Paresthesia Pt. 01

Stomach, I go for the stomach. Flat and hard, toned, and pliable and lithe, and finally I break the rules and go up past the imaginary boundary that separates me from the gentleman. I find her breast over the thin fabric. Just like the rest of her, hard things, springy and supple, gentle rises on her chest to add texture to her overall frame, stealing none of the spotlight. This was what I always had difficulty with. Every part of her leads into the next. Stomach to breasts to neck to shoulders to back, all rolling and waving like the wind into one another. Even in the stopped time, she is motion, and me halting the world does not halt her. She always flows, gentle curves and suggestions to keep moving, never stopping at one place for too long. Light, I keep everything light and airy, matching her own suggestions with my own. There are still places I avoid, turns taken on the obvious road. I savor the neck though, the nexus of so much. Up to her chin, down to her shoulders and their end of the road, down in a different way to her back and the gentle ridges of her muscle, and down yet another way to the obvious.

I let the moment slip and she shudders again as the sensation registers. Her breath catches and she doesn't quite get the words out. I think she said thigh. I'm going to go with thigh and if she has a problem with that, then we can always keep playing.

"That's cheating," Hannah grumbles.

"I'm the villain here," I say.

"Keep going."

I wait a moment, just to get the kick back and I nod. She spends a long, long time thinking and I am forced to keep my hands to myself. It's really the only punishment she can give to me. But I am patient and calm and if she doesn't pick something soon, I will pick something for her and that will be the end of that.

Her lips part and the world goes gray.

I sidle behind her, pressing my stomach into her back, matching our forms as best I can. Just as lithe, thin, and straight as her, broader in some places, narrower in others. It's odd how close in build we are. Differences, sure, but the same template applied over different bases. I go for the hips, finding the swell and dip there, tracing it up and down under my palms, venturing forth to her thighs. I circle my hands around and trace up before pausing.

It's always a gamble to play that card, either stopping the game into awkward silence, both not really willing to go forward after that. I always feel bad, but she always comes back to play again. I've talked to her about the limits and she said that as long as everything remains on, it's okay. And that it stops when she says it stops. Rules and such are meant to be broken, but not by me, not like this. It would change the way the bank robberies went, the stick ups and the alleyway brawls, the grand heists, the daring escapes, all would dull and wither without someone to play along with. I am hard and that makes rational thought a little more difficult than I care to admit. I want. I certainly want to delve my hands into the gap and see the face she makes, the deep red blush in the twilight, and the stammered words that would come next. Her eyes would widen in a moment of shock as she realizes what I have done.

I go for it, trailing my hand up and up and up, slowly grinding my palm just above her entrance. Slowly, back, and forth, back, and forth, back, and forth, feeling the muscle and the flesh and the bone in her body, exploring her as best I could. I finish with a trailing finger underneath, a long stroke down the valley and leave it at that. The clay sculpture in the gray sunset does not move. Nothing happened from her perspective. It still has to happen to her, and I can't take it back. Roll the dice and see where they land.

She shudders again, gasping a little in the moment that follows. Even with all that coming, it still always takes another little gap for the brain to catch up with the rest of the body. Her legs twitch and buckle and I hold my breath for her reaction. She lets out a shaky sigh and then grins.

"Crotch," she says and shrugs her shoulders.

"Tie breaker then?" I suggest.

"Sort of. Could you do it, but not do your thing with it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Like, be here, with me, when you do, you're move. Don't stop the moment, or snatch it, or steal it or whatever you say it is you do. Just stay here."

I oblige and she shuts her eyes, still preserving the mystery of my actions. Despite everything, I'm nervous as the moment slips on by without my stop gap will. I'm nervous, deep in my stomach, despite the smile trying to escape her lips and my own eagerness to finally do it.

"Are you sure?" I ask. I have to ask.

"Evan, I'm sure. Long day and I feel like it. If you don't- "

"No, I do. I do. Just, you never asked for it like this before. And I don't want to read to read too much into it."

"Touch me."

