Title: Stripped
Summary: "You never looked better, Cissy." "I dare you to come closer and say that, you skunk!" Tawna Bandicoot finds the normally polished, eternally intimidating Dr. Narcissa Tropy in an interesting situation. Well, she never looked at a gift horse in the mouth before. That was poor taste and a resourceful heroine was a true threat to any marauding villainess.
Genre: Romance
Rated: M for good, old-fashioned, delicious girl on girl action
A/N: Yes. You read that right. This is Rift Queers, my invention of the titillating crack ship of Female N. Tropy and Alt Tawna Bandicoot. You clicked on this. You were forewarned. Don't go in expecting anything different. It is what it fucking is. Turn back before it's too late! Oh wait, you're still here. Well then. You have good taste, my friend.
Tawna Bandicoot had her arms akimbo, her head tilted at an appraiser's angle, one eyebrow cocked and her tongue moistening her lips. This was indeed a sight for sore eyes. She had, before embarking on her routine foolhardy ventures, sent up a little prayer for the day to go as well as it could what with the outside world's incessant unpredictability and it seemed today, the Spirits, those capricious, omnipotent Spirits were smiling down upon this humble vigilante. This was an image she would capture, file away with proper label and tag in her mental cabinet for a lifetime.
Dr. Narcissa Tropy. Feared, famed and forthright with what she desired, was tangled in the Island's sentient vegetation. The plants around these parts were high on some weird, twisted voodoo curse, Tawna mused. Either that or Dr. Nikita Brio developed yet another new vitamin supplement for them. Either way, oh yes, this was an extremely fulfilling sight and the bandicoot was lapping it up all the way to the last drop.
"If you're quite done snickering like an idiot, get me out of here!" Oof, she had near forgotten the doctor may have been immobilised but unfortunately, the vines had not robbed her of her ability to speak, or more to the point, snarl, snap and bark reprimands. Tawna bit the inside of her cheek to smother the laughter threatening to burst and she responded, her hand under her chin in a slow, sauntering tone of pure satisfaction.
"Gosh, Dr. Tropy. I don't think you've ever looked better. Helplessness is a good look for you," The hands slipped back to her shapely hips, the right stuck out a little as the bandicoot bent forward to get a – ill-advised but when did Tawna Bandicoot behave within reason – closer look at the woman who always looked down her nose and quite literally too at her. If she were to bridge their gap by a few measly inches, the infuriated scientist would have bitten her snout clean off, held at bay only by the constricting, leafy vines, which bathed the surroundings in a heady perfume. At a distance, one could have admired such flora for its beauty and fortitude. Dr. Narcissa Tropy however, wanted nothing more than to take the nearest flammable liquid and douse them with it before "carelessly" dropping a lighted match. Climate change and global warming be damned. Tawna's gloved hand slithered back up to hide the smile blossoming on her face at watching the enraged giantess try to break free from her captors.
"I dare you to come closer and say that, you skunk!" The threat came out in a loathsome hiss but it only brought about a contrary result for the bandicoot merely tsk-tsked and sat down, a safe breadth away from the irate, uncomfortable woman. Her wrists and waist strapped down, held fast against the massive tree trunk, the originator of these vivacious vines.
"Is that really how you want to treat the only person you can count on to save you right now, Dr. Tropy? If anything, I think you should be a bit nicer to me," Narcissa Tropy felt a sharp icy stab in her abdomen as it dawned on her, as if an avalanche came crashing down that this vile vermin was right. Damn Mother Nature and damn this damned, forsaken voodoo island and all its be damned bad juju that seeped into all the organic matter that grew on it. It was supposed to be a normal day, following the schedule to a T. On the one day she was not planning a nefarious attack on civilisation or innocents and simply wanted to enjoy a nice walk out in the for once, mild and sweet weather and all circumstances turned against her. Perhaps, this is why a life of villainy suited her. Goodness never got anyone anywhere far in life and the moral were often left the butt of jokes, scraping at the bottom of the barrel of provisions.
"You just wait till I get out of here…"
"But, you can't, can you? I mean, your tuning fork is a good distance away and you can't reach it pinned like this…" The bandicoot's voice took on a mocking, sing-song tone, one that grated on the horologist's ears. It was treacle syrup, supple and rich and Narcissa was unsure if she was just irritated by it. For all her righteous ambitions at heroism and doing her duties for that drama queen strumpet, Dr. Cortex, it appeared that Tawna had a touch of the Devil in her yet. The occupational hazard of being surrounded by evil scientists all the time, she presumed.
Narcissa prided herself on being someone who spat; words, threats, insults, mockery, spite, poison, unmentionables rather than swallowed. Her pride especially was something that never went down easy. The passing thought of begging this cretin of whom she was, and she had to confess it with an insurmountable amount of revulsion, at the mercy of sent her stomach churning with grave discontentment.
Her very position of absolute submission itself sickened her to the core. Dr. Narcissa Tropy was the one who stepped on and loomed over all those who dared to cross her. To be on the opposite end was borderline traumatic and if that stupid, measly vermin hero didn't stop smirking at her like that…
"Aw, what's the matter, Dr. Tropy? Feeling uncomfortable? You know, all you have to do is be nice to me and I'll help you out of here. You can't be nice even for a few little moments?" The bandicoot's pupils dilated; her head cocked to the side – almost adorable; Narcissa balked at the sudden, intrusive thought – looking the very picture of angelic innocence. Tawna Bandicoot, for all her unnecessary morals, was anything but. Dr. Tropy had witnessed the absolute carnage Dr. Cortex's new abomination could reign on the training grounds. No drone, android, machine or lab assistant wielding flamethrowers or electric cattle prods could stand up against the creature's flurry of fists, kicks and brute strength.
Dr. Cortex, being the manic, far too proud floozy that she was, insisted that her colleagues partake in the spectacle; no not spectacle! Such diction painted the whole sham in an admirable light and to N. Tropy, there was little to nothing to admire! Right.
Lord, ever since Dr. Nicolette Cortex traipsed her petite butt over to the rest of her compatriots with her newest – and first of many reviling pets – Narcissa had been, well, things did not feel or seem as they were anymore!
It irritated her to the core.
Tawna Bandicoot was smart enough. She will bestow credit where it was due. Upon their first greeting, she had clicked her heels together and gave a – if one would squint, may have been patronising – salute and Narcissa had relished how she had to crane her head back quite substantially to take in the full of her frame. Small. Compact. Portable. Yet, the strength the bandicoot wielded during times when it mattered was not something one should sniff at. A lump formed unawares in the doctor's throat as this traitorous train of thought brought to the forefront of her mind images of this Hero in all her bravado easily decapitating a large robot, armed with rocket launchers mind you, by wrapping her legs around the neck and jamming a dagger into the safety catch.
