Her head drooped. "But I'm starting to hate all the people I have to save. I keep wondering if I should mess someone up on purpose, just so they won't rely on me as much."

"I don't think you're becoming a villain," I said comfortingly as I put an arm around her shoulder in a loose hug. "I think you're just spending too much time working. You need something to do to recharge your batteries, a hobby. I know!" I grabbed her by the shoulders so she couldn't escape hearing my brilliant idea. "You're pretty much a doctor already, so why not take up golf?"

Amy broke down in a fit of giggles, and I followed. Once we managed to stop, Any looked very sober for how drunk she was. "There's something else," she said.

"What is it?"

Amy shuffled around so she was looking right at me, and took a deep breath and said, "I love you, Vicky. I mean, I'm in love with you."

I was stunned, but could tell she was waiting to see how I'd react. I glanced down at myself before I answered. "Well, I can't say I blame you, Ames."

"I'm serious, Vicky," she said. "That's the real reason I don't touch brains. Not because I'm afraid I'll mess up, but because I'm afraid that, if I start working on brains, I'll just force you to love me."

I didn't know how to react. "I could do it," Amy continued. "It would be easy. So, so easy. How am I not a villain, Vicky? What kind of good person wants to act like Heartbreaker, and on their own sister?" I sat stunned as Amy broke down in tears. But only for a few seconds before I did the only thing I could do. I grabbed my sister and hugged her as tight as she could take.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked. "How can you trust me like this after what I just told you?"

"It's not because of what you just told me. It's because of what you have and haven't done," I said. "You've never hurt anyone with your power, and that's why I still trust you."

I could hear Amy's sobs change to tears of relief and joy. "So you aren't freaked out about me being in love with you?" she asked.

"Nah," I said. "Like I said, you've got good taste." She giggled a bit. We sat there for a bit before I had an idea. "Hey, Ames?"

"Yeah?"

"If you weren't worried about forcing me to love you, do you think you might be willing to do brains?"

"Yeah, maybe."

I hesitated for a second before suggesting, "How about you make me bi?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

"I think it'll be safer if you're asleep."

"Okay. Good night, Ames."

"Good night, Vicky."

Bug In The Dragon's Bed

(Автор: Blessed Dreams)

My heart thudded in my chest as I felt the cold hardness of a metal wall at my back. My neck burned hot where Lung's hand gripped me. He stood with his left fist pinning me against the wall, the other raised and ready, skin sheened in sweat and breathing fast. On his brow, a bloody furrow in his flesh drew together and mended itself, testament to one glorious moment in which I'd come that close to blinding him. The few other abrasions I had managed were already healed. My torn nail was not healing, nor was anything else.

"Last words?"

Lung's question was arrogant in delivery, pitiless in manner. Every way I looked at it, turned it around in my head, it was undeniable — he fully intended to kill me here and now. Not one week in the Birdcage and I was done, after months of inquest and show trial. I expected it, after Dragon's mournful discussion of the requirement that the prison be kept free of vermin. I had been a powerhouse on the outside; Skitter was a feared name and rightly so. Here there were no bugs.

I breathed heavily, fast, almost panting, eyes darting about. My surroundings were Bastille in the proper sense of the title, nothing I might grasp or dislodge as a weapon even were I free of Lung's grasp. Some few prisoners watched intently. That should not have surprised me, and I was not sure that I even was, but something of the sensation of observing them observing me was familiar in a way that ached worse than a hit from Lung.

I could vouch for that.

What I could not do was let this happen. The thought of dying here, I hated with all the passion that I was not presently devoting to hating Lung. Risk of death, I could deal with. Death for my goals, I'd put on the line more than once. Death on account of a grudge, hidden from the sun, so many things left unfinished? This I could not abide.

Even so, I could not fight Lung. I had attempted it knowing this, lacking better options. When I'd attempted negotiation, Lungs replied that he required retribution. My death, by all appearances. I had no physical strength to contest his, no weapons at hand. My power offered only proof that the Birdcage was free of bedbugs and lice. Lung cared nothing for threats of retaliation, even if any I might make were credible. I had in my possession thin cotton clothes, glasses, and slippers. The pittance of toiletries I had possessed were gone from where I let them fall, already stolen.

