Work Out Run Around

I am warm, so incredibly warm. Too warm, honestly. I don't care for it. I am covered in sweat and not the fun kind. I'm covered in a lot of things, with my boxers taking care of my ankles. It is all cloying and suffocating on my form. The fan in the corner is a mixed blessing. What scant breeze I feel is offset with the whirring noise. I'm still not used to it. I need silence and darkness and endless calm. The other body in the bed is something to treasure though. That does offset the noise.

Not the warmth, though. If anything, Louise makes it worse. She is a winter treasure, perfect for the heavy snow and howling wind. Not for the muggy air and the shining sun. She hangs on me, murmuring in my ear the soft insanity of dreams. They are pleasant if I interpret the ramblings correctly. I catch my name a few times and I am filled with rose colored joy. I kiss her forehead and that gets her to turn the rest of her body into me. I am warm and stifled and stuffed into quilts to the point where I can't breathe right. It's fine. It just means it's time for me to get up. Not quite a good time, when the call of sleep is something so close in my mind. It's right there. I can slip back with no thought at all. The fan whirs once again and then it cements my decision.

I move and my will is denied. There is a Louise holding onto me and that needs to be preserved for all time. A precious little gem to gaze upon, a silk robe draped over my body, symphonies to be enjoyed with wine and finery and an endless night to slip into. She hugs my entire chest, burying her head in my cleavage.

And that wakes me up in the other way. Such a shame. Had a good night where everything was calm and cool and collected, but her hands inadvertently graze something sensitive and that is enough to flip the switch. I have a moment and nothing more to watch the sensations slip through my body. It's not even a thought I have. A response, knee jerk and instinct. The only thing that I even have a say in is the huff of breath that I slip in slow through my lips. It catches in my throat and growls through me. Everything else is in the smallest part of my brain where control isn't even a concept. There's a pull in my stomach and then I am holding her tight, pressing our bodies together. We don't quite align. I need to bring her up for everything to slot in as it should. But I have her stomach right now, tight and lined and strong. I watched it change. It was never bad in any regard, but the work, I feel the work she made in the world etched into her body.

She stops her mumbles and nuzzles up to my chin.

"You're poking me," she yawns. A moment passes and she purses her lips. That's a kiss. She wants a kiss. So, she gets one. I get one back. She also slips away a bit, giving us both a bit more space.

"You're the one who woke me up," I say. I still have her forehead. I have to move some of her hair out of the way, but it's there. I feel her bones carry her warmth. It's not as stifling anymore. Its calming and rose red and bleeding into me. She is blushing, almost imperceptibly. I am close enough to witness all of it. She gets another kiss on the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her chin, feather light and dancing through her heat. Her blush deepens and I can see more of it.

"All of you up it seems."

She rolls her stomach and sends a ripple up my shaft. It likes that. I like that. I stifle my own meandering yawning moan of joy into something deep in my chest. I move my hips to find her stomach again. She is warm and now I think I find it pleasant.

Louise moves a bit more, letting a fresh spot under the sheets invigorate her. Eyes still closed, she reaches to my chest in full knowledge of what she is doing. And she knows the gates, the lines, the path my body is going down with no regard of the future.

"Do I have to work today," she asks.

"I don't care if you do," I whisper in her ear. I put my lips to her neck and that pulls a playful little yelp from her, small enough to die before it leaves her lips.

"Wait. Saturday," she mumbles, "So errand day."

"Don't care. We're doing this."

"Yes ma'am. But y'know, if you go too hard then I won't be able to walk. You'll have to carry all the bags and me."

"I can do that. You're stalling."

"Not really. Just making sure you're thinking through all the consequences. But I do think this is a great way to wake up."

She slowly opens her eyes, blinking the sleep from them and coming alive with me and my heat. Such a deep brown, drawing me in and refusing to let me think of anything else.

"You have really pretty eyes, y'know?" she hums, "They're so dark. Almost like the night sky. Can I just look at them a bit more?"