Swallow.
"Dr. Tropy…" Oh, right. She's still there. She had one of those infernal daggers unsheathed now, twirling it upon the ground on the tip of its jagged blade. Her chin in hand, her lips curved to the side in a shit-eating grin. How would the little bandicoot look stuffed and mounted on her wall.
Rather kinky for you. SHUT UP!
"Heh, you're looking a little flushed."
"I AM NOT!" Once more, the green-skinned giantess tugged at her botanical restraints only for them to surge in their hold, tightening till she squeaked at the pressure. Wonderful. Not only were they thoroughly annoying, they had gained a form of sentience. A nasty disposition too, prone to retaliation. If not for her impenetrable armour meant to stave off any imperious elements, Narcissa knew she would be approximately five to six minutes to asphyxiation if she kept this up. She truly was at the mercy of the snivelling rodent in front of her.
A vine, wishing to add insult to injury, snaked down and coiled itself around her throat. Fuck.
She closed her eyes for a few moments to simmer down from the mounting, humiliating occurrences through her day. Upon opening them however, a squawk nearly leaped off the precipice of her lips for the rat had decided that personal space was no longer anyone's concern or privilege. Tawna's pert little nose was mere inches away from hers. Blue held gold in an unwavering grasp. Her small, slender fingers caressed the dagger, index finger tracing along the sharp edge. This threatening action was accompanied with an almost imperceptible – if Narcissa was not so adamant in winning this stare down, she may have missed it – swipe of her tongue along her bottom lip.
Once more, Dr. Tropy felt she needed to swallow.
Up the bandicoot's hand lifted and Narcissa tried to veer away. Leather glove and soft fingers met her face, the only place she allowed exposed to the hazards of this puerile world. No. She absolutely was not holding her breath right now. Only the softest, tiniest exhalation of air was heard as Tawna Bandicoot's thumb grazed down the curve of her cheekbone.
"You're hot." Instant whiplash. The horologist goggled down at the bandicoot with her vibrant, tri-coloured blonde hair in bewilderment.
"W-what?" She would deny this from this dimension to the next few hundred but, she did feel rather…steamy. Her armour was meant to regulate the extreme temperatures she would experience on her exploits through time and space. Tundra and desert climates could be as pleasant as a spring day and she revelled in her own genius. Unfortunately, it seems even her vast genius had hit a brick wall. The armour could not regulate body temperature that was accelerated by internal developments.
Somehow, despite the many layers she donned with ritualistic discipline, Dr. Narcissa Tropy never felt more exposed in her life as the bandicoot studied her face. Examined. Appraised? Her thighs pressed together. Yet, another puff of breath.
Tawna blew her own little careless breath. Her asymmetrical fringe was a bit too close to comfort. The cool air however, was like a velvet caress against the overheated scientist. Then, Tawna had to brush her thumb once more along her cheek. This time, her pace slowed. Deliberate. On a mission.
"Stop…touching…"
"It's like your skin is burning, Dr. Tropy. The jungle air too much for you?" Narcissa refused to believe that beneath the mocking jeer of those sentences ran an undercurrent of sincere concern. A flicker of worry flashed across the bandicoot's sapphire eyes. Such colour could have rivalled the many gemstones Nicky was obsessed with mining as some alternative fossil fuel. Really, everyone knew she just wanted more diamond rings.
The thumb paused. Dropped. Caught on the corner of Narcissa Tropy's full, supple lips. Worming in from the elegant arches to stop, lingering on the centre.
An incessant ticking pervaded, intruding upon the silence that hung, thicker than dense, decadent dark chocolate cake. The hands that decorated her clock face spun as if possessed, whirling in frantic rotations. A bead of sweat slipped its way from her forehead. For the first time in a long while, N. Tropy found she could not formulate any coherent thought. Of course, she should snap. This was the perfect opportunity to leave a certain infuriating, bedamned bandicoot with a few fingers missing. To draw blood, maim, hurt. Instead, she found her entire being going slack, melting almost like a cat once someone discovered its favourite grooming spot.
It had to be the lethargy. The proximity of someone she obviously detested. The adrenaline rushing through her veins. The numbness of her limbs at being restrained for the past twenty minutes.
Because Dr. Narcissa Tropy did not care for and was definitely not attracted to this abomination!
Tawna's thumb applied pressure. Glissading from side to side the plush flesh, with deliberate, delicate swipes. Her other fingers flexed and relaxed around the hilt of her dagger.
"Hero…you have no idea what game you're playing.." Her voice, so prone to snarling in its honeyed English contralto, was now raspy, as if each word she spoke left her parched. Thirsty but what exactly would quench her thirst?
The dagger tumbled from gloved fingers, landing on the grass with a soft clatter. The hand, bereft of weapon, chose truce over violence. Its fingertips glided along the reinforced glass of the clock face. It vibrated, hummed with a vigorous intensity as the hands continued on its merry, haphazard journey around the face. If the good doctor did not calm the fuck down, she was going to pop a gear loose or something. Tawna, as most people, wondered at times about the sophisticated engineering and inner machinations of Dr. Tropy's iconic armour. For one, it looked uncomfortable as hell but the bulkiness of it all did not deter the tall woman from tearing up a training ground nor hinder her speed and agility.
It also aroused the most significant, notable of questions.
How did she fit her breasts in that? Was there like indentations? Was there breathing room? Did it work like a corset? Was she a handful or a two-handful? Yes, these were questions of the highest scientific investigative thought. Tawna found that as more time passed with her observing – appraising? – the solitary, enigmatic and often abrasive time doctor from afar, the more she was intrigued. Curiosity killed the cat but only if the cat was stupid enough to voice forbidden questions aloud. Better to find out and escape scot free than get annihilated by a perpetually irate Sphinx.
If she were charitable, she would admit that Dr. Narcissa Tropy was truly a sight to behold. Her bone structure was enviable, to say the least with its graceful dips and contours. Eyes with gold sclera, haunting and summoning like two beacons slicing through a night sky. Searchlights. Probing, uncovering. Forcing out of hiding.
A sort of beauty that made you feel pain, but you could not tear your eyes away.
Her lips. The softest part of anyone's face and for Tawna, it felt like she was touching liquid velvet. The doctor's lack of response was slightly perturbing. A violent reaction, that she could handle. She would just need to leap well out of her reach and maybe, not try her foolish luck once more. This unnatural submission however, threw her for a large loop. Her palm smoothed over the middle of the polished glass. Warmth flowed into her skin.
Dr. Tropy really is hot.
