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Author's Chapter Notes:

Welcome to Chapter 9. This is probably my favorite chapter I've written so far in this story.

Simon and Beck managed to keep their adventure a secret from Milla. But now they must maintain the charade.

How long can they keep such an experience to themselves... and how long can they keep from coming back for seconds?

No vore. No sex. But it's sweet and cuddly and romantic. And almost 4k words long!

Enjoy, friends. More's coming soon.

The remains of the evening passed in a heady soporific blur. Beck helped Simon rinse off the last of the sauce under the sink-jet; after that came dish-work, followed by more Netflix on the sofa. Simon spent the time passed from one girl to the next, resting variously on Beck or Milla’s shoulders and occasionally on the curved back of the couch as well. Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday only had fifteen minutes left in the runtime, so after the credits rolled came a change of pace: some kind of combat sport movie called Showdown: Kissing Canvas that Simon had never seen. This was Beck’s pick, and she got sucked in right away, pumping her fist whenever the hero rose off the mat again and again to face down his seemingly invincible foe—played convincingly by a snarling Mark Wahlberg.

Simon tried to focus, but his reserves were completely burned through. Pretty soon, slumber pawed cat-like at his eyelids; he let himself start to drift off, the sound of Beck’s enthusiasm and Milla’s laughter fading into shadow in the background. He could hardly recall where he was laying. Milla’s shoulder? Beck’s thigh? Somebody’s lap, or a pillow? It didn’t matter. He felt warm and secure and comfortable and loved, and soon he plunged headlong into dark and dreamless sleep, so deep that later on he didn’t even feel himself plucked up between fingers and carried away…

Hours later: Simon’s eyes fluttered and opened. The world was one solid wall of darkness. For only a moment he let himself panic; his head whipped back and forth in the dark, searching for some signpost or buoy to tell him where he was. He found his landmark at last—high above him, the red bleary glow of a clock radio’s digital display flashed 1:15 AM. The rest fell into place quickly enough. Milla must have brought his sleeping unit in from the Jeep, and placed him inside it.

The unit wasn’t much more than a hard plastic shoebox with an open lid from the outside, but inside there lay a double bed Simon’s size, a desk surface, a small cushion-like chair fixed into the floor, and a wall panel that lit up or dimmed at the touch of a tiny’s hand. It was almost a fully functioning portable apartment; some tinies sprung for additional accommodations like closets or even little wash-stations, but Simon had never seen the attraction of being so self-contained.

If everything he needed was in the unit—why would he ever need to leave and explore the real world?

Simon sat up and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He guessed careful Milla had slipped the sleeping unit beneath her own bed; directly over his head, the vast darkness of the bottom of the bottom of her box-spring, through which he could easily hear the noises of his big sister breathing and shifting comfortably in her sleep. His eyes found the digital clock again: 1:17 AM now. Hours of darkness before light came. He flopped back down onto the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut. He waited for the old fatigue to grip him, to pull him down into the grasp of slumber. He waited. And waited.

Then—with a groan of frustration, he threw the blankets aside. Before he really understood what he was doing, he’d climbed off the bed and marched straight out of the unit’s side door and onto the carpeted floor of Milla’s bedroom.

He didn’t know where his feet were taking him at first. The room was pitch dark, but his body moved as though possessed, padding easily across the tight firm weave of the carpet as though it were the surface of the moon, or a vast desert. But once he squeezed through the gap beneath Milla’s bedroom door and out into the hall, there was a little more light to see by. A small footlight plugged into the hallway outlet glowed dull green a few inches above Simon’s head, bright enough to illuminate his immediate surroundings. There to his left, standing ajar and pouring out a thin crack of nightlight, was the door to the apartment’s apparent single bathroom.

And to Simon’s right, also standing partly open—that could only be Beck’s bedroom.

