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“Do you have a boyfriend?”
Gossamer cracked open crusty eyes.
“Girlfriend?”
“Haaaaaaanh?” Something cold and hard against her back, arms pinned back and restrained. “Whaddr’you talking about?” She blinked hard and her eyes focused through her goggles.
She was in a high and vasty hall – must be one of the tall buildings they never finished on East Side. Low light from the setting sun sent long spears, dust-brilliant, among the ancient concrete pillars. Cool air sighed over the outside of one thigh, where her spangled tights had ripped. Gossamer flexed her fingers – cold stone against her palms and the give of something sticky against her knuckles. When she breathed, a band of some firm material held tight against her stomach. She was… she was sitting leaned against one of the pillars. She’d been duct-taped to one of the pillars. Mortifying. If one of the League of Unmannerly Deeds found out about this…
“How about a non- a two- an epi…” In front of her, a superhero sat with legs crossed like a tailor on the dusty concrete, imperturbable, the heavy white leather of her body suit and cowl scuffed but otherwise neat and the folds of the short azure cape falling impeccably over one shoulder. Only a small streak of red on one cheekbone suggested she’d been in a fight. As she cocked her head, a soft shimmer on her shoulder and cowl gleamed subtly in the light.
“You!” Gossamer croaked.
Paladin smiled, a brief efficient twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Me,” she said.
The weather had been warm and bright and sunny over Fiasco City, a wonderful day to be a horrible girl. Gossamer tweaked the goggle-strap caught in her curly hair then flung out a slender arm, letting another sheet of silk-fine material form out of her skin and catch the air. This high, she could see all of the great city, the buildings with their sculpted roofs and the veridian jewels of parks, the irregular ring of Fiasco City’s river glinting silver among it all. Past the show-offy architecture of the city centre the bright-painted roofs of suburbs alternated with green fields and the black of newly-planted earth, stretching out and away, almost a blur where they touched the demarcation line in the far distance.
Gossamer smiled to herself and patted the canvas satchel that rested heavy against her hip. She had a police parade to gatecrash and a handful of gas grenades to make things… entertaining. And in the meantime, the sky was hers, peaceful and wide and open and –
A shadow darkened the white of the silk above. Eh? There’d been no other gliders, or gondola-balloons or rackety ornithopters – who could match her mastery of the open air? Gossamer grabbed a fistful of silk and yanked the sail out of the way.
Falling, plunging, swift as a falcon’s stoop, Paladin dropped down from above, boots first, azure-blue cape flying out from the force of the air around her.
“You can’t even fly!!” Gossamer shouted up. There was no answer; Paladin probably couldn’t hear at all. “How the frankit did you –” She squinted up. A fine black-thread line bisected the brightness. The superhero must have climbed the track on which ran the little sun. And then jumped.
“Are you crazy?!” Gossamer yanked a handful of lines, changing direction, zigging and zagging, but still, soon enough boots plunged through the silk of her glider –
A gentle hand tapped Gossamer’s cheek. “You want some water?” Paladin asked, unhooking a stubby bottle from the back of her belt.
Gossamer swallowed. “... Yeah,” she said. The drink slipped cool and welcome down her throat.
“So,” the superhero repeated, “do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? An– ah, look, I promise I’m supportive I’m just behind on the vocabulary.”
“I’m not turning my loved ones over as hostages, you ‘heroes’ are all the same, jackbooted –”
Gossamer hissed as the woman plunged through all her sky-sails, catching herself with fingers in Gossamer’s belt. It snapped and Gossamer squeaked as her tights started to slip down her legs. The superhero swore, something salty that Gossamer’s grandmother used to say, and wrapped a beefy arm around her hips, tight and inescapable. With her other hand she grabbed drag-lines and hauled them down, sending the pair of them spiralling, the black maw of a half-built building opening in front of them.
Gossamer hit the concrete floor tumbling, helter-skelter, the larger woman’s grip inescapable, she flicked her fingers out fast and sharp, felt the needles release from her fingertips, the superhero flinching but hanging on – Gossamer reached in the satchel and pulled the tab of a grenade, the force of it shook them both a gold and silver cloud erupting around them and –
Gossamer blinked.