The hand touching skin fell away to trace the jutting, curved outline of Narcissa's shoulder guard. The metal released squeaks – almost as if it appreciated the gentle caresses – as her fingers traced the lines. Gleaming. Dr. Tropy could blind an army if she stood just right under the glaring sun, bathed in its halo, she would be a seraph. Sent from Satan. Did she hide her wings under this hunk of welded titanium? Why did she hide and what was she hiding from?
"What…are you trying to do, Hero?"
Hero. The moniker appeared out of nowhere. A nugget of gold sifted through useless minerals in a panhandler's fortunate hands. Tawna took note, ears twitching – burning – as the time doctor would roll the "R" deliberately, as if she were savouring a hard candy, dying to get to the sweet, sticky centre. The first time it ever sliced through the air was when Tawna had finished a good bout of archery. Flicking out the arrows, locking the string back and letting them fly. Bullseyes all around.
As expected. As perfected. As trained.
Dr. Cortex was not content with just brute force and agility; her new ward had best be well-advanced in precision and accuracy. No use beating the living daylights out of an enemy if each blow did not do its job. Dr. Tropy had been standing at the entrance, one hand on hip, one eyebrow raised as the bandicoot displayed her wonderful tribute to the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis.
"Are you spying on me?" Tawna had the bow lowered, idle. Her cocky gaze an affront to the Green Amazon of N. Labs. It could have just been her imagination that tended to excess or a trick of the light but, she could have sworn Dr. Tropy's pupils slipped downwards. To be level with her ass. Regardless, it lasted all of but a few seconds before the doctor's remarkable golden eyes completed a full rotation in their sockets.
"Heh, you wish, Hero. I'm just here to watch you fail miserably at target practice."
"Oh, because it can't possibly be because you missed me." The corner of Tawna's mouth quirked into a lazy, careless smirk. Her arrow righted where it should be. That little turn away from Dr. Tropy ensured she missed – and thankfully – the morose flash that dulled the bright gold in her eyes before, like time's little seconds, vanished forever.
"Your form is sloppy." Before the bandicoot could react, she felt her back pressed against something smooth, immovable. Sturdy. Gauntleted hands engulfed her gloved ones, directing without enquiry, without permission. Tawna did not mind this in this least. It was just a superior (even if it was not Dr. Cortex) prepping her for eventual battle, and effectively reminding her that she still had much to learn and should not let her ego off its taut leash.
It did not matter the slightest that as Dr. Tropy bridged any distance and handled her hands as if they were pliable dough, Tawna realised that it was easy to forget basic human impulses. Like breathing.
"You're tense. You can't be tense when you're about to shoot," Chiding words came to her in a resonant British accent, causing her earlobe to twitch with restlessness. Crap, when did the archery ground suddenly become so humid? Dr. Cortex needed to get her shit together and fix the temperamental heating. The bandicoot all but swallowed her tongue when one of the heavy, metal hands rested upon her hip, shifting it into place as if it were a stubborn block in a Jenga tower. Any slight miscalculation and it would topple. Tawna's felt electricity pricking her in the back of her knees. "Does Dr. Cortex not teach you anything save how to play fetch?"
That broke the spell. Albeit momentarily.
"Dr. Cortex is a wonderful mentor!" Tawna's eyes flashed blue fire, the perfect flame for a reckless, adventurous vigilante-to be with a taste for high adventure and perhaps, other things. The strange appetites of the bandicoot were yet unexplored or even questioned. As cloying and pushy Nicolette Cortex was, she knew how to breed loyalty when it was necessary. Mother's touch and all that sentimentality. Dr. Tropy's face betrayed no emotion, maintaining excellent neutrality as if she were erected from gold and emerald.
Silence stretched between them as if a baton tossed into the air, wavering in its twirls before it tumbled down to earth with the natural pull of gravity. A pull that neither woman realised was happening right before their eyes, their beings. Invisible as it was, and certainly convenient to leave buried in the proverbial sand like forbidden treasure, it existed. It only knew how to grow.
Like the heat at Tawna's hip when both parties acknowledged that Dr. Tropy had not removed her hand. The gauntlet was snatched away as if it raked across hot coals. Tucked away behind a cape. Clenched taut, fingers digging into palm.
"You're delusional, Hero. You need to learn to think for yourself before you let yourself be bogged down by subpar individuals."
"Ah, yes, the great Dr. Tropy who thinks she's so amazing, she scorns everyone else in this laboratory. For the record, I do think for myself. Dr. Cortex is my mentor but she doesn't own me."
Was that simply a clever trick pulled by the masters of deceit, light and shadow or did a faint smile cross the towering woman's stony countenance?
"You're a pet, Hero. Well, I suppose you're cute and fluffy enough…" Instant regret; the words died away like flower petals wilting in a merciless drought. Tawna responded by sticking her hip out, hand lounging on it with a quirked eyebrow.
"Cute, huh?" A sneer made its entrance, only serving to intensify the exotic contours of Dr. Tropy's face, her golden eyes now molten like the embers of a tempestuous fire. A brusque scoff escaped the woman before she turned on her heel, her cape sweeping at the ground. A definite punctuation to the conversation.
"I nearly forgot you were a lost cause. I shouldn't be wasting my time with abominations like you." Tawna very much wanted to stick out her lower lip in an exaggerated, stroppy pout and bemoan this new development. Nah, too cheesy. She settled instead of resuming her previous stance, with muscle memory aiding her with the new positioning that Dr. Tropy had shown before she checked one last time over her shoulder.
"See you around, Dr. Tropy." Yup, she was 100% looking at her ass.
Incidents where they somehow found themselves alone in each other's company cropped up now and then that it was too risky to call it destiny and yet also too hopeful to label them as "premediated and orchestrated". A stifling pattern remained; a moment would be shared; they would disagree as per their instinct and custom before parting ways and behaving the next time they met as if the previous encounter was merely a figment of either's imagination.
This time however, was real. Not just because Dr. Tropy could not storm off anywhere and end things before they came to any actual fruition. Did she want them to go anywhere and if so, where exactly? Tawna and her were alone, without any real reason to lift up their shields and being nasty. One was in the most vulnerable position possible, restrained and powerless, with a mounting case of inner turmoil. The other was enraptured in curiosity, apprehension, anxiety and hesitation. Confronted with an opportunity so unheard of, so far in the realm of impossibility led Tawna to choose her actions wisely, to tread as if she were barefoot on thorny briars.
Dr. Tropy had told her to think for herself. Her two hands came to rest on the clock face, the fingers streaming down. Lower. Lower. A thread of heat inched its way up her spine as her eyes focused on the lower half of Narcissa's body. The vines held each ankle in place and as with her wrists, any attempt to break free was met with increased aggression. It was if the vegetation itself wished to frame the good doctor as if she were a morbid work of flesh made art for Tawna's full appreciation and appraisal.
