a quick note on the post-op datapad. Murderous processor-ache? Check. He petted her servo as gently as he could and gave his patient another dose of painkillers with a nanite additive. "I ain't surprised, considerin' I just put your face back together. You were a real mess, Darlin'."
Sieverange's helm lolled to the side as the painkillers took effect. Something at the base of her helm gave her a heavy static zap, and suddenly her vision was clear. She registered that her facial material was no longer hanging off her support structure in gory tatters, but now it hurt just to blink her optics. "How.. How bad was it?"
The medic sighed. Sieve turned her helm to look at him. "That bad?"
He crossed his arms over his chestplates and frowned at her. "I had to refit your face over your supports, 'n' after I applied some regenerative nanites, I figured all you needed was micro-refittin' 'n' some serious stitchin'. You wanna talk 'bout why you stumbled in with your face fallin' off?"
"Got into a fight," she breathed.
"Need me to call the cops?"
She shook her helm slowly. "Nah, I got out of there as soon as I could. She was just stronger, so..." She lifted her servo and gestured at her patched-up face. "I'll be okay, though. I always am..." Watching the medic clear up his work space, she struggled to remember the name he had given her when she first found the clinic, but the only sound she could remember was his odd back-roads accent. "What was your name?"
"Houston... 'N' you're Silver Bullet."
Sieve's stiff brow pulled itself into a frown. He recognized her, even though her racing circuit was absolutely underground and definitely illegal. Was this a hack doc? From the gleaming white armor and his friendly cyan optics, she couldn't tell exactly where he was on the legality scale. "I--"
He lifted his servos in a peaceful gesture, looking rather oversized for the narrow space between the berth and the counter. "Hey, I ain't gonna turn you over to the cops. You're still recoverin', 'n' damn if I turn in the fastest femme on the planet, illegal or not. I spent the past few decades fightin' in the slums for money 'n' stitchin' up other bots at my place, so I'm just as under-the-radar as you. Except now I'm official."
She relaxed somewhat, but she could still feel the energon curdling in her lines. "What do you want from me, then? You know that murder wasn't an accident."
"Oh, I'm sure that there was somethin' more than a simple pump failure in that incident," Houston muttered, sweeping his tools into the sanitizing cabinet. He leaned on the berth and sighed. "I don't want anythin'... You know Iacon's gettin' really bad. There's talk of bomb raids 'n'... Look, all I want you to do is to get outta here ASAP. I mean it," he added at her scoff. "It's gettin' ugly, 'n' I don't think you're fit to handle mob violence."
She bristled. "What makes you say that I can't handle myself?"
"I didn't say you can't handle yourself," he said kindly. "I don't want you findin' yourself in another situation like this, but against a Con troop. The Silver Bullet's gotta have somethin' goin' for her, other than beatin' out 97% of the rest of our species on the road."
For the first time in eons, Sieverange considered something other than racing. What was she good at? With her really expensive electronic paintjob modification, she was adept at hiding and camouflaging herself anywhere. She was also light and fast. That was it! Espionage.. She could do that, with some training. Despite her pitiful position on the medical berth, the racer broke into a wide grin.
"Ah, no smilin' like that!" Houston scolded, hitting her shoulder. "You'll pull the edges apart."
"I can't smile??"
"Not for a couple weeks," he sighed. "You can smile a little, but you gotta take it easy. Keep grinnin' like that 'n' you'll end up with some really deep scars on your lipplates, Bullet."
"Yes, sir... And my name's Sieverange. Silver Bullet's my stage name."
He grinned at her. "I figured. I like Sieverange way better." A jarring, beeping alarm started up over the clinic's PA system, rousing the white medic. He fumbled with something in the wall and quickly pulled up an opaque cyan energy field around her berth to give her some privacy. "Got another patient comin' in. Be right back, okay?"
She smiled even more broadly as soon as the field went up.
and now for something different - windchill and houston
[So Kino and I were talking about the TFA AU where Houston and Rapid actually live together and have twins and stuff, but Rapid's ex Windchill basically couch-surfs with them and occasionally threesomes with them (don't ask, I still don't know). But after the twins are born Rapid kind of kicks both of them out of the bed because he's sure they'll try to kill the sparklings. Then we were like, "what if Houston and Windchill...? *waggles eyebrows*" and I wrote this monstrosity about Houston getting dominated to the max. Poor robot. This is the first long drabble I wrote in a while so it's kind of... dense.]
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Rapidshock refused to speak to either of them for the greater part of six solar cycles. In fact, he barricaded himself with the twin sparklings in the main bedroom thanks to some weird instinctual relapse. Houston would never form a negative thought about his sparklings, let alone harm one, but he was absolutely powerless against their other parent. He knew that this would happen at some point, but he had not expected it to happen so soon.
He was now in the uncomfortable position of 1) finding himself without a lover and 2) having a new stack of things to add to his research material on shapeshifter biology. Unable to reason with Rapid’s furious instincts, Houston gave up the bedroom and allowed his mate to look after his precious sparklings. Every moment left him with a heavy pain in his spark, which was denied the pleasure of interacting with its offpsring.
