Archive of Our Own

Despite what some might think, Jerry actually liked doing the hard work of cleaning things up.  Laundry in particular he found meditative.  Ironing, steaming, folding, hanging…  The repetitive nature soothed every frayed nerve until at last his mind was still and calm.  No more mess.  Every knot in his shoulders, every headache slowly pressed out with every wisp of steam against linen and cotton.  His little hour of peace and quiet.

A ring pierced the air, sharp and digital.

Jerry sighs, looking down at his fingers that had accidentally clenched on the pair of blue trousers in his hands.  New wrinkles happily replaced the old.  He could feel his headache coming back.

So much for peace and quiet.

He picked up his phone reluctantly, holding it like a live creature that intended to bite him.  An unknown number.  That meant it was either a scam, or someone from town hall; in which case, he couldn’t afford not to answer.

Tapping the green dot, he picked up the call.  “Hello.  This is your Mayor speaking,” he says with false cheer, sandwiching his phone between his ear and shoulder as he rehung the pair of trousers to begin removing the wrinkles again.

“Hey Jerry, you have daddy issues right?”

“...Excuse me?”  Jerry set down his pants, a frown crossing his face. The voice on the other end crackled with static, as if she were in a place with poor service.  Her voice maintained a casual nature to it in spite of the rather personal, leading question.  “Who is this?”

“Right, dumb question.  Want to go to a concert tonight?”  There was a brief pause.  “This is Mabel, by the way.  Obviously.”  

“Mabel?  How did you get this number?” he asks, baffled as he takes his phone in hand.  “Wait, what concert?”

“The one I just told you about.  Now are you in or are you out?” she prompts stubbornly.

Shaking his head, Jerry throws a hand up, exasperated.  Great, now he’s pacing.  This was supposed to be his quiet time and now it’s all ruined.  “No!  I’m busy-!”

“Fuck you,” Mabel interrupts, tone relaxed and devoid of its usual hostility.  “I know your ass doesn’t have anything to do.  Your Google calendar is empty after six today, and your mom has her book club.”

Jerry straightens up, a bolt of anxiety zipping down his spine.  “How do you have access to my calendar?  Wait, how did you even get this number?!”

“Don’t worry about it.  Just pick me up at eight.”

“No, Mabel-”

“Ugh, come on!  It’s not even a work night!”  Mabel lets out a frustrated grumble cut with static.  “Dead Horse Budget Committee is in town and no one else wants to go with me.  You’ll like them, I promise.  You like horses, don’t you?”  There was a crackle, as if she were adjusting the phone.  “Besides, you should probably be seen around town, right?  Let people remember you’re ‘one of the people’ and care about the arts, or something like that?”

“I-” Jerry started before breaking off.  It wasn’t a bad idea, actually; and being seen with Mabel of all people would tell the public that they’d buried the hatchet.  If he could show everyone that he’d convinced her out of all people that they were on good enough terms to be seen together, then just maybe…

Rudely interrupting his train of thought, Mabel calls out, “Jerry?  You didn’t hang up on me, did you?”

Jerry clears his throat, running a hand through his hair before his usual mask of polite superiority bloomed across his face.  “Where did you say this concert was?”

“Have you never been to a concert?” Mabel complains, leading Jerry through the crowd to the front door.  She melts through the masses of black shirts, flannels, and ripped jeans with ease.  “You look like you’re about to go golfing.”

Jerry grimaces, stopping again because another sweat-sticky young adult walked in front of him carelessly with an uncovered drink in hand.  Once past, he follows Mabel to the front of the slightly run down stone entrance.  Red brick crumbled against iron gates guarding the entrance, an old neon sign sporting a red hare proclaiming the establishment as LUCKY’S INN.  “I still have to present well if someone recognizes me as-”

“Is that the fucking mayor?” the ticket taker blurts out, her red eyes widening under dark makeup.

“Yeah, but it’s cool,” Mabel replies, tapping her phone to the reader before holding her wrist out.  “He’s with me.  Come on, Jerry, get a band.”

Smoothing his expression into something more charming and palatable, he offers his hand.  “Hi, Jerry Generazzo.”

Her eyes trail from his to the collar of his light blue polo, down his most casual pair of chinos, even further to his penny loafers, then back up with a slightly put-off, almost disturbed expression.  Her nose wrinkled, the gem of her nose piercing catching in the dull glow of the bar’s dim party lights.  “Jess,” she replies stiffly.  “Just Jess”.  Instead of taking his hand, she loops a yellow band with running rabbits around his wrist.  “Uh, don’t you two hate each other?” she asks, eyes flicking to Mabel.

“Oh, no!” Jerry says, grin widening.  “No, no, of course not!  We-”

“Yeah, I drive him crazy,” Mabel agrees, her elbow on the stand as she flashes him a grin.  “But he loves it.  Best part of his day”.

“Actually!” Jerry interrupts cheerfully, stepping closer and laying his hand respectfully against Mabel’s upper back behind her shoulders.  He could feel the warmth of her body heat through the sturdy, worn canvas of her ranger jacket.  The muscles of his jaw cramped as he smiled, but managed to keep it straight.  “We are turning over a new leaf, and finding ways to meet in the middle.  That’s what it’s all about!  Compromise,” he repeats empathetically.

