Imprisoned at her Pleasure Pt. 03

Huge thanks for the kind comments, everyone. This became a series because of you. - Jekyll.

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The bed they give her is a simple, military-grade cot with a thin mattress, plain, white sheets and a pillow that's got the texture of something freshly synthesised and almost... living. It was clearly generated by someone that doesn't use a human bed, but it could be an ebony four-poster compared to sleeping on the floor, and she doesn't utter a single word of complaint against it.

She divides her days when Alex doesn't visit her quite simply: studying every inch of her cell as covertly as she can to locate cameras, mechanisms, anything she can work with or try to sabotage, and... slinking, maddeningly unsuccessful, back into that bed. They've learnt their lessons from the previous times they captured her, clearly - that should have been obvious as soon as they stripped her, refusing to let her even have a hairpin in case she managed to force a particular exposed circuit and cause a fire...

Good memories.

The only way out she has is Alex. She's been here two weeks now, seen him twice, and considered him near-constantly to reach that conclusion: he's the only novel thing in this whole stupid set-up - if not for Alex's 'companionship', she might as well be hermetically sealed in here, her other captors refusing to set foot near her after the initial violence. Even her food is delivered through an automated slot that, when she stuck her arm through it on day two, was revealed to be double-sealed away from the outer corridor and useless for escape, just like the tiny adjoining chamber she uses for the toilet.

But they send her a whole person every few days, and people are the biggest liability in any system. Even if those people are like Alex. Quiet, confident Alex, with his smiles, his heat, and his well-selected words.

All weaponised, she reminds herself. Weaponised against her.

He arrives again on the fourteenth day of her imprisonment. Three days since the straps and that damn vibrator made themselves very familiar with her body.

When he arrives, his hair is wet, and he isn't wearing any socks nor boots. She stares at him from her small nest of bedding like he's grown a second head, or maybe a third bare foot. In his hand is a grey towel, and he's drying the back of his (only) head even as he throws her a smile - even as he stands in the cell doorway, half in and half out, and extends his free hand towards her like they're about to go for a drive, or maybe to the beach.

"I've had an excellent idea," he says, and the sound of any voice after three days, let alone his, warm and noticeably affectionate, is enough to make her pulse quicken. "Come with me."

She learns nothing of the facility's layout as she pads, bewildered and still naked, down the corridor outside her cell. The panelling is seamless, floor to ceiling, with only simple light strips to illuminate the way. She thinks about knocking Alex out and making a run for it three separate times - but that's all she can do as she follows him, holding his hand like a lost child, along corridor after nondescript corridor: think about it. The cumulative effect of the drug is infuriating.

When they arrive at the final turn in their little walk, she stops short. The metal door has hummed open, and what she sees makes her insides twist with surprise, immediate recognition, and then a lot of confusion.

"I'm getting a shower?"

Then she clenches her jaw and has to almost physically block out the flash of helpful suggestions her mind offers up for what Alex-plus-shower might mean - all of them involve her hands against the glass divider that separates the shower area from the rest of the room, her captor's hair falling just like it is now, dark over his brow, and a quick, generous rhythm snapping through his hips - fuck.

"It seems the most humane thing to do," Alex says, and she blinks away the thought quickly.

"Since when were your kind worried about being humane?" she quips back.

As she steps inside and approaches the shower at the end of the room she takes quick stock of it: the panels in this room are white instead of the unforgiving slate grey of her cell, and the glass divider is a single sheet that allows the user just to just walk around it and under the shower head.

"Since you've deigned to stay with us for longer than a few days?" Alex replies warmly.

There don't seem to be any cameras, but then again, she only has Alex's word to tell her that there are cameras in her cell and she still believes him - their technology is maddeningly hard to spot nowadays.

