Work Out Build Up

Her motions grow sharper and faster. The couch underneath protests and squeaks. Our breath grows hotter and more ragged, serrated knives running from our lungs. More of us is given to the other.

Then Louise stops and I want to break something again.

She laughs at me and kisses my chin and twirls a finger over my breast as I desperately claw at her so she moves again.

"You are so easy to frustrate," she says. I growl at her but it turns into a whimper as she gives a little more pressure from her legs. She giggles at my torment because she is nasty and evil and terrible and then she fondles me a bit more. I change my mind. She is amazing and righteous and everything perfect in the world.

"It has been a while since I've really had the space to let loose," I sigh. My mind's back from the brink as the pressure subsides. The edge is off and a thick stream of preseed rolls down my length and pools on her thigh. It's another river of heat we can make with one another.

"And that was supposed to be tonight, wasn't it?" teases Louise, "All three of us on our knees in front of you. All just waiting for you to descend and bless us with your choice. All three of us laid out and unconscious by the end with you ravenous for more. And now you get my thighs and not much else. So sad."

I lift her up and get a simple squeak and yelp. She's right. I'm incredibly easy to frustrate. I'm quick to anger, ready to erupt at a moment's notice and she's finally gone too far. She laughs again because this is secretly what she wanted too. I storm upstairs, probably waking a kid or two, but in our room much too swiftly for that veil to be broken. The door slams behind me and no one is there to chew me out. Saoirse is much too busy riding Troy to be any sort of authority and Troy is just as bad.

"Oh good," Troy says with a smug wave, "I thought I was the only one having a good time. Louise, you seem happy.

"It's everything I've ever wanted, honestly," she says, "The kids are tucked in and I have an angry Rachel to do stuff to me. Maybe a new set of pillows, but that's just me being greedy."

I throw her on the bed and the springs bounce and dance. That's the solution to all of our woes after everything's grown too cluttered and chaotic and a good night's sleep was determined to be more important than a good night sleeping with each other. Two beds, right next to each other, easily shoved or pushed when everything's feeling loose and eager, or when there is a bit of that inevitable coldness seeping in between us. They're apart now, and I'm not in a place to push them back together. We are in the same room, open and bare to each other, free and touching. Saoirse reaches to us and I close the gap. This is the hand for holding and it is holding my cheek. She pulls me in and kisses me. Just like us, her breath is burring and rough. It scorches down my core. Her hands are pawing at me, pulling me to her. I think Troy is chuckling and laughing and that's more than fine. I like it when my Troy is happy.

There's another set of hands around my waist and I am pulled around to Lousie. Saoirse whines, but Troy is still damn good at this part. He's more than enough for her. She's more than enough for him. We can feast into each other's glutinous ruin and we still come out great and shining and amazing.

It's a shame we can't have quite the level of play this time. We're ready now and we have to go now. If there's a moment after, then we can go back to the slow ratcheting tension as we slip under the rising need and calm back down to a more sensible moment. Louise keeps shimming and moving and working to get naked. The bottom half is already mostly there and its top we need to contend with.

It's too long. I don't care. So, I simply grab her shirt and rip it open. I am still strong. I am still brutal. I am still something to crash again and Louise loves it so much with the sharp gasp and moan and the fact that she wants to do it to me. It doesn't quite work. My shirt is too new and she's not really doing it the right way. I help her with that too. There's another sharp rip of fabric and threads and I lean into her.

"You didn't do that," says Saoirse, "Can you do that?"

"Probably," Troy says with another little grunt that means he feels amazing, "But I like my shirts."

Beautiful little songbirds flitting about my head ,and as pretty as they are, they're distractions. Louise is opening and weeping for me, that fun little titter settling in her stomach that says she's about to get fucked. All the need has that streak of nervous excitement that means she's not quite in control. I can do so much to her and I will be everything she can think of and more. I start with another simple kiss. Probably saw that coming, not all that interesting, but it's always a good start. She throws her hands around my neck and tries to get me to come with her. I refuse. I go under and lift, pulling her up until she's clinging on to me. The nervous laugh is back and its pure excitement. The only twist is coming with question whispered in her ear.

