Paresthesia Pt. 06

Ever since, ever since that night on the rooftop where she decided that it wasn't worth it, I am insatiable for her. There are never enough moments to spend, hours to while away in each other's presence. There is never enough her to fill me and there is never enough me to fill her. I can't stop drinking her in. We can't stop. We don't want to stop. There are no more nights with an empty bed and quiet mornings. There is always the soft snore of her still asleep. There is always a clench and twist and pull against my everything and it is Hannah. It is Riot Girl. It is her.

"Good boy," she hums when my fingers move to her. Open and part, smooth and stroke, just a knuckle or two in to get her open and willing before pulling out. Every act falls in the patter where she grips my hair tighter and keeps pulling.

"Please don't pull my hair," I murmur through her, "It's very important to me."

"But I want to. It feels right."

"Would you like it if I pulled your hair?"

"Probably."

I reach for an errant strand on her pelvis and grip.

She does not like it. And her hands have moved to my skull. I prefer the crush to the rip.

But the pattern resumes with me on my knees on the slick warm tile. They are starting to hurt and I once again try to pull her down with me. There are more positions there with the horizontal. Ones where the knees are not so distressed and the head can lie down where the hands can't reach it. But no. I am wrong. We must remain like this or disaster and ruin are sure to come. Never mind my own preferences and likes. She moans and that makes it all worthwhile. She's going to shatter some glass if she keeps this up. I go a bit harder and she gets a bit louder.

There is a knock on the glass and that seems a good enough reason to stop. The hands let me and that means it really, really was the right call.

"Really," Alizarin sighs, "Not even an hour to yourself and you're at it again. Someone should have the two of you fixed."

"We're not cats," Riot says, "We worked a bit. We found a room with stuff."

"I found a computer," I say, still on my knees, Riot's body still calling to mine, "And I found most of a password for it. That has to be worth something."

"Why are you even in the shower? It's not your shower."

"We needed it. And we still had lipstick on us."

"Is that's what's on your ass? I thought it was a mole. A green ugly mole that was hopefully cancerous, because I just want bad things to happen to you right now."

"Are you jealous we started without you?"

"No."

"That is the biggest lie I've ever been told. And Sunday once told me he'd quit smoking."

"Alright fine. A little bit. But also, work. On the clock. Doing things that need being done. I did my part. Solar Cycle's up and running with no tracking on it. Couldn't find the ID tag in the system, but we can always try that once I have better tools. But the place is still locked down, so it's not going anywhere."

"You worked really hard," Riot says, "You need a treat."

"Both of you have a problem.

"Yes, we do. You're not in here."

"It smells like oranges and we're both super slippery and naked," says Riot. She gives me a push and I slide across the tile. I don't go far, but the point is made. I am very slippery.

"Is he hard?" Alizarin says.

"Pretty much. Took a moment to get me going, but I more or less ready for anything."

"I didn't even notice," Riot says.

"You weren't really paying all that much attention to me."

"Yeah, cause I was doing something much more important."

Another knock hits the glass and the reverberations finally give me enough freedom to come back to my feet. It's hard. Tile and soap and water don't really collide together to form something like grip. But I manage and I assert my slight height advantage over my partner. It's not in my favor with the third party.

She slowly strips for us and I am no longer the most important thing in the world. Riot isn't either. It's her, the show behind glass and that is much more important. The outermost is shed with little fanfare. The coat is piled softly in a corner and the actual beautiful skin starts to show. Dark, it is dark and flowing and smooth. Weight, there is weight to her with each movement. She is heavy and shifting. Heat and power that comes with a simple motion.

Hands crossed and lifted up and over her chest, the shirt falls away. Heavy, it is heavy the rise and fall of her breasts and their soft jostle back to stillness. Riot is the first one to make a noise of happy need. Simple animal noise of desired need and it is not in her hands, on her lips, in her mouth, and that is terrible, simply terrible. Her chest is not slick with soap and water and saliva so the world is not the beautiful chaotic mess it can be. A snap and her bra falls too. Drop and bounce, I do not have that simple pleasure with Riot. Drop and bounce, the steam settling on her skin. Her arousal is obvious.

