FIC: Never Gonna Let You Down [Gundam 00, Lockon x Felt]
Title: Never Gonna Let You Down
Author: Omnicat
Rating: MA - NC-17
Genre: Angst, Smut.
Spoilers: Up to S1 episode 9, at least.
Warnings: Lemon. People having sex while under the influence of a malicous aphrodesiac. Ephebophilia/hebephilia and telieophilia, resulting in statutory rape according to some laws, though not all. Either way, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.
Pairings: Aphrodesiac-induced S1!Lockon Stratos x Felt Grace, mentioned past Neil Dylandy x OFC(s), mentioned aphrodesiac-induced Soma Peiris x Multiple OMCs.
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to Gundam 00 and make no profit by writing fanfiction about it. This story is entirely fictional and does not represent my personal opinion on the subject matter. If anything depicted in it goes against your laws, don’t try it at home.
Summary: Captured by the HRL, Felt is injected with a malicious aphrodesiac. Lockon manages to get them away from the enemy’s soldiers, but there’s no escaping the toxin in Felt’s blood... LEMON.
Author’s Note: Please be so kind as to ignore the blatant mistakes that are undoubtably present in my explanation of the aphrodesiac. I only barely passed my psychobiology exam. It’s the thought that counts, right? ;)
Never Gonna Let You Down
The voices eventually caused Lockon to awaken. Indistinct and disjointed at first, they gained in coherence as the Gundam Meister shook off the remnants of his drug-induced sleep.
"- about time, too. The Luitenant Colonel’s career wouldn’t have survived another failure."
"Ha! We have those Celestial Being bastards by the throat now. A Gundam figher pilot and his little spying aid. They’ll tell us all we want to know, you just watch."
"I wouldn’t count my blessings just yet, Panfilov. Remember what happened when they thought they’d caught that orange suit?"
"Ha, but that’s the beauty of it, don’t you see? They couldn’t get the pilot out of the suit back then, but this one came out on his own! You saw what he did when we caught her. I’m telling you, all we need to do is use that girly as bait and he’ll tell us all his organisation’s precious secrets. And I don’t blame the guy. Did you see what she looks like underneath that space-suit?"
‘Panfilov’ whistled and started making crude, suggestive sounds. Even with a stomach that didn’t quite seem to belong to the same body as the one his head was on, it sickened Lockon. Managing not to dignify his protesting muscles with a groan, he pulled himself upright.
"That’s digusting, Panfilov. She’s just a little girl."
"Phah! She’s less of a ‘girl’ than First Luitenant Peiris, and she’s supposed to be eightteen. Not that she isn’t a fine treat once you... get her in the mood. But she leaves you wanting curves, if you know what I mean. Haha."
"Oh, don’t tell me..."
"Fine, fine, balk all you want. You don’t know what you’re missing, Santana, I’m telling you."
"It’s against the rules! Mistreatment of prisoners is prohibited under -"
"Ha! Mistreatment? Once the stuff we gave her kicks in, she’ll be begging us to do her. We’d just be providing for her needs. We’d be model -"
At this point, the door Panfilov and Santana had been guarding burst open, knocking one of them into the wall and scaring the other enough to send him sprawling on the floor in perfect synchrony with his partner. Before they knew it, the captive disarmed his guards, kicked both of them in the groin with enough force to temporarily disable them, and hoisted them up by their uniform collars. Pressed to the wall with their prisoner’s pale face inches from their own, it was hard to miss the murderous intent in his eyes.
"Panfilov?" he growled. The watering eyes of the guard on the left shot to his partner, and the guard on the right paled. Lockon proceeded to beat the one on the right just a little harder than the other.
The Human Reform League would investigate and quarrel long and hard on the subject of Lockon Stratos’s and Felt Grace’s escape from their space fortress. The more practically minded argued that escaping safely with an unconscious associate should have been impossible for a man stripped of everything that could be used to escape or attack, as well as having been sedated and semi-officially ‘pre-interrogated’ by HRL military personnel with a personal interest in his case.
And yet he did.
And he took his Gundam with him. Right from under their noses.
The less practically minded claimed devine intervention in favour of Celestial Being. The defection rates over the next few months were suspiciously high among them.
By the time Felt finally stirred, Dynames had, to Lockon’s relief, shaken off pursuit and had reached the relative safety of an abandoned space station monitored by Celestial Being. Lockon conducted a simple magnetic docking while the girl fought off the last of the HRL’s sedatives, twitching and moaning. He checked the status of his communication systems but thought better of contacting Celestial Being just yet.
What he had overheard had been both disgusting and onimous. And despite the not unsubstantial risks - of solitary confinement for letting his feelings for his comrades compromise both his mission and his retreat, of Tieria’s eternal loathing for and, more importantly, infinately annoying nagging about him not being fit to be a Gundam Meister if he considered protecting a little girl to be more important than his Gundam, of the distinct possibility that Setsuna would repay him for that blow as soon as he found out, of what might be about to happen right inside Dynames’s cockpit... if his suspicions were true and those bloody HRL bastards had administered an illicit aphrodesiac, he couldn’t subject her to the humiliation of everyone on the Ptolemaios getting to witness it. Lockon had seen the effects such drugs had on people. It was hard enough already for Felt to get along with people, having grown up as isolated as she had. She didn’t need to be reminded of such humiliation every time she looked at Sumeragi, Christina, Lichtendahl or Allelujah, or any of the others on the short list of people who were nice to her in her bleak life.
Given that the cockpit was designed for one-and-a-Haro (which had still been present when he stole Dynames back, thank God, even though he was lifeless), Lockon had had to keep Felt in his lap during their escape, her legs slung diagonally across his and her small torso leaning limply against his chest. As she eventually looked up at him, her loose hair floating around her shoulders, Lockon suddenly wondered whether that had been such a good idea.
