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Agnes Tachyon stood bent over a rolling terminal with her finger twitching through pages of notes that scrolled too fast for any normal person to read. Not that she needed to as every detail had already been filed away in the furnace of her memory.
Heart rate thresholds. Stamina retention curves. Recovery period anomalies. The usual. What fascinated her, what really made the dopamine light up, was the outlier. The data spike from last week’s high-speed stress test and the name attached to it was what annoyed her most.
“Gold Ship.”
She said it aloud like it was the punchline to a joke she didn’t find funny. Somewhere behind her, a vent rattled as if in response.
Of all the subjects she’d tested, none were as annoyingly unstable. Not in performance, as Tachyon could respect wild fluctuations if they had the decency to be logically sound. Gold Ship was something else entirely. Her spikes mangled her predictions. Her stamina dropped when it should’ve held. Her acceleration kicked in post-failure. She laughed in the face of the equations Tachyon had carved her youth into. And the worst part? She always seemed to know she was doing it.
The sound of a lazy knock echoed on the metal doorframe.
Tachyon didn’t turn around. “You’re twenty-three minutes late.”
“That’s so specific.” Gold Ship’s voice sang out behind her, sweet and syrupy and soaked in mockery. “You miss me or something?”
The clack of boots approached at a meandering musical pace.
“I had to blow off steam.” She continued. “You ever try to run laps while blindfolded with a watermelon on your head? Kinda freeing.”
“I’ll log that under ‘incredibly stupid.’” Tachyon closed the data stream with a harsh swipe. She finally turned with her arms folded across her lab coat. “I could’ve had any number of stable, compliant participants. Instead, I have you.”
“And yet you called me back.” Gold Ship grinned, her eyes half-lidded with something too casual to be innocent. “I wonder why~”
Tachyon’s jaw tensed. There it was again; that awful, smug tilt to her tone. She was baiting her.
“You ran a high-grade endurance simulation at 130% capacity.” Tachyon said sharply. “Your blood oxygenation levels increased after muscle failure. You spiked the test so hard I had to rerun the machine.”
Gold Ship’s shrug was lazy. “I got bored of losing.”
“You weren’t supposed to win.”
“I never am.”
Tachyon stared, but Gold Ship didn’t break. She leaned casually against the nearest desk with her back arched slightly as her fingers drummed against the edge. She wasn’t even pretending to take this seriously.
“I’m running a closed experiment tonight.” Tachyon said. “No trainers. No cameras. Just bio-feedback and manual observation.”
Gold Ship’s grin widened.
“Oh? Sounds intimate.”
“Do not make this weird.”
“No promises, Doc.”
She shifted over as her grin softened into something more patient.
“…So what do I get if I impress you?” she asked, her voice husky with implication but not overtly lewd. She said it like a challenge.
“Answers.”
That made Gold Ship’s brow twitch slightly with interest, but nothing more.
“I’ll take it.” She said. “Where do you want me?”
“On the treadmill, for now. We’ll build to stress-testing after I get baseline scans.”
Gold Ship stepped forward, peeling off her jacket with one hand.
“Build to it, huh?” Her tone oozed double meaning, even if her pace remained slow. “You’re really warming me up here, Doc.”
“I’ll take your vitals first.” Tachyon said, turning briskly and moving toward the scanner.
Gold Ship followed and stepped into the scanner chamber, her chest rising as the machine started to glow. Tachyon’s hand hovered near the interface.
Gold Ship didn’t move yet.
“…You sure you don’t miss me?” She asked, quieter now.
Tachyon’s hand paused in the air as the scanner blinked to life.
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t deny it either.
The scanner lit the room in a soft, oscillating blue. It pulsed against Gold Ship’s body as a wave rolled from head to toe. Tachyon kept her eyes on the monitor. Not because she needed to, she could recite this process from memory, but because she refused to give Gold Ship the satisfaction of catching her staring.
“BPM stable.” She muttered under her breath. “Temp’s normal. Cortisol’s up, but within margin…”
Gold Ship still stood inside the arc of the scanner’s frame with her shoulders relaxed and her legs parted just enough to keep her posture from looking forced. She didn’t look like she was under any kind of stress.
