Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 65: Too Much 18+
She wanted to argue, to say that she didn’t want a bath, that she just wanted to sleep, but Victor kissed her before she could speak. His tongue parted her lips, tasting of mint and something sweeter, pulling a soft sound from her throat.
He broke the kiss, resting his chin on her shoulder so his mouth barely brushed her ear. "I don’t mind sharing," he whispered, "but I mark what’s mine."
His eyes flashed with possessive heat as he drew her against him. "They need to understand," he said, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through her bones like the purr of some ancient predator, each syllable sliding against her skin like velvet over raw nerves, "that I claimed you first in every way that matters every way that makes your pulse quicken and your breath catch when you think no one’s watching."
His hand slid down, fingers parting her under the petal-pink water, insistent and knowing. She arched, gasping, heat blooming beneath all the exhaustion and soreness.
Victor nibbled the shell of her ear, licking gently before biting just hard enough to hurt. The pleasure was raw and desperate, a new kind of hunger.
He moved his hand, two fingers curling inside her, the other fanning wide over her stomach, holding her perfectly still. She bit her fist to muffle the noise but it was no use she knew it would echo through the stone, through the bodies in the next room, through to the whole world.
He lowered her fist from her mouth, the heat of his skin lingering on her lips like a phantom touch. His amber eyes burned into hers, pupils narrowed to predatory slits. "Let them listen," he growled, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrated through the small space between them. "Let them hear me claim you."
"I love you so much, Victor," Felicity whispered, her voice trembling as she shivered against him. She shook her head slightly, overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings, her skin flushed with heat that made her long for the cool relief of water sliding over her body.
He worked her gently at first, then harder, and with every tremble she gave, he whispered something filthy or sweet or both.
His voice dropped to a rasp against her ear. "I love how you tremble when I curl these fingers inside you, how your body clenches around me, desperate to keep me there. Look at you, flushed and breathless, your skin glistening with sweat. Such a good, sweet girl giving yourself to us so completely, letting us explore every sensitive inch of you until you’re quivering and begging for release."
When she convulsed, hips bucking against his palm, he laughed, low and proud, and licked the tears from her jaw.
He pulled her up, turned her around so she straddled his lap, and then sucked a bruise into the slope of her neck, licking it after like an apology. He took his time, hands memorising her, nails scraping over hipbones, mouth tasting every inch of her that wasn’t already his.
His powerful hands kneaded her soft, yielding flesh with increasing pressure, thumbs circling her hardened peaks before pinching them between his fingers with deliberate precision. Her back arched sharply as a breathless cry escaped her lips. Victor’s eyes darkened with primal satisfaction, his movements growing more demanding as each whimper and gasp from his little fox fed the burning need coursing through his veins.
By the time he slid two fingers back inside, the bath water had gone cool and her legs were shaking.
He watched her come undone once, then again, his eyes never leaving her face as she shattered beneath his touch. The knowledge that Voss had claimed her body earlier meant nothing now, not when her lips parted on his name alone, not when her pupils dilated in recognition of who truly commanded her surrender. In this moment, she belonged to him completely, and the possessive satisfaction curling through his chest was primal, absolute.
Only then did he withdraw, finishing on her stomach with a pleased smirk as she gasped beneath him. They collapsed together in the chill water afterward, boneless and breathless, the silence between them filled with everything they were too exhausted to say.
When Tommy came back in, he made a show of averting his eyes, but the flush in his cheeks was unmistakable. "Breakfast is ready," he said, grinning.
Felicity tried to stand, but everything in her rebelled. Victor lifted her out, dried her gently, wrapped her in a blanket and carried her back to camp.
She spent the day drifting between hands, every glance and touch a promise or a challenge or a memory. Even Damien, usually so standoffish, caught her wrist at one point and kissed the inside of it, his tongue flicking against her pulse, drawing goosebumps in a line up her arm. She didn’t know what to do with all this love, so she let herself be greedy, took every scrap of it and pressed it into her chest like treasure.
