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“Relaxation is key to a healthy mind, and some would say, healthy soul.”
RPK-16 looks at her with a gaze of someone who both fully believes she’s right, and at the same time both expecting and anticipating the coming refutation. 12 can’t say she’s got her hopes up for nothing.
“I wouldn’t know,” she says, through pursed lips. If she has to respond she can at least keep it in the realm of exercising only the barest effort to do so.
“Of course you wouldn’t! You haven’t slept in three years!”
In return 12 would point out the uncanny, creepy desire that RPK-16 has for a so-called ‘consistent sleep schedule’, that even if it had any meaningful function for a T-Doll, it wouldn’t really suit the kind of elite supersoldiers that they are. Frankly, two T-Dolls booking a hotel room together seems even more illogical, especially when they are most certainly not sharing a bed.
But the knock they’ve both, unfortunately, been expecting comes at the door; not unfortunate in that it’s here but in that this is an experience she has to share with RPK-16. She shuffles in her pumps, the high heels something she’s not too used to.
“You ca—”
“Come in!” RPK-16 almost yelps over her, in a way that if it isn’t specifically malicious reeks of desperation. How unattractive, 12 thinks, not to be desperate but to show it so clearly.
(Desperation itself is attractive. She hopes Ange would agree.)
The cardkey-lock on the hotel room door clicks, and a familiar calloused hand pushes the door open. There’s a pleasingly carefree look on her face – the knowledge that if her girls have been in here first, she doesn’t need to check for wiretaps or secret cameras or an assailant hiding in the bathroom (“It’s always bathrooms,” Ange has whined at her before).
“Ha—”
“HAPPY EASTER!” 12 finds herself yelling, voice undoubtedly reaching into the corridor outside. RPK-16 turns to her with the faintest disgust in her eyes, maybe a sign she feels the same way about desperation, or perhaps her having to deal with having her thunder stolen for once.
Ange freezes, the only part of her still in motion being her eyes running over both of the Dolls across the hotel room from her, and RPK-16 takes this as a cue to keep on talking.
“We know you aren’t a practicing Orthodox kind of woman, but we thought you might appreciate a little gaiety on this important occasion!” The fox has the softest, sweetest smile on her round face. It’s the look of prey offering itself up to its predator, and 12 is doing her best to relax her own face to match, but she can’t help but feel she looks as stiff as a board right now. “We know you don’t like unwanted surprises, though, so… you can feel free to leave!”
The ‘we’ still pisses AK-12 off, but she can’t deny she would never have gotten to this point without RPK-16’s assistance.
“No, I… wasn’t planning on…” Ange slowly stutters out her response, the one human in the room being the one suddenly requiring a reboot.
“We know you don’t like chocolate that much, so this is better than any egg, no—”
“You’re laying it on too thick,” 12 groans, firm in the belief she’d get to the point so much faster, even if she’s very aware she’s done nothing except yell at their guest so far. Said guest is currently walking down the corridor of the hotel room to them, footsteps approximate thirty percent slower than her average walking speed, while her heartrate is—oh.
“Girls,” Ange asks, head bowed and voice heavy and breathy, “why are you dressed like this?”
An interesting choice of words, though it doesn’t quite align with her current course of action of placing a hand on each of their asses, stopping just short of squeezing them, even if 12 can tell there’s a tension in her knuckles begging to be engaged.
“Because it’s Easter, aaaaaaaand…. ddddd…” RPK-16 begins her response, dragging it out long enough that 12 eventually understands that she’s being involved in this too. Perhaps her read on the fox’s desire for a monopoly on their guest was premature.
“We’re… your bunnies, Ange.” She feels her own ass tighten up at that one, independent of any squeezing or touching from her commander.
“I’m really not one for observing religious holidays, you know. I don’t think I even knew it was Easter.”
Ange continues to avoid eye contact, leaning in a little closer to the pair of them, like she’s trying to look down into their cleavage instead. 12, with the subtle and perfect self-control afforded to advanced T-Dolls like herself, ever so slightly arches her back to press her chest forwards.
