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“Fynch said no time to lose,” Casanova reminds you, hovering nervously. “Come on. We’ve gotta find a fireteam, and fast.”
“I know,” you grit out, rolling your eyes. You’re finally getting used to the Tower – or rather getting used to wanting to spend less time in it. Having a home base is nice, but as you settle more into your role as a Lightbearer, you’ve found yourself wanting to be on the frontlines more often than not.
Unfortunately, spending most of your time in a war zone isn’t exactly conducive to making friends, or really any kind of connection. Maybe it’s the way that life doesn’t feel quite so fragile when you can always be brought back, maybe it’s because coordinating attacks doesn’t leave much time for sitting around and chatting about the books you've just read or recipes you’ve just tried or whatever civilians talk about.
It’s not like Guardians don’t have friends – you’ve seen plenty of your comrades huddled up in the Tower in groups, chatting or comparing weapons together or making plans to go down to the City or whatever. It’s just that the idea of having to open yourself up to vulnerability like that – well, you’d rather go up against Lord Shaxx back in his heyday in your next Crucible match.
“So get on the VanNet,” Casanova is urging you. “I don’t know why you get so nervous about working with strangers. We all want Savanthûn to bite it.”
“I know,” you say again, sighing and running your hands through your hair, a nervous tick. Casanova’s right – all Guardians, more or less, want the same thing, and it’s not like it’ll be your first time on the Throne World. It’s just that you’re still getting the hang of this whole Stormcaller thing. “I’m still getting the hang of this whole Stormcaller thing,” you tell him. “I don’t want to burden anyone with that.”
“Um, newsflash, but you literally have to go on this mission,” he tells you. “So nut up and link up. What’s the worst that could happen? You go kill some enemies and never talk to them again? Why is this mission making you so nervous?”
You shrug. “Haven’t needed anybody before this, it’s just been extra help. But this is something I can’t do on my own, and it’s not something I can just tag along with. Ikora is relying on me, you know? I don’t…I don't want to let her down.”
“Okay, great.” You get the feeling that if he had arms, Casanova would be pushing you forward to herd you like you’re some sort of animal. “So…let’s go. Right now.”
“Pushy,” you mutter. With a glare toward Casanova, you pull your helmet back on. Your hair has been close cropped since you woke up and realized you’d be spending like 90% of your life in armor from here on out, and it still feels unfamiliar and choppy underneath your hand. With a sigh, you fire up your HUD, navigating to the VanNet. It’s not difficult to find two other Guardians looking for somebody to head over and take on the Lightblade elimination job once you actually work up the courage to reach out, which is kind of frustrating. You almost wish you’d be able to make that excuse. Oops, nobody wanted to help! Oh well, another day!
“See, they look okay!” Casanova says. He could have chemistry with a dead tree. Scowling, you force yourself to focus on the profile floating on your HUD.
Fel, a seasoned Titan, and Cherry Pie, a Hunter whose service record just squeaks in under Fel’s. Looking for a third, plenty of firepower. They’ll do, if they’ll have you.
They meet you at the LZ, each of them swaggering out of their jumpships with gaits that speak to confidence – something you’re not so sure you’ve gotten down yet. Fel’s helmet is still on, but Cherry Pie’s is tucked against her side with her cowl down over her back and she’s got a big grin on her face. Her outfit is red and white, the typical hunter’s cape billowing in the wind. It makes her look weirdly patriotic, like the fictionalized superheroes of yore. Larger-than-life.
“Hey, newbie!” she calls, raising her other hand in a wave, and the illusion breaks. She’s just a Guardian, like you. Deep voice, slight accent. “You ready to do this thing?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, shrugging a shoulder. The cool, white light – so cool it almost glows teal against the dirt red rocks of the Queen’s Bailey – makes you squint and sends a snake of worry down your esophagus. Fel’s rocket launcher sits strapped across imposing shoulders, chips in his armor speaking to strikes and missions past. Dented, old plate doesn’t necessarily speak to success when you can die and come back, but something about the way he carries himself – he’s been around for a long time.
“Fel,” he says in an easy drawl, sticking out a hand for you to shake. “Always a pleasure to take a new Guardian along for the ride.”
“Well, I hope I’ll be a bit more helpful than just along for the ride,” you huff, surprised at your own show of emotion. “I’m new, but – I mean, I’ve racked up plenty of kills at the Crucible.”
“I’m sure you have,” says Cherry Pie, sticking out her hand for you to take when Fel lets go. When you do, she wraps her other hand around it, a bright red glove looking sickly against the canyons standing tall behind you. “Don’t scare them, Fel. A Warlock’s a powerful weapon to have at our side. I’m Cherry Pie.”
“Good to meet you both,” you say. “So um, Cherry. The name or the red armor come first?”
Chuckling deeply, Cherry reaches up to run her hand through her hair before putting it back in a bandana. “That’s a story for me to know and you to find out!”
“Okay,” you say. Finding out, at least, implies that if things go well they might want to link up again. You can practically feel Casanova gloating. “And, you know, thanks, by the way. For helping me out. Don’t have many friends yet. No regular fireteam.”
