Paresthesia Pt. 09

"Huh. And fucking finally. We're in the money. I'm texting Doppel and then we can get out of here. Anyone hungry? There's a Thai place like two blocks from here that I want to try."

"Deepwater Rice?" Viv says, "I wouldn't if I were you. If you go a bit farther, there's a Korean BBQ place called Butcher's Festival. That's really good."

"Same to me. So, who's in? We got Droogs incoming on the south side with the car."

I look to Hannah and I shrug. She looks to me and shakes her head.

"We're out, Violence. You and I still have the cobra thing tomorrow anyway. I wouldn't want to drag you down."

She sighs and comes strolling out of the office, flash drive dancing between her knuckles.

"You're no fun anymore. If that's all, then we better bounce."

I grunt and come to my feet, shifting again to hide evidence of my sonic reaction. No one notices or at least they all pretend not to notice. Riot does the say, Vivienne's arm trailing after her in a desperate plea for her to stay. Riot at least looks apologetic, mixed in with all the other things that she goes through.

And just like Ultra-Violence says there is a car waiting for us. A quick snatch of the wire and we all repel down smoothly. It might just be me, but the ride home seems to take a long time. It's the silence.

---

I feel simply amazing. I feel incredible. I am riding an adrenaline high from a reserve I didn't know I had in me. It is grand and vast and maniacal. My hands are around a slim waist of muscle and strength as the motorcycle we stole roars through the neon drenched street. There's money flying out of a loose zippered duffel bag and I don't care. The front wheel rears up like a wild stallion and more pours from the open maw. I don't care. I'm too happy to care about anything other than the roaring engine and the deep rumble of the streets being chewed up and spit out.

Ultra-Violence laughs with me, turning the bike almost sideways to slip under trucks, through alleys, between gaps so small and miniscule that it takes my stubble down to my cheek. She is high strung manic on parade for the world to envy. She is rich beyond their dreams, beyond the imagination with a boytoy on her hips that does not have to think for her. She rides another rough and tumble with middle fingers and streaking colors in her wake. I lose gravity's shackles for a moment and we are sailing over a pair of flashing lights and yelling men in blue. They get nothing. They are nothing. I am the happiest I have ever been. Windstep's trying to catch up, but the storm can't out pace sheer lunatic high.

The tires screech and we turn. I have lost all sense of direction. I don't need it anymore. It's pointless and stupid. There is a rumbling engine and a slim waist and streaking color. She spines a circle and for a moment my knees scrape against the pavement. It might be a bruise or a scrap or anything terrible. I don't feel the pain. I don't think there is any at all. Something so lowly as pain cannot even register with me. Violence whoops and hollers and the world screams with her.

The chase goes on and by the time it ends, the bag is half empty. Poor thing must have gotten road sick. It's still heavy at least. And its brother had a fine enough time keeping it all down. The flashing lights are all on the other side of the river and our bank is quiet. We are quiet with the hum of spent action reverberating in our souls. I take a deep breath and for once the river air feels alright. The ladder stings my hands a bit from all the rust, but it holds. It holds and I have something incredible to stare at as it sways back in forth in front of me.

Someone has prepared a little spot for us. One of her Droogs probably. A bit of an odd name for what are essentially assistants who set her up. A convenient baton, a well-placed ladder, a soft cushion to fall on, all set up and executed from a vast network of invisible assistants. Good system. But this time, it is a soft blanket with a set of pillows and a wonderful view of the river. Violence sashays over the loose gravel and kicks a fun path for me to follow. I don't know when she had the time, but she has a bottle of champagne procured from somewhere secret. The outside shines with a thin sheen of frost. The Droogs are apparently really good at timing all this. Very good. It spins in her hand and I am not sure how it all comes together. I am still buzzing with the slipping thrumming notes of my first time.

"So," she says with an unrefined flop on the cushions, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

It takes me a moment to process it all and let it come back to some form of sense.

"That was something else," I say. I join her with my own flop and start looking at the sky. So, few clouds tonight. Full moon too. Good night, a really good night and all that comes with it. Bright too, I can see almost everything. Violence starts to peel the latex paint from her face, leaving behind flecks of color on her skin. She's smiling. She's wide eyed. She's still thrumming with the remnants of the adrenaline just like me.