His bare feet brough him there. Straight to her open doorway. The door stood open only a few inches, but to a boy that small, the gap was an invitation, like welcoming arms spread wide. He slipped through quietly: Beck’s room was not quite so dark as Milla’s, and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he began to recognize the dim shapes of furniture. A chest of drawers loomed huge in one corner, a desk beside that, and on the far side of the room rose the long obelisk of her enormous full bed. A window hung above this; moonlight poured through the glass, lighting the room up silver. It was a single strong beam coming through a crack in the heavy curtains, white and liquid as milk poured into a tall glass, falling on the bed—and on Beck’s upturned face, sitting half-upright propped on her pillow, gazing through the window with her eyes half-lidded. She was awake and looking at the full moon.

Simon felt a breath catch tight and hot in his lungs. Beck had been beautiful before, under ordinary lighting. But in the moonbeam she was completely transfigured, huge and pale like the statue of some titanic arctic goddess. The milk-colored light turned her brown hair silvery and made her half-shut eyes dance like they were full of twinkling stars. She had removed her lipstick before she crawled into bed; now even were mouth was the color of the moon. On the floor beneath the bed, Simon spotted the crumpled pile of the sweater she’d worn the day before; he couldn’t tell what she wore now beneath the blankets, but the thought made his imagination whirl and dance.

He felt guilty about such thoughts, but the feeling only lasted a moment. Beck had seen him in his altogether after all—and they’d been far more intimate than that as well, hadn’t they?

His thoughts were soon interrupted; almost as though she could feel the pressure of his gaze, Beck’s eyes flicked away from the moonlit window, searching along the floor until her gaze lit upon him lurking near the doorway. Her a moment she only regarded him placidly from beneath her eyelashes. Then a slow and sleepy smile spread across her lips, and she lay back on her side on the bed, snuggling herself further under the covers. “Hi, Simon…” she whispered. “I guess you couldn’t sleep either?”

It sounded like a question but it wasn’t. Simon nodded. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he said—in a similar unquestioning tone. As though the answer was already plain. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I only wanted to see if you were still awake too.”

Beck shook her head, still smiling at him sleepily. “Ta-dah…” she breathed. “No, I’m still up. I’m still kind of wired, I guess. From… before.”

Simon felt his cheeks flush red; he rubbed one shoulder with the opposite hand, trying to hold his gaze steady. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.” Beck dropped her gaze shyly. “It’s… it’s been all I can think about. And when you pulled that stunt in the kitchen, sticking your arm between my lips…”

“Milla almost caught us,” he teased, taking a few more steps into the room.

“Milla almost caught us.” Beck widened her eyes comically. “You big tease—what if she had?”

Simon shrugged. “I guess we’d have come up with something.”

Then his eyes dropped again, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” he admitted. “What… we did together.”

Beck stared at him, her gaze soft as moonlight. “Why don’t you come over here a while,” she asked. “I can hardly hear you that far away.” It was a lie, but a harmless one. And it was excuse enough.

Simon obeyed, padding across the carpet towards her. Beck’s bed seemed to loom taller and taller the closer he came, and for a moment her lovely face went completely out of his view. But then she rose up on her side and stretched her arm out, making a platform of her curved fingers close to the floor. Simon paused, staring up the length of her arm. Her face had changed; the light was still in her eyes, but there was almost a pleading expression there as well, a tender kind of eagerness.

“Come up,” she begged. “Come up and talk to me properly.”

Without hesitating an instant, Simon climbed aboard and crawled up into her palm; Beck’s hand twitched under his slight weight and its owner let out a happy sigh, only a whisper as it trespassed her lips. The hand rose up until it hovered above Beck’s torso, hidden beneath the drape of the bedclothes. She let Simon hang a few inches from the blanket for a moment but didn’t set him down immediately. Instead, her other hand gripped the covers and pulled them away, revealing a black graphic t-shirt with a band logo on it for a band Simon had never heard of.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Beck asked, tapping her flat stomach with her fingertips. “I can’t put you on my shoulder, and my arm’ll get sore if I just hold you up like this. Not that I mind holding you.”

“I don’t mind,” Simon replied.

