Moonshot

"Are... are you certain? Ilsa?"

"I trust your experience, Hoff. I know you'll keep me safe." Ilsa reached up and traced his longest scar, a raised line stretching from collarbone to midriff. "You always have, and always will. Come closer."

He took his hand from her, moving it out of sight, and she looked up into his face. Then there was a pressure, a feeling of something foreign and yet not entirely unwelcome, of warmth and strength that did not come from her, and the pressure slowly gave way to something more than that.

"Ilsa?" Hoff's voice pierced her mental fog. "Are you all right? Should I... continue?"

"Shh." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine. Just... slowly. Please." Eyes shut, now, she felt him move, felt him ease deeper into her, pressing ever inward. "Gods. How much more—no, don't answer that."

"Am I hurting you?"

In response, Ilsa reached up and took his face in her hands, guiding him down to her, feeling his tiny motions inside her as he adjusted his position. She wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled into his neck. "I'm getting used to it." He winced; she pulled him closer, crushing him against her as hard as she could. "It's a small price to pay. And it's getting better."

"Highness—"

"Yes, guardsman?" Ilsa slid her arms down his back, feeling for his hips. "Would you like new orders?" She pulled, her weight barely enough to shift his bulk until he reluctantly moved with her, pelvis tipping towards her, sliding the last of his length in little by little. "Or can you just be here, with me, as... as a..."

"Ilsa?"

A new warmth. Skin touching skin, with no gap of air between their bodies. She let one arm fall and reached down. Felt his body flush up against hers, felt the very base of his erection, felt her own wetness right next to it. "Ah. That's... that's all of it."

"We can stop now, Ilsa, if you'd like." Hoff's voice was professional, but she heard the note of apprehension underneath. "This is enough to... dissuade them. There's no reason to continue, if you would rather not..."

She laughed, breathless. "Not like you to volunteer to leave a job half-finished. Go on, Hoff. I'm okay. Just... be gentle, please, especially the last bit."

Wordlessly, he brushed his lips against her cheek, her neck, her shoulder as he pulled back, withdrawing inch by inch until Ilsa was sure he would pull out entirely. And then he plunged back in, filling her with his girth in one long slow motion. She let out an equally long shuddering breath, as if he had pushed the air out of her.

He withdrew again, and pushed in again.

And again.

Ilsa's jaw tightened as she rode the waves, struggling to control her breathing, to relax her clenched fists. The unfamiliarity was fading; the pressure was not, and nor was the faint current of pain beneath it all—or was she imagining it? Her perception was skewed, warped by the new sensations and her fatigue and the lingering traces of the spell of silence. Without conscious thought, she found her hands moving on her own body, pressing hand and arm to her chest as if reminding herself that it was still there, grounding herself. Her other hand drifted down, down to where she and Hoff were joined, and began circling and toying with the nub just above in clumsy, rarely-practiced motions.

Hoff built up to a steady rhythm, his breath coming hot and ragged, the cot shifting beneath them as he moved atop Ilsa. True to her request, he stayed gentle, never penetrating quite as deep as his first thrust, always staying in control of his actions, every motion deliberate.

She let her eyes open and looked up into Hoff's face, meeting his unwavering gaze, seeing the way his jaw was set, the half-parted lips, the focus and affection and concern all tied together. He broke his rhythm with an extra long thrust, slowing down just at the end. Ilsa's fingers clenched, pushing harder down onto herself, gasping open-mouthed, and Hoff was there, lips and tongue and saliva mingling as he rocked back and forth, reaching her deepest parts in subtle motions until she had to break off, gasping for breath for more reasons than one, now.

"Ilsa." She focused, bleary-eyed, and saw his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling faster than ever. "I... I am close, Ilsa." He gave one more small thrust, then began pulling back, pulling out. "I must—"

She hooked her legs around his and struggled to pull him close, to keep him there with her. In her. "You'll do no such thing," she said with a smirk. "You stay right where you are."

"But—"

She yanked his head down and mashed it against her, stopping his words with her mouth, nipping at his lower lip. His protest faded into nothingness and he sped up, plunging back into her, reaching his full length and straining to go even further as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Then a noise, a groan somewhere from the back of his throat, and he buried his face in her neck and gave one last effort, pushing her down into the bed, fingertips digging into her back as he came, his whole frame trembling, every muscle pressed against her tensing once, twice, three times.

