The Cosplay Mix-Up

Dean pushed his way through a lobby crowded with wedding guests and slipped back out onto the streets. Cold wind tore through his dress shirt and froze at the corners of his eyes. His coat was still buried in luggage on the other side of town. It was a lost cause now.

He hunched over and pushed across the barreling wind, lighting a cigarette from behind a cupped hand as he moved.

It was New York City in December, and the streets were overflowing with Midwestern tourists and young kids out on the town. They were dressed even less appropriately for the weather than he was. But, he thought, at least they had a Santa hat to cover their ears.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He debated letting it go, but wanted the distraction.

"Fuck, it's cold," he muttered as a greeting.

"Really? It's seventy over here. What's it gonna get down to tonight?"

"It already is night here," Dean told him. "They're three hours ahead."

"Ah, right. Well, fair enough. You on your way?"

Dean came to a halt and flipped his phone back to the map. He spun in place for a few steps as he scowled at the screen, waiting for the icon to catch up. After a moment, he headed onward again.

"Yeah, I'm on my way," he muttered.

"I'll let them know."

The line disconnected without another word. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, spat the half-spent cigarette into a tray, and descended down the steps of the subway.

He took the stairs as quickly as he dared, shaking the cold out of his limbs as he went. The speakers overhead announced his train's arrival, and he dashed toward the front of the line, where the empty cabins seemed to lay.

The doors opened, and he found no one inside, save for a pair of elderly women huddled over some luggage in the back. He was panting for breath as he collapsed into an empty chair, already feeling the sweat bead beneath the hairs of his chest. He shut his eyes and laid his head against the wall, bouncing against it roughly as the car headed onward. Nineteen stops to go.

People came and went as they headed out of the city. It was mostly couples, but sometimes packs of unruly youths slipped in, dressed more and more outlandishly with every bunch. It took another dozen of them before he realized they were here for some sort of event. They were video characters, or cartoons, as best he could tell. They all seemed to be shouting at each other. Music was suddenly playing from somewhere. Awful, techno noise.

The car reeked of pot and hormones and unwashed bodies a little bit more with every stop. By the time he opened his eyes again, every seat was taken. Then the train came to a halt and twice as many piled in, everyone cramming together until the oxygen was gone.

Dean shut his eyes, trying to picture the taste of his last cigarette. A heavy blow to the side of his head jerked him back awake. He blinked around in a fury, searching for an attacker.

"Ah, sorry!" a high-pitched voice shouted into his ear.

He looked up at the mess of kids ahead until he found a pair of eyes looking back at him. Anger turned to confusion as he tried to process what she was wearing.

The girl had a bright blue wig that ended at her chin. Or he hoped it was a wig, at least. She had a green army jacket over a tight white shirt, a black mini-skirt beneath it, and white boots that ran all the way up her thighs. She looked like she weighed all of a hundred pounds, if you included the bag she had accidentally cracked his skull with. The bag would be accounting for a lot of it.

He rubbed at his face and, when he didn't find blood, he waved her off. She mouthed something at him in return, but he couldn't catch a word of it over the roar of noise around them.

"Who are you?" she said again, leaning in to shout into his ear. She pointed at his chest to make her point.

"Dean," he shouted back.

When he didn't hear her next words, she forced her way onto the bench beside him, pushing a young couple aside to make room for herself. The couple hardly seemed to notice as the girl wriggled in further and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"Dean from what?" she shouted.

That caught him off-guard. "I grew up in California?"

She gawked at him for a moment, then laughed to herself, as if he had missed the joke.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked, leaning back against the young couple again to show off her outfit.

He looked her up and down out of politeness. Then he realized it wasn't polite at all to be looking this young woman up and down. He shook his head grimly.

"I've only just met you," he explained.

"I'm Megan Marron," she shouted into his ear, grinning again. She was apparently waiting for that to trigger something from him. He looked over her wide mouth, and devious grin. If they had met before, he would remember her. That was certain.

"It's nice to meet you, Megan," he said with a nod. He shut his eyes again and leaned back against the wall.

"You weren't at the show, were you?" she pushed on. He shook his head without looking at her. "Then why are you here, Dean from California?"

He let his eyes slide open. He glanced around at the bodies around them. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. They likely couldn't have overheard him if they wanted to.

But he didn't much like the idea of someone seeing their conversation and getting the wrong idea. She wasn't half his age. He liked to think he wasn't a lech. He thought he could meet at least that standard. She blinked wide eyes at him expectantly, and he gave in once more.

"Business," he shouted. She shook her head, not hearing it. He leaned closer to her and shouted it again. The reek of pot was stronger against the nook of her neck. He could smell the musk of sweat, from a night spent partying, as well. And the sweet cherry blossom scent perfume beneath it.

She nodded back at him. "That sucks," she said, her smile widening again.

He nodded back.

"Are you all alone, too?" she asked, before he could pretend to try and sleep again.

He nodded. "Just me. One last stop to make. Then I gotta take the train back."

"Oh," she sighed. "We couldn't afford anything in the city, so my friends and I got a hotel here."

