Paresthesia Pt. 01

"Evan," she says in my ear, the very word carrying her energy and echo. And she is on top of me, taking me inside of her. I gasp and the white almost consumes me whole, leaving me gasping and breathless before I steal the moment.

I had to. She's looking into me with the blue eyes that are gray and if I stayed there an instant longer, this would have gone into the ether all around us, gone forever. This, this right here, with me inside her, eyes locked and burning, the sensation constant and strong, this is the one I can keep forever in my pocket. But soon the gnaw in my stomach grows again. The vibrations of concussive waves have stopped, and I want more of that. I cannot have the waves in the gray time. They are incompatible, completely, and utterly. Sure, the pressure is there, but I cannot move. I cannot move, because that would break the contact, break the pressure and touch from the moment and make it less than what it already is. And it pulls me back from the brink, back from my own release, calms me down and resets the clock. I do not want this moment to end, and I want the next one to hurry as well. A few more deep breaths, a soft kiss on her lips and I give the moment back.

"Hannah," I reply. It's nice to say her name, just as it is nice to have mine said. It fits good in the mouth, the tongue and the lips morphing together to form the sounds. She presses her lips to my collar, and I hear my name rumble throughout my entire body.

Even the interior is covered in the ministrations of the blast waves, adding more vibration to the act. I can feel her weight collide with my, bone to bone. And it never stops. Always moving, always writhing, on me, around me as I am in her. She moans. She never stops, even as she clenches and tightens. I moan too, and she laughs, pure and joyful and ecstatic that this is finally happening.

I thrust with her movements. But there is not an ounce of rhythm in the act, just movement. I try to find something, anything to latch onto, but there is just the constant sensation and grip. Hannah kisses me and I kiss her, but then it's gone. I feel my hand on her chest, but then it left. Her hip, her stomach, her ass, her thigh, all together and muddling together into a mass of pleasure. She moves her hips, and I can tell that much, circles, and dips and rises. But nothing lasts. It all just collapses into a moment that I live through, survive through really. A living earthquake enveloping me, singing my praises through rapture and ecstasy and I can only hold on.

I manage to sit up, bracing my back against the will, both upright and straight, pushing chest to chest to share in the sensation. It's getting stronger, the thrumming vibration in her core, harder and harder and harder. The bed protests. The windows rattle and shake. A thin stream of dust comes from the ceiling, pooling at the corner. Hannah stains my lap with her release, and I cannot last.

"Soon, soon," I manage to grunt through the tectonic shifts of the planet.

And all the sensations around me stop and for a brief, glorious moment, it all collapses into my length, before I climax into her. She refuses to stop the shake, only turn it down, make it gentle and calm again, coaxing as much as I can give out of me and into her. Warm, warm skin and flushed cheeks and she is buried in my neck, laughing at the pure joy of my release.

Her legs are shaking against mine, not in the same way, not in the manifested detonations of her will. They are simply giving out. They've had enough for one day, despite what the rest of the body may feel. I can't feel my legs at all. The bone may be powder by now from what I can tell. My stomach is sore and aching as the last of my flow is pushed out. Hollow, I feel hollow. I put a hand over my eyes and wipe away the sweat. She kisses me again, collar to neck to cheek to lips, tasting my skin as I taste hers.

"I needed that," she murmurs, "I needed that so fucking bad."

She rolls off of me and collapses. There is no strength left in either of us. I can only focus on getting my breath back.

"Wow," I say.

"All that, and all you can say is 'wow?'"

"I'm amazed I can talk at all, really. Where did you pull that little trick from?"

"I mean, I've used something like that on myself a couple of times and it works pretty good. So, I figured if you used your little trick on me, why not use my trick on you?"

"That's dangerous."

"Hell yeah it is. And it was the best."

She's panting too, sweat shining in the evening sun. It's still evening. It might be the same one, or it might be the one a thousand later than my last remembered. It was at least almost night, though, the orange and the yellow and the red losing utterly to the dark blue black of night. A full moon hung in the sky, heavy and milk pale.

"You mind if I stay," Hannah asks. I find a forehead to kiss. She doesn't let me pull away.

"Not at all. Thinking about getting a pizza."

That perks her up. It perks me up too.

Shame she wasn't there in the morning.

---

I feel loose. Good loose. The arms and legs fit just right, and they can bend farther than I thought they could. All the tension's good. Mostly. There's always some lingering in the fringes. And it's my first time working with someone new. Bloody Sunday's been laying low for the past little while. My bank job plus some other lucrative business ventures had paid off handsomely, so he and his merry band were set for a good long while. Unfortunately for me, that means I have to go with some of my less than favorite picks.

