Round 142

Silra’s fingers found Jeane’s clit with practiced precision, circling the sensitive nub in a way that had nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with medical necessity. The water lapped at their thighs now, cold and insistent, as the ancient subway junction groaned around them. Jeane’s teeth chattered violently despite her efforts to maintain composure—hypothermia made even clinical stimulation feel good in a way she resented deeply.

"I’m fine," she managed through gritted teeth, though her wings shuddered involuntarily and a small gasp escaped when Silra increased pressure. "You don’t need to—" The words died as another shiver wracked her body, the cold water seeping deeper into her skin despite the heat building between her legs from Silra’s methodical ministrations.

The elf pulled away after a minute, wiping her slick fingers on her pants with clinical efficiency while scanning the rapidly collapsing tunnel. "Your shield magic is stable now," she reported clinically. "Core temperature’s up to 37 degrees—I can feel it through skin contact." The concrete groaned louder as another section gave way nearby.* "We’ve got maybe two minutes before this entire junction collapses completely and we’re buried under rubble."

Jeane forced herself to focus on escape rather than the lingering sensation of Silra’s fingers. "Then stop touching me and help find a way out," she snapped, trying to ignore how her nipples remained painfully hard despite the cold water swirling around them.*