Suck, Bang and Blow
Jul. 11th, 2012 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalon"I know how this is going to sound, but it's not that I'm a cheater really." Jenna explained examining herself in the mirror, strategically reapplying make-up and craning her neck for any telltale bite marks, "It's just that I'm still in the closet about my polyamory."
"Yeah, I, uh, don't think that's how it works." I said perched on the edge of the bed, lazily fishing my socks and boxers from a puddle of discarded clothes.
"I still love him, you know. " She paused, the tip of the red lipstick a breath away from her lips, "I mean not that I ever didn't. He's a good man. Kind, smart, funny in his way. And yes, he's even an amazing lover as well."
"I didn't ask." I slipped a foot into one sock and with a sigh realized that the other was mismatched. No wonder my whole day's been off.
"I know. You never do. That's what makes it so easy to talk to you." Her reflection smiled and winked at me.
"Happy to be of service." I grunted, putting on the 'wrong' sock and shimmying into my boxers with a tug.
She turned around to face me. I was seized anew by the magnificence of her beauty, every naked curve and every dark inch rapidly diminishing my satisfaction with fresh hunger. "It's just, sometimes, you know, no matter how much you enjoy something you just want to try something different."
"Pizza every night." I snorted with a laugh and snapped out of my puppy-eyed trance.
"What?"
"Yeah, you see when I was a little kid I remember telling my parents that when I grew up I swore I would have pizza every night for dinner. They just laughed of course, as parents will, but god damn if when I didn't finally get a place of my own after I got of the service if I didn't do just that. And oh my god, it was great. Pure, no rules, unadulterated Lord of the Flies bliss." I paused here, crouched down and hopped into my jeans, buttoning and zipping them shut. "For the first week that is. Then, well, I started getting bored with it. I was having it for leftovers every day and starting to get heartburn but worst of all, I found myself yearning for a big, juicy steak and a steaming heap of mashed potatoes. "
"So you're saying he's what... pizza?" She shook her head dismissively and shielded the heft of her breasts with a hook of her bra around her back.
"Metaphorically speaking." I pulled my t-shirt over me with a shrug and started scrounging for my boots.
"I never took you for a poet." Her black laced panties flowed up her thighs and swallowed from view the sweet secret I breached.
"Well, I like to think deep down inside everyone's got a poet in them." I found the boots kicked under the bed, I get down on all fours and scoop for them. "Maybe not with words, maybe with their hands or maybe with the way they juggle facts or numbers in their head. Hell, I've seen more poetry in a bar room brawl or in the eyes of an old man contemplating the engine under the hood of his car than every open mic night in the city."
"And quite the philosopher, too." She slid her ass into a pair of jeans and rolled down a gray tank top across her chest.
"That'd be pushing it." I slipped a foot into a boot and then slipped into the other. "So does he love you back?"
"More than you love pizza." She laughed humorously and continued with a sigh. "Yes. Very much so."
"And you trust him?" I laced up my boots.
"I thought you didn't like to ask questions."
"Well, since we just skipped the pillow talk to dive right into a conversation about your man, I figured I might as well get some facts straight in my head before I continue being your post-orgasmic sounding board."
She rolled her eyes and huffed: "Such as?"
"Do you trust him?" I repeated with a helpless shrug.
"Tch, yes."
"Then why not tell him the truth? Just come on out of the closet about the whole 'polyamory' thing. Tell him you like multiple partners and that he's still an 'amazing' lover so it's nothing personal. Well, maybe not in those words exactly, but you get my point."
"..."
I raised an eyebrow and knotted up my last boot. I stood up and made my way to the hotel's lone window. I cracked it open and lit a cigarette, squinting my gaze through the raw sunlight filtering through the gray smog haze.
"Because it would hurt him. Not the others, not you... well, he doesn't know about you at all..."
"Such is the nature of the job, I suppose."
"Exactly, but there've been... others. Friends. Accidents mainly. But if he knew about them, what would hurt him wouldn't be the sex, but that I lied to him. That we all did. He'd never trust me again. He'd never trust anyone again."
"That us, then?" I snorted, my eyes adjusting to the sunlight and the 11th story view.
"What?"
"An accident?"
"A distraction." She laid her hands down on my shoulders and leaned over to whisper in my ear, "A very, very pleasant distraction."
"Well, just remember. I don't care who you fuck... just so long as when you fuck me you don't end up fucking me."
"I understand." And she pecked a reassuring kiss on my cheek. "Come on. We should get back to work."
I nodded appreciatively, took a last drag off my smoke and flicked it out the window. She leaned back and I picked up the case propped next to the window. I opened it up and began to assemble the McMillan Tac-50. Carefully I attached the scope, pulled out the stock, screwed the suppressor to the barrel and folded down the rifle's bipod.
"How long until the target is in position." I asked and aimed the rifle into the skyline, narrowing my eye through the scope across the expanse of the city until it tunnels in on a single window.
"In exactly one minute." She said, retrieving her high-powered binoculars and hovering over my shoulder again. "I really do love him. I just don't want to hurt him."
"Then stop." I answered, feeling the rifle become an extension of my arms. Its weight melting perfectly into the grip and my cheek pressed as gentle as a pillow across the stock.
"But then that'd hurt me."
