Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 108: Pet Shop
"You’re improving," she told Marx he inclined his head slightly.
The other groups continued to pass.
Some watched the training.
Some watched her.
Sarge remained where he was.
Eyes always returning to Felicity.
Always measuring the space around her.
When the training ended and the laughter faded, Voss moved without warning.
One moment he was beside her.
The next he had her against the wall of a crumbling structure just out of sight of the others.
There was a small startled squeak.
Then a giggle.
She giggled against his chest, hands scrabbling for purchase in the folds of his shirt. Voss’s arm locked around her slender waist, fingers splaying possessively across the small of her back. He bent his face to the juncture of neck and shoulder, and Felicity felt his breath hot and shaky burn through the fabric, her skin. A shuddered inhale, his chest swelling, and he drank in her scent like it was some addictive narcotic that made him wild.
"Felicity," he rasped, every syllable a tremor against her skin. "You’re doing it on purpose."
She blinked up at him, a little dazed, the tips of her ears flicking with the effort of concentration. "What am I doing?" Genuine confusion, though her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glassy with laughter and something else. "I was just..." she started, but Voss had already crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue insistent and greedy, tasting the giggle before it could escape, pushing his knee up between her legs, causing her to gasp.
Her protest melted. She made a helpless, startled noise louder than she intended, echoing off the stone. It carried. The team heard it; Marx faltered as he delivered a blow, and Victor, standing off to the side, turned with an arched brow and a knowing smirk. The men didn’t bother to hide their interest, but Victor’s presence was a silent warning: none of you, only us.
Voss pinned her with hips and thigh, pressing her up so she could scarcely breathe. His hands roamed, desperate and uncoordinated at first, then found her breast and kneaded it through her thin dress until she moaned again, arching into his palm. His other hand snaked between her thighs, hiking her dress up indecently, just enough to expose the soft, trembling flesh beneath.
He hissed, low and hungry, grinding the heel of his palm into her and feeling the heat that radiated from her core. "When sarge ripped you off me last time," he muttered, lips grazing the shell of her ear, "I almost lost my mind. You riding me now, Fel, you have no idea." He nipped her earlobe, hard enough to elicit a gasp, and she writhed, hands fisting in his hair.
"I—I wasn’t.." she stammered, but Voss just muffled her with another frantic kiss, tongue forcing its way past her teeth, and his fingers slipped into the slickness between her legs.
She whimpered, clung to his shoulders, lost all pretense of dignity as he crooked his fingers and found her sweet spot immediately. He stroked her, relentless, whispering filthy promises into the space between their mouths until she was pliant and shivering.
Her knees buckled. He caught her, spun her so she faced the wall, and yanked her dress up to her waist. The breeze cooled her flushed skin; the city’s scents dirt, sweat mingled with the feral musk of arousal. He pressed up behind her, one arm banded across her chest, the other guiding his cock to her pussy. The blunt pressure made her gasp and arch, and when he entered her, the world blinked out. He pushed in, no hesitation, bottoming out so her hips slapped the crumbling stone.
Felicity bit back a scream, and Voss rutted into her, unable to restrain the pace. "Good girl," he grunted, voice thick with need. "You take me so well, Fel. All of you, only me."
She nodded, tears of pleasure pricking her eyes, grinding back desperately. He slammed into her, their bodies a tangle of sweat and need, and the noises they made hers high and helpless, his guttural and broken were a counterpoint to the city’s distant silence. Each thrust drove her higher, her vision narrowing, until she couldn’t see the wall or the sky or anything except the pulse of pleasure that threatened to swallow her whole.
Voss muffled her cries with his hand, and as she convulsed around him,
He kept pounding into her, she was so tight, built perfect for him he spilled inside, one sharp, savage thrust after another. When they were spent, he held her against his chest, his breathing ragged, her body limp and trembling.
From beyond the shadows, Victor watched, vigilant and proud, as if certain the whole performance had been for his benefit alone.
"He’s going to be insufferable now," Felicity murmured, voice small and ruined with satisfaction.
Voss just grinned, teeth bright in the darkness, and licked the sweat from her neck. "Let him. I’ve got what I want." His voice was hoarse, but gentle. "You."
She laughed, a quiet, giddy sound, and let herself fall into his arms.