“Hey, us neither!” says Fel. “Just the two of us, has been for a while now. We like taking new kids under our wings.” Cherry looks up at him as he says it – just barely, she’s tall and broad, a rare body type for a Hunter – and winks. There’s a familiarity in it that speaks to them being a little bit more than just a fireteam and you swallow, feeling like you’re imposing on something even though of course, you’re not. They saw your VanNet profile the same as you saw theirs. They know you, know your firepower and skills and know what they’ll be taking along. They need someone just like you do.
“We do,” nods Fel. “We were you once. And besides, you know, we’ll be helping you out…”
“...And you’ll help us out, too,” says Cherry. “A favor is a good thing to be owed in this bitch of a world.”
“Sure,” you agree, shrugging your shoulders. You’re not gonna complain, and you’re certainly not about to take on Alak-Hul yourself. And besides – they’re way more experienced than you. If they’re going to cash in on a favor, it’s not going to be anytime soon. By the time they need something, there’s no doubt you’ll be a seasoned fighter.
Unsurprisingly, the strike goes off without a hitch. Fel and Cherry are just as good as their profiles indicate; one going high when the other goes low, knowing what to do before the other one tells them to do it, clearly only communicating over their headsets for your benefit. The kind of thing that comes part and parcel with being a couple. Knowing each other like that.
Surprisingly, you were actually kind of vital to the success of bringing down Alak-Hul. Bastard had gone invincible for a little after you’d managed to make him hurt a bit, just toying with you like a big cat pawing at something shiny. Two Hive Lightbearers had dropped down out of nowhere and gotten the drop on Cherry while she’d been turned the other way; you’d seen them first and managed to clear them out with a couple of well-thrown grenades.
“Not so bad, huh,” Fel’s saying, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you head back to the LZ, Tablets of Ruin faithfully collected.
“Thanks for all your help,” you say, feeling you should shake their hands again or something, but neither of them seem like the type. Fel pulls you closer to his side, Cherry jerks her chin up and you’d like to think there’s an accompanying grin under his helmet.
“No problem,” she says. “Up to getting a drink to celebrate, newbie?”
“A drink?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we, uh, be heading to the Altars of Reflection?”
“In good time,” Fel says. His voice is so deep. “They can wait for us; I need to get out of this armor. Get some whiskey down my gullet.”
“Damn straight,” agrees Cherry. “Come on, we can all go on Fel’s ship. You’d better come too!”
“Alright, alright,” you say, putting your hands up placatingly. While you’re not sure if these two are the type you really want to roll with, the thought of going out to a bar with other Guardians is kind of nice. A change from the monotony of nursing your G&Ts in the corner. And hey – if things go well, then maybe you’ve got a steady fireteam going for you. Would be nice, knowing there’s plenty of missions ahead of you before you’ll be able to get the drop on the Witch Queen.
So you make your way onto Fel’s ship, letting him set the course back to the City for a drink. The trip passes in comfortable silence in the way that it might between old friends. It’s nice, especially when walking around the Tower still feels like you’ve strapped into boots that are too big, the awkward space rolling around your feet with every step.
Fel takes off his helmet, shaking out a full head of deep purple hair. An Awoken. His skin is deeply scarred in places, which isn’t out of place on a Guardian, but the long line running down the curve of the left side of his jaw belies a story you’re not sure you’ll ever be told.
“Like what you see?” asks Cherry, and you startle, ashamed to be caught looking.
“Uh,” you start dumbly. “I wasn’t – sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says. “I don’t mind. I’m lucky, right?”
“Yeah,” you say, feeling like you’re missing some sort of joke. What’s the protocol on telling people their boyfriends are hot? “Yeah, totally.”
“I thought you might think that,” grins Fel. “Listen, newbie, you aren’t so bad yourself.”
“Thank you?” It comes out like a question even though you don’t mean it to. You’re still not sure how to think of yourself in this body, in this new world you’ve been thrust into. It’s strange to awaken fully formed but to only have memories that reach back a few months. It makes you second guess everything you do – every Crucible match you pick up, every fireteam you join up with, every shot you line up during a strike.
This is the first time a fireteam has actually wanted to hang around and chat after the mission is over. Most of them barely speak with you besides a nod and a quick rundown of how you plan to handle the enemies. And that’s fine, that’s all well and good, but – but there’s a part of you that’s heard the deep pain in Ikora’s voice when she talks about Cayde. It’s the kind of pain that betrays the love that was there. That sort of trust in a team: you want it.
And Fel and Cherry – maybe they’re a little overly-friendly, you’ve certainly never been flirted with this soon into conversation – but it’s not like animal magnetism isn’t something that can sway friendship as well. And there’s really no harm in a little flirting. They’re probably just swingers angling for a bite, and you’re perfectly capable of shutting things down if it gets to be too much, steer the conversation back toward talking shop. No harm done.