And then it was over, and they lay entangled on the cot, Hoff panting, Ilsa caressing as far as she could reach on his broad back.

They stayed like that for a long minute, the heat of the moment fading in the cool, damp air. Finally, Ilsa spoke. "Hoff."

He stirred, pushed himself up onto his arms, looked down at her sweat-beaded face. "Yes, high... Ilsa."

"My Hoff." She strained to lift herself, then gave up. Turning to her side, she kissed his forearm, the only part of him within reach. "I'm glad it was you. Thank you."

"You are most welcome. And thank you." He could only hold her gaze for a moment before averting his eyes. "I hope I was not too forceful."

"You did beautifully." Ilsa lay back and smiled. "Another point in your favor, Hoff. Another skill, though maybe not quite as marketable as your others."

"Marketable?" Hoff rolled off of her, and out of her, and settled at her side on the tiny cot, his arms still around her. "I'll not be back on the market. I made an oath, and am yours until you command me to leave."

"You know as well as I do that that's not happening."

"As you wish, highness." He sat upright, leaving one hand gently on her leg. "Shall I wake you when they come?"

"Excuse me?"

"I..." Hoff floundered. "You're as safe as you can be, now. I thought you would wish to rest. That you might want to recover your energy before they come for us."

"Such a considerate lover, right up until now." Ilsa slipped his hand and pushed herself up into a sitting position once more. "No, Hoff."

"Then what—"

"Yes, the goal's been accomplished. But." She gave him a shove, and he let himself fall back onto the cot. "You finished, and I did not. That doesn't seem fair. And I may be inexperienced—or, well, I was—but if you think that was enough to wear me out, to exhaust me with passion..."

He raised his eyebrows up at her, face back to his favorite neutral expression.

"Guardsman Hoffstadter: as your princess, I thank you for your generosity and your service, and I have no further duties for you." She straddled him, this time, sitting with her crotch up against his, reaching down to grasp his softening member. "As your lover, I think you still have some work to do."

Hoff's chest rose and fell in a long, deep sigh. "Of course, highness," he said with a smile. "And... of course, Ilsa."

***

A guard stood against the wall on either side of the cell door, staring determinedly ahead at the opposite wall. One—the heavier of the two, his bulk visible in the tightness of his robes around the midsection—shifted on his feet and yawned.

"Awful quiet in there," he said, keeping his eyes straight in front of him.

"I expect the girl's passed out." The other guard's yawn swallowed up the end of the sentence. "She looked pretty out of it when they brought her in."

"A few stunners to the torso will do that to you." The heavy guard's eyes drifted to his left, where the door was just barely visible in his peripheral vision. "But maybe she's awake. Maybe they're planning something."

"Orders are orders." There was resignation in the other guard's voice. "We stay at our posts, right where we're standing."

"I know, I know. I'm just curious."

"The master knows best." They were silent for a few seconds. "Besides, it's for our safety, too. Have you ever seen what a void witch can do?"

"No." The heavy one's eyes drifted toward the door again. "She's not really a witch, is she?"

"Why else would we be just watching the bulkheads? All she needs is eye contact, and..." He made a popping sound with his mouth. "Off to the hells, and nothing you can do about it."

The heavy guard frowned, but said nothing.

"If you're going to fight a witch, you do from a distance or you do it half-blind. And I bet that giant of hers would pull you apart the first chance he gets. There's nothing but bad times ahead in that cell."

"Why are they being held together, then?"

"Who's going to separate them? You?" He snorted in derision. "You want to risk your life, go right ahead. Give my best to the infernal lords. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear that the idiots in our ranks are removing themselves so efficiently."

"Fine, you've made your point." The heavy guard sighed. "I just don't like how quiet it is."

"Neither do I." His companion shifted his weight, leaned back against the wall. "But they're locked in there, and nothing they do is going to get them out of that cell. So try not to worry about it."

There was a pop, as if the pressure had shifted. As if an air seal had broken and was now letting something in—or letting it out.

Both of them jerked to attention. "What—"

"Oh, gods, yes!"

The guards' heads whipped around to face the door.

"Perfect, Hoff, you are perfect, don't stop doing that, whatever you do, don't stop!"