To his surprise, Mabel leans in with her own arm slipping around his lower back, settling far less respectfully on his hip.  “Yup.  Ol’ Jerry here is a big fan of the arts, aren’t you, Jer?”  The curve of her body nudges against his.  Her shoulder met his ribs, fitting against him like a puzzle piece.

A muscle in his neck twitched, sweat beading on his forehead in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the summer night.  “Exactly!  Mabel spoke so highly of them, I just had to come and watch the performance myself.  I like to keep up to date with up and coming acts, especially if they’re local,” he adds smoothly.

Jess’s red-contacted eyes flick between the two of them, a drawn on eyebrow lifted in scepticism.  “Uh-huh…  I guess I didn’t realize you were so invested in the midwest emo folk punk scene.”  

Jerry understood all of those words separately.  He opens his mouth but his words were silenced as Mabel cheerily replied, “Oh yeah, he loves all that sort of thing, but we’ve got to get to a good spot, so I’ll see you later, Jess!”

The hand on his side turned insistent and Jerry allowed himself to be clumsily led past the inside bar.  It washed over his eyes in a blur of exposed brick, old posters with indecipherable fonted names, and neon lights before she pulled him back outside through the back door.  There was a wooden stage painted a shocking purple, looking as though it were being held together by all of the stickers plastered over the sides.  People were setting up equipment on it, adjusting things as people milled around aged picnic tables and lawn chairs that had seen better days.  There was a haze in the air that had the candy colored string lights glowing strangely, as if he had been led into a dream.

“So, what do you think?  Pretty cool, right?” Mabel says cheerfully, tilting her head to catch his eye with a wide grin.  

Amused, his lips quirked into a small smile.  “Well, everyone here seems to be running a low grade fever, and everything stinks like sweat, pot, and bug spray.  I am… certainly at a bar.”

Nonplussed, she scoffs, giving him a deadpan stare.  “What, are you not a bar person?”

“I’ll do a rooftop once in a while,” he replies smoothly.

“You’re so old and boring”.  Mabel rolls her eyes with a snicker, and he can’t help the way his face softens a little.  Rarely had he heard her laugh unless it was at his own misery, granted this one came accompanied by an insult.  At least it was mild.  “I’ll get us a drink.  Go get a shirt or something, so you look like less of a boomer.”  With a bump of her fist against his side, she starts to eagerly trot toward the line at the bar.

The pleased smile on Jerry’s face drops immediately for an irritated scowl.  “How old do you think I am?” he squawks after her, but either she can’t hear him or the more likely possibility, which is that she’s ignoring him.  

Jerry sighs, looking down at his blue polo.  There was already a stain on the front and the sleeve where someone had spilled something on him in the mere ten minutes he’d been in the place.  If someone took a picture of him looking as sloppy as this, then it would be a stain itself on his excellent gallery of public pictures of himself.  Frowning, he looked about, spotting a tent towards the fence where a man with wide gauges in his ears and a mullet seemed to be pawning band merchandise.  Lingering closer, he scans over the shirts, then down at himself, then over the crowd of cut up sleeveless shirts, flannel, muddy jeans, and sweat stains.

Perhaps blending in wouldn’t be the worst idea.

“Mabel.”

“Jerry.”

One finger points accusingly at the picnic table, a grim expression on his face.  “There’s bird poop all over this thing.”

“Don’t worry, it’s dry,” she replies, turning towards the stage without a care, pulling open her phone to take a picture.

“I’m not sitting on that!”

Rolling her eyes, Mabel digs into the pocket of her green jacket before throwing a wad of fast food napkins at him.  Half were stained in a dried brownish-red substance.  “Here.  Wipe yourself a spot then.  That’s what I do.”

Squinting, Jerry looks over the napkins, carefully unfolding them.  “This better be ketchup…” he grumbles, rubbing at the brown and white droppings crusted over the ripped vinyl tablecloth, unveiling an even more mysteriously stained tabletop before moving on to the weatherbeaten wood of the bench.

“I told you not to wear nice pants.”

“You told me not to dress like a dork!”

“Yeah, and look who can’t follow directions.”  She eyes him up and down appraisingly.  “Acutally, it’s weird seeing you in a normal shirt.”

The cheap cotton blend scrapes his skin uncomfortably.  “You told me I would blend in!” he complains halfheartedly, looking around at the crowd of social misfits of mostly Mabel’s age.  Unlikely.

Hoisting herself up to sit on the table with her feet on the bench, Mabel fidgets.  “Yeah, and you do a little more, but I mean, like…  I don’t know.  It’s weird just seeing you without a suit.  I thought you were born in that thing”.  

Scrunching his nose, Jerry swipes the napkin over the bench and then the discolored vinyl of the tablecloth, the surface uneven from the water warped wood planks that made up the picnic table.  “That’s interesting, because I was just thinking about how you seem like you were born here, with how familiar you are with the place.”

Mabel squints at him as he sits neatly on the bench.  “Was that an insult…?”

“Did it sound like one?” he replies dryly, eyeing the cups.  She was holding them both in one hand. They had begun to drip with condensation, leaving droplets on her bare thigh.

