Paresthesia Pt. 07

The moment comes back to us all with a pop of color and I slump in a seat. I am going to enjoy this, no matter how bad this makes me look.

"-to start fresh and what did you just do to me, you scumbag," she yells. I did not think the human visage could contain such anger. But it can. I learned something today.

"I moved us all inside. We were drawing a crowd," I say, "I figured that this was a conversation that we should all have behind closed doors."

Cassandra pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and I am now the focus of her fury. If Alessandra is smart, she'll run. She'll run and never look back at any of this. At all. Ever. Live in the woods that she just set on fire and eat nothing but berries and the occasional twig.

"I do not know the full extent of how you and your daughter work this out. Riot and I had, well not pure intentions, but at least not malicious ones. To you and your daughter. And to answer your question, its files. We stole a bunch of files from a guy who we know to be kind of, let's say creative, with authority. We did ask her to join us on our first visit, but she refused and we respected that."

"Then why is she here now, wearing that?"

"Because I wanted to, Mama," Alessandra says. A little bit of that posture comes back. Shoulders are a bit more square, chin a bit more up.

"And you remember what happened the last time you wanted to do something? You sound just like your father. And you know what happened to him."

"I do. I do. I do. And I still did this. Mama, Taita wasn't a bad guy. You know that. He just did bad things."

"Get out," Cassandra says. It's quiet, this particular rage. Part of me detaches and puts it in a little file I have of interesting emotions I've seen. Silent rage, but rage, nonetheless.

"Get out all of you."

I don't say anything. Riot awkwardly starts walking the bike back out the front door, careful to leave everything unnudged. All in all, that seems like a reasonable request. I don't see what happens with Alessandra.

---

Comfy, I am comfy in thin linen and no shirt, basking in the draft of my spacious hideaway from the world. The TV's off and I don't particularly feel like turning it on. No games today, no movies or shows. Just a blank black mirror looking at me look at it. I have no marks today from our little jaunt. I am tired. Pleasantly so, although that fun little knot in my stomach doesn't quite let me feel a full body of relaxation.

Hannah presses into me and I feel her heartbeat at its snail pace. She's not asleep. She snores when she's asleep. But she is calm. The deep bass drum of her heart rocking through me tells me as much. Her hands idly trace nonsense shapes on my chest.

"Did we mess up something today," she whispers to me. I reach across to the coffee table and take a drink. Water, just water. I don't need anything else right now. It might be hers. I haven't been keeping the cup shuffle in mind.

"Probably," I say, "But I'd also put money something like this would happen sooner or later with them. Seems kind of like that sort of thing. We just put gas on it."

"Bad analogy."

"Yeah, but it works."

"We're going to apologize."

"Thought about getting them a fruit basket, but this isn't the fruit basket kind of problem."

"What is a fruit basket problem?"

"Dead dog. Knocked up daughter. Stubbed toe."

She chuckles, and that's nice. My phone buzzes on the table and I have to reach for the table again. I smile. It's a bit of good news.

"Doppel has the files," I say, "Having a look through them all. Should have some more to say to us day after tomorrow. Says we should probably meet him, too."

"Fun. That might be a good idea. Where at?"

"His place. Refraction. It's a casino, club, lounge thing. Very upscale. I'll have to wear a tie."

"Oh, that's terrible. Simply terrible."

"No one should have to wear a tie. Ever. It has no functional purpose. A scarf keeps your neck warm. Ties do nothing."

"What about pocket squares? Those do pretty much nothing."

"Yeah, but they also don't choke anything. They just take up a useless pocket and have a fun pop of color."

"Do I need to wear a dress? I haven't worn one in forever. I don't even know if I have anything."

"Then I guess I know what we're doing tomorrow."

"And the other thing?"

"We'll get it. But the deal said I don't have to wear it."

She pouts and that's fine. She can pout because that means I have annoyed her and that means she loves me. I kiss her forehead and she pouts some more. She kisses my chin, and there is unfiltered annoyance in each second of contact.

"But you still could," she says, "Just for me."

"I'll think about it. But we have to buy it first and try it on and get you a dress. That's a full day."

"And a night in a casino. Do we have to do things?"