She looked like she was waiting.
“Anything interesting in there?” She teased.
“No anomalies yet.” Tachyon said, tapping her fingers over the interface. “Which is, frankly, disappointing.”
Gold Ship smiled like she’d just been complimented. “Guess I’ll have to try harder, huh?”
Tachyon didn’t look up.
“I’d prefer if you tried less.”
“C’mon.” Gold Ship drawled. “You drag me all the way out here for a one-on-one session and you expect me to take that lying down?”
“You will be lying down eventually.”
The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
Silence. Then, click.
The scanner shut off. Tachyon inhaled very softly through her nose and turned away.
“Onto the treadmill.” She ordered. “Set to incline. Maximum gradient. I want to see how your anaerobic thresholds hold under extended resistance.”
Gold Ship stepped out of the scanner chamber and stretched nonchalantly with her arms behind her head. She moved across the room as the treadmill loomed at the center of the lab, a hulking piece of equipment with reinforced railings and enough padding to survive a small-scale crash test.
It was built to catch girls when they fell. Gold Ship didn’t spare it a glance.
She stepped onto it and turned to toss a look over her shoulder at Tachyon.
“Tell me when to start panting.”
Tachyon tapped a button on her console with more force than was necessary and the machine lurched to life.
Gold Ship took off at a light jog. Not fast, not hard. Just enough to match the incline. The curve of the belt started to rise as the seconds ticked by, and the hum of the treadmill grew louder with it. Tachyon watched the vitals stream as oxygen uptake climbed, heart rate adjusted, and strain markers flickered around the edges.
Gold Ship’s posture didn’t change. If anything, she looked more relaxed now.
“You’re pacing it.” Tachyon’s voice had a hint of accusation as she leaned closer to the terminal, muttering as her fingers flew over input keys. “I want you at 85% load. No games.”
“No…promises...”
“Gold Ship—”
“I’ll give you everything.” She said suddenly, cutting her off. “But I’m gonna do it my way.”
Tachyon looked up then. Gold Ship’s hair was bouncing with each impact, her breathing steady and her eyes pinned forward now. She was focused.
“I know how you look at me.” She said, and this time her voice wasn’t playful or mocking. “Like I don’t make sense.”
Tachyon didn’t interrupt as Gold Ship kept running.
“You’re wrong.”
The monitor pinged once and the heart rate spike. She was pushing harder.
“I’m not a freak result.”
Another ping. It was the anaerobic threshold rising.
Tachyon swallowed.
Gold Ship smirked again, but slower this time as if it were earned.
“I’m your new favorite variable.”
And then she sprinted. A full burst like a starter bell just went off in her blood. Tachyon nearly dropped her pen as the monitor spiked in half a dozen places, vitals screaming upward without even brushing warning thresholds. Gold Ship was gritting her teeth with her eyes narrowed as sweat finally began to bead at her temples, but not slowing.
Tachyon stepped forward without realizing it and her hand hovered near the emergency cutoff.
“Gold Ship, you’re pushing past safe load—”
“I know.” She growled. “Let me.”
The machine roared as her legs blurred. The belt groaned under her weight.
But Tachyon didn’t stop her. She just watched as her heart pounded.
Gold Ship ran like she’d been waiting her whole damn life to be seen this way.
The treadmill staggered to a halt, the engine whining with a low, mechanical sigh before blinking out. Gold Ship stepped off with the ease of someone who hadn’t just obliterated their VO₂ max with the sheen of sweat slick across her skin being the only evidence she’d even tried.
Tachyon had already moved in by the time she came to a full stop. She held a handheld sensor as she scrolled through biometric overlays on her pad. There was an urgency in her movement now, like her body had decided she didn’t have the luxury of slowing down anymore.
Gold Ship caught her breath on a long exhale, then rolled her shoulders slowly.
“So…did I pass your little test?”
“No.” Tachyon muttered. “You broke it. Again.”
Her eyes moved too quickly and moved away Gold Ship’s collarbones, her throat, and the gentle flex of her arms. She didn’t look at her. She kept working like if she stared for too long the data might become secondary.
Gold Ship stepped off the treadmill and stood unprompted in the center of the room while looking at Tachyon.
