Work Out Left Behind

I lay into it as she takes one more from me and shudders and quakes. Everything is wet and stained. I imagine the couch must have broken down at some point. The couch always has to break. Otherwise, it's not really sex. But another comes through and halts her while I flail in the open air.

The light in her eyes is gone as she starts again. There is just the act. Just the act with me on my back and I do not put up the gates. The sensations have ridden their course and I am done with the game. I will it to be over for the moment.

That same wonderful pull starts in my core, collecting the energy from my body to settle and clench and hold on for dear life. Slow, still agonizingly slow as it builds and grows. I moan again. I let it linger like a bass drum while the stars rattle in response. That finally pulls her free from the daze of her climaxes and she starts the pound again, forging me with anvil and hammer. Inevitable, this was all inevitable.

Long and immense, drawn out into behemoth mammoth size. And I dive into it, letting the clench of our bodies blot out any thought. There is just the starburst nova as I fill her, round out the shape I make in her stomach with my heavy seed. Her legs falter and shake. I use my own to prop her upright. The one part of me still capable of reason figures out that the fall would be uncomfortable for the both of us. Too many things bent in just over the threshold. But it does not stop. The pull and shot and collapse detonation of my climax has overtaken my body. It has overtaken hers. The hazed dream of red hair and freckles, dark skin and wild hair, they have all collected into a supermassive black hole sucking my existence into carnal lust.

The shape of her stomach changes with each pulse, bloating and ballooning out into the round heft. She laughs again, the trilling lilt at the awe of something so much more than either of us. There is more. I have more. More shot, more pulse, more thick virile seed to pump into her. An eternity later and there is still more spilling from me and then from her, running down my stomach and slipping across my chest. I am covered. She is covered. The legs start to give out a bit more and she takes every precaution to safely collapse into me. It splashes around us and I am still pumping into her with every moment. Stained and tainted mine. She is mine with every heat beat, every whimper and moan and kiss on my neck. I hum and moan and do everything in my power to pour my affection forth.

It stops. It has to stop with the end of the world. All of her is soft and spend. I am soft and spent for the moment. There is enough. I have a partner for the night and she is sated and kissing and loving.

"Do you want me to do some more," I murmur.

She hums uh-uh with a soft shake of her head nestled in my neck.

"You were doing really well up until the end there," I say as I kiss the crown of her head, "Haven't done that position before."

She hums another non-committal noise that means everything and nothing while her breathing slows. There is nothing else to be now. I slide out of her and the poor carpet has an even worse night. I huff and sigh and grunt and do resent the weakness despite her one outburst. I am getting hard again. There is want, but not need. And I know how to deal with that. Louise better be back soon. I have some wonderful things to give her.

---

The sacred duty of the morning after has been split among the two of us. I stand in front of the stove, the snap and sizzle of bacon cutting through the music slowly clearing my mind from the heavy fog of sleep. For once I am not quite hard. Eager, and a slight touch could send the whole thing over the edge. But I have a task to keep my mind occupied and soft.

"We've got only one sky.

Blue, red, and black paranoia

What is it like to you?

No one can see the colors but you," I sing with the speaker to my right.

Not the best quality, but the fact that it is simply there is enough to make me feel better. I am too tired to stop the sway and dance of my torso, my feet, my hands. The new album's almost 3 months old by now and I am still listening to it almost every single day.

Saoirse has left me alone with the promise of a swift return. The breakdown in the song comes and I don't want to stay still either. She took great offense to the coffee machine that only took pods. There should be a French press or one of those pour over things at least. So, she ran to Blackberry Café down the street because a single dip from perfection wouldn't do justice to last night. She also put me in charge of the actual food, so disappointment is inevitable.

The door opens and closes with a soft click and Saoirse has come back. My core twitches in eager anticipation at the only reason anyone would ever come through that door, but the confusion of her being clothed puts a damper on it. She sets the cups and a bag on the table before shedding my coat and encircling from behind.

"Two things," she says in the lilt between pecks on the cheek, "One, got some muffins to round this out. And two, what the hell are you listening to?"

"Dust-to-Dust," I say, returning the favor, "Have you not heard the new album?"

"What's Dust-to-Dust?"

And it is all regret. Every single act that I took last night was stupid and wrong. Rejected, repulsed, rescinded, I shall banish her from the house. The sin of a poser with a t-shirt worn for aesthetics only. Terrible, evil thing wrapped in tempting curves and surprising strength. I should have waited for Louise to come back. Then this would have never happened and I would have saved myself the shame of falling for such a despicable trap.

"What's with the look," she says, "I'm not into metal. Or thrash. Or whatever this is. Like, I'm not knocking it, but it's just not me."

"You were wearing their shirt when we met," I say. There is venom there. I do not want it to be, but the same dark pulse of bending things over and stripping them bare makes me.

She snorts an ugly laugh through her nose.

"Oh my god, you're one of those people aren't you," she laughs, "That's adorable. No, that shirt isn't for Dust to Dust. It's for a charity thing I did at my old place. Might have been a 5k or something. I don't really remember."

"But it had those gears. That's the logo. Why would a 5k have a metal band's logo?"

"I don't know. And the damn things so faded I'm surprised you even notice. And hey, watch out."

She shoves past me and pulls the meat free. The sizzling had gone on too long, it seems. The meat is now black and charred and smoking. A moment passes and the fire alarm starts going off.

I feel my face flush in the trespass of a quiet morning moment, the neighbors surely roused and raging at the noise. Again. But they have never said anything. They think it very loudly though. I can hear. Saoirse is giggling again as we wave the smoke away from the alarms and out the open windows.

"That is the first time I've ever seen anyone burn breakfast. Overcook eggs sure, but actually burn it? Impressive. And no wonder. Why did you have it set on high?"

I don't have an answer, but I do find another kiss and an invitation to sit down at a table with coffee and muffins once the klaxon has gone silent. Despite it all, the coffee is good and the muffins are fresh, full of blueberries and nuts. It still smells like smoke a bit, but the wind is quickly whisking it away.

My phone buzzes against the table, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Louise has just texted me. And apparently, she tried calling last night as well. I was preoccupied.

"morning," says the first block of text.

"tried calling but u were busy ;-)," continues the second.

"she still there? pics?," finishes the third.

"That your girlfriend?" Saoirse asks, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.

"How could you tell?"

"The way you smile as soon as you looked at it. Does feel kind of weird now that the moment's over. I hope I didn't mess anything up for you guys."

"Honestly, this was her idea," I shrug, "But I don't know. She's back tomorrow, so I imagine we'll have a talk. God, that's going to be awkward. And she wants a picture of you. Do you mind?"

She shrugs and takes a beaming smile with no effort at all. I can't and don't want to fight the urge to look at her cleavage. A swipe and click and manufactured shutter, and the picture is gone into the ether. It's magic, really.

A moment later, the phone buzzes again.

"u can keep her," it says.

"is she doing anything tomorrow night?" it says a moment later.

I ask her. And she is not, as it turns out. Louise and I seem to have some ideas for her, though.