They exchanged a look for a fraction of a second, then they were both at the window, sliding the shutter aside with a clang, peering into the cell. A tangle of bodies, sweat glistening on bare skin in the lantern light, a deep voice murmuring soft words beneath the princess's exclamations.

"We... we need to tell the master," the heavy one said, eyes locked on the window.

"We do." His companion, too, stood stone-still, staring wide-eyed. "Call it in."

"Why me? You call it in."

"I'm six months your senior, that's why. But... well, it's already too late. I suppose there's no need to hurry."

They stood in silence, eyes and ears full of the scene beyond the cell door.

***

Ilsa had one hand palm-flat on Hoff's chest and the other at his hip, steadying herself as she swayed, impaling herself atop him, body quivering at every peak and valley of her motions.

"Gods," she whispered, fingers tightening, her nails leaving red scrapes that were lost among the tapestry of marks on his skin. "Keep that. Keep moving."

Hoff didn't flinch at her hands digging in. He kept moving, kept countering her bounces and slides, kept meeting her halfway with his own motions, kept up his flow of words. "A nova. Burning hot, Ilsa, greater than any treasure."

"You, Hoff." Ilsa writhed, fingers flying to where their bodies joined, grinding herself up against her hand. "I can feel you. Your... everything."

"Perfection incarnate." He caressed her arms, her shoulders, her sides, her breasts, never ceasing his motions, never stopping the relentless beat of their lovemaking. "Shining brighter than any star, any galaxy."

"Never knew... you were... such a romantic." She rode him harder, came down atop one of his bucks, and cried out at the impact. "Another hidden talent."

"Only for you." His hands cupped her breasts, fingers finding her nipples and pressing them slightly, ever so slightly, between thumb and index. "Most beloved of the Known Regions. Diamond of the kingdom."

"Killing me with kindness," she said, laughing breathlessly, working furiously at her nub. "I... I'm almost there, Hoff. I... I need..."

He tweaked her nipple harder, and her lips parted with an uncontrolled puff of air, her hold body reacting. "Tell me what you need."

A strained smile broke across her face. "Tell me you love me, Hoff."

The faintest of pauses. "I..."

"Hoff, just say it." Ilsa's eyes were squeezed shut and the words came out with great effort. "Please?"

"I love you, Ilsa, to the edges of the universe and back." He met one of her grasping hands with his, held it tightly, pressed down on her thigh with his other, pulling her down into him. Pulling him into her. "I love your body, your mind, your courage, your refusal to accept anything less perfect than you."

"Tell me—" and then the dam burst and she was overcome, flooded with waves of sensation, the pleasure rippling through what felt like ever muscle, every fiber of her being. Ilsa's back arched, her fingers clenched around Hoff's, her mouth wrenched open by a wordless shout that she could not hope to contain.

And then it was over.

Limp, breathless, exhausted, Ilsa collapsed forward into Hoff's waiting embrace, his penis slipping from her and leaving a sudden emptiness behind, a void that she wanted to fill. "Gods," she whispered into his chest, her lips brushing skin that radiated the heat she still felt inside. "That... was really something, Hoff."

He planted a kiss somewhere amid her disheveled hair. "I'm happy to hear that. I'm very happy you enjoyed it."

"Makes me wonder what else I've been missing out on." She managed a few breathless chuckles. "Okay. I'm... I think I'm satisfied. How about you?"

"This has already been more than I could have hoped for, Ilsa."

Even through the sleepiness threatening to overtake her, her ears perked up at his words. "So that's a no."

"No, highness, that's... that is not what—"

"Shush." Unwilling to sit up, to break off contact, she craned her neck to look down the length of his body. "Oh, that is definitely a no."

Hoff's arms tightened around her. "I am perfectly comfortable, Ilsa, and I do not want—"

"I take back what I said." Emboldened and driven by a fresh surge of energy, she wriggled free, the sweat on her body aiding her efforts as she worked her way down to sit by his waist. "I'm not satisfied, especially if you're not satisfied."

"Highness, I have told you—"

"You told me what you told me, and I'm sure you've convinced yourself it's true." Ilsa reached out and took hold of his still-hard penis, rubbing her thumb gently over its head, feeling her own wetness there. "But one very important part of you isn't buying it."

Hoff opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying a word.

"If you don't want this," Ilsa said, settling down on her side propped up by an elbow, stroking him a little harder now, "all you have to do is say so. Tell me to stop, and I'll stop." She took a second to ensure he was watching, locked eyes, and dipped her head, taking a long lick along the full length of his erection. "Say the word."

