The Engineer rotated his hard hat between his hands, a nervous habit he'd never quite been able to shake. He'd actually sneaked onto base before the ending siren sounded, leaving his turret and dispenser to fend for themselves, to change his sheets and wash. As he'd passed the kitchen, he'd seen the locked door. The dining room had been silent, worrying. A happy woman—his wife had been happy—sang, or made noise, or even talked to herself or her work.

The woman on his bed might have been carved out of wood, or ice. She'd merely followed him to his room and lay down. Quiet through the meal, quiet now, a mouth he thought meant for laughter turned down at the corners, eyes dull. He didn't know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted to try to help. A surge of frustration tightened his jaw. The thing he'd wanted most, for her to simply hold him, or for just the comfort of touch, appeared to be beyond her. Forgive me, he thought. I know the answer is no, but I gotta try. "Look, Miss, I can tell you're not in the mood this evening. And that's okay. I don't want to force you to do anything. Honestly, if you could just hold me, I'd be content with that."

The Cook closed her eyes, his distant voice coming back into focus and temporarily driving away the echoing chorus of the BLU Spy's voice, the knowledge that an invisible man could be anywhere, could reach her anywhere. Her muscles ached, the tension burning in her thighs and back. He'd been somewhere on the base and heard her. For all she knew, he was in the room right now, waiting for her to be alone. She wanted to feel safe, just for a moment to feel safe and be held and told everything would be all right, another body near hers and that mute, animal warmth that spoke more loudly than words of comfort. She wanted to think about something, anything else. "Come talk to me, Engie." Please, she thought. Make it stop. Make me stop thinking about him.

The Engineer sat down beside her on the bed, carefully maintaining some distance between them. Poor girl, he thought. Maybe that fucking spy had come back again. Or maybe Solly did something really awful. "We could talk."

The expression on her face was wretched—he flinched as she raised her arms. "No," she said quietly. "Come down here and talk to me."

He looked down, face drawn into long lines. She looked lost, so terribly, terribly sad and frail. The Engineer wanted to cover her up, to smooth the corners of her mouth and make her relax. Her arms stayed up between them, the elbows starting to shake. Well, he thought, at least I'll probably get to hold her. She looks like she needs to be a million miles away, with her people around her to keep her safe.

The bed shook as he took off his boots and crawled to her, stopping an inch away. She could feel the heat radiating from him, raising the hairs on her arms. His expression—pity and sympathy—embarrassed her. Surely, she thought, irritated, I don't look that bad. God knows I feel that bad, but I am not pitiful. No, I'm just pants-wettingly terrified and I have no idea what I'm going to do.

"I don't want your fucking pity, Engie." Why can't you just hold me? Why can't you just make me forget the rest of the goddamn day? Touch me, for the love of God. Just touch me and make me forget.

He drew back slightly at the acid in her tone. "I ain't itching to get cut tonight, so I'll just stay here until you touch me." Whatever it is, he thought, it was bad. Real bad. She ain't usually this tetchy.

If he's not going to touch me, I'll touch him. Comfort, she thought, grief flooding through her. Why can't you just comfort me? Is anything going to comfort me now? The mocking voice in her head piped up. You want comfort like a little child because you're weak, and they're all going to think you're weak.

The Cook sighed, then reached out to stroke her fingers down his arm. He shivered, but held still. "Talk to me, Engie. Tell me something I don't know."

Her fingers left a burning trail down his arm that he resolutely tried to ignore, blinking repeatedly with the effort of not closing the distance between them just for the pleasure of touching someone. "I have five PhDs. I don't know if you knew that."

Christ, he's really smart. Smarter than me, that's for sure. "Holy shit," she said, tone thawing with curiosity. "How long did that take?"

I can deal with this, he thought. At least she's not angry anymore. We can just talk and maybe she'll stop looking like an abandoned child. He shifted, propping his head up on an elbow. "We have all the time in the world, and the company is good at talking universities into accepting a long distance student. Universities will do a lot for a good grant." Shit, for what the company sent, they'd have given me the degrees without me doing a damn thing.