But her real talents lie when she turns around and bends over. The zip, the slow teasing sip of metal teeth coming apart, that is only heard in faintest traces beyond the hiss of hot water. My length jumps and twitches and Riot works her lip under her teeth. She is ravenous. I am starving and I am going to break this thin wall of glass if she does not get in here and do something with us soon.

The hem falls slow under her thumbs, dark olive skin slowly inching beyond worn ripped denim and I am enraptured with each inch. She wore red today, matching the bra. I don't know if I should be surprised. We all have our themes to go with and hers is certainly good. Comfortable, utilitarian, no teasing lace or cut out holes. Better, in my opinion. It is a simple thing for a simple shape that presses against the glass and decides that it should be bare and open just like the rest of her.

Riot pounces on her as soon as she crosses the threshold into the warm rain shower. Slick, her body is slick and scented of citrus and oranges and grapefruits in moments, The bubbles gather and slide down her body and I am transfixed in the writhing skin. Light and dark, sliding and pressing and moving together, groping hands that interlock and interlace. A hand, dark skin so Alizarin snakes out and grabs my wrist, pulling me in and now I am in the mess of bodies pressed together.

Alizarin is cold, but she is slowly warming up to the idea. A little less cautious than last time, a little more push and prod in her digits, at least on my end. She still could be scared of Riot. That's fair. It can be a little much. But I don't want her to be afraid. I turn to her and press my lips, ignoring the fact that I have to tilt my chin up ever so slightly. It is hard to be confident in that predicament, but I manage. I have a fistful of her ass to help and the fact that a thrumming finger is tracing my length also helps. That makes every little bit of terrible thought flow out of my mind. I have a body to pour myself into. I have lips and tongues to touch and play with.

And it is play once again. I do not count. I do not think. There is action and I have my reaction. I put forth action and that brings reaction to be. I do not fight it. I do not control. I am lost in two other bodies desperately trying to keep some asinine distinct between self and other. I play with Riot's piercings and that pulls a bit of her fight away.

Her hand, I think it is her hand, squeezes a bit tighter. I am no longer hollowed and sensitive there. It is back to fill and it is sliding across a hard stomach slick and wet. I feel a heartbeat through it and I think it is Alizarins. I kiss lips that taste like affected citrus and soap and it does not taste good. I do not care. I shudder and sigh and let the breath expand my chest and dull my thoughts.

"I'm going first," Riot says.

"You had him last night," Alizarin says with an edge to her voice, "I want him."

"I didn't have him to myself last night either. So, I'm going first."

I do not want a say in the argument. Not really. My intrusion would only nudge the coin flip and heads or tails I win. I am the cion. The coin always wins, no matter what anyone calls. I have my preferences for Riot, but I will not pass on Alizarin.

They glare at one another and it seems that Alizarin is affecting some actual menace down her sights. Riot just wants to keep playing, keep stroking and touching and fondling me. So far, I think that makes her my favorite. It's hard to be intimidating with hot water and steam pouring down, and I have no inclinations to try. The hand is joined by another set of fingers and I shiver, despite the heat.

"You have him every day," Alizarin says, "This is only my second time."

"You could come live with us," says Riot, "We have the space. And then we could all share the same bed. It's a really big bed. And we could braid each other's hair and tell scary stories all night."

"I can order pizzas really good," I say.

"He can and then we can play all sorts of fun naked games. Like this right now."

They keep stroking me and my legs are starting to act up. Traitorous things that would take me out of the moment for their own weakness. I do not blame them. I had my whole idea to be horizontal squashed. This is just the next step to getting us all in the warm pool and dissolving into bliss. They keep striking me and I do not think about anything in particular.

Riot smiles and Alizarin seems to take offense to the idea of hostility met with jovial defiance. They both tighten on me with ravenous intent and I close my eyes. I am not thinking of anything at all. There is hot water raining down and a deep orange scent. There is nothing touching me. My knees are not wobbling. There are not two nude women desperately fighting over me and my oversensitive self. I am calm. I flex my hands. I do not know what to do with them and they feel somewhat awkward just sitting at my side. But it will be alright. It will all be alright.