I had nothing on me. I had nothing.. and I could not let it end here. I looked to Lung's face and met his gaze.

"Do you have a woman? Someone who looks after you, warms your bed?"

As soon as the words were spoken I wished them back. Lung was emphatically not my type, in every way other than being sufficiently male and possessing a discernably masculine build. But the offer was made, and it was a compelling one. With his status, Lung might arrange companionship as he saw fit. With what he brought to the table, he could probably find his way into most of the beds outside Block E.

I was the only girl down here he knew from before. Only remaining girl; Bakuda was dead by his hand, I reminded myself. I'd defeated him on the outside, cruelly and more than once. Sex he could get from many, but the satisfaction of taking an enemy to bed, and being seen to do it? As I said the words, Lung's eyes had widened. Then brightened.

Yeah. Putting that on the table? It spoke to him.

In the privacy of my mind, I cursed every self-righteous, arrogant clump of filth participating in the operation of the Birdcage, from Dragon to the delivery boy.

"How long to heal?"

Lung's eyes tightened. I kept it from my face, but inside I smiled. That took him down a notch, even as I scrabbled for some sort of justification for a time limit to my forthcoming indenture.

"Months. Two, and some."

"Three months. I look after you properly," with all my will, I set my lips in my best Lisa-smile, "and you look after me."

I wondered how it looked. I'd practiced expressions, but this one, not so much. Was I sexy? Deranged? Some combination thereof, or just a pathetic washboard grabbing for attention? I needed this to happen so badly. I had no backup plan here, no secret strategy or holdout to reveal.

Progress: Lung's fist came away from my throat. My breathing had not been restricted, but the sensation of relief was palpable. Lung stepped back, and the relief intensified. It lasted until his hands went to his pants and unsnapped his fly, leaving it open at the top as he adjusted his feet to the side, widening his stance.

Lung stood there, fly open, the beginnings of a smile on his face. This was it, the moment of truth.

It came to my mind that if I wanted Lung to suffer one last crippling indignity, that could happen. He had to know that.. knew he could grow it back, to be sure, but that he'd have no joy of the wounding. I contemplated this across the space of several moments, as I nodded in response to Lung. Whatever course of action, the next few steps were the same.

Only the slightest swivel in my hips as I stepped forward; I had no confidence in my ability to do more without looking grotesquely amateurish. I was careful as I took a knee before Lung, and as smoothly as I might, slid the other leg out and put the knee down. While I leaned back, it felt precarious; as I shifted my weight forward onto the front of my knees, I found balance, my face precariously close to Lung's crotch.

I considered pretending. Closing my eyes, thinking of Brian. It wouldn't be so difficult.. but it would mar those memories. Meld them together with memories of Lung, and I didn't want that. Wanted my memories of Brian to stay separate, sacrosanct. I had no idea if it could even work that way.

My hands reached up, pulled Lung's fly open. The pants I left on, I did not want to see more of him at this moment than I needed to verify the transaction. With the fly pulled open to its fullest Lung's briefs were exposed, and with them his bulge.

A moment later, mood whiplash, as manic giggles threatened my facade. I contemplated Lung's bulge, suppressed the untimely mirth. Lung's bulge! It was right there. Immediate action was needed, laughing at Lung's dick would make my day but likely end it too. I reached out with my right hand, set it against the bulge, cupping it and kneading slightly. In seconds, I felt more definition under my fingertips. Lung exhaled audibly.

It was the work of less than a minute to tease Lung's cock to solidity, his shaft hard through the thin cotton cloth. I considered the briefs, and my left hand joined my right on them. With an abrupt yank, I tore Lung's briefs open at the top. That seemed like the appropriate sort of statement to make here in the Cage.

There were murmurs from the crowd. I looked up through my hair, met Lung's eyes. He smiled broadly, practically radiating smug approval. I tossed my hair, got most of it clear, and a moment later Lung's hands grasped my hair, collected it, tucked it back. How thoughtful.