“It’s going to be alright,” Paladin said, calm and reassuring. “But I need you to tell me, do you have a, a Significant Other – someone you’re comfortable getting intimate with?”
“‘Significant Other’, you sound like my granny what’s that got to do with anything?”
After a pause, the superhero said, “Did you know what was in those gas grenades?”
Gossamer lifted her chin. “A disruptor. You ‘heroes’ and your ‘law enforcement’ always protecting the status quo. Your own privilege, that is. Keeping us locked in and static and under the boot. Maybe you all could stand to have a funny day.”
After another pause, Paladin said, “Did you think it was laughing gas?”
Gossamer hesitated. Her skin felt… peeled, the soft cloth of her battle garb too harsh against her skin. Something roiled in her belly. “What is it, then.”
This close, she could see the skin tighten around the superhero’s eyes as she spoke. “It looks and smells like Agent 473, street names: sparkle, fuck-fuck gas, dr happy…”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It fell out of use a decade ago; I thought they’d lost the recipe.” Another pause. “So there are some options. I can arrest you, bring you in, and you’ll be given medical care. Hook up an iv and strap you to a bed until it sweats out. It won’t be a good time, but you’ll live. Or I can find someone you’re comfortable having coitus with for a few hours.”
“And then you ditch me to have fuck-fuck with your ‘Significant Other’, huh?” Gossamer sniggered, looking at the faint sparkles on the other woman’s leather cowl.
“I’ve developed a resistance to many pharmacological substances,” Paladin said blandly. She unhooked a portable radio from her belt, one of the new kind which connected with the telephone network, and offered it. The brass dial glinted in the low amber light. “You don’t have to tell me who or where, just give a rendezvous point I can drop you.”
Gossamer licked her lips. “I don’t. I’ve never.” She looked away. “Just too busy shaking this city up, you know?” she said, voice wobbling through the bravado. “What’s wrong with the hospital that you’re pissing around like this?”
Very gently, Paladin said, “Even in a private room, with the most close-mouthed nurses under the little sun, it’s going to be in extremis. And there will be people who saw you like that. It’s… not a great time.” She swore again, archaic and quaint. “But if you don’t know anybody…”
Gossamer licked her lips again. Turning her head to meet Paladin’s faded eyes, she said, “I know you, don’t I?”
Watching Paladin undress was an experience in itself: the brilliant cape removed without flourish and the heavy utility belt unclasped and laid beside it on the stark floor. Paladin separated out her water bottle and a gadget that extended into a little lantern. Then her hands came up to her heavy jacket and undid a row of hidden buttons; it peeled open like the rind of a rare fruit. She circled her waist, unpicking the hooks that pinned it to her pants, then shucked the thing off, leaving only a sleeveless white undershirt. Without the blazon of her armour, she still stood tall: broad-shouldered and wide-handed, with breasts like the figurehead of a ship from an old book. A quick working at the strap under her chin and the cowl came off, leaving a domino masking her upper face, and short bobbed hair – an utterly boring haircut, she might as well be a librarian or a tram-driver.
Kneeling with a knife in her hand, she leaned in close to Gossamer to cut the duct tape away. Gossamer opened her mouth, not even meaning to, and breathed in sweat and leather and something dark. One hand popped free and she swept it forward, needles extruding from under her nails, fingers coming up under the older woman’s chin, aiming for the throat – Paladin didn’t flinch this time, her faded eyes calm and gently inquiring. The steady pulse of her heart’s blood throbbed under Gossamer’s fingertips.
She took a quick breath, then pulled her face into a wide, wacky grin. “Ha!” she crowed, “Just my little joke. Don’t want you to think I’m easy…” She withdrew her hand a little, then patted Paladin’s enormous shoulder awkwardly. “All in good fun.”