I allow it, the raw hunger in my soul softening. She can look so I can look. Even the endless need of my body is not so far gone as to deny the simple beauty of another's presence held close. There is a throb and a pulse along a vein, but the lust subsides. There's an odd mark underneath her left eye. I've noticed it before. And I'll notice it again. There are still crumbs of sleep in the corners. A stray hand wipes them away. I rest it on her cheek. A moment to savor the touch and she kisses my palm. Silence, blessed silence, save for the whir and click of the rotating fan. I still don't like that damn thing. Her little hang up. At least we don't have to spray that lavender scent on the pillows anymore. And I do like the silk cases she uses for her hair. They probably help with mine too.

She finds a lock and plays with, twirling and untwirling and retwirling. I can't do the same to hers. The thick dreads don't have enough ply to it. They are fun to wave and spin like a helicopter, but she gets mad when I do that. So, I settled for tracing her neck, my pale finger drawing shapes on her dark skin softly. Her eyes start to shine in the morning light. Awake, alert, eager and raring to go tackle a day presenting itself so swiftly. Just as my eyes darken and my vast appetites make themselves known, her changes come the same. Light and dark, mixing and holding and swirling together. That same pink glow within me mixes with obsidian black as her hand leaves my hair and traces my chest.

"It's not fair," she sighs, "How did you get these?"

"As far as I know, counterbalance for the rest of me," I shrug, giving the offending member a twitch, "Like a tail or something."

"Wouldn't that mean you'd just tip forward all the time? All of you is just so, so heavy."

"Ow. I guess I need to go to the gym more then."

"You know that's not what I meant. You're like a rock or something. Seriously. I bet you could take a hit from a sledgehammer and be fine."

"Probably end up breaking the hammer."

"Next time I get a chance, I'm breaking a chair over your head. I need to test this. When you're in the bath or something."

"Please don't. I like the chairs. They let me sit down. I like sitting down."

She chuckles and traces more lines in my body through hers. Her hips, her stomach, her hands, all flex and tighten with a control she has also cultivated. It is something else that holds me in awe. Every moment, even in the haze of forgotten dreams, is a calculation done with needle precision. She holds on to my stomach as well, tracing my own muscles. I tighten for her and she giggles again.

"You're trying too hard," she murmurs, "Stop flexing."

I do and there is not much difference. I get another sleepy laugh and she starts kissing me, my neck, my collar bone, my shoulders, working to my arms. Those I flex as well and she doesn't say anything about that. I don't blame her. Cords of strength for her to tease and move and worship.

"Still trying too hard," she hums, "Stop it."

"Hush. You love it," I sigh. I make the strength, the power move through my body and she follows it with her gaze.

"I do. Now you're just making me want this more. Stop it. Stop making me insane for you."

"That I can't help you with. Ready?"

"No, but that's the best part. I'm never ready."

That does get a fun little noise from me. Not quite a laugh but close, mixed with an urgent need that comes from my core. Still, we are both shaking off the fog of night and I take it slow, rolling over to mount her. She turns to look at me, brushing my hair from her lips with no regard to elegance. Even with that, she is enrapturing. A doe eyed creature giving itself over willingly, so willingly, so often. And she has seen all of me through, the cataclysm of my being, the unrelenting onslaught I can produce, deluge and flood and storm all collapsing down onto a singular body. She came out the other side, dazed, confused, bewildered, but smiling and joyous. All the colors swirling in me run with streaks of rosy-pink love. She gets one more kiss, tender and mild and lingering. She tastes of an unwashed morning. She tastes of herself and nothing more could I ever want.

I lay my length across her stomach and that peace is broken with the future portent of my conquering. It reaches past her navel, pressing into its future path. I angle it a bit more, almost touching her sternum and she has the tint of haunted house fear run through her. There is experience and knowledge and that does blunt the blow. The instincts, however, are not so easily soothed. I am massive. She is less massive. Those simple facts and the relation between them are worrying. They were worrying when we first joined. They will be worrying up until the day we part, no matter the fashion. I don't care if she's worried. It is inevitable and that simple fact means her trepidation is meaningless. I move a bit and she moves a bit. Hungry, needy, eager, I align us with her help. I have to spread her legs a bit more. And she flexes her thighs a bit too much. I don't tell her to stop showing off. I like it when she does. I feel her legs start to move and intertwine with mine, slowly goading me to finally enter.

