The next few days of trashpicking, that night hangs over us.
We speak, but only necessities. “Morning,” “up ahead,” “hand me the flashlight.” But- the look comes back. And now he doesn't hide it when I catch it. He holds it, and calculates, and chews away at the shame he described. The sickness between his ribs. Day by day there’s less of that until it’s back down to what it was before. Companionship. Company. After loading up scraps and goods we'll trade at the next living town, I lean against Blueberry's closed door and cross my arms at him. About to reach for his driver's side handle, he hesitates and watches me. “I had a dream last night,” I say, “of the day we met.” “Yeah?” He says. He joins me, walking down the shoulder and leaning against the car. I look across the open prairie, the dented pickup truck we just dug through, and the storm, pouring curtains of rain onto yellowed grasses miles and miles away. The sky above us is clear, in contrast. Bright, harsh shadows with a dark blue cloudy backdrop. “I held up the register,” I recall, “you grabbed your snacks like you did. But instead of following you out, I stayed. And I shot the cashier. He didn't die. He ran at me, screaming. Ripped out my throat with his teeth.” “That sounds more like a nightmare,” Harrison says. “It was a nightmare the moment your feet hit the parking lot, my friend,” I say, “the rabid cashier had nothing to do with it.” He frowns, nodding slowly. He wipes dirty hands on the front of his pants. “Why did you follow me,” he says. “You walked between my gun and my target,” I say, lifting my hand to mime the scene, “you corrected my form,” I grab my own hand, the way he had those months ago, “And then you grabbed chips and a drink and walked out without paying. And I said to myself, that sure looks easier than what I've been doing.” I drop my hand. “Easier?” He laughs, “and I thought my good looks had something to do with it.” I shrug. “The suit and tie was a good look.” Though, not necessarily on him. “Bah,” he says, “fuck the monkey suit.” He hadn't taken any of that with him. Whole new Harrison. He had already seemed the type, even right when we met. Out of place. “Well,” I say, “when I ran up behind you, why did you follow me? I only had to ask once.” “You clearly didn't know what you were doing,” he says. He points to his face. “It was in your eyes. But that didn’t stop the air of you. Even clearly out of your element, you walked like someone to follow.” He drops his hand and looks away, a gale of wind pushing at both of us from across the field. “I don’t think you even needed to ask.” I take that, though I don’t see what he does in me. I was just terrified and alone. I roll thoughts between my ears with crossed arms, watching his face. I’ve learned a lot from him. Better shooting. Better fighting. Survival outside of the tin we pick. But he continues to tell me that he’s learning from me, too. I’d never seen myself as holding that kind of value. I figured shit out alone. I survived. Since he followed me, I’d call this real living. He meets my eye again. “I'll be honest, some was adrenaline. My heart was still pounding from walking in on a robbery. Taking something. It felt fucking good. Better than a day of the job I'd been doing for fifteen years.” “And now?” I say, “The adrenaline’s not enough.” He shrugs. “Now you’re my Captain.” “And I still don’t know what I’m doing. What that means.” “Live and learn,” he says, “It’s what I had to do.” I nod and break our eye contact, looking at the approaching weather. No mountains or even hills on the ground, but varied topography in the sky. “Plenty of living and learning to do out here.” A bolt of lightning stretches from the side of the massive thundercloud, arcing through the air and hitting the ground. It’s outside of the peals of rain. I watch the ground for fire. “So it seems,” he says. Are we going to dance forever? Get fucking to it. “That it, then?” I say. He grunts, pushing off Blueberry and going back to his car. “Your Captain is speaking to you,” I snap. His hand on the door makes hard contact. A heavy thud. “That’s it,” he says, “That’s all there can be, ok Josie? I’m fifty-two fucking years old.” He turns away, down the road back where we came from, before kicking his front tire hard enough his foot bounces back and scrapes the gravel. He faces me. “I can’t,” he says, “It’s uneven. You were right when you said no one could stop me, and since we both know that, I can’t.” “And I’m your Captain,” I say, “At this point it seems like that means something.” “And?” “And we both know that.” I step into his face, crossing the distance between our cars with long strides. “That makes it uneven in my favor. Because whatever fucked up moral code you have between your ears, it seems you wouldn’t lay a finger on me.” I punctuate this with the clack of my weapon, pressing the handle against his