Iron

We hunkered down by the side of a gigantic iron tube, the sort one found washed up on beaches or used in the foundations upon building sites. Malory giggled as I tried to find a comfortable place to lean back on but the curved surface made it difficult. I grunted, Smith glared at me, then Malory gave up to stand, dance, then stroll over to the other end of the tube and crawl inside.

"Dry!" He proclaimed, proudly. I blinked at Smith. He rolled his eyes, then nodded, stood up himself and gestured with the barrel end of his pistol.

"Up," he ordered, and I stood up. "In," he growled, and I yawned as I stepped away from the iron tube, followed the footsteps of Malory and made my way inside.

Smith came close behind. Very close. Malory grinned at him, then came to me, took my hands gently in his own and guided me to the curving side, up and around it until I could stand comfortably no longer and had to watch as he went on and climbed straight up the side. Straight up, until he was upside down and laughing.

I raised an eyebrow. The circular end of the barrel was prodded into the small of my back. I tried to growl in protest but Smith's hand cupped itself over my mouth.
I mumbled, then fell silent and waited.