Chapter 133: Still Here (R18)

"Come on." Vera pulled again.

The half-height service door gave her one right boot of clearance before the hinge ground upward and dropped into grit, leaving Dane too wide for the gap.

The next tug climbed her left shoulder. "Stop. It’s starting to help, and Ada will hear it."

Ada heard anyway. "It had better not."

The others were awake along the balcony behind them. While cloth tightened around Lye Scar’s straight left leg, Serrick repacked the dry tools; two coffer feet held Voss upright, and its other four tapped at the empty litter support. With Brant listening toward the central fall, Kril crouched beside Vera and worked one sheath tip under the door.

Orsa put the broken end of her pole through the gap. "Dry floor. Old valve stone. Air slot in the rear wall. I don’t see water, a body, or another way out."

"Lower hinge is packed," Serrick said. "Lift before you pull."

Vera changed hands. Her right took the door ring. Kril raised the bottom edge with his sheathed blade while Serrick scraped a crust of shell from the hinge pocket. The door came inward a handspan and struck Dane’s dead front-left rail.

Wood knocked wood.

"You tried to enter wrong," Vera said.

Dane backed off the jamb. Between the ferrule on his right quarter and the dead rail projecting left, a straight entry gave the doorway both bad answers at once.

Ada’s fingers followed the outer bridge and stopped beside the old split. "Sound half first. Turn until the dead strip clears, then back in. Keep the ferrule off the threshold."

Dane turned his sound wheel toward the opening. His rear corner passed the jamb. The late wheel followed with its familiar hesitation, bringing the ferrule close enough for its lower wedge to whisper over stone.

Vera put her right palm on sound grain. "One finger toward me."

He gave it to her. The wedge cleared.

He backed through sideways with Vera walking beside him and Ada guarding the ferrule until the whole wounded Wagon rested inside the little room. The service door remained open around Vera. Everyone else stayed beyond it.

Marda’s boot settled at the dogleg. "Kril and I have the water. We move after this watch."

"I heard you the first time," Vera said.

"Then I have exhausted my contribution."

Marda returned to the overlook while the others went on packing for the next move.

Vera searched it herself, crossing the stone in short lines. A knuckle sounded the valve pedestal; her fingers swept the wall niche, then reached high enough to test the air slot.

"Cool air. Thumb wide. Opens away from the fall." She landed and tried the wooden bar twice. "Door bars from our side."

The old shell grit sounded under her sole. She swept most of it toward the wall with a scrap of stiff cloth, missing the layer ground nearly flat against the stone.

From the doorway, Ada checked the bridge, rod one, and the old split. Her hand withdrew.

Vera put her ration wrap and damp cloak outside. Her weapon belt stayed inside, laid along the wall where she could reach it without crossing Dane’s mouth. Then she drew the door shut and dropped the bar.

Beyond wood and stone, the central fall became a dull weight. Kril’s sheath scraped once at the packed seam; farther down the balcony, someone coughed and turned over. Vera waited with her back against the door.

Dane could taste the salt that remained on her breath. Beneath it came warm skin, sweat dried twice and dampened again, and the pulse in the wrist resting beside the bar.

His lid band pulled.

He turned his closed mouth toward the door until his front teeth faced old wood. The sound-rear half of his body opened to the room behind him. His tongue stayed under the Wagon bed.

Vera’s hand left the bar. "Thank you."

She waited at the door until the pull in his lid eased.

While the pull in his lid eased, leather loosened around one boot and then the other. Barefoot, she crossed to his sound-rear corner and rested her palm on living grain above the wheel.

"I wanted you while Kril’s fingers were under that axle," she said. "I wanted you when I had my leg against you on watch. I still want you."

Her thumb moved once along an intact seam.

"I want sex now. Do you?"

Dane folded a broad sound-rear plane toward her thigh. Warmth rose through it before contact. He struck the floor once.

Vera let out a breath and leaned her forehead against his grain.

"Red or three. We remember."

The offered grain stayed a finger from her thigh.

The ties at her waist came loose. Cloth slid over her hips and gathered around her ankles; she stepped free and kicked it toward the wall. Her shirt followed more slowly. One sleeve caught at her left elbow. She swore under her breath, freed it with her right hand, and left the shirt crumpled beneath the air slot.

Cool air moved over her while the pulse at Dane’s rear corner quickened.

Both hands received his offered plane. The left stayed low, fingers spread without bearing weight; her right pressed harder over broad grain and the narrow living seam beneath it.