fist. He blinks at me, closing his hand around the gun. “There,” I bite, “Now you have all the cards.” I’m close enough to feel his breath on my face as he exhales, nostrils flaring. He lifts the pistol casually, aimed away from both of us. His brow is low over his eyes. “It feels different, doesn’t it?” I say, “That’s proof.” I’m chest to chest with him. He’s only a few inches taller than me. “Proof of what?” His voice is strained. “Our footing.” I take the gun back. “Equivalence. Just because you’re stronger doesn’t mean you have advantage. Your mind is getting in the way of that.” His frown is almost a pout now. Am I going to make him cry? “Maybe so,” he says. “So what's the problem?” I say. I'm being loud, now. Aggressive. There's no one but him and the storm to hear it. “What's the problem, Harris-” His hand darts out, and for a second, I brace for a punch, grabbing the front of his jacket. Instead, he grabs the back of my head. We freeze there, for a half a breath, his fingers firmly holding my skull above the nape of my neck. His teeth show, clenched. Locked in stalemate, connected only violently. Gripping instead of holding. He huffs once. It’s close enough to disgust, that I’m sure he’s about to toss me backward into the ditch. My fists still clasped in his jacket. His breath against my lips. I pull myself in. He stumbles against the kiss, jaw still clenched and hand still locked on my head. I absorb the taste of him, so sure he’ll reject me once we part. If this is all I get, I want to savor it. To remember. My pressure is firm, but not obscene. I keep my tongue in my mouth. When I pull back, I inhale quickly. He smells like rust and cannabis. His blue eyes can’t pick which one of mine to look into. His mouth hangs open, his jaw coming undone with it and letting out a breath. “There,” I say, “That’s mine. So you can’t-” He pulls me by the head and we connect again, the bridge of my nose colliding hard with his. He doesn’t stop pulling. Our faces turn and lock into place. I step into him, pushing him back against the door of his car. He breaks away from me, dropping his hand. “Jo,” He says. It’s a warning. My heart pounds in my chest, sending spikes through the core of each limb in time. Now I’m testing fate. “Harrison,” I reply, matching his tone. I still hold the front of his jacket, and I let go to slide my hands upwards. He’s tense. I snake my fingers between his jacket and his t-shirt to rub his wide shoulders, tight against my touch. “Relax,” I say, “Or the massage won’t help.” I try to sound soothing, though I know I’m not good at it. “Jo,” he repeats, lower. The warning now sends a shiver through me, but I don’t stop. “I know,” I say. “Do you?” his voice cracks. I bite my lips over a grin. Oh, I’m severely aware. I massage harder, and his shoulders fall. He yields to me as I lean in, pushing his back flat against the glass of his car window. The wind picks up as the storm heads our way. During the course of our conversation, the clouds had grown taller and darker, now looming heavy over us. My hands leave his shoulders and rest on his chest. From here, I can see more of the pepper in his beard. “I’ll be honest, though.” I look through the window behind him, seeing if I can spot his pipe from here. “I’m too sober for this.” Since the first hit he shared with me, I prefer being high to being drunk. He closes his eyes. “Absolutely not.” “Just a little smoke?” I say. “No.” “Worth a shot.” He’s tense again. I take a step back, fixing the clothes I’d ruffled. “Let’s just go,” I say. He purses his lips. I look at the road ahead of us. A green sign we passed this morning told us what was ahead. “We could go to Omaha and see how much trading we can do there.” “Josie,” he says. His voice is undercooked. I can see the feelings play across his face. First regret. Then shame. Then despair. His chin trembles under the beard. I weave my fingers into it and steady his jaw. He leans into the touch, but his eyes are still hollow. He stares through me. “Aye?” I say. “What are you doing?” A whisper. Now, all he is is tired. “What I want,” I say. And right now, in the face of being shut down, what I want is to leave. This needs to breathe, if the look on his face says anything. I turn back to Blueberry, but he grabs my wrist, keeping my hand from leaving his jaw. “Are you sure?” he says. I reset, coming back to face him instead of the road. My thumb strokes his cheek. “Sure of what?” “It’s what you want?” He says, “Not just giving me what I want.” I scoff. “I honestly don’t care what you want.” “Yeah, right.” His eyes flit away from the nothing he gazed into before. He looks over my face an inch at a time from the bottom up. “I mean it,” I snap. His wandering eyes fly to my mouth to watch the words I say. His hand loosens around my wrist. Now his fingers rest, warm and heavy, pulling both our hands into the crook of