“No problem,” Fel says, grinning with all his teeth, nodding his head toward the table in the tiny living area behind the cockpit. You’d expected the jumpship to look the same as yours, but this one is so much more lived-in. The maps and figures on the table makes the whole thing look more like a war room than simple transport, but all the little things: notches in the table from where Fel or Cherry or any other comrade might’ve dug in their knife during a moment of frustration, the scrapes on the floor from chairs moving around, chips on the glasses in the kitchenette, the carpet frayed from age on the floor. It all speaks to a life before you, to experience that you don’t have.
Cherry’s already taken a seat with her legs spread wide like she belongs there and, you note, she probably does. Maybe her ship is lived-in just like this, or maybe it’s as clean and sterile and standard-issue as yours and they spend all their time here.
“Okay, shots,” Fel says, bending down to grab something from one of the cabinets. Cherry gets up to grab three glasses, slamming them down onto the table with a definitive clunk. The bottle that Fel produces is dusty and unlabeled, clearly somebody’s bathtub gin.
“Thought we were going to a bar?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Back to the City?”
Fel waves a hand. “Cheaper to drink here, Guardian. There’s a word of advice. If it’s not on the Vanguard’s dime, always take the cheaper option.”
Cherry snorts and nods. “Yeah, you’d know, huh?”
“Sure would,” he grins, pooling his hands behind his head and staring into the corner with a far-off glint in his eye.
“So, um,” you say. “What are we cheersing to?”
“A strike well done!”
“Another one of Savathûn’s bastards brought down!”
“A new friendship?” you try out, wincing at how tentative your voice sounds. Fel pops the top on the bottle with a single thumb, filling each glass to the very top with a flourish. Some of it sloshes over the edges and you stare at the drops on the table, cheeks aflame.
“A new partnership, I’d say,” Cherry nods. “Drink up!”
The both of them slam their glasses down in some sort of well-practiced ritual, and your hand fumbles as you bring it up to clink with theirs before you down it with a grimace. It’s, well – it’s total shit. The herbal flavor is there, but it tastes more like cleaning supplies than gin.
“It’s good,” you splutter with a weak thumbs up, and Fel bursts out laughing.
“I didn’t make it,” he says. “Buddy of mine. Real skill at making weapons. No skill at making alcohol. But free is free, right?”
“Right,” agrees Cherry. “And! And! It’s potent.”
“We find it’s helpful in… loosening up, shall we say.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Right. Getting to know each other. Is, uh…is this the part where we start talking about our likes and interests? Our favorite guns?”
Cherry lets out a little breath, and you don’t think she’s making fun of you, but there’s judgment in it all the same. “This is the part where we ask you to celebrate, newbie. Bog standard.”
“Right – right. You think that we could keep the celebrating to uh, clothes on?”
Chuckling, Fel reaches over to brush your sweaty, matted hair off your forehead. “That’s awfully presumptuous. But now that you’ve brought it up, you sure you have no interest in working out the battle high?”
“Not like that,” you say carefully, because you don’t. They’re attractive, sure, but if you could, you’d go back and chastise the you of a couple hours ago, the one who’d agreed to go home with these two. You like getting your rocks off as much as the next Guardian – you’re pretty sure, anyway – but you think you’d prefer to do it with somebody you’ve actually gotten to know first. And they seem nice – really! You wouldn’t mind hanging around as a teammate, because they are skilled.
“Aw, now that’s no fun,” Cherry says, nudging her knee into yours and giving your hair a ruffle, which doesn’t exactly scream friendly, but you let it go because she’s nodding. “But okay, okay. Maybe next time.”
“I prefer to let that develop naturally,” you say honestly. “But I’m flattered. Really! And you guys – you’re great fighters. Maybe we keep it to strikes and missions?”
Fel grins. “Ignore Cherry, she’s insatiable. You got it, newbie.”
A couple weeks later, you get a ping from Cherry Pie asking you to return to Savathûn’s Throne World to help take down some Scorn. Since we worked together so well last time, she says. And except for that one little mishap, that’s true. And you put down the hard boundary, so it should all be fine. Perfectly professional. “A little Arc for the team never hurt nobody.”
You can’t help but grin at that. Cherry’s a Gunslinger, Fel’s a Sunbreaker, and then there’s you with your bolts and the tingle that runs through you every time you call one down. “Yeah, alright,” you say. “I do owe you a favor, after all. If getting that mob doesn’t count.”
“That’s right,” laughs Cherry. “We’re gonna cash in. Taking out small fries is a given during a strike, we need a little more firepower for the mission I’m talking about. Fill you in in person. You in the Tower?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Are you?”
“Nah, we’re down in the City,” she says. “Fel loves Calvary. You know it?”
Yeah, you know it. Calvary is a hole-in-the-wall Titan hangout, so it’s not a shock that Fel is into it. It’s a dive by any standards; about enough room for maybe 12 people to sit comfortably, max. There’s practically nothing but piss beer on tap, and the bar has some sort of varnish over the wood that feels sticky like it hasn’t been polished in the last century.
“Hey hey!” Fel calls with a friendly wave when you get through the door. “You’re in your civvies, good. We figured we’d have a pre-mission drink, talk a little tactics before heading out. You copacetic?”
