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Flirtin' with the Enemy (MouseNoises & Kalissacolyte)

But I barely know you, was Moe's first response. I don't know you at all, not really. But while that was true, it wasn't a very dissuasive argument. It only made Morgan hungrier for Parker's touch, her lips, the little "aaah-ah!" and "mmmnng, mm-MM!" sounds they they were both making now.

Train wreck. That was funny, and eerily... Comforting? Everyone else looked at Morgan's life and saw a successful career, a devoted worker, a path forward. More looked in the mirror.most mornings and saw... Yeah. Mangled steel and spilled coal, and a few bodies in it's wake. No one else saw what she saw.

Except Parker, just now. And far from disgust, Parker saw that and decided she wanted... More of it. All of it... If Morgan was lucky.

Close.

yes. Yes. YES. That's exactly what I need, too.

"Listen, Parker," Morgan said, gently closing her teeth over a centimeter of skin just above Parker's collarbone. "This... This ain't gonna work."

Then, to forestall any questions or protest, Morgan pressed her palm against Parker's mouth, looked right into her eyes, and continued:

"Not in here. Not with these... Fucking seatbelts." Morgan started grinning, then giggling at the absurdity of her own statement. She reached into her jacket pocket, fumbled until she found her apartment keys, and dangled them like a lure in front of Parker's face. "This is... Deeply stupid and wrong and unethical, what we're doing right now.

"Let's at least do it on a couch, like civilized people."
 
A weak shudder of pure need came up from the sparkling pain of a nip just about her collarbone, it was a predatory thing maybe, or just the experienced lips and teeth that carried their purpose, whatever it was - her youthful body yearned for more of just that. While the listen Parker did concern her - what followed was practically debilitating. Of course, it didn't register in her mind she'd just been kissed seconds prior when a palm covered her mouth she thought it'd all come crashing down.

Panic played in her big, bold, blue orbs - she looked at Morgan as she stalled momentarily, it was hard not to bite the hand and demand answers, they were perfect. . . didn't she feel this too? There was something here between them and she needed all of it, she wanted to scrape it out onto a spoon, melt it down and main vain it into her brittle body. She wanted to overdose on Morgan's love, here and now. How could she deny her that in this moment? It was cruel. . . criminal even.

Not in here, oh thank fuck.

Parker wanted to say something quippy, tell her not to ruin the moment with facts like the dubious ethics 'n' all, but she was breathless, she was heated, she was desperate for more and all the cool comments in the world wouldn't change that. Keys dangling in front of her she snatched them out of Morgan's hands and removed her own from the ignition, power locks clicking as she jumped out and nearly slipped on her ass on a fresh powdering of snow. -she managed to catch her footing but her legs were weak, wobbly jello'ish, long day or the heat of the moment maybe but she pressed on.

She wasn't sure why she stole those keys maybe to stop her from changing her mind, but now that they were in her paws she was making for the door and having fun with it, "Ok-Ok-OK - which one is it?" She studdered in the cold, "Let's goo," her heart overflowing with joy, she was getting her cake and fucking right she'd eat it too, consequences be damned.
 
Morgan gave a little scream of surprise and delight when Parker snatched the keys out of her hand, and struggled to catch up to the younger woman as she ran out of the car. Morgan, too, skidded on the slick parking lot asphalt, very nearly ate it on the sidewalk, but what last night would have put her in a self-despising shitty mood (can barely even walk after the day I've had, can't afford to slip and break my face, who would open the store tomorrow, not Dan that's for sure), now she just laughed, feeling like she was twenty, or even sixteen.

She ran up behind Parker, slowed her momentum by slipping an arm around her waist. "Two-Sixteen," she said, taking Parker's hand and pressing it against the dull gray fob reader outside the apartment's entrance. The security guy was elsewhere, and that would also have annoyed Morgan last night, but now she was just glad that no one by the probably-hopefully-unwatched security cameras saw her as she tightened her grip on Parker's waist and directed her toward the elevator. She didn't even try to take the keys back, even though Parker was basically helpless without Morgan to guide her to the right apartment. It felt... really, really good, to give up something so important as the keys to her home. It felt like a weight off her shoulders, a worry off her mind. Could she trust Parker? Should she? It didn't really matter, because right now, she was choosing to trust Parker, even though Morgan hardly new her.

A buzzing thrill ran through her belly as she thought that again: I'm about to take someone I barely know up to my apartment.

She'd never done that before. She'd assumed that, at her age, she probably never would.

Morgan shoved Parker into the elevator as soon as the doors were open, hit the "close door" button with her hip, and planted a trio of kisses up Parker's collarbone and neck. "Second... mmmphh... floor..." she said, as her tongue went kkllk and sllrrp against Parker's skin. "If you can... reach it..." she said, pushing Parker against the elevator's wall, her eyes flaring with mischief. "Go on, try."
 
It was beyond fun at this point, she felt alive for the first time in longer than she cared to recount at this point, days, weeks, months? Maybe all year now. She was giddy with excitement and heated with something else entirely, snow and cold be damned steam was practically rising from her skin as they made chase through the parking lot and up the sidewalk. Two-Sixteen, she remembered, she couldn't have gotten in quick enough though, grateful to be in the warmth and even more so for the arm around her mid, their hips and the rest bumping every now and again, not that she minded. They were past 'don't touch me' a long fucking way.

For some reason, maybe true happiness tickling her heart or some rancid BS along those lines, Parker found herself laughing, -not that she was particularly amused just. . . she felt happy next to Morgan, touching Morgan,

"Ouf!" She exclaimed as she was shoved into the elevator, her sore feet no match for even a gentle push (which it more or less was,) she toppled forward and caught herself just before "Auh!" Morgan was crashing into her instead. "Mmmngg. . ." she couldn't make words but those three sounds said it all, surprise, more surprise, the best sort of surprise. She could hear, not just feel, Morgan making out with her neck then challenging her in the most aggressively attractive way Parker could imagine in that moment, part of her shrunk back with submission but she bit back instead.

"I'll fuck you right here in this elevator Moe." Smirking proudly, devil may care. Now of course, it was a bold lie - but Parker said it with a bold confidence that bought her a moment to steal Morgan's lips. She didn't give a fuck about the button, sure, she wanted to be up a floor with her knuckles wet and her tongue very much occupied but the reality was, two could play at this game and this was among the most electrifying moments in recent memory and in an addicts heart, that was all that mattered. "Mmng, smch, smch," shamelessly groping the blonde's behind as she stole her tongue. The elevator binging at them to pick their floor, Parker made no attempt to get them going,

. . . not like, literally anyway. -all her other efforts however? -those were dedicated to getting them going, motors revving, little tingles of electricity making her body tense and lax in the most deliberate ways.
 
"Haaah... oohh, hhmmmnnngg!" Morgan's eyes opened just long enough to roll with pleasure and amazement that this was happening. Parker had taken her offer and ran with it, taken a mile out of the inch Morgan had given her, and Morgan fucking loved it. As her lips slid over Parker's, and the young woman's tongue pressed and lapped against hers, Morgan kept hearing the name Parker had given her, repeated over and over again in her head: Moe, Moe, Moe. It might as well have been "more, more, more." Morgan had been "honey" or "babe" before, but no one had ever given her a name, not like Parker apparently just had, and it felt stupendous in a way that Morgan didn't quite understand. Except that, maybe, Parker was marking Morgan as her own, in a way.