his neck. I can feel his pulse through the skin. The wind picks up, scooping heat off the fields around us and blowing it away. Harrison’s eyes are still glued to my lips. “I can tell what you want,” I say. The bite still hangs on in my voice. His fingers tremble against my wrist as he lifts his hand away, setting me free. I put mine down, too, severing the last connection between us. Now we stand an inch apart, but not touching. “And I don’t care,” I say. “This isn’t about that.” “Then what is it about?” It’s almost growl, with how low his voice is. He’s not giving it enough breath to be clear, but I know what he said. “What. I. Want.” I’m forceful. It spits, just a few drops onto his cheek. He wipes it away, just as forcefully. At least he doesn’t just sit and take it. “Fine,” he says, with as much bite as I have, “And if I believe you?” I step up, rising onto my toes to bridge the inches in difference between us. “Good.” He grabs me by the sides, hands under my jacket before I feel he’s moved at all. His lips meet mine for the third time, and now he’s playing along. My chin hits his, cushioned by beard. I wrap his face in my hands and slide them down his neck. My tongue probes his lips curiously, looking for more of what I tasted before. A sound escapes me as he pulls me in by my waist. His hands on my sides find skin, holding onto my hipbones as I push his jacket off his shoulders. Massive drops of rain intercept. At first it's just the sound of them, hitting the ground all around us. I ignore it, in favor of my other senses. The taste of his breath down my throat. The rasp in his voice that escapes through our kiss. His hands leaving my hips to grip my ass. But soon, the rain becomes a problem. We break as the wet registers on my skin. “Fuck!” I laugh as we both duck towards Blueberry, Harrison throwing his jacket back up over his shoulders. We take shelter in the front seats, the interruption leaving us breathless. Doubt crosses his face again. His hands fumble against each other, acting as unfamiliar as a stranger picked up hitchhiking. As if he’d never sat in the passenger seat of my car before. Thunder rattles us, low and steady. The lightning that preceded it was high enough inside the clouds that we didn't get to see it. I untie my boots and kick them off, simultaneously adjusting the steering wheel up out of my way. His doubt has me rushing, trying to get ahead of the next wave of emotions. “Can- can we please talk about this?” He says, holding up a hand between us. Can't the talking come later? “What is there to say?” “Plenty.” He runs a hand through his hair, freeing trapped raindrops. “And it seems like you've said it.” I press my hands into the steering wheel, trying to tamp down my temper. It's being aggravated by the heat inside me. I haven’t been touched in so fucking long, and now that it’s on the table it’s all I can think about. I flare my fingers and face him. “You want it in words?” “Please,” he says. I grab the dash and the back of his seat. His eyes are wide, showing white on all sides, as I cross into the passenger side to straddle him. My left knee is jammed between his thigh and the door, and the right balanced on the edge of his seat. I support myself, though it's close enough I can feel the heat of him under me. “Fuck me,” I say. His cheeks come alive with red, splotching white on his highest cheekbones and spreading up his forehead. His breath catches in his throat, but he still doesn't move. I pause, and we stay like that, just breathing the same air. “Ok,” he says, and I sink into his lap. His hands are on me first, then his lips. I hum into his mouth. Despite his protest, enthusiasm kicks in quick. I run my hands over his chest again, grabbing whatever I can reach. He pulls my jacket off my shoulders, one hand finding the small of my back to keep me steady while he leans into the kiss. Every inch of me buzzes. This kind of human contact hadn't found me since I left home, and never this welcome. There was always something between me and enjoying it, though I know how to find a way. I don't have to search for it now. I am enjoying this. My hands on his chest pull at the jacket and he leans forward to help me get it off him. This breaks the kiss, but only for long enough to see the affection in his eyes, the endless look before I close in again. His jaw is relaxed now. I tease his lips with my tongue and he opens his mouth, panting into mine. A blinding flash of lightning stains Blueberry's interior, followed instantly with a crack of thunder, piercing our chests. The world is dead for hundreds of miles around us. We're likely the only ones to hear this storm at all, but this strike in particular couldn't have been more than a mile away. Dead, dead, dead, but god are we alive. His hands trail under my shirt, holding the space below my ribcage. My knees are in the way of being as