For the woman's crotch was positioned slightly below Tawna's eye-level. Covered by fitted black pants and the billowing folds of a white coat. One button, two button. An index finger danced from button to button, engrossed with the shape of the holes and the security of the threading.
"Tawna…" Her head snapped up and Tawna met the time mistress' gaze. Golden eyes that often filled with scorn, condescension, wrath and pride. They were glazed, soft yet molten. Like an amber swell of honey ladled out for semifreddo. This time, Tawna did bite her lip as her hand finally, finally, finally rested upon the unprotected, blithely unprotected area between strong thighs.
This action so tender, so gentle like how one would cradle a new born kitten elicited a raspy hiss from Narcissa Tropy, as if making any sound was causing her severe agony. Her fists clenched, hidden by the weaving of the vines and her thighs clamped albeit with equal delicacy around Tawna's wrist. The bandicoot released the breath she had been unconsciously holding. Warm. Very warm. Her own body, desperate to respond in kind, allowed the thread of heat to detour towards her belly, travelling southward.
"You know, Dr. Tropy…kind of funny that your armour allows for certain parts of you to still be…penetrated." The words spilled out as if they were simple gibberish, not any part of an eloquent conversation and all the while, her gaze did not leave the placement of her hand upon the time mistress' nether region. Making yet another choice, she inched closer, applying an ounce more pressure upon the woman's crotch, palm slipping to support the apex. The bound Amazon once more released a needy hiss, as if in terrible pain. Frustrated more than ever with her captive state, Narcissa tried, in fruitless attempts, to shift her hips, to straddle almost the bandicoot's gloved palm.
Tawna was programmed not to disappoint her superiors. Arching her hand, she pressed the fleshiest part of it against the seam that marked the most desirous part of Dr. Tropy's body. This time, a hitched gasp escaped the lady and she braced herself against the tree trunk so she could balance upon her small seat, a seat she did not intend to abandon. She moved so as to spread her thighs a bit more.
"I guess secret's out. The whole gang debated once if you were into women," Tawna spoke once more in that detached, dreamy way as she still had yet to tear her eyes away from Dr. Narcissa Tropy dry humping her hand. A sodden quality was starting to build up through spandex and leather. Both women knew that at this loaded juncture any routine, awkward request for consent would be unnecessary and obstructive. If either wished to back out now, well that would just be them folding their hand entirely too fast, too premature and they will shuffle through their lives, tail between their legs, silent jeers at their cowardice forever at the backs of their ears. Not to mention, the numbing regret.
Caution long flung to the tropical breeze, Tawna tugged her hand away and stopped any whiny protests by gripping at the whipping ends of Narcissa's lab coat and separating them. A stray button sailed to the nearby bushes; a remnant lost in a passionate, windswept heat. The bandicoot was spellbound as she noted the firm emerald flesh peeking out over the waistband of pants that hugged every right curve. The navel was a shy speck and Tawna greeted it with a soft kiss before inching her lips upward. This was the most she had seen and truly saw of Dr. Narcissa Tropy and she will lap it all up as if it were the last few drops of water in a desert.
Narcissa's breath came in sharp, erratic pants as flitting butterfly kisses littered her abdomen, teeth catching at dips of flesh, nibbling at them as if they were delectable bits of saltwater taffy. Tawna's hands formed snug cradles for the woman's lithe thighs, groans of admiration rose from her as her fingers felt the taut, unyielding muscle. Florid tongue lashes ringed her navel and the time mistress was certain that her stomach might cave inward from the sheer sensations rushing through her. A throaty moan was wrenched from her deepest recess as Tawna found a hip bone and tended to it with teeth, lips and tongue. Leaving a mark that no one would be wiser to.
What lay between her thighs was dampening, throbbing, stoked by these purposeful, sometimes feather light, sometimes aggressive touches and tastes. Tawna caught the waistband in her teeth and peeled them downwards.
"Come on, Hero…you can be faster than this…." A note of raw, wanton need had planted itself into the time mistress' composed contralto. It disintegrated into a startled gasp as the hand supporting her right thigh, swept upward to hold her aloft under her knee. This spread her wider and with the aid of another hand and determination, Tawna had the doctor's black leggings off her hips. The bandicoot paused her ministrations because she was obligated to make a wisecrack.
"Black sheer panties? With a ruffle trim? I mean, I did peg you for a black panty kind of woman…" She traced her fingers along the gossamer ruffle, twiddling the tiny ribbon in the centre between index and middle. The heady scent of feminine arousal mingled with the luscious flora around them. Whatever this was could not be written off as mere sex. It felt almost like a pagan mating ritual, what Sappho's followers partake in as they searched for Truth and Knowledge.
Satisfied with appraising the sensuality of the doctor's undergarments – and solving one of many mysteries of what lay beyond – the bandicoot lifted her left hand to her mouth and divested it off its leather glove before making a show of flexing her nimble fingers. Allowing Narcissa to notice, through half-lidded eyes, the strength of the palm, the dexterity of the knuckles and the short, kempt nails.
It was a delicious moment's reprieve before the silky gauze was shoved aside to allow the entrance of a hungry finger. Once flesh met flesh, Narcissa felt as if her whole head was submerged in steaming water. The finger pressed with experimentative, artful grace into spots until Tawna stumbled upon one that upon being probed and nudged left the horologist unable to form anything beyond primitive noises. The addition of another finger rewarded Tawna with a guttural groan and the bandicoot drank in the sight of Dr. Tropy's head lolling to the side, her mouth open in heated pants. Her clock hands were still racing its own marathon, possibly beyond its own limitations. The ticking was a bracing accompaniment to the illicit performance at hand, a sole witness, a first-class audience member.
Tawna's wrist rose and fell, fingers wedged in, curling into where Narcissa needed her most. As she prodded, her palm melded against the cusp, rubbing against the slight fuzzy down of her pubis. Ensuring that the time doctor's most sensitive, traitorous of parts was not overlooked. The bandicoot would press her palm right up, grinding it against Narcissa's bud, fingers scissoring. Perspiration soaked through her shirt and leather jacket as her arm worked tirelessly. Collecting nectar with its reverent caress.
If she was not experiencing all manners of bliss right now, Narcissa Tropy would have denoted the number of minutes it took her to reach that tantalising peak. She released a feral growl, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as Tawna's hand was seized tight in sodden velvet. When she extricated it, there was even a thread of hot, sticky essence binding fingers to cunt.
"You're wet, Dr. Tropy…"
In between heavy, laboured pants: "Must you state the obvious, Hero.."
