Rain Cloud and Release
Having spent far too much time snuggling next to Alex, just soaking up his presence in the quiet of the morning, Sam glanced at the clock and saw that she only had half an hour to get up and dressed and make it to the sports hall on the other side of town for her exam.
Skipping a shower altogether, knowing she'd probably need one after grading anyway, she decided to grab a quick mouthful of cereal and then head off. Just as she was finishing her last spoonful of boring, cardboardy Branflakes, with Alex still in the bathroom, she caught sight of a scrap of paper tucked away with some others on the kitchen countertop; a handwritten, serious kind of note, with the words 'Lunch with Rachel, 1pm Tuesday, The Belfry' written on it. As she stared at the paper, the ink seemed to blur and swim before her eyes like a school chromatography experiment, and two questions occupied her mind: who is Rachel, and what does she mean to Alex? The Belfry was a nice restaurant towards the east of the city, and wasn’t somewhere you necessarily went on a whim. It was swish, clean, modern, and a little bit upmarket…
It was perfectly possible, of course, that this was something totally innocent - after all, hadn't she met with Doyle, somewhere even more upmarket, only a few days before? But still, it made her realise that she had leapt from not knowing Alex at all five or six weeks ago, to trusting him implicitly, and that thought suddenly seemed scary to her. Sam hadn't really stopped to think about how easily he had slithered through the chinks in her armour until that moment, until she had read the name 'Rachel' in his handwriting. What unnerved her most though was the mobile number scribbled above it, as though he'd met her only recently, like he got her number yesterday and was having lunch with her to get to know her better. If she were an old friend, surely he'd have her number already? Stop over-thinking it, she scolded herself. You've got other things to concentrate on today.
Alex was not out of the bathroom by the time she had to go, so she called out, perhaps a little frostily, "I've got to dash. I'll be back around twelve."
"Ok," he called, sounding a little flustered. "I'm sorry," he added. "I'm almost done..."
"I've got to go," she insisted, grabbing her rucksack with her kit folded neatly away inside. "I’ll see you later."
There was a small clatter and a soft thud from the bathroom, followed by a muffled curse. She was on the verge of asking if he was ok when she heard his slightly strained call of "Ok, good luck."
Will was still there, as far as she knew, and she really had to go. She was sure Alex would be alright. There were more sounds coming from his direction, so she guessed he wasn't slumped and helpless in the bottom of the bath, and she bolted for the door hoping she wouldn’t get there too late.
The kick drills Mark had them doing were brutal, and they rapidly drove all thoughts of that scrap of paper out of her mind. The format of the session was as she had been expecting, with a normal, high-intensity class before the main examination began. Mark tested their form, their power and their speed, watching the examinees like a hawk watching mice in a field, waiting for someone to slip up. Sam was panting and sweating in no time, and as she did her sixth length of the huge sports hall, she thought her legs might drop off. It was so intense in fact that when it came to the formal grading session, she could barely raise her arms enough to do a simple scissor block for pattern seven. She only needed pattern six for her red belt, but she’d got bored a few weeks earlier and taught herself one pattern higher than she needed, and Mark wanted to see it when she mentioned it.
“Gomahn!” Mark’s shout announced that she could, finally, relax. She had somehow survived the grading – the kicks, the formal patterns, the self-defence, the line-work, the one-step sparring – and as she stood beside the beautiful Alana, who had been going for her black tag, she waited to find out if she'd got her red belt. Sam was fairly confident, after all, she had been practising for weeks, and she hadn’t knowingly made any massive mistakes.
Mark moved along the small, apprehensive line of examinees, and as he got to Alana, he praised her overall style, but commented on how her forms were a little shaky in places, and that she needed to work on her side-kicks still. Sam could hardly believe her ears – she thought back to the near-perfect-looking kicks she’d seen Alana do, and tried not to compare them to her own, her adrenaline surging again. Mark’s thin, chiselled face approached, looking serious.
He opened his lips and, with the hint of a smile in his eyes, said, “Sam, I’m actually not going to award you a red belt this time.”
