Work Out Run Around

"That's a stupid question. Of course, I do. But we have other stuff to do."

"Do we?"

"Don't be cute. Wait, no. Be cute. But like in another way. Yes, we have other stuff to do other than fuck. Which kills me to say, just so you know."

"Errands? Are you sure you want to do those?"

"Ok, like half of the things we have to do are at least partially your idea. So, we're doing them. And if you don't like that, then well, you suck. You shouldn't have had those ideas."

I vaguely recall having something close to ideas. Probably. Maybe. Pretty sure. It's coming back to me. And I am excited for said ideas to come back in full once we are clean and dressed and ready to be people again. I have to take it slowly though. I have so much fun being whatever I am when I'm naked. Louise does too. The first step away from such joy comes in the form of warm rain and sweet-smelling bubbles. And I do like that first step.

---

Louise tugs on my sleeve and shows me something I like on her phone. I crack a grin. It's Saoirse's cleavage, overflowing with cash. Her arm covers up just enough to be considered suggestive and not explicit. I am more interested in the freckles dotting her breasts, the image I have of them bouncing and spilling over my hands. The money is nice, I guess. That can be a part of the picture. I will allow it.

"She won 20k," Louise whispers.

"Yeah, that's the important part," I shush back. She gives me a side eye and I crane my neck to catch one last glimpse of tits before the phone goes away. I don't know why we're being quiet. I don't think we'll be in any sort of trouble. I don't think anyone here has the authority to do so. Certainly not the other people in line. I don't think they have any authority at all. We all just shlep forward at regular intervals when we can and continue waiting. One step forward and we are at the end of the line.

"I can help you over here," says the woman behind the desk at the far end. So off we go to be helped.

"Hi, Louise DeSadier and Rachel Kirillova," she says, "We have an 11:30."

I am so amazed at how easily the mask slips on. Nothing about it seems authentic, but it matches the vaulted ceilings and polished marble. It's all some bland pleasantries that fit together like puzzle pieces. The smile is plastic. The words are plastic. The meaning is plastic. But it still functions to let the gears turn and the synapses fire. We are here for an appointment that was my idea. The woman behind the desk has a stud on her nose, just a dollop of polished silver. There are rings on her ear as well, running all the way up. I like them. I should get some more piercings. Maybe somewhere a bit more sensitive. Louise too. We could match.

I miss the response, but I let Louise lead me away to the row of thin cushioned seats. I don't like them. They prod my ass in bad ways. I shift and try to find something a bit more comfortable. Louise doesn't seem to mind.

"You were looking at her tits weren't you," Louise scolds, a playful smile on her lips.

"Yes. Wait. Saoirse's? Yes. Yes, I was," I say, trying to align everything in my head, "You showed me them. What was I supposed to do? You could have just told me she won the money."

"No, I wanted to show you my fun little surprise. The teller's. Come on, like they're not Saoirse huge, but man. Damn. Wow. I wish I had something like that."

"Don't go fishing for compliments like that. You're beautiful. Everything about you is perfectly sculpted. Everything is slotted together like a hand grenade."

"That's an image. I like it. Like a flashbang or a vanilla one? Those are the two I know."

"Give me a sec. I'm thinking through it all. It's a mechanism. You're a mechanism. It's like there's a switch in you that sets off something incredible. It's all tight and wound and heavy and stiff, but it works. It's all something just so finely tuned. And when it snaps into place, it all just clicks in something amazing."

I think I said something she likes. The smile and the little wiggle she gives in her chair seems to confirm that. A bit straighter, a bit taller, eyes gleaming with pure joy. She leans forward a bit and I lean too. Just a moment together.

"Louise and Rachel," someone calls. I don't pay them any attention. I am busy. Louise is busy.

"Hi," Louise says as she breaks away. So, we're done. We're off doing something else that lets us deal with the outside world. I turn and it's a man in a dark blue suit. Hair's nice and clean, smile's easy and clear, with a shiny, shiny watch on his left wrist. And I know him. I don't know where from, but I know him. And he knows me. The smile falters and fades and I smile back. That's where I know him from.

"Hey Troy," I say, "I didn't know you worked here."

The smile breaks a bit more. I don't know why. I would be very happy to see me if I showed up to my work.