Mabel shoots him a dirty look before perking up as people begin to cheer.  She leans over, shoving a cup into his hand and knocking it with hers.  “Here, cheers.”

“What did you get?” Jerry asks as the band introduces themselves casually to the modest crowd.  The man at the microphone’s words melt into each other so fluidly it takes him a solid minute to realize he actually is speaking English, but even after the revelation he couldn’t discern any actual words within the slurry of words.  Jerry takes a cautious sniff at his cup.  Grapefruit…?  

“Shots.  It’s paloma inspired, or something.  I don’t know.  It sounded good,” she replies, taking a gulp.

Jerry squints at the board, but nearly loses his drink when someone bumps into him, splashing beer on his pants.  He glares, but quickly loses track of them in the mill of plaid and black.  “That is not a shot.  A shot is just alcohol.  This is a cocktail,” he argues, irritation rising.

“Okay, well it’s got fourteen bucks of alcohol in it, and it tastes like it.”

“How did you get this?  I thought you said you were broke,” he grumbles with a frown, looking up at her.  The string lights were playing tricks on her hair, lighting it up with a rainbow and bathing her in technicolor.  When Mabel smiles, a lump knots in his throat and he has to look down at his pants that are thankfully not having a tent pitched.

“Oh, right-”  Something hit his thigh, startling Jerry into spilling a few drops into the dead leaves and dirt.  “Happy birthday.”

“...Did you steal my card?”

“No, I gave it back.  I borrowed your card.”  He couldn’t see Mabel’s smile from behind her cup as she took another drink, but her eyes squinted like a mischievous, pleased cat as she met his eyes daringly.

Jerry’s mouth went dry as they traded stares before he finally looked away.  He shoved his wallet back into his pocket with a fumble before stilling and taking a steadying breath.  It feels like he’s always losing to Mabel these days.  He scratches the nape of his neck where he could feel a bug bite forming.  When he chances another glance, Mabel’s brown eyes are lit up with smug amusement, watching him with an odd intensity.  For something to do that wouldn’t make him feel so obvious, he takes a sip of his drink.  The carbonation was a soothing match to the fizzy feeling in his chest, and the sharp bite of alcohol mingled with bitter grapefruit like the comfortable familiarity of punishment.

The next time he turns to her, Mabel’s eyes are locked on stage, cheering with her cup raised.  She stomps on the bench, joining the cheers and claps of the other bargoers.  She has that technicolor look to her again, the haze making her glow like a displaced sunbeam in the growing dark.  When she drinks, a clumsy dribble streams from the corner of her lip, a trail of indulgence.  His eyes follow it until it disappears into the shadow of her throat, bobbing with a swallow.

He clears his throat, but she doesn’t look down at him.  “Mabel, tha-” he begins before he’s interrupted by the crash of drums and two guitars.  The singer on stage bursts into a sour note, stumbling into a song at a warped warble full of voice cracks.  Mabel yells her approval with the crowd, limbs extended into a tilted cheer, her grin lighting up her whole face with excitement.  Jerry swallows his words and tries to be content as an observer.

The band was…  Not great.  Every imperfection rang in his ear like a plate being thrown and shattered against a wall.  It was as though not only had the band decided to write notes that were impossible for their singer to hit, but actually seemed to depend on him not hitting them.  He might have said he was speaking rather than singing the way the man on stage rambled in every song, but no one speaking hit that many sour notes except maybe a prepubescent boy and this man had a patchy beard.  He rambled about his father, about girls he tried to love and couldn’t, or they couldn’t love him, and nights where he couldn’t sleep.  The only ones that Jerry found himself listening closer to were the ones the man sang about his beloved childhood pet: a retired race horse seemingly named Daddy Is Shoes who had never won a single race.  Every song gave the horse a different death, and Jerry soon found himself wondering if the horse was actually alive, or if in fact the death had been so traumatizing to the extremely inebriated musician that he continually fictionalized new and exciting ways for his horse to have passed instead.  Hopefully it didn’t exist at all.  He couldn’t imagine living with a man who sounded so terrible.

He found and lost Mabel multiple times.  She’d run off, bring him another drink (which he’d nurse to keep her from getting him another), disappear again, only to show up later.  She’d rove through the crowd like a tiger through tall grass, disappearing and reappearing with ease.  He’d spy her talking to someone or another, laughing or arguing over the noise, rarely dancing (no one seemed to be dancing, but there were a surprising amount of people singing along).  When she would come back, she’d sit beside him, her lithe body pressed into his side.  Her shirt was damp with sweat and spilled drinks, and when she would pull his head down so she could talk into his ear over the music, he could smell grapefruit and tequila on her breath.  Occasionally, someone would wander up to him, inebriated and mystified as to why the mayor would be at a bar.  He smiled for a few pictures, answered questions when he could shout above it all, but for the most part, he watched Mabel enjoy the moment.

Perhaps he enjoyed the moment a bit too.

“I told you you’d have fun, right?” she said with a grin, downing the cup of water Jerry had forced into her hands.  

“Hm,” he replied noncommittally, watching the soft skin of her throat work as she swallowed.  