This left Houston and his rival/permanent visitor to argue over who got to sleep on the medical berth in the spare bedroom. After being hopelessly beaten down by the larger bot, Houston was forced to suffer the indignity of sleeping on the couch in his own home. Windchill knew that the lovesick medic lay awake every night with the window open over his head, gazing at the stars and worrying about his mate. He himself felt a few hints of concern for Rapid, but, knowing Rapid’s inner strength, he decided to turn his attention to other problems.
Especially his neglected sex drive.
If Houston’s irritability and longer work shifts meant anything, it was that the medic was also suffering. Apparently, Windchill noted after one particularly poisonous confrontation, Houston was anything but a saintly Autobot medic. He was always addicted to something—saving lives, pit fighting, laughing, fragging— and the separation from his lover forced him into a miserable state of aggression, dissatisfaction, and thirst. Windchill’s own frustration was making it difficult to focus on work, and it was very inconvenient.
Usually Windchill would not have considered what he was currently considering, but when he caught himself fantasizing about a sweet, warm valve for the seventh time in a single day, he finally approached the medic with a proposition.
"Frag," Houston repeated. He didn’t even pause to look up at Windchill, continuing his steady scroll through a data pad. His feet were rested on his desk, and Windchill suffered a moment of irritation at the other bot’s complete lack of concern.
"Yes," Windchill said. He summoned all the patience he could offer, considering the strains on his systems and composure. "I am… In need of release, and self-service is not helping me. Much."
Houston snorted, unimpressed. ”Romantic. Could’ve at least asked me out first.”
"Oh please," Windchill scoffed, "I’m not asking you out of affection or amorous intent. I understand that as a medic, you view interface as another physiological occurrence that does not require an emotional connection."
"In so many words, yeah."
"Well, then…?"
If Windchill had a proper face to scowl with he would have taken full advantage of it. His antennae practically buzzed with irritation. Houston finally put the data pad down and rubbed his optics with a weary sigh. “So you expect me to just comply with you, give ya a good bang, and act like it’s just part of my duties as a medic?” He shook his head. “As temptin’ as it is to spend the night gettin’ plowed into the couch by your monstrous cable, I have to decline.”
Windchill slammed his servos on the desk, making the medic jump and scatter the datapads. He gripped the edges of the desk and growled in Houston’s face. “Do not mock me, Houston. You only aggravate me further.”
"Well go out ‘n’ get yourself a nice pleasure-bot, Your Highness."
"You have a history of seeing to the needs of other bots, if I’m not mistaken. Don’t tell me that you have suddenly grown a conscience."
Houston laughed and pointed at himself. “Me? Nah. I just don’t wanna frag my lover’s ex just because we’re both desperate ‘n’ deprived. Plus, I usually opened for ‘bots who approached me with somethin’ more convincin’ than ‘I must request if you are open to a platonic frag because our twisted threesome is broken up for a bit.’”
Windchill could have strangled Houston.
The medic quickly glanced at Windchill’s shaking frame. “Look. I know you’re under a lot of stress, but I wouldn’t wanna make things weird between us, or between each of us ‘n’ Rapid. Plus, I don’t like you all that much.” He went back to picking up his data pads, and the issue might have been abandoned if Windchill hadn’t spoken again.
"I could frag your valve."
Houston froze. His engine started up very faintly, and he looked over his shoulder at Windchill. “What?”
Windchill leaned on the desk and regarded Houston’s codpiece with a smug look in his optic. “I could frag your valve. You haven’t felt a cable thrust into you since before you met Rapid, if I am not mistaken… That must have been so difficult to give up… You, being a naturally submissive lover, suddenly expected to dominate another bot with your cable, leaving your valve completely unsatisfied… How many nights have you felt a warm trickle of lubricant escape from your valve, only to ignore the sensation and continue burying your cable in your lover with the slightest twinge of guilt? Rapid would never give your valve the sort of attention it hungers for… I, on the other hand, would embrace the opportunity to bend you over this desk, medic, plunging into your valve and extracting the sweet, wanton moans that I know your melodiously accented vocalizer is capable of making.”
Houston’s engine now revved audibly in the silent room, but his optics glowed in hatred and pain. “Please stop talkin’.”
"Oh, yes, gladly," Windchill drawled, picking up a stray data pad and carelessly tossing it on the pile on the desk. "I must be causing your valve an immense amount of discomfort… But know this…" He walked in a slow and circle around Houston, bathing in the scent of the medic who stood just an agonizing servo’s reach away. "You and I might be the ones who dominate lovers like Rapidshock, but I know that on occasion, you have yearned for me. You have mentioned it time and again when you and I share high grade drinks— and I must admit that your memory is a stellar marvel of engineering, so surely you remember these conversations…"
He chuckled as Houston bowed his head in shame. “You will always be the sort of mech who wishes to be filled and cajoled into submission. I merely offer it free of attachment, and free of the guilt that you have experienced in the past. I do not love you, and I do not ask for anything in return but your consent.”