“Well, that means you can spend all Sunday fucking us instead, then!”
It’s not like they had to give Ange permission, really. The fact she’d been invited to a hotel room by them for an important discussion and found her two closest Dolls there in nigh-matching (at RPK-16’s insistence) colour-coded (also at RPK-16’s insistence) bunny suits was implicitly consent to their commander doing whatever she wanted with them. But explicitness was sometimes the way to get through to Ange. Her hands rode a little further up to grab the side of their waists, taking a grip and then somehow managing the superhuman feat of pushing them back onto the bed behind them, as if these two T-Dolls were just normal girls to her—
Perhaps her and RPK’s subconsciouses were in sync there.
“God, what am I gonna do with you? Being told you needed a private meeting with me really set me off,” Ange sighs, throwing off her jacket with rehearsed ease before crawling onto the bed between the two of them, looking down at both with, wonderfully enough, desire in her eyes. “I always feel like if any of you were going to be scheming behind my back, it would be you two.”
“You would be correct, Ange!” RPK-16 says, as happy as can be; only happier still when that comment gets her a hand on her chest, groping her breast through the shiny, crinkly white suit. She turns to Ange, and then pouts when she sees the soldier is instead far more focused on 12, and so 12 stops paying attention to 16 in turn.
Instead, she feels her neural cloud skip a cycle when Ange purrs and nuzzles into her neck first, a hand on her chest, lips pressed to her – just a hint of Ange licking along her skin. She wonders if synthetic skin tastes as good on the tongue as that of a human’s, whether the lack of sweat and oil and salt is a relief or makes her feel not quite real, but clearly that’s not a problem. There’s the faint smell of alcohol on Ange’s breath – drinking as part of the social conventions of an earlier meeting, or a stiff shot in the hotel bar while she steeled herself for the worst news possible from her two favourite Dolls? 12 has no desire to guess, she simply knows she likes Ange when she’s like this.
And if Ange is suggestable right now, she feels her own burst of confidence – to stroke the back of Ange’s head, just enough pressure at the lowest point of her skull to encourage the other woman to look up, and when Ange does, she presses their lips together. Doing her best to block out any other cooing she hears around her as she does, too.
Shaw has not given her a body built for things like this – for better or worse, she doesn’t have to worry about the so-called ‘pokeys’ in her suit that RPK-16 is so gigglingly proud of – but the one thing she does have is a mouth, and a tongue, and lips, and the ability to kiss Ange. And more than that, of course, but regardless of what her intended functions are, she can recognise that jolt of surprise from Ange, her jaw loose then firm as her body responds and her own tongue presses against 12’s lip. It is heaven, and even when RPK-16 nuzzles into Ange with enough insistent kisses and blowing into her ear that Ange turns to make out with her instead, 12 can’t be too disappointed.
There’s other benefits to Ange being occupied, too – 12 moves herself a little lower, the stiff purple ears of her outfit briefly hitting RPK-16 in the face (no apologies given), as she puts her fingers to work on undoing Ange’s shirt, making sure there’s not a single risk of a tear or a button unthreaded. Ange is surprisingly still, 12 thinks, but then she sees because 16 already has a leg wrapped around her to pull her in, the slut. The absolute wanton whore, while 12 focuses on getting Ange’s belt undone and her slacks slipped off her hips with entirely appropriate levels of speed and enthusiasm.
“12. I had the impression this was meant to be my treat?” Ange’s voice snaps her out of it, and even with her eyes closed, she can’t help but feel she’s looking up like an apprehended little puppy. Or a bunny, even.
“Isn’t, uhm, not worrying about undressing yourself a treat?”
“Isn’t realising your right-hand woman thirsts for you this badly a treat?”
“Shut up, RPK-16. Isn’t getting to make out with a needy little vixen without a care in the world a treat?” That one’s meant to be an insult, but RPK-16 blushes at the accusation, pointing at herself out of pride that, yippee, she’s the vixen here!, and 12 pauses to prepare something more cutting, before steel fingers tap at her scalp.