"And here we are." I resisted the urge to shrug. "Someone gets hurt either way. Range?"
"1,975 yards."
The rest was as simple as suck, bang and blow.
"Yeah, I, uh, don't think that's how it works." I said perched on the edge of the bed, lazily fishing my socks and boxers from a puddle of discarded clothes.
"I still love him, you know. " She paused, the tip of the red lipstick a breath away from her lips, "I mean not that I ever didn't. He's a good man. Kind, smart, funny in his way. And yes, he's even an amazing lover as well."
"I didn't ask." I slipped a foot into one sock and with a sigh realized that the other was mismatched. No wonder my whole day's been off.
"I know. You never do. That's what makes it so easy to talk to you." Her reflection smiled and winked at me.
"Happy to be of service." I grunted, putting on the 'wrong' sock and shimmying into my boxers with a tug.
She turned around to face me. I was seized anew by the magnificence of her beauty, every naked curve and every dark inch rapidly diminishing my satisfaction with fresh hunger. "It's just, sometimes, you know, no matter how much you enjoy something you just want to try something different."
"Pizza every night." I snorted with a laugh and snapped out of my puppy-eyed trance.
"What?"
"Yeah, you see when I was a little kid I remember telling my parents that when I grew up I swore I would have pizza every night for dinner. They just laughed of course, as parents will, but god damn if when I didn't finally get a place of my own after I got of the service if I didn't do just that. And oh my god, it was great. Pure, no rules, unadulterated Lord of the Flies bliss." I paused here, crouched down and hopped into my jeans, buttoning and zipping them shut. "For the first week that is. Then, well, I started getting bored with it. I was having it for leftovers every day and starting to get heartburn but worst of all, I found myself yearning for a big, juicy steak and a steaming heap of mashed potatoes. "
"So you're saying he's what... pizza?" She shook her head dismissively and shielded the heft of her breasts with a hook of her bra around her back.
"Metaphorically speaking." I pulled my t-shirt over me with a shrug and started scrounging for my boots.
"I never took you for a poet." Her black laced panties flowed up her thighs and swallowed from view the sweet secret I breached.
"Well, I like to think deep down inside everyone's got a poet in them." I found the boots kicked under the bed, I get down on all fours and scoop for them. "Maybe not with words, maybe with their hands or maybe with the way they juggle facts or numbers in their head. Hell, I've seen more poetry in a bar room brawl or in the eyes of an old man contemplating the engine under the hood of his car than every open mic night in the city."
"And quite the philosopher, too." She slid her ass into a pair of jeans and rolled down a gray tank top across her chest.
"That'd be pushing it." I slipped a foot into a boot and then slipped into the other. "So does he love you back?"
"More than you love pizza." She laughed humorously and continued with a sigh. "Yes. Very much so."
"And you trust him?" I laced up my boots.
"I thought you didn't like to ask questions."
"Well, since we just skipped the pillow talk to dive right into a conversation about your man, I figured I might as well get some facts straight in my head before I continue being your post-orgasmic sounding board."
She rolled her eyes and huffed: "Such as?"
"Do you trust him?" I repeated with a helpless shrug.
"Tch, yes."
"Then why not tell him the truth? Just come on out of the closet about the whole 'polyamory' thing. Tell him you like multiple partners and that he's still an 'amazing' lover so it's nothing personal. Well, maybe not in those words exactly, but you get my point."
"..."
I raised an eyebrow and knotted up my last boot. I stood up and made my way to the hotel's lone window. I cracked it open and lit a cigarette, squinting my gaze through the raw sunlight filtering through the gray smog haze.
"Because it would hurt him. Not the others, not you... well, he doesn't know about you at all..."
"Such is the nature of the job, I suppose."
"Exactly, but there've been... others. Friends. Accidents mainly. But if he knew about them, what would hurt him wouldn't be the sex, but that I lied to him. That we all did. He'd never trust me again. He'd never trust anyone again."
"That us, then?" I snorted, my eyes adjusting to the sunlight and the 11th story view.
"What?"
"An accident?"
"A distraction." She laid her hands down on my shoulders and leaned over to whisper in my ear, "A very, very pleasant distraction."
"Well, just remember. I don't care who you fuck... just so long as when you fuck me you don't end up fucking me."
"I understand." And she pecked a reassuring kiss on my cheek. "Come on. We should get back to work."
I nodded appreciatively, took a last drag off my smoke and flicked it out the window. She leaned back and I picked up the case propped next to the window. I opened it up and began to assemble the McMillan Tac-50. Carefully I attached the scope, pulled out the stock, screwed the suppressor to the barrel and folded down the rifle's bipod.
"How long until the target is in position." I asked and aimed the rifle into the skyline, narrowing my eye through the scope across the expanse of the city until it tunnels in on a single window.
"In exactly one minute." She said, retrieving her high-powered binoculars and hovering over my shoulder again. "I really do love him. I just don't want to hurt him."
"Then stop." I answered, feeling the rifle become an extension of my arms. Its weight melting perfectly into the grip and my cheek pressed as gentle as a pillow across the stock.
"But then that'd hurt me."
"And here we are." I resisted the urge to shrug. "Someone gets hurt either way. Range?"
"1,975 yards."
The rest was as simple as suck, bang and blow.