"These your friends?" he asked, nodding to the crowd of bodies around them.

She shook her head without looking. "They stayed. I broke the heel of my boot and was over it."

He glanced down at her scuffed but seemingly intact shoes.

"It's not completely gone, it's just about to go," she added.

"But they let you walk home alone? Out here?"

"I've done it before," she said defiantly.

He threw up his hands in what he hoped looked like apology and defeat. Everyone was fine until they weren't. What do kids know about that, though?

The crowd had dwindled to half again, then the car emptied entirely at the last stop. He helped Megan to her feet, watching her shoes for signs of trouble. They made their way up the stairs together through the ocean of bodies.

They were two streets down before they spoke again.

"Are you following me, or am I following you?" she asked, flipping her blue hair around as she shot him a glance. He watched the fog of her breath spill from her glossy lips, and his mind went blank.

He tried to light another cigarette to buy time, but the wind wasn't having it. He gave up and slowed a few steps behind.

"Just making sure you get there with both heels attached," he said casually.

"We just call that 'stalking'," she said, raising her voice loudly on the last word and flashing another devilish grin.

She seemed to be joking, but he had started to realize the same thing. He spun on his heels and headed quickly back. He made it three steps before her arm wound through his and she tugged him around again.

"I'm just teasing! You can stalk me."

His face turned grew hot, and he pulled his arm away from her, stuffing his hands safely back into his pockets for warmth.

"My very own knight in shining armor," she breathed, glancing at him from over her shoulder. "Here in the mean streets of New York, no less."

"Uh huh." It was all he could think to add.

"So, what else have you been up to out here, Mr. Dean? Where'd you go eat?"

He cast a glance down the street, and found it empty. Somehow, that made it seem worse.

Oh, it's not as bad as that, he thought. If anyone sees us together, they'll just assume she's your child.

He glanced over at her again, and watched her mini-skirt sway with every step of her bare legs.

Nope. They'll think she's my prostitute, he realized.

"I guess I've eaten a fair amount of room service," he admitted.

They made it two more blocks before the boot finally gave way, spilling the small girl forward. He caught her around the waist, then held her steady as she tried to walk. He watched her skid on the broken shoe, and stumble again.

"Hop up," he ordered, squatting down for her to climb on.

"Are you sure?" she asked. But she waited until she was settled aboard to ask.

Arms as smooth as silk slipped around his chest. He hardly felt the weight of her as he eased back up.

Her room wasn't much further ahead. It was a dingy-looking place that turned out to be a rental of someone else's apartment. The lobby was empty and he carried her to the elevator before letting her hop back off.

"My my," she said as she pressed the button for the eighth floor. "You're just inviting yourself right to my room, aren't you?"

His eyes widened as the doors shut closed. "I thought you needed help walking!"

"I know your games," she said, not looking up at him.

He knew she was teasing him again, but he needed it to be clear. "You couldn't walk," he reminded her.

"I'm not sure anyone believes that," she said as the doors sprang open again. She strode out into the hallway without help.

She made it two steps before spilling forward again.

He caught her quickly, and frowned as she limped her way toward the room with her hand around his arm. Another tenant was watching them from a few doors down. Dean gave the man a quick nod, which the stranger didn't return. The girl's door opened, and Dean followed her inside.

The room was tiny. Probably a palace for New York, though, he thought. The walls were dirty and peeling. The couch was older than he was, and took up the center of the place. There were two bunk beds against the far wall, and what looked like sleeping bags on the ground around the furniture. If he stretched, he could have touched the walls on both sides of the place.

He helped her take a seat on the couch and waited as she tenderly slipped off her long boots.

"Well, until next time, my dear," he said, striding back toward the door.

"You don't want to stay?" she asked, her voice suddenly filled with hurt as he reached for the door.

He knew in his bones not to look back. He did it anyway, and watched as the jacket slipped down from her pale shoulders.

His breath caught his throat as he took in the slim lines of her. He watched silently as she slipped the straps of her white shirt down her arms, peeling down the fabric until her small breasts spilled from the top. She glanced up at him bashfully, then pressed them together between her arms for him to enjoy. The little mounds could barely touch.

He took a step forward without thinking. His head shook to try and clear it. He managed to stop himself from moving closer.

She batted her eyelashes at him and he tried to think of what else to say. When he didn't respond, she slipped a small foot over the top of the couch. She had pink socks, he saw, as she curled her toes against the fabric.

"I know what I like," she said in a low voice. "And I know what I want."

He tried to keep his eyes on her face, but her breasts were all he could see. He could picture, with perfect clarity, how they would feel as he kneaded them beneath his hands. He could see the pale, pinks nipples hardening under his glare. He wanted them between his teeth.

She slipped her other long leg over the cushion and hopped over the back of the couch. She stepped across the sleeping bags toward him, her hips rocking as she moved. His eyes flickered back up to hers. She looked dangerous again.

His panting grew faster as she came to a stop before him. The hard knobs of her nipples dragged against his belly as she looked him over slowly and carefully. He looked up to the ceiling, hoping to find something there to save him, or to give him the willpower to back away from this young girl and run home.