“If you want to give me a treat you know what to do,” Ange growls down at her, and all of a sudden her limbs are free of RPK’s, kicking her trousers down her prosthetic leg, 12 eagerly grabbing them and her boyshorts along to help and then realising that them dangling off one of Ange’s calves is good enough. Ange’s foot gives her a firm tap on the side lets her know to rear back a little, further, until she realises there’s no more bed under her and she’s to kneel on the bedroom floor, looking straight up at Ange. That commanding grin of hers looks all the more intimidating under this light, in the way that means 12 doesn’t say a thing when rather than simply spreading her thighs, Ange lifts them, one leg on top of each of 12’s shoulders.
The weight of that mechanical leg would probably be more than the average woman could bear, 12 thinks, and while unlike a certain someone she’s never have pretensions of being anything else, in the moment she can’t help but think – thank God I was made a Doll!
As if to remind her it’s not just the two of them, 16 pulls Ange back onto the bed a little and up against her body again, like she’s encouraging Ange to use her like a pillow; Shaw designed her well for that purpose, however unintentional it was (but considering her mother and Ange, who knew?). 12 feels Ange’s eyes roam up and down her form – the arch of her back, the suit not overly tight when she’d put it it on but she now feels it tracing the precise contours of her spinal structure all the way down to her rear, Ange’s brows arching into what had to be amusement at the little grey fluffy tail.
“It really suits you,” Ange says, hand playing with 12’s hair carefully, as if she doesn’t want to accidentally bump the ears around, letting her back fall a little against RPK’s chest and her hips slide forward on the sheets until her cunt is right in 12’s face; a gap that 12 is more than happy to make up by leaning forwards on her end. Her nose buries itself in the little blue-grey thatch over it, 12 wanting to kiss Ange’s pussy more than anything else, keeping her eyes-closed-contact with her commander as much as possible. Ange might not be able to see that, but 12 knows she can tell.
And this way, she can avoid making it look like she’s looking up at--
“It’s so cute how she keeps her eyes closed! I never thought I’d see my dear 12 looking so, ah, docile? Submissive?” RPK-16’s chin rests on Ange’s shoulder, nibbling a little at that ear at any given opportunity. She’s got a big mouth when she’s safely out of biting range, and all the worse, Ange’s response is to laugh along, hum her approval, and pet her bunny like she deserves.
Still, 12 has no reason to open her eyes right now. Her mind’s overloaded enough as is being between Ange’s legs, tongue jutting out of her mouth to lick a little, slipping between the woman’s folds. It’s delicate, just like she’d imagine a bunny would be, her mind set not on getting Ange off exactly as much as making Ange feel good--
“You can use a little more tongue,” Ange encourages her instead, and of course 12 complies, tongue dipping a little deeper, her mouth open a little wider so she can press even closer into Ange. “Come on, 12, stop being all cute about it. Eat me out.”
As advanced as her optics are, as much as she could take in every corner and facet of the room if she so wanted, 12 decides to forgo that, getting the closest she possibly can to closing her eyes and staring straight forward. It’s as much for the immersion as it’s for the desire to record and document the sight of Ange’s cunt, and do what she’s told to, actually serve Ange; and Ange’s little appreciative growl lets her know she’s doing that right. The legs on her shoulders get heavier, Ange done supporting her own weight out of consideration, and that’s fine – that’s not the consideration 12 needs Ange to show her.
“Does it feel good, commander? I bet you’ve never gotten to sleep with two Dolls at once, before—” The way RPK-16’s words don’t trail off but simply end makes her wonder if she’s received a sharp glare from Ange, but the little pants from both of them that follow make it clear that they’re kissing again. This would annoy 12 a lot more if she didn’t know those little low grunts that interrupt their makeout were all thanks to her. “Hah, grip her hair. You know she likes it like that…” RPK-16’s stage whisper is all the more insulting for her barely attempting to put any breathiness into her tone, to the degree 12 wonders if she’s the one imposing the idea of it being a whisper onto RPK’s words. “Or even if you don’t, Ange, she knows.”