Her heart plummeted, but she tried to keep the disappointment from her face. Fighting the urge to blurt, ‘what? I worked my ass off for this,’ she said a slow, meek, “Ok.”
He held up a hand, silencing her with a quiet gesture. “I’m not awarding you a red belt. I loved that you know pattern seven, even though it's for black tag - and I was really impressed at how well you did it - so I’m actually going to give you your black tag.”
She shrieked in elation, all those thoughts of containing her emotions forgotten despite the formal environment of the grading, and leapt into Alana’s arms as they flew up to meet her in triumph.
“You are such a superstar!” Alana cried, genuinely pleased for her. “We have to go out and celebrate!”
Sam could barely contain herself. The next belt she would take would be black belt. That meant she was nearing the upper slopes of her taekwondo experience, and she never thought she could have anything in her life that would give her so much self-confidence.
Mark chuckled, called for attention, and shared the final bow with his class. “Well done, everyone,” he said, heading for the doors.
As she headed from the room, which smelled of the collective sweat and fear of the six or so examinees, Dave, the club’s top black belt, came up to her and hooked a congratulatory arm around her shoulders.
“Well done, Sam, that was really impressive,” he said in his quietly understated, serious, and somehow very warm way. Infuriatingly, his spiky blond hair was only slightly damp with exertion, unlike Sam’s plait which was unravelling and plastering itself to her neck and forehead, and his clear blue eyes sparkled. “I knew you’d be fine.”
She grinned and gave an indistinct squeak.
As Dave and Sam made their way down the stairs, Alana came up behind them and asked, "So, you guys up for a drink in the pub to celebrate?"
A good pint of Adnams would definitely have gone down well, but she could spend time with her taekwondo friends pretty much whenever, but time with Alex felt somehow more precious, and she just wanted to get back to his apartment and fold herself into his arms and relax. Maybe prove to herself that she had nothing to worry about. "Another time maybe?" she said, and Alana seemed satisfied enough with her answer.
As they reached the foyer, Sam and Alana both groaned, seeing the rain making diamond tracks down the plate glass windows, and hearing it thundering against them like a full military band. “Oh well,” she smiled to Alana, “I got my black tag; I guess you can’t have everything…” Her friend laughed, and Sam added, “I might run home…”
“You and your bloody running,” Dave said as he came up behind them. “Don’t you do yourself an injury now, will you?”
"I won't," she said as she crossed the foyer to the changing rooms to slide out of her dobok – she wasn’t about to run back in the driving rain wearing what was essentially a pair of white flannel pyjamas. As she set of into the pouring summer rain ten minutes later, she let her face split into a wide grin. Who even cares who that Rachel is? she thought. I’m a black tag now, and I’ll kick her damned ass if she gets between me and Alex…
"Bollocks," Alex had sworn to himself as the shower gel bottle slithered from his hand and skittered away along the bath. He'd leaned down, testing the range of his reach, but it was too far even to snag it by lifting his leg and hooking it with his foot like a hockey put, besides that would be tricky as his balance wasn't all that good in the shower chair. "Only one thing for it," he'd whispered through gritted teeth. Transferring from bench to bath and back was risky with the reduced grip in the enamel bath, but he was damned if he was going to ask Will to come and get it for him. Or Sam. She was about to leave for her exam anyway.
Sitting precariously at the front of the chair, he had stretched his left hand down from the seat, making doubly sure it was still locked and wasn't about to swivel round and send him slithering along the tub like he was trying out for the luge at the Winter Olympics, and he’d lowered his body down into the slippery bath. He'd lost traction at the last moment however, and crunched down on his backside. "Ok, good luck," he had called in wheezy answer to Sam as he landed, hoping she wouldn’t figure out that he was flailing around in the bath like an animal in a in an oil slick. Reversing the process that had got him down into the bath was a little trickier, but he was more than glad he'd kept himself in shape as he'd hauled his whole body up with his hands on the rolling tops of the bath, using just his shoulders and arms and leaving his feet to fend for themselves on the ice-rink of the bath.