They’re in their civvies too, and you’re relieved you’d made the right choice. Fel in some tac pants and a vest with no shirt underneath, Cherry’s muscles underscored by her tight undershirt and sleeveless overcoat.
“Yeah, yeah,” you agree. “No bathtub gin this time, right?”
“Yeah, no. You didn’t like any of that little outing, did you?”
“Well it was more like an inning,” you say dumbly. “Since we stayed…in? Uh, sorry. No, it’s fine. Just, yeah, sorry. You’re both very attractive. I just –”
“Fel, for fuck’s sake. You’re scaring them, and we want them to help us. Chill out, yeah? We’re sorry we came on so strong. We’re just horny. Can you blame us? Fighting a Hive god all the time will do that to you. You know?”
“I…guess, yeah. It’s fine, sorry I brought it up. Let’s get drinks?”
“Whiskey, up,” Cherry says to the bartender, which you guess is as good as an assent. “With a maraschino.”
“You’re the only person who orders liquor in this joint, Cher,” the bartender says, an Exo with the air of a wizened old man. He pours her drink before reaching under the bar to grab a bottle of beer and pop the top before sliding it down to Fel. “And for you?”
“They’ll have whiskey up too,” she says with an authorial tone, which makes some sort of shudder through you.
“Oh, I guess,” you say. Yeah, why not? Better than the beer probably, which by the thick layer of the dust on the glass looks like it’s sat in the same spot for years. The label is wrinkled and fraying at the edges, and Fel plays at it absently while he stares at you appraisingly. It’s kind of unsettling, but maybe that’s just what he looks like. A mildly fierce grin in his eyes. All Awoken kind of have that going for them, what with the eerie glow.
The whiskey barely tastes better than the bathtub gin, but it is a little better, and you take a sip for lack of anything else to do.
“Man,” Fel says suddenly. “It’s a bummer you weren’t into it. You just…nevermind.”
“Right?” says Cherry, knocking her knee against yours. “It’d make this mission easier.”
“What?” you ask. “Why? What is it anyway?”
“Well, sex brings you closer together, ergo, if we had it, it would make this mission easier.”
“Uh, right,” you say. “But we already worked well together last time without that. Isn’t that why you called me back?”
“Sure, yeah. You worked well with us,” Fel confirms. “But you were a little messy. Well – not messy, just young. Nothing to be ashamed of. You just need us. You need our help.”
Gulping, you choke through another sip of whiskey. You could call it now, go back to the Tower, seek out another fireteam. But there’s that annoying, insecure part of you tugging at your brain: you’re lonely, and these two actually talk to you. With the stakes rising every day, shit is only going to get harder without any company. Taking another deep sip of your whiskey, you nod.
Later, you’d know that this was a crossroads. One of those points in life where you make a decision that will irrefutably change what’s to come. But you didn’t know that then.
“Great. So let’s go outside for a smoke, and we can talk details. Leave the Ghost. This is between Guardians.”
“So what’s the mission?” you ask again, taking the offered cigarette from Cherry. “Is it back on the Throne World?”
“No, no,” Cherry waves a hand before taking a long drag. “It’s right here.”
“Here?” you ask. “Like in the City?”
“Here like in this alley,” Fel says. “You keep saying no, but you’ve been flirting with us this whole time. Left us with no choice, really. Had to take matters into our own hands.”
“What?” you ask. “Wait, what? No, I said I wasn’t interested.”
Fel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, in that coy, hard-to-get way.”
“No, I’m sorry if I gave you that idea, but…”
Cherry reaches out to hook a finger under your chin. “See, the thing is,” she says. “We’re not gonna take no for an answer. So be quiet and be good, huh?”
“I’m –” you break off, dropping the cigarette and squishing it under your shoe. Should’ve listened to your gut. “No, really, I’m good. I’m sorry if I gave you a different impression, but I wasn’t trying to uh, respond to your advances. Listen, I’ll walk right out of here and we don’t ever have to talk or work together again, okay?”
“But we like you,” Fel says petulantly, and Cherry’s hand slides down to curl around your neck. Your throat feels weird when you swallow against it. “And honestly, I’m really sick of waiting. We could’ve done this the easy way, but you had to make it hard.”
She squeezes, and then moves into a fighting stance, grappling you like this is a training match. Caught unawares, you go down like a mannequin.
“Hey – hey!” you say – squeak, really. You try to turn your head back toward Fel, but Cherry’s grip is insistent. And that’s when you realize; there’s no way out of this. They’re way, way stronger than you. If they want this, they’re going to get it. With your nose this close to the asphalt, you can smell the shit and vomit and old beer from the mostly-tapped kegs in the corner, and you desperately try to think of a way to at least make this mildly better for you. “We don’t have to do this here!”
“Why not?” asks Fel. His tone is still irritatingly calm, and even though you can’t see him, you picture him picking his fingernails or doing something equally mundane. “Isn’t here as good a place as any?”
“I mean! Listen, okay? I’m sorry! Let’s go back to the Tower! I’m sure your room is great. We can do it there!”