There’s a pause, a snort – but Ange again listens to her third-in-command, again carefully making sure not to clip the ears as she balls her fist into 12’s hair, not really doing anything with it but, 12 has to admit, it’s the thought that counts. The thought, and Ange’s “God, you’re so good, 12… you were made for this.”
If it was for Ange’s sake, then, Lord, she would be fine with that.
“If she was made for this, why don’t you let her know, Ange? Take a good grip, and fuck dear 12’s face.”
And as much as she hates to admit it, 12 feels her neck capacitors instinctively stir at that, her mouth far too occupied with Ange’s pussy to add anything salient but her head nods on autopilot, ready for the hand at the back of her head, or a tighter grip--
But it doesn’t come.
“RPK-16, if this is my treat, why do you keep fucking telling me what to do?” It’s in good humour, of course – 12 likes to think Ange couldn’t possibly be in bad humour after she’d been on her knees between Ange’s legs! – but it’s firm. The yank 12 had expected comes, but it’s one to force her head back and upwards, so that she can observe a genuinely confused RPK-16 being stared down by an incredulous Ange.
“Well, I thought it would be like, you know… an absence of responsibility? To feel like you could truly rely on us in this moment, and lose yourself to your most base desires… you and I, and also her I suppose, are all creatures who wish to lose ourselves to our innate urges—” RPK-16 raises a spread hand as if to further enhance the validity of her soliloquy, and immediately finds her wrist grabbed by Ange’s steel hand, one of the soldier’s legs sliding off 12’s shoulder and planting itself on the floor to lever her weight against RPK’s.
“12, help me out here.”
“Pardon me? This is the exact opposite to what I was thinking, Ange. I didn’t want you to issue orders – well, no, I suppose I did, but less strategic and more, you know…” And in the scant time it’s taken RPK-16 to say some meaningless drivel, 12 has leapt up onto the bed, eyes flashing open just long enough to whirl around the two of them with inhuman, frankly inmechanical speed, her grabbing 16’s shoulders and forcing the other Doll’s back to the bed, the fox’s head now dazedly beaming up from her lap. “Bunnies shouldn’t be this close together, 12… I feel like we’re at risk of overheating!”
“Did you ever consider asking Shaw to remove her vocal module?” 12 posits, Ange adjusting to their new position by straddling RPK-16’s impractically soft thighs.
“I’m not a monster, 12. I just think she needs to learn there’s a time and a place.”
“And learn her place, too?”
“Oh, god, not you too,” Ange sighs from between pursed lips, but even as she throws her head back and rolls her eyes, there’s an undeniable devil-may-care twinkle to them, and 12 gets to bask in the fact that despite RPK’s best attempts to take over the role in the last few minutes, she is Ange’s superior lieutenant. Ange shuffles back on her knees, finally kicking the remains of her bottoms from her ankle, and remembering to actually finish taking off her shirt in the process, naked except for that sports bra that 12 would love to remove but knows not to push Ange too far right now. Her commander’s tight-lipped pout turns into a grin, spreading RPK-16’s legs in lieu of her own and placing herself between them. Her fingers run down the front of the shiny white suit, the cut technically ever so slightly more conservative than 12’s – but for what the other Doll’s outfit lacks in high cuts and cleavage 12 has to admit RPK-16 might be even more made for this than she was.
“Well, if this is my place, I’m very satisfied!” RPK-16 coos up, and neither deign her with a response. Ange is far too busy moving her finger from running over the suit to sliding it under, pulling it away from the Doll’s skin, and letting it snap back down into place to earn a surprisingly contrite whine. Clearly satisfying enough to Ange that she repeats the motion, but this time she instead pulls the suit right to the side, and her left eyebrow cocks in something that doesn’t seem fully like mock amazement.
“Nothing under here? RPK-16, you really don’t get to mock your squadmate for being thirsty… unless 12’s just as bad as you are?”