"Hi Rachel," he sighs. I stand and Louise comes with me, looking back and forth between us and coming to some fun little conclusion.

"So, banker," I say, "Huh. Never figured."

"Well, you don't really let me talk about myself before kicking my ass," he sighs.

"Where do you know him from," Louise says, "Like, I know you too. Why do I know you?"

"I don't know," Troy sighs again, "There's only so many places I can be from."

"He goes to RTL's too," I say, "Spends a lot of time with Ken. I spar with him sometimes."

"You call it sparring. I call it tenderizing. But I have other appointments. So come on. This shouldn't take long. Did you bring the forms?"

He doesn't stay for the answer. To be fair, I don't have it. Or the forms. They are in Louise's purse. I have pants with pockets, so I never really felt the need. He leads us back into a hallway will glass walls. Other people at other desks, all engaged with the finance world with varying levels of confusion. I pity the old woman desperately clutching a handbag with a look of worry on her face. I envy the young man in an anime t-shirt excitedly talking about some probably illegal investments. I love the me that decides to pinch Louise's ass as I watch Troy's work so professionally. The slacks really are good on him. Better off, but that's neither here nor there. Louise tugs my sleeve again.

"You have that look on you. Did not know you went that way," she whispers.

"Not that hard," I reply, "But he does it for me. And we haven't really done anything. Always kind of danced around the issue."

She gets a wonderfully mischievous smile across her lips and suddenly I feel bad for the poor man in the nice slacks just doing his job. He doesn't deserve any of this. But he's getting so much more than he ever bargained. Maybe. Business, we are here for business and important things like money. Money is very important, according to a lot of people.

His office is nice, bland, professional. It's a bank. I don't think there is anything special about this bank when compared to any other wones. Louise likes it though. So here we are, and Louise rummages a bit before producing said documents and sliding them across the desk.

"Ok," he says, "Everything seems alright. Rachel, you're handwriting's terrible."

"I make no excuses. I'm surprised I can even read," I say.

"And now I have one more thing for the both of you to sign. So, I hope you actually can."

"Do we really have more things?"

"We had some issues with joint savings being coerced by one of the parties. It was in the news."

"Again, can't read. Maybe. Probably. Louise, are you coercing me?"

"More like bribing. Because if we do this, then you get to pick out some fun toys."

Troy taps the pen to pull my thoughts away from very fun things. I get to look at him in a suit. It just works on him. The jacket hugs his waist very well. Makes me think of certain things that can be very unprofessional. It's more fun to rip and tear expensive things. The seams are tight and knitted and would make such a fun noise when they are forced apart. Louise taps my shoulder and I have to sign something. Bank, we are at a bank opening a joint savings account because we wanted something a little more businesslike in the relationship. She might be trying to take me for all I'm worth. The thought has crossed my mind, but it quickly left. We are certainly moving fast by some standards, but I have no reason to wait. I sign the thing and push it back over to him.

"There," he says, "Should be all good. I need to go copy these things and I'll be back. In the meantime, take a look at these. Might want to look into some CDs or some other investment options. It's always a good idea to diversify."

I shrug and take a look through the charts. They all have lines going up. Lines should go up, from what I know. It's all they can do. Louise takes it from my hands and actually applies something akin to intelligence to the returns. She tilts her head and flips a page. She likes that line a bit better for some reason. She's focused, even as I snake a hand over her shoulder. I can go a more and there is certainly a call and response to it. I can do things to her and have my response. But she is busy. Her knee knocks into mine and that is enough. I can go a bit more. We're in public behind a glass wall with the world to see. Part of me likes that. Part of her likes that. But not now. It stirs and pulses and comes with a threat to pull apart the seams of my pants. Things should be ripped and free and open. No one else agrees with me, and the world is wrong.

"And here we are," says the rude voice form the door, "Anything speak to you?"

"I think the 1 year for now," Louise says, "Just to be sure. Can't have too many new things at once. We'll see how we deal with this and go from there."

I agree. The one year has a good line with a good percentage and nice round sum. I will probably buy something very nice with the end result.

"Fair enough. Just the minimum required off the top of the new account?"

Louise looks to me and I nod. Troy slips back to his chair and types out a few things. I notice a little quirk of his lip that I don't think I've ever seen before. It's cute, almost a little bite of the lip gnawing on the soft flesh. He does have good lips. They make me think things. Good things. But here we are, not doing anything and just waiting for this to be over. I'll see him later.