Four solar cycles into the future brought a few appearances by Rapidshock— and an unexpected hand on Windchill’s shoulder. Windchill wanted this to be a face-to-face experience, perhaps as a means of humbling the jovial medic whom Rapid fancied to be a knight in shining armor. However, said medic didn’t seem to mind it— in fact, he was the one to dip his servos around Windchill’s collar and pull him down onto the medical berth, already quaking. Lubricant dripped from Houston’s valve onto the berth as they glared at each other. The heady effects of high grade and the scent of lubricant threw Windchill into a heavy mental storm as he descended over Houston’s chest. What Windchill had intended to be a victorious moment was spiraling down into a heated mess, complete with an eager medic’s mouth and a shapeshifter’s scrabbling claws. Windchill realized that the medic had always stood in the middle ground of submission and dominance. Even on his back, spreading his thighs for the larger bot, Houston was winning.
Windchill grasped Houston’s helm and forced him to look into his optic. “Understand that this is not the result of any intimate—”
"I’m not expectin’ ya to nuzzle my neck ‘n’ call me Darlin’," Houston growled, nearly obscured by the larger bot. He lifted his hips to rub his erect cable against Windchill’s slick one, coaxing it closer.
Although he was neither a Decepticon nor a shapeshifter, Houston had been constructed with enough girth in relation to the rest of his body. However, Windchill soon realized that his valve was… To put it honestly, Houston’s valve was definitely a standard-issue Autobot model. But there was a reason why Autobot pleasure-bots were prized in Decepticon slums: for the most part, Autobot valves were smaller.
Once the head of his pulsing cable entered the medic Windchill regretting approaching him in the first place, if only because of the confusing onslaught of mixed signals. Houston released a breathy gasp and clenched his valve for a moment, as if savoring the feeling of having something returned to him. But then he arched his back and took the rest of the oversized cable with the slightest of whimpers.
Unaccustomed to hearing these sounds coming from Houston, of all bots, Windchill braced himself against the desk and failed to restrain the quavering groan that fought its way from his vocalizer. The tight, clenching sensations around his cable intensified as he pressed himself even deeper, and his groan was barely audible over the delicious noise the medic was making.
Houston’s hips rolled forward, trying to force the tip of Windchill’s cable against a line of sensors inside. As it hit them, Windchill’s cable twitched involuntarily from the sudden charge transfer. He bucked his hips forwards to seek the transfer again, causing the medic to grip the edges of the berth and tilt his head back with a deep, breathy moan. “Uhh~…”
Windchill left a third of his cable outside of the medic’s valve and leaned forward to whisper in his audio. “I hope you understand that I haven’t penetrated you fully…”
"W-what??"
Houston’s indignant squawk made Windchill’s processor buzz with anticipation. The larger bot chuckled and pulled his hips back before giving the medic’s valve a short but well-directed upward thrust. Houston cried out briefly before gritting his teeth.
"Oh, was that too hard?" Windchill purred, relishing the velvety tightness that enveloped his cable. Clearly the medic had been a favorite among his thuggish peers for more than just his lighthearted sense of humor.
Once he recovered from the sudden thrust Houston scowled at his partner and buried his fingers in Windchill’s armor. The movement seared an uncomfortable shock into Windchill’s components and forced him down onto his elbows above Houston. “What—”
"D-Don’t mock me," Houston grumbled. "I could kill you six different ways from this position alone."
"Well, then… Perhaps I should make it impossible for you to move." Windchill scooped his hips downwards and began thrusting into the medic with a slow and excruciating rhythm that reduced Houston’s curses into a new set of moans and gasps. He made sure to scrape his abdominal armor against Houston’s erect cable to confuse the medic’s pleasure sensors even more. Houston clenched his fingers in little gaps in Windchill’s armor, twisting wires and pressing on pressure points that could only be found through distant study or intimate experience; yet unlike Rapid, Houston scraped under Windchill’s armor with the slightest hint of malice. As his valve suffered the sweet, cruel thrusts of Windchill’s cable, Houston clawed the larger bot’s sides in an effort to return the painful favor.
When Windchill picked up the pace, he found that the medic’s panting sounds developed into guttural moans. He hooked one arm under Houston’s knee and brought the leg up onto his lower back, breathing into Houston’s audio sensor. “H-Houston—”
Houston eagerly latched on with the other leg . His cable left streaks of fluid on Windchill’s abdomen with every thrust but the assault continued in his valve. Their pelvic armor set up a distant clamor amid their moans and curses and the berth was soon slick with the medic’s lubricant.
Houston tilted his head back with his optics closed shut as Windchill’s thrusts found a dense sensor cluster deep within him. The surge shot over their bodies for a nanosecond, but it was enough to wrench startled gasps from the both of them. “AH! Hhh— oh Primus—” He curled up into the larger bot’s torso, working his thighs to force the sensor cluster into another surge. “H-harder—”
Windchill was suddenly thrown off-rhythm by Houston’s next command: “F-frag me harder, oh— oh Primus, please—” He quickly dropped the clinging medic onto the berth’s surface again. Holding his hips down, Windchill pounded Houston through another short surge with enough force to make the medic’s rear tires squeal against the berth. “AHH!”