Does it really matter, 12 almost says, before realising that to Ange, it does matter, and thus now it matters to her in some inimitable way.
“…what if I am, Ange?”
“Show me later,” Ange tells her, and then returns to her prior work – dragging her fingers over RPK-16’s synthetic vagina, as much a show of vanity and intent on Shaw’s part as 12’s own featureless body. After all, AK-12 is purely a machine of war, why would Shaw give her provisions for intercourse? While she has no faith in the value of her mother’s alcohol-poisoned reasoning for why RPK-16 was designed the way she was, she can understand the logic of why RPK-16 is the way she is, and as awful as it is to think, almost betraying herself from the mere idea of it--
She has no desire for Ange to take her like that, but she can’t deny that she’s wondered what it must look like.
“Ange, darling, don’t make me wait too much longer…” RPK-16 sounds like she’s on the verge of begging, and at this point it’s as if she’s gone past desperation into a deeply honest need. Maybe that’s the real distress 12 is feeling, seeing a woman who holds her cards so impenetrably close to her chest give it all away for the sake of the exact same person she worships. Is it that she sees herself in RPK-16, maybe?
And she wonders, with a blistering sense of jealousy, if Ange spoils RPK-16 in the same way she dotes on her; if the fact she drags her calloused trigger finger over her slit as if taunting her with not giving her what she needs is indulging RPK-16 in the same way that she knows 12 loves to be ordered. She can’t look away from Ange’s hand as she finally enters RPK, those little begging whispers turning into a moan that’s so clearly unnatural, but—
“Ange, so good, you feel so amazing inside me, Angeee…”
She hasn’t worked alongside RPK-16 for this long to not understand. Those moans are for her own sake, as if to cry out yes, Ange is fucking me--
“I like looking at your face, 12. You’re just so… pretty, you know? It’s your best asset.” Her deeply deliberate moans, and AK-12’s own fixation on seeing two of Ange’s still-flesh-and-bone fingers fill up RPK-16, are interrupted by that same lilting voice aimed at her instead.
“It’s considered very corny to be a ‘face woman’, RPK-16, and I’m also not the person you’re meant to be focusing on.” She looks up at her beloved commander, now eager to focus entirely on her face even as she starts to fuck another woman, but for her part, Ange just seems amused.
“Hey, I just like seeing you two get along.” Ange almost sounds guileless as she says that, and that’s part of why 12 loves her so much. She grabs RPK-16’s unpleasantly soft cheeks, tilting her head up a little further on her lap, so she can focus entirely on their commander too. Observe, RPK-16, the sight of Ange’s arm flexing as she pumps her fingers into you, the gritted-teeth grin of a woman who knows that even if she’s doing the work right now, she’s the one who’s winning.
But the outline of those damn pokeys sticks with her, like a strange phantom pain. While Ange is busy stuffing her with her fingers, 12 takes a moment to pull the front of that white bunnysuit down, RPK-16’s breasts falling free of the cups that had seemingly been doing a lot more support work than 12 had realised. She might have seen RPK-16’s bare chest before, but like this – bouncing a little as RPK heaves at Ange’s handiwork, nipples hard, chest lifelike yet lacking the blue streaks of veins and pores that Ange’s has – she can’t resist the urge to touch them. That’s letting RPK-16 win, of course. She hears the other Doll purr as she grabs at them, fingers sinking into them, unable to entirely block out the strange, inverted smile of RPK-16 on her lap as the fox is once again distracted from Ange to study the face of the woman playing with her breasts.
--she’s a little lost in them, 12 realises, and as if to purge herself of that, she grasps one of RPK’s tits firmly, digging her fingers in hard enough that even the fox frowns up at her.
“12, you’re not groping me any more, you’re just putting my breasts in a submission hold,” she whines, pawing up at 12’s hand until Ange finds some other raw nerve capacitor inside her and she whines for an entirely different reason. RPK-16 doesn’t know half of the kind of holds 12 can put another Doll in, but she’s scared if she tries she might actually break her squadmate’s spine, so she lets that one pass.