Why did we have to meet like this? Morgan thought, but then pushed the thought away as aggressively as she could. Her refusal of how wrong this way and how much trouble they could be in translated into an aggressiveness with Parker. Morgan dug both hands into Parker's hair, pulled her forward even as Morgan pressed her hips right up against Parker's pinning her against the elevator wall. She nipped and nibbled at Parker's lower lip, trying to keep the fire inside burning, trying to blaze away at the doubt and guilt and panic. It was like trying to ride a bicycle across a tightrope: sure, anyone could do it... for a little while, at least.

"Make me forget," Morgan whispered, and began chewing and licking at Parker's ear, burying her nose in the scent of her hair. "Make me forget who we are," she said, not bothering to elaborate. She had a feeling Parker got it just fine.
 
Passionate pangs flying through her chest at lightning speed Parker felt herself getting high on spicy drugs she had no name for, warm, fuzzy feelings making her face red and her lips swell. She felt breathless, regretting the taste of cigarettes and cherries on her breath, regretting the breathlessness cigarettes left her with in this high-hot-heat situation. With Morgan forcing her about she released a small whimper of sorts "Hng-ffk-mmmf,"

With the kiss(es) continuing on, evolving to nips and requests both Parker reached to the rows of buttons and tapped at 2, the elevator thanking her with yet another ping.

Make me forget who we are, A small guilty seed was planted deep in her tummy. She needed this job, so did Morgan, she knew this was wrong but she didn't quite comprehend how wrong, for either of them really. She'd always been attracted to bad ideas, shooting up a payload of Moe seemed less problematic than her one true love heroin. With that in mind Parker slipped her hands around Morgan and gripped her ass tight, greedy, fingers sinking into pillowy flesh.

"Shut up," she hissed, shoving Morgan's face away with her own before necking her, kisses tracing down her jaw to the side of her neck, gentle suckles and nips - nothing that would leave a mark for the morning but certainly she was making herself known. The elevator pinged again and the doors slid open, the faint smell of cigarette smoke and over steamed vegetables filling the sterile space around them. "Let's go," Bounding out of the elevator her hand held out behind her for Moe to take as she, like a hawk - scanned the hallway to see which way the numbers went,

They needed to be in her apartment, now.
 
Morgan tried to catch her breath, but her lungs somehow felt both too full and screaming for air, as if she were drowning. Parker's teeth sent sharp, silvery sparks up and down her spine, and when Parker's lips pulled a square inch of Morgan's throat into Parker's mouth, all while Parker's hands groped and squeezed and pet her ass, Morgan had to clamp both hands over her mouth, or else she was going to... to...

"Nnng...NNM!" Even with her hands to cover the sound, Morgan's squeal of delight and guilt and pure, pearlescent pleasure pierced her eardrums as it echoed off the elevator walls.

When the elevator door opened, the sound was still bouncing around, escaping into the hallway, and Parker was leading Morgan by the hand right after it.

"Here, right here, that's it," Morgan panted under her breath, tapping her apartment door. That's probably not the first time I'm going to say that to Parker tonight, Morgan thought, and a girlish giggle escaped before she could get her hands back up. Then, just to continue being a brat to her... well, they weren't coworkers right now, that was for sure, even if Morgan didn't know what they were to each other yet... to Parker, Morgan rolled her hips and did a sliding dance behind Parker, all but pinning her against the door, sliding both her hands into Parker's pockets, seeing just how much of Parker's underwear she could feel through Parker's slack's thin pocket material. Morgan pressed her nose and lips to the back of Parker's neck, and whispered: "Silver key does the deadbolt. Gold one does the doorknob." She pressed her fingers against Parker's pubic crease, first one hand and then the other, like a cat kneading a pillow. Her lips pressed gently, slowly -- smlch... tpk... shmmmch... from Parker's right ear down the side and back of her neck. She pressed the corner of her bony hip against Parker's ass.

Close.

Close.

It was never this close with Henry. With anyone. How can that be true, when we're still separated by winter clothes? How?

Down the hallway, Mrs. Farnhauer's door creaked open.
 
Parker skidded to a halt, ready to catch fire too. She was overheating, her cheeks flushed like the tips of her ears, like the. . . "Oauh," space just beyond nimble fingers, if she did that for long Parker would never get the door open. But still, she managed to press on, at least try to.

Her own fingers, however - were not so nimble. . . oh no, they were a trembling mess, her usual snarl of a RBF almost entirely dismantled. It was something else, a weak, pleading sort of expression she couldn't quite smear from her lips or eyes no matter how she might try to compose. If she had to compare this to someone previous, she could, she could easily enough. She'd want most to think it was her meant to be, not meant to last, first serious girlfriend - Meghan Ollerenshaw, but it wasn't, Meghan didn't have the raw sex appeal of Moe, nor the experience when they were together.

. . . no, this was more like cheating on Meghan, with new girls, older, NYC girls. A thought that would have made her feel guilty, or maybe remorseful - but it didn't. Nothing could keep her down in this moment, she was HIGH. Parker didn't always need a needle or a drink to get there, such was her addiction.

Ripples of eager pleasure started to roil in her tummy, up from exploratory fingertips, just as she managed the first of two locks.

Silver hair in rollers peaked through the hallway, two large, glassy lenses following them. They didn't speak, they just stared with judgement before "Ahem!" Parker could have died. The key slid along the face of a locking mechanism with a rancid scratching sound, she soon skipped it back and managed to key into the lock, opening the door and launching herself into the darkness of Moe's apartment with a mirthful, blast of amusement from deep in her gut.

More so than their silly adventure up the walk, this felt like childish, puppy love, fun, giddy teenage sexcapades. Biting her lip Parker too, bit down on her laughter, growling a little. "Hay, C'mere." urging her lover for the night, her trainer. . . her Moe closer so that they may resume, unbuttoning her first, top button as she did. The blouse would be no match for her fingers, though it's bargain department store sheer was somewhat betrayed by the even cheaper bra beneath. Parker could barely afford the 3 bras she had at this point.
 
Morgan just about died when her neighbor poked her head out and gave her a glare that would turn a chain link fence to rust -- but then Parker got her heart started again just by getting the locks open. Morgan tumbled inside, mumbling something about "watch out for the--!" But then she turned out to be the one to kick the decades-old popcorn tin that held her umbrella and other bad weather gear. The sound reverberated through the apartment, sending Mason, her cat, yowling under the couch. The BANG, CLANG, KRASH, followed by her cat's demonic rebuke of the entire situation, was embarrassing as hell, but Morgan's nervous system was just too lit up, her blood pounding in her ears and temples, and maybe she was still pretty drunk, because she just started laughing.

She knew exactly how Parker felt, with one exception: this was like every high school makeout session fantasy that Morgan had ever had. Sure, she'd had her liaisons under the bleachers, in the woods, in her empty trailer home before her parents got home from work, but those had all been awkward, groping affairs. The boys had all just wanted to get her shirt off and then just stare and poke at her, and Julie... well... Julie had taken one look at the family-sized cross hanging in the cramped, brown-on-beige trailer of the living room, lasted five minutes of half-heated kissing, and then left. She couldn't take the guilt, she'd said. Morgan never knew who had made her feel guilty, the Son of God, or the Daughter of Joel and Martha.