Paladin cut her other hand free and drew her upright, then looked around assessingly at the empty hall, and shrugged. “Here, I guess.” She nudged her fallen jacket around to a patch of concrete still warmed by the sun. “Damned if I’m lying on that with bare skin.” In a swift movement she stripped off her undershirt and balled it into a pillow and lay down, half-naked, wriggling gently in the amber light until she was comfortable. Then she patted her belly. “Come down, kiddo. Skin contact is best.”
Gossamer hovered beside her. She looked out over the city, beautiful, suffocating Fiasco City, then down at its first protector. Dropped her hand to her waist, stopped, then hauled her spangled top upwards – how odd the relief on her skin a burden released the cool air bracing she needed – she unhooked her bra and pulled it off, felt a relief from that, too. Still looking out over the city she pulled out the ties that kept her hair in two tight bunches and shook it out. Reached for her goggles.
“Leave them on.”
She turned. With her head resting on one arm, her leg crooked up a little, Paladin watched her.
“You’re beautiful,” Paladin said, neutrally, a statement of fact.
You’re terrifying, Gossamer didn’t say.
The superhero patted her stomach again.
In a whirlwind less decision than bravado, Gossamer plumped down upon her, straddling her hips, then felt the larger woman’s soft oof, and then a warm hand between her shoulderblades, easing her forward and down, resting on her great chest and feeling every movement of her ribcage. The seamlines of the superhero's combat pants were rough texture against Gossamer's inner thighs; her tights might as well not be there. Paladin’s hand stroked down her back, calm and unpressing.
After a moment, Paladin said, “You can touch me if you want. It’s fine.”
“Can I kiss you, then?”
“... If you want.”
But instead of a kiss, Gossamer reached for one of the woman’s tits, honking it like a clown’s nose, felt her shake underneath her. “That okay?” she said uncertainly.
A wide hand patted between her shoulderblades. “I’m really hard to break,” the superhero said. Gossamer honked her breast again, then covered it with her palm, exploring the texture, touched the other breast the same way, tracing and testing. She cupped them and brought them together, then dipped her head and blew a raspberry between them. More shaking beneath her, a low churring sound. The superhero was laughing.
Frowning, Gossamer nipped her skin, then tasted it with her tongue. Salt. She opened her mouth and wrinkled up her nose to breathe in the skin-fragrance properly, then kissed where she had bitten, a light press of her lips. Paladin’s hand still stroked down her back, light and unpressing, but in arcs now, wandering across the ticklish skin of her ribs, the sides of her breasts. It was. It was nice. She kissed Paladin’s tits again and again, then tried sucking on a nipple but it wasn’t as much fun as porn made it look. Gossamer went back to kissing her skin, all over the swell of her bosom then up, along her collarbone and the column of her throat, nibbling along the jawline, up to the scratch on her cheekbone where Gossamer herself had drawn the woman’s blood, tasted it.
“I’m starting to think,” she breathed into Paladin’s ear, “that this was just a ploy to get me into bed.”
The woman chuckled underneath her. “Do you think I’d have trouble getting laid?” she rumbled. “You’re adorable. May I touch your breasts?”
“Sure,” Gossamer said magnanimously. And Paladin did and it was wonderful, warm and sweet and a little electric, better than when Gossamer touched herself, she stretched and sighed, luxuriating in it like a cat in sunlight. But – “Are you really sure it was Agent 45-whatever?” she asked. “This is nice but I feel fine. Or maybe I’m immune.”
“Maybe you are,” rumbled Paladin.
And then, with perfect and diabolical timing, the drug activated.
Red Hammer Flesh Need Want Blood Breath Scratch Howl (a warm hand on her lower back, “It’s going to be alright, can you frottage on my thigh?” “Whuzzat?” “Rub one out. Use the friction.”) Pulse Breath Want Pressure Rut (Gossamer mewled, rocking against Paladin’s firm leg, desperate but it didn’t work she was lost-empty-needful, breath warm in her ear “It’s going to be fine.” A hand slid her pants down – air cold on her ass – dipped between her thighs.) Touch Want Empty (Broad fingers skimmed past her aching cunny, found her clit, Gossamer sucked in a breath against the molten heat building inside her) Fire Burn Sun Flower
Gossamer screamed.