"Kind of sad that we lost half the haul," I sigh. She shrugs.

"Happens. The money is always the least important part. It's more that we do it. They had money and we wanted the money so we took the money. And the people got a nice treat if they play in traffic. Win win."

I let a soft laugh filter through and slip through onto my back. Nights are fun now. There is a bit of me that feels tired, but it's the analytical part. It's at the edges where I can tell that I am tired. But I don't feel it. There is just a bit of me that knows that it is time to rest. But not now. Not ever. The night is young and there are more things to steal, more things to break and smash. But I can't find a reason to move.

Violence rifles through the bag, pulling stacks of bills out and tossing them on my stomach. They're heavy. I never noticed how heavy money can be. Guess I didn't have enough to notice the weight. It was all slipped into an account with a name on it. All done through cards and checks and all the things that I couldn't touch. But this, this I can feel with every sense. Newly printed, newly cut, the papers almost wet with ink. It sinks into my fingers and I hope they are stained. Everything I touch would smell like money. That seems like a good way to live.

"Are they all like this," I sigh.

"More or less," Violence says, "I like doing jewels more. The weight's a bit different, but there is something so satisfying about holding a diamond up to the light. Next time. We can do that next time."

"What about paintings?"

"Eh. Take em or leave em. Good as a status thing, but I've always found it hard to justify. Hard to sell and I don't really have a good place for them. If I had more space maybe."

"We should do paintings next."

"I'll add it to the list. I think the next thing to get you in on is kidnapping. That's a fun one."

I shoot her an odd look and shrug. Those were always a hassle to deal with on the other side. But that's not my side anymore. I chose this and it's fun. And I'll keep at it until it stops being fun.

"So, what happens now," I say.

"Depends. Usually, I get something to eat and kind of bum around until the buzz wears off. Then I crash and do it again. Kind of changes on how it hits. This one called for champagne and a roof, so that's what I did. Speaking of..."

She pulls a large knife and a pair of flutes from literally nowhere. I don't know. I didn't see her do anything rummaging. There was nothing in her hands and then there was. She chuckles at me.

"Can't do anything too big and there's a hard limit to what I can carry," she says, "But it's the other trick I have. The bottle is about as big as I can go."

She passes a palm along the frosted glass and it disappears behind without a trace. A beat to make sure I am impressed and she pulls it out from behind her back.

"That's probably the most useful thing I have ever heard of."

She shrugs, but the slight movement in her shoulders tells me all I need to know. Like a cat that just got the good pats, she shimmies down and sits with a smug smile. She has hazel eyes that take in the light. They take it all in and devour it with greedy maw. She looks to me and I turn away before I fall in. I notice a small scar on her lip, turning the edge of the cheeks in a wry grin that will never go away. It might just be how she carries her expression, really. I do not know.

Violence hums some happy noise as she rocks back and forth. A bit of momentum built up and an acrobat's cartwheel and she is on her feet, scattering the loose dollars. Bottle in one hand, knife in the other and a loud pop shatters our silence. The cork flies and I lose it in the night. Probably on the other side of the river by now. I give a polite clap and she gives a deep bow. She has earned it.

And I have earned a full flute of the bubbly. I have earned the stacks of bills sitting on my stomach. I have earned the slowly fading buzz replaced with a tickling drink's numbness. I have earned a night sky that does not brood and hunch over in terrible gritty determination.

"I have never actually had champagne," I sigh when my flute is empty.

"I can tell. You're not supposed to chug it," she says through dainty sips. I didn't know anything she could do would be dainty. Graceful, elegant, stylish, sure. But dainty, that's a word I did not think I would think when I think of her.

"So, I take it the good guy parties were kind of lame," she asks as she fills me back up.

"Wouldn't know. Didn't have them. Best thing we got was someone brought donuts on the birthdays. Like not even from a place that does good ones. Just grocery store ones."

She throws her head back and laughs deep in her chest.

"Well, our birthday parties are better than that. Sunday brings out a bunch of kegs. I bring some dancers that may be more than dancers. Doppel shows up. Good time. Speaking of my dancers, I hear you sometimes when you see Katie, stud."