His spasticity had been mortifyingly bad earlier that morning, and waking up with one knee jerking into Sam’s body wasn’t exactly the ‘good luck in your exam’ wakeup call that he’d have liked to give her, but, one minor over-dose of muscle-relaxant later, they had begun to behave like a reluctantly-tranquilised pair of cheetahs - sullen but somehow still threatening. Something had pulsed in his right quad as he'd landed back in the shower chair, but it didn't translate into much.
A little out of breath, and kind of tired, he'd sat back in the chair with the shower head pointing ominously down at him. He'd flicked it on and drenched himself, turning the heat up and letting the stinging droplets hit every inch of feeling he had left. After a while, his naked body had begun to go a rather unhealthy shade of pink, and he'd decided to get out before he messed up his blood pressure. He hadn't wanted to add a load of cramps to that day's physical issues. With a sigh he'd transferred to his chair, landing gingerly on the folded towel before drying his quiet legs off and rubbing his chest and back with another enormous bathtowel.
He hadn't been able to face wrestling with his KAFO's, so he just shoved a pair of black trackpants on and opted for a fitted light grey t-shirt with a Cowboy Bebop reference on. His legs were aching in a way he'd not felt in months, and he knew he ought to have done some R.O.M stuff, but the thought of getting out of his chair and going through all the exercises had drained him of any willpower. I'll give them a day off, he'd thought dismissively, heading instead for his computer and loading up Steam. From the gaming platform he'd scrolled through a number of choices and settled on Saints Row 4.
He was surprised to find that the combination of a 'bad legs day' and waiting for Sam to come back from grading was making his stress levels rise above normal. He knew that her taekwondo meant an awful lot to her and that she really wanted this belt, which would mean huge disappointment if she didn't get it. Stop worrying, will you? He thought. Nothing like fighting aliens and using your super-powers to leap over skyscrapers to take your mind off reality... and he fired up the ridiculous game.
As half eleven came and went, he heard a knock on his bedroom door and saw Will's blond hair poking round the edge. "Morning," he said. He looked around the room and added, "Where's Sam?"
"Grading, remember?" Alex said without taking his eyes off the alien, Zinyak.
"Of course. Red belt," he said, pushing the door open and stepping inside. He made himself a temporary perch on the end of Alex's bed, and Alex could feel his eyes on his legs. "You don't want to do R.O.M. while she's out?" Will asked, recalling last weekend.
"Not so much. Bad day," Alex said.
"Alright, Captain Monosyllabic. Remind me and we'll do them tomorrow though, because it's been a while..."
"Uh-huh," he agreed distractedly.
"So,” Will began nervously, “Exactly how scary is red belt?"
Alex got distracted and took a critical hit. Pausing the game and swivelling round to face him, he said, "I think it's one before black..."
"That's... somewhat intimidating..." Will laughed.
"At least she can look out for her poor crippled boyfriend," he joked, running his hands up and down his thighs.
Will admitted to being slightly scared of her anyway, regardless of the taekwondo. "You can be pretty scary yourself though," he added with a sleepy yawn. "I seem to remember you narrowly avoiding being arrested for knocking some bloke out in a pub a while back..."
"I'm the only one allowed to make cripple jokes," Alex said, his voice full of dark humour. "That guy was an obnoxious bastard and he deserved it."
"Well, I hope Sam gets her belt today. When's she getting back?" he glanced out of the window at the grey sky. "Looks like rain..."
"Yeah - it was sunny when she left. I should probably text her and ask if she wants me to pick her up instead. She doesn't finish til twelve though."
Will stood and stretched, and said, “I’m thinking of texting Eva and seeing what she’s up to.”
Alex grinned. “You two going to have a geeky afternoon exchanging equations, or will you be exchanging more than that?”
Will hurled a pillow at him and left.