I take a deep breath and steel myself. It's the same. It's just the same, except now the statue responds to my grasp and I can see the blush creep on the skin. She moves so much like this, pushing back into my hands, finding her own spots to fondle through me. And she sighs a lot. It's calming to hear her breath so heavy, like ocean waves inside of her, coming in and going out. Subtle things, really, that I couldn't pick up on in the stillness. When I go to her hips, she sashays a little, moving away before trying to press in more. When I go to her chest, she presses back hard. When I go to her thighs, she freezes then melts.

Her hand goes to my thigh and I jump. Hannah laughs a little, a trilling bird song in our concrete jungle. But she keeps it there and I press into her. It tingles, sparks trailing from her fingers, and suddenly I try and shift my pelvis away, hiding my hardness from her. She follows and sighs again, the noise growing darker in her throat before it escapes. She breaks away and I can't touch her anymore.

"I knew you always got hard when we did this," she whispers.

"What did you think would happen?" I say. I keep trying to shift, to hide it all.

"I don't know. Do you remember when we first started doing this?"

"You wanted to know if I did things to you while I had my moments. And you were curious what I felt like. That was back in the Junior League, though."

"Yeah, but you never, like, did anything with it once we tried. So, I thought that you weren't interested."

"I wasn't going to grope you while I robbed a bank. I just steal things."

She moves closer to me again and Hannah and I kiss. She breaks away first and I don't know what to think anymore.

"Evan, you are the one part of my day I actually look forward to. This, this is fun. And I like it. I like you."

The words are out of her mouth not even a moment and I kiss her, pressing our bodies together again and I feel ecstatic. She knows, it's poking her in her stomach and she doesn't care. Her fingers dig into my back as I hold her head still. Good moment. A really, really good moment as we join under the setting sun.

"Maybe it is time I made some changes," she hums into me. Hannah nips my ear and gropes my ass. She has a strong grip, stronger than I thought she did.

"Do you want to keep playing," I say.

"Yeah, but switch with me."

"How's that going to work?"

"Do you care?"

I decided that I did not, not really. The whole game theory kind of went out the window with the kiss. It shattered on the ground when she palmed my crotch and started circling her palm along the outline. Her eyes are so blue, better than the sky and the sea, so mesmerizingly blue. I can't look away. I can't steal this moment, because then the blue would be gone. I feel her hand against my skin as she slips it down, slow, so slow, finding the base and I cannot suppress my grunt. I can't. My own breath catches with a simple touch.

It's been longer than I care to admit since I've been touched and I don't remember hands being that soft, that tickling, that curious. And since the rules are out the window, I realize that the turns don't matter as much anymore. So, I touch her as well. I stay on her chest, still over her costume as I rub back and forth, back, and forth. She twitches and sighs before she giggles and leans her head into my shoulder, still going up and down, up, and down. I don't remember everything being so sensitive, everything being so soft and responsive. It's nice, not having the stillness and calm to lose myself in. I lose myself in the motion, in the movement of both of us against one another.

I slip my palms under the fabric and find bare skin and she stops for a moment. She undoes the button and the zipper, and I am exposed. I shove aside the top and do the same to her. She kisses me again and moves away, taking all of her down and out of my reach. Shame, I wanted to keep touching her, but now I can run my hands through her hair. A victory of a sort when she presses her scalp into my hand. She undresses me and lets the clothes fall to the ground in a pool of useless denim. I can feel her quick breath on me, short gusts that get me twitching. More kisses and more touches and my knees feel weak, so weak, but I cannot falter.

Her lips are soft as they wrap around. Her tongue swirls and licks and laps and I can't control my legs anymore. They are shaking. She is making me quake and I cannot look into her eyes because the moment I do is the moment they give out. I cannot stand that blue as it normally is. I would wither and melt should they have a mischievous glimpse of triumph over my pleasure at her hand. I cannot look down, so instead I focus on the open sky and the clouds, blue and orange and purple at the fringes desperately combating the darkness creeping up at the other horizon. There is nothing of great importance down here, nothing of weak knees and skilled tongues and twitching flesh. My stomach flinches as she starts to feel there. My stomach twitches and writhes from her motions and I cannot control myself anymore.

