F-Rank Mimic Chest: My SSS Mimic Skill Lets Me Become Anything

The far-side refuge had one room with a bar on the inside, and Vera searched it anyway, reporting as she went.

”Dry shelves. Empty uniform hooks. Air slot is a thumb wide and opens into the old vent. The outside stone is empty.”

The closet door scraped shut. Its wooden bar dropped into two stone brackets, and Vera put her weight against it twice. Each shove traveled through the floor into Dane’s struts.

”Brant has the outer watch. He interrupts for an attack or a patient going bad. Everyone else is eating, sleeping, or helping Ada.”

Dane pressed lightly against the brass tag. Both nail channels gave him the same old pain and none of the owner pull.

He closed the known dormant party-link channel. The dead connection folded inward without carrying touch, notice, or sensation beyond the room.

”Link gone?” Vera asked.

He knocked once.

At resting load, his porter body needed no coordination skill. Door alignment held him upright without making a threshold. The Coffin-derived lining stayed shallow, open, and empty. Four Wagon struts grounded his weight. On the right, two fine Stall surfaces waited folded; the peeled third rib and dead left strip remained outside any use he would offer.

Rod one held beneath the narrow split. Hunger rested low enough to recognize and leave alone.

Vera unbuckled her weapon belt. Metal touched the floor within her reach.

”I am twenty-five,” she said. Her voice sounded steadier than the buckle had. ”You married, worked, and died as an adult?”

One knock answered the whole question.

”Anything we allowed before ended when that contact ended. I want a new answer.”

Her boots shifted closer, then stopped well short of him.

”I want sex with you in the body you have tonight. I want to learn what gives you pleasure, and I want to give it. No link. Hunger stays out of it. Nothing closes around me. Do you want me?”

Dane’s first impulse was to answer too fast.

He held the open body by choice, warmed the lining, and unfolded the two undamaged surfaces with their broad sides up. Neither reached for her.

Then he knocked once.

Vera let out the breath she had been rationing.

”Red means full separation. Three hard impacts does too. Contact only starts again after a new question.”

She tested it.

Three blows landed across the Door crosspiece. Dane flattened both offered surfaces, drained the warmth, and rolled backward until open air separated every part of him from Vera.

For several seconds the room held only their breathing and the outer murmur of the refuge.

Dane returned to the center, then struck three hard impacts against the floor.

Fabric snapped as Vera stepped clear. Her wrapped hands opened; he heard bandage brush bandage above the quiet stone. She stayed away until he unfolded one surface again.

”I knew you would stop,” she said. ”Feeling it happen is different.”

Her coat slid over the weapon belt. Shirt ties whispered through cloth, and cooler air moved around the room as the shirt joined the coat. The rest of her clothing remained on.

Vera approached by half steps. ”Both wrapped hands on the surface you offered. I want to move toward the hinge. May I?”

Dane gave one knock without moving the surface toward her.

Her palms settled broad and warm.

The wraps softened the shape of every finger without hiding the difference between them. Her right hand gave him more weight. The left carried an old guarded pressure where the burned palm met cloth. Dane bent beneath both, enough to meet her but never enough to carry her hand along.

Vera dragged the wraps slowly toward the first articulated joint. The friction heated the grain. When she lifted her right palm, Dane wanted to follow the departing warmth so badly that every fine edge tensed.

He stayed where she had left him.

The palm returned harder.

”I felt you wait,” Vera said. The careful sentence lost its evenness on the last word. ”Do that again. Meet me when I come back.”

She withdrew both hands. Dane held.

When she pressed down again, he returned the force at once.

Vera made a small sound against her teeth. Her hands moved more slowly after that, lingering over the joint and testing how the surface flexed under each thumb.

Dane warmed the open lining behind her. Heat crossed the space without contact.

”My back?”

He lifted one edge toward the air above her shoulders and knocked once.

”Warm lining along my upper back. Feet stay on the floor. Air at my sides and above my head.”

One knock.

Vera turned within hearing distance. Her heels planted between his front and rear struts, never inside a closing line, and she leaned back by degrees.

Bare shoulder blades met the shallow warmth. The rest of her weight followed through her spine until Dane felt how carefully she was protecting the wrapped left palm and how much fatigue sat in one hip. He adjusted the upright hinge, then stopped. Vera pressed back when she wanted more.

The returning weight went down through all four grounded struts. It was nothing like carrying a passenger. She could leave in any direction, and every time she came closer, Dane felt the choice arrive before the warmth.

One fine surface approached her waist and stopped above the trousers.

Vera caught its edge in her right hand. ”My side. Bare skin above the belt. Slow.”

