ΔV Pt. 06

A trow woman floated in the center of the room, her legs tucked underneath her, a constellation of pages floating around her head and her shoulders and her hands. She was holding two right before her face, muttering in the Dragon Tongue that everyone in the Sur needed to be able to speak these days. "Remarkable, quite rem-" She snapped her head up, seeing Kaleb, then grinned. The trow, like all trow, was midnight black, with long elfin ears, pale white hair, and a predatory, vicious look to her. It didn't help she had eyes the same hue as freshly shed blood, and sharp fangs that hooked over her black lips - white triangles against dark, dark skin.

"What the fuck?" Kaleb rumbled.

"Ahh!" The trow clapped. "You brought the battery. Thank you."

Kaleb failed his arms and tried to leap backwards. But the problem with trying to run away while floating in this strange place was that, well, he simply started to tumble in the center of the room. The trow, meanwhile, murmured and whispered - and cast a cantrip. Magic flared and Captain Markova's words sounded understandable once more: "You cannot kill him. We're not going to be kidnapping any more locals for you."

"I said it wouldn't kill him. Or anyone," the trow said, sounding irritated. "You saved my life, I'd have thought you would trust me." She sighed. "I suppose even humans are bigoted against the trow..." She shook her head.

Markova shook her head. "My crew are indispensable. You will use this mercenary - and we even made sure to take an orc." She nodded. "According to Doktor Melschoi, he is remarkably robust. Now. You say you can make water."

"I can make...yes! I can make water," the trow said, scowling slightly. "I was trained by Baba Yaga's third daughter!" She snapped her fingers. "I can make water, I can make ice, I can-"

Markova frowned. "Did you say Baba Yaga?"

"Yes..." the trow said, slowly.

Markova pursed her lips. Her scar pulled her expression in odd ways - making it hard to tell if she was wryly amused or deeply suspicious. Her eyes were unreadable. Kaleb would not have wanted to face them across the battlefield or across the poker table. He felt that thundering emotion again - that raw want for Markova. He had thought the word 'love' when he had first seen her, and all the frights and confusion and strangeness of the humans hadn't quite squished it out of him. But it had deformed it, changed it from the thundering impulse that came when an man saw a woman of such strength to...to...

It was a want.

A want that was both animal - in that Kaleb wanted to rip her clothes off her body and ravage her against the nearest wall - and intellectual. He wanted to know her. To understand her. To see how she had come to be, to learn about her ship and how it functioned. It was a want that he realized with a flash that he had only felt once before when, as the child of farmers, destined to farm for his entire life, he had seen the Bastards marching through town and realized that there was something else other there. Something rich with adventure.

The hatch swung shut and Kaleb shook his head slightly.

The Bastards had been an adventure, yes.

But they had also been terror and tedium. Shit and shallow graves.

The trow made a tiny 'tisk' noise and snapped her fingers under her chin. "Name," she said.

"Listen," Kaleb said, glaring at her. "I'm not a trowish male. I'm not your slave - you will not take my life essence and use it to cast spells. I-"

The trow rolled her ruby red eyes with a sneer that would have befitted an empress. "Gods. Men." She shook her head. "I will explain this exactly once, orc. I do not want a slave. I do not need a slave. My name is Cinder Spiderblood and all I want to do is survive this blasted world for as long as I bloody well can. Since these humans found me in a gibbet, waiting to die, my life has extended out to the point where I remain useful."

She leaned in close, her eyes glowing faintly. "That means making, for whatever ungodly reason these humans want it, water. They want me to make water by the ton. To do that, I will need to draw on more magic than exists in my body. I will need to tap yours. I will not kill you. But I will not coddle you. Now..." She breathed in. "Will you tell me your godsdamned name, or will I need to sleep you and then take what I need by force?"

Kaleb crossed his arms over his chest.

"Kaleb of the Plains," he said.

"Cinder Spiderblood," she said, primly.

"You already said that," Kaleb said as Cinder started to snatch papers from the air.

"I was making sure you had paid attention," she said. "Now, come on, I shall begin to create the sympathetic connection between our bodies."

Kaleb snorted. "Do you want some of my blood? I'm afraid the doctor already took some..." he asked, glancing away from her to begin to examine the interior of the chamber. It was, now that his attention was not consumed by the slender, knifelike body of the trow, shockingly small. There was barely enough room for the two of them to float within it, and a considerable amount of it was consumed by a pair of what looked like bedrolls, save that their material was a great deal thinner and more crinkly. He sneered a bit at those, thinking about how the winter wind would rip through them like the fangs of an ice warg...and then he realized that, within this strange metal ship, the air seemed to be a uniform temperature, and was blown entirely by some kind of mechanical contrivance.

And then a scrap of clothing drifted across his vision - a sleek white scrap of fabric that he recognized, a moment later, as a woman's undergarments.