She stops for a moment and her hand finds mine, taking it to the top of her head and making it grip her hair. I continue once she's gone back to the act. She's humming now and I swear I know the song, the melody, the tune, but the soft silk in my hands, threating to slip through like snow melt and the caress of wet muscle occupies my mind.

I grunt and huff and the breath become difficult to control. My hips start twitching and moving and my hands grip harder and harder.

"Soon," I hiss through gritted teeth, "Soon."

She pulls away and stops, leaving me twitching and bucking against the empty air for the briefest of moments as I try and regain some amount of control over myself.

"Been a while then," she says, "I don't want this to end right now. I want some fun too."

She kisses my thigh and gets another twitch along my length for the trouble. I hate her a little bit, honestly, for the selfish lack of my own release. I could keep going after. Maybe. Probably. But she pulls me down before any of the urges strike me again. I find comfort in her chest, nipping and kissing and licking just as she did to me. She doesn't grunt, but she sighs and squeaks a little, holding the noises back inside of her as I throw away more and more of the pesky costume. Whoever designed this damn thing didn't really have easy removal in mind when it was sewn. But it comes off enough, and she is exposed just as I am.

I steal a glance towards her eyes. My heart stops, just for a moment, as I see everything mischievous and devious and dark simmering just below the surface. I shouldn't have looked but I did, and I don't regret it in the slightest. It was all worth it. I descend as she rises, and I am in front of her, all of her, dripping and open and eager.

I fill myself with her taste and her hands immediately go to my hair, gripping and pulling and twisting to get me closer, and closer and closer to her. Just as before, I can feel the shift and grind and flex of everything else in her body, now in motion. I touch her stomach and I can feel her arms tense. I touch her thigh and her chest tightens. I touch my tongue to her entrance and her breath stops in her throat. I lick and fondle, groping and touching and kneading. She hisses and gasps and groans at my touch.

"Take the moment," she says. And I obey. The color is gone, the red and the tan and the blonde hair and the blue eyes, but I remain. I do not stop, gently moving her and pleasuring her without the guidance. I do not need it because I take all of her. I take all of it in my exploration, every fold, every crease, every hidden depth with tongue and finger and lip and teeth. I do not know how long I stay like that, in the gray, in her, devouring her at my leisure. I'm sure it's not too long, although I could stay here forever. I part and touch and stroke and penetrate, again and again, until I've had my fill.

I step away and count to three. A little bit of reason came back from the act, and this might not be what she wanted. It's always somewhat of a crap shoot on how things go after the color comes back. The baseball bat to the stomach tended to get the same result no matter the circumstance. And I'm not sure how she'll react, but there's only one way to find out. I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding. The world rights itself from my will and the color flows once more.

Her eyes go wide, so wide I think they will escape her skull. And her body goes into a massive spasm, rocking her entire body, trying to rip itself in half as the nerves finally realize what happened in a single moment. An entire session condensed into less than a second and her mind can't quite process what happened. Her legs gave out and I rush to catch her.

Mangled syllables and half words pour from her throat, damning me and exalting me in equal measure, dragging on and on in unrepentant babble as her leg's spasm and quake, making a mess of the rooftop. I just cradle her shoulders, stroke her hair, and wait. It's no small amount of bewildered pride that courses through my body. Useful, certainly, but definitely devious to a degree I'm not sure I'm comfortable with. But she rides it out, trembling and cursing and loving as the seconds turn to minutes turn to hours turn to infinity.

Hannah calms down with labored breaths. She glances up, into me, staring past me, into me, completely at peace with who I am, what I am.

"That is dangerous," she says, "Were your eyes always that green?"

"I think so. Haven't looked in a mirror lately. You doing alright?"

She took a hand to my cheek and managed another kiss, softer this time, spent and exhausted from the administrations of the long instant.

"I owe you, Evan. Big time," she said.

"Yeah, you do."

She huffs something.

"Give me a minute. And you have a downstairs to this place, right? I don't want to do this on a roof. That can be down the list. Help me up."

