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For the first time in weeks, Anby had a long weekend.
Nicole liked to push them on the weekdays, knowing they all had their own things to do across the weekend, but they had just gotten off a big job - as usual, Billy was out hunting for tickets, Nekomata could finally afford to splurge on a fancy sushi place, and Anby had been thinking about buying more movies.
She still hadn’t gotten around to watching the director’s cut of Dimensional Musketeer the Proxy had gotten her, but that felt secondary to what laid in her hands.
A single box. Cheap wrap, with the discount sticker peeled off by clumsy hands. A weight not even in kilograms.
Nicole’s gift.
Nicole’s gift to her.
When the Cunning Hares did good, they always got their bonuses. Billy got his efficiency bonus, Nekomata got clusters of coupons, but Anby’s gifts were always unpredictable. Sometimes, she got movies. Often, it was clothes for her small wardrobe.
Today felt different. She still remembered the faint smell on her boss’s breath, the feeling of warmth on her cheek, the lipstick stain she regretted having washed off.
“You did good out there, little bunny, so here’s your reward~”
First, a perimeter check. The hideout they had rented was theoretically a shared base of operations, but in practice, Anby and Nicole were the main residents. The stray cat disliked staying in one place too long, and Billy had his own rundown, one-room apartment to store his merch in.
It was clear. No hostiles in a hundred meters, only small animals and what looked to be a Bangboo doing sidewalk maintenance. Nicole was either partying or working, possibly both.
She sat down on the base’s slightly-weathered couch, scooting around to find the one patch where the stuffing was still thick enough, and turned the TV off, the static no-cable-detected screen snapping to darkness. Being on the edge of a Companion Hollow to Cretan Hollow, there was no point in locking the door - anyone who went to open it would have the key, or the tools to bust in.
Her thoughts raced on what it could be - some of Nicole’s gifts to her were special, things she only gave to her partner, her blade.
Slowly, she opened the wrapping. The pink material would tear easily if she let it, but her enhanced senses detected even the slightest implication of damage - carefully, cautiously pulling apart the lime-green ribbons.
Beneath the exterior, a small, opaque bag of purple cloth was sealed tight with a string. It was the kind that Nicole sometimes sold weed in, but it didn’t smell like it at all.
Carefully, she held it up and brought it close to her nose. Maybe it was just well-sealed?
Strawberries, and maybe roses? A warm scent, with a hint of spices beneath. Vanilla and clove, a bit of jasmine.
Her favorite scent. Her favorite person’s scent.
Heart accelerating as fiercely as an overdrive engine, she pulled the strings of the bag loose and slowly tilted it down into a waiting palm. Dark lace fell onto her fingers, shape apparent - a pair of panties, and from the feeling, recently worn.
She kicked her shorts off in the next seconds, fumbling one-handed to unbuckle her belt and pushed her thong down with it, feeling her erection grow rapidly. Nicole’s panties, the realization rushed across her body, arousal spreading like a conducting charge from her slightly-damp fingertips, Nicole’s freshly-worn panties.
Anby was well-disciplined. She had endured all kinds of training, and even learned to count every denny for burger funds. The clone was capable of restraint, capable of calmly analyzing any situation and achieving maximum results with precise movements.
Except for right now.
Right now? She had begun furiously pumping her cock before she even realized it, fingerless gloves sliding against pale, sensitive flesh - three fingers gripping it, pinkie extended for lack of room.
Her other hand lifted the gift up to her nose, and underneath Nicole’s expensive perfume, she caught the musky scent of sweat.
It had her stomach tightening, leaning back against the couch and huffing the fabric from a few centimeters away. Every time her fingers slid down, she caught another whiff of the scents - brain helplessly falling into a rapid charge mode from the interplay of elegant, feminine perfume and thickly cloying girlsmell.
She wore it on the mission, the thought struck her. They had been deep in the Hollow, searching for a cache of supplies while battling off raiders, and every whiff of sweat was from while Nicole had been fighting for her life, side-by-side with Anby.
It honestly baffled Anby that she could get this hard. A rush of heat surged across her hips, as if her veins were ready to burst, and even with headphones on, she could hear herself panting and barely suppressing whimpers.
The clone closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, and clenched down on her core. The distant lightning begged to release, and she was just barely keeping it together. Every time the sweat overwhelmed the strawberry-sweet perfume, she couldn’t help but buck her hips.
An image was forming in her head at each huff - of Nicole, slowly pulling them off, of how they nestled between her thighs, of how much thicker the smell would be on her than the panties.