Kaleb snapped his head around to look right at Cinder. She had smoothly slipped off her panties and was grabbing onto the ceiling of the room, spreading her legs with a whorish casualness that only a trow could demonstrate. Her pubic hair was as white as the hair atop her head, and sculpted by shaving and snipping into the shape of a spider. Her pussy mound was a barely visible black on black slickness, glistening and eager as she hooked her toes on the small hand holds to either side of her, fully rooting her body in the room with the grace of a sideshow acrobat.

"I was thinking something a mite more..." She grinned. "Permanent."

Kaleb gaped at her.

"What?" she murmured. "You never heard the stories of how witches and wizards can take your seed and ensorcell you with it." Her ears perked up, twitching slightly. "They're true. Well. Partially." Her eyes gleamed. "But I've found that men rarely let that stop them from dipping their wicks."

Kaleb wanted to argue.

But he was already tugging his clothing off with an eagerness that underscored how long it had been since he had gotten his ashes hauled. His shirt went floating off and his belt rasped and through the belt loops with a whipping sound. Then his leggings started to float away from him as he wriggled and kicked himself. This ended up placing him into a little bit of a spin - which made Cinder click her tongue quietly. "You seem to have an awful lot of scars..." She murmured. "So, you really are a sell sword?"

"Yes," Kaleb grunted. "I bought a stolen majile and the town guard decided I must have been the thief..." He reached for the walls, but they were out of his grasp. It was shocking - the room was so small, but there were spaces where one could get well and truly trapped. He reached, frantically, for the wall, his fingers straining out. But as he tumbled perpendicularly, Cinder let out a little 'tisk' and unhooked one of her feet so she could plant her foot against his back and push him towards the wall. Kaleb managed to get his hands around one of the outstretched knobs and swung himself around. He shook his head.

His stomach was no longer rebelling, at least. And while this floating seemed to make every movement harder than it should have been, it didn't seem to do a damn thing to stop his blood from flowing. If anything, his pecker was getting even harder and longer and larger than it ever had on Earth's surface. His hands pushed himself around and he saw Cinder looking appreciatively at him. He shook his head. "I thought you trow all preferred women," he said.

"The fact we don't put women to death for loving other women does not make all of us love other women," Cinder said, her eyes growing hard.

"I..." Kaleb coughed. "I never killed a woman who wasn't fighting me."

Cinder regarded him cooly. Her eyes met his and she pursed her lips. Slowly, she nodded. "I believe you."

Kaleb chuckled, quietly. "Why, can you read minds?"

"Yes," Cinder said, so casually, so calmly, that Kaleb nearly believed her. Before he saw her tiniest of a smirk. He shook his head. He had heard that some monsters - like the legendary Brain Fiends - could pluck thoughts from a man's head as easily as a cut-purse could pilfer a burgher's pocket. But mages just made fire and explosions and killing frost and bolts of acid. They couldn't read minds. He pushed himself forward and Cinder actually closed her lithe, midnight black legs around him, hooking her ankles and drawing him in close. His cock ground and slipped against her sex - feeling her heat. Her moisture. A few beads of her floated in the air.

Her voice was soft. "Just...get it over fast, okay?" she asked, nodding. "Once the connection is formed, I can begin draining you of your-"

Kaleb, meanwhile, had been holding her hips, rooting himself in place by planting his feet against small hooks built into the ground. His thighs strained and he managed to get the leverage to thrust. And thrust he did - burying every inch of himself inside of her. Cinder hissed and clenched her jaw, hanging her head forward against her neck. Her breasts rose and fell as she squirmed - and the movement of a woman's breasts in this strange, weightless state...

It should have been illegal it was so perfectly wonderful.

Cinder panted. "Ah..." she murmured. "You learn fast."

"Gotta learn fast as a merc..." He murmured, then leaned his head forward. He started to thrust into the trow. Though both trow and elves hated it when you compared them, the only thing that had felt as good as this was the elven whore that the Bastards had once rescued from a den of feral ogres. She had been feeling so generous that the whole company had gotten a turn on the march back to civilization - and considering the ogres had dropped their numbers, such turns had been long indeed. The elven whore's tight and slippery cunt had been...

Perfection.

For some reason, a look of irritation flitted across Cinder's face.

He thrust faster and faster into her, his toes clenching on the ground as he tried to keep himself rooted.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she muttered, looking aside.

His balls swayed wildly in the strange weightlessness. It was just another exotic delight - ontop of the feeling of fucking a trow herself. Kaleb wondered if anyone in the Bastards would even believe him. But then his pleasure crested and he shuddered as his balls clenched and he began to spurt inside of the witch. Cinder hissed, softly.

She sounded frustrated.

Kaleb shrugged, and languidly reached down as he softened. His finger found her clit - her small pearl. He remembered the elven whore telling him about that. He grinned at Cinder as she looked more and more furious, the more and more he stroked her. That fury mixed with gathering pleasure, her eyes glittering as she snarled. "Y-You...green fucker!" She gasped in harshly, her back arching as she clenched on him, tightening around his slowly softening cock.

Kaleb shook his head. "I got you off, didn't..."

He paused.

Then his eyes widened. "Gods, you can read my mind?!"

Cinder shrugged.