"Ilsa." His voice was a hoarse whisper, now, and his whole body tensed as she ran her tongue up his length a second time. "You should not do this."

She kissed the tip of his penis. "That wasn't a 'stop,' my Hoff."

"...No." He shook his head, breathed deeply. "It wasn't. I do not want you to stop."

Ilsa parted her lips, tongue flicking out to moisten them, and took him in her mouth, relishing the sigh it provoked. She moved little by little, tongue exploring the head of his penis, tasting herself on him.

Hoff, already breathing hard, ran his fingers through her hair. "You are wonderful."

She hummed an appreciative noise and opened wider, took him deeper, struggling with his size. There was still ample room for her hand at his base, so she began stroking him slowly in syncopation with her mouth movements. Ilsa looked up at Hoff and saw his eyes squeezed shut, felt the hand in her hair settle more firmly against her head, and pushed herself harder, moving lower and lower with each bob of her head.

Halfway, now, and his fingertips were pressing lightly against her scalp, neither pulling nor pushing, and she could feel the tension in him, see the way he shifted on the cot as she worked her lips around him.

And then he inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. "My... Ilsa," he gasped, and she pulled back, lips pursed around his head as he came, feeling the warmth of his first spurt hit her tongue and then she dove, pushing forward until she felt him filling her mouth and throat, swallowing the rest of his seed as he clenched both hands in her hair and sent a twinge of bright sensation through her. She rode the wave of his climax, eyes open and on him, holding her breath until he relaxed again.

Finally, he did.

Ilsa drew back, sucking the last of his exertions from him as she did, then flashed a smile up at Hoff. "How was that?"

Without a word, he took her chin and gently led her up to him. He kissed her softly, sweetly, then held her body against his for a long minute. "It was perfect. You are beyond compare."

"Excellent." She snuggled up to him, draping her limbs across his. "I enjoyed myself too. You really are quite a mouthful."

His chest shook with a few silent laughs. "And you handled it beautifully. I hope to return the favor."

"Sure." She stretched and yawned, working her jaw from side to side. "Not now, though. I think it's about time we move to phase two of this operation."

"Yes, highness?" The change in his voice, the return to professionalism, was immediate.

"Hey!" Ilsa waved at the door, and at the two dark shapes barely visible through the window slit. "We're all done! You should probably go tell someone that I'm unfit for whatever you were planning. Now, please."

The window shutter slammed with a clang. Ilsa laid her head back down on Hoff's chest and nuzzled into his neck. "Well, we're committed now."

"We need to get dressed, highness." Hoff moved fractionally; Ilsa just clung harder. "We need to form a plan."

"It's a big facility. We can spare another thirty seconds."

"...as you wish."

***

The cult leader stormed down the dim halls, the hand holding his iron mask in place trembling with rage. Robed figures scurried out of his way; one acolyte wasn't quick quick enough, and the leader bumped into him, knocking both men askew.

"Useless!" The cult leader pulled free his mask, and the acolyte caught only a glimpse of the shiny burns beneath before the sheet of molded metal struck him in the side of his head. "Worthless worm. Out of my sight!"

Deeper into the bowels of the moon base he went, underlings drifting about in his wake, until he finally arrived in the prison. He squared his shoulders and adjusted his mask. "Open it," he growled to the guards on either side of the door.

"But master—"

"Now! Or I'll send you to the hells myself!"

After a careful glance through the window, they complied, turning the heavy locks and swinging open the door.

The cult leader glared in at the cell. The princess—soiled! ruined!—was seated on the cot, legs tucked under her and dressed in the remains of the scraps she'd come in with, leaning against her brute of a bodyguard. The larger man had an arm around the princess, and both met the leader's furious gaze evenly.

"You swine. You dogs!" He took a long step into the room and unsheathed a long knife. "How dare you darken these halls with your—"

The woman flicked her fingers and said a word that didn't quite reach his ears.

The cult leader's vision went black. His knees buckled. He was dead before he hit the ground.

His companions watched him fall and fumbled with their weapons for a split second. Then Hoff was upon them.

***

"No cybernetics," Ilsa said, prodding the cult leader's corpse with her toe. "Not even the most basic magic suppressor. Idiots."