"Is your knee going to be ok with this?" she says with a little nibble and tase.

I don't say anything. I just take her a bit higher, a lot higher, but she is too considerate for the moment. She's almost against the ceiling before I have to drop her. We've gotten so used to the alignment and the configuration. I drop her and she almost screams, settling for biting a knuckle and letting the tremors work out to her limbs, raking across my back and legs desperate for something to stand on.

"Can we do that?" says Saoirse.

"No offense, but I don't think you can lift me," Troy says. Something small and cute dies in his throat as Saoirse's hips do something incredible.

My knee will take it. Troy will take whatever Saoirse does to him. Maybe. I'm not sure. I have a Louise kissing my neck and working my back.

She's tight. She's never forgotten the work over years. Taken breaks, got caught up in something more important, but the control is always there in the deep rolls and circles of her core. She is tight and warm, rippling over my length as I simply batter aside her grip and force her to be tight over me. She mewls. I grunt and groan and let her rise again. We are slow for now, so she can get used to me and so I can get used to her. I really haven't had all that much today in the grand scheme of things. I drop her again and she takes a bit more of me. I can feel the path I take in her through the stomach. I have a shape I can impart. It is wide and it is hard and it is long. Troy has gotten off his lazy ass and is now working through Saoirse. She's on her side, legs cross and eyes glazed over, a grin stretching her lips as the rest of her is stretched out as well. Troy's happy too, with a loving grip over her breasts and the pleasure of changing Saoirse shape again. It's a beautiful practice again and again and again. It's always perfect. But we keep going through it again and again. Saoirse throws back her head and moans. Louise laughs because she is not entirely with me.

"You can stop with the dragon noises," she says over me, "The kids like it, but we've already heard it all."

Then I make Louise give us all another good impression. Not quite as good a dragon as Saoirse, but certainly better than either of us. Ther Louise tightens and claws and punches and I give a deep harsh growl. Still not a dragon, but something feral and large and viscous. I get a cute little kiss on my nose.

I saw into her. I thrust and pound, each motion carried out from me through her body, down to the floor and into the earth. I have so much strength to give and she takes it all so deep. I am standing and strong and she is doing everything in her power to weather me. We have an audience enraptured, broken through only in their pale imitations of what me and Louise are performing.

All of her is down and deep and strong as well. Her hands are strong with an iron grip. Her lips encircle mine and clamp as well. Her entrance embraces me, base to tip and back again She knows. She knows what I like and she gives it to me just as I give her what she needs. It comes through with a sing song laughter bordering on a mania of such sweet promises. She keeps kissing me and I keep kissing just so we can always be close.

I can feel her stir in her climax. I am with her as well. It's close. We're close. It's the same sensations we've had forever and ever, stretched over the event horizon. Her noises change and hitch, rising in tone and it's beautiful as it runs through my lungs. More songs, more music and it's all a simple pleasure running into my length and threatening to turn me into a ragged shrapnel mess.

It's a moment stretched over infinity where I am simply empty myself in her. I've had more spread over longer. I've had more built up in my eruptions. But the short play and the prelude in the morning still has put limits on my being for the moment. It's still enough to have Louise gasping and writhing in my embrace as some instinct pulls her away and pushes us closer in the same urge. I am safety. I am ruin. I am her Rachel and she is my Louise. We collapse into one another and my knees give out.

We fall to my bed and she sist still shaking through her climax as mine still pumps into her. She breaks from my lips and whines in protest. I pin her place so she can witness every moment. Then the peanut gallery gives a whistle and I have to look back.

I mistimed the whole affair and we have fallen out of synch. Troy and Saoirse have already finished, slipping into a warm basking revelry. Saoirse's circling a finger on Troy's chest eyes half lidded and a victorious smirk on her lips. Troy's a little dopier, but still serene and confident in his place in the world. His length is still half hard across his stomach, the remnants of his release pooling across his stomach.

"I think I like your 'o' face better," Saoirse says.

"Thank you," he says, "Rachel's is pretty good though. Especially when you get a canine catching her lip and that smile."

"True, but you have a dimple to play with and your eyes get so... confident, I guess. I don't know. They're both amazing."