The Cook turned on her side to face him, and he was struck by how intimate it was, how much he'd missed simply laying in bed and talking to someone. Her hair was a different shade than his wife's hair had been, and they didn't really look alike, but his wife often lay in bed talking, just like this, nights when neither could sleep. Long, slow hours spent talking, hushed, about life, family, the children they'd never had, what they'd plant in the garden—his chest ached for a moment, for that bedroom and his old life. Anything, he thought. I'd give anything to be back there with her, even to relive one of our fights just so I could be near her again, so I could hear her say my name.

"What are they in," the Cook asked, dragging the Engineer back to the present.

"Robotics, computer science, physics, mechanical engineering, and civil engineering. My dissertations are boring stuff, but the company seems to think they're profitable enough to have talked the universities out of keeping the patents." He gave the Cook a weak smile and moved forward, closing the space between them. "It keeps me occupied."

Her skin was warm against his, and he hesitantly reached up to stroke her hair, waiting for her to flinch back or simply to tell him to stop. She leaned into his hand, a flash of sorrow crossing her face as she gently rubbed her cheek against it. Ah, he thought. Wants comfort. Me too, Missy. Me, too.

"How old are you, anyway," she murmured, her eyes closed, breath tickling the edge of his flesh hand.

There ain't any good answer to that question, he thought. Might as well be honest. "We were recruited in the 50s. You do the math."

Her startled laugh was a shout in the quiet room, shattering the tension. After a shocked moment, he smiled and watched her chest jiggle as she giggled. "Robbing the cradle, grandpa," she gasped.

I missed that, too. She really does have a nice laugh. "You'll get used to it. First time you get wrinkles, a bullet will fix that right up."

She stared up at him, a tremor running through her.

Me and my big fucking mouth, he thought, disgusted. There went any chance of this turning out happy. The Engineer's eyes narrowed. There's no way she went through respawn. It's bad, but she's still acting like death is permanent. Whatever happened, it ain't Solly. The Cook pulled away from his hand and the Engineer sighed. "Let's talk about something nicer."

She kept staring at him, the haunted expression back on her face. "No, no, now. It's okay, darlin'. Really. Let's talk about something else." He reached down to her arm, stroking it, mirroring what she'd done. "It'll be okay, I promise. Wanna hear how I got the other hand? It's an interesting story."

When she didn't respond, he decided to tell her anyway. He'd been using goats to test the teleporters, since goats were easy enough to get and ate just about anything. One of the little bastards had abruptly decided it was having no more of the whole thing, and he'd fallen while chasing it with his arm across the teleporter, accidentally setting it off. The cut had been neat as a ruler, and he'd been able to tourniquet it fast enough to go chasing after the goat, both slipping around in the blood like a Charlie Chaplain skit.

"I got the little bastard, too, while he was skidding around the corner of the counter. The Medic heard the yellin' and came in just in time to see me pounce on it with one hand, covered in blood. He was swearin' up a storm in German. That man ain't nearly as dignified as he lets on. We had goat for dinner, and the Medic and I whipped up another hand in a few days from plans my pa had drawn up." The Engineer sat up slightly and flexed the hand in the air. "This thing will let me do tiny work, and let me tell you, it's no small amount of help when I'm hauling equipment around all day."

She had cracked a smile during his explanation of the chase, the Engineer noted with relief, and seemed to relax. "Things ain't that bad, Cook, I promise," he said. "I really just want to hold you for awhile." The Engineer pulled her gently and she let him, coming to rest with her forehead pressed to his shoulder. She could feel his body loosen where it was pressed to hers.

Huh, she thought. He really did miss this. He wasn't kidding about being lonely. He smelled very faintly of soap, a sweet, clean smell. He took a shower for me, she thought. She very gently pressed a single kiss to the arc of his collarbone, flattered and touched that he would bother. He stiffened, then leaned into her, as if asking silently to be touched again. She obliged, pressing her lips to his collarbone.