Beck grinned and lowered him onto her stomach—but before she tipped him off her hand, she pulled back the hem of the t-shirt and set him instead onto the soft bare surface of her skin. Her teeth closed on her bottom lip when his bare feet touched down, biting down on a whimper.

Simon hardly noticed this. Her skin was smooth and warm and immaculately soft, and as he eased down into a sitting position on her stomach, it warmed him all the way up through his body. As she breathed in and out, her belly rose and fell gently; indeed, her entire body seemed to move and shift like the motion of waves, starting at her waist and running up along her torse, making the swells of her enormous breasts heave under the cover of her shirt. For a moment, the girl and the tiny only regarded each other in rapt awe, enjoying the sudden startling intimacy of that touch. Then:

“I have a confession,” Beck breathed. “I was… kind of hoping you’d come see me.”

Simon’s heart raced in his chest, but he managed to keep his voice level: “Happy to oblige you.”

Beck crossed her arms behind her head, leaning back on her pillows so that she was looking at him over the hillside curve of her bosom. “Where do you normally sleep?” she asked. “I mean to say, when you visit outside of your colony.”

“You’ve probably seen adverts for miniature sleeping units on TV,” came the reply. “I’ve got one of those. They’re portable—and they’ve got a suitcase handle on the lid so Milla’s able to carry it around when I travel, especially from the tube station to the apartment.”

 “Here I was picturing a matchbox lined with tissues or something. Or you curled up on Milla’s pillow.”

Simon ran his hand along the skin of her bare stomach, keeping his palm flat so as not to tickle her so much. His perch was soft and comfortable but also slightly precarious; if he agitated Beck now, her laughter might well tip him off onto the bed. A little rough and tumble might be fun, but he didn’t want to break this intimate moment just yet. “I used to sleep like that,” he told her. “Before we bought that unit. Milla’s always been very protective of me. And we’ve always been super-close. You wouldn’t know it to look at us of course, but she’s only my older sister by about ten minutes. We shared a womb.”

Beck’s eyes rounded and her lips hung open. “You’re… you’re twins?” she gasped, putting one hand over her mouth. “But how? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s usually not possible.” Simon nodded, thinking back to how his mother had explained it to him. “Usually in cases of twins where one’s a tiny and the other is… not, the normal-sized twin absorbs the other in utero. It’s sad, but it’s just what happens to us. But Milla, even in the womb she was protecting me. I didn’t even show up on the ultrasound because her body was curled around mine. When I was born it was a miracle. An act of God—and an act of Milla. And we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Beck blushed. The hand that had covered her mouth crept down the length of her body, cupping behind Simon and steadying him against her warm skin. “That’s really special,” she told him. “I never had any brothers or sisters. But you and Milla, that’s… just kind of beautiful.”

Simon leaned back into her fingers. “She’s the reason I can be so brave as I am,” he said. “Because I know she’s in the world, watching over me, looking out for me. She’s the reason I trusted you—because she trusts you. And loves you, I think. I knew I didn’t have to be scared, even when we… you know.”

“I do know.” Beck’s other hand descended as well, drumming insinuating fingertips against her stomach. The impact sent little vibrations through Simon’s whole body. He looked down at the repeating pattern of her flat abdominal muscles, which were just as soft yet firm as her shoulder had been.

“I’ve never met a girl with muscles like yours. My guess was gymnast—was I close?”

Beck blushed under the moonlight. “You noticed.” One corner of her lips kinked up in pride.

“It’s hard not to notice,” Simon reported. He walked his fingers along the firm skin beneath him. “I guessed it when I was on your shoulder for the first time and felt your deltoid under your skin.”

“Well—you were close, but not bang-on.” Beck shrugged and fixed him with a hard look. “Some people guess gymnastics, looking at me. Or a ballerina. But it’s kickboxing actually! All-collegiate.”

“You’re kidding me.” Simon felt a laugh bubble up inside of him.