"I think so. I don't want too either."

I kiss her forehead and move my hands to stroke her back. Up and down, up and down, fingers trailing her spine with just enough pressure to draw out my nails. She hums some indistinct happy noise.

"We can't go back to Torogoz, can we," she sighs, "That was so good though. And I didn't try that pupusa thing. I wanted to try that pupusa."

"We go back there once," I say, "Just to make sure we're hated. And maybe we smooth it over. And if we don't, then we don't. We can have the Troubles go and pick it up for us."

"I'm not swamping a poor old lady's restaurant with thugs every time I want a burrito. If I did that, then they'd do nothing else."

"And they have things to do. Like muggings. And stick ups."

"And protections rackets."

"Not so much anymore. Kind of fell out of favor. Don't know why. Piracy's still a thing. Although, its mostly software."

She keeps rubbing my chest in soft circles and squares and diamonds, playing with the soft skin.

"Why are you always so fun to touch," she sighs.

"I honestly have no clue. I use a bit of lotion, but that shouldn't cover all of it. I think you just like me."

"Really? Whatever gave you that idea? Is the fact that I'm touching you when you're not wearing a shirt? Or all those times I sucked your dick? Or that I decided on a life of crime just to be with you?"

"I also think you just like crime at this point."

"Little bit. Crime is fun. And you're fun to touch. Like this."

She takes her fingers over my nipple and starts pinching me in the most terribly delightful way.

I yelp and stiffen a bit at the pain coursing through my body.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I groan, "We did this so much."

"We can do a bit more. And I'm not looking for anything super intense. Just something to relax a bit. Big day and all. Might help. Might not. I just want to touch you and you to touch me. Is that so wrong?"

I put a bit more pressure int other back. She stretches like a cat, long spine, hips raised a bit before sinking into me and feeling more of my skin on hers. Never a bra, and that fact still amazes me. My knowledge of female anatomy says that they should always have one on, if only for the pleasure of taking it off at some point in the future. But that knowledge is lacking, to say the least. And it gives me easy access to her chest in most circumstances. My ignorance is bliss and it lets me keep tracing the lines in her back.

Well-toned, always well-toned and shaped, moving and opening with her breathing. Everything feeds into a larger whole of her body. So much packed into such a little space. So much power lays on top of me, pressing into me and I can't help but feel something like reverence.

It is no secret she is stronger than me physically. Stronger than she should be for someone her size even. Although, again, anatomy is one of my weaker subjects, like most of them. It is part of her tricks I think, part of the unseen whole of what we can do. I have perfect comedic timing as part of mine, and I usually don't need to set a timer for things. Usually. Mostly. Occasionally. But hers is power, blunt instrument against the pane of reality. She wields it well, inelegantly. There is still beauty in the straightforward and plain, hammer to nail.

Case in point, the odd thump she is giving to me in return with her lips. Every other second there is a small impact on my sternum imparted through kiss. I'm not sure how it imparts affection, but it does. It soothes the heart and slows the beat, dissolving into a thick tepid pool of calm. She is calm, despite the day behind us. It's exhaustion, plain and simple. I feel the same way.

The moments keep slipping by without a care in the world and I feel no need to dam the river. Let them have the ticking of the clock. It is nothing so grand to deserve my attention. I have Hannah slowly bring down the metronome to stillness, rising to my touch, leaning into the petting with every second.

I respond with my own gentle movements as she moves to my neck. I go low. She goes high. She puts a bit too much weight into me and I can't breathe for a second, but she kisses my neck, so it all evens out. I cup her ups and fondle one of the few bits of softness on her. She giggles a bit, trialing off into a low sigh. My own arousal is starting to make itself known, somehow. She giggles again.

"Honestly kind of surprised you can still get it up," she murmurs, "told you were a sex machine."

"I'm just as shocked as you, really. This is all your fault. You do insane things to me," I whisper back before blowing on her ear. She likes that. She shivers. That means she likes that. I do know some things.

I am the first to break the line of civility. Under the hem line, she is warm. Under the hem line of elastic athleisure, she is soft and hard, muscle and bone and thrumming power like an idle engine. Machinery, industry, power poured into hardened stone and frozen in time, erupting every other second only to be put back together with another passage of a second. She hums and shivers again.