I blush. I blush and turn red. It's the drink. It has to be the drink. Drinks turn people red and flush and arm. I do not think of the noises I know people can make, the noises that I can make, all the sensations that come with another person giving me another back. And I do not think of the fact that she knows the noises that come when I participate.

"Oh, that's adorable. You're adorable, did you know that? And the way you smiled when we cracked the vault. I could just eat you up."

She takes a full sip and it's not quite as dainty anymore. I add a little more hunger to the act. She is getting flush as well. It comes from a different place. Her fingers aren't idly poking and prodding and trying to figure out what to do with themselves.

"You know, I still kind of want to have some fun," she purrs while crawling towards me, "and you seem like you're up for some fun."

I find a deeper shade of red to turn and then go a bit beyond that. Her shirt's come a bit more unbuttoned, somehow. She wore it low anyway, but it seems that she has found her own bit of impossibility to achieve. I am surprised I am not seeing all of her, but I am seeing more of her. There is a bit right at the edge where I see a change in color. She knows. She has to know I can see and that just makes me a bit redder. The moon is very beautiful tonight. I will look at that instead.

"You look like a tomato," she murmurs. I can feel the syllables dance on her lips so close to my neck.

"I like tomatoes," says the nip at my ear. She made it sexy. She made that word sexy and I simply do not know how. But it sparks in the base of my neck and settles down in my stomach. Sparks and lighting and tingling ether cloud through my mind. There is a body next to me and there should something further done. There are lips on my neck and that makes me freeze.

"And where's all that confidence, hmm? You were such a big shot in the vault. But if this is all it takes, then we might have a problem."

"It's not that big of a deal," I mumble.

"Oh, really? Then look over here."

I do. I rise to the challenge. And I fail. I fail because the obvious happened. Her breasts have fallen out, hanging in glorious freedom. She's not wearing a bra. Must have vanished with a thought and wave of the hand. I look away and suddenly I am on my back.

"Yeah. Problem," she says with a deep laugh, "Serpentor will have you wrapped around her little finger if this is all it takes to bring you down. C'mon. Do something. I dare you."

Another chance. I have another chance and that is something beautiful. I take a moment and dive into the deep pools of hazel.

Then I take the moment. All of the color drains and there are just droplets of off gray on an off gray face with off gray eyes. It still pulls at something in my stomach, but the frozen smirk doesn't cut as deeply. The chest does, their weight hang suggesting endless motion if only I were to reach out and paw like a hungry mutt. So, I do. They don't quite jostle and sway. There is just the imprint of my action frozen in reaction. I draw a smiley face on them with the imprint. That's fun. I pinch and twist a nipple, just to be sure. And the contortion of skin stilled forevermore is certainly entertaining, if only for me.

It all flows back and a sweet, serene smile crosses my face as confusion crosses hers. It takes her a moment to put it all together. It takes her a moment to slot the pieces and my sudden change in demeanor.

"Naughty," she moans as the touch registers, "Very naughty. And very exciting."

She pins me, one hand taking both my wrists above my head. She is strong, forged strong of flexible will. She is a reed swaying in the wind. I think it could still break free, but there is an issue with that. Two really. It would be close, not quite a coin flip, but more energy than I would care to spare for the moment. And I don't really want to.

She bites my lip and cements the fact that this is now where I belong.

"Think about it," she mutters through occupied tongue, "Whatever we want. We can do whatever we want. Whenever we want. Isn't that the greatest?"

"And want do you want to do right now," I grunt. She is good. She is doing very good things with her hips right now.

"Judging by what's poking me right now, I think you have an idea."

She lets the moan settle deep in her chest as she slowly moves down my body. There is a shirt in the way of my chest, unfortunately. I cannot feel her press and squeeze into me as intricately as I want. But with the oil slick trip down, she comes to lay my head on her lap and I am staring up into the endless abyss, her breasts hanging so tantalizing close to my hands. I can see the moon from here, pockmarked and pale, suspended on starlight twine. I can see Violence smirk and wink as a hand lifts and drops, lifts and drops, while the other works on freeing me.

She sighs and looks when I am open and erect for her. It hurts. It hurts in that desperately needed way. It hurts and urges and twitches for her and the feather touch of skilled fingers.