Then someone suddenly appears to her left, and she jolts - then calms. It's a mirror, hanging on the lefthand wall over a shelf-like counter. The thin, startled woman staring back at her looks as though she hasn't slept in weeks - she's more muscle than fat, but even the muscle is beginning to turn ropey and give her a street-urchin's hardness. Her hair is lank, her lips almost bruised, and the man standing beside her in his military issue shirt and slacks is so achingly healthy and handsome and smiling at whatever he sees on her face that she has to look away again, fast - it's an uncomfortable cocktail of shame and annoyance.

"Are you going to join me?" she says, spotting the bottles of what must be soap at the base of the shower, by the drainage system. "Or are you just here to make me realise how filthy I look by comparison?"

Out the corner of her eye, Alex folds the towel that had still been in his hands and stows it under the sink, where a chute opens obligingly to his touch. "I've just finished. Hence no shoes."

And the wet hair, annoyingly and effortlessly tousled.

Then he turns, and she can only watch as he lifts himself up onto the counter to sit. He leans back against the mirror, clasping his hands in his lap like he's waiting for his laundry to finish on any other weekend.

"I'm just here to make sure none of my colleagues disturb you," he says.

She smirks wryly and makes herself move around the divider so she can stand under the shower head, unable to help brushing his knees as she passes thanks to the narrowness of the gap between the counter and the glass. "I thought we already established what your colleagues like."

She feels his eyes on the back of her neck, her shoulders, and she makes herself concentrate on the water mechanism, all the while bringing back to mind her thoughts from that morning. He's her only out, the only weak point in the system. Be smart for once.

"Scaly, dry, loose, and what was it?" he asks behind her.

The system is intuitive even to a human, and when the water hits her for the first time in what feels like months, she has to force herself not to gasp at the strangeness. "Hating it," she replies over the water's clatter.

"That's it." His voice echoes just slightly across the white panelling, and she can hear his smile. "Hating it despite her best efforts. I set the temperature already, by the way, so you won't be able to change it."

And as if it was listening to its master, the water shifts from lukewarm to a delicious, perfect, almost-too-hot deluge in half a moment. She can't stop her shudder, doesn't even try to, and steps face first into the shower head's offering without hesitation. The self-warming table, the bed she'd just received, they both quickly fade into nothing the moment the water soaks her scalp, the muscles of her shoulders, all the way down her back and the flesh of her legs. She actually groans, and is soon carding the water through the weeks of dirt in her hair as if she can absorb its magic through her scalp by sheer force.

Only when she opens her eyes to start looking for the soap bottle, almost amphibious, does Alex speak again.

"Is it nice?" he asks.

He must know it's the best thing to happen to her since, well, three days ago. She bends to pick up the bottle of what she assumes is soap and replies, swiping her free hand down her face to try and read the inscription on the bottle: "It's so nice, I can almost tolerate your presence."

She hears his chuckle under the water's rush. Then she decides she ought not to risk putting some unknown alien goop on her body just because she can't read their language, and turns to face her seated audience. "What does this say, is this the soap?"

She doesn't expect for his eyes to be all over her when she turns. She doesn't expect the way his head is tilted slightly to the side to see fully around the divider, as if he's been sliding his eyes down her body and admiring every inch that he sees. He lifts his gaze, recovering his focus, and holds a hand out for the bottle.

She gives it, and she's blushing. Blushing... and thinking.

"It's for your hair," he soon replies, after a brief glance at the script. Either he's definitely an alien, wearing her species' skin like a party costume, or he's the only human in all four sectors that has ever learnt the enemy's language.

And he wants her. He's the only way out that she has, and he wants her. Would it be so impossible to seduce him for a change?

"Thanks," she says, turning back to the safety of the water and away from his blue, distracting eyes.

For once, they haven't gone straight to destabilising her. For once, she has some time to think while he's still in the room, while her head is still reasonably clear. She feels a plan begin to form, and as she squeezes the shampoo into her palm, the thick solution cold and scentless, she makes sure to keep herself turned away from him to give her thoughts their best chance. Because his presence in the shower room is like a weight on her mind, now that she knows how he looks at her when she's like this, how he watches the way the water runs down her thighs. She washes her hair, and when she's done, she asks: "Is the second bottle the soap?"