“You look rattled, Doc.” She said, quieter now. “Kinda like I cracked open your head and rearranged the furniture.”
Tachyon finally looked up. She hated the way her eyes caught on the water beading down Gold Ship’s collar and her breath caught in her own throat when she noticed the light indentation her sports top made over her sternum. Her own pulse was climbing.
“I need to assess for microtears.” She said flatly, moving past her and grabbing a roll-out diagnostic mat from the shelf.
Gold Ship blinked. “…Microtears?”
“Lie down.”
A slow, arching smile spread across Gold Ship’s face and sge stepped forward as Tachyon unrolled the mat across the padded floor. She settled onto her back with her arms resting loosely at her sides. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm while her belly expanded softly with each inhale.
Tachyon crouched beside her, adjusting her position and pulled a second device from her coat pocket. It looked more like a diagnostic wand than a scanner. She moved it slowly across Gold Ship’s left thigh and watched the meter spike slightly as the muscle twitched beneath.
She pushed her fingertips gently just above the hip.
“Tell me if anything pinches.”
“Sure.” Gold Ship said, but she didn’t close her eyes as she watched Tachyon’s face like she was waiting for the slip-up.
The wand moved up her obliques. Her lower ribs.
Tachyon cleared her throat. “Pulse is elevated. Not from exertion.”
“Oh? You think I’m excited?”
“I think you’re trying to be.”
Gold Ship exhaled through her nose in a half-laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like when you touch me.”
Tachyon didn’t respond. She moved her hand again, more firmly now, and pressed into the line just below Gold Ship’s ribs. The tone was unmistakable. Taut, trained muscle. Sweat-slick and flushed just beneath the skin. The heat rolled off her in waves in the sterile lab air.
She hovered the wand over her sternum, but her gaze had already lowered and Gold Ship caught her.
“…You can take it off if it helps.”
Tachyon looked up and was frozen for half a beat.
“My top.” Gold Ship said, lifting one brow. “Don’t get shy on me now.”
The clinical pretense shattered like glass under heel. Tachyon’s hand stalled mid-scan as her mouth opened, then closed again.
Gold Ship didn’t wait. She sat up with her arms stretching back behind her and tugged the hem of her top upward until the tight stretch of fabric finally cleared over her head and flopped to the floor beside the mat.
She laid back down without a word with her hands behind her head now and her eyes locked on the ceiling.
Tachyon stared. Not at the obvious. She stared at the confidence and reckless, calculated surrender of someone who wanted to be studied and be observed not as anomaly but as art.
And more than that, wanted her to do it.
The wand in her hand dimmed with disuse and she placed it aside.
“We’ll proceed manually.” she said, voice hoarse and nearly silent.
Gold Ship didn’t smile this time. She just tilted her chin down slightly.
“About time, Doctor.”
Tachyon’s skin had begun to prickle under the coat, a heat that had nothing to do with the scan.
Gold Ship was reclined in the center of the mat as her top was discarded. The only thing between them now was proximity. And maybe a lie or two.
Tachyon kneeled down beside her, and her hands hovered for just a moment over her subject, subject, she reminded herself, not partner), before descending. She placed her palm against Gold Ship’s abdomen with her fingers splayed and pressing inward slowly.
Toned.
Her skin resisted the touch only slightly. She was firm across the core, but not rigid. It wasn’t the rigid, starved discipline of a racer clinging to edge. This was all natural.
Gold Ship’s breath came quieter now and less performative. She watched as Tachyon’s hand moved higher, trailing up along the side of her ribcage with her fingertips brushing the slick path.
Tachyon’s thumb grazed the underside of one rib and muscle twitched.
“You’re trembling.” She said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Am I?” Gold Ship’s voice was hoarse, almost indifferent.
Tachyon’s hand moved higher. Her palm reached the top swell of Gold Ship’s chest, brushing the outer edge of her breast to map its shape. The flesh was firm underneath, responsive to contact. A slope that rose with athletic tension, but yielded just enough to the pressure of fingers sliding across it.
No comment came from Gold Ship this time. Her mouth was slightly open with her eyes still tracking her examiner with that same unblinking stare.
Tachyon swallowed.
