Paresthesia Pt. 12

She immediately takes one of my stockings down. And it glides. It glides smoother than she could think. It glides like a cloud on a breeze. I imagine that it will be itchy as all hell come tomorrow, but it's worth it. Every word I say is simply ignored. She is off in her own little world now, off into the land where there is only pleasure to take and bend and snap.

Hannah glances right past my crotch and it is my turn to plead and beg. Instead, she pulls my leg up long, up to the roof, touching the taut muscle with fingertips and mouth. She likes my thighs apparently, the way the lace interplays with the skin. Tight, it is all tight on me. Honed and lithe and light, she is taking me, exploring the new dress for her toy. I chuckle again and make noise for her. She made so much for me. It's only fair that I return the favor.

My cheeks are red, deep red as she bends and poses me. Her hands are on my ass, squeezing and kneading and pressing and lifting. Low, she is making low beast noises, hungry and needy and wanting to devour. I am right here. I do not know why she has decided that now is a good time to take it slow.

I take off her shirt, fighting her all the while. In order to do so, she has to stop touching me and I have to stop touching her. But it is glorious. It is glorious to see her so open and free, swaying with the world in her rapture of my body. I lean up and kiss her nipple, eliciting a sharp hiss into a tea kettle whine.

That's all I get before I am back to the couch, staring at my rafters. She is fumbling. She is too eager to get to it all. There are knots to undo, bows to untangle, so many delicate things to touch and feel and sense.

I hear a rip and I sigh. That was a lot of money carried away by that single sound. It was for a good cause at least. Animal, I have decided to spend my life with an animal. I stroke her hair and she purrs affectionately, pressing against my palm, making me dig my nails into her scalp. She likes that, it seems.

And she likes the fact that my length is currently stretching up to my navel, ridges and veins pulsing and twitching. She sighs in a hum and the noise is choked again as she presses her lips along the other side. I feel the thrum once again, through every nerve I have. It is all her. My body is filled with the sense of her.

A hand, a hand to stroke and squeeze, up and down, up and down, while the mouth works the sack, licking and kissing and giving the massage that I need. I move my shoulders down and stretch like a cat. I am not so different, really. Both of us are simple slaves to anything that feels good. She feels good on me. I feel good on her.

"Did you have to- "

"Yes," she says after a long kiss, "Yes I did. Your fault. You teased me too much and this is what happens. Bad Evan. Bad."

"Do I need to get a squirt bottle or something for when you do that?"

"I mean, I am pretty much a squirt bottle."

She is so smug and proud for that. Laughing at her own joke, the absolute abyss of anything comedic. And I am laughing too, even as she goes back to the touch and pull of me. I hate that I'm laughing. The hands turn the chuckle into a noise deep in my chest.

The hand goes away so the lips can take their place. She is over my head, mouth open and greedy. I don't have the moment to take in the sight before she drops and I feel her tongue on me.

It almost ends me right there. An anticlimax to what should be something that lasts forever. I have my oasis in the gray and that is the only thing that saves me from pure disappointment. Calm, I am calm and cool and collected. Hannah's determination almost does it for me again, just the laser focus on me and what I am. I lean down and kiss the crown of her head. She still tastes a bit like the gel she uses to sculpt her hair. She still tastes a bit like the soap she used to wash it all away. She tastes like here and it feels like her and that's all I need. I scratch a bit more because she likes it.

She doesn't even notice the little attention I paid her. She is so engrossed, enraptured with me and the silk tatters still cling to my body.

She starts to hum some song dredged from the mineshafts and subway tunnels, rattling train cars along the track, back breaking labor for the earth's treasures. It is heavenly. It is everything I ever wanted. All I want is on her, in her, slowly, slipping down into everything I can be. She pushes me down. She pushes me down and she is trying to dislocate my joints just so she can take me deeper. Another little thing in the 'I'm actually big' column. She's having trouble getting me down and I am still exposed. Or maybe she just has a bad time with this. Not enough prep for it. I don't know.

But it still feels amazing.

"Soon, soon," I say. I hate that this is all it took, but I doubt this will end anything. I doubt I will even get a rest. It will continue until the sun grows cold and the moon falls from orbit.