Felt looked uncomfortable, the corners of her eyes pinched. "Lockon?"
"Hey there," he said gently, using the voice he knew she found soothing. "How are you feeling?"
"This is Dynames’s cockpit? We’re free?" Her voice was hoarse.
"Yep." Keeping his tone light, Lockon observed her carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere, Felt?"
"No." she said, fidgeting, biting her lip, but not looking at him.
"But?" Lockon prodded.
Felt looked up at him with wide, scared eyes and rubbed her knees together. "It’s warm in here."
Lockon felt his blood run cold. It wasn’t warm inside the cockpit. The temperature was regulated in real time so that it would allow the pilot to performan at the peak of his abilities in combat situations; it shouldn’t be bothering her.
"Is that -" His voice came out several octaves higher than intended. Mentally cursing the HRL and everything they stood for, Lockon cleared his throat. "Is that all? Nothing else?"
Perhaps she sensed his distress behind his question, or maybe the disturbance it caused was all her own: her legs suddenly became very still, her eyes went wide and she started to pant.
"I - I feel -" She brought an arm up across her chest, causing her sentence to end in whimper. Seemingly no longer aware of his presence, the girl in Lockon’s lap curled in on herself, starting to rub her knees together once more and cupping her breasts in her hands, stroking them, kneeding them.
"F - Felt!" Lockon stuttered.
The sound of his voice startled her. It was almost as if she awoke from a trance: she looked around with evident confusion, and once she turned to him, her face was flushed and tears shone in her eyes. "Lockon, I’m scared." Her hands gripped his torn and slightly bloody green shirt, she pulled her body closer to his seemingly without conscious thought, her legs sliding between his as she twisted around in the air. "I - I feel strange. What’s happening to me?"
"The HRL gave you an aphrodesiac." Lockon swallowed thickly, willing the images that arose away. "I heard them talking about it. But don’t worry, you’ve slept a long time. Its effects will wear off soon now."
Felt froze. Her eyes, usually so dull and flat, held a feverish shine, brimmed with liquified confusion and fear.
"A - aphrodesiac... from the HRL?"
"You’ll be fine, Felt." Lockon had to restrain himself as not to stroke her hair. Pulling her hands away from his chest when she so obviously craved the physical contact felt cruel. "Like I said, you slept most of it off, you’ll stop feeling like this soon. Trust me, I’ve seen this before, back in Ireland."
"No!" The uncharacteristic outburst startled him. "That was the AEU’s aphrodesiac, the HRL’s is different. Heaven Reform League-produced artificial chemical BK-201 breaks down the body’s opiate neuro-transmitters but at the same time causes mass-production of other transmitters involved in the feeling of lust, thus creating an imbalance in the feelings of sexual pleasure and sexual need, resulting in physical withdrawal symptoms similar to those of hard drugs. If the cravings of the body are left unfulfilled, the withdrawal symptoms will grow in severety and scope, eventually coming to include head aches, convulsions, black-outs, until twenty-four hours after BK-201 is administered. The only way to reverse the effects is to - to manually resupply the body with natural, reproduction-related opiate-type neurotransmitters."
Though her voice cracked and faltered near the end, the list of facts was rattled off almost mechanically. Felt had her eyes closed tightly when she finally finished, and Lockon followed her example.
Natural opiate-type neuro-transmitters? He was pretty sure they didn’t have that in stock on the Ptolemaios.
Lockon mentally cursed the HRL and everything they stood for, Allelujah included for good measure. The only way to get help Felt was to... No, he mustn’t think about that. His pants tightened just thinking about it, but he could not do that, not to her. There must be another way.
A small, warm hand cupped his cheek, and his near-heart attack sent the blood racing to his groin. Both hands now stroking his face, Felt leaned in. No, it wasn’t Felt - the Felt he knew wasn’t this wild child with her mass of hair, swollen lips and lust-lidded eyes. Lockon didn’t want to look at her. Once the stuff we gave her kicks in, she’ll be begging us to do her.
Lockon tried to think of different women, different times, different places. Home. Being a teenager. Green hills, grey skies, windy cobblestone streets, crowded pubs full of laughter. Siobhan Ainsly. Pale skin, a fall of dark hair, button nose and fluttering lashes to die for. She had been slight and supple till the end, had always kept the girlish figure all the women envied her - and the men him, at least for a while - for. If he just thought of Siobhan hard enough...
But as soon as Felt kissed him, he knew it was no use.
Siobhan, with her love of herbal teas and scented baths, had never smelled of sweat and gunpowerder, nor tasted of coppery blood and the cruelly innocent, dusty sweetness of what must be the aphrodesiac.
The hands tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as small, soft breasts pressed against him and slender legs straddled one of thighs. Only when she started rocking back and forth against his leg did shame win out over lust.
Lockon broke the embrace, kept her at arm’s length, declared harshly: "I can’t do this."
"Lockon, please." she pleaded, reaching out to him. The girl flinched, tears were in her eyes. "Please."
Begging.
He had left his Gundam, thrown aside his mission as a Meister of Celestial Being, to save her from enemy soldiers. Could he abandon her to shame and torture now the enemy’s drug crept through her veins?
"Please."
It was the best of three evils, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Still fighting with himself, Lockon turned her around, sat her down in his lap, wrapped an arm around her waist, stuck his hand between her legs. Letting his fingers explore the crossing, he dug in his memories and had to conclude that he hadn’t had a girl this young since he was sixteen himself, a bumbling virgin. His reflection stared back at him from one of Dynames’s screens, and he buried his face in Felt’s hair. Unbound it was as tick and lush as he’d always imagined, but he banished that thought as soon as it entered his mind.
Demanding girlfriends with thighs like steel cables and claw-like manicures: Neil had often found them a bit of a nuisance, but Lockon was glad for the skills they had left him with as he applied strategic pressure and friction to the cloth stretching over Felt’s pubic region. Moans that sounded far too mature for a girl her age escaped her throat and she bucked hips into his hand as if she had known how to do this all her life.