close to him as I want to. More thunder, distant, wracks the car. I move off his lap, sliding through into the back. My hands keep his shoulders to pull him with me, as tattered bedding falls, joining the clutter and trade goods all over the floor. Harrison's shoes thud onto the ground with our jackets. He braces on the shoulders of the front seats and hoists himself up and over, into the back with me. I lean into the bench as he approaches. His left hand grips the back headrest, and his right cups my face. Since I was seated first, now our roles have switched. He leans over me, his breathing heavy. We’re still clothed enough to make stopping here a possibility. I grab the hem of his shirt and lift it over his head, laying back on the seat to stretch out as much as I can. I’d at the very least seen him naked. Camping with someone long enough, that’s inevitable. Not enough options for a comfortable place to change clothes, or bathe, or take a shit. This, however, is different. My fingers wander up his back. He’s not a hairy man. He has dark tufts in the center of his chest, salted like the rest of his hair, leading down to his upper stomach and blending with a trail that comes up from under his jeans. His back is smooth and soft, and I pull him into a hug. He keeps his weight off me, with the hand on the headrest supporting him, but the pressure is welcome. I breathe in the smell of him, my face tucked between his shoulder and neck. His free hand lifts my shirt from the bottom, but I don’t let him out of the hug for another minute. Our legs are woven, his left knee in the crease of the car seat, my right between both of his, his right balanced on the edge of the seat, and my left hanging down over the side. I arch my back to help with my shirt. I don’t wear bras, so once the fabric is up and over my head, we’re skin to skin. His fingers trail down my side. He runs a thumb over my nipple and I shiver. His fingers are trembling when he lifts them from me. Surprising me, he kisses my forehead. He’s burdened with the gaze that started all this. “You’re sure?” he says. His voice is gruff. I almost want to test out ‘no,’ to see how he would take it, if I weren’t afraid it would break our momentum. Besides, I know he would run with it. He would likely never touch me again. His hand hovers centimeters from my skin. I can feel it even though he’s not making contact. My hands on his back slide down and around his sides. I find the buckle of his belt. “More sure than I’ve been fucking anyone,” I say. I give his eyes defiance, pushing myself up to kiss him again. The last wall is down. His fingers are hot. He moves his hand from the headrest to push between me and the seat, holding himself up with it. The other hand explores my body- hip, side, stomach, chest. Mine undo his belt, and the button underneath it. He gasps into my mouth, one less layer between him and I. My fingers brush against a more sensitive target, but I focus on removing the jeans, first. There's a frenzy of a kind, but neither of us are rushing. His kiss leaves my lips and explores my chin. Then, my jaw. Down my neck. He nips, too gentle. I grab his hair in my fist and pull his mouth away. He jerks with a startle, but I hold him firm. “That tickles,” I breathe. His fingers still rove. One hand slips under the waistband of my pants. He gives me an open-mouthed smirk, head pulled back by my grip in his hair. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” “Bad.” I let go of him, stroking the back of his neck instead. “Don't tickle me.” “Aye,” he says. He ducks back down and bites into my shoulder, instead. I gasp. That's more like it. With one hand, I undo my own jeans, giving his hand the freedom to explore. His movements are confident, but the terrain is still unfamiliar. He stumbles over the fabric of my boxers, but quickly meets his goal. The next few breaths that come out of me could not have been stopped. I grip the back of his neck and the seat beneath me. God, yes. Touch me- His teeth are still locked onto my shoulder with a welcome burn. He better leave a fucking mark. I pull down at his jeans, telegraphing my intentions. We struggle balancing on the seat while he kicks them off his feet, and mine follow. He stopped biting me at some point, in preference of planting firm kisses down my jugular. His taste lingers in my mouth. Our smells blend in the stagnant, humid air, the sound of the weather a hushed backdrop. We’re already sweating, and it joins the history of our last few workdays. I find warm comfort in resting against so much of someone else’s skin. There's some kind of transfer. Energy passing between us. Even the absence of his hand between my legs- pulled away during the undressing- barely registers considering this new level of closeness. I want this as much, if not more than the sex. A new layer of Harrison that I’ve unlocked. Outside, curtains