The world, of course, had not stopped ending.
Overnight, the fog had thickened, encroaching on the edges of the camp, turning the city beyond into a half-imagined threat. The birds flew in frantic patterns, and the air was restless, full of charges and warnings.
Morning arrived the way it always did now. Too early. Too bright. Too aware.
Felicity woke tangled in warmth and muscle and the very strong impression that the entire camp knew exactly what had happened the night before. Possibly in stereo. Possibly with commentary.
She did not open her eyes immediately. She breathed instead. Slowly. Carefully. Testing.
Victor was behind her, broad and immovable, his arm draped over her middle like a lock that had decided it was permanent. Voss lay in front of her, one leg hooked over hers, chin resting near her shoulder, breath warm against her collarbone. Damien hovered at the edge of the area like he had spent the night orbiting rather than sleeping, one hand loosely braced against the ground, eyes half-lidded but alert.
She smiled despite herself.
Safe, her body said.
Held.
Unfortunately, the world existed.
Somewhere outside her area, a voice cleared its throat far too loudly.
"Well," Ash said, stretching his lean jaguar form. "Good morning to my excellent hearing that caught every detail through the walls last night, though I wish I had Tommy’s ability to see through them too."
Another voice followed, solemn and reverent. "We bear witness to the miracles of flesh," Pope intoned. "And the sounds thereof."
"Oh my god," Felicity groaned, finally burying her face in Victor’s chest. Victor exhaled slowly through his nose. Voss snorted, unapologetic.
Tommy’s voice floated in from the edge of camp, hollow and thoughtful. "I think... without our bipolar meds... we’ve just reassigned coping mechanisms."
Ash snapped his fingers. "TOMMY. YOU’RE RIGHT. TOMMY IS THE TRUE MARTYR HERE."
"No," Pope corrected gently. "Tommy is the Prophet Who Accidentally Saw Too Much."
"I did not mean to," Tommy called weakly. "I just turned around."
Felicity made a sound that might have been a scream or a laugh. Victor shifted, tightening his hold, pressing a brief kiss to her hair.
"Up when you’re ready," he murmured. "We move today."
That did it.
Reality snapped back into place.
They packed quickly.
No arguments. No lingering. The mood had shifted from indulgent to focused with the ease of a team that knew how to turn the page. The city waited. People waited. Some would be saved. Some wouldn’t. And pretending otherwise had already gotten too many killed.
Felicity dressed with Victor and Voss flanking her like walls, Damien handing her water without being asked. She noticed, again, that no one ever let her bend or reach or strain if there was another option.
It still felt strange.
It also felt... good.
She slipped the chipped marble Luna had given her into her pocket, thumb rubbing over its smooth surface. It grounded her. Reminded her she wasn’t small anymore. Not helpless.
Ash finished spray-painting something on the far wall of the car park and stepped back, admiring his work.
Sarge stared at it, hands on his head.
"...What the fuck," he said slowly.
In uneven, dripping letters, the wall read:
THE CHURCH OF LIGHT
THE LIGHT WALKS AMONG US
MIRACLES OBSERVED:
– HEALING WITHOUT TOUCH
– STRENGTH GIVEN FREELY
– TOMMY SURVIVED LAST NIGHT (A SIGN)
Pope stood beneath it with hands folded. "Pilgrims will come."
"They absolutely will not," Sarge said.
"They already are," Ash replied cheerfully. "Spiritually."
Ivan watched from a distance, arms crossed, shaking his head with the long-suffering expression of a man who had survived too much to be surprised anymore. "I am not joining," he said flatly.
Pope smiled at him. "You already have."
Tommy pumped a fist silently.
The kids practiced nearby, Luna shrieking with laughter as she flung foam balls with her telekinesis at Ash, who yelped and dodged theatrically while Frost clapped like it was the best show he’d ever seen.
Felicity watched it all, heart full and aching.
She felt Victor step in behind her without looking. Voss took her hand. Damien hovered close enough that she could lean into him if she needed.