Windchill crushed his helm against the head of the medical berth, panting and groaning from the core of his aching body as Houston suddenly arched upwards with a guttural cry. The overload seized Houston’s systems and made him claw into Windchill’s sides, and the resulting power surge forced Windchill into his own overload. He grunted heavily as his surge crashed into his interface array, forcing jets of fluid into the eager valve chamber sucking at his cable. While the medic whimpered beneath him, Windchill rode out his overload in silence and found himself losing sight of the bot he was connected to. Houston became Rapid, and then Houston again in a confusing cycle— he was suddenly clawing, grasping, caressing—
A tight fist crashed into Windchill’s faceplate, and he onlined his optic to find a very flustered, very irate medic pushing at his chest plates. “I said, get up, you fool! He’s gonna be home soon!”
Windchilll struggled to regain his senses in time to avoid being struck again. His usual disdain gradually returned as Houston swore at him in a continual stream as Windchill finally pulled his cable from its warm, swollen housing. The medic reacted with a hoarse sigh, but something in the way he bent his knees and clenched his fists prompted Windchill to sit back and survey whatever damage he had inflicted . The coupling had not been gentle on the medic’s interface array. The telltale glow of energon seeping from Houston’s valve and smearing the insides of his white thighs actually made Windchill feel… Concerned. He reached for Houston’s shoulder. “Are—”
"No," Houston croaked. He disentangled himself from Windchill’s servos with a grunt. "Don’t ask if I’m alright."
Windchill sighed and leaned against the head of the medical berth, relieved that at least now the unbearable weight of restrained arousal was gone. For the moment.
As the medic stumbled into the shower room Windchill busied himself with cleaning away the signs of their desperate tryst. Houston’s voice soon erupted over the hiss of the shower head, swearing and cursing Windchill in four different Cybertronian languages. The medic had probably begun washing the torn edges of his ravished valve, Windchill thought smugly.
Eve’s eyes flicked up and burned twin holes in Brian’s chest, utterly refusing to look at his face as she paused her typing. “Yes.” Her voice was almost monotone from her stressful week and typing up incident reports right after flying back in from her escape to Europe only made her mood worse.
“Almost made it to Naples before they dragged me back,” she growled.
“They arrested you.”
“Sirius’s contacts did.”
With that, he knew the bruises were not to be discussed further. He sighed, and for a few minutes, neither said a word. Eve continued typing.
“I-I-I m-meant to tell you about him—“
Her hands stopped. “Brian, please. Shut up.”
“I did—“
“Brian,” she closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry or curl up in her chair as she had done at home for the past week. “You… You might never have meant to tell me about that person you had feelings for. I don’t know. But you’re both free to do as you wish, and I only want to put this all behind me. I… Brian, I thought what we had was—” A light chirp sounded from the computer and she rubbed her forehead. “Sirius is waiting for his tea.”
Sirius raised his eyebrow at the sheet of paper that had slid across his desk towards his hand. He read the first few lines and leaned back, peering at his head of security over the frame of his reading glasses. “You’re resigning.”
Eve looked unbalanced, even by Sirius’ standards, and frankly she didn’t care. Her layered hair kept slipping out of her low bun and her makeup was minimal. Now she just looked like the ideal security guard, but something in the way she set her jaw and took in a shaky breath made Sirius frown even more deeply than usual. He slipped his glasses off his nose and observed. “I wish to know why, of course.”
“That’s not necessary,” she croaked, eyes glazed over as she looked at anything besides her employer or the sheet of paper she pushed at him. Her knuckles tightened on her cap.
Sirius pointed with his folded glasses. “I hired you two years ago. You had run into me when I had been lost in one of the most deplorable slums in this miserable heap of a city, and you promptly led me out into a safe sector. Soon after that, I observed you tackling three men with minimal effort. I hired you as the head of security to guard my assets because, frankly, you are efficient. You manage my contacts and databases because you are naturally meddlesome and have a talent for using information for your own purposes. Clearly, I exercised sound judgment in appointing you to your position. I will need to know why this position does not appeal to you anymore.”
“It’s more than a matter of appeal, sir,” she began. “This position is… Sir, it’s everything I could ask for. I enjoy my work and I take pride in it. I just… I’ve been compromised. If I continue here, I’m sure my performance will suffer, and I can’t take the chance of damaging your company’s productivity or security be—“
“Let me make this clear.” His hands moved across the gleaming desk surface to rest on the sheet of paper. “You. Are. An asset. As such, I cannot simply allow my head of security to walk out of my lobby and seek employment in illegal racing, modifications—any one of those fickle pursuits—with full knowledge of my company’s inner workings.” He lifted the paper to his eye level and peered at it through his reading glasses. “Simply being compromised is an insufficient reason to submit this document.”
