Paresthesia Pt. 02

---

"Wait," I say, "You were married to Tom?"

"It's a recent thing and I should have known better. But yes, for a little while. I'm not his first and I'll bet I won't be his last. Captain Solar is many, many, many things," Kieran says, "But faithful was not one of them. And honestly, I was kind of okay with that, granted I could exercise that same liberty. It's a very stressful line of work we're all it and there have to be certain ways to unwind. And I did. However, it was one of those things that was never supposed to actually happen. He could go about and fuck women half his age, but the moment I start making a pass at Windstep, he gets all up in arms."

She sips her drink, something clear and clean and probably strong enough to punch me in the mouth. Of my many flaws, a light weight is unfortunately one of them. And I have chosen to work very close with Bloody Sunday over the course of my career, so that's just bad planning on my part. I can handle a beer, maybe two if I have something in my stomach, but I stay away from anything labeled spirit.

"So now I'm back on the market after a terrible proceeding," she says, "And our good friend Thomas has been shipped out to Vegas."

Hannah throws back her head and laughs, something ugly and barking and I can't help but join her, even if I have no idea what's so bad about Vegas.

"He's going to Vegas?" Hannah says, "That's awesome. What'd he do to get sent there? I can't imagine he'll have a good time."

"He lost," says Kieran as she takes another sip, "Specifically, to you two. So, I owe you both. He was trying to get me sent out there, something about how my 'dark mysterious wiles' would be a perfect fit. But then you both kicked his ass and you switched so that kind of put a damper on his reputation. And they are understaffed out there anyway, so off he goes."

"What's so bad about Vegas," I ask. I have no problems with the city, in principle. A little arrogant of mankind to slap a city in the middle of a desert and build it up as the den of vice, but arrogance is the least of my worries with the human race.

"Everything's a show," says Hannah, "Everything. Every second is people stopping you and asking for pictures. Everyone's drunk all the time. Everyone's also probably high on something. It's awful. Great if you want to fall into that sort of thing, but keeping the peace? Can't be done. And it gets really hot in the summer. That's the worst part."

"I did a tour there when I was first starting out," Kieran continues, "Middle of August. Chafed and sweating and absolutely terrible. Dry heat means absolutely nothing with it breaks triple digits. But now I get to stay here with my babies, and I will probably never see him again."

Low cut dress, I cannot help but notice how low the dress is. I tried to be polite and not remark on it, not let it consume my thought process, but the buzz building in my skull is not doing me any real favors. I saw it when she first hugged us. I didn't think about it then and I am proud of myself for that little bit of restraint. But I can't help but gaze deep into her cleavage as she tilts the glass back again, draining it.

A flash of amber hazel strikes me, and I look away. She saw me looking and now she knows I was looking, and I have a girlfriend so I shouldn't be looking, but I was looking anyway. I gaze down at my glass, lest the whole cycle of knowing what the other knows and knowing that fact continues to take my thoughts away from me. The beer is passable. I was never really a fan of it in the first place.

Something runs up my leg and I ignore it. Nothing happened, nothing at all. Three people sitting at a table, drinking, and swapping stories about how much Captain Solar sucks and Vegas sucks and the thing keeps going up and down my leg.

"Are you okay, Evan," Kieran says, smiling like nothing is wrong.

"Oh, he's fine," says Hannah, "Guy can't drink."

"But he's so red."

"That's nothing," she says, "Watch."

Hannah grabs my cheek and turns my head, pulling me in deep and kissing me. Hard. Kieran times it perfectly and presses her sole directly into my crotch. Hard. I am hard and uncomfortable, and Hannah feels so good to kiss. Hard, I can feel the lump on her lip, the little spot of heat bleeding into mine, the scent of gel still lingering on her hair, the underlying shampoo down at the roots. The pressure lessens for a moment and then deepens again before she breaks.

"There," she says, "apple cheeked as all hell."

"Wow," says Kieran, "That is pretty red."

I can't quite think straight. At least the foot has broken contact and I am perfectly isolated from the rest of the world. I take a deep drink, letting the crisp bitter beer try and cut through the various thoughts that come to mind. I will be calm and cool and collected. I will go home after this, maybe get lucky with Hannah if she's in the mood. I have an odd feeling that tells me that she is feeling excited.