As twelve o'clock neared, Alex's phone didn't ring or buzz at him in answer, so he assumed she'd not read his message and would be walking back. He broke off just after twelve to hear the roar of heavy rain. His hamstrings were far too tight and sore for him even to contemplate being remotely comfortable in braces, so he remained in his chair, and wheeled over to the window to see great fat drops of rain hurling themselves at the glass. "She's going to get soaked," he murmured to himself.
Twenty minutes later, the bell rang and he pressed the buzzer to let a drenched Sam in downstairs. "You’re soaked," he said softly as she reached the top of the stairs and blinked the drops from her eyelashes with a smile. Her navy blue taekwondo t-shirt clung to her body and her trackpants were sodden. She began to shake violently as she stood in the doorway. "And freezing." He pushed backwards and she stepped inside.
"The rain itself isn't too bad," she said, "But the wind is kind of strong..." Her teeth were chattering. "I got my belt though," she grinned in triumph. "But not my red belt..."
"He gave me black tag instead! Next step is black belt "
"Come here," he said, beckoning her down to him so that he could kiss her.
She left little drops all down his face as she bent forwards. "Sorry," she murmured, wiping them gently off. A ripple of shivers passed through her again and said, "I'm going to have a shower and warm up. Be right out."
"Well done," he grinned proudly as she dripped across the room. "We'll have to celebrate later." He thought he saw her eyes flicker left in the direction of the counter as she passed it, and her shoulders hunched up, making her seem cold in more ways than one.
When she emerged from the shower, she darted to his room in her towel, and saw that Alex had returned to his computer and was playing some game that involved aliens and stupidly sized weapons. She closed the door and came up behind him, trying, perhaps childishly, to put Rachel from her mind by making him want her, and looped her arms around his shoulders. He paused the game and looked up over his left shoulder, and his face when he saw her in just her towel was spectacular magic. He raised his chin, imploring her with his dark eyes to come closer, and their lips met in a moment of absolute bliss. He swivelled on the spot, quiet hands swiftly and skilfully moving the chair and he smiled, reaching out for her body, running his palm around her waist and drawing her to her feet and towards him for a moment so that their shins touched. Because he was sitting, she couldn't get any closer though.
She sank onto the end of his bed and let him run his rough hands up the inside of her thighs. She shivered.
"Still cold?" he asked, with a strange expression on his face.
"Kind of," she said, scooting backwards up the bed.
He watched her draw back with more than a hint of longing in his big dark eyes. "What did you have to do to get to black tag then?" he asked, sitting back in his chair. "And what does 'tag' mean?"
She leaned forward provocatively over her right leg, stretching the hamstring out a little. Don’t change the subject now, she thought pleadingly, giving him a clear shot of her breasts. With more than just a hint of a sigh in her voice, she said, "'Tag' is a belt in between belts. You get the tag before you get the belt, so I was a red tag, and then I would have got red belt, but he decided to give me a bit more because I knew all the stuff for the next one, and 'fast-tracked' me to black tag. The next one I go for will be black." She straightened up, so see his eyes drinking in her leg as she stretched her left out and repeated the move. She shivered again. What she really wanted was for him to transfer and haul his ass up the bed and warm her up, but it didn't look promising.
Sam shivered again and Alex said, “You should probably put some clothes on…”
She sighed a little bit and shuffled back down towards him. “You’re probably right,” she said as she sat once more at the end of the bed, towel only just covering her breasts at the top and open a little way at the bottom, toes brushing the cold floor.
His wonderfully rough, big palms found their way to her thighs again and he said, “You’re freezing, Sam.” But just as he leaned forwards his right leg gave him away. He was not as 'cool' as he appeared on the surface, she thought, as it first began to bob wildly and then pulled itself up sharply at the knee, driving his heel backwards which made him gasp suddenly whipping his hands back from her thighs and forcing his leg back down again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, occupied with sorting himself out.
She shunted her body right to the very edge of the bed and leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees and craning her head so she could look straight up into his eyes without him ducking away from her in defence. While he was still occupied with shifting his weight, she reached her hands up to his face and planted a kiss loaded with emotion right on his lips.