She snapped. “I can’t be around here anymore, Sirius, don’t you understand?!” A wisp of hair fell from her bun and swayed in her exhale. Eve grit her teeth together and tightened her fist along her hip, clearly lusting for something to pummel into rubble, but for now she quaked in her uniform. Her pink-rimmed eyes bored into his fancy glasses as if she could melt them. “I can’t stay. I am emotionally compromised, and even if you say no, I’m going to walk right out of this fucking building. I don’t know where I’ll go—to New York, Stockholm, Athens—but I need to be away from here, from—“ She straightened up and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I expected more than this emotional outburst.”
“Yes, I know. Frankly, I don’t care anymore. Not about you, your investors, your staff, your family… “ The last word was almost a snarl. “That’s it. I don’t care. I can’t afford to, not anymore.” Carrying her cap as if it weighed a hundred pounds, Eve straightened up further and gave him a curt nod. “Good day, sir.”
She marched right out of there, ignoring the “I will expect you to return to duty as required” that he shot at her back. She needed to get out. As soon as she brushed her loose hair behind her ear and turned to the left, however, she froze and her heart swelled up in her throat as if it had absorbed every drop of blood in her body. Brian looked up from the carpet, but Eve’s face must have destroyed whatever greeting he was about to give her. “Eve?”
“Don’t,” she gritted out, struggling to force the word through her tight vocal cords. She wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Her hands had gone into tight fists again. “Something came up and… I resigned. D… Don’t say anything,” she warned at the slightest sign that he was going to part his lips. Those damned lips. How long had it been since the first time she felt them tickle hers? Months? Years? She didn’t know, and it hurt too much to remember. She closed her eyes and cursed the heavy ache behind her eyelids. “I’m… I’m leaving. You don’t have to be nervous or afraid anymore.” She stepped to the side and resumed marching down the hall with her heartbeat ravaging her ears like a Trojan war drum.
“Evelyn.”
She continued walking but turned to point at him. “Brian, I fucking swear, don’t say anything or I’ll knock your lights out. Just stand there. Send your sweetheart my regards.” She snatched her name tag from the breast of her shirt—accidentally stabbed herself in the thumb with the pin in the back—and tossed the stupid thing into the nearest trash bin on her way out.
She had been spacing out for the past ten minutes, far too hot and sticky to do anything more complex than peel most of her restrictive clothes off and drape herself on Steve’s couch.
“Like seven inches from the midday sun~...” At the sound of the man’s singing, she raised her heavy head and yearned to feel the air conditioner’s mercy curl around the room. Declining to call the maintenance crew, he spent the past few minutes tooling around with the central heating panel in nothing but a blue tank and a pair of black bicyclists’ shorts. Apparently, his nimble fingers were good for more than sensual caresses.
“Steve—“
He smirked and shoved his face into her personal bubble, purring as he inched closer and closer to her moist neck. “Well, I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone…” His warm, wet tongue flicked over her skin and sent all of her blood to her cheeks. “But you stay so cool~…”
Still feeling a little jumpy, Bri rolled her eyes and shoved him away rather weakly. “Y-Yeah, that’s really appropriate for the w-weather…”
“Mm-hmm,” he mused, licking his lips rather mischievously. “You could’ve gone back to the mansion instead of hanging out in my humble sauna.”
She flushed again and decided to look at the floor. The dark wooden panels almost vibrated in the vicious heat and she desperately wanted to tear off her t-shirt as well. He had already seen her in her underwear, so it couldn’t hurt… “I… S-Sirius gets really irritable when the weather changes like this, a-and I…”
“Just lock him in his room and turn on the A/C to full blast,” Steven snorted, padding around the kitchen and practically burying himself in the freezer. Before she knew it, he was back on the couch sans tank top, but with a devilishly delicious-looking red ice pop in his hand. He sucked on it mindlessly as he stared at the central heating panel, frowning. “I might have to spend the night at Sirius’…” Bri tried not to, but her eyes wandered to the ice pop. Sugar was such a fiend to her sometimes. No matter how much she loved it, both sugar and caffeine went straight to her system and gave her such horrible tremors that it became hard to speak intelligibly or even write without scrawling a mess. Now, the sticky red syrup dripping from the ice pop looked heavenly. The tip of the pop disappeared between Steven’s soft lips, which closed around it with an almost undetectable lick from his pink tongue. Then he definitely gave the tip a steady lick, prodding the underside of the pop with the point of his tongue, warming it up a little so that the red liquid transferred to his lips as he took the pop in again. He sucked on it so gently that the ice contacting his lips began to melt. A drop of the melted pop fell on his bare chest and traveled on the firm, muscled surface—the chest she had woken up snuggled against on quite a few occasions—and came to a halt on his sternum. Bri unconsciously licked her lips.
“Are you staring at this or me? Cuz you look pretty hungry for both.” Steven flashed her a grin and produced a second ice pop in his left hand, obviously having kept it out of her sight until he finished his little show.
Bri’s blush deepened even further as she timidly accepted the ice pop and fumbled with its plastic wrapper. “S-stop that... I-It’s hot enough already without you t-teasing me.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, licking along his pop. Suddenly he pounced on her and lathed his freezing cold tongue from her collarbone to her ear lobe, pulling a high-pitched whimper from her trembling lips. “Mmm… And you’re hot enough without this blasted heat wave… Mm!”