This wasn't like that. This was everything that those moments were supposed to have been.

Parker -- young and lovely, gorgeous and sharp, radiant Parker, goddammit, was she writing poetry for this girl? Apparently she was -- was undoing the top button of her blouse, just as Morgan's eyes were starting to adjust, giving the whole image a dreamlike, beautiful surreal quality. "Parker..." Morgan whispered, but she had nothing else to say: nothing, except to brush her lips down Parker's throat, then her collarbone, not kissing, or nibbling, or suckling, not yet -- only silently speaking Parker's name, over and over, her lips moving down as Parker allowed her access to more and more of her skin. Morgan shuddered with how much she wanted to move faster, to take or be taken and to take turns over and over... but she would be patient. She had to be.

However long this last after tonight, Morgan was going to make tonight last.
 
The sudden clatter had Parker's heart stop, mid beat, the clambering popcorn tin & frightened cat, that same one everyone from a certain era owned but had no idea how they got it. . . their tin, not cat. Probably a random relative or secret Santa, whatever the case - it was unwanted, but made a damn fine storage for Umbrella's and odds & bobs from the closet. She was sure, if not for the fact everything she owned had been turned & burned so many times over she lost count - she'd have one beside her door as well.

Parker's own apartment was spartan, she only had exactly what she needed and 1 of it, likely. Her parents had furnished so many places over the years they'd learned & she'd grown guilty. They sometimes provided a lump sum, they sometimes accompanied her to the store, they sometimes suggested a pawn shop or Re-Store. This time was no different, a trip to Ikea and a pat on the back, empty promises it would all be different. . . she was sure her father still believed, her mother was changed though, she was sure of that. It hurt to see, the absence of hope that Parker could ever be anything but an addict, criminal, fuck up. She wondered if Moe would follow that same natural path, right now she was excited, horny & drunk. . . soon she'd hope for more from Parker & eventually that hope, like her mother's, like Meghan's, like all of theirs & too many more to count, Moe's hope would die.

Trying not to let that ugly train be the end of her fun, she swallowed it down. Remarkably sober & yet, not quite, after all, lust was just another drug to her. "Moe." She echoed back, since they were sayin' name's in all. . . "Ouh, Moe. . . hmff," her supple lips trailing from collar to chest, cleavage, they'd soon find her modest breasts & more than modest, cotton bra.

With Parker's blouse unbuttoned, she pulled it up out of her bottoms and "Mmph, keep kissin' me," She breathlessly begged, she felt her lips all over, not just on her chest but against her face, at her lobes, lower still, she wanted to, Parker couldn't help that. Couldn't help how hot Morgan had made her over the last. . . not so long, at all. Desperate to turn the tied, to occupy herself at least, Parker shimmied her shirt down her elbows, the blouse falling to her feet carelessly. With all her faculties at her disposal still, she wrapped her arms around Morgan, reaching up, splaying fingers in her hair, uncaring of any product or procedure in taming the shorter-than-short blonde, she just wanted to feel her, up close. . . She wanted to rake her fingertips along her scalp, to feel the heat rising from her, maybe more. . . definitely more.

It was hard not to make demands without breath to carry them. In the low light it was hard to tell, but Parker's body did sing a song, told a story for the reader. . . she had scars. She was thankful the bruises in the beds of her elbows were easy to go unnoticed, but they were there. Sure. She'd earned those, the stigma around them too. There was a surgical scar on the left side of her tummy, not that she had much of one. . . several small burns under the line of her bra and a larger (what looked like a cigar's) burn just above her left breast, the same side. Finally, on her back, below her ribs, a stab wound that had been well cared for and in her early twenties, the scar not as aggressive as the story behind it - it looked like it could have been from nearly any sort of accident, surgical even, though it was not. Her build was one of a recovering addict 'skinny fat' so to speak, she wasn't overweight but there was Parker to hold on to, that said, in clothing she looked rather trim, almost fit. Beyond that, P.A.W (post acute withdrawal) left her horny and hopeless, her skin covered with a sheen of sweat. Moe could have blown on her wrong and had her cumming in an instant, this teasing was killing her. . .

. . . and yet, she too wanted it to last. She wanted Morgan to romance her, before she had her prematurely wheezing out forget-me-nots as Morgan fingerblasted her on the couch. She wanted this to be somehow special, maybe it was already. "Ouf, fuck, I wanna. . ." Parker first gulped then second, started tugging at Morgan's clothes, she wanted to see her naked too - before she felt any more self conscious of her body in low light.
 
Moe -- and right now, she was Moe, Morgan had clocked out and gone home for the night, sayonara second shift, say hello to that oh-so-elusive night shift -- tried to keep to her plan of just brushing her lips against Parker's skin, whispering the younger woman's name, enjoying drawing this out and teasing the clearly-impatient Parker... and maybe it was just an accident that her tongue pressed out between her lips just as she was whispering and shushing and giggling with her nose right against Parker's sternum. It might have been a mistake, but it turned on-purpose really quickly. As Parker's blouse slide down her arms, Moe started with little, darting licks, flicking her tongue over the soft inside of Parker's cleavage, then leaving long, almost forceful licks across her skin, making her own tongue almost hurt from the pressure. She'd always wanted to be this close with someone, but Henry had never come in for oral stuff, he'd had a weird aversion to blowjobs for a straight--

Get out. This isn't your house. I'm not your wife. You're not here, right now you're not even real, and neither is Morgan, she's not here, leave a message you lying cold-eyed bastard

--she wondered how Parker thought about oral, but from her reaction, clearly she didn't have a problem with it. Moe grabbed handfuls of Parker's trousers, not even groping her ass, just grabbing on tight to anything that would yield to her touch... then slid her hands up Parker's back, loving the feel of Parker's sweat under her palms, helping her hands glide up to the clasp of Parker's bra. The poor thing was missing two hooks, and the one that was left was hanging on for grim death. With the unpracticed awkwardness of undoing a bra from the other side, Moe's released the hook from its duties, sent it home early and promised to clock it out at the end of its shift, and there was a faint murmur of rayon and plastic, then her hands slid around beneath Parker's tits. They were perfectly sized, a handful and a little extra, perhaps a touch more than Moe's own 18As -- a bad joke to tell at parties, the size was her breast's life story: they'd showed up late when Morgan turned 18, and they'd Always been that small since -- and Moe took that handful, leaving the tips to poke out between her thumbs and forefingers. Moe was not playing with or even touching Parker's nipples, and she was burning a lot of calories not doing that. Instead, she just braced Parker's body and kept on licking, making long, needy not-quite-gagging sounds as she did. "Nmmmguh... mmmmfff... Ngggl... Par... rrker..."