At her one spoken yes, broad grain settled along her waist. Her hand guided the articulated edge while Dane curved by finger-widths without tightening.

The rear-right hinge clicked, freezing Vera against the lining. Dane stopped before the echo died.

”Injury?”

Two knocks.

”Was that a stop?”

Two again.

His balance corrected. The hinge clicked a second time by accident.

Vera’s laugh struck the open lining and came back through his frame. It was tired, startled, and impossible to mistake for fear.

Dane clicked the hinge deliberately.

She laughed harder, forehead nearly touching the crosspiece before she caught herself. ”All right. I understand. You have discovered timing.”

Warmth climbed through Dane faster than he meant it to.

”And now you are pleased with yourself.”

One soft knock admitted it.

The laughter left Vera’s body loose against him. When it faded, she stayed against him. Her thumb pressed into the hinge seam, and the next breath she took moved bare skin over the lining.

”I like your heat at my back,” she said. ”I like that you meet my hands and wait when I leave.”

Her trouser fastening came open under her fingers.

”I want one of these surfaces across my breasts. I want the other outside, between my legs. Broad first. Finer only if I guide it.”

The last of her controlled cadence broke around a breath.

”What do you want from me?”

Dane pressed the offered surface up into her wrapped palm, then shifted the open frame nearer without taking her weight.

”Closer?”

Two knocks.

He let every contact go quiet. Only when Vera pressed back did he meet her. When she eased, he waited. He nudged the hinge seam beneath her left hand and repeated the exchange.

”You want me to choose the weight,” she said. ”You want to feel me leave and come back.”

One knock.

Her left thumb traced the seam once. ”And you want my hand here?”

One.

”My feet and my pace. Your warmth and the shape you give me. Red or three clears all of it.”

She paused long enough for the air between them to cool.

”Do you still want this?”

Dane struck once.

Cloth slid down Vera’s legs. One boot lifted, then the other; buckles and trousers landed near the wall. She stepped back into the same grounded position with bare legs and guided the first fine surface across her stomach.

”Up. Broad.”

Dane moved under her hand. Heat changed beneath his grain when he reached her breast, soft at the underside and firmer where she pressed him upward. Her nipple tightened against the rounded edge. Vera drew the surface across it once, then made him wait while she altered the angle with her wrapped palm.

”There. More of me, less edge.”

He broadened the contact. She pressed her breast into him, setting the depth herself.

The second surface touched the outside of her thigh.

Dane began too high.

”Lower.”

Her hand redirected the edge. Dane stopped until she put it where she wanted, farther down the thigh, then resumed with the pressure she had chosen.

”Now inner. Slow.”

She opened her stance. Each foot stayed flat enough for Dane to feel the floor load shift before her skin touched him. The surface moved along the inner thigh, past the first heat of her body and into the hair between her legs.

Vera’s right hand tightened around the joint at her breast. ”Broad contact. Hold it there until I move.”

Dane flattened the lower surface against her vulva.

Moisture warmed the grain and changed the friction. Hunger remained a distant emptiness with no part in the contact. Dane held still.

Vera moved first.

Her hips rolled forward, pressing herself along the broad surface. Dane returned only enough resistance to meet her. She drew away; he stayed. When she came back, longer and with more weight, he was waiting where she had left him.

”Yes,” she breathed. ”Keep that.”

The upper surface rolled her nipple under its broad edge while the lower one flexed with the rhythm of her hips. Her wrapped palms worked both articulated joints, squeezing when she wanted Dane firmer and flattening them when an angle became too sharp.

Once, he increased the lower resistance before her next movement.

”Less.”

Dane eased almost to nothing.

”Not gone,” Vera said, the correction roughened by a laugh she never quite released. ”Half of that.”

He found the middle. Her hips answered immediately.

Weight came and left the lining in waves of her choosing. Dane felt the instant before each return in the floor beneath her feet; wanting it made his hinge pull subtly toward her hand. Vera caught the change and pressed her wrapped thumb deeper into the seam.

Pleasure arrived there first—not as a human ache, but as a need for the next pressure to cross the hinge and return warm through the open frame.

Vera shifted one hand from the breast surface to that seam. Her grip altered Dane’s upright line by a fraction. He corrected beneath her, and the correction sent a tremor along the surface between her legs.

She stopped moving.

”Again.”

Dane repeated the smaller correction.

Vera pressed back hard enough to warm the entire line of her spine.

”Finer now,” she said.

Under her guiding hand, the lower surface narrowed to a rounded edge. Vera placed it against her clitoris and tested the angle with one short movement.

”A little left.”

He shifted.

”There.”

Her hips took over.

