Work Out Walk About

We come to a sturdy plank bridge and start walking across it. The first few steps are fine, but then a board shifts and bends and I stumble. Before I can fall into the water, there's a Saoirse in my way, grabbing my shoulders and heaving as best she can. Then I make the mistake of reaching for the ground to steady us both, and the whole damn thing gives way. We fall. Not long, not hard, but we do. We land in the cold running water, leaves sticking to us and dripping wet.

Now she's mad and she's cute when she mad. Not at me, not at her, not at anyone other than the cruel world who decided that she must suffer. I'm cold now. I'm really cold. Saoirse's shivering and fuming. It's my turn to scoop and save. The slick river rocks don't make it particularly easy, but I do manage to get a grip on her and hoist her to her feet. Then, because I am nice and strong and brave, I take her in my arms and let the cold river water slip from her body and soak me to the bone. She's still soaked, but at least we're soaked together.

It's a bit of a mess, getting us both to the bank. The rocks want to shift and move and tumble. Getting up the bank is its own little trial, but kindly tree roots form a ladder for us both. She goes first and I get to watch her ass work as she rises. She doesn't get to watch mine, so that's a shame, but she can look down my shirt if she so chooses. And she does as she wrings out her hair. I can look at all the tight clinging things she now has on. And the best part is no one else gets to look at either of us. Our rage and embarrassment are only for us and I can just laugh at us both. She fumes for a bit more, then I decide that she is frustrated enough to carry down the mountain like I'm some sort of barbarian. She doesn't protest. She starts laughing angrily and that's beautiful. She kisses my nose and I cop a feel on her ass and that's beautiful too. Even the gathering clouds are beautiful.

---

We've made a fun fort in the back of Saoirse's car. The heater's on and we've put up a good curtain of our drying clothes, so the nonexistent strangers can't peak in. We could drive naked down the freeway, but I imagine that breaks some law somewhere down the line. And I do not want to be pulled over and questioned in my underwear. I have some ideas on how that could play out by some of the fun movies we've watched together, but I doubt reality is anything close to that. Instead, we just kind of hunker down, still dripping wet with river water, waiting for the drops to fall and disappear. We catch glimpses of the orange trees shivering in the wind. They are cold too. The wind bites and cuts and we are safe in the back of a sedan that's a bit too old to be fully functional. Saoirse's let our better halves know exactly how much trouble we've gotten ourselves into, but a rescue operation is unneeded. We just spend a little while until everything's warmish and no one is going to get frostbite. It can't be that long, especially if we take measures to share our body heat. Saoirse's busy spreading a handy picnic blanket so we're not just sitting on a dirty car floor. We can lay out and spread and wait in relative comfort.

I take up my space first. I have to put the seats down, but I manage. She manages too, laying on her back and watching the ceiling. It's a good ceiling.

"So, good hike?" she asks.

"Not too bad," I say, "The fall kind of sucked, but now we're lying here in our underwear, so that's pretty neat."

"Don't even start. I know how this is going to play out, and I kind of agree. I'm cold. But give me a moment to actually come down. My calves hurt."

She's not wearing her lacy or thin or fun things today. It's all athletic and comfortable and I kind of like that more. I can see less, but I also like the fact that there's a hole right under the elastic on her left thigh. She doesn't think I notice, but I do. There are no freckles, just pale skin gentle pushing against its confines. I like that. I like the way they shift and squish and move with her breath.

I take the invitation she didn't know she made. I shimmy over and she thinks it's time to finally begin. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I can be patient and considerate. Her legs hurt, so I take my time and work through them, soft skin moved and pushed and massaged as I work my fingers into her.

"I keep forgetting that you can actually control yourself," she sighs.

"Hey, I'm a person, more or less," I huff, "there's a reason I've never hit anyone who doesn't tip me."

"Do you tip movers? I know I did, but that was also to slip you my number," she says through a little squeak and moan with the movement.

"Yes. I lifted heavy things for you, so money for me. If I break something, sure, no money. If I do it under the budgeted time, more money. If I do a satisfactory job, then a good amount of money."