She doesn't stop. She spreads me a lot more, driving down into me. I am in the back of her throat and it is quaking me into the dirt. Her lips meet my pelvis, meet the silk and I am over the edge.

Pulse and shot, I am nothing but the sensation she is pulling from me. Tight, her mouth is tight and hot and wet and vibrating. I can't think. I don't want to think. I am the starburst nova of white light and nothing else, nothing else at all. I am filling her and she cannot be full. I will try. I have more than enough for her and as we clash, I keep the sharp in my mind and nothing else at all.

I finish. I finish and it is terrible. I am brought to the end of nonexistence and it is only the beginning. She is laughing over me and I am laughing as reality comes back to me. They are good rafters. Very good rafters. Heavy windows keep out the cold. Having a bit of trouble maintaining my own train of thought. I reach up and interlock my fingers. My knuckles crack and Hannah winces. A swallow later and a sigh, she lays her head on my stomach.

"I hate that you do that," she sighs.

"I am aware."

"Now comes the worst part. The waiting. Hurry up. I'm not done yet. I want more. Get hard again. Do it. Do it."

"I'm working on it. Just give it a second."

She is trailing a lazy finger across my chest again, willing me to be whatever she wants me to be. Endless hard, endless ready, thrumming with the same energy she has, clashing against hers forever and ever and ever. I realize that I will have to do something I was hoping to save for another special occasion.

"You realize we have one more of those vials, right?" I say.

"Evan," she says, all the edge in her voice gone, soft as a feather for the first time all day, "I would kill you if I had two of those in my system."

"Not for you. I'll drink the other one."

The idea gathers in her mind and immediately brings a smile to her face. She bolts. She bolts from our couch and starts rifling through the duffels that have our kits. She rummages and tears, throwing everything into loose piles, desperate for a small glass bottle of smoke.

I calmly get up and admire her bent posture. Not as good as Alessandra's but certainly beautiful. The way she sways, every movement a locking mechanism for the rest of her body. She is an automaton, forged and slotted and pieced together with circuit and servo. But I have a mission now. It's in the fridge. Technically, it doesn't have to be, per manufacturer's instructions, so long as the seal is still in place. I don't trust that. I don't trust that at all. It's like the expiration date on milk. Apparently, it's still good for a few days after, but I just don't trust it.

She is still rummaging, still frantically burrowing for any sign of the glorious red and she has found nothing. I clear my throat and hold it up. As quickly as she left, she is back, like nothing ever happened.

"So, what does it do to you," she says, "It gave me the range and the control for my little trick. But I'm not sure what your next level is. What's everybody's now that I think about it?"

"Violence just got a little pick me up to help with her back," I say, "Not enough to push her over the edge. It's been a while, but I think she can put larger stuff in her pockets and a little bit of a boost to her senses. She says it's like she's watching everything, even herself in slow motion. I don't think Doppel's ever taken it, so who knows? Maybe he can make lady Doppels. Finally get himself a girlfriend."

"Sunday?"

"Dude's old. Like really old. Like older than you think old. Like older than you're thinking now old. Even I'm not sure. Probably has something to do with this in his system.

"And you?"

"You'll find out in literally a moment. One sec. Gotta brace myself. It doesn't go down smooth."

Deep breath in, deep breath out, the top's been popped off. It's tantalizing, the little glitter of red in a bottle, just enough to get it confiscated on an airplane. Before I can realize what I am doing, it's down the hatch and I feel it hit my stomach.

I don't like the first hit of it. It's too strong, like my stomach lurches forward a foot and drags the rest of me with it. A shack, a thunderbolt, an entire storm races through my limbs once it starts to dissolve into me. I get that iron after taste coming back up, salt and metal and heat. My body is too small for me now. My limbs need to be longer, shoulders broader, more of me to house the bulging well of canned heat. I cough, once, twice, three times before it all settles down and the pressure evenly distributes around me.

It settles. It takes a bit, a few minutes of gray settling in and out without my full control. It has been a while since I've imbibed. But it's in me now, letting me ride the fire.

"Well, your hard again," Hannah says, "That's good. Probably could have just gotten some pills for that, instead of old man blood. But yeah. Want to take me from behind now?"

"Give me your hand," I say. There's an echo to it, like I said it again a second before, a second after. Now, it comes now, but now is forever and always so it is always being said, always was said, always will be said.