There are lines between her thighs where the muscles morph and flow. She shivers and nuzzles into my shoulder while the core of her power revs a bit more. I am in the most pleasurable earthquake imaginable. I am awash in a sea of gentle vibrating waves, weaving into muscle fibers. I am exhausted just beyond the point of tiredness. There is some deep well of energy in me that fuels the hands, fuels the mind to keep going.

She is wet and quivering from the glances I give her. Slow, slow and gentle, not quite a tease and a play, but just soft administrations to help give her the wave of exhaustion she has given to me. I am hard, fully, but the thought anything more doesn't cross my mind. I am sinking into the depths of the earth where the tectonic plates grind and shift in silent march. Infinite power of grind and move, all done in the most incremental waves. Hannah shudders again. I stretch and feel the vibrations go a bit deeper. Something slips in my spine and it feels softer now."

"What else do I do to besides get you hard," murmurs the earthquake.

"That's a really big one, honestly."

"Not that big."

I stick out my tongue at her and she uses that as an excuse to pinch my nipple a little harder.

"You get me up in the morning," I say, "You make so I can fall asleep at night. You make the world a bit more energetic. You always have. I would have left the League a lot sooner if it wasn't for you."

"But you still left."

"Solar decked me the day that I did. That was kind of the last straw. I thought it was just me, honestly. I had no idea that he did anything to you."

She goes still. I don't like that. She should move.

"I didn't know. Do you hate me? I said I hated you."

"I don't think I can. No matter what you are, I can't hate any of it. Dislike it, sure, but never hate. You're Hannah. That's a lot, to me."

She melts. She melts into me with every happy noise she can make. I start chuckling and stroking her more. Hannah kicks her feet and the couch does not really appreciate any of that. The couch can shut up. I'm touching a Hannah. That's more important than anything structural. I am touching a Hannah and she pushes into me while I push into her. She touches me with thrumming hands and soothing pulses. It pulses like a star turning on its axis. I am lost within her and I am adrift in the churning earth beneath my feet.

"You say the stupidest things," she mutters into my sternum.

"Yeah. But it's true."

"Shut up and finger me. I don't know how to deal with nice words."

I do as she suggests and that's fine. That's more than fine. I keep glancing along the edges, folds and lips just gently played off one another, back and forth, up and down. She shivers and shudders and does all of those motions that she can't quite control. She is tense. She is relaxed. She plays along the waves of cold spike energy that I impart from her. She stops touching me as the sensations grow. I have a digit inside of her and the grip is crushing.

"Your hands are warm," Hannah hums, "Kiss me."

And I do. Softly. It's more of a reminder that I am here and she is on top of me with caressing waves. Our foreheads touch and her eyes are closed, breathing steady and measured. My own motions may make it hitch and catch at odd moments, but it will always flow. It is not held. It is not tight. It is a simple in and out to match my action.

Her hands move down and do the same motion I give her. Soft fingers tracing up and down vein and line and ridge, circling the head and finding hidden parts that only out in lethargy. I shift again and something slips in my shoulders until it is softer and calmer than it used to be. I am calm, sinking even deeper, deeper, yet deeper still. The sea above me of gentle rocking waves crushes me with loving kisses that make me think of nothing at all. I have my body performing motions and another on top doing the same. Numb pleasantries with soft things and hard things and rolling, beating things all colliding together to settle in the mire of dead space.

Hannah has to be the one to actually move me from my general stupor with a shift of her hips. It's only to get my pants off, and then hers. That's fine. I can be moved for that. I do not want them on anyway. Tend to catch and snag on important things. I let her move, listening to her breathing while she listens to mine. Slow, so incredibly slow, almost like she is asleep. But she is just lost in the mire daze with me. A warm numbing pool of amber sap between us, shared and sinking. I kiss the crown of her head and she presses her skull back a bit, just to make the kiss an inch deeper.

The one bad thing, terrible really, that comes from our further exploration of our golden abyss is that I can't quite keep pleasing her in the same way. I move it all back to the spine and the gentle roll of the vertebrae.