continue to fall. It washes the roof and the foggy glass around us. He’s following my lead, pausing for a moment just to lay, chest to chest. I let my hands wander, waking goosebumps along his sides. One grabs his ass playfully. I’ve already gotten comfortable doing that. The first time I’d tried it, he yelped, a surprise as I walked up behind him. Now, there’s even more I’ll feel comfortable teasing him with. He pets me, a strong hand stroking up my ribs and pinching my nipple on his way by. He’s fascinated with viewing me so differently than he has so far. His eyes explore as much as his fingers do. Up my body, then back down between my legs. My hand on his ass grips tighter in reaction. He breathes a laugh into my neck. A mirror grin crosses my face as my other hand teases the waistband of his underwear- coarse boxers, stiff from drying under a hot sun. I lift my opposite arm, tucking a finger under the edge of his jaw and pulling him back up to meet my lips. My fingers trace the crease of his thigh, down his hip, simultaneously. He chokes on a groan as I wrap a hand around his dick. His chin shudders, clacking his lower teeth against mine. He gives me an animal sound, low and husky in his throat. More breath than noise, but still intoxicating inside my head, repeating over and over. I bite back, pulling one of his lips into my mouth and latching onto it. The clouds darken the summer sun to an almost twilight glow. We're under the heart of the storm. A gust of wind rocks the car on her shocks, shifting us against each other almost imperceptibly. He’s hot and heavy in my hand. I’m not good with estimates for size, but I'm glad he’s not the longest I’ve had. I prefer width, and he’s got plenty of that. There's a lot more skin to work with than I’m used to, too. I fumble with him, figuring out shapes. I don’t think my clumsiness bothers him. His jaw locks half-open as I explore. He’s always been strong, but more importantly he’s agile. The first time we’d ever had to defend ourselves hand-to-hand, I’d seen it in the way he dodged blows. Then, how he'd evaded bullets, running full speed down the graveways side by side. Relied on. Reliant on. His muscle is more lean than bulky, hidden beneath a comfortable inch or two of fat. Enough of a cushion to rest easily against. Not so much of one that I can’t see his core muscles ripple in time with my hand. I’ve found a rhythm, using his spare skin to my advantage. He pulls his lip out of my mouth to slurp drool back into his, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. “J- esus,” he breathes. I let go of him to undress both of us the rest of the way. It takes a second to untangle, but it gives Harrison the chance to adjust, pulling his knee out from beside me. Bare against the scratchy fabric of the back seats, pressed thin with age. This car has seen worse than our asses. A flash of lightning brightens the dim. Now he's between my legs. His hands trail from my knees, up my thighs, before anchoring to my hips. I push back on the pressure, an arc rolling down my spine and spreading my knees farther. He leans up and locks his mouth to my chest. Sure, It feels good. But my nipples have never been my focus during sex. A surprising touch there is more effective than an expected one. I push his head down instead. He smiles into my stomach, taking my cue to cut to the chase. In the cramped quarters, I grab a pillow off the floor and tuck it behind me, laying up against the door to make room. I'm not shaven. My pubes are as blonde as the rest of me, and they curl tight against my skin. From my angle, they blend right in. From his, he won't see much more than that, anyway. Most of the girls I'd fucked weren't like that. Usually they had lip of some kind showing, even if it wasn't always a lot, but mine are tucked completely inside. He kisses first, and I purse my lips. Get to it. My hips roll, but he keeps me pinned to the seat. With a wicked grin, he presses his tongue against me. Thunder and a moan share the air of the cabin. I scrabble at the window above my head, looking for something to latch onto. My hands find the pillow and grip, a whine forcing its way out through my clenched teeth. This won't take long. I’m already quite worked up. Ever since our conversation at the fire, a tension zapped in the air between us. Even avoiding conversation, we’d had moments of too-long eye contact. Of wondering. Not that I hadn’t already been wondering. I shudder, a ripple through my skin. My nails dig into the cotton. He knows his way around. Up, and back down, with an expert swirl. Rising, then pushing deep again. I try arcing into it, but he keeps me down, his fingers digging harder into my hips. He lifts his head. “Stay.” A hand flies to grab his hair and pull him up. “No.” I'm breathless. His lips leave wet marks up my middle as he wanders back up to my face. I taste