Her other hand moved to match the first, placed firmly across Gold Ship’s hip. Her thumb pressed inward against the crest of the bone to test pressure points, but the slide of her fingers drifted slowly now along the line that curved into her waist. Her back arched almost imperceptibly in response.
From the waist up, Gold Ship’s body was sculpted and trained, but draped in softness that never quite committed to either role. Her chest swelled slightly beneath the motion of breath with nipples taut from air and anticipation. Her collarbones shone faintly beneath the low light and drew the eye naturally toward the center of her sternum and down again.
Tachyon leaned closer.
“Anything feel off?” She murmured.
Gold Ship exhaled.
“You’re the scientist.” She said. “You tell me.”
There was sweat trailing along the notch of her hip now, slipping down into the waistband below and rolled toward the V of her pelvis and disappeared. Tachyon’s eyes didn’t follow it, but her hand did. Her palm rested across the lower abdomen now and traced the sharp inward line of the muscle just above the groin. She was still collecting data, measuring tension, density, sensitivity.
Or so she told herself. Beneath her hand, the skin was hot. Unmistakably so.
“You’re retaining heat.”
Gold Ship smiled without showing teeth.
“I could say the same.”
Their eyes met and for the first time, it wasn’t a clash. Tachyon’s hand hovered now and paused just above the hem of Gold Ship’s waistband, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved.
Then Gold Ship did with a slow, confident arch of the waist that rolled upward into Tachyon’s palm and stayed there. Her abdomen tensed subtly beneath the touch, and when she exhaled, it ghosted warm against Tachyon’s jawline, closer now than it had any right to be.
“You’re slowing down.” she said, a quiet rasp, as though speaking any louder might snap the spell. “That worried little brain of yours running out of hypotheses?”
Tachyon couldn’t answer without conceding how her throat had gone dry. Her palm pressed firmer over the pelvic plane, feeling the faint quiver of muscle just beneath the skin. Gold Ship’s body was coiled. brimming with that curated restraint she wore like a tailored suit.
She was letting herself be handled and examined, but the leash was in her hand.
Tachyon felt it even now with how her own posture had changed and her knees edged closer to the mat as her fingers curled just slightly against the swell of Gold Ship’s hip.
She was grounding herself and Gold Ship was watching.
“You’re a lot gentler than I thought.” She said. “Kinda cute, actually. Thought you’d be all gloves and clamps.”
“I’m still collecting data.” Tachyon said, almost on instinct. Her voice came out huskier than she intended. “Your muscles are operating outside typical fatigue limits. You’re in a post-peak state but still retaining heat and tension.”
Gold Ship’s grin was lopsided. “Keep talking dirty to me.”
That earned her a brief glare, but not a withdrawal. Instead, Tachyon adjusted her weight and let her hands travel. One slid along the inner line of Gold Ship’s thigh to register the muscle with her palm, letting her thumb brush just shy of the seam. Her skin was slick with exertion, but smooth.
Gold Ship tilted her head back now, her arms still behind her and baring her neck in a subtle stretch as her voice came out.
“You gonna ask me to spread my legs, or do I gotta take initiative?”.
Something between Tachyon’s thighs pulsed like warning flare of arousal beginning to demand attention. She ignored it.
“I’ll tell you when to move.”
She said, but her hands didn’t stay clinical as her right drifted back up and brushed the outer curve of Gold Ship’s breast to trace its contour. Firm and lifted. Flesh that filled her palm with natural weight and pushed faintly upward as she applied the smallest pressure. Her thumb grazed the nipple. It was stiff now as Gold Ship inhaled through her teeth.
Tachyon adjusted and rose onto her knees, hovering now with her other hand moving in tandem. One was at Gold Ship’s hip as the other palmed her breast. The weight was addictive. The way her chest arched slightly into the grasp was as much invitation as it was provocation.
“…Still analyzing?” Gold Ship asked, her voice dipped in smoke.
“I haven’t concluded anything.”
“You sure?”
“I’m…” Tachyon swallowed. “…Not done yet.”
Gold Ship smiled again, lazier this time like she was starting to enjoy watching the last threads of professionalism come undone.
“Good.”