He remembered Sunday mornings, his wife's warm, dreaming body beside his, the feel of her under his hands as she turned and sleepily reached for him, light and dust dancing over her skin. Her smile, warm with the knowledge that she was loved, when he'd brushed her sleep-tangled hair from her face. Leaning in to press kiss after kiss on his wife—tracing the edges of her shoulders, the column of her neck—while she giggled and moaned. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked down at the woman in his arms.

"I missed this," he said simply. "I ain't saying I wouldn't gleefully show you a few tricks, but I am saying that we ain't a cuddly bunch around here."

The Cook cocked her head, a quizzical expression on her face. "Solly said you used to be married."

He grunted, momentarily irritated. "Fuck. Nobody gossips like a bunch of mercenaries. Yes, I was. She was a wonderful woman, and I ain't in the mood to discuss it."

She drew herself back, looking vaguely disappointed, with a hint of out-thrust lower lip. That's pretty cute, he thought, amusement chasing the irritation away. The combination of petty defiance and petulance always had gotten to him. How the girl knew to pout at him, he had no idea, but it worked better than a charm. Consistently. He entertained the thought of kissing the pout off her face and decided to behave himself. She'd been upset not five minutes ago, and pushing it might bring her frozen grief back. The Engineer shifted, his back starting to ache from laying straight to hold her. "Roll over, little spoon."

The Cook rolled over with her back to him. "Little spoon," she complained, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Should start calling you big spoon?" The arm he wrapped around her ended in a chilly metal hand, and she flinched a little when it touched the skin of her arm, then forced herself to lay still. It would heat up. She looked down at it, at the long metal fingers and their small joints. It moved like a flesh hand, shifting and adjusting as she settled into the Engineer, fingers moving independently and delicately.

Maybe I'll push it a little and see what happens, he thought. She walked right into this one, and with a pout like that, maybe this is up her alley. "No, but when we do this again you can call me daddy."

The Cook's mouth hung open for a second. "That's… just dirty," she said, her voice deepening on the last word. Surprise chased shock, and a small spike of arousal followed them both, sending a thrill through her as surprise rushed back in. I didn't even know I had a thing or he has a thing and I... Her thoughts trailed off with a gust of breath, too loose to be a sigh.

Surprise, Missy, he thought, looking down at the top of her head. Well, she ain't running yet, and in for a penny, in for a pound. "The mind gets older, but the body hovers around 30, kid. Don't think for a second that grandpa don't have some bite in him. Wanna see it?"

She tilted her head back at that, looking up, and flushed. The Engineer's delighted laugh was as filthy as the expression on his face. "And here I was," he said in a low drawl, "wonderin' if you could still blush after what Heavy said at breakfast."

Well, she thought, her face painfully hot, at least I know I can still blush. My god, I didn't think he had it in him. How the hell did I miss something like this? "W-What," she said, her voice tentative, "do you mean by 'daddy'?"

"Is that an invitation?" She felt him tense behind her, breath warm on her forehead.

"Maybe." She slid her ass against him gently, tilting her head back down, and was rewarded with a brief grunt.

"Maybe," he breathed in her ear, "you should actually say so." Say it, he urged her silently. Say that you want me, too.

"All right ... Daddy. What did you have in mind?" Her tone was flirtatious, teasing.

I have to know, he thought. I have to know so that I don't do whatever it is and fuck this up. "Right, little girl, after you tell me what wound you up so tight."

The Cook sighed and looked down at the rumpled sheets. "The fucking BLU spy keeps sneaking into the base during the battle. I don't know what he wants, exactly, but he keeps coming into the kitchen and saying things." Her hands curled into fists. "Okay, I know some of what he wants. He says he wants to injure morale."

"I see." The Engineer rumbled. You sneaky BLU fuck, he thought. Nope, you're not getting this one. "How?"

"He asked if I was in the respawn system and I think he suggested rape."

The Engineer felt the rage like a kick in the chest, making him momentarily breathless. That son of bitch, he thought. That evil, no good son of a bitch. I am going to kill him coming and going, and I'm going to mop up what's left with fire. When he could speak again, he said, "that explains your mood."

At the first prickle of tears, she made a choked sound.