Dane kept the edge where she had put it and changed only what her grip asked him to change. Firmer on the forward stroke. Softer when she drew back. Warmth gathering behind her without enclosing a single inch.

Vera’s directions shortened as her pace increased. ”Same. Slower—yes. Hold. More.”

The words belonged to the changes in her body. Her thighs began to tremble against his struts; her wrapped hand pulled at the hinge each time her hips returned. Dane met the pressure at her breast and between her legs without stealing the rhythm.

”I want faster,” she said. Her breath broke the sentence in two. ”You still want me here?”

Dane struck the floor once with his front-right strut.

Vera moved faster.

The rounded edge stayed under her clitoris while she controlled the length and force of every stroke. Heat spread across the grain. Her back drove into the lining, withdrew, then found it again. The palm at Dane’s hinge clenched hard enough to pull him off-center, and his slow correction fed the motion she had built.

Her voice lost everything except his name and the next breath.

Vera’s thighs tightened. She held herself against the finer contact, shuddering as the muscles around her vulva contracted in quick waves against Dane’s surface. Her grip fixed on the hinge. Her heel scraped stone, yet she kept both feet under herself and every route out open.

Dane held the exact contact she had asked for until the contractions eased.

Vera sagged back into the warmth, breathing hard. For several seconds her hips barely moved.

Then her wrapped thumb stroked the hinge seam.

”You haven’t,” she said. It was not quite a question.

Dane gave two knocks.

”Do you want me to keep going?”

One.

Vera shifted the rhythm. Slower now, with her weight rolling from the open lining into her hand at the hinge. She kept the lower contact against herself but no longer chased another peak. Each movement gave Dane a deeper press, a withdrawal, and the strain of waiting for her return.

The first tremor caught one fine surface and made it twitch against her breast. Dane steadied it. The next ran through the hinge under her palm and reached the rear struts at different times, one settling late enough to scrape stone.

Vera pressed back again.

Continuity broke and returned inside him: heat, friction, her grip, the grounded weight of her feet, then a sudden realignment rougher than every earlier return.

The open lining pulsed once beneath her spine. One joint bent too far and recovered. Both fine surfaces shook with unequal aftershocks while Dane fought to keep them broad and still where Vera had placed them.

She stayed with the uneven motion until it weakened.

”Down together.”

Dane widened the lower contact and drew it to her inner thigh. The breast surface lowered under her guiding hand. He cooled the lining as Vera reduced her weight, and when every offered surface rested clear, she stepped out on her own feet.

The floor carried her two unsteady steps to the shelf.

”Anything newly hurt?” she asked.

Dane settled his weight. Rod one remained firm under the old split; the shared fault stayed quiet; both used surfaces answered him without pain. He knocked twice.

”Me neither. My knees are considering a complaint, but they have no standing.”

Vera took the marked cup beside the covered basin, leaving nine cups beneath the cloth. She wet a clean rag, cleaned herself, and drank what remained.

She approached the first used surface. ”May I?”

One knock.

Cool cloth moved over heated grain. At the second surface she asked again and received the same answer. When she lifted the cloth toward the peeled third rib, she stopped. ”Near the damaged edge?”

Dane gave two sharp knocks before contact.

Vera changed direction at once. ”That stays yours.”

She rinsed the rag without taking another cup, dressed by the sound of linen and buckles, then sat on the floor beside him.

”May I rest against the outside edge? Hand on the hinge, no other contact?”

One knock.

Her back settled against the outer warmth, never inside the open frame. The wrapped hand returned to the hinge with no sexual pressure behind it.

”Red or three still clears us. The next touch gets a new question. No link, no hunger, and nothing from tonight carries itself into tomorrow.”

Dane answered once.

For a while, neither of them made the quiet explain itself.

Vera’s thumb moved once over the seam. ”I kept treating this body like a hallway. Something you were supposed to get through before I could want the result.”

She stopped, and Dane felt the embarrassment in the hand that almost lifted.

”I wanted you before the next body. I wanted this one. I should have understood the difference sooner.”

Dane warmed the edge beneath her back. Months of imagining a clean human shape remained tangled with June’s unchanged absence. For that night, Vera’s hand felt real in the body he had.

The wrapped palm remained on his hinge.

”Thorne’s gate wants every Form held open under his apparatus,” Vera said. ”My vote is no. If a road needs my body used in a way I won’t accept, I can refuse it. You get the same right over yours. Do you want that veto?”

Dane knocked once.

”Two votes against the gate,” she said. ”Only ours. The others decide for themselves in the morning.”

She asked before lifting her hand. Dane let the outer warmth fade after she stepped away.

The bar held. Beyond it, Thorne’s road waited with two fewer yeses.