Tawna lifted her fingers, with slight hesitation at first but eventually emboldened by Narcissa's focused, unwavering observation, to catch the viscous juices on her tongue. After the first taste, she pushed the fingers in, scraping as much of it, consuming it fully, not letting a drop of sweetness go to waste. Dr. Tropy was delicious, tangy and juicy like a Wumpa fruit on the verge of ripeness and she understood now how anyone could want to eat the same meal over and over again for eternity. Upon finishing her aperitif, Tawna returned her intent, intense gaze onto the weeping mound before her.
The panties were shucked away completely now, serving no other purpose but as obstacle. Licking her lips, the bandicoot admired her meal with great anticipation. As with her overall appearance, Dr. Tropy kept herself groomed, clean and maintained. Slipping her thumb along the seam to pull her open, she could see how luscious, how pink, how delectable her cunt was. Nothing was left to the imagination here. She sealed her mouth upon Dr. Narcissa Tropy's slit, a perfect match.
"Fuck…." The expletive was bitten out, Narcissa leaning forward with involuntary delight and agony. The vines kept her from falling forward for if they were absent, she would have collapsed upon her knees once Tawna's tongue set on its mission with gluttonous gusto. Rapid, erratic little tongue lashes, set to make Dr. Tropy's toes curl up tight in her boots. Punctuated with long, languid drags along the slit where Tawna released contented mewls and purrs, happy with her scrumptious treat.
If anyone had so much as hinted to Tawna Bandicoot that one day, she would be face first in Dr. Narcissa Tropy's pussy, she would have thought you needed to get your head out of the scorching Australian heat and definitely, out of the gutter. Sure, with all their interactions, few and far in between yet somehow loaded with something in the air, the bandicoot may have entertained this notion. It did no one any good to linger too long on a hope that more likely than not, never will happen. Guess she should not have jumped to her own conclusions.
And now that she had Dr. Tropy how she wanted – on a few occasions restricted to the number of fingers on her hand, she had considered this thoroughly well through a balmy summer night – she was going to have her cake and eat it. Devour it. Take her fill and more.
Her snout brushed against the supple, pulsing bead. Her mind addled with the heady aromas; clean, wet cunt and tropical flora, her tongue catching stray traces, greedy, parched for all of what Dr. Tropy was willing and more than able to provide. The doctor was reduced to a mewling mess. If her wrists be free, one would be draped across her damp forehead, while the other seize the bandicoot's hair in a demanding fist. If all times of submission could feel this good, she may be cajoled to doing so more often, without any restraint.
Two fingers slipped once more into her aching cavern, assisting in bringing Narcissa hurtling towards the brink. As nimble muscle tasted, agile digits massaged. Perhaps, one could reach a state of spontaneous combustion through sex; it should be a new study and Dr. Tropy was more than happy to be the first tribute. Heat pooled and coiled into a taut, agitated spiral in her abdomen as she was being consumed, her toes cramping in her boots.
All it took was Tawna to kiss her swollen clit, the tip of her tongue batting it around coupled by fingers rubbing a spot right there before she came. Again. Her eyes were bleary from the violent rush of dopamine addling her brain, her thighs quivering from the force of her orgasm. This time, the bandicoot captured her blissful release with her lips, savouring every bit, smacking her lips in utmost relish. Her fingers drenched to the knuckle. She shifted away. To Dr. Tropy's irritation and slight abashment, she whimpered as the touch, a sensation she had grown so needy for in a span of mere magical moments, slithered away. Not bothering to clean her fingers, Tawna bent to reclaim the abandoned dagger and worked diligently to saw away the parasitic vines.
She expected a lengthy diatribe, fraught with lofty reprimands and perhaps a curse word or two from the time doctor, proselytizing on how she was in such a dishevelled, sore state from her captivity. However, once all that damned vegetation was hacked off, Narcissa had to recline against the tree trunk, her knees wobbly from the intense sexual experience. Her head bowed, collected beads of sweat dripping onto the grass, the rapid ticking of her clock winding down, gradually to a more controlled concord. How did they get here?
The bandicoot's gaze had not derailed. Her blue eyes seared into her very being, taking careful note as if with a connoisseur's meticulousness of every expulsion of air, every sweat droplet and every tremor in her inflamed limbs. Her modesty was not at all compromised and yet here stood Dr. Tropy with her pants tugged haphazardly down her calves, her panties askew. Breathe. Recentre. Regardless, you must have some semblance of sovereignty in this situation, no matter how sticky (Ha!) it was.
As the drumming in her head dulled to a manageable rhythm, her eyes cracked open, a scorching veneer of desire clouding the golden pupils. She rolled her shoulders back, and the sound of joints cracking chipped at the tense silence. Tawna stood her ground, the dagger tossed away, meaningless in the grand scheme of things. She wavered not, not even when Dr. Narcissa Tropy loomed over her, glaring down her nose as she was wont to do. Their height difference would prove not to be as much hindrance as they believed.
"You're still…not doing things as properly as you should, Hero…" The cryptic statement, spoken with as much indifferent nonchalance as anyone could muster after enjoying two powerful orgasms, prompted protests to line up at the forefront of Tawna's mouth. How dare the bitch! After she had her in hysterical contortions, she was accused of shoddy handiwork! Before she could air her grievances, Narcissa had bridged the gap between them and any complaints died on her glistening lips. Her gauntleted hand fondled her cheek, a gentle touch that could have warranted suspicion if she had not just finger fucked the scientist a mere seven minutes ago.
Tawna's face was cradled in the horologist's grip. If she's going to crush my skull now, well that'd be a way to go, was the fleeting hint of fear in the bandicoot's mind. It flitted amidst epiphanies such as Wow, she really is kind of pretty and Is that lily? She smells like lily.
"You can't just skip the foreplay." Hot words stroked Tawna's lips before they were engulfed by softer, plumper ones. Lips that did not make polite requests; they demanded and persisted. A longing groan reverberated through the older woman as she tasted herself, her own weakness and folly on the infernal vermin's lips. Among other things; the honeyed tang of Wumpa fruit and something so uniquely Tawna, it was addictive. Her metallic hands journeyed southward, groping for the petite fighter's leather jacket with only one intention. It had been left on for too long.
One could never call Tawna Bandicoot uncooperative. Coaxed by the fiery pit this woman ignited in her belly, she twisted her upper body, shedding the jacket as if a butterfly casting away its raggedy chrysalis to be something all new, all alive and all ready for a risky plunge into the great outdoors. Narcissa pulled away, leaving her strange new lover breathless and annoyed, discontented at the short-lived pleasure. Only for any whinges or complaints to transform into hoarse gasps as she dove in, nipping at the slender, small throat.
