Chapter 58| Take My Milk

Chapter 58: Chapter 58| Take My Milk

Kira glanced at him in the stairwell landing.

He was sweating. Not the clean exertion sweat of training. The specific cold sweat of a body running on fumes, the one that appeared when Flux dropped below a threshold his system apparently considered worth advertising on his face.

"Are you okay?" she said.

He looked at her.

"Does it look like I’m okay?" he said. "I’m so low. I might collapse before we reach the archive room."

She looked at the stairwell door. At the third floor corridor beyond it where the mobile signature was moving toward their position with the specific urgency of someone who had felt the field collapse and was doing something about it.

Then she looked at him.

"Take my milk," she said in an absolutely straight face.

He stared at her.

"The Subject is approaching fast," she said. The tone of someone stating an operational fact. "You need Flux. I have a refuel method that works on contact, so it’s a Win-Win." She held his gaze without flinching. "We don’t have time to discuss it. Do it."

He looked at her for exactly one second.

Then he moved.

No ceremony. No navigation. He unzipped her jacket and pushed it off her shoulders. His hands found the hem of her singlet and her bra simultaneously, raising both upward in a single motion. She assisted without being asked, lifting her arms to let the fabric clear, holding the bundled singlet and bra and jacket away from them with one hand so nothing interfered.

His eyes caught the sight before his operational brain could redirect them. Her portable sized boobs came free as the bra went up. It was full, pale, and bounced in specificity of something released from constraint rather than carefully uncovered. Not what he’d been expecting. Not that he’d been expecting anything.

He glanced at her face.

Her jaw was set. Eyes on the subject. The complete controlled stillness of someone who had made a decision and was committed to it. But her cheeks were red. A deep, genuine red that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the fact that she was standing in a stairwell with her chest out and Damian’s eyes had just done exactly what eyes did.

She didn’t comment on it.

Neither did he.

He leaned forward.

The system moved the moment she was exposed.

Ding!

[Grade Scan: Active.]

[New refuel source detected — Kira Claire.]

[Grade: B]

[Note: Subject-class source. Flux restoration divided by 2 due to Subject pathway interference. Effective restoration: 20% per cycle.]

He read it in the half second before he acted on it.

B-grade. Halved by the Subject pathway. Twenty percent effective restoration.

Twenty percent was twenty percent more than eight.

Ding!

[Lactation Induction: Active.]

[Flux cost: 5%.]

[Target: Kira Claire. Duration: Scaling with Flux invested.]

[Flux: 3%]

He felt the five percent leave him immediately. He was dangerously low now, the specific territory where motor function started making its objections known. He kept moving anyway. His hands cupped her right boob and his mouth found her nipple and he drew.

Kira moaned in a slow soft tone calling Damian’s name erotically "Damian...uhmm".

Nothing for two seconds. The induction working against a body that hadn’t been prepared for it, establishing the pathway, coaxing the production that wasn’t naturally there. ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Then it came.

Different from Sable. Not as warm. Not as immediate. Sable produced naturally, her body had built the cycle over weeks of consistent refueling, the milk coming with the ease of something that had found its rhythm. Kira’s had been forced into production sixty seconds ago by a skill that cost him five percent of the Flux he didn’t have. The difference was present in the quality of it. Thinner, less rich, the specific character of a body doing something it hadn’t been prepared to do rather than something it had been doing consistently.

He drew again sucking softly of the now erect nipple.

Above him Kira didn’t make another sound. None. The complete controlled silence of someone managing a situation with the same professional stillness she brought to every other situation. Her hand did not find the back of his head. She stood with her back against the stairwell wall and her eyes on the door and her jaw set with the specific expression of someone who had made a decision and was seeing it through without making it more than it was.

He felt the Flux climb. Slowly. Not the flooding wave of Sable’s A-grade. A measured rise. Incremental, each draw adding a percentage that felt earned rather than given.

[Flux: 23%]

He moved to the left nipple. Drew again. His mouth made a slurp sound with the nipple.

He could see her face from this angle. She was looking at the door, jaw set, the complete professional stillness she wore like armor. Holding it. Determined to hold it.

Then he drew deeper.

The armor cracked. Just slightly. A sound came out of her. Small, involuntary moans "uhmmm". The kind that happened before the decision to suppress it could catch up. Not loud. Barely there. But genuine in the specific way that sounds were genuine when a body stopped asking permission first.

Her eyes stayed on the door.

Her free hand found the wall beside her and pressed against it.

The door at the top of the stairwell shuddered. Something on the other side registering their position, the mobile signature closer now, the pattern of its movement changing from search to approach.

Twenty seconds at most.

He drew one more time and felt the Flux settle at its new level and sat back.

[Flux: 28%]

Not enough. But better than collapsing.

He pulled her singlet and bra back down. She was already reaching for her jacket before he finished. Zipped it in two seconds. Looked at him.

Her face was composed. Completely composed. The only indication that anything had happened was a very slight color in her cheeks that she would have denied if asked.

"Better?" she said.

"Yeah much Better," he replied.

"Good." She looked at the door. "Because it’s on the other side of that."