This time when she said Parker's name, it was in response to her fingers in Moe's hair, brushing the shortest strands like short-clipped grass, digging into the longest, finest wires where she'd given her scalp a reprieve from the razor. She'd shaved it thinking that it made her look harder, sharper, more serious. Now, she wished she'd gone for an undercut or even a wolf tail, it might look silly but it would have given Parker something more to grab onto, and as much as Moe was enjoying grabbing and groping and licking and tasting Parker, she was enjoying being told what to do and handled firmly just as much.

Her eyes began to adjust.

Moe paused, just for a second, as her right hand slipped from the excitement and sweat and, yeah, probably a little of Moe's own saliva too... and her hand brushed over skin that was too smooth, too shiny, to be anything but a scar. Moe ignored it at first, but she'd always been an eyes-open kisser, she liked to see the person she was loving... and she paused again. What kind of wound left a circle like that? A burn, she thought, but what an odd spot for a burn. Cooking accident? A hot poker from the fireplace? It looked like it had hurt like hell, whatever it...

There were more.

Sometimes her hands found them before her eyes, and sometimes her eyes picked up on the old wounds and she had to force herself not to touch them. Christ, she really was too grabby for her own good. She thought it would be just like a movie, if I leaned forward and kissed all those old wounds, all those little hurts. But... But suddenly, maybe Parker's aversion to touch which, just a few hours ago, had made Moe feel ill and guilty, made a lot more sense.

So. What to do?

Maybe nothing. Maybe ignore them. Maybe pretend she hadn't seen them. It was dark, Parker was a brand-new lover, she hadn't had time to explore all of her body yet, Moe was still drunk enough that they would need to stop for a water-and-ibuprofen drink if this kept up... but no. That wasn't right, either.

Instead, Moe stood up straight, taking Parker's hands in hers, very reluctantly stopping the tugging and maneuvering and massages she'd been receiving up to now. "Look at me," she said, looking right down into Morgan's stormy eyes. "You look at me."

And then, Moe slipped out of her hoodie. Pulled her work shirt out of her black slacks. Undid the button fly, one... by... one... slipped the slacks down over her pointy hips and sit-bones, and let the damn things fall right off her skinny thighs. She left her cotton high-waisteds on for now, but she put Parker's hands on her stomach, just on either side of the line of faint, almost white, downy peach fuzz that led from her navel down to the darker, more wiry hair under her panties.

"I see you," she said, all she knew how to say about Parker's map of brutal history. "Now, you see me." Then she let go of Parker's hands, and raised her own up, clasping them behind her neck. Showing off. Christ... how long had it been since she'd shown herself off to anyone?

She had an answer, but she didn't care to think about it. He wasn't here. Morgan wasn't here. Moe and Parker were here, now.
 
Parker was vaguely aware of it at first, the shift in the air, seconds ago Moe was making out with her tits, now she was staring at her like. . . she didn't know what. . . Morgan had felt a few, then looked at them close enough, even in the low light. For a moment she felt humiliated, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes, she felt like maybe Morgan wasn't who she thought she was and judgement had caused something far worse than just going home unsatisfied. One of her hands drifted into her elbow, hiding her tracks nervously. They weren't so bad, were they? She wasn't so bad, was she?

. . . was she?

A couple pregnant seconds passed and Parker felt like she'd die if Morgan didn't say something.

This wasn't a drunken fuck. Not now. This was something far different, whether Morgan knew it or liked it or what, this had evolved. Parker just stared in disbelief, for a long moment, her hands shaky in Moe's. People usually. . . well, were shit, or tried not to be shit so they could get something they wanted, people could be all sorts of ways, usually Parker only slept with people who would get it 'cause they had'em too. Usually she stuck to other addicts and shit birds and that way she didn't need to get better, she didn't need to worry about being an utter sack of shit at all turns, she could just expect nothing and have nothing expected of her. . . she liked it like that.

But this was different. . . Morgan had passed on a part of herself, Now you see me,

Parker did, truly. Her hands on the other's tummy, soon turned to her hips, pulling her close. If she didn't kiss her, immediately, she'd say something regrettable surely. "C'mere," she hummed before pressing lip-to-lip, tugging at the waist of her panties, her puffy, punk nipples standing firmly at attention, frizzled ginger hair matting with sweat. After a few awkward pecks and a flick of her tongue over Moe's, Parker pulled back.

"Take me to your room, I don't wanna fuck on the couch."
 
Moe nodded rapidly, her chin bobbing up and down, her eyes wide and dark with relief, desire, terror, joy, disbelief, a whole neurology textbook of emotions. "Mm-mmhmm!"

She stepped out of her trousers, and curled one hand over the top button of Parker's, using it as a lead to show her to the bedroom. It was the second of only four rooms in the apartment, if you counted the kitchen which was really just the part of the living room with tile instead of cheap gray-blue carpet. And it was...

"Oh, god, I'm sorry, it's, I just moved in and everything's kinda..." Moe wasn't sure what to think about the fact that this was the part of the night that made her feel nervous and embarrassed. Maybe her room was just in that rough a shape. Or, maybe everything else just felt so right, so good, so much like exactly what she needed. "You know what?" Moe said, and shoved about two weeks' worth of laundry, basket and all, right off the bed. Then she fell back, bouncing halfway back up on the squeaking springs before settling down, and wiggled her way up to make room. She stuffed herself into the corner where two walls and the mattress met, spread her legs to... yes, to give Parker as much room as possibly, that was it... "All yours," she invited, not bothering to elaborate on what exactly she meant. She held out a hand, grabbing at thin air, beckoning with one finger, she'd do shadow puppets on the wall if that's what it took to get Parker on the bed with her right now, right this second, oh God was she going to start crying?

No. She already was.
 
Standing in the doorway Parker witnessed the pile of laundry, baskets & all, thrown to the ground giving them some space. Some excuse thrown her way about having just moved in - she didn't care, not at all. Her apartment wasn't a mess, sure, but only because she only had a few outfits to her name, no TV, a radio - a laptop, sure, but. . . well, she could list her belongings on fingers and toes if she took the time, hardly enough shit to make a mess.

For a moment, she lingered there, her hands still in the pits of her elbows, hiding those bruises - even though she knew they were passed that, it was hard for her. Hard for her not to feel, mess or no, somehow Moe was everything above her & she was lucky to be in her shadow, ever the imposter. Her breasts sat on her forearms, her face framed by frizzled ginger. Her panties were similar to her bra, bargain brand, pastel blue like her eyes, her toe socks mismatched green & pink. . . Morgan's apartment may have been a mess, Parker felt like she was though, personally, Parker was more than a mess, she was a raging garbage fire.

Crossing the room, Parker climbed up onto the bed, it creaked & whined under her weight - she was a little thicker than her partner after all. Parker scooted up into the space between her legs and in one graceful motion she stole her face - both hands on her cheeks, only now noticing the tears on her far from sad expression. "Awh, hon. . . Don't cry." a low, lusting coo. "I'm not goin' anywhere." she wasn't sure it was the reassurance she needed or even reassurance she could offer honestly - but it fit the silence between.

She knew the tears to be superficial, she knew because she'd been beckoned there with desperation, she knew because, well . . . she'd been choked up herself just seconds ago. Morgan was something else, she made her feel & that in itself was a lot. Her thumb smeared a few wet blobs across her face, brushing them away before kissing the salty skin. As she kissed her face, her brow, her temple, her cheek bone. . . her hand reached down her body. Found where peach fuzz met a more wiry sort of hair, fingertips teasing at the band of her panties "Jst', tell me to stop. If that's what you want." before her words were done her fingers were slipping through humid, pubic heaven.