And all the while Lockon tried - honestly tried - not to grind his erection into her rear.
"More." Felt sighed after a while, stretching her arms behind her head to bury her hands in his hair, never halting the gyrating of her hips. "I need more. Not like this - inside me."
Lockon’s stomach made a backflip, attempting to jump up through his throat but only managing to set fire to the liquid pooling in his lower belly. Mumbling obscenities into her hair, he complied, zipping down her yellow over-suit and lingering to brush his fingers around her belly-button - an old habit - despite himself.
Following the cleft where her labia parted, Lockon easily slid inside, meeting no resistance as he buried his index finger up to the knuckle in her vagina. The dampness he had felt through her suit and panties quickly covered his entire hand in a slippery sheen as he wriggled around, both outside - shuffling forward in the pilot chair so that he could open his legs further, with hers still hooked over his knees - and inside, curling his thumb into her clitoris and burying another finger into her as soon as there was enough room to fit the palm of his hand against her, and then, feeling how loose and relaxed she still was, another.
Lockon’s mind, fuzzy as it was, rebelled. This couldn’t be natural. In all likelyhood, Felt was still a virgin. It shouldn’t be this easy. But Felt didn’t seem to mind that one bit; she gasped, moaned appreciatively, raked her nails across his scalp and tilted her hips to meet the movement of his fingers.
The HRL’s drug worked its wicked magic and filled the cockpit with her throaty moans and his harsh breaths, with heat and stray droplets of sweat and saliva, with lust and guilt, and Lockon began to fear that he would climax sooner than Felt when she sped up, her movements becoming wilder, and he drove his thumb into her clit and heard her scream and felt her nails dig into his skull and her insides spasm around his fingers.
She sagged against him, boneless like a ragdoll, and her hands fell limply to her sides. For a while her panting was the only sound, because Lockon had to forcefully stop his hips from bucking. He didn’t dare breathe.
Eventually, feeling that Felt had calmed down, he settled back, and she squeezed herself onto the edge of the seat, between his knees. Felt stared dazedly at one of Dynames’s joysticks and Lockon stared down a supply cabinet built into the exterior next to his head. He’d thought the loss of contact would cause his painfully throbbing erection to die down, but as the silence stretched on, he had to conclude that as long as he could smell her, it probably wouldn’t.
"Is sex always like this?" a small voice asked. It almost sounded like the old Felt. Almost, but not quite. "It’s not usually just hands, is it?"
A shuddering breath, and Lockon managed to choke out: "No." And people usually consider each other lovers when they do it, not...
"Do you know other ways to have sex?"
"Yeah."
"Will you show me?"
His eyes snapped to Felt.
She turned around to face him, looking old. Scared, but old. Her voice sounded just like the time he had found her crying at the anniversary of her parents’s death. "The feeling is coming back. It wasn’t enough."
It was as if Lockon’s mind caved in. All his thoughs, bad and so-good-they-were-even-worse, slowly ground to a halt, leaving his head as empty as the void of space and as silent as Dynames’s cockpit, with nothing but white noise, the hum of the machines, for his company.
The Gundam Meister recognized his demise when he saw it. He was hard-pressed not to laugh.
"Are you sure you want this?" Better late than never, huh?
Her eyes hesitated, but her mouth was firm. She nodded.
Lockon sighed, feeling the flimsy remains of his resitance evaporate as the blood from his head flowed south. Maybe the close proximity with her bodily fluids had transferred some of the aphrodesiac to him? Or maybe his common sense had simply decided that a neglective owner such as him wasn’t worth the effort, and went to join in on the fun. "Alright then."
Reaching around her to get to Dynames’s controls, he typed in a lock down code and set the release to a key above his head, off to the side, where neither of them would - hopefully - press it on accident and send Dynames hurtling into space. Only the external sensors and the life-support systems stayed fully operational.
Felt must have guessed his intentions, and though it made Lockon wonder about what he had always seen as her sheltered lifestyle, the fact that she turned around and sat down on the edge of the control panel of her own accord did make it easier for him to push himself out of the pilot chair.
She did want this. That drug made her loose her mind, but just then, when she looked at him with so much trust in her eyes, she could have said no.
He’d never let her down before, had he?
Slowly, gently, he pushed the loosened over-suit from her shoulders. The HRL had taken her belt, boots and gloves, so there was nothing stopping him from pushing the pants down her legs, sliding the turtleneck over her head, and caressing the pale skin that was revealed. He lowered her onto the controls with as much loving tenderness as he could find in him and kissed her. A brief, almost chast kiss on the lips, then to move down.
The tip of her chin, the side of her throat, her collarbone, meandering down her sternum. Felt granted Lockon access to her breasts, deftly unclasping the front fastening of her bra, a stiff contraption designed, as Sumeragi had once confided to Lockon upon catching him staring at her impressive cleavage and laughing at his poor excuses, to prevent the excessive bouncing that followed a woman’s every movement in zero gravity conditions. He obliged, taking the change from soft moans to gasps as he pressed his lips to the rise of her breast as an encouragement. Just a bit further down and he took the soft mounds into his mouth one at a time and suckling them, circling the nipples with his tongue and blowing on the saliva-covered tips to make Felt shiver in delight.
He went further south, trailing kisses down her stomach until he reached the hem of her panties.
"Take them off." Felt said breathlessly. "I want to feel you there."
A shiver ran down Lockon’s spine and his penis strained harder than ever against the denim of his jeans. But he kept his own trousers on, kneeling down as well as he could after doing as he was told. His breath sped up while he gazed down on the pink curls and glistening wetness between her legs and stroked Felt’s hips, as if he was preparing for a dive. And indeed, when he lowered his head between her thighs he barely breathed anymore.