Then, with no signal at all, she lifted her hips and dragged one leg out slowly, then the other to part her thighs. She held the pose with her legs open.
“Proceed.”
There was no theatrics in the way Gold Ship exposed herself. It was just the simple, grounded control of a woman who knew what her body did to people and knew exactly when to give them the angle. Her thighs stretched long and confident across the mat with her calves bent slightly to either side as she laid herself bare in pose if not yet in flesh. That final strip of fabric remained and rode low along her hips now from motion and heat.
Tachyon’s breath had stalled in her throat, and her hands, once so detached, hovered midair like they weren’t sure where to land. She’d traced every muscle group with practiced certainty before and brushed her fingers along the peaks and valleys of Gold Ship’s tension and called it observation. But now it didn’t feel like research anymore.
It felt like temptation.
Her palms descended slowly, as though negotiating with the air. She planted one at the outside of Gold Ship’s left knee and the other above her right thigh. The flesh was warm under her hands, solid with coiled power but just pliant enough to yield. She pushed lightly and applied pressure to open her wider.
Gold Ship didn’t resist. If anything, she shifted into the motion with and the subtle arch of her back lifted her hips off the mat by just an inch. The fabric of her shorts clung to her now, forming a perfect outline of what lay beneath.
Tachyon’s mouth was dry as her fingers twitched against skin.
“You’re being unusually compliant.” She said like she was accusing her of a crime.
“I told you. I give you everything, but only my way.”
She let her legs fall another inch outward, as if to underline the point. The curve of her hips flared wide in that position, showcasing the slope of her waist and the indented V of her pelvic lines with clarity.
Tachyon reached for the hem and hooked under the elastic band to drag it downward to feel the give of skin beneath. It clung slightly, sweat-damp and heat-sealed, but yielded under her hand. As she peeled the fabric down Gold Ship’s hips, her gaze was transfixed by the sight that began to form between the parting cloth and the air.
Gold Ship was bare beneath.
The fabric caught on the crease of her ass before sliding past, and Tachyon swallowed as she worked it down her thighs, forcing herself not to rush. Gold Ship lifted her hips slightly to help, just a momentary roll upward and that motion alone made the whole room feel smaller.
When the shorts were off and discarded to the side, Tachyon sat back on her knees and looked.
Gold Ship’s mound was flushed and soft in the low light, parted slightly from friction, already glistening along the lips. Her folds weren’t overly wet yet and was the natural dew of slow-burning arousal. It smelled faintly of sweat and salt and something far sweeter buried under.
More than anything, it was hers. Unshaved. Undone. Nothing curated.
Tachyon’s hand hovered again. Her breathing was shallow and her fingers curled as if afraid to break the image with movement.
Gold Ship tilted her head slightly and spoke softer than before.
“You gonna gawk all night, Doc?”
Tachyon met her eyes before she moved. Her hand slid down, two fingers parting Gold Ship’s lips to spread it beneath them with the same caution one would use to disarm a bomb.
Gold Ship sighed, utterly content.
The first contact was gentle. Tachyon’s fingers parted Gold Ship’s slick lips with her thumb and index sliding apart to expose the flushed inner folds. Her labcoat hung open now with her sleeves rolled back to the elbow while Gold Ship hadn’t flinch. She breathed like she was savoring the sensation of being touched like this.
Tachyon’s gaze locked on the apex of her slit, where the glistening pink peaked shy beneath its hood. She pressed a knuckle gently against it to observe how it moved. The reaction was instant: a minute recoil. Responsive.
She pressed again firmer, making Gold Ship inhale through her nose.
“You’re not the first girl to want a hands-on thesis, y’know.” She said. “But you might be the first to try taking notes while doing it.”
Tachyon didn’t rise to the bait. She dragged a single finger downward, tracing the exposed slit from clit to entrance in one unbroken stroke. The warmth under her fingertip was humid like Gold Ship’s cunt wanted to pull her in, but hadn’t quite given permission yet.
She circled back, rotating now to gauge texture. The outer lips were plump under pressure. It was not dripping, just wet, naturally and intimately. Aroused in a way no amount of bravado could fake, making Gold Ship’s thighs shift.
“You’re…tight.” Tachyon said, half under her breath. “But not from tension. You’re holding it in.”