Parker hadn't expected this, not at all, though she likely still would have had an untamed ginger minge regardless, always razor shy, only her legs really got regular shave, even her pits generally had a soft whisp. . . people didn't seem so uptight about it the older she got, but she could understand the appeal of sex-dolphin-smooth-skin, just about everywhere. It simply wasn't her.

She wasn't ready to move forward just yet though, first tugging at her panties, requesting their removal, wordlessly. She also awaited some verbal confirmation that she was to continue. . . once she got it though, her fingers would pop passed her lips for a little natural lubrication, perfectly manicured nails (more like, perfectly gnawed short) covered by her tongue, awaiting access.
 
Seeing Parker standing in the doorframe, arms not quite crossed, lit by mismatched horizontal bars of light from the almost-closed window shade, Moe was sure that she'd come on too strong, said the wrong thing, ruined it -- and maybe it needs to be ruined, now before it's too late, it's bad enough as it is, but it can only get worse the longer she's here, for you, for her too -- and Moe would have given up most of what she had left of her life to know what Parker was thinking about now. Was it selfish to want that? To skip ahead to the part where she and Parker could trade a glance and exchange a dictionary of words and meanings and context. Morgan missed that more than anything else marriage, that simple intimacy, that moment-to-moment knowledge that you were part of someone else's life. Parker was a total mystery, and that was thrilling, frustrating, frightening...

Then Parker climbed up onto the bed with her, and everything got more thrilled, frustrating, frightening, so that Moe gasped when the mattress sagged under Parker's weight. Moe fell a little into the divot, like a planet pulled into a black hole.

Even better than Parker coming closer, though, was what she did next, what she said next: "I'm not goin' anywhere." Even though Parker had just told her not to cry, Moe couldn't help making a little "mmm... guh," sound, not quite a gulp, not quite a sob, and all of a sudden Parker had plenty of tears to...

to...

Oh my god.

Parker's kiss had made Moe's fingertips spark, made her legs shake, made her eyelids flutter, but this, these kisses on her tear-stained cheeks? She felt that not in her body's extremities, but in the deepest, most secret parts of her. Yes, in the muscles between her belly and he pubis, and of course in her heart, but not than that, too. "Bone deep" didn't do it justice, because bones were just a part of you. Moe felt those kisses in her self. In that soul-place that she had never been sure she really believed in.

She believed, now. In something, at least. In this.

Her eyes were still wet and stinging from tears, so she didn't quite see what Parker was doing with her hands... but she figured it out pretty quickly.

Moe's feet slipped as she tried to gain purchase on the bed, and as her nerves lit up like overloaded light bulbs and her legs went a little haywire. She wasn't trying to get away, she was trying to push her hips up, to make it as easy for Parker to have as much of Moe as she wanted. It took Moe a long time to respond, because she was too busy clenching her teeth, little "mnnnn... ynnn? Mmm-mn!" sounds slipping out, her tongue pressing against her front teeth, exposing little flashes of pink against the white of her teeth. Parker's fingers between her labia, even with the occasional scratching sharpness of her gnawed-down nails, was making her... She'd always hated the word wet, it always sounded so unclean and untidy, like a spill that needed mopping up, but call it what it was: Moe had been wet since the ten seconds before Parker had kissed her for the first time, had been keenly aware of her own beer-and-spices scent, and ever since they'd gotten inside her apartment, Moe hadn't just been wet, she'd been... oh here was a dirty and untidy word... slick, slick with need, with heat, with yearning. The curls of hair that Parker's fingers were sliding over were a like darker, a lot curlier, now than they had been before.

"Don't..." Moe said, gasped for breath, and finished: "Stop." Then, realized how that could be interpreted, she reached out with one hand, grabbed a fistful of Parker's hair, and pulled her clothes. Then, in Morgan's I Need This Done Not Right Now, I Need It Yesterday voice, her Morgan Means Business voice, her Just Do As I Say And We'll All Be Much Happier voice, she growled: "Don't stop. Don't... stop. Do...mmmnn! Don't... fuck?!... stop, sst, sssssoooaaah...!"

She finally got her feet planted, and lifted herself up, arching her back, staring at Parker from between her legs, between her still-cover tits, begging her with the little mantra she'd made up for herself.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop..."
 
Sometimes, in the heat of the moment - it was easy to forget rejection existed. It was easy to forget she was no longer her hotter-than-hades, perfectly perky & pristine self at 22, not this scarred, stretched, depressed mess of a 30-something. She wouldn't have blamed anyone for suddenly growing cold and refusing a buggy night with her, but this had quickly turned into something far different than that. Morgan had done something, had seen her in the most desperately, painful & fearlessly honest. Seeking, they'd sought out each other in the worst way and now they coalesced in lusting oblivion. She wanted more, she knew it was dangerous, she knew someone might get hurt or fired, but she also knew she couldn't quit. Couldn't quit Moe, couldn't quit their awful existence of retail hell. . . couldn't quit fucking up everything she touched.

Her fingers found labia through the pubic region, her palm still feeling the humid patch of wires. It would be disingenuous to say she didn't adore that for Moe, the hair on her crotch was longer than the hair on her head, she was sure of it. Soon she was retreating, tugging at that pubic region before slipping her fingers in her mouth to relieve the tacky sensation of chewed fingernails and mostly dry fingertips. After a quick, "Pwah, ssthpt," puff and hiss of saliva on her fingertips she returned them to their prize, the sopping region betwixt her lover's thighs. It would be a lie to call her anything less, she felt like that. . .
. . . A lover.

When was the last time she could utter such sentiment genuinely? ? ?

No longer occupied by fingers her mouth returned to Morgan's face, her fingers at her slick entrance giving her a tease, "Ouhff, You're really. . ." she didn't want to say it either, never a fan of that word herself. It felt so. . . uncouth? Whatever the case ". . . hmmph, me too," it was only true. She could feel her panties clinging to her own nethers, demanding relief, a total crimescene between her legs at this point. With that in mind & her hand in Morgan's panties - she was remiss not to start kissing again. "Smch, mmnn, smch-smmph. . . You can, touch me too.

If you want." coy as you like, a deep desperation to be held, to be licked, to be kissed and fucked - far from evidenced by her voice, but just behind it.
 
Moe's eyelids were fluttering, her irises slipping in and out of visibility as she rolled her eyes in a mixture of incandescent pleasure and hysterical disbelief. At first she had been rolling and thrusting her hips against Parker's fingers, but that had earned her more pain than she'd anticipated -- her own fault, what else was new -- and now she was just propping herself up, presenting herself to Parker, getting a cramp in the back of her thigh and how unsexy was that? Moe knew she wasn't exactly robbing the cradle here, but the age difference wasn't nothing, either. But what Moe might have in age, Parker absolutely had her beat on experience. Moe had never been put on blast like this.