They keep arguing the same points with no real elaboration on anything. But they keep touching me and stroking and toying and I am ok with it all. It is as it should be and nothing is the matter. I am not weak. I am not faltering. This will all end in beautiful unity sooner or later.

I take the moment and the world goes gray. I was right on the edge and all the Zen meditation in the world would not stop that particular train from going off the rails. Alizarin and Riot are locked together, Riot to the taller woman's chest, defiant and challenging. Even soaking wet, Alizarin manages to look harsh and intimidating. I am impressed. It's mostly in the eyes, sharp things that burn and singe and melt anything lesser than rumbling stone. My breath finds its way back to smooth and even and I gaze at the frozen droplets hanging in the air. Beautiful, a million teardrop mirrors on invisible puppet strings, the only purpose they have taken from them by a whim. I nudge one with my finger and it morphs into an indistinct splash, still hanging, still frozen.

The fighting was going nowhere. A standoff for a standoff's sake. Not that mind a bit for rattling sabers, but not when my saber is the one being rattled. I prefer that unsheathed and bare. And then sheathed. And then unsheathed. And then sheathed again, preferably when said sheath is also tongue kissing me and whispering naughty things in my ear.

It doesn't matter who I go to first. In theory. In practice, there is a bit of back and forth within me as I consider the arguments. Alizarin had firsts last time but has more sporadic access to me. Riot has ease of use, but less recent actual contact. We also started this particular engagement with no consideration of said third party. It is a conundrum, a pickle, a worthwhile question for the greatest scholars and philosophers.

I go with Riot because she feels better on the inside. I am ashamed of my choice. It is not for love or affection or any call on the fairness of the act. I am just brought to the edge and decide that it is better for my own personal self-interest to go with the one to my left. And I do.

The tricky part is positioning. I have to part her legs and move her back away from the standoff. But the gray stone is amenable to being moved when I am the force that is moving her. It bends to my touch, little imprints still sticking and devoting to the will of me and my carnal pleasure. The body knows, it has to know what I am doing in the moment. The synapse impulse does not travel to the brain, but the single cell response of my skin on hers is enough to pull a reaction.

I slide in and it is beautiful. Smooth and slick and willing, the thrum and rumble stilled and silent. Prodding, poking, doing everything I can to tease out the enjoyment for myself. I take it slow. The hands wanted to go fast and take vice grip pleasure for themselves, but this is my world and my time and my motion. Riot is tight. Riot is accepting. There is no fight to be had with her and the gentle movement of my hips into hers. She does not quake. She does not moan. For once, I appreciate the silence. It is easy and calming to just have this all to myself.

It is a bit odd to have Alizarin glaring at me while I move. I understand her frustration. I would be frustrated too. I will get to her in a moment, but I am rather preoccupied. I have my Riot to attend with rhythmic indulgence and her rage will have to simmer. I start circling my hips and pushing Riot's spine down. She looks good with the spine bent and the hips raised.

I am in her and I am tending to the action. More angles and spin, slow and shallow, fast and deep, the endless reaction action of one and another. I am in her and I am moving through the still vice grip with the vengeful demon condemning the act. She should be first. Her spine can go lower. Her hips can go higher. Every facet that I adore should be greater in the demon. Big talk, and from envious places in the mind. She will have hers in an instant moment.

I stay in Riot once I work our hips together. I stay in her and just lose myself to her endless embrace. She is full and I am entangled. I do not want to pull myself free, but I must. I believe in fairness and equality, and the act must go to the other party while I am still able to have some rational thought. It is hard though. Incredibly so. I peck her on the cheek, something small and simple that will be lost in the terrible ecstasy of the long moment.

Alizarin requires movement as well. It was a bit easier to ignore when she was on the couch in my living room, but the shower makes it so that I cannot quite get the full motion. So, I have to lower her. She will be amenable to that, I think, once the time comes back to her. She bends in much the same way Riot does, and I do find that there is an easier time in putting her hips out. I will keep that secret to myself. Just like the odd mark on the back of Riot's left thigh. I don't believe it is a birth mark or a mole. It kind of looks like a burn scar, although from what, I am not sure.