"So, we should be good," he says as he turns his screen, "These are your balances as of right now. Make sure you get your new passwords up on our site, too. New card is the mail and should be in your hands by the end of the week."

"Good," I say, "A lot of things belong in my hands."

He rolls his eyes and that's fair. Not my best work. Louise doesn't care for it either.

"Yeah. Thank you for banking with Kalina. I am required to say that, so I don't really mean it."

"Whatever. I'll see you at RTL's. Ken misses you."

"Bye Troy. And thank you."

"As much as it pains me to say this, I'm happy for you two. Kind of a big deal for some people and it's always a step forward. So good luck. And yeah, I'll see you both at the gym."

He smiles a bit and I think it's forced for a lot of reasons. Kind of odd to see someone who likes working at a bank, but I guess they exist. I certainly couldn't do it.

---

"I ain't never backing down.

C'mon and step up to the plate.

For my city for my town

I'll do whatever it takes'" goes the little bud in my ear. Louise has the other one, idly glancing at her phone as we rattle along in the bus. The hard plastic is making my ass fall asleep. I look over at her screen. There are a handful of my songs I put in there coming up. I hope so. There have been like five of hers in a row. I know I slotted some of mine in there. Her picks aren't bad, per se, but they're just not me. And I don't appreciate the clear and present bias her phone has against me and my musical tastes.

"I'm not skipping," she says, "You already used all three of yours. You'll have to wait until tomorrow when we reset."

"I didn't say anything," I shrug.

"But I can hear what you're thinking. And no, no. That's the rule."

"I respect the rules. I helped write them."

"And I appreciate that. I like the three-skip rule. And you're right. Five would have been too many."

"Everything works better in threes. Three course meals, three wick candles- "

"Threesomes?"

"Exactly. We need to get Saoirse back. I miss her."

"I miss her too. But she'll be back. She always comes back. For some reason. I think it's you."

"Or you. You are pretty good at all those things too."

She slinks her head against her head against my shoulder. I have to move our bag of fun out from between us. It sits on my lap now. It's just pure black paper with string handles. I can't wait to try it out. I'm excited.

"You said I was a hand grenade right," she says, "I think I figured out what you are."

I perk up. I think I know what I am. I am a Rachel. I have a Louise. There is a Saoirse somewhere close by. But I want to hear her thoughts.

"You're a disaster," she says. Her voice is calm and even and clear. I hear it ring with pure calm assurance.

"I know I didn't take the best care of my apartment. And the money thing was a bit of an adjustment. But I'm doing better. Do we have a chore wheel? No, because of that talk and there haven't been any issues. Have there? Now you got me kind of worried. I'm sorry. I thought I was doing better."

She shuts me up with a kiss on the cheek before slipping back down and letting the soft rumbles of the road soothe me.

"Not like that. And I get it. Living alone kind of gets easy after a while. College me and laundry did not mix. But you're a disaster. Like a natural disaster."

"I'm not sure that's better."

"Shut up. Let me say nice things about you that kind of sound mean. Ok. Natural disaster. Have you ever sat through a hurricane? No, you're from the north."

"Had a typhoon when I was in Osaka. That was fun."

"So, you kind of know what I'm talking about. It's just a thing. It's over there with all the things that are going on, but it can't really be stopped. It's just there. So, you make your preparations, hunker down and just deal with it."

"I'm kind of losing the thread. You're not a hand grenade. You're a very beautiful woman with a calming soul and tight ass. You have an infectious enthusiasm with almost everything you do."

"Stop. I will keep comparing you bad things. So, it's there and you've done all you can, and then it happens. You bring me down to the moment where nothing else really matters. Schools are all shut down, the roads are closed. One time, my dad got called in to work during a really bad storm and that was the first time I heard him swear. We'd play board games and just listen to the rain. There's nothing anyone can do to stop you, so we just all go along with it. You're a disaster, Rachel. Like a blizzard or a hurricane or an earthquake. And it's fun to hunker down with other people and ride you out."