As she drew back she gave a little giggle. He seemed surprised, and blinked at her for a moment. And then he sighed the tension from his shoulders and chest and nodded his head at her to tell her to shuffle back up the bed. She did so, and then watched, keeping her eyes trained on his every move, as he lifted his legs from the footrest and reached for the duvet so he could swing himself over the gap. He landed gently and his leg, as she’d been expecting, straightened momentarily with a shudder before relaxing again and allowing him to pull himself up the bed on his backside with his hands. When he reached the headboard and rested his back against it, his long legs and his bare feet trailed out straight in front of him, and he seemed a little tense again as she snuggled up beside him.
“I’m sorry I’m quite so spasmy today,” he murmured, running his hand idly up and down her thigh and making her melt inside as he did so. “I don’t know why I am.”
“Is it because you’ve been on your feet too much?” she ventured.
She might have said that she’d hit the nail on the head as he moved his chin a little, as though he were going to tell her off, and she shrank a little from it, but he didn’t admonish her for her directness. Instead, he said, “Maybe,” and broke off with another grunt as his right leg shivered in a rippling spasm that rose and fell like a brief breath of wind over a the surface of a lake. His sigh was as much an apology as the previous one.
“How many times do I have to tell you that it doesn’t bother me?” she asked evenly.
He sat for a quiet moment, as though letting her words really sink in, before turning his big dark eyes on her face, hand still tracing idle patterns on her leg. “It really doesn’t, does it?” he asked, his voice even cracking a little.
“It really doesn’t,” she repeated.
“Ok,” he said slowly, his voice full of disbelief and surprise.
“Why is it so hard to accept that?” she challenged gently. “You’re my boyfriend, Alex. What kind of…” she broke off, reluctant to say ‘bitch’. She changed tack and said with a wry smile, “I wouldn’t be much of a girlfriend if I wasn’t attracted to you, would I?”
Alex’s eyebrows buckled incredulously and he suddenly reached over with his right hand and practically picked her up by her hips, swinging her over to land on his lap. She could feel him through the material of his black trackpants, and while he wasn’t hard under her, he wasn’t exactly slack either. “Come here,” he said, a hint of a growl in his voice. “My extraordinary girl.”
“Why am I so extraordinary?” she asked, pulling back and holding his approaching kiss to ransom to try and get a few answers out of him. “Why wouldn’t I be attracted to you? You’re gorgeous!”
He faltered for a minute and said slowly, “Ok…” He looked like he was trying to come up with an answer she’d understand. “Well, my first real girlfriend, Olivia…” he puffed the air from his cheeks and said, “We were kind of high school sweethearts, I guess, and we were like the eternal couple at school - got together when we were sixteen, were together for two years… then… then I had my accident in my last year not long after I’d turned eighteen, and I’d only been in hospital about a month when she said she thought I needed ‘space to heal’.” He looked almost frighteningly sour as he spat, “What she really meant was she was off to have her brains fucked out by the captain of the rugby team…”
“Bitch,” Sam breathed, a heartbeat later.
“I know that now,” he said, “But when your girl leaves you because you’re disabled, it gives you one or two body hang-ups…”
“I can imagine,” Sam said kindly. “But you –” she ran her hands from his python-strong neck down over his shoulders and biceps and down to where her legs met his, at the top of his hips, “You are gorgeous, and you don’t need to worry about me.”
A nanosecond later, he was pressing his scarred lips into hers with fierce passion, his hand cradling the back of her head in one massive palm, his other hand somewhere way down south on her back, searching and pushing and pressing against her skin with a fervour that filled her with a glowing fire. She shivered again, and she had no idea whether it was from his touch or from the cold.
He broke off with a fond smile and surprised her by reaching down to the floor beside the bed, nearly pitching her off with the sudden movement. “Sorry,” he grunted as he straightened up again, a big dark hoody in his hands.
“It’s ok,” she chuckled. “I’ve ridden enough bucking horses to sit something like that. You’re ok.”
