Nephenee’s had it up to ~HERE~ with Heather’s attitude!! :<
Thanks to iavenjqasdf both for the prompt and their continued Patreon Support!
you can also read this over at Archive of our Own!
Nephenee shifted impatiently atop the bench, the adrenaline of a solid workout still coursing through her veins. “Let me go. It’s hardly a scratch.”
“Nonsense,” Heather chided, “If I’d discovered I’d somehow marred the cute little body that got me signed up for this ill-fated endeavor in the first place I’d—” Heather grunted, shucking Nephenee’s pauldrons and hefting them to the side. Then, removing the cuirass, it joined its partner on the ground with a clatter. “There, that’s better. Now spread your legs.”
Nephenee looked to the side, as Heather inspected the damage on her right calf. She wasn’t acting tough! Blunted training swords could cut, of course, but not well. Honestly, surprising as it might’ve been that someone like Heather was able to get such a sturdy hit on her, the worst victim in all of this was Nephenee’s trousers.
“I’m going to need to take these down—”
“E-eh?” Nephenee responded, suddenly roused from her sartorial musings.
“—to apply the ointment. Why, I couldn’t bear the stain on my soul, if some grisly wound I inflicted became infected and sent a precious little lady like you to an early grave.”
“As if! I’ve got more scars than you’ve pilfered coins, ya lout!” Nephenee replied, on instinct, her blue eyes wide with need to defend her martial prowess. “Ya ding me with one lucky sword swipe and all of a sudden yer claiming thatcha—” Realizing, however, that she was babbling out this protest directly to the unsubtle dip of Heather’s cleavage in her immodest little jerkin, Nephenee brought herself urgent halt to by swallowing a hard gulp of air. “I-I mean… do as ya like.”
Without a word of defense against such a strident reproach of her morals, Heather went to her knees, easing between Nephenee’s spread legs and Nephenee watched, mute and entranced, as Heather’s undid the laces of her trousers with the merest of tugs.
The pungent salve stunk worse than the stuff they used to smear on the foals. Still, Heather’s fingers worked skin as easily as they picked locks, and she filled the air with gentle conversation. “If you had as many as scars as what I’ve pilfered, you’d be more scars than skin, but I see one or two here I wouldn’t mind hearing the tale of…”
Nothing stokes a warrior’s pride more than the recounting of old battles, victories past, and the marks incurred in the defense of one’s family and homeland? Nephenee stood to partial attention, despite the trousers around her ankles, ready to deploy a tale of derring and valor—
Unfortunately for Nephenee’s inchoate confidence, the mark Heather directed her gaze towards was actually incurred during a rather unheroic… bull-riding exploit of her humdrum youth.
A squeeze of pressure around her calf brought her, blushing with foolish memory as she was, back to the present. Heather stroked the salve into her skin with a firm circle of her calloused thumb. Nephenee’s lip trembled and, before she could stop herself, a strangled sound lodged itself in her throat.
Heather’s expression darkened. Her nose flared with soft breath, and she canted her head, a bloodhound attuning to a particularly odorous quarry. “Oh? Is it possible that I’ve been so consumed in my appreciation of my cute little soldier, that I didn’t notice she was—”
Nephenee’s eyes went wide. “T-that’s neither here nor there!”
“Naturally.” Heather’s husky voice lowered an octave. Her lips parted with a world-eating grin spread. She touched down on Nephenee’s thighs, massaged deeply into tensed muscles. “We’ve dealt with the obvious issue, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t…” Her touch dawdled along the coarse finger of Nephenee’s smallclothes. “Check. You. Over.” A flash in her eyes. Just enough of a delay for her intent to pierce even the battle-thickened skull of a young soldier, before she clarified: “For bruising, and such.”
“You city folk with your high falutin’ opinions of yerself…” Nephenee shook out her long hair with a dismissive flicker of her head, proud as any stallion. “I toldja, I’ve had worse injuries milkin’ cows, let alone in a fair fight.”
She only partially acknowledged how she needed it—that flagrant display—to soften the blow to her soldier’s pride, as she so pliantly lifted her hips as Heather removed her smallclothes.
“See?” There was a newly purpling patch, above Nephenee’s knee. “There’s a hard hit I got on you. Who says the thief can’t—” The pressure of her fingertips against Nephenee’s leg, on a particular spot. “And here—”
With a feline smile, Heather peeked up at her de facto patient, wriggling eyebrows half-hidden behind the her wheaty blonde hair. “Did that hurt?”
Rapidly, Nephenee shook her head. “No!”
“No need to shout,” Heather replied. Coyly, she wasted a moment tucking her long hair behind her ears as Neph’s knees jittered and bobbed before her. Then, right at the moment Nephenee, bristling, burning, overloaded with unconsummated energy, couldn’t bear another moment in absence of her touch, when Nephenee could feel the tension burning off her with every bead of sweat rolling down face…
Heather massaged deeper into the bruised muscles of Nephenee’s left quad. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always found the tension of a good workout hits me right…” Fingertips down the swell of Nephenee’s corded abdomen. “About…” Tracing a semicircle around the fringe of her tufty hair. “Here…”
Heather’s thumb planted itself deeply into sore and heated flesh, right at the crux of her thigh. A blissful conjunction of sensitive pain and sharp pleasure flowed into Nephenee’s bloodstream. And she released that woeful sound, again. That little whimper. That quail of a caught animal.