Her eyes were lidded, looking up at him from under her lashes with a smile as she stumbled into his side.  Her arm slung around his waist carelessly and he found himself putting a hand on her shoulder to steady her.  Jerry swiped his thumb, grazing the skin of her collar.  It was even softer than it looked.  

She leaned into it.  Into him.  “Come on.  You did have fun, didn’t you?”

Jerry licks his bottom lip, feeling uncharacteristically timid in the wake of this newly uncovered Mabel.  It wasn’t wholly unprecedented or surprising at all; in fact, this place seemed to fit her exactly.  The messiness fit right in with what he glean from her usual untamed appearance.  The bittersweet and sour drinks certainly matched her attitude and the quickness with which it changed.  The realization made everything worse.  “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” he says carefully, which was true.  He did enjoy spending time with her, even if every time he looked at Mabel he felt like he was about to commit a P.R. nightmare.  “But we should get you home,” he added sternly, opening the door for her.  “You’ve had a lot to drink”.

Mabel gave him a wide eyed, mocking grin.  She slipped into her seat, and was still fumbling with the seatbelt when Jerry settled into the driver’s side.  “Actually…” Mabel drawled with a slow grin that seeped across her face the way a spilled drink stained a shirt, “I’ve got one last spot in mind before home.”

There was a gleam in her eye that someone lesser might have missed.  It was the same sort of microexpression that he’d seen in the muscles around the eyes of other politicians, or in the smile of his mother’s friends at brunch right before they made some devastating remark.  The same kind of look he’d seen ghosts of on her face through the night when she caught him looking but he hadn’t recognized until now.  The moment he had caught it, the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Jerry swallowed and Mabel’s eyes tracked the movement.  “L-Lead the way.”

If she wanted me dead, she wouldn’t have let herself be seen leaving with me, Jerry told himself as Mabel had him turn down an unmarked road.  His headlights cut through the dark, casting jagged shadows through the trees and brambles, though thankfully no animals ran into their path.  It wasn’t too far from her home, if only just a few short minutes away.  With hand gestures and rather vague instructions, Mabel directed him until they were parked on a slight cliff overlooking the glade.  Trees kept much of it hidden, the pines rustling against gusts of wind.

“Turn the car off,” Mabel says, sounding frighteningly sober.

“What?  Why?” Jerry can’t help but ask, startled by her sudden command.

Mabel shot him a frustrated, withering glare.  “Because you’re disturbing the bats?”

He blinks.  “...So?”

Mabel stares at him for a long moment.  Then, quick as a whip she shifts the gear into park and snatches the keys from the ignition, throwing them carelessly into the center console.

“Hey!  Mabel-!” he protests, trying to snatch his keys as he fumbles in the dark.  “Don’t do that without warning!  You’ll ruin the ignition!”

“I did warn you,” she replies, tone stiff and mean.  Away from the sweet and back to the bitter again.

For a moment, they glare at each other in the dark, each stiff with their own simmering frustration with the other.  

Mabel’s lips twitch, and then something in her expression gives way.  “Just…  Look, relax, okay?  It’s a-  The night’s nice,” she mumbles, scratching at her knee.  Everything is blue with moonlight, the sulfur orange of his car’s lights gone like a whisper in the wind.

Jerry takes a deep, stiff breath before sighing it out.  “Okay,” he agrees stubbornly staring through the windshield.  

Neither of them say anything at all for a long time.  The dark is oppressive, every breath feels as loud as a gunshot.  Although she’d led him to this spot, a place he gets the sense is eerily private for her, Mabel says nothing, choosing instead to fiddle with her jacket, tied around her waist.  She opens her mouth a few times, only known by the slight, wet noise she makes when she closes it, turning away from him.

Was this why she’d asked him here?  What could she possibly be so worried about saying to him?  Of course, shyness is something he can sympathize with.  Helping her would be the right thing to do, especially if it meant he could get her home faster.  He was itching to move, and while the dark helped keep his eyes from her, he underestimated just how much the small, slight noises that just sitting next to him in the dark unnerved him.  Jerry turns his head warily, trying to meet her eyes but she seemed to be staring out the passenger window at nothing.  “So, why did you want to come all the way ou-”

For a moment, he was frozen.  He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, all he could do was feel.  

His only warning was a quiet click as Mabel unbuckled before she was climbing into his lap with all the grace of an opiated dog.  Her bare thigh slid against his trousers, weight settling clumsily into his lap.  Fingers slid into salt and pepper hair, mussing it even further as a pair of soft lips pressed to his.

Jerry loses track of himself.  

His hands rest on her thighs, grip tight and possessive in a way he’s always feared would happen when he got the chance.  Sweat and secondhand smoke cling to dark hair for him to breathe in when he gasps against her lips.  Charmingly crooked teeth clack painfully against his own perfectly aligned set before she slows down, tongue brushing along his bottom lip.  Jerry’s knuckles go white as he tightens his grip on her thigh, fingers pressing bruises into tender skin.  She lets out a moan into his mouth that Jerry swallows whole, meeting her intensity with his own starvation.