"Oh no," he said, tightening his arms. "No, now. We'll figure something out. We'll do something."

She bit her lower lip, staring through the walls of the room. Weak. Weak. Weak to cry. You can't let them see you cry. They'll never respect you.

The Engineer made low, soothing sounds in the back of his throat, cradling her and rocking gently. "It's okay," he said. "It'll be okay. We'll fuck him up good." I am going to personally kill that son of a bitch with my wrench. The sentries aren't nearly personal enough.

Suck it up, she thought, or he'll never respect you. "I cut him a little, you know." I am capable, she added silently, of defending myself. I am not helpless. Her tears trickled out of her nose and she sniffed hard, wiping at her upper lip. I am not helpless.

"Now that is something to be proud of. He's a slippery fucker." I am going to bash his head in all day tomorrow, all goddamn day. He took a sharp breath. "It ain't pretty, but this war of ours will eventually spill into your kitchen more often. I think we should spend time sparring with you. Solly said he'd take you shooting tomorrow, but for knife work, you'll need Sniper and Spy, god help you. They are experts, but…."

The Cook said nothing, a creeping, alarming numbness spreading through her chest as her body went limp. I should have known, she thought. I should have known not to take the job. The offer was too good and I should have known when everyone disappeared from my life that something shitty was going to happen.

"RED takes the best," the Engineer said, noting her stillness. "Half of us are assassins. Some of us are ex-military. The rest are just…hell… enthusiastic amateurs. Psychotic amateurs."

After a short pause, she spoke, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Pyro, right?"

"Yep, I wouldn't turn my back to that little bastard if he didn't have someone else to burn." Good thing she won't be on the field, he added silently. 'Cause watching that little fucker go to town on someone turns everyone's stomach.

"And what are you, Engie?" The question was almost accusatory—she wanted him to tell her that he was a bad man, and that she should run. She wanted to run. And go where, honey, she thought. Can't find a job right now, and who knows what the company would do if I tried to run. Had they all tried to run? Were they there because they wanted to be there? The man behind her took a short breath, and she could feel him shake his head, his breath somewhere above her head and the sharp point of his chin on her scalp, stubble catching on her hair. Is this the honeymoon period, she thought. What comes after this?

The Engineer bit his lower lip. It was an obvious enough question, but one that kept him awake at night sometimes, idly tinkering with his little side projects as a way to deal with his chronic insomnia and not think about his wife. Ain't that the million dollar question, he thought. What the hell am I doin' here? Of course, the answer is that there's parts of this job I like. RED had me over a barrel, too, and not for small talk.

He sighed heavily before responding. "My family is complicated, little girl. We've been working for RED for a damn long time. I'll be the last, but at this rate, I'm all they'll need." He paused. She had loosened some, but seemed to be waiting for something. "You okay in there?"

She felt like laughing, honest to god laughter that might be anything from simple amusement to a precursor to sobs. Oh yeah, she thought, I'm on a locked base in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of professional killers and the invisible man threatened to rape me today. I'm fantastic. "Would you just hold me for awhile?"

"Yeah," he said, the words coming out of his mouth in a gush, before he could stop himself, "but if you're in the mood, I'd be happy to oblige."

Please, she thought. Make me forget. Make me think about something else. The body, warm behind her, fit neatly into the curve of her back, his slight belly filling the curve of her spine and arms a solid weight around her chest under her breasts. The metal hand had warmed from contact with her. Please, make me feel good. "You know, Daddy," she said her voice cracking slightly, "I think I'm game if you are."

"That's my girl," he said, kissing her scalp gently and bending to reach her neck. There was a spot, he thought, on most women, right about—she shivered, and her mouth hung open slightly. He smiled into the side of her neck. Bingo. He nuzzled the side of her neck, teasing that spot first with his breath, then brushing it with his lips and sending goose bumps down her body. She moved in a long, slow wave, rolling the curve of her ass against the crotch of his overalls. When he opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick a small, firm stripe against that spot on her neck, she clutched at the hand and arm thrown over her, lacing her fingers through his metal ones.