So, I do, slowly, always slowly, always careful and probing, waiting for the hiss of pain that tells me to stop and let her get used to me. It doesn't come. I have learned the route with her and she has learned the path I take. It still has to be slow. I don't mind this part being careful. It ignites something in our shared desire, the drip-fed pleasure. Her spasms are already out in force, rolling along that sculpted power. I feel it send shocks through my being. It is intense, her grip, her desire for everything that I am. I hold a minute, to give us both time to adjust and come back down to something close to sanity. It's not quite there.

Louise is the one to finally end it, shifting herself down until our hips meet. And we stop. We stop and hold our shared breath. She is full, so full. I can feel my shape through her. I move my hand and trace the shape, feeling her twitch and shift and spasm over me. I have her strength try and crush me. I withstand. I take the efforts she pulls against me and it feels simply rapturous.

"My God," she whispers, "I can't even breathe."

I take that as a sign to pull out. Slowly. There is no reason to take any of this swiftly. She sucks in a deep, deep breath. I can feel her entire body shift in my hollow vacancy. I stay deep. There is nowhere else I can be.

"Are you doing alright?" I ask. It's amazing how clear my thinking is now. I am here and performing as I am supposed to. No more action to take, just a set course to see it through to the end. Neither of us are going anywhere.

"It's always so insane," she sighs, "But yeah, I am. You can go harder. I mean it. Show me what you can do."

I move to her lips and play with them on my own. I work it through my teeth, softly, carefully, gingerly, before letting go. With all the words out of the way, we are going forward, full steam ahead, crashing and careening and slamming through the wonderful barrier of anything so civilized.

So, I start moving. I move my hips and fill her with my being. Everything is opening and closing, fighting and welcoming the endless conquering in equal measure. Her hands are on my shoulders, pushing me away. Her legs twine around my knees like vines and work to pull me deeper. I move in her, gazing into those beautiful dark vortexes as the rest of her face tries to convey the endless rapture of our bodies. I move into her with careful dedication. I will be inside of her. I will thrust and prod and crush her. I will not be gentle. But she will endure it all and come out the other side.

I move faster, muscles start to flex and bulge and move to accommodate the strength I pour in. Any idea of sleep is obliterated. There is so much more to the world than dark dreams. The world is chaos centered in her. I am the world, sending her into turmoil of my own basest desires. I rut into her, finally hitting a pace that works. Her eyes go wide and I grin. Her climax is already starting.

My length drags it from her as slowly as I can manage. The buildup comes from her stomach, her thighs, her core working together in growing contractions. Her breath hitches and stops, catching in the back of her throat, building and building under the pressure. I look for her eyes, only to find them behind a scrunched and locked set of lids, shutting out her world. Our curtains are drawn and the morning sun still dares to slip through the threads and intrude. I don't mind. I want to throw them open and bask in the light, feel it dance across our skin in time with our dance. I keep thrusting, hilting and carving her out, power and depth and charge running through me. My heartbeat quickens with the convulsions.

I do this to her. I take the calm of her being and take it to this incredible height of ecstasy with simple work. And I love doing it. I love the grip she gives, the way her body responds. Its thrashing chaotic asynchronous time, bludgeoned from the clock in a back-alley mugging. The sun's passage is a suggestion. The watch is ignored. The call of a late shift simply doesn't fucking matter.

Her end is here and it is cruel. There are nails in my back, knees threatening to pop and snap, bones wanting to break and bend and a wailing scream silenced by my lips. Her release splatters against my pelvis and that is another savage point of pride over what I can do to her through simple work. I make it slow, her self evisceration, the spasms in typhoon waves rolling through her stomach. They feel sublime, milking me and pulling me and massing the length to change its shape into something more manageable. I refuse. I am the way I am without a care in the world. Infinite and endless, trying to grind her down into dust.

It ends with a lingering whine that draws out seconds, minutes, hours, days. I don't know. I don't care. I made it this way, so it's beautiful. We created this moment between us in shattered instants where causality doesn't quite align.