I'd waited a few moments for an odor, and I was thankful to find little. Lung practised proper hygiene at the very least. That was not a small thing, really. His thing wasn't small either, at around six inches. He was, quite emphatically, giving me what Emma had once called the helmet-head salute. I took it in hand, my left, gently gripping his shaft at the base. It was warm.

The normality of this heartened me. I put no stock in rumors of a prehensile dragon dick or other such PHO absurdity, I knew better from my first night out as a cape. He hung to his right. Without using his power, the texture of his skin was little different from mine. Even so, I was taken aback by the ease with which I'd taken Lung's nether bits in hand.

With some reluctance, I concluded that it probably mattered that his was the first intimate contact I'd had with another human in nearly half a year. Lung might not be much of a person, but he was a functional physical specimen. I ached for some sort of affirmation of my humanity, and I needed protection too. That was enough to decide the matter. I hadn't really wanted to die with bloody wang in my mouth in any case, that was just gross.

With my left I squeezed and released, with my right I cupped. My right index and forefinger, I slid back behind his sack, there to circle slowly as Lung groaned his pleasure. For a moment, I thought to look up again, meet Lung's eyes as I took him into my mouth, but I'd done that twice already. Couldn't overplay the same affectations if I expected them to have impact. Didn't really want to see his face. No, it was time to get down to business.

Lung's balls still warm in one hand, I loosened my grip with the other, let my fingers fall away with only a whisper of friction. I lowered my face and simply bumped his cock up and out of my way with my nose as I stuck my tongue out and tapped the tip as low on his shaft as I could get it without hitting hair. Swirled it, eliciting a gasp, and another as I licked his sack front to back. It was a little awkward kneeling like this, pushing myself under him, but my hands were free now to brace against his legs and chest. Through my hands I could feel the tension in him as I slurped his sack most of the way into my mouth, gently working it with lips and tongue.

I suckled them some more, felt his balls move against the sack as I suckled them, letting them pop from my mouth one moment to take them back the next. I felt above my head with my left hand, and easily found the shaft; as rigid as oak, now. One last suckling and release, and I decided enough was enough. A brief examination of my handiwork showed Lung's cock flushed and rigid, a small bubble of glistening fluid at the tip.

I leaned forward and put my tongue to his balls, motioning as if to resume, then went the other way. One long stroke of the tongue up the underside of Lung's shaft and the tip of my tongue reached his tip. One brief swirl there, and I took him in my mouth.

"Fuck!"

Lung growled a single word as he quivered, likely on the edge of release; he had one fist tight in my hair now. Others whispered and muttered, some of it loud enough to catch; the peanut gallery approved. Good. Let them long for what they'd never, ever have.

Deliberately, relentlessly, I brought Lung to completion. For some few minutes, I worked the tip; with lips and tongue I kissed, suckled, swirled, and teased. My left hand massaged Lung's shaft, my right put his balls and taint to use.

Without warning, I interrupted this rhythm, slid my lips far down, and with some effort managed the last couple inches with another push, suffering some minor discomfort at the back of my throat. With positioning and care, it served as another surface with which to grip his tip. For all of perhaps ten seconds.

Lung shuddered, and as I slowly drew back, lips sealed around his member, found his release. Carefully I worked the tip once again, milking him for every drop. It was the surest way to make sure the stuff didn't end up on my clothes or in my hair. I had plenty of saliva to get it down, and when I looked up, Lisa-grin in place, I was goop free.

My hair was still a mess; Lung had let go at some point, but he'd practically bent some of it when he'd held it. It wouldn't sit right; after a few moments of attempting to fluff my hair into a semblance of order, I let it be, frustrated. When I stood, it was in a single, smooth, knee-grinding movement, at the end of which I set my right hand against Lung's left.

He grasped it, and with his hand around mine lead me out of that hive of scum and villainy, towards another. We walked without words, which boded well in my estimation. I didn't like Lung. Certainly didn't love him, and had little I wanted to say to him. There was emotion though, intensity, something to make it more than a banal, empty thing. I needed a security solution; Lung offered one. I needed some sort of intimacy to stay sane, and Lung was at least nominally human much of the time.