“Sleep next to me,” she said.
Malcolm shook his head.
“No,” he said. “That’s… not a good idea, I don’t think. I have bad dreams.”
“So do I.”
She patted the spot next to her on the bed invitingly, but still, Malcolm refused. He was content with a blanket and an extra pillow. The concrete was cold and hard underneath him, but he took warmth from his actions earlier in the day. It was the first time in a long time that he’d stopped to care about someone other than himself.
Malcolm slept easily, and probably more soundly than he should have. He dreamed of flying again, and was deep in the realm of fantastical memory when soft hands sliding under the waistband of his boxers drew him awake.
Chaste Widow had slid off the mattress and joined him under his covers. Malcolm could feel her soft body against him. She was naked, the points of her breasts pushing against his shoulder as her hand fished around inside his underwear.
“Uh…” moaned Malcolm. “What are you…?”
He let his question die on his lips as her palm closed around his shaft. He’d developed an erection at some point during the night, even though his dreams had been tame. He breathed a sigh of pleasure as Chaste Widow slowly began to stroke her hand up and down. It had been such a long time.
Why is she doing this? Does she feel like she has to?
“…Stop,” Malcolm managed to say. “Please. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”
Chaste Widow didn’t stop. Malcolm guiltily let himself enjoy a few more seconds of the hot, stroking sensation before reaching out and taking her wrist.
“Stop,” he repeated.
“I’ve been forced to do this before,” whispered Chaste Widow. “This… and so much more. Just because I can’t kiss without killing doesn’t mean I can’t do… other things.”
“I’m not forcing you,” said Malcolm. “And I never would. Please, let’s both just go back to sleep.”
Chaste Widow disappeared under his blanket instead of listening. A second later, Malcolm felt a hot, wet tongue sliding circles over the tip of his erection with luxurious slowness.
“Oh…” moaned Malcolm.
“So many times, I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “Each time I thought… I’d be used to it, for the next time. But it doesn’t work like that. It just got worse and worse.”
“Hey…” said Malcolm. “You aren’t thinking clearly. I’m a friend. Not somebody to force you into doing anything.”
“It’s my choice!” snapped Chaste Widow. She gave his shaft another lick, as though to emphasize her point. “This time… I can choose you. Because you’ve been so kind to me. I can choose to share myself with you, and know that if you say yes, it’s out of kindness. And caring.”
She kissed his thighs, and then all along his hardness.
“Please…” whispered Chaste Widow. “Say yes. Let me do this for you.”
Malcolm reached his hand down to her and cupped her cheek. The way she spoke of her pain, of all that had happened to her, was heartbreaking to him. He wanted to say no out of principle, out of a sense of what he felt was best for her, and what he felt she probably needed.
Maybe it isn’t for me to decide what she needs.
He gave a slow nod, and then almost gasped with pleasure as her lips engulfed his erection. He pressed his head back against the pillow, and for the first time in months, let himself fall back into a cloud of erotic pleasure.
Chaste Widow kept going at an even pace, her mouth gliding with slow, sensual movements. The sensation stirred emotions in Malcolm that he hadn’t expected, remnants of his feelings for Rose and Tapestry. An echo of the sadness he’d felt when he’d first seen Chaste Widow as a slave.
She kept up with her lips and tongue until Malcolm was at his bursting point, and then climbed forward. Malcolm came very close to forgetting the nature of her power as she carefully worked herself onto his rod, finding the right angle and exhaling as she slid down.
For several minutes, the two of them were just a man and a woman. The dismal world outside was forgotten. Their injuries, the lack of food, rough conditions, it was all secondary to the gentle movements of their bodies and mutual erotic pleasure.
Chaste Widow shuddered and made a tiny, climactic noise only seconds before Malcolm found his own release. The two of them shared his mattress for the night, not out of any deep, loving connection, but simple affection and companionship. They didn’t have much, but a peaceful night wasn’t too much to ask for.
***
Or so Malcolm thought. It was deep into the night, only a few shades away from sunrise, when he heard the sound of movement coming from outside the hatch. He froze as he heard someone trying the handle, and then roughly knocking in an attempt to wake him up.
One of the gangs has found my hideout. Even if they don’t get in today, they will eventually…
Chaste Widow was tense on the mattress beside him. Malcolm was annoyed at the ideas percolating in his head. Perhaps they could lay a trap for whoever was outside, if he hid somewhere and she stayed in bed, naked and inviting? He pushed the plan aside immediately, knowing the toll it would take on the battered woman.
“Wind Runner!” The voice was muffled, but Malcolm still recognized it. He breathed a slow side of relief and set an encouraging hand on Chaste Widow’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a friend.”
CHAPTER 6
Malcolm and Chaste Widow dressed, and then climbed up the ladder and out of the hatch. He wasn’t able to completely let go of his tension until he’d made it outside and seen the faces of Wax, Anna, and Greenthumb in the dim predawn light.
He couldn’t believe that they were still alive, and from the expressions on their faces, they couldn’t believe that he was, either. None of them rushed forward to pull him into a hug, though Malcolm sensed it was less out of desire, and more out of respect for the time they’d spent apart.
Six months in this new world is like a decade in the old one…
“You are sight for sore eyes,” said Wax. “Truly, Wind Runner. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive.”
Malcolm nodded slowly, only then examining the champions in closer detail. Wax was no longer the pudgy, bald man who would have looked at home in a cubicle or in the driver’s seat of a bus. He was muscular now, and he wore a black trench coat that hung in a manner suggesting it carried several pounds of weapons.
Greenthumb and Anna were standing close to each other, too close for Malcolm not to notice. Greenthumb was half leaning on his walking stick, and Anna had a bandage underneath her hair. They both looked worn, but still confident to carry out whatever their current mission entailed. Malcolm found his smile fading a little as he scanned over them a second time, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“I would have figured Tapestry to be more the kind of champion to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night,” he said. “She’s not with you… is she?”
Wax frowned, and gave a small shake of his head. “We haven’t seen her since before the collapse. Sorry.”
The words cut deeper into Malcolm than he’d expected them to. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, feeling like a fool for having pushed her away at the worst possible time. If he’d found the words for an apology, found a way to make her listen to him, he could have protected her and Melanie, kept them from heading off on their own.
“Wind Runner, don’t focus on what’s been lost,” said Wax. “The fact that you’re still in one piece is as close to a sign as we’re liable to get. The reports we’ve heard of Vanderbrook make it sound like a meat grinder, and Halter City is currently Multi’s main base of operations.”