6 years ago, this week, my husband and I closed on our house. My sister was in state from AZ and living with us at that point, at the height of COVID. We'd lived in a little old 800 sq ft house in the city previous to that, but we needed a bigger house because we needed to move my husband's 85 year old bed-ridden father with dementia in with us, so to the sticks we went. We took care of him here at home for about 2 years. I think my sister also appreciated us getting a bigger place because in the 800 sq ft house she was sleeping on an air mattress in my office/second bedroom that she got ejected from when it was time for me to start work, and we just pushed it against the wall every day. LMAO.
Anyway my husband sent me this. We were excited to be new home owners and super classy about it.
Hi. The idea for some smut was bandied about. The idea took root, and grew from there. It expanded, to include biting, headlocks, the public pool, and an ice cream truck. It's late 20s degenerate situationship Claire and Leon, because I love writing them feral and unhinged and probably in sore need of an adult or shock collars, or something. I realize when I write them bumpin' uglies as married 40-somethings, they seem slightly more composed. Maybe age mellowed them. Not in those early years where they couldn't tell each other they loved each other and lived apart. It was all bad decisions and trying not to get caught at shit--by the time they got back together in their late 30s, maybe they were a little more adult and civilized. That was the time for them to consider making their long-distance situationship legitimate, and things like buying houses and putting someone on your health insurance. Late 20s Claire and Leon were busy pounding beers and each other.
ANYWAY. I digress. Prime degenerate Leon and Claire activities. They...well, I guess you'll just have to read to see. I feel like this is both horny and kind of comedic and silly. I quieted the voices in my head by writing this. Huzzah!
It'll go up at AO3 at some point, but right now ain't nobody got time to format all this shit.
Enjoy!!
Claire heard her back door creak open, and the rickety old screen snap shut behind it. She listened more closely and she didn’t hear the mower anymore; she was busy sorting through a pile of shit she’d hauled out of her computer desk drawers. She supposed if Leon was going to make himself busy, she would too, but it was late June and hotter than hell and she was loath to do outdoor chores.
Hence the reason she’d let her backyard grow to a height that Leon merely looked out the back door at and sighed mightily upon beholding when he’d arrived in Long Island yesterday.
“What?” Claire said, innocently. “I mowed the front.”
“And the back yard fence hides your ongoing sins of sloth when it comes to home ownership?” Leon had asked.
“<em>Listen</em>,” Claire said to him pointedly, but she really had no good excuses or arguments, so she hadn’t said anything else and instead had just kind of wandered off, leaving him to look after her in amusement.
She put the Sharpies in her hand down—she’d found about 50 of them, in varying colors—why did she own so many Sharpies?—and walked over to her kitchen, where she could see the door to the back yard. Leon had come into the house, sweaty beyond description, and he was pulling the fridge door open.
“Gross,” Claire commented coolly, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen with her shoulder. “You look like you swam out there.”
He looked over at her incredulously. “News flash—the mower is ten thousand times easier to push when you don’t let the grass grow to eight inches tall,” he said plainly. “I was fighting for my life out there. It’s probably why you hate mowing so much, because you let it get to such a state that it’s like a leg of a triathlon when you finally do get out there to mow.”
“Alright, task master,” Claire said in amusement, watching him lean back over to the fridge. He reached inside and pulled out one of the ever-present cans of Busch, cracked it, and began to slam it. “You should probably drink some water. It’s like 80% humidity out there today.”
Leon paused in slamming the Busch. “The beer you drink <em>is</em> water,” he countered, dryly. “I’m achieving all the hydration I need from this Busch.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s how it works, but okay,” Claire replied, pushing off the wall. Leon finished slamming the can of beer and crunched it in his hand, tossing it off toward her recycling bin. He then grabbed his t-shirt along the back and began to pull it over his head, working his arms out of the sleeves. “You should probably go pop through the shower. You’re going to smell terrible.”
“And whose fault is that?” Leon asked, looking over at her with his shirt in his hands. “Not like I dream of coming to Long Island to do yard work.”
Claire shrugged. “So stop. Never once in all this time have I asked you to do a single thing. Your inherent, like, crochety-dad-with-tools-on-a-Sunday attitude compels you into doing it.”
He sighed, and looked over at her evenly. “I guess if you want something done right, you’ve gotta do it yourself,” he said, and then balled his shirt up and tossed it at her. It landed half on her shoulder and face and she produced a high-pitched noise of dismay.
“<em>Gross</em>, Leon,” she whined, hurriedly tossing the drenched shirt off behind her. “That thing is sopping in sweat. What are you, 16? Don’t throw your sweaty clothes on me.”
He just looked at her and laughed some, then walked past her, running his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. “Alright. Rinsing off. I fear I already smell, there’s no needing to wait for that.”
Claire looked over at him, folding her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow at him. Leon was generally relatively polite and for the most part collected, but occasionally she was reminded he really was just a guy, party to all the things that made guys gross like smelling bad and made women turn their noses up at them. Claire had long years of it with an older brother in the house; she periodically rolled her eyes at her male coworkers and told them to stop being so disgusting. Leon seemed better at holding it in than the average guy—even during their time in hiding when he was 21, he’d seemed too well-mannered to really let it all hang out—but these days, periodically, perhaps due to the proximity and letting down of walls regarding things such as swapping spit, Leon felt free to be as gross as he wanted to be. She watched him head off to the bedroom, presumably to rifle through his bag, and then he appeared again a moment later, dry clothing in hand, heading for the bathroom.
Claire headed back over to her desk, and the endless piles of shit she’d pulled out of the drawers. Why was she saving expired bank cards? She spotted her weed pipe—didn’t want to lose that. Were these loose papers parts of last year’s taxes? Upon closer inspection she realized they were parts of maybe the last three years of taxes. Digging through all this junk for minutes on end and gazing at things in confusion before she tossed them into the waiting trash can or set them off to the side to hang onto made her wish she was a more organized adult. As a teenager, she remembered the cluttered mess her room at her uncle’s had been, and she remembered going over to her childhood friend Daisy’s house, whose room was perfect and pristine and kind of pink and ruffly.
Being disorganized had been a life-long problem of Claire’s. She could manage to pull it together when it counted, but she thought of going from the single-male-run-household clutter of her Daddy’s house to the absolutely hoarded nightmare of her uncle’s, and she realized maybe her life absent of maternal female role models had led to her being a little bit of a gross male herself. Her house wasn’t <em>gross</em>; she kept things clean and scrubbed and wiped down, but it <em>was</em> a cluttery mess. She didn’t usually see this kind of mess in the houses of her female co-workers; it was more conspicuous in the homes of her male co-workers.