He laughed in response and handed her the hoody. “Here. Put this on, and…” he nibbled his lower lip, “As much as I hate to have you cover up, will you please put some more clothes on now before you get sick?”
She smiled. “Alright then,” she said and rolled off him as seductively as she could manage without feeling stupid.
It must have worked because she heard him exhale, “God,” softly as she did so.
He worked his way to the end of the bed and transferred once more while she dressed, and when she had finally, and reluctantly, put some clothes on, she turned to him with a laughing glint in her eye. "Too spasmy to spend the day with the PlayStation?"
She could see he knew that she was really asking if he was too spasmy to want to do much else, and he shook his head. "Never too bad for the PS," he smiled. "But if you didn't want to play Portal - which is the only 2-player game I have - I could use my PC and you could use my laptop, and we could do a multiplayer on Steam?"
"Sounds good to me," she smiled, before coming close and looking down at his legs. “May I?” she asked. He nodded once, with a soft smile on his lips, and she slid smoothly onto his lap.
“My kick-ass girlfriend,” he whispered as she nuzzled into his chest.
“Only to people who deserve it,” she murmured, and he gave a soft laugh.
They spent the day curled up either with Alex sitting beside her with his chair tucked away out of sight around the arm of the sofa, or in his bedroom, with him at his PC and her sprawled out on his bed with his laptop. Will left halfway through the afternoon, either through an overwhelming desire to escape their shrieks and laughter or to be with Eva. Alex decided it was probably an equal mix of both. With Will still not back that evening, and after a supper of oven-baked sea bass with lemon juice, pancetta and rosemary, they snuggled up to watch some tv before bed.
Alex noticed how she spent much of the time with her hand on his thigh, apparently exploring where he had sensation and where would make him spasm. He almost managed to convince himself that he didn't mind, until the combination of her inquisitive fingers and the nagging need to cath meant that the reactionary spasms no longer died away after a few seconds but remained, rippling around his legs, until he did a weight shift or leaned backwards and then forwards again, neither of which was particularly conducive to a comfortable snuggle. She soon caught on and stopped, instead sliding her fingers through his and running her thumb around the calloused area on his palm. She seemed unable to stop touching and exploring whichever parts of his body he gave her access to - a feeling which gave him a kind of confused glow in his chest.
As the documentary finished at eleven o'clock, he yawned three times in a row, and Sam sighed a happy, contented kind of sigh. "I think I’ll get going in the bathroom," she said, stretching her legs out like a cat in the sun. She didn't wait for his answer, but stood, stretched again, and looked back over her shoulder and asked, "You want to go first, or shall I?"
"You go," he smiled, resting a hand on his knee before hooking his chair with his other hand and sweeping it round so that he could transfer in a minute. "You'll probably be quicker than I will..."
He took his cue from her when she emerged about a quarter of an hour later, wearing only her pyjama top, below which he just glimpsed the slightest view of dark material. The only piece of clothing on her lower body was dark, impossibly tiny, and made of lace. She flashed him a grin and disappeared into his bedroom, pushing the door nearly closed behind her, the grin fading to a smouldering smile. "God," he breathed, looking from the blank doorway where she had just vanished, down to his unbraced legs, where his knees flopped ever so slightly to one side now that he was tired, and then back to the door. Even before his injury, Alex had been familiar with the 'out of my league' feeling that some girls just naturally instilled in even the most confident of men, and that familiar feeling of awe washed over him as he flicked the tv and lights off and pushed from the room towards the bathroom.
His knee bobbed rapidly in reaction to the catheter as he drew it out carefully, his cock lying limp against his leg, and his quad continued to dance like no one was watching while he cleaned the equipment and stashed some of it back in the cupboard, chucking the rest in a bag and placing that in the bin in the corner of the room. The muscles ran out of energy in no time, and he lifted one side of his hips up to begin his skin checks. He thought he heard a sound outside the door, but quickly forgot about it as he ran a rough hand over each buttock, checking for sores in a practised movement that felt cold and detached. No pressure sores. As he lowered himself back into the towelled surface of his chair cushion, his t-shirt rumpling softly as it snagged on the low backrest of his wheelchair, there was a definite rattle at the bathroom door, which promptly opened.