“No, now I’m dedicated to here,” Cherry says, and pushes you back toward the ground. Nose to the grindstone, you find yourself thinking. A coping mechanism of yours since – well, since you’ve started this life, you guess. Thinking things that make you laugh in situations where you certainly shouldn’t be. Nose to the grindstone. Well, it’s not as if you haven’t been working hard. Fat lot of good that’s done you.
“What’s funny?” That’s Cherry.
“Nothing!”
“Okay, great,” she says. “So if I let you go, will you stay still?”
You nod even though you don’t want to, like strings have been cut on an old marionette, and a blush blooms on your cheeks. Anybody could walk by at any minute, and they’d just – they’d just see some Warlock letting themselves getting fucked out in the open like some mindless sex doll. Not like a Guardian. Suddenly, you feel very juvenile. Somebody playing in armor too big.
“Cherry, you wanna go first?”
“Obviously. They won’t be able to take it without me opening them up first.”
“You got that right,” Fel chuckles. “Get ‘em naked.”
“Hey, I –” You swallow, trying to shake yourself out of Cherry’s grip. She’s still stronger. Perks of having a Titan boyfriend, you guess. You can picture them at the Tower going through a training regimen together. Cherry doesn’t have the typical lean body of a Hunter; she’s taller than you, with thicker muscles that speak to a workout regimen that’s been going on for more years than you remember being alive, and far more scars.
“You got a marker or something?” Cherry asks. Fel snorts.
“That’s normally your job.”
“This one was a bit of a rush job. I was eager.”
“I know you were. Insistent. You know?” Fel asks, and you can tell that that last bit is directed toward you. You make a little questioning noise, rough in your throat, and he laughs again.
“Here’s the thing, kid,” Cherry says. “You’re a good Guardian, but all that I’m good at Crucible matches, I don’t want you like that, let’s just be friends, it really just felt like you were flaunting it. Like you were begging for it. And we’re good superiors — we indulge a newbie’s wants, you know?”
“Nnngh,” you grit out, stomach dropping into some figurative pit beneath you. “No. No. I wasn’t…”
“You thought you could get two seasoned Guardians to help you out without some sort of payment?” Cherry asks. “Come on. We’ve all done it. It’s not like we didn’t warn you. We could’ve done this the fun and easy way.”
“I’m sorry, we still can! I thought…”
“Oh, well if you thought,” drawls Fel. “Cherry, come on. You were the one who insisted on doing this today, let’s get a move on.”
“With relish,” Cherry says, and then she’s flipping you over again, pinning you back to the ground with the heel of each palm pressing into your shoulders, bones sticking out of your back and digging into the ground like bound wings. The grin on her face is as wide, a glint in her eyes that had been admirable on a strike looking pretty fucking terrifying in the low lamplights of the alleyway.
She takes out a knife – a little switchblade, which shouldn’t strike fear into your heart when you’re used to swords and gauntlets and cannons – but it looks menacing in her hand. And you can’t imagine what she plans to do with it, which makes your heart thump even harder in your chest. Getting cut up a little – that’s nothing. But what if – well, there’s plenty of things you don’t want that knife to touch.
“Spread your legs for me now,” she murmurs, and then you understand. She slides the knife up the seam of your pants like it’s a letter opener, ignoring your cries of protest and doing away with them as a whole. You’re left in nothing but your briefs and Cherry slides the blade – dull, but sharp enough to break skin with enough force – down the flesh of your thigh.
“Fuck!” you hiss from between clenched teeth, and through the ringing in your ears you can hear Fel growl, “that’s a little premature.”
“Hold your damn horses, Fel, I’m doing it now. I got excited, alright?”
Her hands grip the waistband of your briefs, nails digging into your skin as she shoves them down to your ankles. It’s muggy outside, the humidity making it seem hotter than it is, but with your pussy out like that a shiver runs down your body. You’re embarrassed – your pubes aren’t shaved and it’s nothing special down there.
“Nice,” mutters Fel, so apparently he disagrees. Cherry makes a noise of assent, and practically nosedives between your legs, tongue darting out to part your lips. It’s wonderfully strange, although just thinking those words makes you shiver. You can’t remember having ever felt this sort of thing before: the feeling of a tongue over the sensitive, pliant skin of your cunt is nothing like the hard press of your fingers when you rub one. It feels good, it can’t help but feel good, the neurons in that traitorous part of your brain firing way faster than the ones that are painfully aware that you’re being violated.
You’ve never shoplifted before, at least not that you can remember, but you think it’s probably a similar kind of thrill: tantalizing in its wrongness, although this comes with a heavy aftertaste of feeling ill.
“Love the taste of virgin cunt,” she says, the sharp breath on the t ghosting over your clit and making it jump. “You are one, right?”
“I –” your start, swallowing. “I don’t know?”
A laugh rings out from somewhere above you, and there’s no doubt that it’s Fel. “Teach ‘em what it’s like to get their box ate,” says Fel. “See, we’ll make it good for you. Cherry loves eating box.”
“I sure fuckin’ do. Gets ‘em open – open enough.”