When she opened her eyes, her spangled tights were pulled back up, neat and tidy. The muscles in Paladin’s chest moved as she matter-of-factly cleaned her fingers with a handkerchief. Streamers of lustrous silk were scattered on the concrete around them like a ripped up banner, or a glyph in a lost language – did Gossamer do that? Sweet weariness dragged her down but she pushed herself up on shaking arms. “Thank you for your service,” she said, glibly.
Paladin put down the handkerchief and met her eyes, face unreadable behind the white domino. “You might want a spot of rest,” she said neutrally.
Gossamer stared down at her.
Then she dipped her head and kissed Paladin on the mouth, sloppy and wet. Tucking her face into the woman’s throat she mumbled, “Well if the Great Superhero wants a teddybear, who am I…”
The warmth of a cape drawn across her back.
Blackness.
Someone was playing with her hand, stroking up each finger and pressing the pad until a prickle extended. Paladin's hum vibrated through all of Gossamer's body. "These venomous?" she asked.
"Only when I'm angry," Gossamer mumbled into the woman's throat. Then she grinned wickedly. "How could I ever be angry with you?" she cooed.
Paladin's chuckle shook them both.
Gossamer hiccuped. Then something inside here went spung!
"Uh," she said. "I think it's starting again.
Paladin squeezed her hand. "It's alright. I've got you."
Thunder Red Thunder Need Howl (the third time she grabbed Paladin’s fingers and jammed them right up inside her crying at how correct it felt, crying) Thunder Bloom Fall (her goggles loosened, pulled up, fresh-laundered fabric dabbing at her tears ) Scream (the fifth time, or the sixth, she lost control of her prickles, left rows of spines down Paladin’s arm, heard her curse, “What did you–” then groan and shudder, hips bucking up “It’s going to be fine,” someone said ) Shatter ( a strap snapped under Gossamer’s fingers, eyelashes fluttered against her palm, antique curses and she was rolled onto her back, cushioned in endless silk, hands dragged up and pinned over her head as Paladin hid her face in Gossamer’s breasts kissing and nipping and suckling)Storm ( implacable she parted thighs like tree trunks drank-breathed-feasted on the woman’s musk as she buried her face between)Sun(shaking, she was shaking )
Light
Sometime in the night she woke again, calm and serene, resting on Paladin’s breast.
She looked out over the city – the lights patchworked over the city streets from the scheduled brownouts, only the hospital and weather station guaranteed power – the beautiful, beautiful city. The stars were brilliant tonight: she picked a bright one and played the old game, taking a deep breath until the star rotated out of sight behind the horizon… she must be tired, couldn’t hold it this time and her breath fluttered on the other’s skin. Fingers stroked her hair.
“‘Flask City’,” Gossamer muttered, lip curling. “The bounds of our prison.”
Paladin’s chest moved beneath her, slow, steady, reliable, unstoppable. Then she said, soft and sad. “I was there when the world was broken. I was there when they remade the sun. This city isn’t a bottle you can break to release a genie; there is no egg that will hatch a bright bird of dawning. There’s only broken shell and yolk-dreg, and that’s what we survive in.”
Gossamer gripped Paladin’s arm, hard enough to bruise. “I can’t believe that’s all there is.”
Very soft: “I love you for that.”
Her hand covered Gossamer’s eyes. “Sleep now.”
Later, when it was over – probably over – Gossamer woke up wrapped in her own silk, face turned to a sky full of the subtle, teasing colours of the coming dawn. Paladin’s little lantern still glowed nearby, and the woman sat cross-legged beside it with a veil of silk over her shoulders for warmth. She frowned down at the mask and cowl in her hands; a needle glinted.
She had a plain sort of forgettable kind of a face, worn in a little, crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. A librarian, maybe, or a tram-driver, or one of those aunties who staffed the recycling station and spent their weekends cleaning streams. Just a citizen.
Paladin looked up at Gossamer, and smiled.
“It’s alright,” she said soberly. “We can go back to being enemies after breakfast.
Gossamer touched fingers to her temple in sleepy salute.