Leon emerged from the bathroom clean, with wet hair, and in a pair of basketball shorts, and briefly spectated her shuffling through her clutter with a perplexed look on her face. “Why were there about six koozies in your desk?” he asked, in amusement.
“I dunno,” Claire replied. “Never know when you need to keep a beverage cold,” she added, blithely.
He picked up a pair of spare shoelaces she’d found in one of the drawers. They were rainbow-colored and he looked at them in continued amusement then tossed them back down onto the pile of junk on the desk. “Give that a break and c’mere,” he said.
“Well, which is it?” Claire asked with a smile, putting her hand on her shorts-clad hip. “You’re constantly extolling me to be more productive. Now I’m actually doing something and you’re telling me to stop?”
“You and I both know this shit is going to end up in a new pile somewhere,” he said, grinning at her.
She looked at him indignantly, picking up the trash can and showing it to him. “Nuh-uh. Look! I’m throwing things away,” she said. “All this stuff is just stuff I don’t really know what to do with yet.”
“Sure,” he said, slyly disbelieving. “C’mon. Give it a rest for minute.”
Claire set the trash can down with a sigh, and followed him over to the couch. He laid down on it, perhaps slightly too big for it, and Claire came and sat down in front of him. She looked down at him gazing up at her and she made a little face like a lightbulb had gone off. “We should go to the pool,” she said.
“The pool?” Leon asked. “Like the public pool? You live within a short drive of beaches and the ocean and you’re opting for a public pool?”
Claire shrugged some. “The beach is a pain in my ass and always has been. The pool is less stress.”
He again looked amused. “I mean, we went to the public pool as kids,” he said. “But that’s because we were 15 and devoid of planning, money, and wherewithal to go further. How is the beach a pain in your ass? You go and lay there and get in the water. It’s the least stressful thing there is.”
“Parking,” Claire said. “Getting out there. Finding a spot far away from douchebags, of which there is a never-ending supply. Sand.” She looked at him. “We used to go out there when I was in college, when I was like 21. Day trip from the city. It was just every dude-bro Guido known to man hitting on us while I tried to, like, be high and look for shells.”
Leon stared at her for a minute and then laughed some. “How does that seem so typically you? 21, hotter than hell, high and oblivious, looking for sand dollars while men on the beach stare at your ass.”
Claire made a persecuted face. “I never found an intact one, and it wasn’t because I wasn’t trying,” she said. “Those were my Long Island beach experiences. Trying to hide alcohol from the cops, listening to other people’s shitty music, trying to find cool shells, dealing with some dude with gel in his hair at the beach for some reason following me around trying to talk to me.”
Leon was laughing again. “Oh, you’re so put upon,” he said. “The beach sounds like an ordeal. C’mere.”
“C’mon,” Claire cajoled, pulling away from his hands pulling on her. “Get up. Let’s go to the pool.”
“I don’t have swim trunks,” he replied, attempting to pull her the other direction.
“You’ve got those shorts,” she said. “That works. I don’t think anyone cares what you wear as long as you’re not naked.”
“What, there’s no nudist beaches on Long Island?” he asked with a grin, pulling on her struggling form. “Hey. Quit squirming. Get over here. I’m not even sweaty anymore.”
Claire was struggling, trying to dissuade his grip, pushing at his hands. “I would rather walk on hot coals than go to a nude beach,” she said. “Seems like prime stalking territory for dudes on a sex offender registry.”
“That’s probably all it is,” Leon said, fighting to get her defiant hands and arms under control. “Just a bunch of horny, naked men standing around wondering where all the women are.” He pulled on her and she lurched forward, and he reached up and got his arm around her, pulling her down the rest of the way.
“Hey—Leon—“ Claire wriggled and tried to rotate in his arms like a rotisserie chicken, finding that the new position put her at a disadvantage as her looped his arm around her neck and hooked one of his legs around hers. “Okay you’ve got me in like a wrestling hold,” she said breathlessly, grabbing onto his arm. “You’ve got me in a headlock.”
“You wouldn’t comply,” Leon informed her. “You needed to be subdued. If you’d—hey. Are you <em>biting</em> me, you crazy feral person?”
Claire had in fact grabbed hold of his arm with both hands and tucked her head down some, sinking her teeth into his bicep. “Hmmm,” she replied, laying there trapped with her teeth sunk into his arm. Leon let out a sigh and settled back into the couch some, his arm and leg not moving. Claire made an adamant noise and sunk her teeth into the solid muscle of his bicep with more force.
“I had multiple older siblings,” Leon said in bemusement. “And about 100 cousins between the States and Ireland. You’re going to have to bite harder than that. I’m no stranger to being bitten.”
Claire made another noise and complied, her teeth latched onto him, and Leon produced a noise in return. “Your teeth are <em>sharp</em>,” he said. “You file those things down or what?”
She hung there for a moment with his arm in her teeth like she was some kind of misbehaving, bitey toddler at daycare, and when he did not move she released her tooth hold on him. “Release me or I’ll keep biting,” she said.
“Joke’s on you,” Leon said, calmly. “I <em>like</em> the biting, with your pointy little puppy teeth and all.”
“Alright, c’mon,” Claire said with determination, beginning to struggle. “That’s <em>it</em>--“ She writhed around in his arms and succeeded in turning herself back towards him, and he tightened his arms around her, attempting to prevent her from fleeing. This went on for a few long moments, until Claire stopped struggling with a huff, half on top of Leon.
“Hey, alright,” he said cheerfully, pulling her over some, more squarely on top of him.
“You are <em>forever</em> telling me in a vaguely paternal way to do shit around my house,” Claire said, struggling to push herself upright. “And I’m finally doing it and you want to practice WWE moves on me on the couch.”
“I don’t come to Long Island to watch you clean your house,” Leon said.
“Don’t come to do yard work, don’t come to watch me clean,” she said, breezily. “What <em>do</em> you come to do?”
He merely stared back at her, a growing grin spreading across the lower half of his face. One of his hands moved down her back, to her ass, gripping it firmly and pulling her against him.
“Oh, I see,” she said knowingly, as he gripped her ass. “We could be going to the pool right now.”
“I don’t want to go to the pool,” he replied simply, kneading the flesh of her ass. He pressed up against her.