The women share a look and they burst out laughing and I join them. I don't understand exactly what is happening anymore. There is another beer in front of me and I don't remember ordering it. I must have at some point. I must have decided that I need another beer in me, if only to help the red in my face stop being so red and hot.

Another leg crawls up mine and I shiver, just shiver, at the slow trail. It's Hannah's this time. She settles more on the outside finding the shin and going up to the hip, taking the bended knee and finding the path up the pelvis.

I freeze as the first leg returns, Kieran's, much more aggressive and commanding and finding a pressure on the inside. I don't think they know about the other, and they simply refuse to acknowledge the torture they are putting me under, the delightful torment of touch and trail and pressure on my hardness.

I stop the color, mugging the world for a moment to collect myself. I throw my head back and groan, then take my head to the table. Unfortunately, their legs have imprisoned me. I feel everything, evert inch of slender muscle posed in endless flex, the bone shifting underneath, frozen in the motion in an effort to tease me.

There is difference there, slight variations from body and form. Kieran's are longer, Hannah's are firmer. Neither displeasing, not in the slightest, but the moment I need to collect my thoughts keeps growing longer and longer as more details flow in.

The low-cut calls to me and I look with unashamed desire. This is my world, the world of gray stillness the world over, my domain to exert as I will. Full and round and inviting, larger than Hannah's, although that is not difficult. As much as I am appreciative of all forms, there is still the appeal of something big. A little nip of ink, a small smudge of slightly different gray pokes up from between her breasts. I smile. Kieran has a tattoo. Wonderful, simply wonderful.

I turn back to Hannah, her figure hidden more in the cloth than Kieran's, but still there on the edges. Curve and swell, slight suggestions of it more than anything else, enticing and bewitching, especially, because I know, carnally, the power within the form. Thrumming drum beats that shatter mountains and collapse buildings, turned inward and outward and upside down.

Deep breath in, deep breath out, do not think of the bountiful chest of warm flesh begging to be embraced. Do not think of the demolition made manifest in a form that trembles and quivers. I am in control. I am in control. This is my gray world of stopped time and mine alone.

I allow myself a few more seconds alone to find more of my collected will and I hatch a wonderfully devious plan. A simple transaction really, given what was taken from me. Really, that is fair.

I start with Hannah. Her I know best. Limited time, relatively speaking, but a few light traces up her thigh, following the inside, stopping just before it meets the other. I mirror the motion on the other one. Not enough to really do anything other than ratchet the tension up, but the game has officially started at that point. I admire the musculature, as brief as the meeting is. Through the thick fabric, I can still find lines and definition, work and sweat and pain made manifest. I can almost feel the thrum of her gift, but that is just the mind playing tricks on me.

Kieran is a little trickier. I do not know her in the way I know Hannah, the sequence the pressure. There are some universals that I am fairly certain apply, but the nuances, the small little details that actually matter in the moment, those are unknown to me. So, I go with what feels natural. An open palm to her chest, letting her fill my hand. Supple, soft, enveloping, offering a wonderful spring against my digits. I feel the nipple through the cloth, and I grind into it, not hard, not commanding, just that light suggesting that someone might have touched her. I roll my hand into her cleavage and touch the ink right on her sternum.

Time resumes and the color pops back in. The blue in Hannah's eyes, that's where I find myself looking first. They widen, the mouth parts in a small circle, and I can feel the start of one of her squeaks start to hiss out. I feel her shiver through the floor, the long tremor in her core seeping into the world.

Kieran's a little more reserved in her delighted surprise. Sure, the sensation of touch is always surprising. But the only thing she gets is a slight turn at the corner of the mouth, the game made real with its reciprocation. No shivers, no quakes, just the joy of having another participant. I finish my drink, the last of the liquid courage, and resume acting innocent. I did nothing anyone can prove, so I am innocent until I confess.

"Now I have a question for the both of you," Kieran says, "I am not quite done with celebrating my current relationship status and I just had a wonderful idea. There is a bottle I have back at my place that I have been saving for something special, and I'd hate to have no one to share it with. Would the two of you care to join me?"

We look to one another. Hannah smiles wide, her own drink seeping into her reason and letting the instincts run wild. I still notice her lip, swollen and no doubt sore and she is beautiful. Even in her state I fairly sure that she has an idea of what will happen. I have no doubts at all.