Nephenee now—quite intimately, she thought—understood how a chicken must feel, when their neck’s wrung.
“Oh?” Heather smiled. Her tongue eased out to moisten her lips; a mountain cat grown fat and confident by stalking easy, domesticated prey. “That’s a familiar sound… but not quite what I’m looking for… You know, Nephenee-dear, when a sweet, tough girl like you gives me one of her good, strong workouts—”
A triplicate of panting breath wheezed through Nephenee’s chattering teeth, as she observed the encroach of Heather’s fingers. This was too much! She couldn’t take it!
“—I all but require a nice, relaxing, cool-me-down of a…”
The toying. The teasing.
“Massage,” Heather concluded.
Oh, buzz off! Nephenee thought. Frustration ricocheted inside her.
Heather’s thumb stroked inwards, inlaying a pattern around the pearl of Nephenee’s clit, drawing away its hood. The smooth compression of touch drew a flicker from Nephenee’s limbs, all at once, an uncoordinated blurt of energy, like a puppet manned by a rank amateur.
Oh, please don’t sod off… Nephenee quickly corrected herself.
Heather—she thought, desperate for distraction’s relief from the burgeoning tension inside her—was no rank amateur… in as much as a girl like Nephenee was qualified to judge such things.
“Of course, that sort of massage is no good if you don’t add a…”
Which is to say, she wasn’t. She wasn’t cultured like Heather was. She didn’t have “street smarts” or “guile.”
Heather’s fingertip drew downward, parting the cleft of Nephenee’s lips, spreading the moisture of her cunt, and probing gently forward…
All she was qualified to judge was a sword from a spear, or a bull from a cow. And she certainly didn’t grow up in a place where people did whatever they wanted…
Heather paused at the Nephenee’s primed entrance, eyes glistening with ingenue spirit.
Took whatever they wanted…
Pursed lips, insouciant as they were innocent. “That is… if you thought that would—”
Summoning every ounce of control she could, Nephenee threw a hand around Heather’s wrist and—
“Aan!” She cried out, finally—blissfully—taken.
—even if she was required to take herself.
“That’s my girl,” Heather husked, leaning in with wolfish intent. Permission granted, she worked Nephenee as quickly, as efficiently, as any other implement of her trade. Nephenee groaned, biting at her lower lip as the pleasant feeling of pressure branched like slow, implacable flame up into the crucible her stomach. Heather’s single finger dove into her, and curled upwards on the return strike, pistoning into her with mechanical rhythm. She was panting, fingers digging into the bench as if to stop her from floating away, and stomach heaving in curt little waves. Nephenee slapped a hand against her mouth. Her eyes went to slits. She bit down on her palm hard enough to draw blood. She felt boorish, wheezing through her clenched fingers, staring out at Heather’s parted lips through the gauzy curtain of her hair.
But she wanted things! Even if she wasn’t bold like Heather was. Even if she wasn’t clever like Heather was. Even if she certainly hadn’t the first idea on how to be coy. Even if she was nothing but a rueful little hayseed—stout, hard, and cracked—shaken away and lost in the dirt, baring no comparison to the tall, majestic, golden strands of Heather’s wheat. Wasn’t she allowed to want things, even so? Even if she couldn’t take them. Or form the picture of them in her head without blushing and stammering over herself. Or even if she had no earthly idea even how to say…
With a slap, Nephenee’s hand struck the back of Heather’s neck, precluding any retreat. Heather reined her right back, with a fistful of hair, drawing her into a sharp, deep kiss. Their tongues twined, pulsing with the vibrations of Nephenee’s suppressed moan. Nephenee trembled, her core shaking, her legs jittering, as the acid burn of her workout caught up with her. As the oppressive heat of summer beaded over every square inch of skin. With two fingers, Heather spread an entire world inside her. And Nephenee could think of nothing she desired more than to clench down with grubby, peasant fingers and take it. Devour this woman, still what made her so tall, so beautiful, so adept at taking what she wanted, whether it be treasure, or power, or rueful little hayseeds with nothing to give.
For now, she settled on quenching her scream of release with a clamp of teeth around Heather’s blissfully flexing tongue, and bruising a set of fingerprints deep enough into Heather’s neck that she’d be wearing her hair down for a week, if she had any shame.
When Nephenee’s death grip finally released, Heather fell back with a laugh of pure bravado, fanning the air with a hand still glistening of Nephenee’s honeyed qualia. “That good, huh?”
Which, of course, she did not.
Nephenee flicked her head away, chin up, with a flurry of her deep green hair. “Tell yerself whatever you’d like!”
It was the final vestige of her strength, before she collapsed with a thud, supine atop the bench, and watched with dizzied eyes as the sky above swam and pulsed with new colors and a fresh, wonderful radiance.