“I do,” Claire returned defiantly, even though the grip of his hand on her and him pulling their bodies together kind of had her brain starting to head off in another direction.
“We can go to the pool later,” he said to her, his voice taking on a lower timbre. “What’s next? You want ice cream from the ice cream truck?”
“If he makes it through the neighborhood today, yeah,” Claire replied sassily. “I will absolutely fuck up one of those strawberry shortcake bars.” She gazed back at him, her face lazy and indolent. “What, you mean to tell me you’re turning down ice cream from the ice cream truck?”
He pulled her against him more firmly. “I was known to fuck up a banana fudge pop in my time,” he said, sounding gravelly. “Quit running your mouth and c’mere.”
Claire sighed mightily, as if she was supremely taxed, and leaned forward. His mouth covered hers instantly, tongue sliding in deep; the hand not holding her ass moved up to the back of her head, angling her head to him. Claire kissed him back, just as adamantly, until it felt like a fight for supremacy, their mouths separating momentarily only to fuse again, hotly. His other hand controlled her ass and hips, pulling her against him as he rutted up against her. Claire moaned a little, the public pool, her desk mess, and the ice cream truck momentarily forgotten, letting her hips roll against his.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he murmured to her, in the breathless space between kisses. “You gonna be a good girl for me?”
“Yes,” she murmured back, and then their mouths were fused again, her fingers clutching at his bare shoulders. After a moment Claire broke her mouth away, it hung open and her eyes drifted closed at his lips moving to her jaw, her ear, her neck.
“Been thinking about fucking your tight pussy since last night,” he uttered against her neck, both of his hands coming down to her ass to encourage her writhing against him. “Good and hard and fast. Make you fucking scream. Make you claw my back up. You wanna get fucked, sweetheart?” His tongue traced along her skin and his teeth found her neck, biting lightly.
He <em>had</em> come into town last night and kept fairly to himself; she’d fed him dinner and they’d gone to bed curled up together as per usual, but she should have suspected he wouldn’t keep his hands to himself the whole time he was in town—not that she necessarily wanted him to, anyway. “Yeah,” she breathed.
“I wanna hear you beg for it, like a good girl,” he said, nuzzling against her neck. “What do you say, sweetheart?”
Claire swallowed, eyes closed, her brow knitting together somewhat. “Please,” she said. “I want it. As hard as you can. I want—“ Her teeth bit into her lip and she loosed a moan, feeling his hard length grind against her.
“Mm, that’s how you always want it,” he uttered in her ear. “You wanna get railed like the dirty little slut you are, don’t you? You wanna get fucking pounded, don’t you?”
Claire chewed on her lip; inside her panties was a wet mess and she’d totally forgotten anything she’d been about 10 minutes prior. All that mattered now was getting him to quit doing mouth-running of his own and make good on his promises. “Yeah,” she moaned. “Please,” she added.
He loosened one of his hands to slap her ass through her shorts firmly, loosing a satisfied hum at the way she reared up and gasped. “C’mon, then,” he said, nipping at her ear. “Get to the bedroom, if you want it so bad.” His hands and arms loosened on her somewhat, allowing her to push herself up. Claire righted herself and slid off him, missing the crush of his body against hers, and she got to her feet, watching him push himself into a sitting position on the couch.
Claire turned and headed for the bedroom through the brightness of her noon-time lit house, her feet quick on the aged hardwood, Leon’s heavier footfalls behind her. She nudged the half-closed door open and entered the relative darkness of her bedroom; she kept heavier curtains on the windows in here, anything to keep her room from being lit up like the surface of the sun in the mornings. Leon caught up behind her as she entered, his hands coming to her hips, pulling her back against him next to the bed. His hands ran up the front of her, under the stretchy cotton of her tank top and over the skin of her stomach, up to her tits in their bra. He took hold of them, pushing them upward, kneading them in his hands, as she leaned back against him and panted, her arms coming up to wind their way around his neck. He leaned his head down near her shoulder, humming in her ear, watching her body undulate slightly as she chased the rhythmic grip of his hands on her tits.
“Mmm, look at you,” he said lowly as she angled her face towards his, her bare feet worrying each other on the floor below them. “You <em>do</em> want it bad, don’t you? 15 minutes ago you wanted to go to the pool. You change your mind?” Before she could reply he fit his mouth over hers again, kissing her with such force it almost caused her to bend, and she whimpered into his mouth and he moaned in return. He tore his mouth away from hers, their breath shortened and mingling, one of his hands slipping down into the loose, low-riding waist of her cut-off shorts. His fingers slid down under the fabric of her panties, and sought down to her pussy, then very wet and ready for him to do whatever he wanted to do to it as hard as he could. “Bet you’re not thinking of the pool,” he continued, lowly, as his fingers worked between her folds, into the wetness. “What are you thinking about?”
“I—“ His fingers found her clit, circling it firmly, and she let out a mewl, her hand gripping at his neck above her. “You,” she breathed. “You inside me.”
“Yeah?” he murmured. Her legs were starting to tremble minutely at the attention to her clit. “You thinking about this big cock inside you?”
“Yeah,” she whispered back. “I want it.”
“Your little pussy practically dripping, thinking about having this cock inside you, fucking you until you scream?” he goaded further, fingers never stopping in their pressure to her clit.
“Oh—“ She let her head rock back against him. “Give it to me,” she said. “I want it. Please.”
“When you ask so nicely,” he said, his tone just the tiniest bit amused, or smug, or something that under normal circumstances may have perhaps made her want to throttle him. “Bend over,” he said firmly, drawing his hand out of her shorts, taking his hand away from her chest. She whimpered in disappointment at the sudden lack of manhandling, and instead loosened her arms from around him. She bent forward, hands on the bed, and she felt his hands sneaking under her to undo the button of her shorts, pulling the zipper down. He pushed her shorts and her panties down and they landed around her feet in a small pile of fabric, and his hands smoothed up the inside of her thighs, around to the back of them, up over her ass. “I don’t hear you using your words to ask for what you want,” he prompted, pulling her hips back some with his hand around her hipbone.
“I want it,” she began immediately. “I want you to fuck me. Please,” she said, and she moaned and arched her back when she felt his fingers near her opening, and then further, the warm and thick head of his cock, trailing through her wetness. “Oh,” she gasped. “Mmm. Please. Yes.” She angled her hips, pressing backwards, craving the feeling of him driving in firmly and quickly, filling her up in one stroke. “Oh God,” she murmured, feeling him move his cock up and down against her wet pussy.