I roll her legs and work out the knots. I move a bit higher and she likes that. I like that too. Her legs are long and lithe. I like them. I love them. They bend and flex and turn over in my head. And Saoirse makes wonderful little sighs and moans under my hands. Some of them are probably faked and exaggerated, but her nipples are starting to poke through as well. We're cold, but not that cold. I refuse to believe we are that cold.

I keep working up and I keep my grip strong, just enough to be something not quite pleasant. There is just a bit of pain there, that deep stretch burn, that dull numbing ache, all the ways the body can complain so sweetly. She loves it. It is her body and her experience, every little spark something to reassure and cherish. I work into her and she works back into me. I keep going up, taking her legs straight and bending her like an iron bar.

She doesn't stop me. She just feels her joints start to sing and burn in cold spikes. She's also smiling smugly at some secret I am just now poking in at.

"Were you always this flexible?" I ask. She shrugs, but I take her a bit farther and that does get a bit of true pain out of her. Not enough to stop or complain, but just a bit to make her know I have control.

"No, not really," she huffs, "I may not be built for bloody knuckles and concussions, but I can work out. I go to yoga on Tuesdays. Don't you wonder why I'm never home for dinner?"

"I never noticed," I mutter, "That's when Troy has his weekly meetings and he always gets so stressed about them, so I kind of make sure he gets unstressed when I'm home. And then when we're unstressed you're back, so it's like you never left."

She rolls her eyes at me and that's fair. In my defense, it's hard to keep track of three other people as they shuffle and roll around my life. They show up and slip out and collide all the time. I reach over and there's one of them. I toss and turn in the night and there's another. A third creeps up on me and that's all I can keep track of. I can't juggle all these wonderfully sex-filled balls. They just keep falling into my lap.

And my lap is growing more and more prominent as Saoirse bends for me. I let the leg back down, gliding over my shoulder and down my chest. She spreads her legs wide for a moment before snaping them back together and sitting up. Her chest bobs and sways and that's enticing. I think she's doing it on purpose, especially when she reaches up and stretches her back.

"Are those sore too?" I ask.

"No. Not at all. Completely fine. But you can touch them if you want."

She laughs at my eagerness and yelps at bit as she finds herself back on the floor. The heater whirs and clicks. A stray blade of sunlight cuts through our hanging curtains of wet clothes. It lands across her cleavage and catches the few remaining freckles.

I palm her breasts over the thin fabric. Her bra is wet too. The poor babies must be cold. They should get out of those wet clothes. I decide to help them. I go under the elastic and it is just as cold as I thought. Saoirse even gasps a little as I touch her. It's hard, getting her out of shell. She's straining and pulling and tight. All of her is right at the edge, and I only get her out inches at a time. She has to help me. Mostly by moving the straps at the back while I focus on the front. Together, we get the bottom up and over and all of her drops and sways. She sighs and rolls her shoulders.

"So, kind of a lie," she says, "They are a bit sore. It's hard to find bras that don't squish."

She doesn't have to say anything else. I'm already taking my efforts to her breasts in full. They are cold, water still clinging to them in a thin sheet. My hands warm them up. I feel her breath start to deepen and her heart quicken as I move.

It's simple play, really. It's always so simple, and it always can be so simple. I lift them up to savor their weight. I let them fall to watch them bounce. I run my palm over her nipples to get little content noises from her mouth. She closes her eyes and lets me play with her. I've learned to start gently at least, always gently, letting her get used to the slow ramp of tension and rise that I can give her. Already, it's starting to warm and surge. I can feel it catch in her breath, in the way the sighs hitch for a moment just at the end. The inhales have a bit of separation to them, almost imperceptible. I know the way her breasts play in my hands and I know the way her breath plays with her body.

I stop for a moment and I hear the soft protests come from her core. It's raining now. Softly, quietly, little drops hitting the roof of her car in a delicate snare drum line. I don't remember anyone saying it was supposed to rain today. I don't think it was ever brought up. Saoirse takes my hands and brings them back to her. The rain doesn't matter. The drum line doesn't matter. There is just her and me and the little pocket of the world we've carved away for ourselves. The car rocks a bit as I shift our weight. The mat digs into my side, but the spare blanket she keeps in the back takes the worst of it.