Sam stepped straight in and saw him. All of him. For a full three seconds, Alex stared at her, wide eyed and panicking. When the initial shock of being seen almost completely naked, injured areas bare and unmasked, had subsided a little, he frantically snatched a towel, which also happened to be the smallest towel in the history of all towels, from the rail to his right and clamped it over himself in a pathetic attempt at concealment.
“Oh I’m sorry,” she said, freezing in the doorway, her eyes fixed, horrifyingly for him, somewhere near his thighs. "I forgot I still had hold of this when I left -" she explained as she exhibited her toothbrush as evidence, waving it limply in the air. After a second though, her body seemed to relax a bit, and she even smiled. One hip dropped as her knee bent, and her eyes slid slowly, and only a little shyly from his quiet, naked toes, up his calves and over his thighs and torso to his face, and she said, a strange note in her voice, “You want me to leave?”
“Yes,” he rasped, eyes ramming shut as he turned his face and then his chair away from her search-light gaze. “Please don’t look at me like this.”
“Alex,” she said softly, her voice seeming achingly full of longing.
“Please,” he said, his right knee now vibrating nervously again.
“Damn it, Alex, will you look at me.”
Her tone of gentle command caught him by surprise, and as much as he wanted her to leave, he did turn the chair a bit and look at her over his left shoulder, glad his blind right eye spared him the sight of his embarrassed reflection in the low mirror in front of him. She was nibbling her lower lip, and could it be that her eyes were veritably burning with desire? “Sam?” he asked in a hoarse, astonished, uncertain whisper.
She was walking across the room and had slipped onto his lap in a heartbeat, her legs dangling over the back of his wheels. She wasn’t really even listening to his quick, now only half-hearted protests. “I want you,” she hissed, her lips brushing his sensitive earlobe in a way that made his self-consciousness crumble in places like an old city wall. “I want you,” she repeated.
Now? “But,” he said, grateful beyond belief that he’d cathed and stashed the evidence of it only a few minutes before.
Sam's strong, searching fingers were gripping the back of his hair at the nape of his neck in a way she knew he loved, and she tugged his head back slightly, insistently, kissing him lovingly on the junction of jaw and neck. “Nope,” she said. “No excuses from either of us. I want you, and you’re not stopping me from having you, however much of you that you want to give me.”
She ground her hips over him, and he felt something stirring behind the rapidly disintegrating self-consciousness. He raised a tentative hand to her soft back, searching her skin beneath the top. “God, Sam,” he breathed as he found her bra and her whole body bucked in slow motion, lurching seductively into his chest with a shiver of pleasure.
He barely cared now that she was actually sitting on top of his naked legs, separated from his withered form with only a tiny towel. Could she really want him that badly? He certainly hadn’t intended for her to see his legs properly for the first time like this, not sitting in his wheelchair, fresh from a cath, in the bathroom, with only his geeky t-shirt to hide his little soft belly. His little soft belly which her hands had now found. Instead of retracting in revulsion or demure politeness, her nails dug a little into his skin, and her fingertips caressed the contours of the lower section of his stomach, and he found his chest heaving suddenly upwards at the strange semi-detached sensation. “Sam!” he growled, driving his fingers now into her perfect, taught ass. Did his hips rise then too or was that just a memory from before? He couldn’t even be certain.
She shuffled her weight a little and then he found she had pressed her foot into the ground and swung off him. Her fingers eked the lace down her leg so that in no time, she was standing before him in only her top. Her fingers played tantalisingly around the hem of her shirt, but she didn't take it off. His eyes hungrily searched this new sight, knowing what a huge deal this must be for her, but still not quite believing that she was being this forward. Has my reticence led her to this recklessness? he thought, feeling his scarred cheek rise in a tentative smile. Sam was completely, Hollywood smooth, and that triangle of skin called out to have his fingers caress that gentle groove and her sensitive bud, and his tongue tease and taste every inch of her.