The zipper of his pants dragged downward. He shivered, and the fight was lost.

His hands gripped around her head and pressed her further down, all gentleness forgotten. The warmth of her mouth engulf him, driving a groan out from the depths of his lungs. The wetness gripped a hard ring around his cock. His hands lashed out against the peeling wallpaper to hold him steady.

"Jesus," he moaned. He stiffened quickly, filling her small mouth in an instant. She took it in stride, sliding it down her throat easily.

He watched her blue hair pumping against him faster. His chest grew tight, he couldn't breathe. He was so close. His eyelids fluttered closed.

And then it stopped.

He stumbled for a moment, sucking in air. His eyes refocused and found her again. She was looking up at him with sweet, innocent eyes. Her chin was wet with drool, and she was panting as hard as he was.

"Take me to bed," she said, offering her hand up to him.

A momentary desire to refuse flickered through his head. To force her back onto his cock and take what he needed.

But he buried it down and helped her stand.

She led him by the hand back to one of the bunks and she laid down on her back. His mouth found hers and he thrust his tongue between her soft lips. He laid himself down between her legs as he basked in the sweet scent of her. He kissed his way down her tight belly as his hands pawed at her naked chest. Then his lips worked their way down past the smooth curve of her hip.

She gasped as he ripped the panties down her pale thighs.

He gasped as a cock bounced in the air between her legs, already glistening with pre-cum.

His mouth was open wide, ready to taste the sweet slit of her cunt, to drown himself in the raw, animal need. But there it was instead, swollen and shaved smooth. Four inches of dark red, uncut cock. It bobbed before his eyes.

Once again, he froze.

And, once again, she led the way.

She gripped him by the hairs of his head and pulled him into her lap. His lips stroked down the length of her, and she gasped the whole way.

His tongue was slicked from the seed that dribbled out of her. She moaned hard, and slapped a hand across her mouth to block the noise. With her other hand, she tugged him back and forth, guiding him to her pleasure.

It only took a moment. Her body trembled and seemed to collapse into the sagging mattress. A hard spray jutted against his tongue, and then against his throat. It still took another moment before he realized what was happening.

"Spit it on me," she moaned, her eyes shut tight in ecstasy as she rode out the last waves of rapturous joy.

If his mouth wasn't full, he might have asked for an explanation. But he was ready to spit it out. It had the oddly sweet taste of honey mixed with gamey animal stink.

She folded her cock against her belly and rolled her hips back. With one hand, she peeled aside a tight, round cheek of her ass. The brown folds of her hole came into view, and pre-cum spilled from his cock, leaving a cold, wet stain against his briefs.

He opened his mouth and let the mess inside spill down the crack of her.

She wasted no time in running her finger through the spit and creamy, white trails of cum. She wet the length of her tiny digit and pushed it inside her ass. Then she started to pull at the rim of it, spreading herself wider as she pumped her finger, wetting the way in. For him, he realized.

It wasn't a quick process but, when she was finally ready, she nodded. He stripped quickly, and eased his way into position. She gripped the headboard behind her with both hands as he dragged his swollen cock head up and down the length of her. Her cock had sunk to half-mass, but it still dribbled a clear trail of fluid down the side of her hip.

He found the soft spot that gave way to him, and he pushed inside.

A vice-like grip engulfed him as he buried himself in her. She squeezed at him in ways no woman ever had. He tried to speak, to tell her that, but all that came out was a guttural moan that shook the room. The girl moaned with him behind gritted teeth. She gripped him tighter with all the muscles of her core, her abs pressed against the skin for a moment as he leaned down to her. Her mouth found his and their tongues stroked at each other wildly, throwing him right over the edge.

His hips pumped in deeper on instinct, but it was already done. Hard jolts of pleasure were bursting across his body, sending pure, white light into his brain. She was too much. Every muscle in him tightened like a fist. The moment seemed to hang on forever, dragging out endlessly. And then, with a gasp, his body released, and cum poured out from him like a river.

Small hands wrapped around him and her fingernails pinched hard into his skin. Her thin legs followed, encircling him and pulling him closer. His hips beat futility against the soft cushion of her ass, milking out the last of his seed as he bellowed into her mouth.

Her tongue slipped from his lips, letting him gasp for air freely. Her legs continued to pull at him, pumping him in and out of her slowly. A wet slap of skin rang out with every thrust she drove in.

Her cock stirred weakly against his belly. It dragged a sticky line across him as lazy hints of life pumped back into it. After a moment, he could feel the beat of her heart through it. It grew steadily warmer, until it burned like a iron against him.

His mouth found the crook of her neck. "One more time," she begged. The muscles of her squeezed around him, keeping him from going too soft inside of her.

His hands wrapped around her wrists. He lifted them, pinning her arms against the headboard, his lips never leaving her smooth skin. He breathed in the sweet smell of her body. A bead of sweat ran down and he lapped at it hungrily, desperate to taste more of her. Raw, animal need drowned out all else.

This time he wouldn't hold back.