“Oh, you’re excited now,” he said in reply, still sounding amused. “Bet that pussy’s begging. Bet you can’t wait for this cock to be inside you.”
“Please,” she said, and his hand tightened on her hip momentarily, then slid around to the skin of her ass, coming down in a little slap. She hummed, throatily, and then his hand moved again, back around the front of her, to her clit. She gasped when his fingers found it again, but then she whined a little as she felt his cock moving away from her. Claire’s hands clutched tightly into the mussed bedclothes under her hands, and she let out a long, quiet keen when she felt one of his fingers sliding into her from behind, his other hand occupied with rubbing her clit firmly.
“I like watching you fuck my hand,” he said to her, pumping the finger in and out, her hips torn between moving back against the finger inside her or moving forward against the fingers at her clit. “Like watching you desperate for more. You always want more, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, teeth biting into her lip again. “Oh—oh—“
“I like watching you writhe like the horny little slut you are,” he said, a second finger sliding into her alongside the first. “I like listening to you beg for cock until you don’t know what to do.” Her hips were moving, frustrated, seeking. “Huh, Claire? Is that good?”
“More,” she panted, letting her head hang. She could feel release starting to build in her, the walls of her pussy clutching at the fingers inside of her.
“So needy,” he uttered back, tormenting her in two places at once at a measured pace. “You get so desperate to come you cry. You want this cock so bad sometimes you can’t even talk.”
“Please,” she said, “Oh Leon—mmm—I need—“
“I know what you need,” he cut in. “Keep being a good girl and maybe you’ll get it.”
“Yes,” she sighed, her toes curling into the hardwood. “I wanna come,” she pleaded.
“Oh?” he asked. “I never would have guessed with you fucking my fingers like this.” Claire moaned, her face flushing; evidently he was in one of his moods where he was going to flaunt her mindless arousal in her face. “C’mon. Don’t be shy. Really fuck ‘em. I can tell you want to.”
“Oh,” Claire breathed, working her hips back against his thrusting fingers more intently. The hand at the front of her followed her motion, fixing itself to her pussy and clit with continued pressure. Release was gaining on her in increments, the feeling building. “Oh God—more, please—“
“That’s it,” he encouraged as her hips rocked back and forth. “Not so shy now, are you? You’d do anything to come, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” she moaned.
“Bet you’d lose your mind if I stopped,” he said. “You’re desperate for that pussy to be filled.”
She froze a little, her brain spooling—it was not unusual for him to stop, to lead her halfway to orgasm and suddenly stop touching her, to make her take her begging to a new level of fervency. “Leon—“ she managed frantically, “no—please don’t—I want to come—“
The two fingers inside of her were suddenly three, the fingers of his opposite hand at her clit insistently. “You’re being such a good girl for me,” he said. “I’ll let you come. I know you’d cry and whine if I didn’t.”
Her face felt hot; he was right, she’d be rendered a whiny mess if he were to suddenly stop what he was doing, if she lost the circling of his fingers at her front and the stretch of his fingers from behind. Sometimes it didn’t stop him—he <em>liked</em> the whining, he seemed to thrive on it. His will wasn’t entirely made of iron, she knew, but sometimes in moments of empty desperation as she begged him for something it sure seemed like it was. “Oh—oh fuck.”
“Well, get to it,” he prompted, almost cheerfully. “You gonna come for me or what?”
“Mmm, yes,” she murmured, lifting her head, her body chasing his fingers wantonly. “More,” she said. “Harder.”
He made a noise. “Put your back into it,” he said. “Fuck my hand harder if you want it harder.”
Claire tightened her grip on the bedclothes, pushing her body back repeatedly against the fingers inside her, forward against the fingers at her clit. She loosed a high pitched gasp; she could feel the crescendo of orgasm building in her. “Oh fuck,” she said, helplessly.
“There you go,” he said lowly, encouragingly. “Fuck my hand like a good girl if you want to come.”
“I’m—oh, mmm,” she moaned, pressing her lips together and rolling them. “Oh I’m gonna come,” she panted, eyes squeezed shut as his hands pushed her to distraction. “I’m gonna—“
“Whole lotta talking,” he said. “You better shut that pretty little mouth and keep fucking until you come for me.” His fingers pinched at her clit and she whined, her hips jerking towards the stimulus. “C’mon. Give it to me.”
Her breathing was growing increasingly erratic, harsh; torn between his two hands, the fingers inside of her and the fingers pressing her clit, she writhed. Her mouth fell open, her brows drawn together, her arms shaking underneath her. She teetered on the precipice, momentarily breathless, and then it all came out of her in a gust with a long croon as she came, her knees knocking together, the upper half of her body dropping down some as her arms failed to stay locked and supportive. Frantically she still pushed herself back against his fingers as she vocalized high and helplessly.
“That’s a good girl,” he said to her. “Mmm, look at you. You can’t even stand up and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”
Claire was still languidly moving her hips, the aftershocks of her orgasm periodically shooting through her like sparks, her pussy fluttering around the fingers inside of her. His hand slipped from around the front of her, and he slowly withdrew his fingers from inside her. Claire looked over at him as he moved to her side; she looked at his cock hard and proud and felt the ache inside her, and almost as a casual afterthought as opposed to deliberate arousal, he put the fingers that had been inside of her up to his mouth and sucked them clean. Claire whimpered.
“I kind of like it when you do the work,” he informed her, as he got onto the bed and she tried to will power back into her limbs. He laid back on the bed and took his cock in his hand, stroking it lightly. “Get up here. We’re not done, baby. Ride this cock.”
Claire pushed herself up, stepping out of the puddle of fabric at her feet, and she climbed up onto the bed. His free hand reached for the bottom of her tank top, pulling up on it, and she reached down and pulled it over her head, complying with his wordless directive to shed it. She unhooked her bra and let it drop onto the ground, and she shuffled over to him, swinging a leg over his hips. She put her hands on his chest and let him line his hard cock up with her opening, and once she felt the thick head in place, she began to slowly sink down, moaning.
She started slowly, riding him with a gentle grind, her fingers tight into the skin of his chest. He pushed back in deep with every stroke, and Claire hummed, letting her body find a rhythm. He gazed up at her like he always did, his face somehow both awed and steely, and his hands found her hips, gripping tight.
“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he said. “Fuck like I know you know how to fuck. Ride it like you mean it. C’mon.” He slapped her ass and she jerked, involuntarily. “Give it to me. Fuck me.”