So narrow, so tender. I could break it in one hand.
The marsupial's fur was softer than she had imagined – and she would take it to the grave how many times she allowed her mind to idle in the quiet hours of the night with only her right hand and the fireflies to keep her company. It tickled her skin in a not unpleasant manner and the warmth beneath refuelled the fire between her thighs. Her fingers groped at the ends of her hero's fitted top when a palm pressed against her clock face, halting her advances.
"Gotta play fair, Doc. You'd have me naked pretty damn fast but look at you…" Tawna gestured, with a showman's flourish at the doctor's elaborate, Pandora's Box armour, a mish mash swathe of metal that guarded a most precious treasure. "Will I need to get a welder to get you out of that thing before we get down to this properly?" She purred, dragging each syllable of the word, letting them melt across her tongue that still had remnants of the scientist. Visions of having Dr. Tropy flat on her back, thighs crushing her head as she gave her a thorough, aggressive eating out left the bandicoot itching to peel her jeans off that were starting to feel two sizes too tight. But no. The playing field needed to be levelled first.
Narcissa responded in kind, an olive branch extended. She lifted her hands and fiddled, no frills, no preamble and no explanation, with the safety catches that held her armour in place. The sound of metal disengaging, as a lock sprang from its hold echoed through the jungle. Wafts of steam were released from the widening cracks at the sides as the doctor pulled off her gauntlets.
Revealing emerald green threaded through with lime scars, running from fingertip, threading through knuckle, and once the black turtleneck was removed, scribing across underarm and ending in tree roots a good inch below the armpit. Tawna closed her mouth, sympathy and quiet awe seeping into her amorous expression.
Dr. Tropy carried on with her disrobing as if it were completely natural to be naked as the day she was born in front of her self-proclaimed rival. The armour now loosened and teetering on her shoulder, she wriggled herself out of it, letting it fall with an audible clatter upon the grass. With the same quiet, methodical demeanour, she unbuttoned the white lab sleeveless lab coat and it fluttered at her feet like a giant, discarded rose petal. The remaining garment was the black shirt that fitted her from throat to wrists. As if meant to smother her.
There was still more to go and Tawna watched, as if she were witnessing a goddess at her vanity, preening before she greeted her subdued, loyal subjects, Dr. Narcissa Tropy pull off her towering helmet, and letting a profusion of thick, lush waves of raven hair tumble free, the roots and sections of it showing signs of silvering. It did naught else but add to her ethereal, mysterious allure.
So, fucking beautiful, it hurts.
A lone zipper was all that protected the rest, the very little left of Narcissa's modesty and she, eyes closed and averted pulled it down. The slow rasping had the hairs on Tawna's neck standing on end, dancing in anticipation. For this juncture of the unravelling, it was clear the doctor was struck by a sudden wave of trepidation. Evidence of which was revealed to the bandicoot quite quickly.
As the fabric parted like the Red Sea, Tawna found that again, breathing was far too mundane, too commonplace to commit when witnessing something so exquisite. Dr. Narcissa Tropy had breasts. The armour really left all too how perverse one's imagination was. They were abundant, proffered in a bra as sheer and ruffled as her panties and Tawna knew she was gawking as if she were a sailor that had been on a fruitless voyage with no lovely female companion for years. Freckles flecked the deep valley between and the bandicoot imagined how her tongue would connect each of these dots, creating constellations, mapping the gorgeous terrain of Dr. Narcissa Tropy.
Then, there were the arms. The striking scars glimmered in the midday sun and the doctor curled and uncurled her fingers, as if to prove that the injury sustained was at a mere epidermis level. Tawna tiptoed forth as if to greet a docile fawn and lifted one of the hands, a silent declaration of affection to her lips. She kissed the tips, traced the etchings that ran up each finger, nibbled the point of her wrist where her pulse flitted as anxiously as a butterfly escaping a thunderstorm before trailing up her arm. Narcissa found coherent thought was no longer any priority or necessity. Her eyes remained shut and she allowed carnal instinct to take over, to lead. For once in her life of conquering, of domination, of clawing and cheating and lying and growling to the top, she had laid her armour and weapons down in pursuit of a most sensuous surrender.
As Tawna nipped at the dip where her shoulder met her neck, Narcissa turned her head so their lips would meet once more. The two women melted, melded into one another, forging a new being borne out of their passion, their lust and repressed desire. Hands explored without hesitation, permission granted without the accessory of words as lips aimed to taste, to mark any inch of skin they could latch on. Narcissa lay back in the grass as Tawna pinned her, strong thighs straddling narrow hips. She gripped her bottom lip in impatient teeth, hissing in pleasure as the bandicoot divested herself of her pink shirt, her bosom more modest yet perky and beckoning. Ripe peaches that should served alongside chilled cream, anointed by mint syrup. Lifting herself, her hands held fast to the firm waist, thumbs pressing into the solid grooves of muscle in excited admiration. All that she had witnessed on the training grounds, often slicked in sweat certainly lived up to their visual appeal. Her mouth sought one of her lover's dulcet breasts and it was Tawna's turn to let her head sag back, languid as she was enveloped by a wet heat that lingered, scorched right down to her soul.
Narcissa treated sex as she did every other aspect of her immaculate life. With meticulous care, with a fickle eye for detail, with a drive to go above and beyond. She laved one nipple with her nimble tongue, shuddering at how sweet Tawna tasted. The bandicoot had fistfuls of her hair, the pulling at her roots sending shockwaves down south, stirring the vixen within. Something moist and urgent rubbed against her thigh and hipbone with fervent desperation. Through eyes glazed with ardour, the time mistress was ecstatic to see that Tawna Bandicoot was getting herself off, having gotten rid of those pesky jeans. A rush of saliva rose to her mouth as she took note of the strong, athletic thighs. Thighs that could choke the life out of a nemesis, how the rivulets of her mounting need soaked her leg.
She chose right then, the perfect timing to sink her canine into a pebbled nipple.
"Christ, Dr. Tropy…" Shit, hearing her use her title should not make her want those fingers tucked up in her again, and as soon as possible!
"You know, Hero…" She trailed a searing path of open-mouthed kisses, a mite sloppy from her eagerness but strategically planted in areas that made the bandicoot feel her soul dispersing and reassembling. Up her full lips inched from sucking at clavicle, nipping at throat before she found the left ear, all a twitter in restlessness, pierced by a set of shiny gold rings.