She settles in his lap with a grind that makes a whimper catch in his throat.  There are hands at the cheap cotton-polyester blend of his shirt, tugging, pushing it up so she can paw at his age softened body.  Her palm sweeps from his navel up to his chest and Jerry twitches.  The only thing keeping him from sliding inside of her is a few thin slips of fabric.  There’s heat bleeding through and his cock twitches with interest in his trousers.  She’s so warm.  When was the last time he’s been this warm?  He presses back, lips meeting hers in reverence.

“Fuck, Jerry-” Mabel whines, her voice low and sweet with want.

Mabel.

Ice crashes down his spine as his back slams against the car seat.  His head knocks against the stiff leather so hard that he sees white spots for a few seconds and has to blink them away just to uncover Mabel, sitting astride his lap.  Faux leather squeaks under his fingernails as he digs them into the arm rest.  Maybe it’s just the moonlight playing tricks, but he thinks he sees the shadow of bruises on her thighs in the shape of his fingers.

Mabel looks down at him, eyes as bright and hot as the headlights of a drunk driver lighting up a deer frozen with panic.  Muscles in his legs jumped and twitched as if to move, but it was as if he’d been paralyzed after pulling away.  Air pulled through his lungs in great gulps but it felt as if no oxygen was taken in.  It only made his mouth dry and his lips chapped, reminding him of how just a second ago they’d been wet, bitten by teeth he’d seen a hundred times bared at him in a snarl, and only a few times tonight in a smile.

“What’s wrong?”  The way Mabel asked, it sounded like a demand rather than a question of care.  Hunger gleams plainly in her eyes, predatory and alluring.  Sweat beads on Jerry’s brow as he looks up at her.  “Why did you stop?”

Without waiting for an answer, Mabel leans in, crowding him up against his seat.  Jerry grits his teeth, pressing back against it as if he could escape by melding with the interior of his car.  He’d never once thought of his car as uncomfortable, but the stick of warm leather against his clammy skin made his stomach churn.

Kiss swollen lips meet his for just a moment before he turned his head.  The softness slipped across his skin clumsily, meeting the stubble of his cheek.  The muscles of his jaw jumped under them, locked so tight he thought he’d crack a molar.

“Stop,” he whispers without feeling his lips or tasting the words.  All his hands touch is plastic.

“You don’t want me to,” Mabel murmurs against his neck, teased into his skin with a tongue against his stubble. Her hands are getting brave again, playfully creeping along his stomach, fingers catching on his navel hair.  He feels her smile, lips closing around the skin of his neck, sucking devilishly.  Her hips rock against his in pleasured stupor and her teeth graze his rabbiting pulse in response to her own hunger.

The next time he says it, he feels heat gather as he cries, “Mabel, stop!”

“Ow!” Mabel yelps, partially startled by the way his hands pushed her back against the steering wheel, but mostly annoyed.  “Jerry, what the fuck was that-?!”

“Get off of me,” he rasps, panting.  “Get back in your seat.”

Mabel blinks at him, confusion muddling with anger.  “Jerry-”

“Now.”

She pauses.  Jerry hopes she didn’t hear the shiver in his voice. Every day he primes himself, pressing the wrinkles out of every shirt, suit, and tie he has.  He can do a skincare routine to put Patrick Bateman to shame, smoothing out what age has done, use gels and oils to tame his hair, but Mabel?  Mabel is a storm.  Everything she does unsettles and displaces him further and further from the perfection he seeks.  She can’t be controlled, and the closer she is to him, the closer he feels to losing control of himself.

He hopes she didn’t hear the guilty fear pooling in his lungs like water, but he knows better than to hope because with drunken clumsiness, Mabel hefts herself back into the passenger seat.  Toes curl inside his shoes, stretching his legs as he tries to shake away the feeling of a warm body pressed against him like an iron.

“I am taking you home,” Jerry says aloud.  A command for himself, as much as he is informing her.  Mabel swings her head around to face him but he doesn’t look at her.  He can’t.  How will he face her tomorrow, let alone within the next ten minutes?  “It’s alright.  You’ve had too much to drink, and lost control.  You’re okay.  It was an accident”.  He pauses, then repeats it, a little slower, a little quieter.  “It was an accident”.

Mabel’s nose scrunches in the corner of his periphery, the way it does when she wants to keep arguing but has her carried off by security.  She exhales loudly once, then again with a frustrated growl, slouching down in her seat.  Jerry pretends not to see the way she shifts uncomfortably, as if her shorts were chafing uncomfortably.  The car’s windows are fogged over, and Jerry has to roll his window down to clear it.

Jerry looks away for anything to take his attention instead.  He catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, his eyes large and reflective.  Minorly shaking fingers readjust it from where it had been knocked loose, so he can see behind him better.

As they turn back onto a familiar dirt road, Jerry frowns, squinting the light of a passing car’s headlights out of his eyes.  He licks his swollen bottom lip.  Grapefruit and the burn of alcohol.  It tastes like a narrowly missed collision at head on.

The deadly silent ride to Mabel’s home feels like it takes hours, even though it takes all of five or even ten minutes.  Every now and then she turns like a venomous snake, mouth open and fangs ready.  Then she just… stops.  She looks at him, then slowly turns away, to look down at her hands in her lap, or out the window.  She blows a little fog back onto the glass and draws a little smiley face in it before the night air steals it away.