Claire braced herself and tensed her legs and drew up off him, rocking back down onto him pointedly, the bed squeaking under them. She did it again, and again, the muscles in her legs flexing as she bounced and his cock hit home inside her every time. She pushed herself up straighter, riding him so hard her tits bounded and the bed complained.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he said throatily, watching her. “Fuck that cock. Bounce. Go.”
Bounce she did, her legs tensing and releasing, her hips and ass impacting against him every time his cock was buried all the way inside her. His hands came up to her tits, taking them in his hands and squeezing; lip in her teeth, she put her hands over his and encouraged him, leaning her head back as he pinched and teased her nipples. She was moaning, her body pounding down against his. She reached up and grabbed one of his hands, bringing it up to her mouth; she was so fucked out and mindless that she wanted everything, all at once—she wanted every part of him all over her, every part of her all over him. She brought his fingers up to her mouth and sucked them inside, tongue swirling around the digits. Leon groaned at her animal instinct to be closer, to have him in her mouth somehow.
“Harder,” he said. “Fuck me, Claire.”
Claire rode him so hard she started to sweat with the exertion of it, the muscles in her legs burning, the head of his cock so deep inside her and impactful it felt like it would bruise. “Oh fuck,” she keened. “Oh my God—“
“Yeah,” he growled, holding onto her, watching her with lidded eyes. “Fuck that cock, baby. Give it to me, little girl. C’mon.”
Claire bounced mindlessly, her mouth slack. “Oh fuck it feels good,” she gusted, her breath short. “Oh—“
“You like fucking this cock?” he asked, fingers tight into her ass.
“Yeah,” she moaned back, long and high.
“It’s all yours, baby,” he said, sounding labored. “Ride me.”
Claire fucked with such force she felt like if someone slipped now or something unexpected happened it was going to be a career-ending injury. Her face was hot, she was sweating, her legs were begging her to give it a rest, and yet she kept going. Leon was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room, perhaps on earth. And it <em>did</em> feel good, she couldn’t deny that having all of him inside her that hard, deep, and forcefully felt like heaven. He was right—she did always want more. She leaned forward some, bracing her hands on him, still bouncing her ass up and down for all it was worth. Leon set his jaw, grabbed onto her ass, and beneath her he squared himself up abruptly, and on her next downstroke she was met by his hips snapping up into her. Their skin met with a loud, impactful slap, and now as she fucked down onto him he fucked up into her, the pace feral, the depth punishing, the bed creaking pitifully.
“Oh <em>fuck</em>,” she whined, a long warbly croon hiccupped by the impact of their bodies together. “Oh <em>Leon</em>.”
“You’re not the only one who always wants more,” he growled through clenched teeth, thrusting up into her bouncing body. “<em>Fuck</em> you make me crazy—“
“Fuck me,” she keened. “Harder—oh—give it to me—“
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna feel it for a week,” he ground out. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you. I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t take it—“
“Yeah,” she moaned throatily, one of her hands slipping up to her own breast, squeezing it, worrying it. “Fuck me.”
“C’mon, baby,” he said, labored, mouth slack. “Give me everything you’ve got. Jesus, fuck me—“
There were no niceties about this. There was just them fucking like animals, giving up logic and reason to pound away at each other like they hadn’t a single other thought in their head. Claire was sweating, Leon was sweating, anyone who came within 25 feet of her house was probably going to hear the noises from within, turn red, and hurry away. She rode him until she felt like her legs weren’t going to work for 24 hours, and he fucked up into her so hard it punched the air out of her lungs and the sounds she made were hoarse, drawn out, and erratic.
He grabbed hold of her sides and made an animal noise, forcibly flipping her off him. A startled gasp escaped Claire as she suddenly found herself flat on her back, dazed—Leon rolled, got up, and got between her legs roughly. He grabbed the backs of her thighs and pressed her legs up, folding her, and thrust back into her so deep and hard the headboard knocked the wall with a loud thud. Claire rocked her head back, a guttural moan coming out of her. He began to thrust into her forcefully, jolting her body up the bed somewhat every time his hips met hers, her hands clutching into the bedclothes around her head for something to anchor herself.
“You like that?” he asked, strained, fucking into her so hard that perhaps the average person may have found it abusive. Claire was not the average person, and occasionally they were so far outside the bounds of average that she wondered if they weren’t pushing into deviant territory.
“Yeah,” she uttered back, gazing up at him helplessly. He released one of her legs and brought his hand up to grab hold of her face, fingers digging into the plump of her cheeks, forcing her to continue looking up at him.
“You like getting pounded like the little slut you are?” he asked her.
“Yeah,” she managed back, whimpering every time one of his powerful thrusts caused her body to jerk. His fingers tightened on her face, and then he thought better of it, shifting his hand to put his thumb into her open mouth. She hummed mindlessly and closed her mouth around the digit, sucking, and he was looking at her like he’d fucked his brain away several long moments ago, if it had ever been there at all.
The room was filled with the wet sounds of his cock moving in and out of her, their feral noises, the gasping for breath, the loud slap of their bodies against each other, and the loud, repeated thud of the headboard against the wall. Eventually Leon fucking into her like he intended to split her in half pushed her far enough up the bed to where for a few thrusts the top of her head knocked against the headboard like it knocked against the wall; Leon’s hand reached up to the top of her head to shield it from repeatedly slamming against the headboard. After a moment he rethought his plan and just grabbed onto her body, hauling her backwards, moving backwards on the bed himself. Claire let herself be dragged limply, and he was right back inside her, just as deep and powerful as before, leaning over her. They were both ragged, sweaty messes at that point, and Claire reached up to grab onto his back, pulling him closer. Her fingers splayed against his skin and then they curled, her uneven nails digging into the firmness of his muscles. She moaned wantonly, the only thing occupying her brain at that moment was what his cock felt like so deep inside of her, the desperate, animal sounds he produced. She let her nails rake down his back, fingertips tight into the skin the whole time, and he leaned down and kissed her. It was a frantic clash of teeth and tongue, of panting breath and dripping sweat.
“Fuck yes,” he growled into her face. “Claw me up, baby. Fucking give it to me.”
Claire was nearly hoarse at that point, her body bouncing under his, nails digging into him like she meant to wound, like she was fighting for her life. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d clawed him raw; in lucid moments Claire figured it couldn’t have felt pleasant, but he always seemed good natured about it and joked with her slyly about it. He hadn’t been lying—she was going to feel this tomorrow, and maybe the day after, and maybe for a few days. She always welcomed the warm soreness between her legs—maybe there <em>was</em> something wrong with her, but she often craved the feeling.