Henry had been a doggie-style-on-the-weekends and I'll-eat-your-cunt-for-your-birthday lover, and Moe had thought that was pretty great for awhile. It was regular, it was reliable, she'd had friends whose husbands lost all interest in sex after the first two years, so what did she have to complain about? Well, for one thing, she'd never liked "cunt," anymore than she'd liked "wet," but that was the word Henry had used. "Pussies are cats and wimps" had been a perennial favorite.

Right now, Moe reached down with one hand, spread her fingers like a Vulcan hello, and spread her dripping wet pussy open for Parker. All kinds of dirty words were suddenly funny, thrilling, beautiful even: her juice dripped down past her taint, her clit sparked and throbbed, her lips made eager, hungry little "sssslp, ffvvlp, fttth" sounds as Parker's fingers slipped in and out, in and out... Moe's internal monologue sounded like an embarrassingly bad porn book, but her external monologue was mousy squeaks, muttered "oooh... oh, Par... Parker, fuck...", and as she relaxed into the moment, throatier, almost angry-sounding moans. "Park... k-ker...!"

She loved the way her lover's mouth tasted. She loved it even more when Parker kissed her full on the lips, and Moe could taste a hint of her own wetness on Parker's tongue, and she bucked her hips and clenched her thighs -- the orgasm eluded her, went into hiding further up in her belly, but Moe had total faith that Parker would be able to track it down and pin it to the ground, and oh, yeah, that image almost brought it back around all by itself.

"You can touch me, too." "If you want."

Moe wanted to. She did. But, what she had in age, she lacked in experience. Her own nails were barely fit for chewing, and probably still had glue on some of them from when she'd had to do some hasty repairs on merchandise that had come off the truck damaged but not *quite* shrinkable. Moe could smell Parker, could smell her distinct from her own arousal, and wanted, wanted, wanted it... but didn't know how to have it. What to do. She and Julie had never gone further than kissing and a brief, awkward attempt on Julie's part to feel her up in the closet -- they hadn't even known enough to know what that was funny, not at the time, not at that age. What was Moe supposed to do, here?

Well do something, you boob, she's right there, and while you don't want to admit it, you just know that Parker is here to go. Do something, while you still can.

So. This wasn't no closet, and Parker's tits were almost a different species from fifteen-year-old Julie's, but...

Moe reached out, brushed her fingertips across the swoopy bottoms of Parker's breasts, rubbing her thumbs gently over Parker's nipples, before thinking better of it and licking her fingers just like Parker had lubricated her own . She was as gentle as she could manage, with Parker's fingers making a very persuasive argument to the alternative, rolling Parker's nipples beneath and around her fingers, gently tugging but never pinching. Finally just... holding Parker, feeling the softest parts of a clearly hardened woman, making a sense memory of the texture of Parker's skin.

Then, her breath coming in hitches and gasps, she licked her lips and asked Parker: "Ca, can I, ffwuh, can I h-have these?" She gave Parker's nipples a little brush with her thumb, and opened her eyes enough to draw Parker's gaze into them. "Please?"

She licked her lips again. Maybe she didn't know the first thing about fingering another woman, and she was pretty sure she'd flunk the written on oral, but... but Moe wanted to try her luck with this. Felt pretty good she could win a prize if she did.
 
Parker had some youth, some hip vibes that made her seem younger still, but yes, she too had experience. She knew her way around a woman's body, her own too, which in honesty could be just as important. She knew the face of a lover searching for their orgasm through nerves and other such barriers - fleeting as they could be. She knew other things to be true of Morgan in that moment. While she didn't entirely know the story she had to imagine it had been some time since Morgan had touched a woman, she didn't know the truth behind that inclination though.

Her fingers grew more and more lubricated with her lover's natural tang, she knew she was doing a good job for a number of reasons but that especially egged her on, made her want to do even better, to bring pleasures only she, specifically (or another lesbian leaning woman, likely, but that didn't serve her ego) could give. She wormed her fingers inside just a little deeper, two, her middle and ring, once knuckle deep they curled and created a come-hither sort of motion against a spongy tissue Parker knew to be a very erogenous zone, next her palm flattened at her lover's hood & clit, giving it some much needed attention, all the while, her pinky finger and index clung to the creases of Morgan's thighs for purchase.

Next came the sticky situation of Moe's somewhat evident inexperience, not that she minded for the moment, fingers brushed at her nipples and she couldn't help but hiss and whine a little, they were rather sensitive, especially so given the circumstances. She did her best not to beg for something more, but this would due, there was never any expectations going into this.
. . .
A lie, she'd expected to cum at least once.

"Of course, all yours hon." She said with an endearing sort of grin, one final smooch at the woman's lips before retreating a little. In that moment, it made sense to give Morgan free agency to simply explore, but Parker. . . well, was Parker. She liked to go fast, burn out. Her arm wrapped around Morgan and pulled her into her sweat-slick cleavage, for just a moment before adjusting her to her breast, all but smothering Moe's face with her breast, aiming mouth toward nipple but the heat of the moment was there to misguide, after all, she was rather occupied elsewhere!
 
Moe's legs were shaking, spread as wide as they were and being jolted by the raw, sparking electricity radiating out from inside her. She had almost gotten used to Parker's touch, to that deep, curling press against a part of herself she was rarely able to satisfy herself -- bad angle, sometimes, but bad attitude most of the time -- so when the flat of Parker's palm applied pressure back onto her clit, it shot an arrow down to the tips of her toes. This time, this time it wasn't going to escape, she was going to... to...

It slipped away again. Again, Moe felt herself rising, rising, cresting, thinking about roller coasters and surfing on a wave and the crescendo of a pissed-off-burnt-out indie solo, and again something went sideways, something went wrong. Moe was about to snarl, about to tell Parker this wasn't working, maybe they should try--

A quick, unexpected press of Parker's lips against hers, sweat beaded down from Parker's upper lip into Moe's mouth.

It took Moe a moment to realize what Parker had actually said a moment before that.

"All yours, hon."

Some of it was the implicit surrender, even as Parker had near-total control over Moe's body and spirit just now. Some of it, though, was the casualness of it, the "hon," the "oh, sure, why didn't you ask sooner" tone of it. It made this insane thing that Moe was doing feel...

Right.

It wasn't. Not by a long shot. But.

But.

Moe barely got her lips around the pebbly-yet-soft skin of Parker's nipple. Maybe it was leaning forward, it changed something about what Parker's fingers were doing inside her. Maybe it was the Moe just really, really liked women's nipples, always had, always felt her brain short-circuit a little when she saw them poking through someone's top, always felt intensely self-conscious about her own small, brown-tinted tips. Maybe, though, it was just that what had been holding Moe back was the idea that this was all too good to be true.

And when Parker had given her that little kiss, and given her the lightest, easiest permission--

all yours

--it became... simply... good. And that made it true. Made it real.

Moe's cry was muffled against Parker's breast, cut off as she closed her mouth and pulled Parker's nipple between her teeth. Her breath came in short, sharp exhalations from her nose, as the orgasm tightened in her belly, a twisting, yet lightening sensation...

Moe came, the first time in a week and the first time it had felt good in months, while suckling Parker's nipple. As the aftershock's made her stomach tighten... relax--tighten... relaaaax... her lips went from making desperate, high-pitched noises as the seal broke around Parker's breast... to slower, lusher, sllllrpk... thhlllip... mmmmgaa... mmffll... Her tongue, her lips, and just a touch of teeth, thanking Parker as best they could. Actually using her mouth to speak? That was going to take awhile. Maybe another week itself.
 