She gives me her hand and I squeeze a bit. Nervous, I am oddly nervous. Been a good long while since I tried this trick and even then, it was only for a bit, relatively speaking.

I take the moment and slip into the gray. She comes with me.

It takes her a moment to realize what happened. My frozen time moves again and it carries Hannah up and off the couch, looking around in utter bewilderment. I am forgotten again, my eagerness, my desire. The entire world, everything, every possible thing that is now is now hers. Mine. Ours.

"What the fuck?" she says to herself.

"That's what it does," I say, "Welcome. This is what I do. You can move stuff, but when you stop touching, it stops. Watch."

I take a pillow from the couch and slowly lift it. When it's well and fully up in the air, I take my hand away. It hangs in the air, frozen in its new position, time not fully catching up with what I want to do.

"So," I say, "What do you think? Kind of fun, isn't it?"

She's engrossed with the hanging pillow, nudging it and letting hang, completely enraptured by the ack of gravity that has seemingly infected the world.

"Why is it gray?" she asks.

"No clue. Just kind of what it is. Stopped really noticing."

"I have so many questions. Like so many. What's the limit? How long can you go? Is there like a boundary? How are we breathing?"

"There's still air, right? Just cause I stop the world doesn't mean it stops existing. I think. I could also just be pulling so much of this out of my ass. Do you want to take a walk or something? I mean, we can stay here, but there are a bunch of better spots I know."

"Absolutely. Just let me get dressed?"

"Why? Not like anyone's going to see you. I'm going out like this."

---

Windstep came to in the back of the squad car. Not the first time, but it still was an odd feeling. Not bad odd, the rumble of the engine was probably good for his spine. Kinks and knots falling away, keeping the whole thing loose. Nothing pulled this time, but still, better to keep everything limber and spry. It was odd to see a black clad figure staring down at him through mirrored lenses. Blonde hair, just a stray lock, poked through the fabric, but no split ends. Good for them. Part of the reason he kept his all stubbly.

"I'm still down for mouth to mouth if you are," he said, "I can pretend to be out if that makes it easier."

No response, but it pulled away and gave a thumbs up. Not to him. To someone else, another black clad figure. So, these were the Droogs. Kind of easy to tell what they were like this. Usually all done up as civilians when Violence went out and about. Droogs in a squad car and him on the floor. And he was handcuffed. Not good. Well, maybe. No, these were the metal cuffs. Not good. Definitely not good.

And there was an Alizarin behind the wheel. Doing quite well, to his surprise. Better than his first time behind the wheel and miles ahead of Evan's. She only gave slight nudges to the other cars on the street instead of out and out monster truck crushing them. No bug buddy, but the Droogs kept an eye on him.

"Just to keep my nerves down," he said, "What's the game plan? Ransom? Torture? Torture and then ransom? Cause I haven't looked at the books, but I know we don't have ransom money right about now."

"We're going to talk," she said, and, holy hell, there's a quaver in there. Poor thing is nervous. Hard to be nervous when you're in the behemoth that is the squad car, but she managed. And that made him nervous by proxy.

"So, fun fact, we can actually do that right now. And you can make the Droogs go away if you want some privacy."

"No, we can't. Kind of have to do it in front of someone."

"Still, we can do it now. A Droog is a someone. I think. Are you guys someone, or is it like a Doppel Gang thing?"

"Not that someone. Needs to be a specific someone. We're almost there. Hungry?"

"Little bit. Kind of in the mood for Mexican."

She laughed and that made him feel better. A little. If she was laughing, then that meant she was in a good mood. And if she was in a good mood, then less bad things would probably happen to him. The waiver a bit at the end didn't reassure, him, but he chose to believe. Ken didn't like it when bad things happened to him. Alizarin took another corner and nudged a sedan out of the way. It honked and she honked back. The squad car won its right to a parking spot.

A Droog redid the handcuffs and now he could actually stand up. But he couldn't run. A Droog on each arm kept him moving and kept the peace. He really had no intention of running. There was a restaurant in front of him and there was the implication of a free meal. No sense in running from the implication.

