“Ugh, GOD!” Lana complained, pushing her way through the back of the warehouse. “Who the hell hides a nuke in a costume warehouse?” she kicked aside a box of San Diego
“Uh. I dunno, maybe somebody who’s totally into furries?” Archer offered as he climbed over another pile of crates. Lana’s face screwed up into a grimace at his lacidsaical pace.
“Keep looking for the bomb,” she said, turning toward the piles of cardboard boxes blocking their way and slicing them to ribbons with her machete. She heard Archer cough behind her and rolled her eyes. “What?”
“Y’know, you should be nice to me….”
“… I’m standing here with a tech nine in my hands and you’re trying to push me around. I’ve got just as much training and I could…”
“Archer,” said Lana, gritting her teeth.
“….I. Could totally take care of this by myself…” Sterling flipped his gun about, glancing down the sites. “It’s just what, a crop duster?”
“Sterling,” she growled.
“I could take care of it with my big toe!”
That when Lana’s fist connect with his temple, sending him lurching into the pile of boxes. “OW.”
“You asked for that!”
“That’s gonna bruise,” he whined.
“Oh, you’ll be fine. Mama’s boy,” she muttered under her breath.
“I have EARS,” he said. “One of which you BRUISED.”
She crouched down to peer at his head. She really had delivered him a pretty nasty clout to the head; the rim of his earlobe had begun to turn a pale shade of violet. Lana reached out to pat him and found herself lying sprawled upon her back,
A hiptoss landed her in another pile of discarded costumes. “Damn it!” a clown nose honked as she leaned sideways against a mask.
“Hah!” he crowed. “Why don’t you sit down and let me be awesome for once?” Archer stared down at her, expectant, utterly believing she was going to let him go.
“Damn it.” She grabbed him by his bruised ear and gave him a kiss.
Lana made a snap judgment. He had a hard on, she was wet, and there was twenty minutes on the bomb. If they could get off in under ten minutes, they could save the world. No problem. She groped him awkwardly through his fly while he unzipped her cargo pants and got a hand down her panties. One of his fingers brushed her clit and kept working it over while his mouth descended toward hers again.
Archer wasn’t a foreplay guy – Lana had tried to turn him into one, but now she accepted that a couple of quick tugs on his dick while he ground his thumb into her clit were all she would receive before getting a cock in her pussy . But hell, the world was ending – she’d take him right now and enjoy his ineptness.
“Why did you stop wearing skirts, anyway?” he asked her abruptly. “Was it some kind of weird kind of feminist thing?”
“Damn it, Archer!” His hand was trapped under her ass inside of her cargos – she slid them down, temporarily releasing his dick before he lowered his head to her breasts. He nibbled them before sucking so hard her hips slammed into the hand teasing her clit, trapping his palm between them.
“OW. HEY. Don’t rush it!”
“Sexnow. Come on,” she complained.
It was – as every time with Archer – completely impulsive. His hand was rubbing her clit and her boot-clad legs were jostling above them on either side of his head…oh god, was that Cyril on the two-way asking where they were? Her hand leapt down from the back of his head (huh, when had it gotten up there?) and shut it off. Then they were alone, rocking into and out of the rhythm.
His hand slipped down between them somehow (wait – OW – now she knew how, most of his weight was on her chest) and started stroking her clit.
Her body tensed against his, everything going to steel inside of her
“Please, Archer…” he stopped touching her entirely and she moaned.
He crowed his victory. “Hah! You said please!” Then the tip of his index finger fond her clit and twisted against it once.
Lana’s legs snapped together and her hips rocked high as she came with a grunt.
Sterling didn’t say or do anything for a minute, and Lana wondered what the hell she could do or say with him lying on her tits. He felt as heavy as a rock within her, and as great as that was….yeah, she needed to pee soon. Time to get him going so she could disarm this bomb and save the whole freakin’ world again. With that, she bucked up against Archer, which was enough to return his hips to their quick in-and-out rhythm that signaled his final race to orgasm.
“Uh...” he remarked, that age-old ‘I’m coming where do you want it Lana?’ signal, and she latched onto Sterling’s body as he uttered it – her sex surrounding his cock, both arms around his neck, legs looped around and holding his hips. She had become a clinging vine; she wouldn’t let go, couldn’t let go, until he was finally caving into her arms, throbbing his orgasm out against her walls.
Then she felt a rush of chilly air and ran a hand over her sweaty face. He was complimenting her. “That was…pretty good. “
“Shut up,” she moaned, punching Sterling’s side weakly, trying to re-orientate herself and clean up. Where the hell was the bomb, damn it? Then Lana’s tired eyes suddenly brightened. “I think I hear beeping.”
“That’s just the world moving,” he said, sitting up.
“No, that’s the bomb!” She scrambled to her feet, pulling up her pants quickly, and then bending over to grab his tech nine. “So hey…”
“Yeah…” he scratched the back of his head with the flat of her machete.
“Thanks,” she shuffled aside the boxes, lurching toward the bomb and saving Sterling from another discussion about their non-relationship.