Morgan's insides began to constrict with urgency, the tightness becoming too much for her fingers to occupy they all but shot out to the shallows of her entrance though they continued a certain rhythmic motion. A sudden slosh of sweet nectar on her fingertips told her she'd done well, along with the constrictions of stomach & nonsense murmured into her breast. Morgan had seemed starved for a good fuck and Parker knew just how to deliver. As she gorged on her turgid-yet-soft nipple Parker hissed & moaned, she did enjoy that, oh yes.

A touch of teeth had Parker jerk slightly, she could feel her own panties struggling to hold the lust they'd taken on, hot-hot-heat combined with the clinging sensation of soaked polycotton blend. She needed more.

Luckily for the inexperienced, Parker was as touched starved as she - maybe more. Post Acute Withdrawal had a funny way of making satisfaction almost as easy as a brush against a hottie on the subway some days. The ginger haired ex addict was almost of the mind a good breath on her clit would send the house of cards that was her restraint crashing down, leave her a burbling mess like the babe hanging from her bosom.

She didn't like to beg but she was damn near ready to if it meant more touch than this, if it meant her own climax, she'd suddenly never been more desperate for one. . . maybe not accurate, but it felt there, it felt like the same icy cold catch in the back of her throat when she wanted another line, another pill, a needle jammed in her arm, she'd panhandle for Moe's pussy, she'd break the fucking law, she'd debase herself, humiliate herself, cut & run and. . . "Ffsssth, oauh, y-yah." she huffed, still hugging Morgan to her chest. It was then time to take some agency over what she needed, wanted, was all but begging for.

Parker reached to Morgan's wrist, only after she'd wiped some of her nectar from her fingertips, unsure how interested Morgan was in feeling how wet she'd been.

Once she'd stolen her hand from her she directed it to her own crotch, to the needy, sopping junction between her thighs. "Feel this too," as if she wasn't forcing her to, she requested it, starting to "Ouah, hoou, hmmgph," take Moe's hand in her own and cup the squishy flesh her panties restricted and clung to likewise, with any focus she'd feel her through, she'd feel Parker's need. Only then did she release Morgan from her breast to make her own moves, take her own agency.

"I'm so hot for you Moe," speaking in top porno, she did her best to look coy but there was an earnest vulnerability on her face. . . the sudden realization Morgan had power over her. A lot.
 
Moe squeaked with surprise and happiness when Parker's hand closed over her own, and suddenly Moe's palm was pressed against a soft, sopping wet surface, the telltale hot-under-cool of a woman so desperately horny that the sensation itself became and invitation and a demand. Moe's orgasm had, at least temporarily, blown away her fears about inexperience, about not being enough, or about being just some lay for Parker. She didn't care about any of that, and if Parker cared that Moe had never before touched another woman like this, she'd apparently gotten over it.

Taking on long, final draw from Parker's nipple, Moe looked up at Parker from between her breasts, made a slow, understanding nod. "Yhheah," she breathed. "I can... I can feel it."

She pressed the palm of her hand up between Parker's thighs, mimicking the other woman's expertise, gently applying the strength of her forearm against the warm wetness she found there. Then, with a slow-then-fast gentle rolling motion, Moe's palm worked on Parker until Parker's juice began beading and sliding down the inside of Moe's forearm. Wrapping her other arm around Parker's waist and pulling her close, Moe continued kissing, licking, and nibbling at Parker's breasts and ribs. She made a fist with her working hand, and used the knuckle of her thumb on Parker's clit, the polyweave in the panties now so wet they were squeaking. A few seconds of that, and Moe stuck her thumb up and her index finger out, and, using her index to anchor herself against Parker's lower labia, found Parker's clit with the pad of her thumb, and began drawing circles, question marks, and on-off lightswitch motions, looking for the rhythm that Parker liked best.

"I, hhh, I like this with," Moe said, pausing to draw her tongue in a long ribbon up from Parker's diaphragm up to the nipple most recently neglected. "I like this with... with your panties on, mmmmgn!" She suckled three, four times, let Parker go with a wet pop that begged for its own exclamation mark, then locked eyes with Parker again. "I like feeling how soaked you are. With, mmm... for me."

That last part had been a little hard to say... but once she'd said it, her eyes rolled up a little bit, as another buzzing aftershock from her own orgasm climbed up her spine.
 
For a moment, Parker kept her hand over Morgan's as she started to explore the motion of rubbing on her. . . it was too much to take quietly & like a natural she found Moe didn't need her hand held any longer - instead it slammed into the wall beside Morgan's head, a little louder than she intended she almost made herself jump. Supporting her body with the wall she slowly ground her hips into hand, a gyrating motion taking the attention to the next level, when she found the perfect circular motion with a slight flick, Parker hissed "Jsssst, just li-hike, tha'!" there'd be no mistaking she'd found the most gratifying motion for Parker right then and there.

The dexterity of her hand combined with the sucking and kissing, the licking and enjoyment of her fun-sized tits was enough to get Parker hotter than even before, enough to make her feel fuzzy, enough to make her feel stupid, like a clown, her face making a show of it really, no cross eyes or tongue waggling but certainly her eyebrows curled, her eyes were only just barely open, her mouth a slight gape. . . she looked perplexed almost, in focus maybe, maybe searching out her own orgasm in the daze of pleasure.

"Ou, oh-houh. . . Of course you do." Parker teased her, chuckling a little, trying to act cool but betrayed by a few pitched gasps. "You-auh, you're fucking HOT Moe, Ouh; dohn't st-ffffsth, just like that."

She needed to occupy her mouth with something other than her thoughts, surely she'd embarrass herself giving more flight with her lips & tongue. . . but she had to affirm, "It's all for you hon," gulping before and after - supreme focus going into those small words that were so big for her. "I'm all for you," her own mantras for Moe were far more romantic than she meant for. . . love bombing her like a narcissist with no place to go. She might regret it, but that was the last of it as soon she was demanding Morgan return to her lips. Urging her back by her ear with her hand, literally tugging at her,
"Kiss meee," Her eyes closed, her lips puckered, she needed that much.
 