myself in his mouth. I lift my feet and cross them behind him. They don't pull, yet, but the movement still changes something in the air. Our tongues twirl together until I break to swallow saliva and release a sigh. “God I needed this,” I mutter. I reach between us to stroke him again and he laughs, all breath. “Me too,” he says. He reciprocates with rough fingers against live wires. I suck air through my teeth. “Been a while?” I pant. “Longer than I care to say.” he slurs. “You?” “Before I left,” I say, “by at least a month. About a year I'd bet.” He nuzzles my jawbone, panting quietly. “I've got you beat,” he whispers. Now, I pull at him with my legs. I want him, with a desperate pulse in my core. He plants a hand on my shoulder, and I pause. “I don't have condoms,” he says. I- was going to risk it. Consciously. But now that it's in the air, I sigh and push up off the seat. “I do,” I say. I'd found them in an RV a few weeks ago and tucked them into the coolest spot in the trunk. Which means I'll be going out into the storm to get them. I scramble through to the front, trying not to waste time. My aching is all that fills my mind. The rain greets me at the open door, naked as I came into this world. I look both ways to make sure we're not being approached, rare as that is out here, before I sprint through the storm. The rain is fortunately sun-warmed, and not nearly as ferocious as it had been ten minutes ago. Wet grit sticks to the bottoms of my feet. Box in hand, I close the rain out and shake water off my head. An old dishrag from cleaning a mess out of my cupholder serves to wipe my feet. The rest of me can air dry. Harrison is sat upright, head back against the seat with his eyes closed. Even that short amount of time to think is getting to him. He’s still nude, though, in several different flush colors. I climb back. Like I did in the front, I straddle him- different now without the clothes between us, but I stay distant as I can. He shakes his head without opening his eyes. We don't touch more than our thighs, and my legs pressed on either side of him. I try to get him to look at me. “Harrison.” He shakes his head again, eyes still closed. His mouth twists on the edge of a scowl. “Hey.” My voice is not harsh, but it is unyielding. “Look at me.” When he does, his eyes shine. He's close to tears. “We don't have to,” I say, “We can forget this happened. I'll find some other jackass to get off with.” He doesn't laugh, but I can tell it's helping. I grab his face with both hands. “You're not taking my virginity, old man,” I say, barely louder than the rain. “I lost that younger than I want to discuss.” His scowl deepens and he looks away, unable to meet my eyes again. I lean to keep my face within his gaze. “That?” I fight off hazy memories from the scared kid I used to be. From the ‘What do I do? What do I do?’ that still repeats in my recesses somewhere to this day. “That was rape.” The word bites him. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “This?” I nod at us: exposed skin, rainwater, crumbs stuck to limbs from the seats- “Is not.” I release his cheeks to take the box of condoms off the seat, and rip it open. His thoughts are painted on his face. They're more complicated than I can read, now. I hold up a condom between us, giving him the choice. “But I mean it about forgetting this ever happened.” He's understood me better than my own blood, from the moment he got in his car to follow me. I wouldn't risk ruining that for a quick fuck. Still, this is more than that, and we both know it. That's why it got this far to start with, all the barriers be damned. It's why it's so fucking complicated. I don't want to stop, even in the face of his distress. And his distress didn't make him put his clothes back on when he had the chance. He takes the condom. The wrapper joins the rest of the clutter on my floor. Knowing me, that’s where the condom will end up, too, once we’re done with it. In a second, I'm lined up with him, hands braced on his shoulders. I’ve wanted this awhile, I won’t lie. Sex rarely leaves my mind when I’m getting it. Working, and camping, and hearing him snore. Sitting thigh to thigh eating tin after a long hot day of work. I could imagine what this feels like all I want, but having it? Here we go. I hold my breath. My mouth pools with saliva. He presses his forehead to mine, and we pass the point of no return. Every scrap of me is begging. My nails dig into his flesh. I lower myself centimeter by centimeter, though I'm slick enough I could have done it all at once. I want to feel it. And I do. Every bit. His shoulders coil beneath my grip, his hands on the edge of pulling at me. It takes restraint that he’s leaving me with the controls. His groan is strained, and I lock it away for later. Air blows through my pursed lips until my lungs are empty. He holds my sides, setting hairs on