Leon angled his face away from hers for a moment, looking down to where they were joined, and he groaned. “Look at that, Claire,” he commanded, reaching up to grab her face roughly, angle it downward. “Look at you taking it all like a good girl. <em>Fuck</em>.”
The sight of his cock moving in and out of her always set her to desperate moaning, her face burning, and she gazed helplessly at it, holding onto him like a cat with its claws out. “Oh <em>God</em>,” she panted in total surrender, feeling him thrust into her like this was the last point he was ever going to make. “Oh—mmm—“
He reached down, working his fingers between them, finding her clit yet again. He began to rub at it firmly and insistently, his face looking back into hers. “Come for me,” he urged. “Come on this cock.”
“Oh,” Claire breathed, one of her hands performing a long, slow rake down his back. “Ooh—yeah—“
His hips collided with hers, a bead of sweat dripping off of him onto her chest. His hand on her clit knew one purpose, and his fingers were devastating in their accuracy. She writhed, captive under him, her body spread out to his ministrations. He fucked her like he wanted it to be the last thing she ever remembered in this lifetime. “Take this cock like a good girl and come for me,” he uttered to her, his eyes boring into hers. His pupils were blown wide; he looked like he was either having the fuck of his life or he’d taken way too much. Claire imagined her face didn’t make much more sense gazing up at him; she felt mind-blown and perhaps like the secret to life was his cock inside her.
Her nerve endings were singing and she sucked her lower lip into her teeth, again looking down to where they were joined, at his hand on her. “Oh fuck,” she gusted. “Oh don’t stop,” she added, pleading. He hummed, righting his body some, away from the repeated clawing of her nails, using the new angle to drive himself into her with renewed purpose, the headboard beating out a bass rhythm against the wall. Claire’s hand moved to his forearm, latching on again with the pressure of nails. The bite of her nails into his skin was not a distraction to him; his fingers rubbed the same pointed, devastating tight circles on her clit. Her voice was growing in volume and pitch, becoming a high, thready thing.
Orgasm broke in her like the mercury rising in a thermometer; it started slow and grew in intensity, her head thrown back, her mouth open, her pussy constricting around him in pulses. He made an appreciative noise as she spiraled and panted and mewled, sweat-slicked and fucked out.
“Good girl,” he ground out, as she dazedly angled her head back towards him, her body welcoming him back in with every pound of his hips against hers, the wet sound their union made obscene.
Leon thrust into her, her body jolting, and then for the next approximately two seconds things happened so fast she didn’t process them. She felt the pleasure of him hitting home inside her, the stretch, the pressure; there was a terrific sound, and that was followed by an equally terrific thud and lurch and when Claire blinked, her brain trying to figure out what in the fuck had just happened, she was blinking from a new position—she was lower to the ground, the ceiling further away.
Leon froze, his face hanging over hers, and for a second all they did was stare at each other, wide-eyed, halted in perplexity.
“Did we—“ Claire loosed a noise. “Leon, <em>we broke the fucking bed</em>,” she said, astounded, irate, confused, and knowing all at the same time. “Jesus <em>Christ</em>,” she gusted, angling her head up and towards the wall. The bed and box springs were now flat on the floor, detached from the headboard.
Leon was looking at her, face somehow <em>caught</em>, still inside her, and then abruptly he began to laugh. He was really laughing, with his whole chest; Leon didn’t often genuinely laugh at things. He’d spare a chuckle, or a dry noise, or he’d smirk in amusement. A genuine fit of laughter was so rare out of him it was almost disconcerting every time. His face crinkled with the effort of it, his head dropping down to hang some. Claire’s face grew adamant back at him, and she frowned. Normally she appreciated the ability to make him laugh like he meant it; it was probably good for him. She didn’t necessarily know if this situation warranted the gut-busting.
“Leon, it’s not fucking funny,” she said shortly. “We <em>broke my bed</em>.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I can fix it,” he assured through laughter, his shoulders shaking. “I’ll fix it. This—“
“It’s always something,” she said loudly, looking up at the ceiling. “Are other peoples’ lives this much of a clusterfuck, or is it just us?”
“It’s us,” Leon assured her in mirth. “Combined we inflict damage on most things we encounter. I’ll fix it, Claire. Don’t worry.” He was calming down some, the laughter subsiding.
“Alright, well…” She trailed off, letting out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Sure, her bed was second-hand, and maybe about 15 years old, but she never once in a million years contemplating fucking so hard it broke. She and Leon probably needed adult supervision. They needed someone or something to enforce structure on them. Together, they were full-speed-ahead hedonism and perhaps bad decisions. Claire laid there for a second, contemplating how most adults she knew who reported to be adults were probably not horny trainwrecks with no impulse control who fucked beds to death.
And then her train of thought was cut off by Leon thrusting into her evenly, pointedly. She gasped and furrowed her brow and made a noise of dismay. “Leon the bed is <em>broken</em>,” she informed him. “We are actively on the floor.”
He was moving in and out of her again, purposeful against her body. “It ain’t gonna stop being broken,” he informed her. “We already broke it. Damage’s done.”
“You—“ She tutted some and furrowed her brow, torn between matronly disapproval and pleasure at the feeling of his thick and still very hard cock moving inside her. “Did it fucking put a hole in the drywall?” she asked breathlessly.
“Not the hole I am concerned with filling at the moment,” he replied in casual but labored off-handedness, thrusting into her.
“Oh my <em>God</em>,” Claire half-groaned, half-gasped; part of her was cringing at his ever-present bad, opportunistic humor, and the other saw no fault with his logic—the man had just been in the act of fucking her so hard it sent a bed to the afterlife, he was probably fairly concerned with coming at that point. And who was she to deny him? The damage was, after all, done—they’d already broken the bed, it was going to stay broken until someone did something about it, which probably didn’t necessarily need to happen right at that moment especially given that one of them had experienced orgasm twice and the other not at all.
His hands once again came to her thighs, pushing her legs up, effectively folding her again, and he exchanged the deep, mean, powerful thrusts for rapid ones, his hips jackhammering against hers. Part of Claire’s brain felt derailed by the fact that they were now on a mattress and box springs on the floor, like she was in college all over again, but she could not necessarily maintain a hardline, serious approach with him fucking her like that. It took him a second to distract her, but distract her he did, drawing her attention back to the sensation of the way his cock felt moving in and out of her soaked pussy. She was less concerned with the fact her bed was broken and more concerned with having a record-breaking, awe-inspiring fuck.