“What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing at all. Only—you don’t seem like the type. You were so nervous when you met me. I guess it’s hard to imagine you high-kicking somebody in the face like that.”

Beck didn’t respond—she only smiled proudly and pointed up at a shelf on the bedroom wall. A tall trophy gleamed there, topped by a statuette of a young woman with one leg thrust upwards in a perfect effigy of a textbook roundhouse kick. The name confirmed its owner:

“Rebecca Phillips—that’s your full name?”

Beck nodded. “I guess I already know yours. Simon Groff. Because I know your sister’s name.”

“I stand corrected, ‘Rebecca Phillips’—I guess you are a badass. Why do you go by Beck?”

Again the larger girl only shrugged. “I thought it would sound a little tougher. Nobody’s rattled to square off with a Rebecca. And for your information, I was only nervous at the thought of hurting you by mistake. I’m much braver when I’m trying to mess somebody’s face up. You seemed so… fragile.”

Simon smiled up at her. “I guess we know differently now, though. Don’t we?”

“I guess we do.”

“If it makes a difference to you—you were perfectly gentle with me, Beck. The whole time.”

“Even when you were…” Beck fumbled for the words, flushing again. “…inside of me.”

Simon nodded, not taking his eyes off hers. “Especially when I was inside you.”

To his surprise, he saw the beginnings of tears welling up in the corners of her pale eyes. “You’re never going to understand it. How much that means to hear you say that. Thank you.”

“It was… my pleasure,” Simon replied. But despite this, the tears welled over, running in parallel tracks down her cheeks. “Beck, what’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’m sorry…” she sniffed, drying her eyes on a corner of bedsheet. “It’s just—it’s just you.”

“What about me?”

“I spent my whole life feeling like this. Wanting… this. And feeling ashamed of it. Keeping it a secret from everybody. Thinking that anybody I told would reject me or think that what I wanted was wrong or evil or harmful or sick. But to hear you talk about so… casually. As though it were nothing. I feel like I’m being sewn back together whole. Like I was never really broken at all.”

“But it wasn’t nothing,” Simon protested—a little too loudly. But his blood was suddenly up. “It wasn’t casual. Not to me. It was…” He paused, searching her face, wondering again if he’d overstepped. But her wide startled eyes showed no real alarm, only a taut eagerness, waiting for what he would say next.

So he said it: “It was special to me. You’re… special to me, Beck. And even if I haven’t decided whether I like everything we did in the same way you do, I know that I like you. And that’s all that matters to me.”

Beck looked like she would cry again. But instead, the hand behind Simon’s back scooped him off her stomach and pressed him firmly against her puckered lips. Just as quickly, he was returned to his resting place atop her belly, slightly dazed but grinning ear to ear.

There it was again—that cord that seemed to connect Beck’s heart to his own. That desperate, dreamlike feeling. His whole body felt strange and weightless. The whole atmosphere in the bedroom had changed. He could imagine slow piano music playing somewhere, as though in a dream. Perhaps he was still asleep and dreaming this conversation, and Beck’s stomach beneath him was really his warm bed in his sleeping unit. But the look in his lover’s eyes, that rapturous, urgent look, could not be fabricated.

This moment, this connection between them—it was real.

“I couldn’t resist,” Beck whispered sheepishly.

“You don’t have to resist.”

Beck nibbled her lower lip. “I’ll keep that in mind. Do you think you enjoyed it enough… to try again?”

Simon wiped a fleck of her saliva off his cheek. His little heart pounded in his chest.

“You mean… like, right now? Here?”

Beck shook her head—a little sadly. “I want to. But… no. I’m too tired and relaxed. I’m worried I wouldn’t be able to get you back up. Or that I’d just fall asleep with you inside me.”

“Probably best to avoid that,” Simon agreed with a slight shiver.

“But I’ll take that rain check, cutie… if you’re offering.”

“We’ll just have to send Milla out on another grocery run,” Simon joked.

Beck ran her tongue across her lips. “Or you could just sneak into my room again.”