---

"Babies," says Kieran, "I'm home." She kicks off her shoes without a moment's hesitation, letting them hit a wall and fall to the floor forgotten.

There is no response from the darkness beyond. There is only the soft click of a switch and a dim light slowly easing my eyes. Hannah has her hand around my waist, and I have mine around hers, pressing into one another. Her hand keeps wandering, just as mine do. Even here I see no reason to stop it, especially when she lets the thrum creep into me and massage the muscle and bone.

Kieran wanders forward and I am free to look around, engage in the wonderful act of snooping. Smaller than I thought it would be, but the word has reached me that the good guys don't really pay all that well. Spartan as well, a few chairs, a table, bare spots dotted throughout. A touch of the rug tells me that this is also fairly new, at least to her. Hannah wastes no time in casting off her boots as well, letting them pool in a similar state of apathy. Jacket as well, although that gets hung up neatly. I set some of the more frivolous articles aside as well. I do not need them for the moment, and I don't care to know when I will need them again.

She returns draped in snakes, three of them. I tense and I cannot help myself. Big, long muscular things, pythons if my basic knowledge or reptiles is to be believed, coiling around her affectionately. As affectionately as a snake can be really. Hannah almost bolts towards them.

"These are new ones aren't they?" Hannah asks, "They seemed off today."

"They're new," says Kieran, "I'm still training them. The last batch was getting on in years, so I donated them to the zoo. They'll have ample perches and hiding places and all the hamsters they can eat."

"Names," she says, "Do they have names? Of course, they have names. What are they?"

"From top to bottom, Mizuchi, Jormungandr and Quetzalcoatl. Mizuchi's the one you hit today, Evan, so he's probably a little shy right about now," Kieran says. The top one looks at me and flicks its tongue. I take it as an insult and that is fair. I would be angry as well if something hit me in the head with a baseball bat.

I sit back and let Hannah play with the snakes. Jormungandr takes a liking to her I think, cheekily moving from one pair of shoulders to the other and settling in without a care in the world. Quetzalcoatl moves down Kieran, coiling over her legs until it reaches the floor and starts exploring the apartment again. Mizuchi's content to relax as Kieran sat and patted his head. I reach down to stroke Quetzalcoatl as he passes and I get another tongue flick for my troubles.

"Don't worry about him," Kieran says, "Quetzal's shy. He'll probably go curl up between the washer and dryer for a bit. The vent goes right through there. That's his spot."

I don't mind. I understand the appeal of a good vent situated somewhere cozy and the complete lack of any attention paid to my slithering body.

"Evan, dear," says Kieran, "Would you fetch the bottle? Both of us are a little encumbered at the moment. It's in the pantry, second from the top shelf."

There is probably some intricate way to extract oneself from the embrace of a serpent. I do not know it. I do not have to know. I doubt that Hannah has that knowledge as well. Kieran probably does if her familiarity with the things is any indication. And drinking wine with snakes roaming about seems like a pleasurable evening, really. The addition of some predatory animal always seems to make the relevant activity somewhat more excitable.

I can't hide my confusion when I see the bottle. I expected some level of pomp to it, some level of the charade continuing with a fancy vintage, Champagne if the whole class act is to be preserved. Although I am somewhat certain that Champagne has to be chilled to be served properly, but the crowd I run tends to celebrate matters with dry stouts. It's a middling brand, not quite bottom shelf, but definitely low enough to require a bended knee. The game is over at this point and the whole thing is about to close down. I square my shoulders, gather the long-stemmed glasses and hurry back.

The first thing I see is a favor from the animals. Jormungandr has done me a great service, pulling aside Hannah's shirt to expose her chest. That snake is now my favorite. It's squirmed down, looking for some warmth against the chill of the apartment. I enjoy the giggles that Hannah produces as the snake squirms against. She is not aware of the slip, or at least pretending not to be.

"He's the curious one," says Kieran, Mizuchi still quiet and statue on her shoulder, "I've caught him trying to sneak out a few times."

I swear the dress she wears has lowered another handful of inches, still clinging to her chest by some cruel miracle. I pop the cork and the delightful sound cuts the tactile sensation of scale. The promise of more alcohol is enticing and unfortunately brings Hannah's attention to the rest of her situation.