Jerry parks the car.

“We’re here,” he says curtly.

Mabel whips her head around to him so fast he thinks he hears a crack.  He turns slowly to meet it this time, face carefully empty of any crack for her chaos to seep in to.  “Can you at least make yourself useful and help me in?” she snaps, glaring hard.

Crack.

Jerry feels his eye twitch.  “I’m sure you’ll manage just fine,” he replies, much more calm than he feels.

“Come on!  Seriously?  If I fall while I’m like this, I’ll probably break my arm again,” she  complains obliviously, scrunching her nose adorably.

Crack, crack, crack.

Jerry takes a deep breath, pinching his brow, wrinkled once again.  He huffs the exhale.  “Yeah, sure, okay,” he says, mostly to himself.  

You’re just bringing her to the door.  Nothing more.  

He opens his door, taking another deep breath of the night air.  Crickets sang in the distance, fireflies gleaming out in the dark among the grasses and trees.  A shiver rackets up his back at the thought of the swarms out there and quickly moves to Mabel’s side, opening the door to help her out.

It’s a welcome surprise when she only takes his arm, letting him lead her.  Drunkenly, Mabel stumbles over rocks and broken branches, the messy yard making him frown.  Why didn’t she take care of this?  Didn’t the mess inconvenience her or make things difficult?  Jerry grits his teeth.

Mess, mess, mess.

Her hand remains stubbornly fastened on his arm, avoiding his eye even in the blue of the night.  She only leans against him purposefully when she starts to dig around in her pocket for her keys, the bone of her shoulder digging into his ribs.  He runs his tongue along his molars, trying not to form a memory of this moment.

“Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” Mabel says suddenly, startlingly serious.  Jerry looks down at her, but her eyes are trained on her keys, fumbling in the dim light between an absurd amount of charms and keychains.  “I had a really good time, until…”  Her voice trails off, swallowed by the dark.

Jerry nods, a stiff jerk of a motion.  “Yeah.  Me too.  It-”  His voice cracks unappealingly and he has to swallow his spit before beginning again, trying for measured.  “It was a nice night.”

It was a nice night, he realizes with no small amount of amazement.  Despite the messy, unclean bar, the confusing music, and overpriced drinks, he enjoyed himself.  He probably wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t been there.

Her back straightens, key slipping into the hole.  The door squeaks open, revealing her dimly lit home, the orange glow emanating from a small lamp near the entrance.  “Watch your step,” she warns before promptly tripping and nearly falling face first onto an unvacuumed rug.  He catches her and Mabel, thankfully, lets him carefully tug her through the doorway, her feet shuffling with drunken clumsiness as she kicks her shoes off near the entrance and glares at him until he does the same.  

What is he doing?  He only planned to walk her to the door, not walk her in.  Even so, his feet move with robotic precision, carefully slipping free of his loafers before accepting Mabel back onto his arm.  Instead of the stiff, curt grasp she had on his forearm and bicep, this time she loops his arm around her shoulder, slipping back against his side.  His mouth opens to protest but is quickly cut short when she slips, her small hand gripping his shirt tightly, stretching the fabric down.  “Careful,” he chides on reflex, steadying her.

She looks up at him, the predatory look that had ruled her before all but vanished in the lamplight of her home.  An apologetic grin met him with a kind of timid hope that that softened his own frown.  “Sorry, sorry!  Um, thank you for doing this.”

Jerry nods, afraid if he opened his mouth that words he would have to pay for later would fall out.

She shuffles her feet, allowing him to lead her slowly through the mess of dirty laundry, unswept floors, and take out containers.  Jerry tries very hard not to look at any of it and fails, his mind a blur of urges to clean, organize, to dust.  Oh god, does she need to dust in here.  Everything in the entire house needs to be taken apart and sanitized-  

“Do you want a drink before you go?” Mabel blurts, interrupting his thoughts.  He blinks down at her, first startled, then wary of the hopeful pep her steps have acquired.  She looks up at him with the same cautiously hopeful puppy eyes that made his legs tremble and heat gather in his belly.  “I’ve still got some bottles of-”

“Mabel-”

“-and I think there’s some beer in the fridge-”

“Mabel!  I need to drive home,” he reminds her.  “And you need to sleep.  You’ve drunk enough.”

For a moment, Mabel’s face twists up in that stubborn, angry expression that he’s grown to love and hate in equal measure.  Her lips curl and her nose flares, eyes narrowed and focused before she closes her eyes and sighs sharply to herself.  “Why do you keep screwing this up for me?”  Mabel barks, her voice cutting through the gentle song of the crickets outside like a knife as she fixes him with a scowl.

“Excuse me?” Jerry finds himself snapping, drawing himself up straight and away from her.  Her hands tighten on his arm but he hardly feels it, Mabel glaring up at him and the gap he’s made between them.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Why do you keep trying to get me drunk?”

White teeth sink into her lip, chewing.  “Because it needs to be an accident…?” she replies, as if she’s stating the obvious.

Mystified, Jerry frowns.  “What are you talking about?”