end across sensitive skin. His grip changes, holding tighter in concentration when I move, and sliding over me when I pause to get used to him. Bit by aching bit. The slow is good, but it gets to me when I’m about halfway. Without warning, I land, sitting on him with all my muscle weight. He cries out; something so close to pain, it jolts in my nerves. I fall against his chest. Fuck yes. I follow his exhale, feeling his breath down my back. There’s a mirrored look in his eyes when I lift my head. Our faces reach for each other. Breath, spit, tongues. My hands travel with no particular destination. I swivel my hips, getting a feel for him inside me. “Jesus fuck, Captain,” he pants. I could get used to that. He slides over and lays down, using my pillow from earlier. His fingers lose focus, scrabbling at my thighs. I lean over him, backlit by a beam of sunlight. The rain has slowly faded out, now just a few background drops. My swiveling becomes grinding. More deliberate. I pull up to kiss him, putting enough room between us to move. His hands find a goal at the perfect time, clamping down on the crease of my hips hard and pulling me back down. I slap against him. “Aah, hah-” I miss the target of his lips and land on the side of his face, moaning right into his ear. “Yeah?” he teases. He does it again. “Ah- Uh huh,” I huff, a smirk chased away by the goddamn feeling. We fall into the perfect tempo. I aim for his mouth again, and hit. He bites my lip. A dance, all of it. I brace behind his head with one hand. Every change in pace comes at exactly the right time. His fingernails bite into my skin. Fuck. Please- He’s doing all the work, but I arch to change the angle and he moans. “Sex- has never felt like this,” I say, interrupted with a gasp. He changes his grip, sliding up to a more gentle hold on the sides of my stomach. “Never?” he asks, but it grinds out of his throat more gnarl than word. Now, when he sucks my nipple into his mouth, I whine. Like most things with Harrison, I only had to show him once for it to click how I like things. He gives me back control of the rhythm, stroking one hand up my back, and pushing the other between my legs. “G- od. Never.” My jaw trembles, changing how I speak. “Maybe close when I was full up of hormones a few years ago, but-” He freezes, every muscle suddenly stiff and unwelcoming, where before we were so fluid. I don’t move either. Fucking stupid thing to say. He exhales in short bursts for a few seconds, more tense than he was before we started. It feels like he’s having a panic attack. I- don’t know what to say. I get the sense it would be worse if I moved, even to dismount. “Should I-?” He pushes me off him, sliding out of me with a profane sound, loud in the quiet of the car. I pull my blanket over both of us, sitting back away from him so only our legs entwine. “Sorry.” He shakes with it. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t,” I say, “I’m sorry.” He pulls his knees up, pulling the blanket with him. It leaves me topless, and I’m exposed. He looks away. I cross my arms. My body is frustrated, but it’s drowned in the worry from the rest of me. We did fuck it up, didn’t we? “Can we try again later?” he whispers. I deflate, relief mixed with just a taste of embarrassment. I’m just glad it’s not over. “Of course,” I say. I grab my shirt off the floor and throw it on, followed immediately by a clean pair of boxers from the ‘washed’ pile. Give him space. I climb out of the nest, stepping barefoot into my boots to get a look at the sky. The air is heavy with storm, and refreshing against my sweaty skin. The clouds that wracked us disappear, distant in the opposite sky. I shiver when a breeze hits me. I’m not wearing real pants. He opens the door behind me. He’s back in his clothes, but holding the jacket. “It was good,” he says, “I just-” “I understand.” He stops there and nods. I move around him, reaching for my jeans from before. I sit in the front seat and kick off my boots to get them on. Harrison watches me, like he usually does. His look isn’t gone, but subdued. Once I’m dressed, with socks inside my shoes this time, I square my feet between us. He leans against the open door. “Does a kiss work?” I ask. He rubs a thumb over his lips, looking away from me and across the rippling fields. Time passes before he nods. “A kiss will work.” I stand and take one of his hands in mine, running a finger over rough knuckles. I pull his face down and kiss his soft mouth. “Come on,” I say, once I break away, “Lets drive.” I turn back to my seat and take my keys off the dashboard. Harrison plants a hand on the roof and stands over me, blocking out the golden sky. “We’re good?” he says. It’s not everything he wants to say, but it covers it. “More than,” I reply. He taps the roof, closes my door, and goes back to his car
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