"Last time I told you where to put everything," she said. "I don’t want to do that again. If you want me closer, move."

Dane raised the plane into her palms.

Her breath warmed his rear band. "There you are."

She stepped across him with one foot planted on each side, knees bent, all her weight still carried by stone. The plane came between her thighs. Dane stopped well below her.

Vera lowered herself.

The first contact was hair and the inside of one thigh. She shifted forward, and the warm grain pressed broad against her vulva.

Her grip closed on his seam.

Dane met the pressure with a shallow rise.

Vera’s hips jerked, then settled. "Again."

He waited until she began moving and rose into her return.

She dragged herself over the living grain, slow enough for the change in friction to reach every grounded strut. Her feet slid farther apart. The left hand left his plane and braced on her own thigh, keeping that shoulder down. Her right held the seam and pulled whenever she wanted him higher.

Warm moisture changed the drag beneath her. Dane flexed the plane as she moved forward and let it ease when she drew away. On the third return, he lifted before her hand asked.

Vera stopped over him.

Then she ground down hard enough to answer.

Pleasure crossed Dane’s rear hinge and disappeared into four uneven contacts with the floor. Vera rolled her hips. When she lifted, Dane followed farther than he meant to; her next stroke caught him rising.

Vera moved faster. Her right heel began to leave the stone at the end of each stroke. She caught herself, lowered it, and bent deeper over him.

"Don’t go careful on me now."

Dane tilted into the next movement.

She made a sound against his grain and nearly lost her right hand. The palm returned with more force. Her left stayed on her thigh, useless for balance and trembling with the effort of keeping out of it.

Dane unfolded one fine living surface beside her right knee. He left it broad and motionless.

Vera found it with two fingers. She drew it up the inside of her thigh, stopped before it reached her, and pressed its rounded side against the outer edge of her vulva.

"Here. Move when I move."

She resumed before the sentence had settled.

Her weight stayed in her legs while the broad plane took the friction. The smaller surface followed the angle she had set, adding pressure only when her thighs closed around it. Dane met her from beneath, no longer waiting for every instruction. Once he moved too soon and pushed her off the line she wanted.

Vera caught the fine surface and shoved it down. "You missed."

He lowered it.

"Keep going. Farther out."

Dane returned it wider and farther out. Her hips found the pressure on the next stroke. The sound she gave him had no words in it.

Her pace lost its evenness. Some movements came hard and short; others lingered until the heat at Dane’s seam throbbed beneath her palm. The stone under his sound-rear contact began to rasp.

He felt the grit move too late.

The outer end of the living support walked one finger-width toward his damaged quarter. Vera’s foot slipped with it. Her left arm came off her thigh by reflex and failed halfway to the floor.

The lower ferrule wedge tapped stone.

Dane dropped the support.

Every living surface flattened and pulled clear. Vera’s right hand and right knee struck the floor. Her left elbow stayed folded against her ribs. The loss of her warmth left Dane cold from rear seam to wheel.

Neither of them moved.

Vera breathed through her teeth. Once. Twice.

"Right knee and hand took it. My left side missed." She shifted carefully. "I can move everything."

Dane held all four contacts flat. The ferrule wedge rested free again, but he could still hear its small tap in the hollow behind rod one.

Vera sat back on her heels. The room cooled around the space she had occupied.

Her palm found sound grain, well away from the ferrule, and rested there while he lay flat and cold.

"Still here?"

Dane struck once.

He warmed only the grain beneath her palm.

Vera’s fingers spread as her forehead touched him for one breath. Her laugh arrived too quietly to become a joke.

Testing the right knee as she stood, she collected her shirt from beneath the air slot. She folded it twice and put it on the stone beside Dane’s sound wheel.

"Lower," she said. "I am done trying to stand over you."

Dane lowered the living support until its inner edge rested a palm above the floor. The sound-rear contact stayed planted. All load remained on sound grain.

Vera lay on her right side with the folded shirt beneath her shoulder. Her left arm rested across her waist. She bent both knees, feet on stone, and drew the warm plane between her thighs.

The posture left them cramped. Vera reached between her legs and pulled Dane against her with the fingers of her other hand hooked low on an intact seam.

"Come here."

Dane pressed warm grain along her vulva.

She moved her hand between them. Her fingertips found her clitoris, and the first small circle tightened both thighs around his plane. Dane tilted toward that pressure. Vera pushed back with one bare foot against the sound wheel.