The playful voices are complementing me and that's amazing. I'm still a bit too loose to make anything coherent, but the words are a nice flourish to the wonderful star glow in my stomach. Louise is back to kissing my neck and everything feels so light. Not quite every bit of tension flowing away, but a good start.

A soft scream pierces the fog and we're all on full alert.

It is tiring. I will admit that much. But that's the work of it and we were expecting something to come up. Trisha and Victor had their issues and we worked through them. 'Issues' is even too harsh of a word for what they were. Quirks, paths, divergencies from an ethereal norm that is impossible to even describe in full, but we all have a handful in ourselves, and the ones I carry have turned out to be my biggest strengths in the end. I just work on cleaning myself up, electing to be in charge for this round because I feel like it's my turn. We don't keep track. We've never really kept track. But a washcloth and some soap and I am presentably innocent. None of them try to stop me. Troy and Saoirse just give me one last bit of longing physical affection before I leave. Louise hands me my new Mr. Fangy and I am in the cold hallway.

I half expect to hear the rounds start again as soon as the hinges stop squeaking, but the mood's been killed. Everyone's tired and a good night's sleep is calling. I yawn. Mr. Fangy staves it off and covers my 6. The door down the hall creaks open and Victor pokes his little strawberry head out and looks to us with as much concern as he can muster. He disappears and comes back with a newly forged Snapbot to bolster our ranks and he scampers off back to bed. Trisha's just waiting anxiously by Ash's door, not quite sure what needs to be punched. As soon as I figure that out, she'll probably beat me to it. I just send her back to bed. She doesn't like it, but it's all she can do.

The night light's strong and Ash is whimpering under her blankets. At least she's not a thrasher. I gently lay myself beside her and stroke her hair. She doesn't respond. Whatever nightmare she's made has her deep. She's a fighter though. All I am is a hand held low for her to climb up. She'll break through it and come back to me. Old Mr. Fangy is keeping his eye on the closet, just in case something decides to burst through. He's good at that part, and with his reinforcements, we are a fortress. I lay myself down next to her as she keeps whimpering.

It's quiet. The house is done settling and the thick blanket of snow has swallowed the noise from outside. Ash is already settling too. She's safe. I'm safe. We're both under the blankets and I can feel her breath slow and calm. Both Mr. Fangys and the new robot cadet are doing their job and we're all drifting off. She's asleep. It's not long before I join, everything else put by the wayside for the moment.

---

Everyone in my family is an amazing hugger. Some had to learn. Some had it innately. But we're all there and I think it can't get any better than when dad has both me and Ash together in his arms.

Somebody coughs politely and that means we need to break apart. But we don't. Ash likes Gigi and that means he gets a long, tight hug, as tight as she can manage.

"Isaac, honey," says Baba, "I think the point was to take the kids away for New Years. We can't do that and take Rachel."

"I think we'd have to steal her back," says Saoirse.

"I'd like to see you try," says Gigi.

Baba is smart because she is right. I have to break away and Gigi is fine with just Ash to hug. He's more than fine with that. Ash is a bit more anxious but Gigi is close enough to me for the moment. And she has a Mr. Fangy to help out. The other kids are a bit more content with their situation. Trisha slides up to him, all bundled up for the long walk to the car in the driveway.

"Gigi," she asks, "Can we make those donuts again?"

The man in question turns to his better half and she just nods. I assume that was planned months in advance.

"Yes. Yes we can," he says and Trisha is ecstatic at the idea of more sugar in her blood stream. I hear a zip from behind me and that means Victor is all good to go as well. The outside is cold and harsh and we are warm and soft. The coat does what it can and it does a lot. He then tries to do the bit where he can't put his arms down, but it doesn't quite stick. I don't think he understands the full context but Saoirse kisses his cheek because he's adorable. He smiles. I think. There's a scarf in the way. I hear the door one more time.