Narcissa blew. A gentle stream of heat against the lobe before it developed into a carnal yowl. Tawna had dragged two fingers from between her heavy, supple breasts along the middle line, circling her navel a few times before reaching where they rightfully belonged. Or more to the point, claimed their residence. Dr. Tropy retaliated by sinking her teeth into the delicate, flimsy flesh, nibbling at it as if it were liquorice. With each bite, the fingers probed, burrowing into the sodden walls that had all but mewed for its missing piece. Lustful grunts punctuated each nip that left Tawna's ear sore and red and the bandicoot shuddered as sturdy muscles clamped down on her wrist. Holding her fast. As if she were the prisoner.
Pfft, she knows squat about who has who prisoner.
Just as Dr. Tropy's hips started trembling, primed to rise and complement Tawna's marvellous range of motions, the fingers were removed. Yanked out before the grand finale. As expected, the good doctor did not take it in any good humour, pulling away from abusing the bandicoot's ear to glare in bereft disbelief. She was met by a self-satisfied smirk and, without breaking eye contact, the hero made a slow, deliberate show of sticking her digits in her mouth and greedily sucking off the wetness harvested. A hard swallow was heard, Tawna watched the lump jostle in Narcissa's green throat, marred by aggressive kisses.
Those same fingers transferred themselves to the older woman's lips, tracing them. Narcissa flicked out her tongue to taste them before engulfing them in her hungry maw. Somehow, the depraved act of sampling her own essence drove her amorous state into overdrive. The bandicoot had to take her at some point. Press into her cunt with her knee, finger her until she forgot her very name, eat her out until she had nothing left to give.
Just fuck God, please! FUCK ME, VERMIN!
Perhaps, sexual intercourse could help one become so intimate with another being that telepathy was a possible, uncanny side effect. Tawna cupped the doctor's face, thumbs smoothing her cheekbones, burning into her memory every nuance of the exotic, dangerous beauty before her. When they kissed this time, it was not out of the need for blind consumption. It was tender. Heartfelt. Narcissa feared it was going to be absolutely sappy; whatever this was, it surely was not going to become that. Yet, she returned the kiss with similar gentility, her hands groping for Tawna's waist. The bandicoot pulled away but any beginnings of disappointment were quelled as fluttering butterfly pecks littered the time mistress' face.
Forehead, eyebrows, eyes, cheeks, bridge of nose, corners of mouth and chin. She was sure this was a way to die. Death by immolation from intense sexual anticipation and the warmth of being achieving absolute, perfect intimacy. What a way to go.
"Didn't you tell me before? When you slow down, you can evaluate your next strategy instead of just rushing like a blind arse to your doom," Tawna's decision to include British terminology had the time doctor snorting but a nagging, pleasant sensation bloomed in her chest that the bandicoot had actually listened to her. Most people in those laboratories pretended as if they were blind, deaf and dumb to perfectly appropriate advice.
Tawna seized her wrists, still peppering Narcissa's face and throat with featherlight kisses, lingering for all of two seconds before finding other spots to please. The doctor, a few heads taller than the bandicoot, found herself being felled like a mighty oak in the forest. All that was needed was for someone to scream "Timber". Flat on her back, in the middle of the dewy grass, her rambunctious forest of ebony waves spread out around her like a halo, Tawna swore that before her was not Dr. Narcissa Tropy. It was a dryad, a woodland faun who came out of hiding, looking to bewitch mortal women and drive them into a carnal frenzy, mating like the animals did to hearken the coming of Spring.
The bandicoot's lips touched places that Dr. Tropy did not even knew could feel with such intensity. Her hair, smelling of the tropics, of the briny sea, of honeysuckle, tickled her skin as Tawna pressed kisses to curves, to contours, to grooves, to ridges. A potter forming its creation with tender loving care, fingers moulding and shaping it to perfection. Narcissa's toes curled and her stomach clenched in delicious anticipation when the bandicoot cupped both her breasts, handling them with utmost care, reverence. The thumbs caressed upwards on the nipples. Lips descending to bestow thirsty kisses.
The absolute enthralment that crossed the time doctor's face the moment she lightly nibbled at one breast while fondling the other was one she hoped she would never forget. Her mouth hung open, and she breathed out as if every exhale was painful. Her hand smoothed across the back of Tawna's head, holding her close, wanting her to never cease this methodical descent down her body.
Down, down, down. Tawna traced the protrusion of her hipbone with her teeth. She kissed Dr. Tropy right above where she was wet, hot and ready for her. She delighted in the taut columns of flesh that were her thighs and calves. She braced one leg upon her shoulder as she drew little, intricate patterns along the calf with her index finger, inching, inching, inching closer, nearing the place that longed so badly, so terribly for it to breach.
"Tawna…"
"Yeah, Doc?" A deep, lingering kiss pressed against the ankle that lounged on her shoulder. A visible twitch in the thigh, the lump in Narcissa's throat fidgeted. The doctor's other hand groped about, settling around on the hefty, plump roundness that was Tawna's backside, giving it a punishing squeeze that had the bandicoot gasping. The wetness on Narcissa's thigh increased.
"Before this is over…I want this," Another hard squeeze, the nails even left shallow grooves on the apple of her rear cheek before the fingers – longer, slender, more adventurous – slipped between the shapely mounds and stuck themselves up. Deep. Scissoring open and leaving Tawna speaking in tongues, the English language well gone from her pleasure addled head. A bedevilling smile crossed the scientist's flushed countenance and the fingers pumped at a slow, torturous pace. "On my face."
Tawna needed a few seconds, as much time as one could have when one had a ravishing woman fingering your cunt to Kingdom Come, before she could formulate a proper response.
"Ah…you ah…nngh…got it, Dr. Tropy…oh fuck…" A knuckle brushed the clit.
"Narcissa. Call me Narcissa." Even on the brink of orgasm, Tawna Bandicoot found means and ways to be a total brat.
"Cissy…" The pinched expression on the doctor's face was reward in itself but the bandicoot had no time at all to relish in her victory for the fingers inside her started moving at an unforgiving, almost punishing pace. Burying themselves, possessing the flesh it plundered. Her eyes slid shut amidst the tumultuous, tantalising sensations and she rode on Cissy's wrist, releasing shameless moans and the sort of words that could have the bark of trees peeling right off.
"So wet…Tawna…Hero…" Her thumb searched for clit, and brushing against it, started stroking it in gentle circles, upwards. Tawna was sure that at this moment the physical world no longer existed. All that was left was Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, what have you. If not for the fingers that wrapped around her throat, anchoring her down, she would have floated off for good. Her face, contorted in intense, electrifying passion, met the doctor's resolute one.