“Thought you’d be into that,” Ange murmurs, digging into RPK-16 right to the knuckle, tapping a third finger against the side of her pussy like she’s actively considering it. After all, it’s not like she can break RPK-16 like that.
“Nnh—not, not from her, from you, maybe, Ange, but a Doll doesn’t understand how sensitive breasts are—ah, 12, haah—” Of course that’s the kind of comment that gets one of her nipples flicked, and from the way her back arches off the bed at that 12 has a hard time believing she doesn’t enjoy it from her colleague.
“She still won’t shut up, will she?”
“Make her,” Ange orders, and as she does she pulls her fingers out of RPK-16, earning the worst whine yet.
“Ange, nooooo, you can’t do that… please fill me up, that’s not fair at all…” Beyond desperation, beyond need, 12 gets to see RPK-16’s bare selfishness, the unflappable vixen sounding like a little brat; exactly the sort of thing that makes her put her own fingers into RPK-16’s mouth, only to be met with willing but visibly angry sucking. It inspires complex thoughts in AK-12, and she decides to put off thinking about them, not least of all because the sucking suddenly slows, and when she follows RPK-16’s eyes to see why that is—
Ange has already moved her prosthetic hand to between RPK-16’s thighs and driven her fingers inside her.
“You’re really special, 16. Don’t think there’s a single other woman I could do this to,” Ange laughs, and 12 has wonder what Ange feels in this moment. Does Ange’s mechanical arm transfer the sensation of being inside RPK-16 in the same way a Doll’s sensory receptors do, or does it feel much the same as her organic one does? As selfish as it is, she almost wishes it was the former, the woman-machine boundary breaking down not in the favour of her being like Ange, but that Ange has a little of the Doll to her; human in all the ways 12 finds attractive but with that one thing that might make their intimacy not entirely a mutually exclusive qualia. These are questions she could never bring herself to ask, even if she knows Ange would willingly answer them; but maintaining that delicate boundary means they can stay as close as they are.
Her fingers slip out of RPK-16’s mouth as the other Doll moans with the kind of intensity that 12 realises can’t entirely be faked. “Ange, keeping her quiet’s not all that easy…” She grips the side of RPK-16’s skull to keep the Doll from thrashing around too much, only to catch an infuriating grin out of the corner of her optics.
“I think you can find a way.” Ange grins hungrily up at AK-12 – and AK-12, of course, can never deny an order from her commander. “You know what she wants.”
Whether it’s what RPK-16 wants, or what 12 herself wants is its own question, but there is a certain undeniable urge that RPK-16 brings out in other women, 12 likes to think. After all, she would feel perverse if it was just her that thought about this, that every time her eyes ran over RPK-16’s steel collar, saw how her turtleneck framed that delicate dip in her throat in perfect relief, or looked at the bandage delicately wrapped around it, she was the only one who imagined wrapping a hand around that neck.
The pearly white choker she’s wearing today suddenly seems a lot less like a cute little accessory and more like a suggestion.
Her hands slip down the sides of RPK-16’s face, until her palms rest on either side of the fox’s neck. While her left hand slips under to lift 16 a little, her right hand lands on top of the other doll’s throat, and with the same wanton lack of care for the other Doll she’d attacked RPK-16’s chest with, she wraps a hand firmly around it. RPK-16 immediately sputters, a sick satisfaction on her face only magnified by wide eyes that suggest that she didn’t think AK-12 would actually do it; and 12’s satisfaction is no less sick when that pleading dirty talk from earlier is now sputtering chokes, the faintest hint of Ange’s name just about discernible through her barks.
“Any idea what she’s saying?” Ange asks, and 12 doesn’t feel the need to talk over her colleague this time – the croaked-out, increasingly faint Ahhnjes speak for themselves, growing just barely louder when Ange’s fingers curl inside her.