The wheel turned a fraction under her sole.

Her breath left in a startled rush. "That. Keep doing that when I press."

Dane turned the warm wheel face as her heel pushed. The motion lifted the low support by a smaller fraction against her. Her left fingers slipped from the seam twice before finding a hold that spared her shoulder.

She continued touching herself, her fingers quicker than the rocking of her hips. Dane answered her heel with his own shallow return and let her hand keep its pace.

Vera’s wetness spread warm across the grain. Her toes tightened over the wheel. Each time her fingers slowed, Dane felt her attention move to the seam in his body, kneading it with the pads of her left fingers.

The contact entered him too cleanly.

He tried to hold the plane steady for her. Vera pushed with her heel, rolled her hips, and gripped the seam at the same moment. The rear hinge kicked under her hand.

Dane’s sound strut slid and caught. The open plane bowed against Vera, recovered too far, and shuddered. Her grip tightened; pressure tore through him faster than he could brace, and the floor stopped arriving in one piece.

His fine surface twitched against her thigh. The warm support pulsed once, sagged, and returned in an uneven realignment that carried no rhythm he could control.

Vera froze with her fingers pressed against herself.

Dane fought the last tremor down through his struts. Warmth came back in patches.

"Was that you?"

He managed one knock with the sound wheel.

Vera put her face against his plane. Her shoulders shook once. The laugh stayed trapped between them until she could breathe.

"Oh, you bastard. Now?"

Dane kept the grain against her while warmth drained out of it.

"Don’t you dare go cold," she said. "I was close."

He warmed under her at once.

"Stay warm."

Their polished rhythm was gone. His hinge answered late, and the wheel wanted to settle after every turn. Vera reached for the seam again; her shoulder cramped hard enough to pull a curse out of her.

She stopped.

Dane flattened the fine surface. The low support eased to resting contact while he turned the sound wheel until its warm face touched the outside of her ankle.

Vera breathed against the folded shirt. Her left arm loosened across her waist.

"Still here," she said. "Give me a breath."

He held the wheel at her ankle.

Her breathing slowed. The fingers of her right hand remained between her legs, motionless but still touching herself. When the cramp released, she shifted her left hand onto her own hip instead of reaching for Dane again.

"Keep the heat there. I’m close enough to finish myself."

Dane pressed the low plane against her with the heat he could still gather. Vera pushed her heel into the wheel. He answered with the shallow turn and felt her hips roll into him.

Her right hand began moving again.

Her fingers kept the quicker rhythm while Dane’s pressure braced her. Each heel press brought his warmth tighter along her vulva. Her thighs closed around him; the right shook first, then the left joined while the cramped shoulder lay slack.

Vera said his name once, low and angry. Her heel drove harder into the wheel.

Dane turned the wheel under her heel and held the plane where she drove herself against it.

Her fingers stopped in a hard press over her clitoris. Her hips jerked forward. The muscles along her thighs and pelvis contracted around Dane’s living grain in quick, irregular pulls. She folded over her own hand, breath breaking against the shirt, and kept her heel planted on his wheel until the last contraction let go.

Dane simply held the warmth.

Vera lay with her knees drawn up, one hand still between them and the other covering her face.

"If you start acting ashamed because you finished first, I am going to be offended."

Dane’s wheel edged away from her ankle.

Her hand dropped from her face. "That guilty retreat is worse. Come back."

He returned the warm face to her skin.

They separated slowly. Vera moved her own hand first, then opened her thighs while Dane lowered the plane to stone. She sat up, touched her right knee, rolled the shoulder that had cramped, and found no new pain.

"Anything hurt?"

Dane settled his grounded contacts in order. The ferrule bridge traveled home without scraping; rod one sat at its established depth, and the split held its old width. He knocked twice.

"Ada gets the next opinion when we open the door."

Vera cleaned herself with water from her marked cup and a square of cloth. She asked before wiping the living plane. Dane answered once. The cloth was cool; her hand behind it was tired and unhurried. She stayed away from the ferrule and every dead edge without needing to name them.

When the grain was clean, she dressed halfway. Trousers and boots returned. The shirt remained folded on the floor.

She sat beside the sound wheel with her back against the valve stone and stretched her bare right calf across its warm face.

Beyond the barred door, Kril changed the angle of a sheath against the dry seam. Buk’s mutter blurred back into sleep. The coffer answered with two quiet feet and four restless taps.

Vera’s calf stayed where she had put it.

Dane kept the wheel warm.