Chemical Messenger


"Jesus, K, I'm surprised you made it out past John street at all. Look, this snowstorm is fucking everything up and all the Winnipeg boys are here. Just stay there and I'll send a cab; right now there's this girl Chat who's hooking us up temporarily - "

"Chat's not a girl."


"Never mind. I'll see you in an hour."

"You need to get me this tonight, do you understand? It's important. One hour. Thanks for checking in. Glad you're not dead."

"Don't mention it."

And, just like that, I'm gaining time and I know exactly what I want to do, what I really want to do to this man behind me. Before I can place the phone back in its cradle I feel Iain's hands, clumsy with lust, turn me around to face him, bending me over his kitchen counter. I feel the breadth of his shoulders and the arms below them, their slender muscles ending in hands that are lost in my quickly unravelling hair, the dingy blonde strands falling on my shoulderblades.

He's murmuring things in my ear. "The minute you walked in here I thought you had to be some kind of plant, but I never expected-" I bring my hands to the nape of his neck and pull his mouth to mine - not very gently, either, and I relax slightly to marvel at his incoherently soft lips. We haven't even kissed until now and I'm already swollen and wet and ready to fuck. Immediately his hands roam around my body, seizing it while I kiss him, teasing the tips of his front teeth.

I can feel a guttural moan in my throat as he runs his hands down to my ass, pulling my hips closer still. We're breathing hard, now. This is not a chaste kiss. I know it has to be quick but I can't help savouring that now-expected smell of his sweat, the sweat that's matting up his hair. I'm raising my arms and as he's tugging the sweater through my head, arching my back like an offering as I fumble unsuccessfully with his belt. He smirks, doing it himself but before he can finish I'm tearing open his button fly, sending the courds to the floor while he pulls out his shirt off from behind him. I'm so wet I can feel it dribbling down my thighs in hot, liquid runnels.

We stumble to the couch, still very stoned, and settle into a rhythm of making out. The world suddenly gets very small, it's a little bubble of warmth between him and me and we waste no time getting the remainder of our clothing off, inadvertently smearing our fluids on each other's bodies. I want to get fucked by this man, I'm going to get fucked by this man...

The moment his fingers reach my pussy, it's game over for my self-control. The buildup to this was so intense that I'm already soaked, and his fingers struggle to find enough friction to touch me effectively. He grasps my clit between his fingers and moves his head down, sucking it lightly with his teeth. "I'm starting to come-!" I blurt out, and when the first wave of pleasure crashes into me I reach down to grab his penis, smooth and pleasurably weighty in my hand. He starts to rub his cock along the slit, sliding thickly into me without warning and all my nerve endings backflip at once. We both gasp, and I'm clutching his back - I haven't had this much bliss concentrated into one moment before.

This position is hell on my pelvis, so I motion for him to take me from behind, I cry out as he shoves into me, his hard thighs beginning to slap against my ass with this uncontrollable wetness between us, the flesh fused into a wet, sucking mess. I push back to meet his every thrust, where every stroke feels like an orgasm in and of itself. Iain's cock slides out of me, so hard and glistening, jerking uncontrollably. He looks at me with urgency: it's not long before he'll lose control. I marvel again at how responsive he is, reacting palpably to the tips of my fingers, his hair standing on end. For my part, I'm still thrown off from the orgasm he gave me.

He sits on the couch as I kneel in front, caressing the inside of his thighs with my tongue before arriving at his massive rod. I swirl my tongue over his head and work myself downwards, watching him writhe above me on the couch, moaning incoherently, those dark eyebrows inverting their shape. He's so aroused that I don't really have to do much, and I concentrate on his solidity, the way my juices tasted on my own tongue, the heaviness of his balls cupped in my hand. Swirl over and down, over and down. I flick the tip of the head with my tongue, making maddening little half-sucks until he grasps my hand, tightly.

He comes screaming, that beautiful face contorted in what looks like agony, while I suck the life out of him. Because we're high, the orgasm lasts and lasts, and my mouth swallows eagerly as his heart goes back to a regular rate. I could easily go again. And again, and again - the moans he's making should be bottled and sold, they're so potent - but there's just no time.

I have maybe thirty seconds of this rest, this pulsing bliss, before my thoughts and responsibilities come running back to me. He's covered in a sheen of sweat that heightens the swoop of his nose, his lips slick with my fluids. Fuck, he's gorgeous. Little veins in his neck are throbbing and I lean down to kiss them, tasting him.

"Oh, Jesus christ," he says slowly, eyes closed in eddying waves of pleasure, still breathing hard. I wasn't expecting that, Kate."

I hear a thump outside. "Me neither. And I think I hear the cab driver ringing your doorbell."

"Fuck," he mutters as he pulls on some boxers and a white shirt. I walk naked to the kitchen and retrieve my clothes, amused at the soaking my underwear's got. I stuff them into my pocket. A pleasant soreness throbs between my legs with every step and I love it. I pull my coat on, not exactly savouring the realities of the night that lay ahead. "I've wasted our time here," he says suddenly at one point during my re-dressing. I smile and shake my head.

He hands me a card with his information, the same information I had on the sheet from my boss. "If you ever need anything," he says with that crooked half-smile, with those hazel eyes. "I got it."

"And I won't try to fuck you." I smile back.

And just like that, I'm running down the stairs. I can hear a sigh just as I shut the door.

This is not the worst part. The part where I'm in the black car and the snow looks like meringue in the city before the ploughs come in the morning, and it's nice to view this from the safe walls of the car. The big fat snowflakes reflect every single brilliant white light, the cars, the lined-up partygoers (what am I doing outside again? Why isn't that me? Why did Darryl ask me to do this tonight of all nights?) to the extent that the pale bruisey sky might as well be dusk.

The driver hands me a Casio watch. It's still beeping.

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