“She’s saying how much she loves you, Ange, and how much she needs you inside her. Probably!” 12 sings out, as RPK-16 whines, kicks, as breathless as a Doll can effectively be, and when there’s a brief second where 12 almost feels bad, and her fingers let up for just a second, RPK-16’s begging finally gets turned towards her. It’s brief, just a glance up from her dim purple eyes, and her wide open mouth clearly turned up into a helpless smile, but 12 swears she sees RPK mouth out her name.
There’s so much joy in that expression that even 12 would feel bad if she suddenly deprived RPK-16 of the pressure around her neck, and when she turns to ask if what she’s doing is fine, Ange’s steely gaze locked onto RPK–16’s face is all 12 needs as an answer. There’s the hint of sweat on Ange’s brow, and more than a hint on her shoulder, skin wet until it meets the join between flesh and metal, her teeth gritted at the sight of the Doll for once completely overwhelmed. Wordlessly, 12 grips the just the slightest bit tighter, Ange grunting from the sheer effort of fucking RPK-16 as much as the vixen wants to be fucked, and RPK-16’s rough breathless moans reach an indelible pitch, either so high neither of them can hear it or all the simulated air having left her virtual lungs. Her hips twitch, even her own comparatively weaker fingers tearing through the bedsheets as she tries to ball her fists up in them, and 12 for the first time ever feels the faintest sadness that their bodies aren’t quite the same.
--even Ange looks at her own wet fingers in surprise, as if she’s shocked Shaw would go that far with her grand design.
There is a moment of quiet reflection between them, Ange’s open eyes meeting her closed ones, as if they might have done something wrong. Hands leave RPK’s throat, fingers pull out of her pussy, and 12 even feels the need to place her hands on the other Doll’s shoulders. Just in case.
“Ange… I love you…” RPK-16 rasps out, a comment so blasé that 12 frankly decides to put no stock in it. “12...”
...and her voice trails off, sticky and sickly sweet, and 12 swiftly decides to not think too much about it, either.
AK-12 feels a strange sense of enlightenment. The idea that she could actually tolerate sharing Ange with anyone else, let alone RPK-16, would have been unthinkable before today; and yet here she is, in nigh-matching bunny suits with her squadmate, one of them under each of Ange’s arms.
(She is de facto in charge of getting Ange’s post-sex cigarette, however, and that is absolutely non-negotiable.)
RPK-16 snuggles up to her, resting her head on Ange’s right breast, while 12 chooses to act with decorum – resting her head on Ange’s arm, reaching up to link their fingers together, while warmly observing her commander out of the corner of her field of view.
“I think I could have your babies, Ange…” RPK-16 coos, tasteless as that is, as she drags a finger up Ange’s abs. “Well, your Doll babies, I suppose. Since you used that arm.”
“Hey, 16, let’s be real here. Me and AK-12’s babies,” Ange says with such calm and confidence that 12 feels physically winded by the statement, her vision turning faint as her neural cloud suffers catastrophic damage.
“Pardon?”
“Ange, what the fuck—”
“It was a team effort?” Ange shrugs, looking at both of her lovers as if she doesn’t really get what the problem is. 12 is used to feeling like the only sane Doll in DEFY, but being the only sane person is new.
“I didn’t ask for 12’s baby, thank you very much.”
“I don’t want her to have mine!”
“Look, 16 started this, not me! I just thought it was cute, you know, since you’re both my bunnies now, and… I just thought she was taking the metaphor to the logical conclusion, and…” Ange trails off, clearly not used to having women turn on her after sex, at least without the context they are in fact cyborg sleeper agents out to kill her.
“Those kids in Paldinski did a fucking number on you, Ange.”
“12, it’s not like— 12. Please. Can we just move on and… god, I don’t know. Sorry. Want to fuck again?”
Perhaps Ange’s statement, as inexplicable and ill-advised as it was, had in fact served a purpose. After all, as her eyes trail over Ange’s chest to meet RPK-16’s eyes, 12 may have been feeling the most kinship she ever had to the other Doll, not least in how their hands both immediately grab at their commander’s tits in solemn agreement.