The Engineer lifted his head and whispered in her ear. "Good girl."

She responded with a quiet moan, and he tightened his arm around her, trapping her arm and hand against her stomach. "Good, good girl." He went back to that spot on her neck and sucked it into his mouth, setting his teeth gently against it. When she made a greedy, needy little grunt he bit down into the heavy band of muscle beneath the skin, carefully increasing the pressure as she writhed. Huh, he thought. Okay, a little pain, too, and some confinement. Wonder how she reacts to being told what to do.

The Cook's eyes were closed, the spiky heat of pain warming her, emptying her mind. She could feel herself go limp with the hard pressure of his teeth. His stubble was rough against the tender skin of her neck, pricking, and the wet heat of his mouth soothed her around the teeth that bit down harder and harder until she made a choked sound. Fuck me, she thought. Oh god, please. Fuck me.

He released her neck, giving the reddened skin a lingering, tickling kiss and released her hand and arm, rolling away from her. An edge of seriousness and anticipation colored his tone as he spoke. "Off goes the clothes, Missy, and let's see what we're dealing with."

The Cook smiled, relieved—no thinking, just doing. Exactly what she wanted. She crawled off the bed and stood, undressing slowly, staring at the Engineer's face. Show me, she thought, her shirt sliding off her arms and puddling on the floor by her feet. Show me what you want. Show me you want me.

He put both hands behind his head, propping it up, and watched the edge of her bra emerging from her shirt, the scalloped edges of lace framing heavy mounds. Pretty little thing, he thought. Pretty lacy underwear. He made a mental note to order her more for the pleasure of watching it emerge from the practical, unflattering clothing she wore to work. When she unlatched the bra, her breasts gave a single, heavy bounce and he wanted to bury his head between them, to bite the pale, unmarked skin and pin her to the bed. Her hands moved to the button on her jeans and as she pushed them down, he noted with approval that she didn't shave, a few reddish hairs escaping the sides of her surprisingly small panties. Flaming red all over, he thought. And, if he was a betting man, pink as hell on lips and nipples.

As it turned out, he was right—tight from the chill in the room, her nipples were candy pink. God bless redheads, he thought. "Very nice."

He pulled a hand out from behind his head and twirled it. Come on, show me you can be obedient.

The look on his face—commanding, stern, but with an edge of mischievous amusement—she realized she was smiling and twirled for him, ending flat-footed and laughing, hair falling around her like a veil from which the points of her nipples peeked. "Should I try to plié, too? Do you have a tutu?"

His brain froze for a moment, picturing her twirling in nothing but a pink tutu, hints of flame-bright pubic hair peeking out from under the edges of pink tulle. "Now that's a thought." He pushed the goggles up his forehead and pulled them off with a rubbery snap. "I can't imagine it'd be that hard to make one, and it'd be damn cute to watch you serve dinner in nothing but a pink tutu."

She wouldn't make it through dinner, he thought. One of us would have her bent over the table. Hell, he thought, with a spike of amusement, more than one of us. Dinner and a show.

The Cook clutched her arms to her chest and laughed, her belly rolling and breasts jiggling. "What do you do all damn day, Engie, that you come up with this so easily?"

"I've spent the last week, since you agreed to let us fuck you, trying not to think about tying you down and paddling your ass pink." And fucking you until you can't stand up, he added silently. Every single time you've bent over I've thought about dragging you into a closet, or a spare room, or my room, or anywhere with a horizontal surface.

The Cook blinked and bit her lower lip, thinking about squirming naked on his lap. A wave of tingling warmth swept across her ass at the thought of being bent over his lap, with that hard metal hand holding her down and the warm one spanking her like a naughty child, the rough edge of his voice telling her to be a good girl for daddy. She reached toward her clit for a moment, then clasped her hands together in front of herself.

Jesus H. Christ, he thought. I am going to fuck this girl blind and send the Administrator a gift in the morning. "See, not a bad thought, is it?"

She caught his eyes and deliberately pliéd, spreading her knees and dipping, the wet edges of her cunt opening and giving him a peek of pink lips.