I am between her thighs now with the toned muscle squeezing and warm and enveloping of everything good. I like this. This is nice. More of the same but softer and calmer than what we do in the full tantric loss of self. She rolls and rises, drops and falls, while I move with her. It takes a moment. It always does to find our rhythm together. Again, it is softer now. It is calmer, the general waving pools that shift and writhe over me.

"Do you want me to do the time thing," I whisper. She sighs. She thinks of it and moves the body in the same way that doesn't quite match up with the greater whole. Then she shakes her head and presses it into me while her hips keep rocking.

I am outside of her. I am in her thighs with the general up and down, side to side. No pattern, no thought, no general strategy. It all melds together, union without connection. There doesn't need to be. It is all the same anyway. The same motions and thoughts into, even if the end result is slightly different. It's still the same. It is always the same thing with her. I move again, taking my back up the arm into some facsimile of a seat. She lays on me and takes the rattle of her core to between her thighs.

I lose control. I simply lack the ability to have any sort of plan. I thrust and shift and grind against her. She moves the wave to correspond. I shift and groan and hum and make all the noises that she can pull from me. She makes some of the noises I can take from her. Can't be all of them. That requires a little more effort. It is lazy and tired and I may fall asleep during all this, truly giving away anything conscious to the act of the body alone.

What little energy is left between us simply pools in our hips and the grind. I am in her. I am out of her. Endless motion like the coming tide. Her eyes are closed, my eyes are closed. I hear her breathing and she hears me doing the same. Heartbeat and breath, that's all we are, coupled with the soft arcs of white lightning coursing through our veins.

She picks up again, some hidden reserve finally tapped. She is close. She is close and all the emotion comes and collects to that singular end. I move my hands to embrace, pull her close, try and meld out skin together until we are simply one and nothing else. She holds me tighter. Something buts up against my chin and lean down. She is kissing me again. And I am kissing her. Tongue rolling and lips moving, teeth just gliding over everything soft and tender.

I am almost with her. I am right on the edge of my own dark abyss. There is too much pressure above and I can't see anything other than warm dark in me, warm dark pool and crushing weight until it is all syrupy gold. Building sparks and writhing snakes under my skin with the loose muscles slack until it is all simply gone. It hits me and I am right there, teetering and shivering with the howling rush in my ears.

She hitches and stops and begins her release in slow shudders and rolling arcs. The shivering quakes hit me too and finally let me fall down to the bottom of the world. Eyes closed, we both have each other in the dark warm. It is all gone with the rolling pulses through us. It is all gone with the lightheaded sparking static. It is all gone save for the person on the other end of the lips.

My release rolls and flows through me. Her release finally brings some amount of harshness to her. She is raking her nails into me. She is gripping me and turning it all red and raised. It hurts and the warm swallows it all until it does not matter. It does not matter because I feel the waves and ride them down to the settled sand.

I ebb and flow with the occasional spike the pressure gives me with teeth and nail. It's drawn out and slod, our mutual undertaking. Lethargic and tired and all sorts of simply lazy, but it is long, our mutual bliss. The world turns beneath us. Seasons change. All is reduced back to the primordial dust from where it all began.

Then Hannah snores a bit and pulls my eyes open. One of the few things I dislike, not hate, about our current arrangement. It can get a bit hard to sleep with her next to me, but I figure that's just something to get used to down the line. It'll be comforting soon enough.

But for now, it is a bit grating and I realize that there is a rather inconvenient predicament that I have to deal with. We are both on the couch, a little dirtied up, and my bed is all the on the other side of the warehouse and up a set of stairs. Needless cruelty for cruelty's sake in waking her, really. A rather uncomfortable sleeping position for me. And what seems like an impossible task of carrying her, cleaning us both and so many steps in between.

Fuck it. I'm tired. She's asleep and I do not like this couch anyway. It complains too much. I do move a bit more so I'm lying back down while she is on top of me. It might not be the most comfortable mattress, but I have a very good blanket.

---

Hell. I am in hell. I am in the worst possible type of existence and that classifies it as hell. There is no other way it can be, no other word for it. I have transgressed against my fellow man one too many times and I have been sent to sulfur and fire and terrible, terrible bubbling muck seas for all of it.