Work Out Walk About

It's a slow rhythm, but the car still rocks underneath us. That's all I want. That's all I need. Our motions combine and multiply together. Each feeds back into the next. I go harder. She goes harder. I go harder again and we keep trying to one up the other. Then she starts to shake and shiver and we stop. It's a moment to herself as whatever little spark she has grows to consume her. Saoirse grits her teeth and tightens her grip. I feel it wave through her and carry a second or two of our shared pleasure back into her stillness. I savor the way she twitches over me, pulsing and pulling and shaking. She might have a point to all the stillness she wants. Good in small doses, nowhere near enough to sate anything, but a fun garnish.

"You look so fucking smug right now," she says, voice turning a little harsh at the lagging syllables. I keep her hilted nice and deep because that's where I need to be. She's panting and flushed, a thin coat of sweat shining on her forehead. The heater keeps us all flushed and red and a single bead falls from her neck and runs through her cleavage. She catches her breath. I catch mine. And I still look smug. It's incredibly hard to look humble when Saoirse rides me and reaches her climax not even a moment in. I get to watch her breasts shake and bounce and move and that's another tick to keep me and my ego fluffed.

I start again before she is really ready. I don't care. She had hers and I need mine. I will get mine. The car starts rocking and the rain softens a bit more. I have an idea to share when we're done. We'll just dance in the rain and let the cool drops clean us off. I think it would feel good. I enjoy hot showers, but any shower shared is also hot by some definition.

I move and thrust and let the simple motion carry us both. Saoirse gives up on being strong and simply lays on top of me. She keeps rolling her hips and matching a good half time pace. It's wonderful. Her body is wonderful. The weight she gives grounds me to the core of the world. I am immutable and unchangeable. I am the endless passage of fact into reality. I am her, in my body and it is simply glorious to be such a thing.

I don't like lying on my back on a thin blanket in the back of a rather spacious car. So, I don't do that anymore. Saoirse is still trying to gain control of her shaking limbs, and that makes it too easy to turn her over and get me back on top where I belong. She's surprised. I keep her head from smacking against anything dangerous with a palm pulling her to me. We kiss again and there is no technique to it. There is heat and pressure and a desperate attempt to find anything close to control. She doesn't have it. I don't have it. No one else in the world has anything close to it. The car rocks under the motion and the tires squeak. We stop and we have our silence again. Saoirse looks at me with wide eyes. She was oriented one way, then I came in and made her a different way. She likes the new arrangement. She spreads herself a bit wider for me.

Saoirse's long legs creep up my side in a slow, lazy stride. They tickle my ribs and nudge at my shoulders. A little bit of leverage from me and she is folded in half.

"And now who's smug?" I murmur. I lean a bit more and put more weight on her.

"Oh please," she sighs, "You can bench press a truck. But can you put her ankles behind your head?"

I don't think I can. I can break punching bags and throw all of my wonderful harem around like lust filled rag dolls, but there are still limitations to my being. She still looks smug and it's beautiful on her. It scrunches and moves those freckles into so many new constellations. She has green eyes that shine and sparkle. She has red hair that burns and smolders. All of her turns the world and rocks the car and I start thrusting into her.

My core burns and I adore the sensation. My joints start their motion. My legs flex and tense and now there is more of me over her. My muscles turn and move and I am fully in my act. Every part of me pours into the next second of motion. The reverberation hits back into me and then the next moment comes. She is still smug. There is a bit of trepidation and fear and awe and so many other little feelings that come through her mind. My body, my motion, sweep them all away and leave her with pale white euphoria. She grits her teeth and screws her eyes closed so she can endure. I kiss her forehead and bury my head in her neck. I breathe in the sex of our body and I lose what little of my mind to the act. I move and thrust and pound. The rain is almost gone. The car shakes and rolls. I breathe in her scent as she breathes in mine, lost to each other, but so close at hand.

I ravage her with deep, strong strokes. My shape bulges through her and brushes against my stomach. Her nails claw at my back and leave deep red marks that I can't wait to show off to my others. I think her teeth are in my shoulder. Or it could be a hand. Or it could just be my wonderful imagination. Or it could even be all three.

We are wild in our little shelter in the forest. The rain has stopped and the trees are back to rustling in the autumn wind. The car keeps shaking and I keep panting. Saoirse tightens over me in a deep groaning hiss and slowly moves her legs back down to entrap my hips. She keeps rolling and moving, eyes closed and mind lost to me. I am still in her shoulder, thrusting and pumping my length into her. She pants too, ragged and hot and trying to claw back a pedestal of her world.

She does not get it. She tightens again and howls my name into the wind. The car shakes with her voice and I have some mercy in me to stop and slowly coax it out, instead of shattering everything she has. She appreciates it. We still have to drive home and probably pick up dinner. I can't imagine either one of us being able to cook or do anything really.