"And now I have to give you a swat for being a tease." The Engineer pushed off the bed with a grunt. He flexed both hands, then raised them to the hooks on his overalls, rolling them down over his erection with care. She grinned at him and did it again, then turned around and wriggled her ass at him. "Oh, that was very naughty. I'll have to do something about that right smart, Missy."

From behind her, she heard his overalls slither to the floor and started to turn.

"Nope. March that cute ass over to the chest of drawers and bend over." A boot fell over with a quiet thud. Over her shoulder, she stuck out her tongue at him.

"You keep that up and I'll use the cold hand."

Her shiver shook the globes of her ass, and he watched it quiver as he crossed the room. "I don't know where they dug you up, Missy, but I'd clone you if I could to have one around all the time." The Engineer laid a warm hand against her ass and sighed. "Look at that, look at that." His knuckles brushed her cheeks, and he ran light, warm fingers down her thighs. "Shiver a little, just like that." The warm, teasing fingers tickled a line up her thigh, brushing her lips and pulling back when she leaned into them. "Not yet, you don't. Not until you've had your medicine."

He kicked her ankles apart, and gently pressed her head down flat on the chest of drawers. "You can hold a position for me, little girl, can't you?"

"Try me, Daddy."

He stepped back, admiring the view. The heavy globes of her ass were parted with her legs, the edges of her lips peeking through the bright red hair. The Engineer could smell her—wet, salty, and sweet. Little droplets of moisture, pearly, dotted her hair. He could just see the pucker of her ass, pink like the rest of her and startling against her pale skin. She shifted slightly, nervous, and he grinned. Anticipation was a fine thing.

The first smack was relatively gentle, almost tentative, and laid a quick warmth across her cheek. He paused, waiting for her to wriggle, and the following lick lifted her off her feet.

She gasped, digging her fingers into the wooden edges on either side of the bureau.

"Can't let this be predictable, little girl, or you won't learn a damn thing from it."

The next three whallops grew progressively harder, and after the last stinging slap, he went back to tickling the throbbing skin with the calloused edges of his fingertips. Her foot slipped and she fell forward as he dipped a finger into her—good god, he thought, she is wet and silky—before slapping both cheeks briskly.

"That, little girl, is for moving. Be still."

As the skin of her ass heated with each slap, she sagged onto the wood of the chest of drawers and started to make muffled squeals, lips pressed into the wood. The pain burned, sharp and fine, and she could feel her lips sliding together with every jolt. She dragged her lips mindlessly across the wood, looking for more sensation, saliva in little puddles under her cheek. Her eyes prickled, tears and spit smearing across her cheeks.

Oh no you don't, the Engineer thought, I want to hear it. I want them all to hear it. "Turn your head so I can hear you," he snapped.

She turned her head and yelped at the next strike. The Engineer laughed. "That's the noise. Keep it up."

He stopped just short of bruising, when her ass had gone a deep red and she was sobbing into the wood. The Engineer panted, as much from the desire to be in her as from the exertion of spanking her. Her skin was hot against his hand, and he could see the wet mess across her face. He shivered. "Well, I'd make you open your mouth about now, but I don't need the help." The Cook felt him pick up her hips and nudge her shaking knees together slightly. "Don't fall, little girl. Stay right there."

She hugged the now warm wood, wet with tears, and waited. The Engineer swore behind her, and a drawer slammed shut. "Where did I put the damn…. There it is." Another drawer closed and she heard his footsteps come closer.

"Now, you can always tell me to stop, but I find after a good spank, this is helpful." Something behind her began to buzz and she made an involuntary whimper. He traced the outside of her lips, just brushing them with the vibrator as she squirmed to chase it. "We'll get there in a minute, greedy girl." The Engineer gave her a quick spank and she went still, letting him tease her lips until finally settling it on her clit with a grunt.