Simon laughed—then paused, his own mouth hanging open slightly. In his seated position, his imitation denim jeans hand suddenly grown considerably tighter. Even the prospect of coming to her again in secret, of entering her again… it was heating his blood and stirring his loins and sending a curious urgent buzz across every inch of his skin. He stared up at Beck’s huge face, gazing down admiringly at him. Then without another word, he rose slowly to his feet, steady on the firm surface of Beck’s abs.

“Something wrong?” she asked, cocking her head.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Simon smiled coyly, crossing his arms behind his back. “I was only thinking. What was that you told me—about other things a boy my size and a girl your size can do together?”

Beck didn’t speak—only, her eyes seemed to plead with him. Simon’s smile grew across his face.

“Do you trust me, Beck?” he asked.

“Of course.” He felt the hot breath of her answer, even at that distance.

Simon nodded. There was no calming his heart now. “All right. Then—just stay like you are…”

He strode forward, careful as a gymnast on a balance beam, trekking up the pale soft desert of Beck’s stomach toward where the hem of her shirt had bunched up to give him a place to lay. He grabbed the seam in both hands; Beck hardly had time to gasp before he’d pulled the fabric up over his head and slipped beneath it, moving at a half-crouch up her torso towards her chest. An involuntary quiver of delight shook through her, coupled with a pleased staccato sigh.

“Si—are you sure?” she breathed. “You don’t… I mean, I want… but…”

Simon paused, kneeling to place his tiny hand against her skin. Her t-shirt was like a heavy canvas pressing down on him; he imagined the lump he must make beneath it, moving like a mole tunning in the earth. He imagined his voice coming through muffled as he said:

“Do you want me to stop?”

For a moment there was only the deep sound of Beck’s panting breaths—and the distant noise of her hammering heart, deep beneath her skin. Then:

“Please don’t,” she urged. “Please… keep going.”

Simon grinned to himself and obeyed. He pressed forward, holding her shirt up with his slender but still strong shoulders. Up her torso he marched until the weight of the fabric seemed to lift. He came to a spot like the apex of a circus tent, but it was no center pole holding this tent aloft. It was Beck’s breasts.

They rose above him like two great cliffsides, pale and beautiful and smooth. Each was many times larger than Simon himself, but even though he’d been between them before, he hadn’t reckoned with just how massive they really were. She wasn’t wearing a bra under her shirt, so each breast hung free, falling slightly to the outside of her body and forming a natural valley between them. He stepped forward, placing a hand against the underside of each one; he was small enough that he had to hold his arms out wide to actually touch them both at the same time.

Beck sucked in a whimpering breath—and cried out, “Wait. Not yet. Please, let me just…”

Before Simon could react, something slithered up under her shirt from the end he’d entered. Beck’s enormous hand appeared and pinned him gently against her body. But he could still see her other hand at work, sliding her shirt up and over her head. When she released her grip, she had bared herself completely to him. Simon stared in awe. He could see each breast at its full height now, huge pale globes topped with dainty pink nipples that stood upright, saluting towards the ceiling. Beck stared down adoringly at him from between them, her lower lip held firmly between her teeth. Her eyes still glistened, but there was no sadness there now. Only the hunger that was not hunger, that was more than hunger, that went beyond any hunger Simon would ever feel himself.

With each hand, Beck took hold of each breast and squeezed them, pushing them together and releasing them in a circular motion that nearly scrambled all of Simon’s insides. His hands twitched at his sides, waiting for a signal. Waiting for the word Go. Beck licked her lips again—and parted her bosom as though it was the Red Sea, creating a path forward between them.

It was an invitation. It was a demand. It was a plea.

“Go on…” the giantess whispered. “Little explorer. I’m… all… yours.”

Chapter End Notes:

Thanks as always for reading! For my own idle curiosity, how do you see this story winding up?

What constitutes a happy ending for this couple... and is that even what you want to see?

After all, even in the best circumstances, a GTS-tiny relationship poses difficulties to both parties...

Let me know what you think!

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