He paused to bite his ice pop and melt it against the roof of his mouth, giving her a moment to enjoy hers. Almost greedily, she stuck the ice pop in her mouth and struggled to refrain from sighing at the cool relief. Already it made her feel a little better, and after a few silent minutes with her pop she realized that she was stuck. He had pinned her down—settled himself between her legs in little more than those shorts—and so when his pop melted a little more, it dripped red liquid on her near-pristine white tank. She mumbled and pulled the garment off, but before she could get up to use the sink she found herself being pushed back down into the couch. “Steven—Ohh!” Her torso muscles automatically flinched away from the cold drop that had slipped off his ice pop and onto her bare skin. The guilty man bent forward and licked the drop from its spot above her navel, spending far longer licking her skin than he needed to. Goosebumps danced across her flesh as his cold tongue slipped over her again, and when he dragged the last bit of his ice pop from her navel to the front of her bra, she arched up and let her shirt fall from her hand. “S-Steven, that’s c-cold—“
“Of course it is,” he purred, kissing and licking at the red syrupy line that led him to her breasts. “Suck on your pop, dear.”
Her eyes affixed themselves on his stained lips as she brought the pop to her own, timidly mouthing at it before taking an inch in.
“No, darling,” Steven chuckled tenderly, taking her hand in his and pulling her pop out of her mouth. His hand was still very warm. “Like this.” He raised the pop to her lips and ran it over them slowly, sensually, almost as if teasing her with it. Or perhaps he meant to tease the pop with her lips. She felt too hot to blush, but somehow she managed to become quite pink as Steven coaxed her tongue out with a gentle prod from the pop. She lapped at the tip of the pop as he had previously, but this time she shivered under his gaze. His nut brown eyes looked so dark—so hungry—as he watched her lick at the red ice and pull it between her lips, sucking at it with cheeks so pink. “You look so sweet…” He single-handedly unclasped her bra and let it flutter to the floor, breaking the last bits of his ice pop in his fingertips.
“S-Steven? What are you doing? Oh, oh God that’s COLD!”
He chuckled again, depositing the bits of ice pop on her breasts. The drops of cold, red ice melted on her flesh and traveled down from her nipples in cold little drops. She forgot all about her own pop as his mouth made short work of the droplets, licking the sweet trails until his lips closed over her nipples, suckling her pebbled and sensitized skin until she whimpered and clutched his hair in her fist. When he turned to the other breast, she finished off her pop and pressed her mouth down on the cold chunks of ice to keep herself from whining even more, but when his hand slipped into the front of her panties, she forgot about that—and the heat wave.
Eve hadn’t hoped to spend another Saturday morning alone with a bowl of fruit and a Batman movie, but there she was, cozied into the arm of her sofa. She sighed and chewed a chunk of melon without really thinking about the flavor. She pulled her hoodie more tightly around her torso and pulled her knees up to her chest to warm herself up a little. After a while she forgot that she was watching the movie in the first place, and it was all because of Brian.
She scrubbed her eyes with her hoodie’s spacious sleeve, sniffling into the grey fabric with a pathetic glance at the empty spot next to her. He was clearly with Manny at the moment, just as he had been for weeks. Of course she saw him at work but that short contact was nothing compared to the months they had spent holding each other’s hands, collaborating over dinner, or falling together in a sweating tangle of limbs. A searing slice of bitterness shot from her heart and into her throat at the thought of how Manny and Brian must be getting along at that moment (probably cuddling together in bed, if Manny was as responsive to Brian’s charms as she had been).
Of course she was jealous of Brian’s new lover—his new crush. She frowned and threw an old grape out the open window. Crush.
She could deal with him sleeping with someone else, but what hurt the most was that Manny was a romantic interest who could satisfy Brian’s cravings in ways she never could. Someone had stolen the shy butler’s heart before she even had a chance to give him hers. And she was so ready to do it, too. It had taken her so long to acknowledge that what she felt for Brian went so much further than simple lust, and that was where she had screwed up. All in all, she was inadequate for Brian’s affections, and she was inadequate for anything other than drunken flings and curb-stomping trespassers.
Eve whimpered and pushed the bowl aside so she could bury her face in her fists and calm herself down, shoulders shaking violently.
Suddenly her phone vibrated on the coffee table and she threw herself at it, almost not daring to hope-- it was Houston.
“Hey, Hous’.”
“Mornin’, Evie, Darlin’. Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, I was already awake. Just… Watching TV.”
“Sounds rivetin’. I just tried callin’ Brian to ask ‘bout some solderin’ gases, but he ain’t answerin’. I figured y’all would be chillin’ at your place or gettin’ into some racin’ shenanigans in that death trap you call a car.” His laughter was rich and warm, like a heavy pitcher of sweet tea in the sunlight. It seeped into her ear and made her feel a little better, but it just wasn’t the same as Brian’s delicate, silky tones.
“Somethin’ buggin’ ya, sweets?” She heard some distant clanging in the background, and if Houston’s sudden curse meant anything, it was that he was tooling around in his garage. “Ow, son of a fuckin’—! Sorry.”
