It didn’t occur to her that making dirty dirty small talk while she was trying to escape a personal terror was probably the last thing a sane person would do; then again, she’d given up on the notion of ever being sane around the same time she’d fried a blender on accident without ever touching it—made worse by the fact that she’d been a little sad for the blender afterwards. Normal people just didn’t get sad about blenders ‘dying’ only to perk right up once they were told it could be ‘revived’.
She twisted her hands she pulled up, placing most of her weight on with the blade higher up. Another grunt, a jerk, and a quick motion had the lower one stabbed in higher than the other—hissing as it cut metal and burned to slice through. At his next two statements she groaned part of her next words, “Desperately, ‘ey? Wouldn’t mind your desperate ‘ands on my tits.” She was starting to regret not just comming him for dirty talk. She wouldn’t be in the hole and she’d be getting off, if not already having gotten off several times while she got to listen to him get off.
“Oi!” she snapped off lightly with laughter in her voice, still focusing on the opening above her, the calculations so she didn’t fall, his voice, and not the walls, “’M need some kinda goal, right? Getting’ your knickers off—in person? S’goal.” And the she hesitated, wondering if he thought she meant undies or the jeans he mentioned. After a brief pause that was both physical and mental—one that made the numbers slow to a crawl before eyes, she said, “… you wearin’ underwear?”
With a shake of her head—which he would see—and a few blinks, she was moving again: stabbing, grunting, and leveraging. Focus. No’ on the walls, no’ on suckin’ ‘im like bloody popsicle in thirty-two C; no, on the opening, you idjit. There really was a fine line between distracting her enough with the dirty talk to get out and distracting her too much. She did not want to fall back to the bottom.
“Is it?” she asked breathily, as if she didn’t know—as if she hadn’t just being thinking about how much too much of a distraction might be. “What kind o’ filthy things you thinkin’, ‘oney?” She asked half because she wanted to know and half because she couldn’t stop herself from trying to manipulate their chat into ‘phone sex’. “Shite… ignore that—me. Or tell me later. Definitely later. When ‘m no’ trying to scale a death trap and ‘ave time to busy one ‘and in my knickers.”
Numbers cascaded as she took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, pausing at the same time. Another set with an outline of a human body showed itself to the right of her visuals; a line directed at the center of the chest drew itself up and displayed her diastolic and systolic readings to the side. This time because she asked for it. Her heart rate was going down—good. Well, at least to a rate conducive to scaling a wall with sheer brute force.
As she dug in again, growling this time, she heard him ask a question. It wasn’t something she needed to think about answering, really. There were a few reasons. The obvious was the first one she would answer, now that she was halfway up the hole—now that the opening looked bigger—and she could breathe easier and think better. “Bloody fuck, really lookin’ forward to a fag after this.” Another grunt-growl; closer. “If you’re talkin’ in general, luv, make everyone think ‘m a man. It’s no’ a great way to ‘ide, but it ‘elps—one tool in my arsenal.
“If you’re askin’ why I made you think I was a man…” She paused her ascent long enough to chuckle over the line, “Started off as the ‘everyone’ reason. And then I just liked walkin’ the edge as the game went on. Didn’t know if I could trust you, but when you didn’t run off—annoyed and bitchin’—you got interestin’; just like your code.” Her brows rose when he asked about the toy, eyes still on the opening above her.
Her brain was caught somewhere between dirty and curious, or maybe a bit of both. She replied with dirtier option. “Might. Depends on ‘ow you plan on usin’ it.” She did, but he didn’t need to know that; or about any of the other random things she kept on her at any given moment—some of them utterly useless: like a plastic toy ring from a vending game.
At his compliment she warmed considerably and unexpectedly. His voice sounded more personal, more in awe; it was a different reaction than the ones he’d displayed thus far—the naughtier ones she’d been reaching for. It had been a while since anyone had watched her mental process—how she talked to machines; she’d been careful to keep it that way for a number of reasons. Still, it really was one thing to be wired in, quite another to have your mind work like a computer—requiring the bare minimum of tech to use as he was seeing.
No one had ever complimented her on that though; not that she let anyone know, and not that she ever got close enough to let anyone know. She coughed, trying to hide a reaction he couldn’t see. “…You got pretty code too, pet. Makes a girl all ‘ot and bothered.” Her voice was a little softer on that, not entirely able to hide it.
She cursed softly when one weapon hit a soft spot in the steel wall and cut quick—making her slide and hold on for dear life—pant a few breaths briefly as she held on as he spoke, as her boots squeaked loudly. “No’ yet. A crime, that. You should know size isn’t an issue. ‘M more a tongue gal.
“Your tongue strokes as good as your keystrokes?” When the blade settled in the wall, back to normal pace, she began moving again and focusing on the opening above. “Yeah… easier to ‘ide than phaser weapons. Plus… makes me feel manly.” A snicker.