"You okay," I ask softly, "I can go a little easier if- "

She lays into me, hitting my lips and smothering any words I can think of. Louise seems to have liked this rather intense moment. I don't blame her. If anything, I blame myself. She's adored every other time this has happened. Middle of the night, middle of the day, middle of whenever wherever, however. Always something to cherish and treasure. I feel her smile run down my throat and join the swirling rose in my core.

I don't wait for us to break before I start my rhythm again. I get to the peak of my actions sooner. Louise takes it. She takes it well, begging the chaos for more. It is not enough for her. Something's unlatched, unlidded, open to more. And nothing seems to fill it to satisfaction.

"I'm ready," she moans, "Rachel, please. I'm so fucking ready. Cum in me. Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease."

I almost don't let the words come to meaning. I am in the action and the motion. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to do. My existence is culled down to a simple being where nothing else matters. The room is bright. The sheets have fallen to the wayside. The soft breeze is cooling against my back with steam running off our skin. I am raging through her body still shaking from my previous endeavors. I move through her and my shape is crashing into her.

Louise looks into my eyes again and I see the shine spark of the same glowing warmth in the depths of her being. And it is just as eager, just as hungry, just as endlessly starving as mine. I lay my forehead against hers and the heights smooth out for the briefest moment. We are both nothing together, other than the basest needs. It's the quirk of her lips, a little smirk right at the edges that finally sends me over.

It comes in rolling waves from everywhere deep. Something snapped and pulled and so the rest of the body responds with no regard for anything anymore. I am going to finish and that is inevitable. I feel it twitch and pull and clench my stomach, tighten my arms and grit my teeth. My chest works to slip in more cool air to my body, to keep the machinery of my being grinding along. Louise locks her legs around my hips as if I would even entertain such a stupid idea as pulling out.

I hilt in her, as deep as everything can be, and it finally happens. The first shot is slow and long and pulled from all my being. I feel it race up my length, over her shapes, through her lines before finally erupting in her with a megaton detonation. The weight shifts and moves and Louise starts choking out strange noises that never quite settle into a noise she wants to make. It is rampaging through her. The kick back hits me and the pulled under our bodies grows in surges. It is never stopping. My chaos is given over to her and it is turning everything burning and scorching and wonderfully barren. I have another pulse and change her shape, swelling and filling and rounding her stomach with my heavy seed. I have another pulse pulled from me and every muscle fiber is taught to the point of s napping.

Louise regains some level of composure and pulls me in for one more kiss as I ride it all out. Our tongues meet and dance and play with one another. I am lost to the sensation forgotten in the hurricane seas. My soul is tossed about and churned with my release. I do not want for anything in the storm. I have nothing else to do than continue the endless flow of my essence and strength.

The ache goes through my stomach as the muscles tire and break. I have more. I have more to give her and this is simply not enough. We could be here for the next hour and I would still not tire. I am vast in my power through her. I keep pouring myself int other, letting our shared presence grow and spill and run rivers through the sheets. I hear it pour over the bed and pool on the floor. More cleaning, but that's for later. I don't care what the future holds. I am here and I am continuing my endless climax. I am filling her and hollowing myself out all for her. I keep pulsing and detonating as I break apart and throw my head back once it starts to wane.

It peters out int soft drips flowing and moving and simply falling to the floor. I will flood everything with my seed in due time, if given the means. But a Louise will do just fine in the meanwhile. I end with a long, slow sigh as everything finishes and dries within. I have a moment to myself where everything is calm before the clench pulls at my core and asks for another round. Usually, it commands. But it is still waking up it seems. Louise slips a hand down her chest to the mound of her stomach. She finds my shape and traces it idly. It is there, still pronounced and proud. She giggles and sighs and makes some pained noise of pleasure as I pull out and let the deluge slip from her grip. Something in me likes the noise it makes as I make the sea on the floor grow with more motions and finality.

"You're insane," Louise sighs, hand massaging her belly. I don't deny it.

"Want to keep going?" I ask. I know the answer and I'm not sure which one of us will have to deny it.