"Yes. You can use it everywhere."

Everywhere. She does her best to ignore the implication and bends to pick the bottle up, tries not to think about what kind of view the movement gives him. When she squeezes out more scentless liquid into her hand, the only difference she can discern between this one and the shampoo is that this one is milky white instead of colourless. It's obvious what it reminds her of - it's the presence of her least favourite alien that does it. Every one of her actions feels an inch away from sexual whether she likes it or not, as if the combination of humidity and the weight of his gaze are a touch in themselves.

It's probably the reason that her plan begins the way it does.

With a healthy dollop of the soap in her hands, she begins to wash away the two weeks of confinement. She's methodical at first, like she would have been on her own ship. Then there comes a moment when she knows she could probably finish up and be done within a minute, her skin and hair finally soft and clean.

But instead, she finds her right hand sliding down her stomach towards her pubic bone. She's keenly aware of conflicting thoughts inside her, and she's aware that there might be a few reasons for doing this that aren't strictly tactical. But it doesn't stop her gently, with her back turned away from the rest of the room, sliding her fingers over her clit, and starting to play with herself.

She hasn't masturbated since before her capture, not with the promise of cameras everywhere and a species watching them who she'd sooner die than give the satisfaction to. But when she finds a familiar rhythm of small, exploratory circles over her hood now, her body is immediately responsive. She feels her thighs flex, then the muscles in her back relax, and her pelvis tilts forward just slightly. Damn, her body is actually impatient.

She grits her teeth and tries to keep her thoughts above the new, welcome curls of pleasure that her clit is eagerly rewarding her with. There's a plan, she reminds herself.

It's when she tilts her face up into the water, its torrents running from there to her neck to her stomach to her busy, exploring hand, that Alex speaks.

"... Captain?"

And the way he says it makes her toes curl. There's a question to the word, a slight lilt of amusement that makes his voice so warm, and underneath... she's surprised him. She's caught his attention completely.

She doesn't say anything, as if she hasn't heard him over the noise of the water. Again her head dips forward, and she can't help watch herself as her index finger plays across her sensitive parts. She's getting aroused faster than she usually does alone, the bump under her finger surprisingly ready to play with, and she can't pretend that she has no idea why.

That reason why soon says, in another lilting tone of amusement: "Are... are you masturbating, Captain?"

She can't pretend she didn't hear him that time.

"Just shut up and pretend you're not there." It's the first thing that comes to her mind and it comes out a little breathless, a little annoyed - it's perfect. She feels a tug of tension in the steamy air, as if Alex is taken aback.

Then a silence falls. And Alex is never, ever silent.

Her body knows what it means before her brain does, a thrill of pure arousal shivering through her, and she closes her eyes without even realising it. And she's picturing him: only a few feet behind her, completely stunned for the first time. Watching her touch herself. Drinking it in. Maybe starting to flush under his collar. Not knowing what to say. Starting to wish he could see more. She wants him to see more.

The white panelling is cool against her back as she turns to lean against the wall, and she almost immediately misses the water's heat - she reaches up a hand and turns the shower head onto her body in her new position, the sound of rushing water softening somewhat as it hits paneling and skin instead of just the floor. She closes her eyes again to escape some of the reality of what she's doing: if she catches a glimpse of Alex watching her as she is now, her ass pressed against the wall and her thighs falling open for more comfortable access to her pussy, she's scared she'll lose her resolve too soon. Or worse, that she'll give it up gladly. Even in the heat her nipples are starting to harden, the little aches of pleasure from her clit making the rest of her body jealous for attention - she hasn't masturbated standing up like this in a long time, much less under the eyes of an alien, an enemy, of Alex.

Alex...