There was a bit of guilt at the fact that simply walking in with Alizarin and a handful of Droogs made the good diners uncomfortable. So uncomfortable in fact, that most of them just left, knocking on the plastic chili lights and leaving no tip. He wasn't sure which was worse. Probably the tip thing. Definitely the tip thing.

"Ok guys," she said, "You can go now. Um, do I tip you now? Is that a thing? Does Violence handle all of that?"

The thought passed between all of them about the tip, but a nod later and they decided that it was better just to leave.

"So, I guess Violence just handles that. Um, yeah, yeah. Ok. See you later, I guess? Will there be an after party? Do I need an invitation? Don't answer. I'll figure it out."

"Nice group of guys," Windstep said, "Ever think about getting a gang like that?"

"Not really. Taita's thing, not mine. Give me a sec. Just need to get my head on straight. Kind of a big thing for me. And sorry if this gets awkward."

"Don't worry, we're already there."

"Fine. Awkwarder."

She took a deep breath and he took the opportunity to take a seat and a clean table. His head still hurt and he had a hard day. This place probably did margaritas too. Get a pitcher, bring over Evan and Hannah, make a night of it.

"Mama," she said, "Mama."

A wonderfully attractive woman came out from the kitchen. And she was furious. Not at him, but he still felt the need to apologize. Alizarin kept her spine straight, somehow. Even as she took off the mask.

He didn't even try to keep up. He knew Tagalog and some Japanese, but not a lick of Spanish. So, he just let it all wash over him and snagged a menu from the other table. Never heard of pupusa, but it sounded good. Came with a red sauce that was probably super spicy. And there was a star next to the carnitas. That meant they were good.

The argument settled into a tense silence for a long moment. Then Alizarin said something else that kept the silence going. The chips should be out here by now. Kind of a bad sign when a Mexican place didn't bring out the chips and salsa fast enough. Bigger things, bigger things on his mind. In the kit, so head in the game and not the way that her hips swing and ass moved with every little step. Almost as good as Evan's. She sighed again and takes the seat across from him. Her mother kept watch like an angry, judgmental hawk.

"So," Alizarin said, hazel eyes darting to his for a moment before wilting back down, "So."

"So."

"Um, my real name is Alessandra."

"Ken. Not the smartest move, but my head's still reeling from your drop kick. Good form by the way. Deadman tries to pull those off, but he's not a highflyer."

A little bit of a smile. The mother glowered at her a bit harsher. Alessandra soldiered on.

"So, I've been doing some thinking and I want to switch sides. Apparently, that's a thing you can do."

Ken sat back and pressed his spine to the worn cushions of the booth. A hand went to the side of his face and pulled down the hood, taking the sewn in cloth over his eyes with it.

"That is a thing you can do," he said, "So, sell me on it. And what do you recommend? I actually am kind of hungry."

---

I was right. Wearing the boots with the stockings just feels so weird. It works, cause socks and shoes always go together, no matter the specifics, but still. Just doesn't feel quite right. Definitely beats trading concrete barefoot. The tatters hanging around my waist, exposing myself to the myriad crowds frozen still doesn't help. I said I would go out like this and I did, but perhaps I might have said a bit more than I was willing to back up.

To my relief, Hannah shares some of that same shyness. It's just weird. There are eyes of strangers and the body is naked. It's incredibly hard not to feel some sense of self-conscious at the fact.

The wonder, though, the wonder at a city still, quiet, trapped in the gray amber of my will, that is still something. No amount of unease or anxiety can really diminish that. The world is still, so still. Cars on the street forever trapped at a red light. People forever hurry to an appointment they will always be late for. Birds defying gravity even without the help of their blasphemous wings.

"Why," Hannah asks. She had the sense to put on shoes as well. All the lust induced passion in the world can't ignore shards of broken glass in the heel.

"They stopped," I say, "They wanted to do things today and I said no. So, they didn't. And now we're walking to the park. Naked. Mostly naked. You more so than me, but not by all that much, really.

"No, I mean, why now? Why not in the Hall? You had the vials. You could have done this and made the whole plan kind of moot."

I sigh and squeeze her hand.

"Did you feel better after we plugged in the dongle?"

"It's a flash drive, but yeah. I did."

"Did you feel better talking with Alessandra and Sylvia, going to Solar's mansion, stealing his bike, which I assure, I will learn to drive one day? Meeting with Doppel?"