Oh, I’m cumming-
She wanted to say it was a precision discharge, that she avoided making a mess with precise reflexes, but that would be a lie.
Anby Demara splattered babyless batter all over her shorts and skirt, globs sticking to her gloves and bare fingers,
“Nicole, nicole, nicolenicolenicole-” she felt embarrassment flush over her mute expression with each mutter, even as the last bursts of pleasure had her shaking her cock into the air.
Rationality creeped back in, looking down at the mess she had made. If she immediately transferred to cleanup mode, she could dispose of the evidence and change outfits with plenty of time before any chance of being caught. She was already calming down, and she could treasure the memory.
Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.
A deep breath full of Nicole’s sweat-soaked, perfumed panties.
Her cock stiffened as if catching itself from falling asleep on guard-duty, pale blue veins reemerging from where they had began sinking into flesh, and she knew it was no longer a question of pragmatism. If this was a movie, it would be the moment where the main character’s heart is moved by the power of love and began engaging in erratic behavior that no longer operated on logic.
She got herself comfortable against the couch, laying on her side against the small lime-green pillow on its edge, and hesitantly, carefully pressed the panties against her nostrils. Unwilling to drop them yet, she pulled her other hand’s glove off with her teeth, and a charging field of warmth soaked between her sweaty palms and cum-soaked cock.
Closing her eyes, she began pumping again with slower, calmer touches. Nicole loved those, always teasing her as she did them - she couldn’t help but imagine her boss’s larger, less calloused hands, carefully-manicured nails contrasting the pathetically-spasming cock beneath them.
“If you finish the job too fast, the client might not feel like they got their money’s worth, right?” She would always tease Anby, rubbing her fingertip right beneath the head in slow circles.
Imitating the movement clumsily, her heart pounding, she felt the first sparks of electricity build again.
She had worked hard to get this prize, and it was worth every moment. Every movie she watched to study street smarts, every cut and scrape from vaulting through barbed-wire traps. Anby had pushed herself to do better, in hopes of getting praise from her favorite person, and she had gotten something much hotter.
Hesitantly, she licked the panties. Salty sweat clung to her tongue, with a hint of the foul flavor of perfume somehow adding to it.
“You don’t really care about the dennies, do you?” Nicole had once asked her, and she knew it was true. Anby wasn’t an earnest, hard-working woman in the way someone might envision her as, if they knew how much effort she put into her job. In her heart, she had something much better than money to love.
Anby Demara loved to be Nicole’s whimpering bunny. She loved thighs soaked in sweat, words that teased at her core, and even the greedy, corner-cutting parts.
She was thrusting into her palm again, callouses grinding against her shuddering cock. She couldn’t help it - every time she imagined the pink-haired mercenary, she fell a bit deeper into a fugue that no combat-thrill or even the best movie could ever match. If anything could match it, it would be the first, best, juiciest bite of the most deluxe, triple-patty burger ever.
“Nicole!”
She bit her lip, trying not to scream. Even the slight change in volume was unusual for her, her monotone built into her mannerisms painfully consistently, but the shaking rush crashing over her left her unable to control her voice.
Her second orgasm was sloppier. If she opened her eyes, she would likely see it splattered all over the edge of the couch and her discarded clothes.
That would not happen, because she had no desire to open them. The relaxation crashed into her bones, and she placed the panties beneath her, flopping over to lay on her stomach. Her half-hard cock slipped beneath the cushions, faint belly keeping it from pressing against the bottom despite their lack of padding.
Anby was at peace, wrapped in a veil of perfume and sweat, and nothing could possibly bother her. Even as she thrust into the cushions occasionally, trying to imagine it as the thick thighs of her boss, her arms lay limp and her guard truly dropped, a rare occurrence for the super-soldier.
How much time passed, she wasn’t sure.
Perhaps it was seconds, minutes, or maybe she had dozed off for hours. Her perfect internal clock had short-circuited from the sensory overload, but she still recognized those footsteps as the door slammed open.
“Anby!~ I got some leftovers from General Chop! Let’s have a dinner date like old time-”
Her head shot up, and she locked eyes with those lime-green pools.
At first, Nicole’s expression was confused. Her cheerful expression froze, and she looked over the area. Then, after a few moments, it turned to a thoughtful frown. The pinkette closed and locked the door behind her, setting up the brick atop it, and sauntered over to lean on the arm of the couch.
“Someone’s been a veeeery bad girl, staining our couch. Care to explain, Anby?”
Anby. Cunning Hare. Former captain of the Silver Squad. Expert mercenary.
Currently broke after buying a new couch.