Chloé Viva wakes.

Her senses come online one by one, and she is dimly aware of being in the centre of a tangle of bodies, like just about every night. Justice is against the back of the couch, his arm draped over her; igneus is on the other side of her, clutched to her middle. Co has told her co does it so co doesn't fall off the couch in the middle of the night. Co has never really explained why co does it just the same when co is on the other side, though.

And then there is her, on her side, facing Justice. Her legs are hopelessly tangled in four others and one arm is trapped between her chest and Justice's stomach. She cracks an eye to look. He is dead to the world, of course, it's still early.

As per usual, her hypnopompic brain spontaneously begins fantasizing. The otter's strong fingers inside her, his other hand bending her head back and dipping low to bite at her throat... the fantasy blends with the memory of having been teased for so long she thought she was going to scream, how she couldn't move for fear of breaking the spell, didn't want to pull away or change position. How his mouth on hers filled her with lust and anxiety. She thought she'd drawn blood in her thigh from clutching onto it so hard when she got close, when the ebb and flow of pleasure from his rubbing crested and did not slow until it engulfed her in a searing orgasm that nearly threw her off the couch, her hips bucked so hard.

She takes a breath, and feels herself getting wet at the memory.

Her other hand is resting against her thigh, stuck there as the least uncomfortable position it could be in given the crush of the bodies around her. She bites her lip. It would be so simple to just... move a little... her fingers work their way into the ample room between shorts and thigh, and she finds her labia swollen and sensitive. She tries to tease herself, but it is not to be; she never had the patience to do it. Not like he does. She begins to rub her clitoris in tight, fast circles, the only part of her daring to move, lest she wake one of her bedmates up. This, this is how her body is used to receiving pleasure; not quite so public, though many a furtive orgasm was had in those early days in her dorm at the lab, with their incumbent hallucinations of snakes or owls or cats; but hard, fast, skilled but artless, scratching her itch in as efficient a method as possible, anything to get the next dose of oxytocin in her system as quickly as possible. She could always have more orgasms, better orgasms, later.

Her breathing changes gradually, gets heavier and slower, and she licks her lips; she doesn't squirm or moan or buck, these are largely social cues that she has long learned how to suppress. The rest of her body simply hangs limp as she furiously gets herself off, a little rustle the only evidence that any part of the three of them is moving at all.

She feels it coming and she strains for it, tenses her inner muscles, and all but forces it out of her. Her orgasm hits and she stiffens, just a little; her cheek rubs against the fur of Justice's front and the abdominal muscles under Igneus' hand tense, and somewhere in the forest of limbs her toes point, but other than that she is silent and immobile while she comes, picturing thicker fingers in place of her slender ones, and a slow burn instead of a lightning strike. She lets out a long, slow sigh as the intensity diminishes, and she is left with a pleasant buzz of neurotransmitters.

She shifts, just a little, and feels Igneus pull coself closer almost possessively. The hand between her legs withdraws, and she slips it between her thighs; the wetness on her fingers will be absorbed by her fur by waketime, and no-one will be the wiser. She feels the slight flush of heat at having done this so brazenly; but it is okay, the thinks, because she was not caught at it.

She settles once more, and tries to doze until someone stirs so she can get up without disturbing anyone.