Moe looked up at Parker, leaning into the tug at her ear--

(it hurt a little, and having her entire nervous system lit up like the city's central square should have made hurt more, but it just made Moe wish she'd been one of those women who could purr to let Parker know how much she was enjoying being handled like this, the hurt felt real, the hurt felt deliciously personal, it felt like it was about her, instead of everything else in her life trying to make HER be about IT)

--and was trying to come up with something hot, or cool, or even just appropriate to respond to "It's all for you hon," something--

(that would tell Parker that Moe was all for her, too, that she wanted this night to last forever, a never-ending spiraling into one another, being for each other, being with each other, inside each other in a way that went beyond just their tongues in each other's mouths or their fingers rubbing and curling inside pussies, curling up inside one another's emptiness and being the thing that filled each other up)

--when she heard, and really understood, what Parker wanted--

(it wasn't just a kiss, Moe could figure that part out. They had kissed already, that's what had started all this, and that had been amazing, but Parker asking for it now felt... different. You didn't kiss someone while they fingerbanged you if it was just about the fingerbanging--)

(Right? Or was that just Moe trying to make it about more? Moe didn't know Parker, couldn't know her yet, and up until Parker had kissed her, Parker had given her plenty of reason to suspect there was something going on with her, that she was running from something, or trying to get out from under something, and if she wanted Morgan, was it just because Morgan represented some way to get--)

(But she was so fucking sick of being Morgan. Being Moe hurt like having her ear tugged hurt, and being Morgan didn't hurt because that was what being numb meant)

--she stood up, turning her hand to switch from her thumb to the pads of her middle and index fingers--

(God, it felt so good to play with Parker's pussy, fuck all her emotions and needs and hopes, she'd dreamed of this moment since the first time she'd realized Sailor Moon was cuter than Tuxedo Mask, god damn she loved knowing she could make Parker this wet, what a beautiful fucking goddamn word "wet" was)

--and didn't bother trying to be sexy or suave, didn't kiss up Parker's chest or neck--

(tempting as it was, but Moe didn't dare waste any time even on such gorgeous and delicious distractions)

--she just wrapped her free hand around Parker's shoulders, slipped her very-occupied hand up and then right back down, plunging beneath Parker's panties and finding her clit--

(she may as well have stuck a penny in a light socket, it felt so BRIGHT and so DANGEROUS, and she immediately started drawing a slick little circle around Parker's clit)

--looked Parker in the eyes, knowing that this was...

(a really fucking bad idea)

(the only good idea she'd had in her adult life)

(a dangerous mistake)

(beautiful)

...and

...she kissed her.
 
Charged moments churned by her in strange speeds - they should have been fast, lightning fast, but everything was slowed down entirely, she felt like she was manic almost, like she was running on nitro or something, and yet, she was there, entirely aware of everything happening in this state. Left to sift through too many thoughts while her dangerous mistake worked between her thighs, over her panties. . . over time, the act of over-the-panties love-making would leave her chaffed and sore, likely, she was grateful to find a Moe's hand resuming task inside the humid jungle that they'd created, "Ouhnm, y-yeah, like tha'," she chimed with approval.

That positioning along with the arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, and also pinning her slightly, demanding purchase, demanding control & instilling security, sandwiching their hot, slick bodies together in a panting, moaning, writhing mess of lust. Parker was sold, if she could do this every night she didn't have to be the bad girl she'd grown up as, she didn't have to be wild, she didn't have to be high - she told herself, making promises to a sapphic goddess of her dreamiest, coital imagination. Love was just another drug though, wasn't it?
Not that she felt that. OH NO.

Was it so wrong to want to though? This was intimate, it felt intimate, it felt like more than a fuck. They'd both made it that. Hadn't they?
Her eyes slid open two vulnerable baby blue orbs, just in time to catch Moe's staring back at her, preparing to kiss. For yet another charged moment they stared & then it was over. It was over because they were kissing.

Parker was familiar with the idea of things being found in the last place you looked, familiar with the idea that when you stopped looking for things- they often jumped out at you in bold colours. She hadn't walked into this job, her apartment, her new life for the umpteenth time, looking for something like this. Not at all. She hadn't walked into the Moe's life looking to burn it to the ground either. She hadn't asked for a kiss with the intention of creaming herself mere seconds later - but then, all of these statements were becoming true.

As their lips crashed together Parker felt her tummy tighten and her oversensitive, highly stimulated clit send sensory overload deeper within, sensory overload that sent a series of affirmations up her spine and out through her throat, "Hmngg! ! !" while she had demanded a kiss with hand on ear, it broke off rather quickly, broke off so she could burry her face in the side of Moe's neck and shoulder, latch on desperately and "Ou-haau, Moe-hffsssth," there was little saving her from it nor did she try, somewhere along the line Parker learned to take an orgasm when you could and fuck anyone who tried to tell you otherwise,
-So, she came.

Erupting with force, Parker admitted, "I'm, I'm c'mmfffk, comin'," only because in seconds she'd be too sensitive to the touch to enjoy much more petting. Her hips jerked and shuddered violently, her mind left a fuzzy field of dopamine. Sex wasn't as fun after lots of drug abuse, but without that spice in her life it was. . . well, Sex spoke for itself in terms of how fun it could be, especially with a new partner. This was fun, this was addictive, this was "Fuuuuh-hu-huuuck," boistrous and jovial even, the usual RBF of Parker came up from Morgan's shoulder to meet her with love drunk eyes and a dopey smile, kissing the corners of her lips.
". . .That was,"
"Hfff. . ."

Was she supposed to leave now? Or just keep holding onto Moe's petite, shaved existence, moans and all, she wanted that. . . she wanted to keep melting into her, she didn't need any more sex, just her heart and soul apparently. She'd start with a place in her bed though.
 
Moe held on tight as Parker's entire body seized, shook, shuddered in her grasp. Her fingers, now thoroughly wrinkly from what she'd done, slowly and carefully slipped out, not wanting to torture Parker -- unless it turned out Parker liked to be tortured a little, Moe had no way of knowing, there was just so much Moe didn't know, and so much she wanted to know and maybe one day, one night, she'd get to -- and instead held Parker close by her waist, pressing Parker's body against her.

"Sssshhh, ssssssssshh," Moe whispered, stroking Parker's hair... all that, after everything they'd already done, and only now did she finally get to do the very first thing she'd admitted she wanted to do with Parker, which was run her fingers through those coppery curls, grab a gentle, loose handful and hang on. "I've got you. I got ya."

For how much longer? How long did Parker need? How long did Parker want? How much of Moe, and eventually of Morgan, did she want?

Moe kissed Parker's cheek, gave her a squeeze, and whispered. "I'll be right back. Right back, okay? You can lay down if you want."

Moe's own orgasm had lit up her nerves so that just walking barefoot triggered tiny, tingly aftershocks, and she had to put the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from giggling. However, just about the best orgasm she'd ever had in her life had also has the usual effect of leaving her feeling like she'd just run a mile. The cold winter air that crept in under the poorly-sealed windows, for once actually felt amazing on her sweaty thighs and neck. She peeled off her top and wrestled out of her bra, grabbed the little archway above the kitchenette, and stretched. Was Parker watching? Moe really, really hoped she was. She hadn't wanted to be watched like this in a long time. Towards the end, she'd even put on shorts and a bathrobe around Henry. Now, she felt more naked than she had in a long, long time, and she loved it.

Water. She'd had plenty to of gin earlier in the night, and if her sticky thighs were anything to go by, she was plenty in need of hydration. She filled two glasses, gave her cat a pet with the side of her foot -- earning her a suspicious glare but also a burbling purr, so Moe decided to call it a draw -- and came back to the bedroom.

"I, um..." she started. "I brought you something to drink. Water, I mean." She scoffed at herself. "I don't know if... I figure, if you were going to..." Leave? Head out? Go home? What was the best way to express her fear. "You should drink something."

Moe sat down on the bed, and held the other glass out. "I... I feel amazing," she said. "Maybe... maybe this was a bad idea, but I feel amazing, and I just want you to know that."
 
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