"That is nice, y'know," she murmurs, "No wonder my girls won't shut up about you."

And it is my turn to let the jackass smug smirk cross my lips. She traces a finger up and down and the jerk and twitch that comes with it wipes it away. She giggles deep in her belly and I finally see them in full motion. Hypnotic. Completely enthralling. I take my own hand and start caressing.

I get halfway there before the other hand snatches at the wrist and pins it to my chest. Violence clucks her tongue and shakes her head.

"You had your fun with them," she says, "Not my fault if you didn't get enough. So, all you do now is lay back and enjoy. Be a good boy for me. Ok?"

I nod. I don't feel very good in the moral sense, and the physical is a mixed bag. It's the smile that's throwing me off and she just touched the tip and swirled the finger in a hypnotic cyclone so whatever. It's fine. As long as she touches me and keeps doing that wonderful thing where the nail catches the softest part just a bit, then she can do whatever she wasn't to me.

I close my eyes and take deep breaths. I am in color. The soft hands of velvet and smooth river stone do terrible things to me. A hand to hold me still. A hand to take me away. I can still sense the weight of her breasts hanging over me. Every so often they'll dance down and tickle the tip of my nose. She laughs when that happens every time, I crane my neck to bury my face in her and every time she pulls away. Teasing, she is merely teasing me and the burn of bubbles remaining in my stomach let me be teased. I should have done more to her in the world of gray. I should have taken her and down things that only the gray moon would approve of. I should have taken what I wanted and done what I pleased. A lesson learned, all things considered.

And I enjoy learning it. I enjoy the soft edges of the world teasing and bruising against the ends of my existence. I enjoy the slip and slide through velvet and gossamer housing razor sharp blades. I feel them scrape through the world I live in. Just on the other side of the soft and gentle are razors that slice and cut and shred, all that can be with a slight bit of motion. It's held back for my sake. It's held back and leashed and caged with a thought. All it takes is a slight moment to take me down and cut to the bone.

"Eyes open, baby," she whispers, "I want to look at you. I want to see you melt."

I do and the hazel abyss is gazing down at me with infinite hunger. The sky above cannot compare. The moon cannot help me. I am just diving up into the end of the world housed in a smiling skull flecked with rainbow stardust. And there is a blade force in the dark carving away at me with tender care.

And she is right. I am melting into her. The buzz from the ride, the adrenaline from flashing lights, slowly creeps out of me and I am left flowing down. Rising and falling with her hand, the slowly strokes slowing pulling the tide in my core.

"You're doing so good for me," she purrs with all the love and affection the eyes of infinite expanse can muster, "Doesn't it feel right? To be this good?"

I nod again and the smile widens a bit and the eyes take me even deeper into the endless night. Every stroke she gives me is another repetition down the endless world of pleasure. I am melting into neon slag, with dull dim radioactive glow. The chill of excitement still fights every other second. There are other things to do, other things to break, other things to take for my nascent hoard. But there is the right here and the right now and all that entails is endless stillness.

"Good boy," she whispers, "good boy. You're such a good boy for me. Are you getting close?

I nod. I nod because it is terribly true. The slow spiral has a center. The endless hazel abyss has an edge. The slip of the hands builds a bit faster, grips a bit tighter. And it is paralyzing, the tense and twitch of my muscles. I cannot move. I do not want to move.

Violence bends over and presents her chest to me finally and it is glorious. Warm and soft and smothering. They are heavy, so heavy, crushing me entirely. I bite and lick and suck. She laughs again and loosens the grip on my wrists enough to break free. And they are on her chest, rolling and lifting and dropping and kneading. Pinching and twisting, pushing back into her and giving her something sharp in order to get something back.

She clucks her tongue and pulls away.

"You were being so good for me," she sighs, "And I gave you a treat. Why would you go and do something like that?"

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. I am too far gone. Even the absence of her hand isn't enough to take me away from the edge. A moan, unfiltered and unabashed, echoes from me and the pulses start. Aching, it is an aching release ruined by momentum. Still the flow from me is raw and unfiltered. It is the final deathblow to the excitement for the night. No more chill in me, just endless dull warmth filtered moonlight. I am at peace. Warm and tingling and so much gone.