Her hand is on my thigh again, tracing up and down, up and down. Shame it's just the leg and nothing else fun and pleasurable. It's the same motion that I love. Wrong place, but it still is nice. I have my hand over shoulder, across her neck, pulling her tight into me. There are other people on the bus, I think. Not sure. Don't care. They can be there, but this is not for them.

"So, I'm a disaster," I say, "And you like disasters, I take it."

"Oh absolutely, snow days are the best. We need more snow days. Adults need snow days, just to get the schedule out the window. Oh no, the fee was a misquote. Oh no, the closing date was pushed back. Oh no, the new hire didn't show up. Oh no, the old hire is having a stroke. I can't do anything about any of that because I'm under five feet of snow and ice. Guess its hot chocolate and movies and more sex for me. You should have some of that and not worry about anything else."

"So, I'm an excuse to not do anything. I can take that."

"Not really. You're a reminder that life can be pretty simple in some ways. Being with you makes me feel like a person. You cut out the bullshit."

I kiss her forehead and that makes her forget a lot more things. Like that we're in public, on a bus, with people looking. They don't matter. I am a disaster housed in ripped jeans, a black t-shirt and a thick studded belt. I am a hurricane force wind which I cannot even shut down. I am the end of the world.

I am also getting hard on the other side of my pants. The little shift and shimmy I can manage on the hard seats don't really help. It's creeping along the inside of my thigh.

"If you keep touching me," I whisper, "You're going to make me excited."

And she does not particularly care about the terrible thing she is doing to me. I don't really care either.

"Like you're so hard to get ready," she purrs, "You get boners like a 14-year-old boy at the public pool. I swear, if something within eyesight of you mouths the word sex, that will set you off."

"Probably. You just said sex. And I'm ready. So, seems to hold water."

Her hand keeps making fun circles on naked muscles and torn denim. On the wrong side. I shift again and she doesn't seem to pick up on the discrepancy. She's gazing wistfully off into nowhere at all. Or just out the window. I am getting less and less interested in what she is thinking about and what she wants from the world. There are things I want and I am not getting them.

I trace a finger up her neck and she shivers a bit under my touch. That's fun. The springs are tightening and unwinding and doing all the things that springs done. Something ticks down and I don't know when it will all go off. I will be there when it does.

"Not here," says my better half, "There are people watching."

She's right and that's terrible. People are watching, wondering at the pair of bodies. There's an old man giving us a death glare and a little kid who has no understanding of anything other than the idea of candy. I could go for some candy. The mom is politely looking away, trying to dissuade the rascal from learning things she was not meant to learn. Yet.

One more shift and her hand leaves me angry and frustrated and needing cruelty. The urge smothers and dies. So, I am back to something a little more composed. I am still hard and that's not going anywhere anytime soon. Louise glances down and suddenly the other people don't matter as much anymore. But no, calm, bus, public, messy, maybe a fine if the cops get involved. We have our apartment and the little black bag to play with. I'll survive. Louise will survive. And we'll come out the other side in whatever shape we can fit. I think. I hope.

---

I carry Louise through our threshold. She is too damn slow for whatever I need. She squeals and yelps a in delightful panic. Her legs kick and play as I spin us both in our dance of play. I spin until we are both swimming dizzy and collapsing in the late afternoon sun. Not quite late enough for our lunch to fade but coming up on dinner. I want wings. I think that's a good food to have, especially if they come from Papa Jams. Cherry Bomb, or Red Devil, or Gold Dragon if I want to be adventurous. Louise doesn't taste like chicken wings when I kiss her. She just tastes like her and that is what she should taste like. I imagine I taste like Rachel and she likes that as well. So we keep doing it we are both on the couch and cuddled up against one another. She goes to the bridge of my nose and that sets everything off again. Just when I was back in something akin to control. Such a tenuous thing I have against myself. We are both under the force of a blizzard and can only find solace in one another.

She laughs against my lips as I keep the pressure on her. I am straining against the fabric of my jeans. Such tight things I choose. I should invest in some dresses and skirts some time. Less prone to ripping and tearing and they still have a wonderful tent to show off when I'm in the mood. Everything a piece of clothing needs really. My hands are on Louise's beautiful dark skin, tracing paths and groping with wanton abandon. The bag is forgotten somewhere. And then I remember it and get excited all over again. It's fun. I can't see how it works. I have the basics, but I am still eager for new things.