“Open enough for what?” you ask before you can stop yourself. You know it’s a dumb idea the second it leaves your mouth.
“Newbie, anybody ever tell you you ask too many questions? What gun should I use for this? How do I murk this guy when he’s infallible? What are you opening my pussy for? I’ll let you in on a little secret, okay? This will go faster – and you’ll be a better Guardian – if you just sit back and let it happen. You might even learn a thing or two.”
“Okay,” you say after a bit. It sounds scratchy coming out of your throat, which has gone dry. From fear, or maybe from the cold air. Maybe if you just let Cherry do her thing, this will be over and you can move on. Maybe – maybe even come out better on the other side. If this is something all Guardians go through, then…
“Aw, wasn’t that sweet,” says Cherry, bending down and hooking a fingernail under your chin. “Stay still.”
She bites your thigh. Teeth in the flesh, gnawing like a dog, and you can see blood drip down until it’s bright against the asphalt.
“Oh, smart, Cher,” Fel says, genuine appreciation in his voice.
“No shit,” she says. Then she digs two fingers into the bite mark and swipes her thumb over the long, vertical cut she’d made earlier. You realize what she plans to do with them the moment before it happens, and your brain barely has time to register before her fingers drive into you.
It’s nothing like period blood, coagulated and thick, it just feels strange and foreign, like Cherry’s fingers which continue to smear it around. It’s thin and briny and weird.
“Now you’re wet.”
Her tongue darts back in, licking the blood like a feral cat, smearing it all over your insides. And that little thrill that had run through you before – that’s all gone. Vaguely you wonder how she’s even able to dig that deep. Little bursts of pleasure prod at you like sutures closing skin. A wince wracks through your body with each one.
“Poor thing’s trembling like a damn puppy left in a box. You lost your touch? Need me to show you what a man can do?”
“Oh, fuck off, like you’re half the man I am. You know I hate it when you get like that.”
“But you love it when I bring out the big guns.”
“I guess I do.” Cherry’s grin is bloody. Little droplets of congealed blood like a vampire that starved before it found a fresh source.
You’re so fixated on Cherry’s mouth that you fail to notice the very literal meaning of big guns before something metal presses down on your shoulder, and even though it’s cold, it feels like a branding iron.
“Like it?” Fel asks. You try to jerk away, an instinctual reaction like any wounded animal, but he presses down harder and it’s then that you remember: Titan. Right. He could toss you like a ball if he wanted. “Well? Do you?”
“Oh, um,” you scramble to say. “Yeah, yeah. It’s um, nice.” It’s an auto rifle, not one that you recognize, but you can very much see the long barrel on the end and have a sinking suspicion about why he might have pulled that gun off of his back.
“It’s a Seventh Seraph Carbine,” he grins. “Real helpful for finishing off enemies, but real helpful for other things too, you know?”
“I – um.” You try to talk, try to keep him talking to put off the inevitable but your mouth feels dry and sticky and your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.
“Calm down,” he says. “This is nothing, okay? Barely bigger than my cock.”
“Certainly longer,” mutters Cherry, and you try to tune her out, but it’s hard when she’s laying right between your legs with a grin on her face like an animal let loose from its cage. You try to crane your eyes down to get a better look at the barrel digging into your shoulder. He’s right, it’s not that much thicker around than a cock. You can take it. You can take it. And then you can roll over and crawl back home and find a different fireteam. Surely somebody will take used goods.
With a look at Fel, Cherry scrambles backward and lets Fel kneel between your legs to kick them apart. He licks a long stripe from your collarbone, up your neck and over your chin, while his hands deftly work at your shirt, pulling it apart like it’s putty in his hands. The licks continue around your mouth; an animal’s mark of affection, it feels like nothing but a claim of ownership.
“Kept playing hard to get, didn’t you, Guardian?” he murmurs, voice low and his chest vibrating when he lays it over yours. He’s still got his civvies on and the fabric bunches and presses against your skin where indents will linger later.
“I – no, I wasn’t.”
“You could’ve just asked,” says Cherry, white teeth glinting under red. Just like her armor. “But it’s okay. We’ll show you what you like.”
The barrel of the gun is cold when it presses against the folds of your cunt, sharp and without warning. It’s nothing like your fingers or even a hard silicone toy: no give at all. And Fel doesn’t waste his time digging it in like he’s rooting around for treasure, moving your walls this way and that. Logically, you know the vagina is a muscle, you know it’ll stretch and it’ll take it, but it hurts and feels unnatural in a way you can’t quite make sense of. There’s a gun in you. There’s a gun in your cunt, and you feel something hot and cold and buzzing shoot down your esophagus before it settles in your stomach as the gravity of that hits you.
It’s the feeling you get when you think you might puke.
“You feeling sick, newbie?” Cherry asks. “Just relax. Enjoy it! You agreed to this, didn’t you?”
Not to this, you want to say, but she leans over to muffle your mouth before you can answer.
“Shut up and let Fel fuck you.”
And there’s the soldier in you that wants to obey the order, so you do. You snap to attention and purse your lips together like the Vanguard is giving you orders, and it feels pathetic. Fel moves the barrel in and out of you hard, fast, and deep.