If Alex was touching her right now he'd never neglect her breasts. He likes them. He likes her breasts in his hands, her nipples in his mouth, he'd give her his fingers to sit on as he sucked on her-

Her legs widen of their own accord, and the slipperiness under her touch is far different from the texture of water. She pulls in a deep, humid breath, and makes herself open her eyes. She has to stop now, before...

And she makes the mistake of glancing to the side, and she sees that Alex is no longer sitting on the counter. He's slipped onto his feet while her eyes were closed, and he's gripping the edge behind himself tightly with both hands.

His eyes meet hers, and they're pure smoke.

Now, or never.

She stops playing with herself, even as the water is beginning to make her skin tingle, even as she's starting to think she really could go for a quick orgasm against the shower wall right about then. She stops, and feels like she deserves a medal for it.

When she straightens up she sighs, as if she's frustrated in the exact opposite way.

"I can't," she lies. "I can't with you standing there."

"I'm not leaving."

And even for Alex, the reply is a little quick. His voice is low, almost gravelled. She schools her breathing, pushes her hair out of her eyes, and when her arm brushes her breast on the way down she could groan at the sensation - shit, she's so turned on. Keep going.

"That's not what I meant," she manages. And when she throws him a look she knows it's a good mimicry of her confident, irritable sass. "I meant, if you're going to stand there, can you at least help me out? Instead of just creeping on me?"

And the words set him thinking immediately. She sees it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, and when he swallows, she notes how he still hasn't loosened his grip on the counter by an inch.

"I'm not showering with you," he murmurs soon enough.

He probably sees a litany of risks in his mind, most of which involve him 'slipping', cracking his head against the white panels and her making a quick, darting escape.

He's not a complete idiot, she thinks. But that's also not an outright no.

"You're the one that's made me associate any good time with-" she stumbles, not needing to fake the small surge of embarrassment that colours her already heated face. "With you. With you touching me."

A ghost of his smile appears. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that."

"I want you."

"Do you, indeed."

"I-" she swallows, losing momentum at the way he said that.

Do you, indeed.

Do you want me, Captain?

Do you think about my hands on you?

Her mind is getting better at imagining his voice, and that's not a helpful development when she's already staring at him in the steam, sensitive and heated - she likes the way he stands, so balanced but with so much quiet strength, those hands keeping their grip on the counter. She remembers that grip around her ankles, pulling her naked body towards him like she was just a spoilt brat that needed a lesson.

"Just- just touch me," she asks, before her mind can linger even more on discipline, on Alex's palms, and how she might want to behave badly if it's him that she's driving crazy. "Please. I really want to finish this."

"You were doing quite well on your own," he replies, although his voice has warmed. "I didn't plan to work on you today at all."

Work on you. Why does that phrasing make her want to go right back to touching herself?

"Alex," she says, "that's still not a no. Stop... stop stalling."

She doesn't notice that she's speaking to him in a way she wouldn't before, that her frustration is a whole different beast from the furious, ideological rage that had her breaking arms and taking names in her first few days of capture. She doesn't notice, either, that he can't help but smile whenever she says his name, that it seems to relax his whole body.

Then Alex is straightening up from the counter, and he does the single most distracting thing that she's seen since she met him: as he steps around the glass divider to stand closer to her, his other hand pushes briefly, firmly, into his crotch - he adjusts, which means he was standing there that whole time being aloof, and she didn't even realise he had an erection.

She swallows and immediately tries to look down, to try and see what she's done to him after all, but too late - a finger and thumb lift her chin, and she finds herself looking up into wry, smiling eyes.

"Now now," he murmurs, in one of his best voices. "Don't you worry about that."

"But I-"

"What would you like?" And his smile twists a little wider. "Apart from that."

She likes how he's holding her face, suddenly, and a little bubble of confidence rises in her throat that makes her try to tease him. "You're no fun."

"I'm very fun," he smiles. He looks down at her mouth again, and it looks like he has no problem with their faces being this close, his eyes taking their time to study the fullness of her lips. "You know I am."