"Now then," Kieran says, "I have a little proposal. As has been previously stated, I am back on the market, and I can think of no greater celebration of that newfound liberty than engaging in a little bit of what led me to it in the first place. I understand if- "

"I thought you were never going to ask," says Hannah. Somewhat rudely, she takes poor Jormungandr from her shirt. He seemed rather pleased with himself over the warm spot he found, and I don't think it polite to deprive a reptile of warmth.

I see the barest crack in Kieran's composure as Hannah takes off her shirt. I crumble to pieces, freezing place like a deer before a freight train and hope that the entire thing ends with me more or less intact. I admire her eagerness at least, and the trim frame molded and fired, kiln inspired and shaped. The perk and open acceptance of the moment that has been a long time coming.

"Not quite what I had in mind," Kieran says, "I merely wanted to partake in that game you two play. Assuming you are both amenable."

Hannah's dejections settle in her chest. The full release will come but not right now. And that might as well be never at all.

"We'll play later Hannah," she says, "But I'm in the mood for something a little different right now. Evan are you alright playing with me for the moment?"

"Absolutely." I can't hide my excitement. The feel of her breast in my palm suddenly springs back into my mind and I decide that I want more of that feeling as well as all the wonderful associations with the rest of her body.

"Fine," Hannah says, "But I'm next round and you can't stop me. Evan, I will hit you if you take my place."

I nod. Fair that is absolutely fair and the rotation of players is always a good sign of camaraderie and respect and my eyes tear away from her completely as Kieran stands. By command, the serpents leave to join their shy brother somewhere warm and quiet. It will get loud soon. She mutters the words that settle in their mind, tell them of promised heat and eventual food. They slip in my mind as well, although textured not quite the same.

It is not a command, not in the direct sense, but an imparting of desire. Not for her, that's already raging and throbbing and broadcast for the world to see, but to stand, to shed my own external layers bit by bit. It's her will and it makes sense to follow it because it is hers. There is no shame as the thin not quite silk dress falls off of her with a thought. The tattoo comes in full. A snake, of course it's a snake, a writhing mass of scale and muscle, tail between her breasts, curling down her stomach, maw posed wide over her crotch. The whole serpent is earth and forest, green, brown speckled scales interlocking and armored. Good work, very, very good work. Must have taken ages. Must have hurt like hell. And it suits her body perfectly.

I tilt my head. There is nothing to consider, not really. There is nothing to consider about her body. It is bare and pale and slender and coiling, all apparent and ready to be appreciated. Bigger, she is bigger than Hannah, and frankly bigger than me. Taller at least, but the hair is not in full effect. That would surely tip the odds in my favor. But curved, fall and rise along her spine, even in stillness swaying. Motion, constant motion even in stillness, constant shifting. Slow, so incredibly slow, and lethargic, but sure in its direction. Shift and sway and slithering statue still in the dim light.

"Well," she says, "Have at it."

"That's not the rules, Kieran," says Hannah, "You have to follow the rules."

"You didn't follow the rules either," I say, "And that was never really the point of the game."

"Alright new rules then."

Hannah rocks to her feet and comes to stand by my side, still without a top.

"Kieran tell me where you want him to go," she says, "I'll pass it along. Evan, you do it and decide if I'm lying or not."

Kieran hides the roll of her eyes with a bemused smile of consent. I still get to touch her, so I still win no matter what. Hannah leans in, close to Kieran's lips. In the spirit of sportsmanship, I turn my attention to the missing snakes and their current situation. I hope that they are comfortable and pleased, dreaming whatever serpentine dreams bring them happiness. Snakes deserve to be happy in whatever capacity they can feel that way. Except maybe Mizuchi. He bit me, and while it was under rational circumstances, my arm still hurts.

"Shoulders," Hannah whispers in my ear. And the game begins.

Gray, gray seeps from where I'm standing and the whole room goes still. I turn myself to the bodies in front of me. And I can't quite believe what I am about to do. Faith becomes obsolete as I make contact. Softer, Kieran is softer than Hannah. I knew that from just looking at them. I knew that at least one part of her was softer from the bar, but to know that, to understand that every inch was soft and pliable, still strong, with my own hands, that is something different. I do not need logic or reason, some observed phenomenon to deduce when I can simply reach out and touch and feel at my leisure.