Saoirse starts playing with me as well. I may not have quite the same presence as she does, but I've had my fair share of compliments given freely. And she likes them. Troy likes them. Louise likes them. I like them. They are heavy and bouncing and taut, but never so much as to give me any trouble. I fall out of tank tops every so often, or they get in the way when I have to lift furniture for work. But they more than make up for it in the simple way they entice.

"I never thought I would end up liking something like this," Saoirse sighs as her own soft hands cup and knead. I groan deep in my chest and let the soft warmth chase away the lingering chill. The urges are back and flowing through me, I grip harder and she shivers. One of her legs parts mine and we are interlocked. She rolls her hips until we meet. She grinds and rubs herself on my thigh gently. That's warm. That's nice. She's pressing on my length and that also gets another level of sparks running through me. It's all from her and of her. She is warm and inviting and slowly brings me up through her. She touches me and I touch her and she touches me again and I go back to her.

I am the one to break through the barrier and press my lips into her. The wind has made them chapped and the water has made them cold, but she is warming up again. Everything is starting to burn and singe. Everything is flushed and red and she presses back into me. Our breasts smash and roll as her hands drape over my neck. My hips roll. Her hips roll. Our bodies meet in soft skin on soft skin. Her tongue is the one to find my and start writhing against mine. She's a better kisser than me. Maybe the best of all of us. I need to go back home and try all three at once to get to the bottom of this. But I just have her. I only have her and I only need her right now. Her eyes are closed, saving the presence and feeling and the slowly growing need we both share.

She breaks and gasps and she is completely flushed. Apple red cheeks, lips parted, eyes wide and pupils dilated, staring into me and shying away from whatever she sees. But she's not running away. Granted, the car is small and I am close and there really is no other place for her to be than right here, right now. So, she goes back into me, kissing and stroking, hands finding the sculpture of my back and tracing the lines of my muscles. Hers are a bit harder to find, but I love the way there is no end to any of it. I think I am on her shoulders, but I am down at her hips. I am in the small of her back and cradling her neck. It blends and mixes and she keeps riding me and my heat, again and again and again.

She finally gets around to taking off some of my clothes and I can breathe again. Nothing tight or choking or binding, but it is the motion I love and everything is free. No ceiling, no roof, no overcast sky and soft drizzling rain. I am hard, throbbing against her stomach. It bobs and pulses to the motions and she does not stop. She cannot stop. I cannot stop.

My body aches and urns at the simple act of rubbing against one another. I can hear her heartbeat roar in my eats as we try and meld our souls into one.

"We're really going to fuck in the back of my car aren't we?" she asks.

"Would you prefer doing it outside?" I ask. Just to illustrate my point, the rain gets a bit harder.

"Little bit. Figured that was the other way this could have gone down, but since we're already here, don't really see anything better to do."

"I know. I'm such a disappointment."

She kisses my nose and that makes me be quiet for a moment. I am such a beautiful thing to do. I am such an incredible disappointment. All my affected self-deprecation can't really stop anything we've already started. And the back of a car in the mountains under a downpour isn't really all that bad. Considering it's just one of my wonderful companions, there are obvious ways of improvement, but this is still absolutely wonderful. Especially when Saoirse finally decides to free me.

It's not quite raging, but it is angry and seething and pressing into her stomach. I shift my legs until my underwear hangs around my ankles. Then I kick it away and I am back to my best self. Saoirse sets herself right as well and I lose track of where they land. I think it's in the passenger seat. That's fun. She brings my back as she lets her hips copy mine, straddling my length and letting her entrance come into contact. She is warm and ready and slowly growing more and more desperate.

I like it with Saoirse. She takes it slower than any of the others. She settles in the motion and simply lets it all carry on as it wants to. It takes her to my tip, giving me one last soft kiss, before she opens and drops. I move and roll and let her get on top. She sets the pace and it is slow. I'm in no hurry. She's in no hurry. The rain isn't stopping and our clothes are still wet. The heater hums. It is doing its best. The fans vents can't quite reach all the way back here, but I appreciate the fort. Saoirse grits her teeth as she gets the first fraction of me in her.