The pitch of his voice is like silk, and her knees almost wobble.

"I..." she says, then blushes, and has to force the rest out. "I didn't know you were hard."

"That's because you pay too much attention to my face when you're frustrated."

"I... I do?"

He's still smiling. "You do. When I irritate you, you stare into my eyes like crazy."

"You do the same," she says immediately, even though she doubts it's correct - what is she supposed to do with an observation like that? "When I first met you, you wouldn't look anywhere except my face."

Alex grins. "Ah, but you've surely worked out why that is by now."

Her thoughts stumble. In her defense, he's still standing there holding her chin in his fingers, his mouth dangerously close to hers - he's getting splashed by the shower stream beside them and his shirt is starting to cling to him too, hinting at a torso she hasn't had a chance to see properly, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"I'd look at your body all day if I could, Captain," he murmurs. "I have to be a little disciplined to do my job."

"Disciplined like getting hard while I shower?"

His grin widens. "Says the woman who touched herself for me to watch."

"It wasn't for-"

"Yes it was." The way he looks down at her mouth is all affection. "It definitely, absolutely was."

She realises what that look means. "You want to kiss me," she breathes.

"I do, actually."

And she surprises herself. "Go... Go on, then."

And he pulls her gently forward by the chin, tilts her head up, and slides their lips together with no hesitation. Before the shock at his immediate compliance even has time to register, he's sliding his tongue into her mouth, his thumb holding her open so easily for his access it's like they've done it a thousand times before. Like he always takes kisses from her whenever he wants, curls his tongue around hers, finds her lower lip and sucks on it until she moans a little in surprise.

Then the shower wall is against her shoulder blades again - he's stepped them both back as easily as breathing, and sets about his task with a new, searching intensity that she didn't ask for but definitely wants. She has no choice but to take it from him, held open by his hand and hemmed in by his still-clothed body against her soaked nudity, and the knowledge of that powerlessness only makes her knees go slack, makes her want to rest all her weight on his thigh if he'd only press their bodies closer together, allow their hips to touch-

Then he breaks away, and she gets to see his eyes a mere inch from hers for the first time, the blue turned deep and dark.

"I'm very taken with you today," he tells her then, and there's this strangely charming, easy lightness to him that she can't quite name, but it makes her heart flutter. "It's surprising, you seem to have done something to me."

"Guess you have a shower kink," she manages, when all she can think is god, I've never been kissed like that before.

He laughs. "Is that what it is?"

"Will you kiss me again?"

And he just does. No maddening distance, no teasing remark - he dips his mouth to hers and kisses her so easily the heat of the shower vanishes in comparison. She's soon wrapping her arms around his neck without a thought, and their bodies sway together quite naturally.

He's lovely. Shit, is Alex lovely? Has she really been so long away from human company that making out in a steam-filled room is what tips her thoughts towards softer, kinder ideas like that? The feel of his weight against hers, the way he takes her hips with both his hands, the way, when she nips almost teasingly at his bottom lip, a soft laugh rises in his chest... she feels almost dizzy.

Then Alex is breaking their kiss, and if he wants her to pay her attention to his words he really shouldn't smile like that, somehow both wicked and, most lovely and devastating of all, happy.

"Stop trying to touch me there, Captain."

"I'm- I'm not!"

He laughs. "Look how much I'm having to restrain you - look." And he relaxes his hands on her hips - immediately her pelvis presses flush to his, his strength the only thing that had been keeping them apart after all, and she might have had some smart excuse ready if she didn't abruptly get to feel a very specific hardness press its length against her hip and belly, and she's immediately grinning instead.

"Oh," she says, and her arms relax into a comfortable loop around his neck as she looks up at him. "Hello there."

"No." And his eyes are full of amusement as he simply pins her hips to the wall again - feeling air between their pelvises once more is pure cruelty. "Time for some rules."

"I hate rules. That, however-"

"You're not getting that, as I've reminded you repeatedly."