Mabel looks him in the eye, her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s playing stupid or if he actually is.  “When you fuck me?  Duh.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”  Bitter copper fills his mouth as Jerry bites into his tongue.  Raising his hands, Jerry presses his lips into a thin line of what he hopes looks like a firm boundary and not guilt.  “Mabel, what is this really about?”  Exasperated, he rubs the tension in his brow, hoping to diffuse the worry that’s begun to build in the form of a headache.  “You’ve been all over the place today!  One second you’re laughing and you’re having a great time, and the next you look miserable, and- and then!  Then you’re trying to crawl into my lap and kiss me?!”  With a huff, Jerry hefts her down on the bed none too gently.  Mabel bounces from the steep drop and pouts up at him, dark eyes glinting from under her lashes.  “And then you’re saying you want to get me drunk to have sex, and now you’re kicking me out?!”  Jerry’s voice raises incrementally with emotion, frustration slowly bubbling over in bitter foam.  “What is going on with you?!  I know you’re immature, but this is really taking the-”

A sniffle cuts him off, words drying up in his throat.  Looking down, Jerry watches in mounting horror as tears drip down Mabel’s cheeks, glistening in the dim lamp light.  Her shoulders shake, hands knotted into fists as she clutches the blankets, her face turned away from him as if to do the impossible and hide her anguish from him.  She’d probably been trying not to cry, and then he had to go and yell at her.  Real smooth there, Jer.

Lips drawing into a thin line, Jerry’s nails bite into his palm.  Guilt gnawed at his innards, hollowing the bottom of his stomach.  Slowly, he reaches out hesitantly.  “Mabel, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have yelled like tha-”

The moment his fingers brush her shoulder she pulls away, an erratic, jerky movement.  “Just forget it,” she interrupts, voice wet with restrained tears.  Jerry’s heart turns in his chest as if it were on a spit, guilt welling up in his throat.  “Get out of here, since you hate me so much.  Just go.”

“I-” Speaking usually comes so easy to him, but all of his words dry up for a moment.  She looks so small, curling up into herself, her back against the messy emptiness of the rest of the room.  His throat gets tight, emotion pooling in the back of his mouth, bitter and stuck to his teeth.  “Mabel, I don’t hate you,” Jerry finds himself saying quietly, slowly bending a knee until he’s looking up at her tear streaked face.  She glares at him, drunk and hurt in a way that makes his stomach flip.  “I’m-”

Lips on his, warm, plush thighs pressed against his groin, bitten fingernails scratching at his scalp, the bittersweet taste of grapefruit soda as her tongue slides against his-

Jerry swallows.  “I’m worried.  You’ve been off all night and I just…  Want to help, I suppose.”  His stomach is in knots, but it’s easy for him to give her back her own words.  “We’re in this together, right?”  

Mabel stares.  “I-”  Mabel breaks off, turmoil rolling like storm clouds behind her eyes.  “I… got… ghosted,” she mumbles, turning away.

“What?” Jerry asks, brow furrowed.  “What does that mean?”

Uncomfortable and looking thoroughly embarrassed, Mabel turns, crossing her legs.  “You know…  As in, someone else was supposed to come hang out with me, and he didn’t show,” she rants, words coming out in a flood as she rubs her eyes in barely restrained emotion.  “I tried to ask him, like, ‘hey, are we still going?’ and he fucking blocked me!”

Jerry watches her, lost in some mix of complete bafflement and eerie realization.  “You asked me on a date because you got stood up?” he says aloud, too shocked to monitor his words.

“I didn’t say it was a date, you fucking dickhead!” Mabel cries frustratedly, cheeks turning a rather adorable shade of pink.  Jerry tries hard not to think about biting them.  “It was just supposed to be a hookup!”

Someone else was supposed to be with her tonight.  The realization makes his mouth numb, as if he’d licked a battery.  Mabel rambles in frustration, but he only half hears the words.  She’s complaining about how she’ll have to see him later at work and pretend things are normal, but Jerry’s mind wanders to the concert when she’d tried to get him drunk, then the car when she’d licked hungrily into his mouth, his thoughts slowly making its way back to the present where Mabel offered him more booze.

Because it needs to be an accident?

“I don’t even-  I didn’t even like him, you know?” she complains bitterly, rasping wet, hurt words.  “He’s not even hot or really all that interesting, it’s more that he didn’t even have the balls to tell me ‘no’ that really pisses me off.  It’s just-  I’m always alone.  You don’t know what it’s like”.  

Jerry flexes his hand, trying to move his fingers out a fist, but jealousy keeps pulling the tendons of his fingers taut at the thought of some other faceless boy in her home.  Would he have made sure he didn’t drink as much so he kept a clear head like Jerry had?  Would he have pushed her off of him in the car?  Would Mabel have put her fingers under his shirt, stroking his sides the way she had when it was him under her?  He looked at her, her legs bent and crossed.  The frayed ends of her shorts had ridden up, revealing the line where tanned skin gave way to pale.  Jerry blinked, stomach turning before the answer to his discomfort came to him as she rubbed her legs together.

She’d shaved her legs.  Mabel Tanaka had shaved for a man she intended to fuck.  The world turned on its axis.  Had she done it before she realized she was about to be stood up, or after?  Had she done it for him?  Jerry bites back the jealousy burning on his tongue, and instead replies dryly, “We both know you can do so much better than some troglodyte who’s stupid enough to turn you down,” with a derisive snort.