"After you cum…I want you…to destroy me." The hand entangled itself into the bandicoot's hair before hoisting her into a messy, desperate kiss. It was in sublime sync with the fingers finding a hidden, forbidden spot inside Tawna that left her bones melting, her eyes rolling back into her head and her screaming out that it caused the birds to flee from their perches. Narcissa watched, her lips curved into the biggest, fattest, proudest smirk as her hand was flooded from her exploits. The hero rested her fevered head against the older woman's chest, soft pillows that welcomed her to rest, albeit a brief reprieve. The rushing of blood in her head and the quivers in her hips took quite a while to simmer down and once she could lift herself up and meet the doctor's sly, sultry gaze, she was more than ready to fulfil that command.
Hands formed gentle yet strong manacles around wrists and Tawna loomed over the giantess, well aware of how amusing their size difference might look to passers-by when they were not entangled, naked and sticky from their romps. A smirk, belying tender emotions and longing, marred the bandicoot's sweet face. Her fringe obscured one eye, plastered down by perspiration.
Her hips slithered up to be in tandem with the doctor's hips. Twin moans escaped both women as they could revel, could drown in the delectable sensation of their cunts embracing. The intoxicating scents of sex, sweat, submission and sin pervaded the jungle. Sweet, sapphic delights indeed.
"You know, Cissy…you never looked better." A flick of the tongue catching her pulse.
"Shut up and fuck me already, Hero…" Hips lifted, grinding with earnest against the other.
Weeks later…
"Hero!" Tawna Bandicoot would not be deterred from her hand-held video game. Dr. Cortex had gifted her the little trinket after her successful haul of five chests of gemstones and nothing was going to stop her from training her useless Magikarp into a magnificent Gyarados.
Dr. Narcissa Tropy as always, needed to ruin her plans. The console was plucked away, well out of reach and deaf as well as ignorant to any protests, placed on a high shelf. Of course. Damn tall people and their using their height for every advantage. The time doctor snapped her gauntleted fingers in her face.
"Focus, vermin…I need a favour from you." A familiar glimmer could be glimpsed if one paid full attention in the depths of the doctor's golden sclera. Tawna's left ear twitched, an imperceptible giveaway. She rested her chin in her palm as she regarded the statuesque, beautiful woman before her.
"Hey, if you need my help, you could at least ask nicely, Dr. Tropy. But, eh, since I'm in a good mood, what the heck?" She leaped off the bed, arms stretched well above her head and knowing that the doctor's eyes were nowhere near hers during this little show.
"HOLD IT!" Both women flinched inwardly as entering the room as well was Dr. Nicolette Cortex. Not that it could be help, but both women's gazes fell to the floor for the doctor was an exact contrast of Narcissa. She was petite, with yellow skin, a giant cursive "N" embossed on her forehead with black hair that curled out into a fashionable bob. The Queen Bee, the self-proclaimed Mother Hen of the laboratories, she now eyed both women as if they both had just been caught red-handed pilfering her stash of solace: chocolate chip cookies. Nicky Cortex stormed over to Narcissa and had to crane her head quite a fair bit to glower at her.
"And exactly what do you need with my bandicoot, N. Tropy? She's not just some lackey you get to order around." Tawna clamped her gloved hand on her mouth to stop the snickers from leaking out but she could never keep a straight face when Dr. Tropy's eyebrow started twitching. A sure sign that she was in no mood and ready to unleash a world of hurt.
"Ahem, Nicky…even though it's really none of your business, I just needed Tawna here to help with the Rift Generator. Very sophisticated, you wouldn't get it." The shorter woman folded her arms, suspicion riddled all over her pretty face and she shifted her stare from the taller woman to her bandicoot sitting as innocently as she could on her bed, twiddling her thumbs.
"And why should Tawna help you? All you do is ridicule and insult her! You think I'll just stand around and let you bully my…" Time to intervene. I'm sorry, Dr. Cortex. You're really like a mother to me but if you keep this up, I can't say it'll be good for all of us. Tawna slipped off the bed and lay a pacifying hand to her foster mother's shoulder. Coupled with a heart-warming, trustworthy smile. "Dr. Cortex, it's fine. I kind of owe this to Dr. Tropy. I um…I broke one of her clocks by accident the last time training with my grappling hook." A sheepish hand rubbed at the back of her head.
Not a total deceptive story. She had accidentally sent one of Narcissa's clocks to the floor, causing it to shatter but that was more due to the vibrations of a shaking table. Dr. Tropy had been peeved but she granted it that they both should be more careful.
Dr. Cortex started sputtering in protest and pleas with Tawna not to give in to the "she-devil" when the bandicoot placed reassuring hands on her shoulders. "Dr. Cortex, trust me, it's okay. I mean, she can't kill me. Not like I'd let her."
"Ahem, though I'm ignoring the conversation, I'm not deaf."
The petite doctor's shoulders slumped in resignation and she patted Tawna's cheek with maternal concern. "Alright, fine. But, this really shouldn't be a habit. You're my General-to be after all!" She pecked her where she patted before making an "I'm watching you" gesture to N. Tropy and going on her merry way, idly thinking if she should spend an afternoon of "me time" and maybe get a French manicure.
Tawna released a deep sigh. As exciting as a forbidden, secret romance was, Good God, it was exhausting to keep up appearances. Dr. Tropy too shed her act and a more sincere, affectionate smile crossed her face. She bent to run her fingers through the bandicoot's lush hair, shuddering as the familiar, comforting scents of honeysuckle charmed her nostrils.
"That was actual quick thinking, Hero…" A soft nip at the tip of her earlobe. Blood rushed to Tawna's cheeks and she turned to wrap her arms around Narcissa's neck and greet her properly, mouth to mouth. When she pulled away for air, she gave a cheeky, lopsided grin. "Was that an actual compliment, Cissy?"
A chuckle before a playful shove. "Don't push it, bandicoot…unless it's up against me." A lascivious waggling of well-marked brows.
It really has been a while. I miss her. Tawna left her side long enough to ensure her bedroom door was latched tight; security was definitely no underrated concept when one was fucking your foster mother's detested colleague in the private. Resuming her place in the arms of her lover, she reached up behind the blasted, bulky armour and giggled in triumph at the sound of a safety catch coming loose.
"You're getting better at this, Hero…"
"Well, you know what they say, Cissy. Practice makes perfect."
"You should get to practicing your oral skills then…" Legs spread, hoisted up, feet dangling helplessly towards the ceiling.
"Wouldn't want to disappoint my favourite mentor…" Tawna gave a mischievous wink, punctuated by a blown kiss before she leaned down to seal her mouth upon that of Dr. Narcissa Tropy.
She hoped Dr. Nikita Brio appreciated the surprise vacation planned for her in Maldives for developing that "Sentient Ferocious Flora" formula on that fateful day that Dr. Narcissa Tropy wanted to go on a walk.