He fucked her like a man possessed, with the skill of his age and the stamina of an 18 year old with a stack of porn and too much free time. Claire sounded grateful pleasure over and over again, her hands once again knotted in the destroyed bed clothing around her head, and Leon fucked her until they <em>both</em> needed to get back in the shower, their bodies drenched.
He let his hips collide with hers one last time, fingers tight into the meat of her thighs, and he was coming, rutting into her with a groan, his cock pulsing inside her. Claire laid there, throat dry, sweat-dampened, and watched him fill her with his spend in exhausted, blissed-out awe.
The exhausted, blissed-out awe lasted for a moment, but around the time he was pulling out of her and flopping over on his back next to her, letting out a breath, his hands in the air uselessly supported by his elbows, she was back to realizing her bed was broken.
“Jesus Christ,” Leon announced, sounding astounded and fried at the same time.
Claire laid there limply next to him, her heart still pounding, as they both gazed up at the ceiling.
“Well, banner day for me,” he went on, cheerfully, sounding winded. “I’ve never fucked a bed out of existence.”
Claire tiredly forced herself over onto her side, looking at him flatly. “Pat yourself on the back later. This is a problem.”
“Fuck, I kinda feel like I deserve some sort of medal for this,” Leon said, looking up at the ceiling, sweat running off him in rivulets.
“You broke my bed,” Claire replied, petulantly.
“<em>I</em> did?” he asked, mildly incredulously. “I think you helped, sweetheart. I wasn’t on this bed fucking <em>myself</em> to oblivion.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Semantics. The bed is on the floor. It wasn’t earlier.”
Leon let out another gust, then angled his head up behind him, looking at the headboard. His hands were still up in the air at the end of his propped forearms, as if he was surrendering. He rolled, with a grunt, over to the edge of the bed, and looked down at the frame below them, on the floor, and then back up at the headboard. “Yeah, I can fix this,” he said, almost to himself, off-handedly. “No problem. Just need a trip to the local Ace or wherever for some wood and hardware.”
Claire laid there and tried to maintain a business-like face in spite of the fact that she could feel his come leaking between her thighs, and watched him roll back over onto his back, rubbing his face.
“I think I need another one of those water beers,” he said.
She looked at him skeptically, and let out a sigh, her face softening. “Yeah, maybe me too,” she admitted. He looked over at her, sweaty and benign.
“Let me lay here and recover and then you can take me to Ace Hardware,” he said. “Or wherever. I’ll fix it. I promise.”
“I somehow feel like we’re failing to pass as adults,” Claire said, gazing at him.
“I’ll take bed-breaking,” Leon replied, his head turned towards her. “I’m forced to be pretty buttoned up and adult most of the time. My free time is for bad decisions and insanity.”
“No shortage of those around here,” Claire said, rolling back over onto her back, looking up at the ceiling.
They laid there for long moments, letting their heart rates return to normal, the slow turn of the ceiling fan above them cooling the sweat on their skin. Eventually Claire pushed herself up with a sigh, and made a noise. “I need to clean myself up,” she said.
“Do you still want to go to the pool?” Leon asked, looking up at her. “I’m debating on whether or not this sweat situation needs to be solved by yet another shower or if I can jump in a pool about it.”
Claire looked over her shoulder at him. “I dunno,” she returned. “Pool closes at 6. Are we going to have <em>time</em> for the pool?”
Leon looked at his watch on his arm, appraisingly. “Yeah. Sure. This won’t take me long to fix and reinforce. All the time in the world for the pool.”
Claire lightly slapped the back of her hand against his naked thigh. “Alright, well, up and at ‘em, chief. We have errands, now.” She scooted to the edge of the mattress and pushed herself up off the floor, as opposed to stepping down from it. She meandered off to the bathroom to clean up the mess between her legs, but not before she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and just kind of stared in mute wonder for a moment. Her hair had been fucked into the biggest rat’s nest she’d ever seen, her hair tie long gone, and it took her a few minutes and careful detangling with the brush to make it sensible again. She unwound another hair tie from around the handle of the brush and pulled her hair up into a sloppy knot, affixing it with the hair tie.
She returned to the bedroom, and almost collided with Leon in the doorway; he was back in the basketball shorts and a t-shirt, looking for all the world just like any other American guy on an errand-filled Saturday, maybe more sweaty. She managed a little <em>ope</em> and moved past him into the room, reaching down for her panties and shorts, pulling them on. She was in the process of hooking her bra around her when she heard the noise from outside, and paused.
In the distance, the unmistakable tinny sound of the ice cream truck’s music was heard. It was in the vicinity, and Claire hurriedly pulled her bra up, sliding the straps up her arms. “Leon,” she called, turning her tank top right-side out, “you hear that?”
“Hear what?” he called back.
“Gimme your wallet,” she called back. “It’s the ice cream truck.”
“Huh?” he called back, and she rolled her eyes a bit and stepped out of her bedroom, coming down the hallway. She stood there in the living room, hand on her hip, the other one held out in front of her.
“It’s the ice cream truck,” she repeated. “Let me see that wallet.”
He looked over at her blankly for a moment, and then his mouth pulled up. “I see you’re taking me up on my earlier offer,” he said in amusement.
“You broke my bed,” she countered evenly, then open and closed her outstretched hand. “Wallet.”
“Again, I was not in there fucking myself so hard a bed broke,” Leon said, his face knowing and sly, “and it takes two to tango.” He reached into the pocket of his basketball shorts, rummaging, and drew his wallet out and slapped it into her hand. “Guess it’s a banner day for you too. Ice cream <em>and</em> the pool.”
“I also came twice, which makes it a little more mature, even with the ice cream and the pool,” she said, and he chuckled some, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “Anyway. I’m going to go find this guy.” She closed her hand around his wallet and walked to her front door, pulling it open and stepping out into the bright light of the day, the humid air immediately pressing in around her. She pulled the door to behind her and made her way off her front porch, barefoot, walking across her small front yard, looking up and down the street for the ice cream truck. At the end of the street it rounded the corner, and Claire began to walk down towards it with Leon’s wallet in hand, deciding to stick mostly to the grass of people’s front yards to spare her feet from the hot sidewalk. The truck parked, and as she walked, a small group of kids began to gather at the truck, coming out of surrounding houses.