A low laugh rolled from Gold Ship’s throat. “I like to keep my professionals on their toes.”
Tachyon lowered her fingers, middle and ring pressing together now, and began to trace the inner cleft with firmer pressure, rubbing the groove and coating her fingertips to test the slide. The folds parted easily, hugging the tips with moist friction. She curled inward.
Gold Ship’s hips jolted from the sensation.
“Don’t tell me you’re already cataloguing how I clench,” Gold said with one brow raised and a smirk.
Tachyon looked up briefly, her face slightly flushed now and her hair clinging to her temple.
“I’m identifying your response threshold.”
Two fingers pressed inward, slow and sure, and breached her. Gold Ship let out a low, guttural sound, a moment where her body accepted the intrusion not as violation, but as inevitability. Tachyon’s fingers were buried to the knuckle now, testing depth and angle. Her other hand rested flat against the top of Gold Ship’s thigh to keep her steady.
She gripped.
Tachyon felt the soft, pulsing contraction of inner walls around her digits. It was tighter than she expected. She flexed her fingers slightly and felt the way the entrance fluttered in response.
She looked up again and Gold Ship’s chest was rising heavier now. Her nipples peaked taut against the air, and her face, usually so unreadable, was faintly flushed, but still composed.
Tachyon pumped once, then again.
Gold Ship’s back arched. Her hands slid from behind her head and pressed down against the mat. Her heels flexed against the ground to anchor herself as the smile returned, drawn out like molasses.
“You gonna keep studying.” She rasped. “Or are you gonna fuck me like I’m the thesis?”
Tachyon’s fingers withdrew, then pushed in again harder, making Gold Ship moan.
The sound Gold Ship made when those fingers pushed deep again wasn’t pretty. It was a raw, guttural unf that punched up through her chest with that cracked-edge rasp she only used when laughing at a close finish or flipping a horse girl mid-race.
It came from her gut.
Tachyon heard it. Felt it, even, right at the point of contact where her fingers were rooted inside and her knuckles being suctioned. Gold Ship’s walls were clenching without her and just milking her hand.
“You feel that?” Gold Ship asked, voice scraping low against her throat. “That’s not just biology, Doc.”
Her hips rolled. She didn’t lift off the mat. She just flexed and let her lower abdomen engage as her pelvis dragged upward, pulling Tachyon’s hand deeper without lifting her own. The inner squeeze that followed came in waves that tightened against the buried fingers.
Tachyon froze from the overwhelming, sensation, realizing that Gold Ship was using her.
“You think you’re working me over…” Gold Ship murmured with sweat streaking down her cheek. “But I’m already fuckin’ you back.”
Tachyon’s breath caught. She tried to curl her fingers again, but Gold Ship’s hips rolled forward in perfect timing, swallowing the motion with her own. She was riding on while flat on her back.
Tachyon’s arm trembled from the wet, clenched pressure pulling at her fingers, coaxing them deeper each time she dared move. Gold Ship’s cunt moved like it wanted to win and had something to prove.
“You’re twitching.” Gold Ship whispered.
Tachyon looked up. Her face was flushed now, visibly so. Her coat had slipped partially off her shoulders with one sleeve hanging empty now and her shirt beneath darkened at the chest with sweat.
“You said you’d tell me when to move.” Gold Ship said.
Her legs shifted, her knees drawing upward and her heels planting flat on the mat. Her thighs spread wider now, granting even more angle, and with it, more leverage. The next roll of her hips slammed down into Tachyon’s palm.
The wet slap echoed in the silence. A moan slipped from Gold Ship’s lips. She didn’t hide it.
“Guess that was your signal.” She groaned. “Better keep up, Doc, your experiment’s running away without you.”
Tachyon grunted under her breath. Her wrist grinding slightly from the intensity. Her fingers curled and she felt the inner walls shudder around her. Gold Ship’s hand slid up her own thigh now. She traced her fingers across her belly, her ribs, up, up, until she cupped her own breast. She squeezed it and moaned at her own touch, looking Tachyon dead in the eyes.
“You like this, huh?” She whispered. “Watching me fuck myself on your fingers while you just sit there?”