“Rawr yourself, Tomcat. I got ‘ands when I wanted cock. You can at least tell me ‘bout the tat.”
She twisted her hands she pulled up, placing most of her weight on with the blade higher up. Another grunt, a jerk, and a quick motion had the lower one stabbed in higher than the other—hissing as it cut metal and burned to slice through. At his next two statements she groaned part of her next words, “Desperately, ‘ey? Wouldn’t mind your desperate ‘ands on my tits.” She was starting to regret not just comming him for dirty talk. She wouldn’t be in the hole and she’d be getting off, if not already having gotten off several times while she got to listen to him get off.
“Oi!” she snapped off lightly with laughter in her voice, still focusing on the opening above her, the calculations so she didn’t fall, his voice, and not the walls, “’M need some kinda goal, right? Getting’ your knickers off—in person? S’goal.” And the she hesitated, wondering if he thought she meant undies or the jeans he mentioned. After a brief pause that was both physical and mental—one that made the numbers slow to a crawl before eyes, she said, “… you wearin’ underwear?”
With a shake of her head—which he would see—and a few blinks, she was moving again: stabbing, grunting, and leveraging. Focus. No’ on the walls, no’ on suckin’ ‘im like bloody popsicle in thirty-two C; no, on the opening, you idjit. There really was a fine line between distracting her enough with the dirty talk to get out and distracting her too much. She did not want to fall back to the bottom.
“Is it?” she asked breathily, as if she didn’t know—as if she hadn’t just being thinking about how much too much of a distraction might be. “What kind o’ filthy things you thinkin’, ‘oney?” She asked half because she wanted to know and half because she couldn’t stop herself from trying to manipulate their chat into ‘phone sex’. “Shite… ignore that—me. Or tell me later. Definitely later. When ‘m no’ trying to scale a death trap and ‘ave time to busy one ‘and in my knickers.”
Numbers cascaded as she took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, pausing at the same time. Another set with an outline of a human body showed itself to the right of her visuals; a line directed at the center of the chest drew itself up and displayed her diastolic and systolic readings to the side. This time because she asked for it. Her heart rate was going down—good. Well, at least to a rate conducive to scaling a wall with sheer brute force.
As she dug in again, growling this time, she heard him ask a question. It wasn’t something she needed to think about answering, really. There were a few reasons. The obvious was the first one she would answer, now that she was halfway up the hole—now that the opening looked bigger—and she could breathe easier and think better. “Bloody fuck, really lookin’ forward to a fag after this.” Another grunt-growl; closer. “If you’re talkin’ in general, luv, make everyone think ‘m a man. It’s no’ a great way to ‘ide, but it ‘elps—one tool in my arsenal.
“If you’re askin’ why I made you think I was a man…” She paused her ascent long enough to chuckle over the line, “Started off as the ‘everyone’ reason. And then I just liked walkin’ the edge as the game went on. Didn’t know if I could trust you, but when you didn’t run off—annoyed and bitchin’—you got interestin’; just like your code.” Her brows rose when he asked about the toy, eyes still on the opening above her.
Her brain was caught somewhere between dirty and curious, or maybe a bit of both. She replied with dirtier option. “Might. Depends on ‘ow you plan on usin’ it.” She did, but he didn’t need to know that; or about any of the other random things she kept on her at any given moment—some of them utterly useless: like a plastic toy ring from a vending game.
At his compliment she warmed considerably and unexpectedly. His voice sounded more personal, more in awe; it was a different reaction than the ones he’d displayed thus far—the naughtier ones she’d been reaching for. It had been a while since anyone had watched her mental process—how she talked to machines; she’d been careful to keep it that way for a number of reasons. Still, it really was one thing to be wired in, quite another to have your mind work like a computer—requiring the bare minimum of tech to use as he was seeing.
No one had ever complimented her on that though; not that she let anyone know, and not that she ever got close enough to let anyone know. She coughed, trying to hide a reaction he couldn’t see. “…You got pretty code too, pet. Makes a girl all ‘ot and bothered.” Her voice was a little softer on that, not entirely able to hide it.
She cursed softly when one weapon hit a soft spot in the steel wall and cut quick—making her slide and hold on for dear life—pant a few breaths briefly as she held on as he spoke, as her boots squeaked loudly. “No’ yet. A crime, that. You should know size isn’t an issue. ‘M more a tongue gal.
“Your tongue strokes as good as your keystrokes?” When the blade settled in the wall, back to normal pace, she began moving again and focusing on the opening above. “Yeah… easier to ‘ide than phaser weapons. Plus… makes me feel manly.” A snicker.
“Rawr yourself, Tomcat. I got ‘ands when I wanted cock. You can at least tell me ‘bout the tat.”
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
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