Cries of surprise escaped Felt when Lockon started applying suction to the inside of her thighs, long enough to tease but short enough to avoid hickeys, followed by a long, guttoral moan as he ran his tongue along her folds and prodded her clitoris. In her first display of inexperience of the day, Felt’s futilely sought something to brace her bare feet against until Lockon, thinking it best to take precautions grabbed her calfs and hooked her heels behind his shoulders.
Then he slid his tongue into her entrance. As expected, Felt cried out, her entire body cramping up, and he had to loop his arms around her legs and keep his hands heavily on her knees to prevent her thighs from closing around him. That position also enabled him to put more force into the thrusts of his tongue, to slide in and out of her at will, to twist his head while inside her and explore her cavern from every angle.
The taste of her slick flesh and the musky scent of her heated loins made his cock throb like never before, and Lockon found himself shifting positions so he could rub his heel along his groin with the leg in between twisted to the side, out of the way. Images arose in his mind, the kind he had become pathetically expert at conjuring and bringing to life to ever since he had joined Celestial Being and gave up his skirt-chasing ways. Images of curvy bodies - Felt’s body - splayed out beheath him in all their - its - glory, arching up and moving with him as he thrust his erection in and out of them - in and out of Felt.
Neil had never really been a man of kinks, but Lockon was, by now, not surprised by how arousing that perverted thought was.
It was almost as if she had read his mind when one of Felt’s hands suddenly janked on his hair, demanding he relinquish his position between her legs and face her, and her other hand closed around the bulge in his pants as soon as he did.
"Why are you holding back? I want to feel you, not just your fingers or tongue, I want your penis inside me."
The wide eyes and surprised tone were almost innocent, and Lockon had never heard something so erotic before. The cockpit seemed to spin and shrink around him, the air, recycled, replenished and cooled automatically, seemed scarse. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling to speak, but then changed his mind, straightened, turned, and reached behind him.
"Lockon!"
"Bloody Hell," he mumbled, his trembling fingers fumbling along the wall. "Not bareback. Can’t take that risk."
The cabinet opened with a click. There had been a string of condoms in there ever since Celestial Being’s resident desert dweller had explained, dead pan as always, that the reason Exia had contained a few was because they could hold over a litre of water, among several other, really honestly useful things. Lockon was always one for creative excuses. He tore one loose, closed the cabinet, and ripped the wrapping while at the same time unbuttoning his fly. He watched Felt watch him with rapt attention, her knees rubbing together absently while he pushed his pants down and put the condom on and sent God both a Catholic and a Protestant style prayer that he wouldn’t come before he’d so much as applied his protection. Apparently tired of waiting, Felt grabbed his gloved member as soon as Lockon let go of it and forcibly guided it to her entrance, under breathless protests from Lockon, who sagged against her shoulder with a feeling as if his bones had liquified.
There was no doubt about it, he wouldn’t hold out long enough if he went at it like this. Breathing "Wait, wait," into her tousled pink hair, he backed away and carefully turned her around in the cramped cockpit, bringing her back to him and her front to the control panel. It was easier to manually help her along that way, and he would need every means of delaying the inevitable he could find. A whimper escaped Felt’s throat when he pressed her naked breasts into the rows of buttons and slipped his hand between her legs again, his fingers creeping inside her, checking if she wasn’t too dry or tight. Lockon needn’t have worried.
When he guided the head of his erection to the entrance between her folds and pushed into her, he did so slowly, not for fear of hurting her, but to keep himself from climaxing. The throbbing heat and the slow, slow rythm of his thrusts were sweet torture, elusive Ambrosium, he could taste it on his tongue but never allowed it to slide down his throat and fill him. He moved in and out of her slowly, carefully manouvring himself along the edge of build-up and orgasm, savouring every too-short second of it while he did all his hazy mind could think of to help Felt reach her peak faster; leaning lightly down on her back so her breasts would grind against the buttons and switches of the panel with every movement, rubbing her clit between two fingers furiously to make up for his lack of speed.
The rythm of her moans and whimpers was his guide, and when it sounded like she would supphocate on her own pleasure he finally allowed himself to speed up, to pound into her as hard as he could, filling the cockpit with the sound of flesh smacking against flesh and hitching breaths and a long, keening moan. And that sound seemed to tell Lockon’s cock it could finally erupt; orgasm tore the ground from underneath his mind, sending it spinning, and made every fibre in his body explode, tear apart, spasm, liquid fire squeezing around him, emptying him, tossing him into a sun of euphoria while his body remained as an empty shell.
"D’you figure that was enough?"
Long though it had taken for Lockon’s mind to reconnect with his body and his body to his vocal chords, the sound of his own, slurry voice came as a surprise. He slid off of Felt’s back, out of her, and sat down heavily in the pilot seat. He whiped his forehead with the back of his hand and suddenly missed his gloves. Felt collapsed, curling up at his feet and drawing her legs up to her chest, and said nothing for a while. The both of them were still panting.
Eventually: "I think I’ll be okay now." She looked up at him through her bangs, but only briefly. "It - I... that second time... the need wasn’t nearly as severe as the first time."
It took a while for the implications of that statement to sink in. When they finally did, Lockon pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling himself become very tired. "I see."
Alarmed, perhaps, Felt finally looked up at him. "Lockon... I..." Her face stained crimson, and she bit her lip and covered her breasts with an arm, but refused to break eye contact. "Thank you."
Lockon stared at her for a long while, at the pure, determined look in her eyes. Then his expression softened, and he smiled. "You know I’d do anything for you."
Felt smiled back. The expression suited her.
And that was that.
Lockon zipped up his pants, straightened out his clothes and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Put your clothes back on. I’m taking us back to the Ptolemaios, but we don’t want the rest to see you like that and jump you, now do we?"
PSAN: There. Done. *keels over dead* I hope the title disturbs you as much as it disturbs me.