She snorted weakly and rolled a blackberry between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s okay. I…” Her voice cracked. Damn.
Eve leaned on her car and checked her phone. 1:15 am. Most places were closed so the only place left to go was home. She flipped the collar of her jacket up and looked out over the hill to the gap in the buildings, staring at the expanse of freezing water a mile off. The air was as cold as the water, but she only felt the heat in her chest. This was a hell of a city to drive in when the tourists were out. But now, it was her city.
“Hey, beautiful, how’s it goin’?”
“The what?”
“The car.”
He was a big one, standing at least six inches taller than Houston (with twice the muscle and half the brain power, apparently). His jacket gleamed as he raised his hands in a peaceful gesture and took a step back toward the buildings. Still… He wasn’t too bad, she decided. He grinned. “My bad, babe. Sorry. What’re you doing out here?”
Eve eyed him suspiciously before turning back to the water. “Killing time before I have to work.”
“Yeah? What time do you work?”
-----------------------------------------
She arched her back and squealed, tears crawling from the corners of her eyes and trickling into her hair. Thin threads of blood seeped from the loving wounds on her thighs and her shoulders, her sweat plastering the sheets onto her back. She clawed at his back and neck with enough force to make him hiss and swear under his breath. His rough hands pawed at her breasts and squeezed her so viciously that it stole her breath, and every thrust of his hips ground her wounds into the fabric and pushed her closer to the edge of release.
If she closed her eyes, he almost felt merciful.
His hand snaked between her thighs and massaged her clit with a hungry growl, pressing a little too hard for comfort. She cried out again and punched him in the jaw to get him to ease up. When she came, she threw her head back and nearly felt her heart leave her body, dragging every ounce of light from her bones until she felt absolutely nothing but a heavy pressure in her core and a mouth on her neck.
-----------------------------------------
“What is that?”
Eve glanced to the side to find Sirius’ gold pen pointed at her neck. She grimaced, knowing that he had found the bite. “Someone got carried away.”
By the way she carried herself, Sirius was sure that she had even more marks hidden underneath her uniform, marks that he definitely did not want to consider at the moment on his head of security. “I am sure someone did,” he agreed, flicking her collar back over the bite mark.
Her door duty had already been underway outside the management office’s double glass doors when she heard Houston approach. Since the cloudy day erupted in an unholy torrent not ten minutes ago, Eve thanked her lucky stars that her boss had the good sense to design their building with a ten-foot square set into the corner for their entryway to keep the rain out. She didn’t mind it, but her boss did mind soaked security guards marching into his lobby.
Eve only raised a well-groomed eyebrow at Sirius’ private physician, taking note of his absolutely soaked grey t-shirt, black shorts, and scuffed sneakers. She leaned on one of the granite monoliths flanking the double glass doors. In comparison to the dripping doctor, the security guard was dry, well-starched, and blissfully dignified. Of course, he was also nearly a foot taller than her and had an absolutely well-worked frame, so it was impossible to grin at how utterly puppy-like he looked with his wet hair flopping over his eyes. The shirt clinging to his muscles didn’t hurt, either. “Ooh. Looks like someone had a nice lunchtime jog… Did the city sprinklers attack you again, Hous?”
A bit of water dripped from Houston’s white fringe and onto his nose as he fed her an almost unfitting frown. “Veeeery funny, Eve.” He grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head, folding it over and squeezing it out until it left a puddle on the concrete. “Y’know, you could be a comedian if this security gig bores you.”
She chuckled. “Bore me? Come on, where else am I going to be able to dropkick miscreants and wear makeup?”
“You could try actin’,” he snorted, struggling into his shirt again. “Imagine battin’ your eyelashes for the rest of your life. Now, as for my question.” He squeezed out the hem of his shorts as well as he could. “You guys hang around a lot, don’tcha?”
Eve felt her spine stiffen automatically. Her eyes flicked towards the street, watching the cars at the intersection with more concentration than before. She and Brian did hang around a lot… Except at least 40 percent of the time, that “hanging out” meant wearing much less clothing than they did at work. “Oh yeah, we’ve been stuck trading the receptionist position for the past few months after the last girl left… So we ended up sitting together back there for lunch and then trading off at noon. Cool, huh?”
“Call me suspicious, but I don’t usually associate Brian with you ‘n’ the word ‘cool’,” Houston said with a grin. “I’d say you were buggin’ the poor guy.”
“Bugging him?” she scoffed, backhanding Houston’s bicep. “Come on, it’s like you don’t know me!”
“Naw, I do know you, which is why I’m askin’! Hold it…”
Before she could bat him away or step aside, Houston grabbed her left shoulder and held her firmly with a steely look in his eyes. His fingers were in her stiff collar, undoing the first button and tugging the crisp material down past her collar bone. Eve clenched her eyes shut and sighed. His eyes roamed over her exposed neck, taking in the bruises blossoming on her olive skin like drops of wine. "Eve..."