"You absolute fucking bitch," she moans, voice breaking after every other letter.

"Is that really any way to talk to me when I'm like this?" I hum. I kiss her neck gently. Then I put a bit of teeth against her skin. She knows that I'm there and there are so many sharp edges to me. So much strength and power. My muscles burn and sing with my effort and scream for more. I start again because that is what I want to do.

She simmers and hisses like a tea kettle, but I don't stop. She keeps me locked in, despite everything saying she can't withstand. I move my legs and brace against the side of the car. I keep moving. I keep feeling every single bit of my work in her as it bounces out into the world.

The burn starts in my core and the tense and the flex only burns hotter. I shift my grip on her again. I shift my leverage and go deeper. Her hands start scraping again. So many marks, so many scars. I am painted and claimed and I luxuriate in every little white spark of pain. It only comes back through the veil as another ratchet of my euphoria.

Something cracks and gives and I have no intention of returning. I am over the edge and all that's left is to just let the pieces scatter wherever they want. She tightens her grip and digs deep, deep into me. I go deep into her. The sparks collide and combine, growing into white hot sundown into my core. It's glorious. My legs shake and collapse. My arms do a bit more work to keep me lifted, but I still drop until our chests to meet and slip and shake over one another. They're soft. They warm. They kiss mine and roll over in a maddening dance. She howls again, some nonsense words that tap into primordial current adjacent to the wind in the trees, the rushing water, the rolling thunder suggested by the pattering rain. I growl, deep and low and jagged into her neck. I breathe in the sex of our bodies as the everything tightens and shatters and breaks against everything else.

My release is long and slow and heavy and burning with warmth. It comes through my length in tidal waves pulsing along with my heartbeat. I fill her and the shape I give changes. I fill her and she stammers and whines and makes so many beautiful noises for me. I hear my release echo through her. Her legs shake too. The car shakes. The leaves shake. The whole world shakes with me as I release into her. The viscous seed flows out of me and into her. She can't hold it all, and I am given back my warmth down my thighs. There's a laugh mixed in with our noises now, breathy and light and dizzy.

"You cum way too much," she sighs.

"More than Troy?" I hum. I kiss her neck again, softly, gently, as calmly as I possibly can.

"Not playing the competition game. Kind of hard to keep track in the heat of the moment."

I don't particularly like the lack of ranking, but the slow unwind and gentle repose we both find ourselves in is certainly nice. The blanket's ruined, but I tend to do that a lot. Troy less so. But still more often than not. Her hands trace my back and don't leave marks this time. That's also nice. Not sure which I like more. Saoirse may have a point about not ranking everything with a number and a slot. She kisses my shoulder and everything's soft and whole again.

A knock comes to the window and all we have is sharp cold fear.

Saoirse tumbles away from me and fumbles for clothes. I think she hands me mine. The underwear doesn't fit over my erection, so it's a tossup whose it is. There's one more hole than there should be, so I think it's hers. I get my shirt and I think it's her pants. My coat's in the front seat and so is Saoirse, shuffling over to greet our intruder.

She opens the door, flushed and disheveled and almost discombobulated. I see a somewhat wrinkled woman in a green collared shirt, wide hat and a thin plastic poncho protecting her from the threat of rain. She's authoritative, but pleasantly so. She has thick glasses that are now glaring at Saoirse.

"Ma'am," she says, "you need to leave the park."

There is simply too much for her poor fried brain to deal with. The afterglow is still strong as the northern lights. She doesn't have the right clothes and I think they're even backwards, somehow. My seed is leaking from her and its completely obvious to anyone with a rudimentary sex education. There's an authority figure in front of her challenging her view of the world and where she should be. I also imagine she's kind of hungry. I am. I want chicken wings. I think I can force that if I try a bit on the way home.

"I'm sorry, what?" Saoirse says. No hostility in the words, just utter bafflement.

"We're doing some maintenance on the bridges today," the range says, "And the trails are closed until they're fixed. The forecast delayed the start. So, we're asking you to leave."

The ranger is nice and calm. The order is given and it should be followed. It's reasonable enough, but an order is an order and something like my hackles rise in futile protest.

"Oh," Saoirse says, "Ok. Yeah, that's fine. Sorry. Give us like five minutes and we'll be gone."

The ranger nods at her and looks back to me, still hiding in the trunk. She's far away and makes no comment on whatever she sees. A slight shake of her head and she turns away.

We put ourselves back together. I have my right clothes on my body and I'm more or less calm. Completely and utterly exposed to anyone who can recognize the shape on my thigh, but I'm doing the most that can be expected. It's all hidden under the dash, and I doubt the rangers have the full authority to arrest me.

Our car passes there's and it seems our ranger has her own little pod. I wave at them. Saoirse hides as best she can, turning just as red as her hair. One of the rangers waves back and gives me a thumbs up. Another can't stop laughing. Ours just keeps a calm professional demeanor that has no doubt been beaten into her by an endless swath of experience. I broach the subject of dinner and Saoirse agrees that no one is cooking. We are getting something and then we are hiding for as long as possible so no one ever finds out.