Author: Omnicat
Rating: MA - NC-17
Genre: Angst, Smut.
Spoilers: Up to S1 episode 9, at least.
Warnings: Lemon. People having sex while under the influence of a malicous aphrodesiac. Ephebophilia/hebephilia and telieophilia, resulting in statutory rape according to some laws, though not all. Either way, DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME.
Pairings: Aphrodesiac-induced S1!Lockon Stratos x Felt Grace, mentioned past Neil Dylandy x OFC(s), mentioned aphrodesiac-induced Soma Peiris x Multiple OMCs.
Disclaimer: I hold no rights to Gundam 00 and make no profit by writing fanfiction about it. This story is entirely fictional and does not represent my personal opinion on the subject matter. If anything depicted in it goes against your laws, don’t try it at home.
Summary: Captured by the HRL, Felt is injected with a malicious aphrodesiac. Lockon manages to get them away from the enemy’s soldiers, but there’s no escaping the toxin in Felt’s blood... LEMON.
Author’s Note: Please be so kind as to ignore the blatant mistakes that are undoubtably present in my explanation of the aphrodesiac. I only barely passed my psychobiology exam. It’s the thought that counts, right? ;)
Never Gonna Let You Down
The voices eventually caused Lockon to awaken. Indistinct and disjointed at first, they gained in coherence as the Gundam Meister shook off the remnants of his drug-induced sleep.
"- about time, too. The Luitenant Colonel’s career wouldn’t have survived another failure."
"Ha! We have those Celestial Being bastards by the throat now. A Gundam figher pilot and his little spying aid. They’ll tell us all we want to know, you just watch."
"I wouldn’t count my blessings just yet, Panfilov. Remember what happened when they thought they’d caught that orange suit?"
"Ha, but that’s the beauty of it, don’t you see? They couldn’t get the pilot out of the suit back then, but this one came out on his own! You saw what he did when we caught her. I’m telling you, all we need to do is use that girly as bait and he’ll tell us all his organisation’s precious secrets. And I don’t blame the guy. Did you see what she looks like underneath that space-suit?"
‘Panfilov’ whistled and started making crude, suggestive sounds. Even with a stomach that didn’t quite seem to belong to the same body as the one his head was on, it sickened Lockon. Managing not to dignify his protesting muscles with a groan, he pulled himself upright.
"That’s digusting, Panfilov. She’s just a little girl."
"Phah! She’s less of a ‘girl’ than First Luitenant Peiris, and she’s supposed to be eightteen. Not that she isn’t a fine treat once you... get her in the mood. But she leaves you wanting curves, if you know what I mean. Haha."
"Oh, don’t tell me..."
"Fine, fine, balk all you want. You don’t know what you’re missing, Santana, I’m telling you."
"It’s against the rules! Mistreatment of prisoners is prohibited under -"
"Ha! Mistreatment? Once the stuff we gave her kicks in, she’ll be begging us to do her. We’d just be providing for her needs. We’d be model -"
At this point, the door Panfilov and Santana had been guarding burst open, knocking one of them into the wall and scaring the other enough to send him sprawling on the floor in perfect synchrony with his partner. Before they knew it, the captive disarmed his guards, kicked both of them in the groin with enough force to temporarily disable them, and hoisted them up by their uniform collars. Pressed to the wall with their prisoner’s pale face inches from their own, it was hard to miss the murderous intent in his eyes.
"Panfilov?" he growled. The watering eyes of the guard on the left shot to his partner, and the guard on the right paled. Lockon proceeded to beat the one on the right just a little harder than the other.
The Human Reform League would investigate and quarrel long and hard on the subject of Lockon Stratos’s and Felt Grace’s escape from their space fortress. The more practically minded argued that escaping safely with an unconscious associate should have been impossible for a man stripped of everything that could be used to escape or attack, as well as having been sedated and semi-officially ‘pre-interrogated’ by HRL military personnel with a personal interest in his case.
And yet he did.
And he took his Gundam with him. Right from under their noses.
The less practically minded claimed devine intervention in favour of Celestial Being. The defection rates over the next few months were suspiciously high among them.
By the time Felt finally stirred, Dynames had, to Lockon’s relief, shaken off pursuit and had reached the relative safety of an abandoned space station monitored by Celestial Being. Lockon conducted a simple magnetic docking while the girl fought off the last of the HRL’s sedatives, twitching and moaning. He checked the status of his communication systems but thought better of contacting Celestial Being just yet.
What he had overheard had been both disgusting and onimous. And despite the not unsubstantial risks - of solitary confinement for letting his feelings for his comrades compromise both his mission and his retreat, of Tieria’s eternal loathing for and, more importantly, infinately annoying nagging about him not being fit to be a Gundam Meister if he considered protecting a little girl to be more important than his Gundam, of the distinct possibility that Setsuna would repay him for that blow as soon as he found out, of what might be about to happen right inside Dynames’s cockpit... if his suspicions were true and those bloody HRL bastards had administered an illicit aphrodesiac, he couldn’t subject her to the humiliation of everyone on the Ptolemaios getting to witness it. Lockon had seen the effects such drugs had on people. It was hard enough already for Felt to get along with people, having grown up as isolated as she had. She didn’t need to be reminded of such humiliation every time she looked at Sumeragi, Christina, Lichtendahl or Allelujah, or any of the others on the short list of people who were nice to her in her bleak life.
Given that the cockpit was designed for one-and-a-Haro (which had still been present when he stole Dynames back, thank God, even though he was lifeless), Lockon had had to keep Felt in his lap during their escape, her legs slung diagonally across his and her small torso leaning limply against his chest. As she eventually looked up at him, her loose hair floating around her shoulders, Lockon suddenly wondered whether that had been such a good idea.
Felt looked uncomfortable, the corners of her eyes pinched. "Lockon?"