“Heh… About that…”
“Sittin’ together for lunch, huh?” Houston asked, raising a dark eyebrow at her. He promptly re-buttoned her shirt and frowned at her with his arms crossed over his chest. “I saw Brian’s just this morning. Ya think a bit of concealer would disguise hickeys from a doctor?”
She dug the heel of her boot into the concrete. “Back off, Hous’. We’re both adults, and—“ She scowled at him. “Wait up, you’ve done way worse! Remember that physicist? And— Look at me!!—Remember the—oh! Remember the Mexican pit fighter? What was his name? Gee, I don’t know, I should probably remember it because you used to moan it so loud at two in the morning until I moved out!”
Houston had to turn his head to hide the bright blush staining his cheeks and ears. “Awright, awright, ‘nough with the pit fighter! Listen, are you gonna keep goin’ at it with Brian? Cuz you know Sirius ain’t gonna be happy when he finds out his head of security is sleepin’ with his son.”
“I’m not sleeping with his son,” Eve retorted, dropping her security stance and putting her hands on her hips.
“Ya sure as hell ain’t datin’ him!” Houston snorted.
Eve pouted as a wave of heat curled up her neck and ears. Dating Brian… That idea had snuck into her head from time to time over the past couple of months, at least whenever they woke up together and spent half an hour staring at each other or playing with each other’s hands. He was as versatile as she when it came to giving and receiving in bed, and his anxious nature, while it annoyed their other co-workers, was just one more thing to appreciate about him.
Could she date him? Brian? Gourmet-cooking, Westwood-wearing, wearing-sunglasses-indoors Brian? As she stared at the rain spattering the bronze sculptures flanking the walkway, she realized that the butler was more than just a socially awkward pile of nervous tissue. From the day she picked up his glasses when they clattered to the floor, something had changed about him. The quivering, Jell-O like wall of detachment fell away and all that was left was a pair of soft, frightened eyes that latched onto hers and refused to let her go. His wet lips parted slightly and her lips ached to taste them and make him stop shaking. From that moment, even watching his gentle fingers handle a cup of tea made something rise up in her, something that wanted to ease him against a wall and feel those goddamn hands fumble up her blouse. That Brian-- the talented, sensitive Brian who blushed every time he touched her breasts or sank himself into her, who moaned her name so prettily when she was the one thrusting into him--was the same Brian as the posh butler who stammered every time he opened his mouth. Yes. She could definitely date Brian.
Houston continued staring at Eve’s dazed expression until a slow smile crept onto her red lips. He groaned and covered his face. “Aw damn… Aw, fuck, Eve… C-c’mon, I was jokin’!”
She clenched her fist in his hair and yanked his head back, razing her teeth over the flesh with a hungry sigh. The scars on her lips were awkward slashes of tissue, but they almost tingled when his pulse quickened.
Brian shivered violently, letting his mouth fall open as he moaned beneath her. Her hair fell over his neck and tickled his chest. His hips jerked forward automatically once she dug the toy deeper into him and rubbed against his sweet spot, and even squeezing her breasts frantically did nothing to distract her from pounding into her adorable lover.
Her other hand wrapped around his dick and pumped him mercilessly to make him whine even louder and bite his lower lip in frustration. Eve chuckled, her voice husky with arousal. “Nngh~… You… make the sweetest little noises... Ahh!” She arched her back and buried the toy in him again, her knee slipping in the sheets as she tried to brace herself again, panting and trying to resume her rhythm.
Brian choked back a gasp at the sudden jab and squeezed his eyes shut. “W-what happened?”
“Toy just activated my G-spot,” Eve hissed, thrusting into him again. She rubbed her thumb into the head of his cock and tugged him a little harder, her palm sliding over the slick lube.
“I-It does that??” he squeaked. “I thought you were just acting!”
“Hey, Brian, if you want me to act for you, I can totally do that later,” she huffed. Checking to see if his entrance was doing okay, she pulled out and leaned back, undoing a couple of harness straps. Brian’s chest heaved upwards with a deep, breathy moan as she pulled out, but she ignored him. “See? It’s double-ended.”
Brian raised himself on his elbows to stare. “…How does it stay in?”
“Well, the harness keeps it from falling out when I get too slippery, but the other end’s kind of like a large bulb that goes—ohhhh, fuck!” She closed her eyes and squirmed as Brian grasped the base of the toy and began pulling at it. “F-fuck, Brian.”
He froze and jerked his hand away from the toy like a child who had just touched a hot iron. “What’s it doing?”
“It’s g-grinding into my G-spot, didn’t I tell you?” She parted her thighs a little further and struggled to re-strap the harness. “Get on your back, you little…” Eve grumbled under her breath and pushed the confused butler back onto the sheets, pressing the head of the toy back into him until it was firmly seated. She shivered with a satisfied moan as his thighs shifted aside for her, and she resumed rutting. True to her word, the toy’s other end rubbed into her sweet spot and clit every time she ground herself into him. “Mmh, b-best hundred bucks I ever spent… Including my reconstructive surgery.”
“W-What?!” he squawked, trapped somewhere in between shock and a building orgasm.
“You didn’t think I was born with this mouth, did you?”