---

I love that our post sex ritual involves Papa Jams, even if it is a bit harder to justify the trip out from our new home. It's a good signal that no more sex can happen. We are all full, but more importantly, everyone is covered in just enough spicy remnants that anything touching anything sensitive sets off a reaction that leaves everything howling in pain. I also really like their Cherry Bomb wings and their fries. Saoirse likes their Vamp Killer and that means we are keeping a respectable distance so everything can calm down and keep their space. I like my space, mostly because I can sprawl out on the couch and think about nothing except the lingering heat on my tongue and the contentedness I feel with the world.

Saoirse's lounging near me, sort of. She's draped over a chair and touching my foot with hers every so often. She's in her own tired stupor as we play a game of seeing who suggests we go to bed first. There's no real point to play, but it feels right to stay up a bit. We haven't heard anything from Troy or Louise. We would like to hear something from Troy or Louise, just to make sure the world isn't being particularly cruel to them. We're also going to keep our little run in with the rangers a secret until they get back, for comedic effect. They might have a similar story about their own security walking in at the most importune time.

"I'm going to miss this place," Saoirse sighs.

"We haven't been living together all that long," I say, "And aren't we still in that super early phase where nothing might happen?"

"You're not wrong, but still. Lot of memories in a really, really short time frame. And besides. I think this is everyone's first house. Doesn't matter if it's a day or a decade. You only get one first house. I just had to share it with all of you."

She ponders a bit more for a moment longer.

"You might hate this, but I'm thinking separate bedrooms for all of us."

I shoot her a look. She's right. I do kind of hate that.

"Like, ok. We have a sex bed, and then a sleep bed, and then solo sleep bed so if someone really needs it, they can have it without anyone poking them awake."

It makes sense, and I still don't like it. Now that she says that I don't think she likes it either. There is something to simple joy of having someone else's boobs in your face when you get up. Neither of us can have that a room away. There's an odd little glint in her eyes as something else collects in her noggin.

"Alright, maybe not," she sighs, "It is nice, even if it's also terrible. And I want the kids to have their own space."

I take a moment to take in the words she said. She's grinning something fierce vulpine and I am almost afraid of where those teeth can go.

She's laughing again. Kind of at me, kind of at her, kind of at the world.

"You look like a dog that just heard the word 'treat,'" she chuckles.

"I know how babies are made," I say, "And I happen to like that process."

"Oh, I know. I imagine if this passes the rest of the board, we're all going to have to take like two weeks off work for the first session."

"And then you'd have to rotate through until it finally happens."

She's chuckling again, a bit harder.

"And would it just be you? Poor Troy would just have to watch and feed you grapes."

"I don't really like grapes."

Another laugh and she scooches closer. Our shins knock together and nothing quite interlocks, but we are closer and that is something.

"Are you serious?" I ask.

"More or less," she shrugs, "I've always kind of wanted them, but there was the whole single thing to take care of. And then the move, and then the you, and now it seems like that's closer than I thought. I know you and Louise had the little ring talk on the way back from your parents. Your mom sent me the recipe for those dumplings by the way. But that's kind of the next step after that, right?"

She moves a bit closer again and I help her along. She has to turn and move and now her head is on my stomach. I have to shift my length out of the way. It got excited when it realized the notion was coming closer.

"Of course," she says, "We have the other idiots to worry about. I think they'll go for it, but it's another conversation to have."

"And kind of need the big house first."

Saoirse shrugs.

"That would probably help. And we'd need a good school district. Start saving for colleges, Or starting nest eggs if the kids decide to be smart and not do that. Maybe figure out if someone gets to be a house spouse. Lot of questions in all this, and none of us have a ring and none of us have signed a mortgage. But it is kind of fun to think about."

Just to illustrate her point, she shimmies and presses her weight into that wonderful excitement on my hips. It agrees.

My phone goes off. It's Rob wanting to talk. He doesn't get a response. I am too tired and it is too late. Then it goes off again and that's what I wanted to hear. The specific chime tells me its Troy. The prize inside is a picture of him and Louise amidst a sea of people under strobing lights. He's smiling and wide eyed. Louise is a bit harder to pick out, mostly because her dancing has set her hair careening, hiding her face. But she's having fun. He's having fun. They're both having fun and I imagine that they'll both sleep like the dead when they return.

Saoirse peeks at my phone and I can't help noticing the small trickle of comfort that comes with seeing them both ok. Never a worry, barely a concern, but still that little pebble digging into our soul. She yawns and that sets me off. We had our adventure today and we've confirmed that everything is right in our world. A couple of rather serious topics breached, but good serious. Fun serious. But nothing that can't wait until tomorrow, after I carry Saoirse off to bed.