Tachyon didn’t respond. She thrusted once and Gold Ship gasped loudly, but her grin snapped wider.
“There she is.”
Her cunt clenched again, tighter and needier.
“Don’t stop.”
Another thrust. Gold Ship rolled down against it. The rhythm was syncopated as wet sounds filled the air. Tachyon adjusted her angle and pressed her palm flat against Gold Ship’s mound, her thumb grazing the clit now in tight, focused circles.
Gold Ship shuddered.
“Oh fuck.” She hissed. “Yeah. Yeah, like that—”
Her body arched. Her other hand groped greedily at her own tit with her thumb flicking over her nipple now as her cunt swallowed Tachyon’s fingers greedily.
Her thighs trembled, then clenched. She was close.
“Make me come.” She snarled. “C’mon, Doc—earn it.”
Tachyon leaned in to pressed and curl, and Gold Ship screamed. It hit like a detonation. It was a crack through Gold Ship’s core that ripped her apart from the pelvis up. The moment Tachyon’s fingers curled just right, her body betrayed her.
Gold Ship’s back shot off the mat with a sharp slam of heels against the floor. Her thighs locked tight around Tachyon’s wrist and from deep inside, from the place only Tachyon’s fingers could reach, she gushed.
Her slick burst from her cunt in a splash, flooding Tachyon’s palm and wrist and soaking down her forearm in hot, sticky release. The sound it made was disgusting, pure and wet like a dam rupturing all at once.
“Hhrrhhah—fuck—fuck—FUCK—!”
Gold Ship screamed it out of her chest, raw and feral, her voice cracking as her thighs squeezed tighter. Her hands shot down to bury into Tachyon’s shoulder for grounding. Her whole body shook.
And Tachyon? She didn’t stop. She pressed in and kept her palm mashed against that clit. Her breathing was ragged now. Her arm trembled under the strain of Gold Ship’s contractions, soaked through to the elbow, but she didn’t pull back.
She studied how Gold Ship’s nipples had stiffened to near-pain, how her abdomen seized in uneven jerks, and how her cunt milked her fingers. It kept pouring. A full fucking flood.
“God damn…” Gold Ship rasped out, her voice barely there. “You got a fucking mean hand…”
She laughed, then she slumped, but she didn’t close her legs. She kept them open, even as they jerked from overstimulation. Her chest rose in uneven, shallow gasps, and the sweat that clung to her belly pooled where her hip met the mat. The pink between her legs glistened, shining with the mess Tachyon had pulled out of her. Her thighs glowed, tacky with release.
Still, her grin lingered.
“You look like you just saw God” she whispered.
Tachyon was soaked. Her hand was drenched in Gold Ship’s cum with her fingers still buried. Her own chest was heaving with her nipples poking visibly through her shirt and a dark stain blooming between her thighs now from where her own heat had gone ignored for far too long.
She’d gone too far to pretend it was clinical.
Gold Ship’s smile widened just a hair.
“You wet yet, Doc?”
Tachyon yanked her hand out. Gold Ship gasped, her body still gripping even as the fingers slid free with a wet squelch that left her lips fluttering open again.
Tachyon wiped her hand on her own coat, then reached for her belt.
“No more questions.” She growled. “You’re not the only one getting tested.”
Gold Ship spread her legs wider.
“Finally.”
Tachyon’s belt hit the floor with a hard clack as she shoved off the rest of her coat in one jerked motion as the fabric peeled away from her sweat-damp arms.
Gold Ship was propped on her elbows now with her legs still parted and dripping. Her body was shaking with the aftermath of orgasm but made no move to retreat. Her cunt glistened openly under the overhead lights. She should’ve looked tired, but instead, she looked like she was waiting for the next round.
“Pants too.” She said.
Tachyon hesitated for half a second, then hooked her thumbs under the waistband and shoved them down. Her hips rocked slightly as she stepped free of them with underthings pulled down along with it until her lower half was fully bare.
Gold Ship took in everything: Tachyon’s thighs, taut and trembling with restrained adrenaline; the soft patch of trimmed hair above her slit with glistening strands that stretched faintly when she moved.
“No hiding it now, huh?” Gold murmured.