"That's all the bags," says Louise as she stamps the snow off her boots. Troy confirms it and it's all a matter of shuffling kids and foreheads and cheeks until everything has a favored kiss and touch and no one is left unloved. There's an odd bit where I'm staring into Saoirse with a rising thrill between my legs. Then Ash is right there and the sooner we make the trade off, the less she'll wonder what is going on. Gigi takes her and hefts her and he is a good clinging pole. He's had a lot of practice. One arm to hold her, one hand to push up his glasses and a warm smile to round it out. Baba gets a hug too and a promise that she'll call if anything goes wrong. I had night terrors too, apparently, so they know the drill.

We all gather to wave them goodbye as they roll on down the cleared street. The forecast said nothing bad was on the horizon and it's not the worst thing in the world if they have to spend another day or two. For us, maybe. Not them. Although, Saoirse looks a bit wistful now that I think about it.

"I miss them," she sighs, "Can we bring them back? They haven't gone that far."

"No," says Louise, "We can't show weakness in front of the kids. They'd never let us hear the end of it."

Troy leans into me and I lean into him. Louise finds a gap between us to slither though and then Saoirse's hanging off the edges, slowly dragging us all back inside. It's cold in our foyer. Too much of the outside has slipped in.

There are hands dragging me down, not quite fumbling, only suggesting the act I think we're all expecting. We'll get there. It is a different quiet when it is just the four of us like this. A little hollower, but still sound and complete. And the only reason it feels lesser at this junction is because we've decided to add to it over the years. Ruslana boofs at us because the kids are gone and she wants a treat. She'll get over it. For now, we just have a moment of quiet under a blanket of snow.

I made this. I had help, more than I could ever tally, but this is all something I've put into the world and I get to simply exist with the fruits of my work. It is not perfect. And it is not enough. But I can make so much more.

"We're doing good right?" I ask the hand that's made for touching. I think it's Saoirse's.

"Probably," Troy says, "We have one kid that keeps getting in fights, one that doesn't have any nonimaginary friends, and one that can't sleep through the night."

"I have yet to see Trisha make a bad call on who deserves an ass kicking," Louise says.

"It's the principle of the thing. Nobody wants to be the parent of the ass kicker. At that age, we all have to pretend that no ass is deserving of a kicking and no one has the authority to administer the kicks to asses."

"She's still great. And Vic's too damn smart for the other kids. He'll be reading Dostoyevsky by fifth grade."

"We're not putting him in the gifted program, even if the school keeps pushing it," Saoirse says, "That is a recipe for burnout. He can deal with boredom better than ennui."

"Not the time," I say with a distinct lack of hands groping me, "We can do the dutiful parent thing in the afterglow."

"Not even to say a good thing about Ash?" Troy says, "We should say something nice about Ash."

"She's a trooper and she's the one to keep the peace. Vic and Trisha have fights, but she makes them stop easier than any of us can. She also has impeccable taste in stuffed animals."

Louise giggles and it's bright and bubbly and drunk off nothing more than the atmosphere. She is the hand made for kissing, her fingers roaming up to my cheeks. I kiss the index and take it in. I gently suck and play with it, pulling more bright laughter from her.

"Oh, she's in a really good mood today," she says to the rest of my family, "But yeah, no more kid talk. We're fucking them up beyond repair, just like every other parent."

I pull away and leave her with just a soft kiss. We slip back into the silence. There's an urge to stop here, to let the stillness consume us and leave nothing behind. Then Troy presses his hip into mine and everything pent up is released.

I tackle him, battering Saoirse aside, and pinning him down.

"There she is," Saoirse says, "I was getting worried. Feels like forever since we saw Horny Rachel."

Louise is stroking my back. I'm rolling my hips along Troy's thigh. I can feel his bulge snake down his leg, nice and thick and strong. I can match every inch of him. I can keep the pace as I bury myself in his neck. He's trimmed the stubble down to a soft fuzz. He's pulling me into him, letting our excitement feed back into one other.

There's a pulsing rhythm from my core, spilling preseed from my tip like a hose. It runs through the pleasure, setting the nerves alight and spreading a growing dark spot on my pants. Fruitless dry humping that only gives a shadow of the act, but I love. I love starting at the cautious of his face filtered through the haze. His hand taps my shoulder blade and I am still trained well enough to let him up and stop for now.

"Rachel," he says, "Normal Rachel. We still have a bit of prep to do. We're parents. We have to be responsible, even if the kids aren't here."