"Hey there," he said gently, using the voice he knew she found soothing. "How are you feeling?"
"This is Dynames’s cockpit? We’re free?" Her voice was hoarse.
"Yep." Keeping his tone light, Lockon observed her carefully. "Are you hurt anywhere, Felt?"
"No." she said, fidgeting, biting her lip, but not looking at him.
"But?" Lockon prodded.
Felt looked up at him with wide, scared eyes and rubbed her knees together. "It’s warm in here."
Lockon felt his blood run cold. It wasn’t warm inside the cockpit. The temperature was regulated in real time so that it would allow the pilot to performan at the peak of his abilities in combat situations; it shouldn’t be bothering her.
"Is that -" His voice came out several octaves higher than intended. Mentally cursing the HRL and everything they stood for, Lockon cleared his throat. "Is that all? Nothing else?"
Perhaps she sensed his distress behind his question, or maybe the disturbance it caused was all her own: her legs suddenly became very still, her eyes went wide and she started to pant.
"I - I feel -" She brought an arm up across her chest, causing her sentence to end in whimper. Seemingly no longer aware of his presence, the girl in Lockon’s lap curled in on herself, starting to rub her knees together once more and cupping her breasts in her hands, stroking them, kneeding them.
"F - Felt!" Lockon stuttered.
The sound of his voice startled her. It was almost as if she awoke from a trance: she looked around with evident confusion, and once she turned to him, her face was flushed and tears shone in her eyes. "Lockon, I’m scared." Her hands gripped his torn and slightly bloody green shirt, she pulled her body closer to his seemingly without conscious thought, her legs sliding between his as she twisted around in the air. "I - I feel strange. What’s happening to me?"
"The HRL gave you an aphrodesiac." Lockon swallowed thickly, willing the images that arose away. "I heard them talking about it. But don’t worry, you’ve slept a long time. Its effects will wear off soon now."
Felt froze. Her eyes, usually so dull and flat, held a feverish shine, brimmed with liquified confusion and fear.
"A - aphrodesiac... from the HRL?"
"You’ll be fine, Felt." Lockon had to restrain himself as not to stroke her hair. Pulling her hands away from his chest when she so obviously craved the physical contact felt cruel. "Like I said, you slept most of it off, you’ll stop feeling like this soon. Trust me, I’ve seen this before, back in Ireland."
"No!" The uncharacteristic outburst startled him. "That was the AEU’s aphrodesiac, the HRL’s is different. Heaven Reform League-produced artificial chemical BK-201 breaks down the body’s opiate neuro-transmitters but at the same time causes mass-production of other transmitters involved in the feeling of lust, thus creating an imbalance in the feelings of sexual pleasure and sexual need, resulting in physical withdrawal symptoms similar to those of hard drugs. If the cravings of the body are left unfulfilled, the withdrawal symptoms will grow in severety and scope, eventually coming to include head aches, convulsions, black-outs, until twenty-four hours after BK-201 is administered. The only way to reverse the effects is to - to manually resupply the body with natural, reproduction-related opiate-type neurotransmitters."
Though her voice cracked and faltered near the end, the list of facts was rattled off almost mechanically. Felt had her eyes closed tightly when she finally finished, and Lockon followed her example.
Natural opiate-type neuro-transmitters? He was pretty sure they didn’t have that in stock on the Ptolemaios.
Lockon mentally cursed the HRL and everything they stood for, Allelujah included for good measure. The only way to get help Felt was to... No, he mustn’t think about that. His pants tightened just thinking about it, but he could not do that, not to her. There must be another way.
A small, warm hand cupped his cheek, and his near-heart attack sent the blood racing to his groin. Both hands now stroking his face, Felt leaned in. No, it wasn’t Felt - the Felt he knew wasn’t this wild child with her mass of hair, swollen lips and lust-lidded eyes. Lockon didn’t want to look at her. Once the stuff we gave her kicks in, she’ll be begging us to do her.
Lockon tried to think of different women, different times, different places. Home. Being a teenager. Green hills, grey skies, windy cobblestone streets, crowded pubs full of laughter. Siobhan Ainsly. Pale skin, a fall of dark hair, button nose and fluttering lashes to die for. She had been slight and supple till the end, had always kept the girlish figure all the women envied her - and the men him, at least for a while - for. If he just thought of Siobhan hard enough...
But as soon as Felt kissed him, he knew it was no use.
Siobhan, with her love of herbal teas and scented baths, had never smelled of sweat and gunpowerder, nor tasted of coppery blood and the cruelly innocent, dusty sweetness of what must be the aphrodesiac.
The hands tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss as small, soft breasts pressed against him and slender legs straddled one of thighs. Only when she started rocking back and forth against his leg did shame win out over lust.
Lockon broke the embrace, kept her at arm’s length, declared harshly: "I can’t do this."
"Lockon, please." she pleaded, reaching out to him. The girl flinched, tears were in her eyes. "Please."
Begging.
He had left his Gundam, thrown aside his mission as a Meister of Celestial Being, to save her from enemy soldiers. Could he abandon her to shame and torture now the enemy’s drug crept through her veins?
"Please."
It was the best of three evils, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Still fighting with himself, Lockon turned her around, sat her down in his lap, wrapped an arm around her waist, stuck his hand between her legs. Letting his fingers explore the crossing, he dug in his memories and had to conclude that he hadn’t had a girl this young since he was sixteen himself, a bumbling virgin. His reflection stared back at him from one of Dynames’s screens, and he buried his face in Felt’s hair. Unbound it was as tick and lush as he’d always imagined, but he banished that thought as soon as it entered his mind.
Demanding girlfriends with thighs like steel cables and claw-like manicures: Neil had often found them a bit of a nuisance, but Lockon was glad for the skills they had left him with as he applied strategic pressure and friction to the cloth stretching over Felt’s pubic region. Moans that sounded far too mature for a girl her age escaped her throat and she bucked hips into his hand as if she had known how to do this all her life.
