InsaneJournal

“Dangerous game you play, Shelke.”

She smiles and runs her hands up Nero’s thighs. His mako-laced containment suit makes her skin tingle; she can only imagine how it must feel to the wearer. “You aren’t telling me anything new, you know.”

Hidden from sight, Nero’s jaw clenches. Though he tries not to move, his muscles twitch fractionally as her touch ignites nerves too long ignored.

Shelke feels the tremor and rewards it with a firmer touch. “We’re nearly the same age, you and I. We could teach each other –”

“No.”

“I trust you, Nero.”

“Trust is not the issue,” he states coolly. “I do not desire you.”

Her small hands cup his sex and squeeze. “This says otherwise.”

Nero’s eyes slide shut and for a moment he sags against the chains.

“At least…let me see you,” Shelke whispers.

His eyes open at this. “Why?”

Shelke meets his gaze without shame. “We both know I will never get to be a grown woman, Nero. Not in any way that matters. And if I miss a treatment, I won’t even get to clock the time. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up on living it.”

“Why me?”

Her smile turns mildly predatory as her fingers trace him through the heavy fabric. “Because you don’t want me. I know you won’t hurt me, and I don’t think you want to stop me, do you?”

Nero bites back a moan. Her touch is so random, firm one moment and delicate the next; against his preference he wants more of it, though he can’t bring himself to say this.

Shelke presses against him, delighting in the crackle of mako that arcs through their gear. Clever fingers search for a way past the fabric.

For a moment Nero almost tells her no: his brother should be the first, the only. In their dreams it is already so, but in the flesh…

Small hands grip him, skin on skin.

Nero gasps, nearly chokes on muffled air at the suddenness of the touch. He strains against the bonds as shadows begin to coalesce around him.

Shelke studies him with detached curiosity, noting how his cock pulses in her hand as she pets it like a living thing. She watches his eyes betray his desperate pleasure at the caresses, his emotions for once completely raw. Mesmerized, Shelke repeats the movements, fingers exploring every contour.

His breath now ragged, Nero’s sight flickers with darkness. He wants to tell her which touches are the best, but his voice will not obey; he can only feel and hope she brings him over the edge before Restrictor walks in.

Or Weiss.

For one delirious moment, Nero imagines his brother catching Shelke and sending her away before ripping Nero’s gear to pieces and taking him still chained.

Shelke gasps as thick strands of white splatter across her hands, barely missing her face to trail down her shoulder. She squeezes reflexively with each spasm, noting an answering twitch between her own legs as her gear seems suddenly too tight and rather damp. She moans softly and drops one hand to rub herself; blue-white sparks dance across her vision.

When reality comes back into focus, she sets about cleaning up as best she can, giving Nero’s sex one last fond squeeze before tucking it away and neatening up his gear. She looks up into his eyes and tells herself there’s gratitude in his gaze.

Her fingers reach up to trace his mouth, hidden as it is behind a madman’s mask.

He leans his head away from her touch. “You must go. Restrictor is coming.”

Shelke slips away, wondering why she suddenly feels like a thief.