"But it likes me," she finds herself saying, and they're suddenly laughing again, both of them, and the lightness in her chest just grows and grows. What is that feeling?

"It doesn't know any better," Alex murmurs, fighting his grin in a way that makes her want to kiss him soundly, makes her want to climb him like a tree - kiss me again, Alex, kiss me again.

"Now stop trying to get me to fuck you so that you can escape, Captain. You almost had me for a moment."

"I-"

The words shock her. Guilt suddenly twists her gut, and as she fails to find anything to say, to deflect the words that struck the mark exactly, she can only watch as Alex's smile softens. Eases off, to something smaller, something calmer. She watches him stow away the joy neatly, like the folding of a cloth. Then he inhales, and something's gone. A moment's broken.

"It's alright," he murmurs. And as he straightens up a little, and there's something professional settling over his face - kind, yes, but professional - and her gut only twists further. "I'd no doubt try something similar in your situation."

"Alex-"

"Finish up with the soap," he says, "then let's get you back."

*

When they're walking her back to her cell, she doesn't understand how she's feeling. Guilt still chews at her gut, which makes no sense at all - she should be mad that she failed at the best chance she's had so far to get the upper hand, and she is, in a way... But being angry because she didn't get to seduce him is one thing. Being angry because she didn't get to play more with that smile, with that way he ducked his head as he tried not to laugh... That's something else entirely.

As she's led, one hand in his again and her body now dry except for her hair, the darkly panelled corridor is exactly as it was before, quiet and disturbed only by the soft, gentle hum of computer systems.

Until it's not.

There's a whispering sound identical to when her cell door opens, and suddenly they're not alone in the corridor anymore.

Alex stops first, and she almost walks into his back - then she spots the new arrival over her captor's shoulder, and her focus sharpens in an instant.

"Oh," says the alien. And he's most definitely an alien: when their species is between shapes and hasn't chosen a specific skin to wear, they're more like a thick cloud of approximate human dimensions, the tendrils a curling grey and smelling oddly of gunpowder. Her body immediately tenses in response, years of war stirring her blood underneath the drug, and she may only be in bare feet and nothing else but she'll force her body to fight if she needs to, if the effort kills her. Fuck these assholes.

"Are you the one whose arm I broke, or the one that pissed himself?" she hears herself say before Alex has even had a chance to speak. She even thinks about stepping around Alex to square up properly, a surprising amount of strength returning to her with that unique burning smell, but it's Alex's hand that stops her, squeezing hard on their joined fingers.

"I am neither, worm." The unidentified alien says in a rasping, unimpressed voice. Then he drifts slightly, as if angling more to look at her. After a pause, he says: "Why is your hair watered?"

"To get the gross feeling of-"

"They need watering every so often," Alex interrupts smoothly, and it hurts a little, the way he's squeezing her hand - it makes her shoot him a look, only to find his expression very blank. Carefully so. She hesitates.

"Then she is like a plant, only more annoying," the alien replies.

And then she can only watch as Alex, who up until this point has only spoken soft, tempting words in her presence, switches into the scraping, hissing native tongue of the assholes themselves and talks back. She can only stare at him, having never seen the alien's language come out of any sort of lips at all, let alone ones she's kissed, and a nausea winds round her stomach at how little the sounds suit him - but he is an alien, remember? He's just chosen a prettier skin, a skin that apparently gives you amnesia.

Then the (other) alien asks him something in return, and the air in the corridor vibrates with the unknown words in a very particular way - she might not know their language for shit, but her skin prickles in recognition all the same: leering is leering in any tongue, apparently, and she shoots the clouded figure her most disgusted glare.

Alex only smiles in reply, his jaw a little tight. Then he murmurs something brief, before tilting his chin briefly upwards in a way she's seen others of his kind do when they're wearing humanoid skins: it's a kind of salute, as far as the rebels can tell, like an acknowledgment from a lower to a higher ranking officer. So this guy is his next in command?