I don't help her as much as she just uses me like a ladder. She wobbles a bit before steadying herself and finding her clothes and donning them in some manner that could be considered proper. I dress as best I can as well, still hard, still uncomfortably stiff against the denim and the cotton. For all the power in my grasp, awkward movement when aroused still hampers everything. Hannah leans on me, more for closeness than weakness by now. Her energy was coming back now that she was moving, and her gaze kept going over my bare chest, again and again. I kept a hand to her hip as I led her downstairs.

Technically, this warehouse isn't quite abandoned. I hold the deed, but I don't think I bought it. But the top level, the foreman's office, that is a home, furnished and heated and carpeted with all the amenities that I can smuggle in through the service elevator. That is something I particularly appreciate about this place. I don't have to lug a couch up a rickety flight of stairs. I have an elevator for that.

"How is this place better than mine," Hannah says.

"Crime pays," I respond, "And Bloody Sunday has some nice connections with furniture. I think that desk is Sri Lankan ebony."

She sighs and collapses on the bed, sprawled, and spread without a care in the world.

"This is wasted on you really. Could you get some water, please?"

I shrug. Can't say I disagree. I go to the sink and get two glasses of water and while my back is turned, I hear an odd thump that I'm not sure I want to know the source of. And then it happens again, and again and again, before settling into a constant barrage of thumps and hits against the inside of my head like a palm top earthquake. I turn and find Hannah looking down to her hands, still and innocent.

"Was that you?" I say. She just shrugs and takes the glass. It was her. It had to be her. I sit down next to her and she almost immediately shoves me onto my back, a deep boom reverberating around my ribs. The wind is knocked out of me and she fills my mouth with hers before I can take a breath. She still tastes good, so good, sweet, and warm and gentle, power thrumming through her lips and into my skull. It's intoxicating, that hum, that buzz as it just keeps going round and round and round my body. My hands find her back and they find the skin thrumming there, her spine alight with gentle waves of energy.

She breaks away and moves down, her skin rumbling and shaking. The air slowly fills my lungs again as she moves. Hannah holds up a hand. A series of overlapping shockwaves, no bigger than a dime, radiate from her fingertips and then the hand is gone. It's on my thigh, or it's her thigh, or its every part of her detonating simultaneously into me, weaving through muscle and bone and skin. Every part of me is connected through her. My thigh leads to my shoulder, chest to neck, stomach to shin, an immense pool of stimulation and sensation that forces my mind white. There is nothing else but that, the massage of explosion on my body.

And then she grips me. All those points collapse into a singular event horizon in her palm. I twitch and spasm and the rumbles take jumps in her chest. She is laughing, and I laugh too.

"What was that about me being dangerous?" I say before a deep groan settles in my chest. She keeps her hand on the tip, going over it again and again with a single finger. My sack rests in her other ball, subject to the same ministrations of vibration.

"We're all dangerous, Evan," she says, "I think you like it though."

"Oh god yes. I like it."

I groan again, my control leaving me and going into her. Long strokes and lingering touches, up and down, up, and down as the rest of her body moves against my own. Thigh to thigh, belly to belly, chest to chest, arm to arm, then mixed and matched all over again. I touch her, the lean muscle springing back into my hand as I touch. Her entire body is thrumming against me and I don't want to lose the sensation. Her skin is pale, so pale, and smooth and tight. Everything about her is tight and gripping and shifting around me. I hold on to the bouncy flesh as it drags me down into the deep quake rumbles of the earth.

She licks and kisses everything, just as I find my mouth exploring her body as well. The detonations have even found their way to the tip of her tongue, exploding song of tactile against my skin. They found their way into my mouth as well, jittering my teeth and quickening the thoughts that are only white against a desolate background of her movements.

"You're so smooth," she manages to get through the shift, "And you're so hard. And your skin's so soft, Evan. Hair's still needs a bit of a work. But I like it. I can't stop touching you."

She can't. She really can't. Always finding new paths, like I found on her. Chest to shoulder to back to stomach to thigh to everything everywhere, accompanied by that maddening thrum of explosive energy. All of it is inside of her and I can feel it move. And she's smiling in the release, the constant, euphoric release of energy from her body. More words in my skull that carry message but no meaning, and I give them back.