Not here though. Not in the specially adapted bathroom, with the hand rails and the shower stool, the low mirrors and the pills. “Sit on me again,” he said, his voice quiet and choked with a frosting of nerves as he dithered over the decision to take that postage stamp of a towel off and experience her naked body pressing his own bare legs down into the cushion of his chair, though he wouldn't feel much of the surface contact at all.
He didn’t ever have to reach a decision though, because she drew it slowly off and planted herself on his lap in its place, abandoning the flannel on the floor. As his quads erupted into briefly violent shuddering spasms, she groaned and murmured something he didn’t catch. “I’m sorry,” he said reflexively, his fingers trying to dig into the muscles to shut them up, but he couldn't reach them and encountered only her perfect thighs.
“Don’t be sorry,” she whispered commandingly, her chin jutting towards the ceiling in pleasure. “You have no idea what that feels like under me…”
“You like it when this happens?” he blasted incredulously.
“You know nothing…” she uttered in a throaty whisper.
That was it. That was the moment when he felt like he might finally be able to shed the largest and heaviest pieces of his armour, and he wrapped his great arms around her, and yanked her body upwards so that there wasn’t even a molecule of air between their bodies and they fitted together like a clay impression in a mould.
Wheeling them both back towards his bedroom, he left the bathroom behind him and slammed the door behind him the moment he was over the threshold. The bed lay before them, and Sam was moving slowly, deliciously, on his lap, her round, full cheeks pressing against his half-hard cock, running over his shaft and coaxing him harder. “You,” he breathed tremulously into her ear as the strange and wonderful sensation in his cock began to make itself known to his brain, and she giggled. The sound was unexpectedly girlish and she rested her head back on his shoulder as it ground around, propelling them both towards his bed. Her enormous eyes drew him in and he wanted to tease her that night until he could watch them roll closed behind that mysterious curtain of dark lashes and hear her beg him to release her. He did have a bottle of Viagra in the bathroom, but he hadn't had time to take one. He assumed or half hoped they wouldn't be going quite that far tonight anyway. That night was not a night for crashing through every protective barrier they’d both put up over the years.
With one final push they reached the bed. She slithered almost drunkenly to her feet and crawled on top of the duvet, giving him a full view of her before she rolled onto her back and sat there looking at him. Self-consciousness still prickled him a little, and he half wanted to put some boxers on, but instead he reached for her legs and guided her gently back to the edge of the bed. When he ran his calloused hands up her thigh, he set her whole body shivering worse than his own spasms for a moment, and he grinned at the sight. She tipped her body back and rested her weight on her elbows, her washboard stomach just peeking out from under the t-shirt, her hipbones more inviting and enticing than ever. Her centre lay directly before him. His core burned as he reached up and kneaded her angular hip once with his palm, and he ached to transfer out of the chair and draw his half-broken body up beside her. He had the odd feeling, like the memory of sensation and movement in his legs, that if he did transfer and lie beside her it'd be just like it had been before the accident; he'd be able to climb on top of her and feel his full length enter her, fill her up and come deep inside her. The thought made his cock strain a little harder to rise to attention, but a little voice of reality, located in the clenching movement beside it in his quads, reminded him that it could never happen that way again.
Whatever did transpire that evening, he knew that first of all he wanted to make her writhe and buck with pleasure. Alex scooted himself to the front of his chair and abandoned his bare feet, letting them shudder themselves off the footplate and onto the floor. After fairly worshipping her thighs with his rough but gentle touch, he lowered his lips to her skin and began to plant rows of slow kisses up the inside of her legs. She moaned insistently, toes curling with pleasure, and he grinned.
After another few torturously long seconds, Alex looked up at her, with his good eye trained on her exquisite face. He paused breathing softly and teasingly just above her entrance and below her clit and, with his eyes, sought her permission to begin to make her head spin.
“Don't tease me any longer,” she moaned, her head rolling backwards. “Please…”
He lowered his lips back down to that smooth triangle. Who was he to refuse her now?
To be continued...