Tachyon stepped forward with one knee between Gold Ship’s legs. She simply mounted her and straddled her thighs, pressing her cunt to Gold Ship’s lower belly. Her lab shirt still clung to her chest, clinging damp to breasts while her nipples were pebbled and dark through the thin fabric.
Gold Ship’s eyes rolled up to take in the sight before she laughed. She didn’t roll over. She just thrusted upward. It was a heavy buck of her hips, pelvic bone grinding hard against Tachyon’s slick folds. The contact was wet, with the mess from earlier coating their thighs and bellies and now mixing with Tachyon’s own. Her clit dragged along the ridges of Gold Ship’s stomach with a slippery sound that made both of them jolt.
Tachyon gasped. Her hands planted hard on Gold’s shoulders.
“What—what are you—”
Gold Ship thrusted again, this time smoother. Her hips rolled in a deep, controlled arc that pressed her abs up into Tachyon’s soaked pussy. The friction was relentless as Tachyon’s thighs began to tremble and her hands clenching
Gold Ship just smiled.
“Come on, Doc. You did all that research.” She said, her voice low and smoky. “Put it to use.”
Tachyon leaned forward now, desperate for leverage, but the shift just gave Gold Ship more room. Her next thrust pressed directly into Tachyon’s clit, catching the swollen bud in the crease of her abdominals, and grinding into it
“Fuck—!” Tachyon moaned out.
Gold Ship’s hands finally rose onto Tachyon’s hips to guide her. She rolled again with her lower belly tensing with the motion, pressing into Tachyon’s sex with consistency.
The scientist couldn’t breathe. Her mouth hung open, panting now as her hips stuttered against the rise and fall of Gold Ship’s rhythm.
“F-fuck—why does that feel—”
“Like I’ve got you riding me without even flipping you over?” Gold Ship smirked. “Yeah. That’s the point.”
Tachyon groaned, dragging her hips back for friction, then forward again, grinding herself down against Gold’s abs. Their slicks mixed, making wet noises echo between them. Her thighs slapped down hard against Gold’s hips and the pressure on her clit had become overwhelming.
“I’m—close—!”
“Good.” Gold Ship growled. “Come on me. Come on my fucking stomach.”
Tachyon howled and came as her body broke against her. Her hips jerked forward on instinct. Her thighs locked tight around Gold Ship’s waist as her entire body stiffened like a livewire hit her straight through the cunt. The scream had ripped from her throat.
Gold Ship took it and let her ride it out as her clit smeared and convulsed against those firm, sweat-glossed abs until the first pulse of release flooded down her belly.
It was messy. Tachyon gushed all over her, coating Gold’s stomach and streaking down her sides, mixing with the leftover trail of Gold Ship’s earlier orgasm until their midsections were glued together. The smell of it was thick like heady cocktail of cunt, sweat, and burned skin.
Tachyon collapsed forward. Her weight slumped down over Gold Ship’s chest and her forehead fell against her shoulder while her arms went limp at her sides. Her breath heaved, her back rising and falling like she’d just run a six-minute mile with her legs tied.
Gold Ship didn’t move. She just laid there with her arms loose around Tachyon’s waist as her chin rested lazily against her head.
“You’re lucky.” She murmured, half-drunk on post-nut smugness. “Not everyone gets to lose composure on top of a national treasure.”
Tachyon whined. Her hips gave one last motion as the aftershocks hit, and Gold Ship felt the shuddering clench still trickling through the scientist’s exhausted body.
“Mmhm…fuck,” Gold Ship muttered, drawing little circles on the small of her back. “You came so hard you almost bit my shoulder.”
Tachyon stirred and lifted her head just to speak.
“…I hate you.” She rasped. She glared weakly. Her hair was a disaster and her face flushed so deep it looked fevered, but her cunt still quivered against Gold’s belly.
Gold Ship noticed and groped Tachyon’s ass where it sat soft and hot against her thighs.
“Still twitching.” she whispered.
Tachyon whimpered.
Gold Ship tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Mm. That a bug in the system?”
Tachyon’s hips gave one last reflexive jerk against her, making her laughed, before she leaned up against her ear.
“I think this experiment needs a follow-up.”