"See you later, rebel," the alien says then, suddenly in her own language again, and his tone is different now, contemptuous. Judging by Alex's tension when she glances at him, and the strength of his grip on her hand, it seems as though her captor wasn't the winner of the exchange.

"Suck a dick, dog breath," she replies. Then she lets herself be led the rest of the way back to her cell, Alex bringing her past his commanding officer quickly enough that she doesn't have a chance to spit on him.

It's strangely reassuring to be back in her cell - Stockholm Syndrome, much?

"What did Sergeant Smog out there say about me?" she asks, once she's stepped far enough into the room to realise Alex isn't leaving just yet, the door closing them both inside with a soft rush.

He's still without any boots or socks but his hair is mostly dry now - when he starts to pace a slow set of steps along the length of her cell, the only dampness that remains on him is very clear, arm-shaped lines across his upper back from where she'd clung to him earlier.

"Difficult to translate," Alex eventually replies, as she tries not to let the fresh memory of his kiss show on her face.

"Try me. I know a cat-call when I hear one."

Alex's eyes catch hers for a moment, a different sort of blue now they're out of the steam, and his smile isn't an amused one. He exhales.

"He asked if it was my cock giving you that scent between your legs."

She flushes a little. He was just asking literally, right? That alien can't tell what she thinks about, what they talked about-

"You should come over to the table," Alex says then, interrupting her thoughts and suddenly halting his steps. He seems to have made some kind of decision, and for whatever reason she follows his instruction without a second thought - perhaps she's desperate to think about something other than his commanding officer being able to smell her wetness on the air, does that mean that Alex can too? Do they know they've tested her resolve more than she ever planned to let them, that she likes it when Alex-

"No, Captain, not like that. Stand here."

And where she'd been moving to sit on the table's short edge in front of him, Alex is suddenly taking her by the arms and turning her around to face it instead. She feels a twinge of something like hurt, which is crazy, which is ridiculous, but when she feels his hand on her upper back, a clear instruction to bend forward, she finds herself resisting. She wants to face him, she wants to face him and be his equal, dammit, she wants him to want her-

He shoves her over the table, quick and hard, and she barely manages to get her arms in front to take the brunt of it as she gasps. Anger bolts through her in an instant, but before she can even open her mouth to snap something sharp, she feels one of his knees simply knock hers further apart, opening her up to him as easy as breathing - a fizz of intrigue quickly follows her indignation despite herself.

"What are you-"

"Even my senior officer knows you want fucking." Alex's palm slides from her back to just above her ass, pinning her down against the table with ease. "It's a miracle I have any self-control at all, isn't it?"

She flushes hot. "Are- are you going to fuck me now?"

And Alex's responding laugh is dark, and warm, and tells her exactly what he's thinking about with her bent over the table like that, her hips tilted up, even her most private parts completely exposed to his eyes. "You'd love it, Captain. I really think you would."

God, you're right. She squeezes her eyes shut and squirms against his commanding hand, testing the strength of his pin. "You wouldn't last two minutes," she tells him.

"Reverse psychology? Really?"

And then there are suddenly fingers pushing rudely inside her, his two longest, and she can't stop a yelp of surprise. "Bold from the one that's so wet we can all smell it," he says.

"Fuck- fuck you." Then she groans, because he starts to play with her inside wall in the way he knows she loves, stroking at her without apology. "As if- as if you weren't rock hard for me."

"I'm rock hard for you now," Alex says, and pushes in another finger already, makes her moan with the abruptness. "Doesn't make me the one that's begging for it."

"Shit, Alex..."

"Hmm, it's nice like that, isn't it?"

"Stop, you're being a- ah, you're being a bastard..."

She hears the grin in his voice. "Is that what I'm being, sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"You're squeezing this bastard's fingers like you love it."

He seems to predict the embarrassment that bolts through her, because before she makes it even an inch off the table he's shoving her down again with his free hand against her middle back.

"No. Stay."