I can’t take it, you want to say, you try to convey through your quick breathing. Cherry’s left your nose uncovered, and you blow out a sharp exhale when he hits that spongy part inside of you that should make your eyes go dark, but instead just makes your back arch off the ground. Are you wet, or is that blood?
“Hey, Cher,” says Fel. “You think I left the gun loaded or not?”
A whimper tears out of your throat.
“I told you to be quiet.” The roll of her eyes is evident in Cherry’s voice, but you can’t help yourself, you start struggling and writhing and Fel keeps fucking you and Cherry just presses into where the gun had been holding you down earlier.
Before today, you would have considered yourself strong. You’d be hard pressed to find a Guardian that isn’t. Now, you feel like a child.
“Should I let them orgasm?” You’re not even close to it. There’s little bolts of heat whipping through you, but there’s none of that deep, buzzing pleasure. Your clit feels stifled in the muggy air of the alleyway, and you squeeze your eyes shut. The alleyway. You’d been trying to forget just where exactly you are – if somebody heard the commotion back here, they would surely come to see. And the worst part is, you can’t be sure they’d try to help you.
“Nah,” says Cherry. “Nah, they haven’t earned it yet. They’re not even trying to enjoy you fucking them.”
“You’re right,” agrees Fel, and you’re horrified to hear the way the gun pulls out of you with a wet, squelching noise. It’s glistening, wet with your insides and blood.
“I’m –” you try to say. I’m wet, look, I’m enjoying it, okay?
“Huh?” asks Cherry. “Hey, Fel. Give them another.”
“You know the rules,” he says.
“Rules are for bending. Okay, newbie. I take my hand off your mouth, you don’t start saying shit like let me go, okay? Just be good.”
You gasp for air when her sweaty fingers come away from you, no longer tasting the sour grime over your tongue, and nod vigorously. Okay, sure, whatever you say.
“Now,” Fel says. “Hold still. Cher, hand me Quickfang.”
She unhooks her sword from her back with an unnecessary flourish, winking as she does. And then Fel is bringing it down your leg, right next to other long cut from Cherry. That one is already healing up, a razor-thin red line dotted with little droplets. It makes the one from Fel look even more grotesque, a gaping wound. He presses gloved fingers into it, pain shooting down your thigh.
“Two!”
Two. They’re tally marks, you realize with a cold, sinking feeling. Two what, though? Can’t be orgasms. Maybe – maybe people, but they haven’t said anything out loud about anybody else coming. But then, since that first strike with them you’d noticed their almost lack of need to communicate, the way they speak in wordless sentences and juts of their chins and quick little nods. Any plan they have, they wouldn’t need to have you privy to it. A heavy swallow snakes its way down your throat.
“Alright,” Fel says. “My dick’s hard, I’ve had enough of wrecking their cunt.”
“So stop,” says Cherry. “You act like they’re making the rules here.”
Distantly, you realize that Cherry’s grip on you has lessened, but you just lay there, glued to the ground.
Fel pops the zipper of his tac pants with a devilish grin, Cherry getting up on her knees to pull it down slowly. It’d be erotic, seductive even if you weren’t so scared. The word feels ridiculous: scared is for a horror play at the theatre or public speaking or any sort of civ activity. You’re a Guardian, and fear should be reserved for enemies and gods and monsters. But right now, in this moment, you’re just fucking scared.
Digging a hand into his briefs, Fel pulls out his dick with a big, dumb grin, Cherry wolf-whistling appreciatively. “There it is!”
There it is – as big as his grin. A little less thick than the barrel of the gun. Silently, you thank the stars for that; you should be open enough to take it. His balls look heavy, pubic hair dusting over them. In another world, you might find yourself salivating for it, but as it is, you want nothing but to crawl away.
“Right – you sure you’re good if I go ahead with this?”
“Oh, sure. Put on a show and it’s just as good for me as it is for you.”
“You’re so good to me,” Fel says, leaning over to kiss Cherry on the mouth. “Thank her for letting you suck my cock, newbie.”
“Thanks,” you say stupidly. “Thanks, Cherry.”
“Sweet,” she says with a pout. “Not good enough for me, though. Come on, come over here.”
She’s pulled over a crate labeled with the rail whiskey brand you’d been drinking, sitting down and spreading her legs wide. Peeling yourself off the ground feels insurmountable, but you manage to turn yourself over to all fours. Cherry nods approvingly, and slowly, you crawl. Your cunt hurts, it feels heavy like you’re on your period.
“What do you need?” you ask wearily. Anything to get this over with quicker.
“Just thank me,” she says, sticking out a leg and waving it in your face. “Not a big ask.”
With a dull horror, you realize what she wants. And like a moth drawn to flame, you duck your head and press your tongue to the vamp. Hunter boots are smooth unlike your own with all the interlocking pieces that dance their way up the shaft. And you wish – you wish more than anything she was in her armor. In these, in plain combat boots, the laces press into the underside of your tongue and they taste gross. Old cloth and smelling strongly of leather cleaner.