And all the while Lockon tried - honestly tried - not to grind his erection into her rear.
"More." Felt sighed after a while, stretching her arms behind her head to bury her hands in his hair, never halting the gyrating of her hips. "I need more. Not like this - inside me."
Lockon’s stomach made a backflip, attempting to jump up through his throat but only managing to set fire to the liquid pooling in his lower belly. Mumbling obscenities into her hair, he complied, zipping down her yellow over-suit and lingering to brush his fingers around her belly-button - an old habit - despite himself.
Following the cleft where her labia parted, Lockon easily slid inside, meeting no resistance as he buried his index finger up to the knuckle in her vagina. The dampness he had felt through her suit and panties quickly covered his entire hand in a slippery sheen as he wriggled around, both outside - shuffling forward in the pilot chair so that he could open his legs further, with hers still hooked over his knees - and inside, curling his thumb into her clitoris and burying another finger into her as soon as there was enough room to fit the palm of his hand against her, and then, feeling how loose and relaxed she still was, another.
Lockon’s mind, fuzzy as it was, rebelled. This couldn’t be natural. In all likelyhood, Felt was still a virgin. It shouldn’t be this easy. But Felt didn’t seem to mind that one bit; she gasped, moaned appreciatively, raked her nails across his scalp and tilted her hips to meet the movement of his fingers.
The HRL’s drug worked its wicked magic and filled the cockpit with her throaty moans and his harsh breaths, with heat and stray droplets of sweat and saliva, with lust and guilt, and Lockon began to fear that he would climax sooner than Felt when she sped up, her movements becoming wilder, and he drove his thumb into her clit and heard her scream and felt her nails dig into his skull and her insides spasm around his fingers.
She sagged against him, boneless like a ragdoll, and her hands fell limply to her sides. For a while her panting was the only sound, because Lockon had to forcefully stop his hips from bucking. He didn’t dare breathe.
Eventually, feeling that Felt had calmed down, he settled back, and she squeezed herself onto the edge of the seat, between his knees. Felt stared dazedly at one of Dynames’s joysticks and Lockon stared down a supply cabinet built into the exterior next to his head. He’d thought the loss of contact would cause his painfully throbbing erection to die down, but as the silence stretched on, he had to conclude that as long as he could smell her, it probably wouldn’t.
"Is sex always like this?" a small voice asked. It almost sounded like the old Felt. Almost, but not quite. "It’s not usually just hands, is it?"
A shuddering breath, and Lockon managed to choke out: "No." And people usually consider each other lovers when they do it, not...
"Do you know other ways to have sex?"
"Yeah."
"Will you show me?"
His eyes snapped to Felt.
She turned around to face him, looking old. Scared, but old. Her voice sounded just like the time he had found her crying at the anniversary of her parents’s death. "The feeling is coming back. It wasn’t enough."
It was as if Lockon’s mind caved in. All his thoughs, bad and so-good-they-were-even-worse, slowly ground to a halt, leaving his head as empty as the void of space and as silent as Dynames’s cockpit, with nothing but white noise, the hum of the machines, for his company.
The Gundam Meister recognized his demise when he saw it. He was hard-pressed not to laugh.
"Are you sure you want this?" Better late than never, huh?
Her eyes hesitated, but her mouth was firm. She nodded.
Lockon sighed, feeling the flimsy remains of his resitance evaporate as the blood from his head flowed south. Maybe the close proximity with her bodily fluids had transferred some of the aphrodesiac to him? Or maybe his common sense had simply decided that a neglective owner such as him wasn’t worth the effort, and went to join in on the fun. "Alright then."
Reaching around her to get to Dynames’s controls, he typed in a lock down code and set the release to a key above his head, off to the side, where neither of them would - hopefully - press it on accident and send Dynames hurtling into space. Only the external sensors and the life-support systems stayed fully operational.
Felt must have guessed his intentions, and though it made Lockon wonder about what he had always seen as her sheltered lifestyle, the fact that she turned around and sat down on the edge of the control panel of her own accord did make it easier for him to push himself out of the pilot chair.
She did want this. That drug made her loose her mind, but just then, when she looked at him with so much trust in her eyes, she could have said no.
He’d never let her down before, had he?
Slowly, gently, he pushed the loosened over-suit from her shoulders. The HRL had taken her belt, boots and gloves, so there was nothing stopping him from pushing the pants down her legs, sliding the turtleneck over her head, and caressing the pale skin that was revealed. He lowered her onto the controls with as much loving tenderness as he could find in him and kissed her. A brief, almost chast kiss on the lips, then to move down.
The tip of her chin, the side of her throat, her collarbone, meandering down her sternum. Felt granted Lockon access to her breasts, deftly unclasping the front fastening of her bra, a stiff contraption designed, as Sumeragi had once confided to Lockon upon catching him staring at her impressive cleavage and laughing at his poor excuses, to prevent the excessive bouncing that followed a woman’s every movement in zero gravity conditions. He obliged, taking the change from soft moans to gasps as he pressed his lips to the rise of her breast as an encouragement. Just a bit further down and he took the soft mounds into his mouth one at a time and suckling them, circling the nipples with his tongue and blowing on the saliva-covered tips to make Felt shiver in delight.
He went further south, trailing kisses down her stomach until he reached the hem of her panties.
"Take them off." Felt said breathlessly. "I want to feel you there."
A shiver ran down Lockon’s spine and his penis strained harder than ever against the denim of his jeans. But he kept his own trousers on, kneeling down as well as he could after doing as he was told. His breath sped up while he gazed down on the pink curls and glistening wetness between her legs and stroked Felt’s hips, as if he was preparing for a dive. And indeed, when he lowered his head between her thighs he barely breathed anymore.
