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our wires are tangled more than crossed

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She’s hunched over her desk in the library corner, nose-deep in files to cross-index, or she might have noticed immediately: As it is, she doesn’t pick up on what must be going on a full world away until the sensations start to register. Her blood is heavy in her stomach, between her legs; her breasts are thudding with her heartbeat, her panties are wet, and there is a slick rhythmic phantom feeling along her erect clit.

Fond irritation swamps her in a wave. Her master—just partner, now that he owes her his life and his freedom; partner, and research assistant, though this is still new and strange enough a development that master is the first descriptor to spring to mind—is popular, and a new understanding of his own mortality has kindled in him a sex drive as monstrous as his popularity. He can’t make a trip back to Riviera but he ends up in bed with someone or other; she will be wholly unsurprised if the next generation of Sprites has a strong strain of Grim Angel blood in it.

She doesn’t begrudge him the partying—lost gods only know that he ought to enjoy his virility while he has it—but it does get annoying, a little, when she’s trying to get some damn work finished.

But then she’s never been quite sure that he appreciates the link between them. She’s never asked; it’s entirely possible that it only goes one way, from him to her. The fact remains that whenever he’s off on some amorous exploit or another, she feels his arousal and his pleasure nearly as intensely as he must.

The words on the screen in front of her are blurry and there’s no way she’ll be able to make sense of them even if she leans right up to the screen. Her spine is arching inward instinctively, and she cups her breasts over her clothes with restless hands. She shifts around on the bench, thighs sliding open to fit around hips that aren’t there. Her pussy aches. She gets her knees up on the bench so that she can lift herself up, fit a hand between her legs without bruising her knuckles on the wood underneath her. She strokes herself, thinking of the feeling of a hot tongue or the wet head of a cock running back and forth over her inner labia. The edge of the bench is biting into her shins, and she can’t thrust against her hand unless she wants to knock herself over. It will be hard to come by herself, in this position.

But if she leaves in the middle of work she’ll wind up sleeping, afterward, and her research she needs won’t get done. She bears the echoes of Ecthel fucking whoever it is with near-painful speed and ferocity, gathers her breath, and turns to the direction of the faint noises of books being organized.

“Ledah, I need your help over here.” She keeps her voice low but her words carry.

She doesn’t stop fucking her hand even as she narrows her eyes to stare at the pattern of the desk, even when she hears faint footfalls over the rush of her own uneven breathing. This is routine; there’s no shame when it’s just them alone in this dusty old room.

He touches her hips first, hands on each side of her, and she balances against the tabletop with her weight on both forearms as she arches into his grip. His hands slide down the tops of her thighs, then back up under her skirt, pulling her panties down. It’s cold, for just a moment: Then the blunt tip of his cock rubs up against her, short uneven strokes until it slides into her, heavy, burning.

Rose catches her breath, pushes her hips right up against Ledah’s, feels the muscles of her stomach jump and twitch. His cock is longer than Ecthel’s, thicker and heavier, and he doesn’t fit into her as perfectly. His hand comes around to rest flat on her lower stomach, his wrist lying along the juncture of her leg as his first two fingers enfold her clit. A sound comes out of her—some long, low, primal groan—and she kneads at her breasts, rubbing the nipples.

He starts to thrust—slow, gradually picking up speed—and she squirms against his hands. She’s more than wet enough but Ecthel’s sex has her too riled; she’s clutching hard on Ledah inside her and he pushes her pussy open every time he shoves his hips up against hers. It’s not quite comfortable. He’s not even jacking her clit at the same pace as his thrusts. But he leans over to trace the nape of her neck with his mouth, and the head of his cock presses heavy against the wall of her vagina, and little white flickers cross her vision.

Far away, Ecthel comes, and Rose whines his name as she comes too. It’s a very light orgasm for her, but it still makes her twitch and shiver. Ledah must feel the difference in her because he slows, thrusting thin and shallow and raising her upper body, but that’s almost worse; his skin is dragging against the inside of her heavily and the sensation is overwhelming. She thinks she can feel every wrinkle in his cock.

Then he’s moving faster again, with more urgency, and instead of his forefinger and middle finger stroking either side of her clit he rubs against it with the pad of his thumb. If she weren’t already so wet the calluses might be painful, but she’s building again, the muscles in her thighs jerking and her hips pushing awkwardly back and up.

Ledah’s breathing is deep and even but he’s using real force now. When their bodies collide it makes a heavy thump, even muffled by their clothes. Rose has to close her eyes; the cold lights of the library and the screen in front of her are dizzying.

He fucks into her as fast and violent as the rhythm of her heart, lewd wet noises overwhelming the crash of his hips into her ass. Rose’s throat hurts from the low cries of pleasure and the litany of Ledah’s and Ecthel’s names that it hasn’t occurred to her to swallow; her mouth is dry from her shallow panting. She holds on to the desk with both hands and thrusts up against Ledah, wanting his cock harder, deeper—

And when he reaches up, shifts his hand from her hip to her breast and squeezes it, she comes again, powerfully this time: His cock feels huge inside her as she clamps down; she squirms and twists her head and her chest and her torso from side to side; she feels it in her mouth and in her hands and feet, and her wordless cry booms against the walls.

She’s still coming against his quick messy thrusts when he presses in and grinds against her pussy and ejaculates, his cock thumping hard inside her, filling her up with hot semen. She feels the fluid rush with him, always, even though she never does with Ecthel; maybe it’s the difference in their size, or that when Ledah comes in her there’s always so much. He keeps pumping his hips against her, leans down and holds her tight with both arms, coming and shuddering, and at the very end he vocalizes it, one hard low groan. He continues to thrust, pushing his softening cock into her as she starts to feel the drip of semen running down the lips of her pussy, and she grits her teeth and comes again, mild and soft like an aftershock.

They stay there for a while, breathing, sweaty, his warm weight against her back. His cock is sliding out of her, and the mouth of her pussy is wet with their come. She is becoming aware that her hair is clinging to her face, and her thighs are dripping with sweat. Ledah kisses the nape of her neck idly, marking it with his teeth. She cranes her head back, leaning to rest the side of her face on his temple.

Straightening up takes a while. She keeps a hand on the desk for balance, and Ledah’s hands stay about her waist. Rose wants to thank him—it’s the most annoying thing in the world for your sense-linked other half to have sex while you’re not—but she’s still breathing too hard to speak, so she reaches up and strokes the side of his face instead. He’ll understand.

It has been at least five minutes before Rose swallows and glares down at the half-forgotten interface screen. She is thirsty, her pussy feels bruised, and from the feel of things her thighs and labia are a right and proper horrorshow of drying semen and vaginal fluid; physically she feels lovely, loose and well-oiled and content. Emotionally, she is regaining her healthy sense of irritation.

“When he comes back I’m going to kill him,” she says. “You can have a front row seat. You’re also welcome to participate, if you’d like.”

Ledah doesn’t say anything back, but she feels him nod.