Claire sighed a little to herself. Nothing said full-fledged adult like standing among a group of 5 to 12 year olds at an ice cream truck. She’d lost control of today. She’d try again tomorrow.
She was walking towards the truck, when she heard her name, loud and deep from behind her. She looked back over her shoulder, and Leon was walking along in long strides, trying to catch up with her. He joined her at her side, and held out his hand. “Here, lemme see that thing,” he said, indicating his wallet. Claire handed it back over to him, and they approached the truck.
The man working the truck slid the large service window at the side open, and he looked like air conditioning was an advancement in ice cream truck science he’d welcome, but he managed to look mildly cheerful for the kids and maybe a bit confused at Claire and Leon’s presence. A small child and a minutely bigger child stepped forward to the window, standing close together; they seemed like a unit, siblings, maybe. One of the children had a ten dollar bill in her hand. Leon flipped his wallet open and thumbed through it, squinting against the bright midday sun.
“Here,” he said loudly, stepping forward, and the small group of gathered kids looked back at him, perhaps similarly surprised by the presence of adults. “Here, man.” He drew a stack of bills out of his wallet and handed them up to the ice cream truck driver. “Give these kids whatever they want. Give the rest of the kids in the neighborhood whatever they want. If there’s anything left, keep it.”
The ice cream truck driver accepted the stack of bills from Leon and folded it into his hand, looking at it. “You sure?” he asked, in a strong Long Island accent.
“Yeah, man.” Leon looked back at the group of kids. “Hey, you guys, put your money away. I got it. Just get whatever you want.”
“Thank you,” one of the kids uttered, small. He was in dire need of a haircut, missing a tooth, and wearing a Spiderman shirt.
“Yeah, thank you sir,” the bigger half of the probable sibling unit that’d just been ready to buy ice cream said, grabbing the ten dollar bill from her sibling.
“Sure,” Leon said, then walked back over to Claire, who looked over at him with a knowing but fond smile.
“Mr. Big Spender,” she said, in amusement. “It wasn’t enough to just buy me my strawberry shortcake bar.”
“Fuck it,” Leon said in an undertone, perhaps mindful of the presence of children. “Let the kids cart the tens back in to their parents or stick ‘em back in their piggy banks or whatever.”
“Sure,” she said, still smiling. This seemed very typically Leon—an enigmatic, unreadable bundle of occasional hedonistic abandon with a heart of gold. Bed-breaking aside, acts like this were why she thought of him in her spare time, why he’d grown to be a little more to her than the fellow survivor who occasionally blew into town to get up to no good with her.
Not that she let on that she was maybe any fonder than he thought she was. It just wouldn’t do to open her mouth and complicate things. Claire would accept the yard-mowing, the bed-breaking, and the free ice cream and keep the three little words to herself, even if sometimes she yearned with everything she was to grab his face in her hands and say them right at him, with conviction.
The crowd of kids eventually ambled back towards respective houses on the street, bomb pops and ice cream sandwiches in hand, and Leon and Claire stepped up.
“Oh, you actually want some ice cream too?” the ice cream man asked, his strong accent amused. A Long Island lifer, not a transplant like Claire. “I thought maybe you were attached to one of those kids.”
“If I’m attached to any kids anywhere, nobody’s informed me yet,” Leon returned dryly, and the guy laughed at him, his eyes crinkling. “What do you want?” Leon prompted, looking over at Claire.
“Strawberry shortcake bar, please,” Claire said in amusement.
“Sure thing,” the ice cream man returned, pulling open a cooler. “You want anything, man, or you just Daddy Warbucks today?”
“Oh,” Leon said with a gust, looking out into the distance, “fuck it, sure. You got any banana fudge pops?”
“That I do,” the man said, pulling open a different cooler. “Here you guys go,” he said, handing the plastic-wrapped ice creams down to them. “Enjoy. Have a good one, you two.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Leon said, “you too, man.” He and Claire turned to head back across the few yards to hers, and her front porch. Claire tore open the opaque plastic containing her strawberry shortcake bar on its stick, and took a bite.
“Mmm,” she said, emphatically. “Just as good as I remember. Probably haven’t had one of these things since I was like 15 or 16.”
“They sell ‘em at gas stations,” Leon said, looking over at her as he tore open his own ice cream. “At least around DC they do. In the ice cream cooler. You could have one every other day if you wanted to.” He looked at the banana fudge pop. “Now <em>these</em> things…maybe not so much. Never seen one off an ice cream truck.”
Claire hummed, taking another bite of her ice cream as they walked. “Niche ice cream,” she said. “Rare and unobtainable.”
“Yeah,” Leon said, and took a bite. “I genuinely think maybe I was sub-15 last time I had one of these things.”
“And?” Claire asked, lightly.
“Still tastes like fake banana and chocolate,” he replied. “Just like I remember. Divisive ice cream. Not for the banana haters.”
“A real banana doesn’t taste like that,” Claire said. “Not like Laffy Taffy, or Runts, or whatever.”
“Sure,” Leon said, and then looked over at her with a smile. “Wanna know something?”
“Lay it on me,” she said, as they approached her porch.
“I think real bananas are kind of disgusting,” he said. “I think I only like the artificial candy flavor. Eating a banana’s kind of the absolute last thing I want to do, unless it’s in the form of banana bread.”
Claire looked over at him with a smile, her eyebrow arched. “Bananas are good for you,” she said. “I think they lose that the moment they’re turned into bread, or distilled down to become a candy flavor.”
Leon chortled some. “Honey, I think artificial banana flavor is probably 100% chemicals, and like usual, in spite of my best intentions, I’m predisposed to love shit that is bad for me.”
They climbed the three steps to her porch, and Claire paused, nibbling at her ice cream. “Hardware store and then pool?” she asked, looking at him gamely, with her eyebrows raised.
“If I must, I suppose,” Leon said. “Your bed’s not gonna fix itself and I could probably impress some kids by doing a backflip off the diving board.”
Claire smiled at him, fond. “Sure,” she said, pulling her front door open. “It’s your day to impress, I guess.”
Leon chuckled some, coming into the house behind her, pulling the door shut.
Just had to emergency take my lunch because I drank too much cold water and it was making my stomach feel icky
Sometimes I feel like a finicky pet, like a chameleon, and if my enclosure is not the precise temperature and my heat rock is not plugged in and I don't have my supplements and someone doesn't gently mist me three times a day I am Going To Die
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