"I love this part," she hisses. Her knees take her weight. Beads of her arousal slip from other and rain down my shaft. Her hands are on my stomach for support. My hands are on her thighs, trying to get her down farther. It's a fun little game of push and pull. I watch her heartbeat flutter in her chest, sending gentle waves through her breasts. We go back to our stillness and just let the moment hang.

"I like the next part more," I hum. Her embrace gives me little sparks and ripples through my body and all I want is more of that wonderful dance under us. She refuses. It's the little wait and little death and the growing impatience just to get me angrier when we finally break that line.

"I know you do, but I also just want to savor this. Don't you just want to savor it sometimes? Look at how far I have to go. Isn't that something you like to see?"

My tip is in with a bit more down the way. She's right. I do like seeing how far she is willing to fall for me.

"Does Troy give you this much of a fall?" I hum.

"We're not doing that. We're not playing favorites. I have no interest in pulling a ranking game. You know you're bigger. He knows you're bigger. We all know you're bigger, but I also know you don't give nearly as good head as he does. So, there. You're all better than everyone else, and that also means you're the worst of all of us."

"You're stalling."

"Little bit. Because I want you to get a bit frustrated, too. I spent forever looking up hiking trails and I wasn't letting anything get in my way. And then the bridge broke and I'm still a little pissed about that. I need something frustrated for me to get mine."

I trace my hands up her sides and I love the way I have to follow her curves. I trace back down and I'm trying to get her out of her head. She has a body that's amazing and she should start feeling things in that again. I trace my nails and leave a bit of sensation against her. It gives her something to follow and trace. It gives her something more important than whatever she's thinking about. I am here and she is here and no matter where her mind wanders, those two facts are simply immutable.

She drops a bit more and that's what we both want. The rain lightens a bit, but not all that much. Getting us out of here is going to be a bit of a trek, but we'll manage probably. Her hands creep up and now I am back out of my head. She is embracing and warm and slick and sighing my name up into the raindrops. Halfway, maybe a little less, and she is still descending into me.

"You're right," she says, "you're always right. This is better than savoring it, but that bit of patience makes it so much better."

Her legs shake a bit and I am not quite there enough to give a reply. I just grip her legs and force her down. I was holding back and now I'm not. As much. She is falling, slowly, but she is falling. A little shake and another little yelp and sigh and there is more of me in her. A little more. Another push. Another quake. I have more of me in her and my core tightens. I want to go all the way, but there is still the moment of getting used to me. I have to get used to her. I had nothing but cold and now I have nothing but warmth.

The last motion she has is quick and short and our hips meet in one glorious moment. I make her stomach bulge and shift and I am there in her. A hand comes to my shape and traces the imprint.

"That's insane," she moans, 'Why are you like this?"

"Do you have a better way for me to be?" I groan. I am in her totally, but I need more. There should be movement and dancing and thrusting and pounding and we have none of that. We've had the stillness and the calm of existence in the forest. I need to wreck something and Saoirse has decided to be the closest thing to me in the moment. So, I will ruin her. I roll my hips and I get a little more noise from her. The shape changes and moves and I adore every impact I make. It creeps past her navel, up the chest, back down, back up, back down, back up. It still is short little trips in her again as she starts retreating. I move out of her and she rises. That insufficient protest she always gives fail at my presence. She takes me out almost all the way. The shape is gone. She throws back her head and moans against the sky. I start to rise up in her again, bring the bulge to her stomach. She drops and she wants everything I give to her. The car shakes with the motion. The world turns underneath us and I am back in her again.

We keep everything slow. For all intents and purposes, we are still in public. The rain and the silence of the day and a beautiful temptation to go as hard and as loud as we possibly can, but I imagine someone somewhere would really take offense to all that. I think there are pictures of Louise's and I's little game after the concert floating out there. I would take pictures of me if I was in that situation. Saoirse's hands go to my chest again and we are officially back to it.