“There you go, doggy,” she says, rolling her head back with pleasure, eyes half-lidded. “Lick ‘em clean. Good job. Hand me back my sword, Fel. Another tally.”
“No, no. Tallies are for penetration, not you getting your rocks off.”
A heavy breath punches out of you when she lets you go. Arms scoop their way under you, Fel picking you up like you weigh nothing, and laying you back down.
“Hope you’ve still got something left in that tongue. Open wide.”
Fel’s dick tastes like sweat. It doesn’t taste clean, or good, just sour and salty and musty and you wish it were in your cunt instead. Already stretched. Instead, your mouth is distorted and unnatural around it while he fucks into your face, balls slapping against your chin like this is some sort of cheap porno. You can feel spit forming on the edges of your lips, you’re fucking drooling as if you want this.
“Yeah, fuck,” says Fel. “Take it. God, your little cuntmouth is good.”
It feels like an insane thing to say because you – you’re not even doing anything, you’re not licking or thumbing him, you’re just laying there letting yourself be used. You hate to think of what the Drifter or Eris or worse, Ikora might say if they saw you like this.
Instead, you try to concentrate on everything around you. The winking stars in the sky, the rivulets that the little pebbles on the ground are pressing into your back. The scent of Cherry’s musky cologne, her – her masturbating. It’s almost with a mourning feeling that you realize her hands are digging into her cunt, eyes closed in pleasure whereas yours are open in a weird mix of fear and shame.
“I want them to finish,” Cherry says. “This is a reward for them, right?”
A reward? No, this is – this is –
“That’s right, they did ask for it. Okay, Warlock. Show us what you can do.”
You make a noise that’s supposed to be questioning, but you can’t tell if that’s remotely close to what it sounds like. Fel’s dick is still thrusting into you, and it’s hard to breathe, hard to think.
“Your Arc,” Cherry says. “Why have it if you don’t use it to have a little fun, right?”
When you shake your head – just little jerks of your chin, you can barely move – Fel moans deep and heavy. Something salty fills your mouth, shoots down your throat, and you gasp as you try to swallow, try to get it all down so he’ll finally get off of you and let you relax. Your body feels like it’s been dragged through with a million iron shavings.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he says, but he doesn’t move. “Finger on your clit for me now.”
It feels wrong, how light Cherry’s touch is around your wrist, the way she guides your hand down between your legs. Like she’s trying to make this good for you when it’s anything but.
“Now let go,” she says. “You’ve got all that power inside of you. Let’s see it put to some good use.”
Your clit is so sensitive, and the blood is surely dried on your thighs by now, which means that the wetness you can feel is your own spunk and it feels wrong, so wrong. You don’t want this, you don’t want this orgasm but if you can make yourself do it it’ll just be over. There’s no fantasy for you to dig into, no good sex you can remember from your past life or anything like that. All you’ve got is these two and the sheer determination to let it end.
A spark can give life or take it, they say. Taking a deep breath, you release the electromagnetic power down your arm, pressing tight. The yowl you let out sounds primal, animalistic, and it feels good, but wrong, too much. Too hot, too cold, and tears come out of your eyes like they’re trying to take away some of the feeling. It’s so much, so much, and your vulva feels all tight and when you come, it’s like you’re on fire. You pant so hard your tongue dries out and your mouth starts to taste like copper. And that’s the taste that comes when you’re about to –
Your stomach lurches.
“There we go,” says Fel, pulling out and stepping back. He doesn’t tuck his dick back in. “That wasn’t so bad, right? Right?” he asks again with an expectant eyebrow when you don’t answer.
“R-right,” you try to answer, but with a gurgle, you can feel the whiskey you’d drunk earlier shoot back up your esophagus, acidic and burning. The puke is mostly bile, your last meal hours ago, but it reeks, taking over the distinct smell of sex in the alleyway.
“That was disgusting.” Cherry says, her lip curling. “But I guess that means you’re ready to be a little fucktoy now, you think?”
Unsure how to answer that, you lay there and let yourself breathe. You can’t even bring yourself to smear a hand over your lips and clean yourself up.
“Here, grab them,” Fel says, looking up. “New Guardian ritual, you know? We’ve all been there.”
Following his gaze, you can see a hook jutting out from the bricks of the building. Gently almost, Fel wraps a chain around your hands binding them together. It’s as cold as the gun had been in your snatch. When he reaches up to loop the chain through the hook, you can barely put the balls of your feet down onto the ground, grateful they’d left your boots on, and you wonder if they’d put that hook there in advance, how far they’d planned ahead.
What now? you want to ask, but your eyes are beginning to flutter shut with exhaustion – the orgasm, the being fucked, the alcohol? You’re not sure.
When you hear the sound of a door opening, the deep timbre of the bartender’s voice, you swear the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Before, you’d thought that was only a thing in the cheap bodice rippers that civilians favor.
“All yours,” Cherry says. “Would steer clear of the mouth though, Fel got them good earlier. You got a knife?”
“‘Course I got a knife.”
“Go ahead then. Make your mark, and leave room for more. Invite any buddies you want.”