She takes me well, more ridges and folds over my length, up and down the lines and veins, taking the emotion and thoughts with them. I am not something so grand as to have thoughts other than in and out. It is what I want from her, and I take it in every sense of the word. Circle and tilt, thrust and tease, hands around her and helping her take me. I tease the entrance with them and forefinger with each and every stroke. Riot just needs the length going in and out, in and out, with a hand to her chest to play and roll on. Alizarin needs a bit more, but it is all still within my ability. She is warm to the touch of my palm.

Circles and lines, the simplest of shapes applied well come to the grandest of conclusions. I have Riot looking at me, taking in the sight of my motions with smug challenge. It is not for me, but it still goads me to do it harder. And I do. I go harder into her, putting the strength of motion into her with every mote I can muster.

My legs are not appreciative of my efforts. They have been through a lot. Last night, the bit of fun in the morning, a long-standing train ride, and now this. It is a wonder they stay with me. They could run away at any moment. But the grand act of entrance is much better. Tingles and sparks under my skin, robbing strength and reason. I lean into her. I lean into her motion, her body, feel it press into mine while Riot keeps goading me on with demeaning pride. This is the best I can do and the statue still judges it as lacking.

I move Alizarin's head to align with hers and block the gaze. I cannot afford to be distracted like that. I have a solemn duty to uphold and I can only keep the oath so long. It's coming soon with the edge of reason coming down. I pull myself free and try to find some support ono the steam-soaked glass. It comes. It is tenuous but I am still terribly upright.

The pose I have left the both of them gives me an idea. I do not like it when they fight, even if it is over me and who gets first go. So, I think they should kiss and make up. I am a genius. Most of the work is already done. All it takes is another handful of nudges and the dominoes are set.

Time begins once more and the calamity of being I have set into motion is birthed into fruition.

The both of them take a moment to themselves, to acclimate the body and mind to a new state of being. Supporting and supportive, face to face and eye to eye. They do not break away, not at first. It is a natural progression to affection from aggravations. They kiss and they do not mind the kiss. It is nice. It is warming. It serves to both soothe and angry up the blood.

The aftershocks of my acts finally come to fruition and the both of them start to collapse as their eyes lose focus. They have been pleasured beyond reason in a short amount of time. There is no blunting that effect. They only have each other to hold onto. And someone to hold, they need. It rattles them loosening their composure and soul in equal measure. The body across is the only thing keeping them upright and it has its own problems with the way it should work.

Riot arcs and gasps and moans curses towards my very being. I am a bastard, a rough, all sorts of deplorable things. But most of all, there is a deep affection that I am such a terrible scourge on the world. I am her scourge and the joy she feels brought by my hand is so much better than anything else the world can offer. She sprays and shakes and mumbled delirious threats into Alizarin's chest.

Alizarin is a bit more composed with her rather short ride through the white out space. She shakes and quivers and shudders all the same. Back arced and hands reaching out for some form of salvation. The arc and spray between her thighs aren't quite as pronounced and she doesn't turn to cursing me forever being the way I am. Still, her eyes go slack and carefree as the lighting courses through her veins.

Together, they slowly ride out the joy as one, dragging each other down to the warm wet tile. I sink with them, hand to body to make sure that nobody takes a harder tumble than would be fun. They manage. They both manage to sink down to some form of collapsed repose, not quite sitting, not quite kneeling, not quite prone, but some odd combination of all three. I slide myself into the tangle of bodies, letting the joints knot and corner me without a second thought of escape. Alizarin leans over and pecks at my neck, working a bit of teeth into the vulnerable skin. A mark of affection and a threat. I can live with that.

"You don't get to do that anymore," Riot whines, "I was being really big and threatening and then you make me do that. How am I supposed to be taken seriously when I can't even stand up straight? It's not fair."

"He can do whatever he wants," sighs Alizarin, "He's his own man and that means he can go out and fuck whoever he wants, whenever he wants. So long as it's me. Or you."