Ultra-Violence wanted to rob a museum and those are always fun. A good date place, really. Looking at beautiful things with a beautiful person at your side. It made sense. And she told me that I get to keep any painting I want from the haul, so not a bad deal. It might be a nice gift, now that the thought occurs to me.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I shout the congregation, "I hope you are all enjoying this wonderful afternoon. I am Beat Down and I'm here to make it a little bit worse."

The people go silent as I thump the baseball bat against my shoulder. Personally, I think the bat does a better job at intimidation on a personal level. A gun is better at inciting mass panic, but if there's a man in a worn leather jacket and a giant mohawk with a dented metal bat in his hand, that's something primal. Something targeted and controlled and directed. No heroes here, though. Just me and a bat, a smattering of paint on canvases, and some Droogs running around the back halls, herding everyone into the central hall, under the sky lights.

The sun seems to grow brighter and brighter and I sigh. I don't want this guy to show up. I want someone a little more fun, but I can't really fault the guys in charge for switching the match ups every so often. But still, anyone other than him. I shield my eyes for a moment, just before the light grows brightest. In a flash, stands a golden man with a granite jaw and a smile that is begging me to give it a few less teeth.

He laughs. He tries, quote, unquote, tries to hide it. He doesn't do a very good job.

"You," he chuckles, "The punk faggot? I was hoping for Violence. At least she's nice to look at. But you? They pay me too much for this."

Before he can make another noise, I steal the moment and turn him gray. He gets a baseball bat to the temple for the trouble. But he's too fast. He still has some shades in the gray. I manage to clip him though, and even a glance from a homerun swing leads to reeling and flailing. Captain Solar recovers quick enough. And of course, he tries to start again like he didn't just take a bat to the noggin.

"That the best you can do, you little shit? Come on. I'll give you a free one."

I don't give him any response. I just twirl the bat and look to the Droogs. They're frozen in the shadows, keeping the peace with the silent crowd. Never any good in a straight up fight, but that's not what they're paid to do. One of them is rummaging in a bag for something. So many things in those bags.

Solar gets bored and launches towards me, a streak of light behind him. I get the bat in front of me, and it takes a good chunk of the blow off. I stay standing and swaying, cock sure and grinning. It's the mask on me now. It will take more than the gentle caress of a warm day to take it off of me.

"Really," he sighs, "You got nothing? I know you. Blast Hole gets a song and dance, and I don't even get an introduction. You've broken the sanctimonious trust of civilization. Going after artworks of our fallen masters. You can't make these with a spray can."

Something skitters across the floor and I owe a Droog a drink. It's a mirror, a little hand mirror for clutch bags and gaudy clubs. But it's still a mirror.

"Oh please," I sigh, "None of these are worth anything anymore. I think they use that one over there to sell sodas now. You can buy each of these paintings by the dozen at the gift shop. Hang 'em in a dorm room so the drunk sorority chick thinks you have some class. It's all just meaningless cookie cutter manufactured shit now. Just like you."

I don't know if that irks him, but I hope it does. And it does get him to take another swing at me, but I have my lucky mirror now. He punches the glass and shies away, once bitten. The mirror's shattered now, but I made my point. He shakes out his hand and shakes his head.

"That trick again," he says.

"It works," I shrug, "And as long as it keeps working, I'll keep using it. You'll never change."

Another one comes skittering across the cold tile, but he nabe it before I can make everything still. He crushes it into dust, and I am just waiting now. The pull in my stomach is back and I can go again whenever I want. Just have to pick the right moment.

"Just let me beat on you for a bit, brat," he laughs, "It'll do me some good."

A boom shatters the skylight into a glittering snow shower, and I feel my heart skip a beat. As the glass falls, Hannah stands and throws out her hair. She's cut it. Shorter now, combed up like a battering ram cutting the wind, and jet black. And the cape's gone. Solar tries and actually smothers a laugh. The momentum carries her for a bit amid the broken glass, stopping just shy of a collision. She's still in those terrible heels.

"Blast Hole," Solar says, "What're you doing here? And what have you done to your hair? You look... handsome. Seriously, go home. You'd just get in the way."

Hannah holds out her hand and lays her fingertips on his chest. A wave rocks through the soles of her feet, traveling up the lithe spine, down the arm. She curls the hand into a fist and a shockwave scatters the glass, kicking up another hailstorm. Solar shoots back and hits a wall. She sighs an ugly breath, rasping and deep and primal from the depths of her stomach.

"Blast Hole, you bitch," Solar stammered, "What was that? I told them. I told everyone. You were never cut out for this. This is why women-"

Another shockwave snatched his words away and threw him to the other wall.

"That felt so good," she said, "Hey, Beat. Do you want to hit him again?"

She comes over and stands by my side. I feel the clench in my stomach and the world goes gray.