The sound of it carried, spilling beyond the barricades of the ruined block and onto the road where the others waited. Even the teams on rotation, those supposed to be watching for actual threats, felt the heat ripple through the air. Ivan and Damien exchanged a glance, then bristled, hissing at anyone who dared to let their attention wander too long toward that alleyway. It wasn’t subtle, the way the men lingered, drawn by biology and something else, more primal and strange. The Snow Team ostensibly duelling in full view, blades flashing, shirts sticking to sweat slicked skin fought their hardest to ignore the tension building between every pulse.
Sarge kept to the perimeter, but he couldn’t keep his eyes away. His hands were fists at his sides, the disciplined soldier barely masking how his nostrils flared with every noise, every scent that drifted on the wind. They all knew it, the way the air changed when Felicity was at the center of anything. The way it made you want.
When the noises quieted, Sarge moved in. It looked like a patrol at first, a check of the perimeter, but everyone knew it was a compulsion. He ducked into the shadow where Voss and Felicity were perched, her small form folded into his, her scent thick and heavy. Sarge crouched beside her, gentle for a man with hands as large as hers entire thigh, and reached for her shoulder. He was going to help her up, tend her, but Victor got there first always faster, always more.
Victor’s hand closed over Sarge’s wrist. His grip was easy and unyielding and Sarge didn’t even try to fight it. "You’re not ready for her yet," Victor said. His voice was calm, but his eyes flashed. Sarge, to his credit, just nodded and backed off, shoulders hunched, looking almost abashed.
Voss smoothed Felicity’s hair with a shivering sort of satisfaction, then let Victor gather her up. She blinked, eyes dreamy but already sharp at the edges, and reached for Victor with a sleepy trust. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, the way a parent lifts a child, and carried her away from the scene. The road ahead was a tangled mess of bramble and pulverized asphalt, ruins collapsing into the green, but Victor’s stride was steady. Behind him, Snow Team resumed their drills, a little faster, a little wilder.
In victors space Victor set Felicity down and set about cleaning her up. He worked in silence, no embarrassment, just methodical care. He dressed her in a red dress that shimmered with wet flower patterns, one of Damien’s scavenged finds, and wiped the dirt from her knees and the smudge from her cheek. Voss watched, eyes hooded, arms crossed. No jealousy, just a brimming contentment.
Felicity came awake fully as Victor finished the last tie of her sash, he took her out of his space and she met his gaze, and then Voss’s, and then smiled, slow and shy and wicked all at once. "Are we moving out?" she asked, voice still husky.
Victor barked a laugh. "You’re unstoppable."
"Comes with the territory," she muttered. Then she accepted the canteen Sarge offered her, drank deep, and let herself be carried into the late afternoon road.
"Snow Team!" Victor called over his shoulder. "We’re moving. Let’s see if you can keep up, or if you’ve all lost your legs to your dicks."
The laughter was raw and genuine. Even Sarge grinned, and Damien’s eyes gleamed with a strange pride as he watched Felicity be carried ahead, the red dress a banner behind her.
They moved as one, a strange little tribe sutured together by want and loyalty and the fragile, impossible hope Felicity seemed to carry inside her. Every man fell into place, each step a silent promise that no one no thing would ever touch her unless she asked for it.
Draco moved to Victor’s left without being called and victor did not look at him.
He did not need to.
The space Draco occupied adjusted the formation in ways that did not draw attention.
Reliance that did not need naming.
Legend’s voice broke the quiet.
"Sooo the light spoke to you, did it?"
Kai stiffened.
Ash snorted.
"It did."
Legend tilted his head.
"Convenient."
Pope grinned.
"You jealous?"
Legend shrugged.
"I just didn’t hear it telling you to stop talking."
Kai made a face.
Sam chuckled under his breath.
Felicity listened, her fingers absently twisting the edge of her sleeve.
"You know," she said, voice soft but carrying, "this reminds me of my old job."
Several heads turned.
She smiled.
"I worked at a pet shop."
Marx barked a laugh.
"Of course you did."
She ignored him.
"I used to stock food and clean enclosures and read during quiet hours."
Her voice warmed with memory.
"I didn’t do much else. I played games on my phone. Read books. Went home."
A pause.
"I didn’t have anyone."
No one spoke "I was an orphan," she added lightly, as if it were just another fact.
The words settled heavier than she intended.
"But this," she gestured toward them, toward the movement and the formation and the quiet awareness, "feels like that shop."
Kai blinked.
"That’s not flattering."
She laughed.
"It is to me." Her gaze moved across them.
"You’re all different. Loud. Messy. Protective."
Another pause.
"And I never thought I’d belong anywhere."