"You're a piece of- ah."

He hums again. "Well, I'm a few more nice words away from giving you my cock after all, so do keep going with all the compliments."

She can't help her gasp, and immediately her mind is rushed with thoughts of him pressing inside her, driving deep and stretching her out just like his fingers are doing right at that moment - suddenly a very familiar pleasure is curling around her spine, and she's canting her hips up a little more, restless and so horny again that she can no longer think in sentences.

"Oh, you want it now?" Alex asks her warmly. "Is that what that is, that sweet little way you just asked for it with your hips?"

"Alex-"

"Now that I think about it," he continues, and she doesn't notice that his restraining hand has left her back until she feels it between her legs as well, making itself thoroughly acquainted with the wetness of her labia and rubbing her juices all over her clit, "I've had a few fantasies about fucking you like this. You're like a toy, except you fight just a little bit."

She cries out as he presses in deeper with his right hand, her bodyweight rocking into the table.

"Would you like that, Captain?" he asks. "If I put my cock in there and made myself feel good with you?"

"Fuck, Alex, fuck-"

"God, you're soaking my hand so much already."

"Just shut up and- and fuck me."

He chuckles, and there's a soft sound of fabric that can only be him shifting his weight before she feels something blunt nudge at her ass cheek through fabric. "I am definitely considering it, can you tell?"

Teasing, smug, infuriating bastard, she tries to say out loud, but instead the pads of Alex's fingers decide that's the moment they want to play with her clit in earnest, sliding left-to-right across her exposed nerves with easy delight and making her moan again, making her think about her orgasm.

"You really should," Alex tells her as if reading her mind. "If you don't cum soon, I might do something very unwise, and then we'll both make a bit of a mess."

"Put it in," she breathes, "please put it in, I want it so bad-"

"Later, sweetheart. First I'm bringing down that dose they're giving you, so you're even more sensitive for me."

She tries to breathe in, tries to think around the tightening warmth that's pushing her so close to the edge - those fingers inside her, she could die with how he's fingering her. "My- my dose? Lowering it?"

"Hm-hmm. Tilt your hips up a little more- that's it, good girl. Your dose is going down tomorrow, because I want you even more sensitive. If you tell me something useful on top of that, I'll bring it down again, how does that sound?"

More sensitive? With less drug she'll be more capable of fighting, more capable of escaping, but all she can think is more sensitive, more sensitive, his fingers on her clit where it's so exposed, she's going to cum, she's going to cum-

"Alex-"

"It's alright, darling, I know. You can."

And it hits her hard. Her pussy tightens, her hips curve, and she groans into the table as the first wave of pleasure hits her. She pulses, she can feel it more and more and more with every press of his fingers right inside, and as she squeezes down on him and she only gets rewarded, his attention so perfectly on her clit that she's soon choking on a cry, a second wave, open mouthed and eyes screwed tight shut against the metal surface. All the while he's speaking to her, his voice so warm and so pleased.

"You cum so well, you know that? Right when I want you to, you're having little orgasms all over my fingers."

"A-Alex-"

"Don't worry," he murmurs. "No one knows you're cumming except me. You can keep going, keep enjoying yourself as much as you want."

"Alex-"

"In there? Is that where you want all the nice pressure, in your pussy?"

And he strokes against her belly from the inside, his fingers so strong and precise and maddening, and her legs shake when the next climax hits her, making her almost sob.

"That's it," Alex says softly, and the smile in his voice makes her melt all over again. "Keep cumming, Captain. Keep cumming just like that, you're going to love it so much when I fuck you."

And she doesn't even care if he's lying, if he's pretending just because the words bring her off so hard - somewhere in the white-out of her pleasure, she swears she's going to have exactly that: she'll have his cock, she'll have back her wits, and she will win.

Then Alex presses a kiss to the small of her back, and when she jolts with surprise, when she climaxes yet again just from that small attention, she hears him laugh a little.

It might just take a little longer than she planned.