She came immediately, a rush of sparks behind her eyes and her knees shuddering. The Engineer turned her sideways, putting her knee over his shoulder, and held the vibrator to her now over-sensitive clit. She looked up at him, red-faced and shaking, unable to frame the words to tell him that it very nearly hurt. He reached down and guided himself into her, fighting the muscles that were clamped down against him. She was soaking wet, her knees twitching, the muscles of her cunt easing apart slowly and tugging at him. "Sensitive are we? You're milking me near to death in there. Say 'please, daddy,' and I'll take it off for a second."

She took a few heavy breaths, unable to think. He stayed still, buried deep inside her and twitching gently. I can't, she thought, panicked. I can't say it.

The smile on his face was ruthless, even somewhat evil, drawing his eyes up at the corners into a pleased smirk. "Say it, little Girl, or this is staying on." He moved ever so slightly, sending a surge of electric sparks up her spine to join the painful tingling of her clit, watching her gasp. Beg me, little Girl, he thought. Beg me and hope I stop.

The words gushed out of her. "Please, Daddy."

He grunted, cock twitching heavily. "Get used to those words, because I'm going to make you love them. All right, little Girl, but only for a little while. When you start to get looser again, it's going back on." He pulled the vibrator away and switched it off, putting it on the bureau beside her head. Gripping the leg thrown over his shoulder, he pulled himself back and slammed forward, knocking a choked gasp from her. Her eyes closed and her head tipped down, pillowed on the arm underneath her. With every jolt, he rubbed her, slick and stroking the walls of her cunt. She moaned, the cooler skin of his hip hitting the blushing skin of her ass and sending small, electric shocks through her. Each stoke tightened the muscles of her back, her stomach, the leg against his chest a rigid column and calf wrapped around his shoulder. Her free hand scrabbled against the wood, finally grabbing the edge of the bureau, knuckles white against the thin skin across them.

When the muscles of her cunt finally loosened, he picked the vibrator back up and switched it on next to her ear, making her whole body twitch. Her hips scooted forward to present her clit as he lowered it, the angle making him push harder against the wall inside her. "Lord," he said softly, reverently, and took a breath. His tone sharpened into command. "I want another one, little Girl. And another, and another. If I'm not dripping on the floor, after being in you, I'm going to be very, very angry."

At the sound of his voice, her thighs flexed, and her orgasm was like a shot, tearing through her with a ragged scream that echoed in the room. Her red face was tilted back and up, scream opening her mouth so that he could see down into the wet cavern of her throat.

"Oh just like that, little Girl. Just like that."

The third orgasm came teasingly, building high and stopping until she wanted to hit something, then building high again. When it broke over her, she choked, muscles locked up so tight she forgot to breathe. He clutched her thigh to him and came in her as she curled into the orgasm. They stayed locked together, swaying, eyes closed for a few seconds.

"Christ, little Girl. I ain't come that hard in a long time." He spread his knees slightly and looked down at the floor. "Yep, that is, in fact, a tiny puddle. Good Girl."

She muttered something, her eyelids fluttering.

"I think we'd better get you over to the bed. Can you walk?"

She muttered again, still boneless.

"That's a no, I think. Upsie-daisy." He pulled himself out of her and scooped her up, laying her on his bed, close to the wall. He lay down behind her, pulling a blanket over them both and killing the overhead light with a remote by the bed. She pulled his arm under her head with surprising strength and nestled down into the warmth of his body with a small, contented sigh.

He pulled his arm slightly and she dug the fingers of both hands into the skin. "Oh hell," he said. "I'll take it back later."

The Engineer leaned forward, pressing his lips to the back of her neck. "I think you'll recover, but I'm beat. The vibrator is over there, and feel free to help yourself. But now, little girl, I'm going to pass the fuck out."

She raised a boneless arm and waved aimlessly in the air. Her mind was full of pink fluff, thoughtless with satisfaction. Every muscle in her body was warm and loose, with a heated twinge from her core telling her she was going to be deliciously sore the next day. Her legs twitched occasionally, involuntarily, against his, little shivers that filled him with a sense of accomplishment.

A job well done, he thought, thoughts already slowing as he began to fall asleep. Top that, motherfuckers. "Good night, little Girl."

She answered with a quiet snore.