Cries of surprise escaped Felt when Lockon started applying suction to the inside of her thighs, long enough to tease but short enough to avoid hickeys, followed by a long, guttoral moan as he ran his tongue along her folds and prodded her clitoris. In her first display of inexperience of the day, Felt’s futilely sought something to brace her bare feet against until Lockon, thinking it best to take precautions grabbed her calfs and hooked her heels behind his shoulders.
Then he slid his tongue into her entrance. As expected, Felt cried out, her entire body cramping up, and he had to loop his arms around her legs and keep his hands heavily on her knees to prevent her thighs from closing around him. That position also enabled him to put more force into the thrusts of his tongue, to slide in and out of her at will, to twist his head while inside her and explore her cavern from every angle.
The taste of her slick flesh and the musky scent of her heated loins made his cock throb like never before, and Lockon found himself shifting positions so he could rub his heel along his groin with the leg in between twisted to the side, out of the way. Images arose in his mind, the kind he had become pathetically expert at conjuring and bringing to life to ever since he had joined Celestial Being and gave up his skirt-chasing ways. Images of curvy bodies - Felt’s body - splayed out beheath him in all their - its - glory, arching up and moving with him as he thrust his erection in and out of them - in and out of Felt.
Neil had never really been a man of kinks, but Lockon was, by now, not surprised by how arousing that perverted thought was.
It was almost as if she had read his mind when one of Felt’s hands suddenly janked on his hair, demanding he relinquish his position between her legs and face her, and her other hand closed around the bulge in his pants as soon as he did.
"Why are you holding back? I want to feel you, not just your fingers or tongue, I want your penis inside me."
The wide eyes and surprised tone were almost innocent, and Lockon had never heard something so erotic before. The cockpit seemed to spin and shrink around him, the air, recycled, replenished and cooled automatically, seemed scarse. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling to speak, but then changed his mind, straightened, turned, and reached behind him.
"Lockon!"
"Bloody Hell," he mumbled, his trembling fingers fumbling along the wall. "Not bareback. Can’t take that risk."
The cabinet opened with a click. There had been a string of condoms in there ever since Celestial Being’s resident desert dweller had explained, dead pan as always, that the reason Exia had contained a few was because they could hold over a litre of water, among several other, really honestly useful things. Lockon was always one for creative excuses. He tore one loose, closed the cabinet, and ripped the wrapping while at the same time unbuttoning his fly. He watched Felt watch him with rapt attention, her knees rubbing together absently while he pushed his pants down and put the condom on and sent God both a Catholic and a Protestant style prayer that he wouldn’t come before he’d so much as applied his protection. Apparently tired of waiting, Felt grabbed his gloved member as soon as Lockon let go of it and forcibly guided it to her entrance, under breathless protests from Lockon, who sagged against her shoulder with a feeling as if his bones had liquified.
There was no doubt about it, he wouldn’t hold out long enough if he went at it like this. Breathing "Wait, wait," into her tousled pink hair, he backed away and carefully turned her around in the cramped cockpit, bringing her back to him and her front to the control panel. It was easier to manually help her along that way, and he would need every means of delaying the inevitable he could find. A whimper escaped Felt’s throat when he pressed her naked breasts into the rows of buttons and slipped his hand between her legs again, his fingers creeping inside her, checking if she wasn’t too dry or tight. Lockon needn’t have worried.
When he guided the head of his erection to the entrance between her folds and pushed into her, he did so slowly, not for fear of hurting her, but to keep himself from climaxing. The throbbing heat and the slow, slow rythm of his thrusts were sweet torture, elusive Ambrosium, he could taste it on his tongue but never allowed it to slide down his throat and fill him. He moved in and out of her slowly, carefully manouvring himself along the edge of build-up and orgasm, savouring every too-short second of it while he did all his hazy mind could think of to help Felt reach her peak faster; leaning lightly down on her back so her breasts would grind against the buttons and switches of the panel with every movement, rubbing her clit between two fingers furiously to make up for his lack of speed.
The rythm of her moans and whimpers was his guide, and when it sounded like she would supphocate on her own pleasure he finally allowed himself to speed up, to pound into her as hard as he could, filling the cockpit with the sound of flesh smacking against flesh and hitching breaths and a long, keening moan. And that sound seemed to tell Lockon’s cock it could finally erupt; orgasm tore the ground from underneath his mind, sending it spinning, and made every fibre in his body explode, tear apart, spasm, liquid fire squeezing around him, emptying him, tossing him into a sun of euphoria while his body remained as an empty shell.
"D’you figure that was enough?"
Long though it had taken for Lockon’s mind to reconnect with his body and his body to his vocal chords, the sound of his own, slurry voice came as a surprise. He slid off of Felt’s back, out of her, and sat down heavily in the pilot seat. He whiped his forehead with the back of his hand and suddenly missed his gloves. Felt collapsed, curling up at his feet and drawing her legs up to her chest, and said nothing for a while. The both of them were still panting.
Eventually: "I think I’ll be okay now." She looked up at him through her bangs, but only briefly. "It - I... that second time... the need wasn’t nearly as severe as the first time."
It took a while for the implications of that statement to sink in. When they finally did, Lockon pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling himself become very tired. "I see."
Alarmed, perhaps, Felt finally looked up at him. "Lockon... I..." Her face stained crimson, and she bit her lip and covered her breasts with an arm, but refused to break eye contact. "Thank you."
Lockon stared at her for a long while, at the pure, determined look in her eyes. Then his expression softened, and he smiled. "You know I’d do anything for you."
Felt smiled back. The expression suited her.
And that was that.
Lockon zipped up his pants, straightened out his clothes and ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Put your clothes back on. I’m taking us back to the Ptolemaios, but we don’t want the rest to see you like that and jump you, now do we?"
PSAN: There. Done. *keels over dead* I hope the title disturbs you as much as it disturbs me.