The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

She was touching me back. Reciprocating. This wasn’t just allowing contact anymore, wasn’t passive acceptance. This was active participation.

〘 Diane Fitzgerald – Temptation Gauge: 27% (+4%)

Status: Highly aroused, boundaries degrading, responding to escalation

Warning: Subject awareness of situation is complete. Current interaction is fully consensual. Proceed with caution regarding secondary subject proximity. 〙

Twenty-seven percent. Another four percent jump.

Complete awareness. Fully consensual.

Diane knew exactly what was happening. She understood precisely where my hand was, how close my fingers had gotten to dangerous territory, and she was not only letting me continue but encouraging the escalation. The way she’d adjusted her position, the way her breathing had changed, the way her fingers curled into my shirt—all of it pointed to someone who had decided something.

My hand slid higher. Just a bit more. The heat between her thighs was impossible to ignore now. My fingers were so close to where her thigh met her hip that if I moved another inch I’d be touching the edge of her panties.

If she was even wearing any under that nightgown.

Jesus Christ.

"You okay?" Sloane asked quietly. Her voice came out soft, concerned. The vibration traveled through her shoulder into mine.

"Yeah, why?"

"Your heart’s beating really fast. I can feel it."

Of course she could. She was pressed up against me. We were sharing body heat under this blanket. My cardiovascular system was doing everything except remaining calm.

"Action sequence," I said. "Gets the blood pumping."

"It’s a car chase, not a horror movie."

"I’m very invested in Victor Sterling’s survival."

She laughed quietly. The sound moved through her body into mine, warm and genuine. "You’re so weird."

If only she knew.

On screen, Sterling had somehow gotten into the helicopter. He was fighting the pilot now while the woman in red watched with her gun trained on both of them. The helicopter spun wildly, losing altitude, heading straight for a construction site.

I let my right hand drop under the blanket too. Just resting on my own leg for now. Neutral position. Giving myself room to work.

〘 2:54 of 7:00:00 elapsed with Diane Fitzgerald.

Secondary subject contact window optimal. Recommend initiation while primary subject attention divided. 〙

Two minutes fifty-four seconds with Diane. Four minutes and six seconds to go.

Then I had to somehow transition to Sloane without Diane noticing. Without Diane caring. Without Diane reacting in a way that made this entire situation explode in my face.

The System was right about one thing. If I was going to touch Sloane, now was the best time. During an action sequence when Diane’s attention might be on the screen. When Sloane was already cuddled against me and physical contact wouldn’t seem strange. When the precedent for casual touching had already been established.

My right hand moved slowly across my own leg under the blanket. Then onto Sloane’s knee.

She didn’t react. Didn’t pull away. Her breathing stayed even. Whatever focus she’d had on my heartbeat had shifted back to the movie, where Sterling was now hanging out of the helicopter by one hand while the woman in red watched from the cockpit with something that looked like approval.

I kept the contact light. Just my palm resting on her knee through her shorts. Normal friendly contact. The kind of thing that happened when people sat close together.

Then I slid my hand up. Slow. Careful. Moving from her knee to her lower thigh.

Sloane shifted slightly, adjusting her position. Her legs parted just enough that my hand slipped between them naturally.

Oh fuck.

My left hand was on Diane’s inner thigh, fingers inches from her pussy. My right hand was now on Sloane’s inner thigh, moving higher while she stayed pressed against my shoulder completely unaware this was anything except normal cuddling.

Both of them. At the same time. Under the same blanket.

This was it. This was the moment the universe decided I’d gone too far and lightning struck me dead right here on this loveseat.

But the lightning didn’t come.

Sterling crashed the helicopter into a building on screen, somehow surviving by redirecting all the momentum into the walls around him. Explosions everywhere. Dramatic music swelling.

I squeezed Sloane’s thigh gently, testing the boundary.

She made a soft sound against my shoulder. Not pulling away. Not tensing. Just acknowledging the touch in a way that sounded almost like contentment.

My hand slid higher.

The shorts she wore were loose. Thin cotton meant for comfort rather than coverage. I could feel bare skin under the fabric near the hem where it rode up slightly from how she was sitting. Warm. Soft. Her thigh tensed under my palm but she didn’t move away. Didn’t shift position. Didn’t do anything except stay exactly where she was with her head on my shoulder while Sterling fought three guys in an elevator.

〘 0:00:23 of 7:00:00 with Sloane Fitzgerald.

Diane Fitzgerald: 3:31 of 7:00:00 remaining.

Both subjects responding positively. Maintain current contact levels. Avoid detection. 〙

Twenty-three seconds with Sloane. Three minutes thirty-one with Diane still running.

I was actually doing this. Both of them. Under the same blanket. In the same room. During a movie that Diane had picked specifically because it was supposed to be light and fun and completely normal family activity.

Both hands under a blanket touching both of them at the same time while we watched Victor Sterling save the world in a tuxedo.

Diane’s hand on my left forearm squeezed slightly. A signal maybe. Acknowledgment that she knew I’d started with Sloane too.

Or maybe she was just reacting to my thumb still drawing circles on her inner thigh.

Sloane’s breathing had changed. Deeper. Slower. Like she was focused on something other than the movie but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

My hand moved higher on her thigh. The shorts she wore were thin cotton. I could feel heat radiating through the fabric. Could feel the curve of her leg leading up to where I definitely should not be touching my housemate during family movie night.

But I was so far past should and shouldn’t at this point that the concepts had lost all meaning.