Mabel snorts sardonically, flopping back. “Oh yeah, like who?  You?”  Jerry twitches, but Mabel doesn’t seem to notice, the way she lets herself fall backwards onto the bed.  Her band shirt rides up slightly, revealing an enticing strip of unmarked, tan skin.  “Clearly not.  You’ve been pushing me away all night.”

“Don’t you think I’m a little too old for you?” he says gently with a half-hearted laugh, trying to pull his eyes away from her stomach.  Someone else was supposed to be looking at her.  Someone he didn’t even know, that would get to see her tomorrow at her job.  It left an acrid taste in his mouth and all he could think about was how much sweeter the taste would be if he put his head between her thighs.

Mabel ignores him, waving a hand dismissively.  She groans, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, revealing even more navel in a tantalizing show.  “I’m so stupid…  I was so-”  Mabel breaks off with a frustrated groan, dragging her hands down her face.  “I was really excited to go out with you.  I drank, like, a gallon of pineapple juice, and even wore the fucking-  Ugh!”  With a weary wipe of her eyes, she glared tiredly at the ceiling before continuing on in a much smaller voice, “I can’t believe I let myself think you actually liked me.”

With every word, a stone tumbles into his stomach.  Frowning, Jerry softens his voice.  This girl is going to give him wrinkles, the way worry sits in his brow.  “You’re not stupid.  Mabel, I do like you-”

“Then why won’t you touch me?” she argues petulantly, sitting up far too quickly for someone so intoxicated.  She swayed slightly, but her eyes stayed glued to his.  

Jerry’s jaw snaps shut.

Her hand reaches out, clamping around his wrist like a handcuff.

Jerry’s tongue flicks over his dry bottom lip and Mabel’s eyes lock onto the movement.  “Mabel, I-”

“Please,” she says, and it’s enough to make him pause.  

Jerry has had a few too many fantasies of Mabel to have a clean conscience.  In absolutely none of these did he ever consider her saying ‘please’.  Mabel tugs his wrist, pulling his hand to her waist.  Just his fingertips graze the tender skin there, brushing enough to feel when her skin raises goosebumps.

“Please,” she repeats a little more insistently, and he twitches.  Looking up at him with her glassy brown eyes, infected with something shy and almost sweet, she murmurs, “Just this once.  I don’t want to be alone.”

Jerry swipes his thumb against the hollow of her hip bone.  Her fingers tighten and encourages his hand higher, her shirt riding up even more as his palm eagerly eats up the uncovered soft skin of her belly.

“Okay,” he whispers, wondering if Mabel had expected him not to break bad.

Mabel bites her lip, but there’s a curve to it like the beginning of a smile.  Jerry finds himself giving her a wobbly one in return as something vicious hooks around his ribs and catches.  Shyly, she lifts her hands slowly as if trying not to spook a wild horse and cups his face.  With a shiver, the last bit of his restraint leaves him and Jerry closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.  Mabel’s hands are warm and a little damp, but for some reason it doesn’t bother him like it usually would.  Her thumbs smooth across his cheeks as she slips her fingers into his hair, pulling him forward until their lips meet.

The kiss quickly heats up, Jerry’s stomach burning with jealous lust and guilt.  She should have been out with some guy her own age.  He didn’t want her to.  He wanted her here, under him, letting him lick into her mouth, tasting tequila and grapefruit and her own desire.  Teeth closed playfully around his bottom lip and he moans into it.  Mabel giggles airily in response, giving him a peck, quickly followed by another, until she pulls away.  Her hand pushes on Jerry’s shoulder and he obeys the command, pulling back in confusion.  It quickly dissipates as he watches the clumsy display of Mabel struggling to shuck herself free of her shirt.  Once bare she huffs, seeming almost proud before that delectable shyness is back.

Jerry’s eyes lock with her chest.

Mabel’s gaze diverts to the wall, cheeks flushed from alcohol and desire.  “I thought you’d like it.  You know…  Since you’re always wearing so much blue and everything.”

Pale blue lace was pulled snug around her small breasts.  Little flowers dressed rolling plains of soft, decadent skin.  Jerry’s mouth watered at the sight.  She’d done this for him.  Not that idiot that had stood her up, not any other man.  Mabel had done this for him.  She wanted his attention, his desire.

“I do,” he murmurs, unsure if it was her hand or if he’d acted on his own as his fingers trailed up to the lace until he was cupping her breast in the palm of his hand.  The jealousy that had been haunting him melted quickly under the heat of pride.  His thumb grazed the raised bud of her nipple through the satin lace and he watched her eyes flutter closed.  Mabel’s fingers twisted in his hair and a cocky smile split his face.  He was giving this to her, and he’d make sure she never forgot it.

When he’d see her another day, she’d probably look away from him with the same charming blush as the one currently dusting her freckled cheeks.  Maybe she’d hesitantly drag her eyes away from the ground to look back up at him from under her dark lashes with a now all too familiar expression of predatory hunger that would tell him just what she was thinking about.

For now though, he kneaded her breast, teasingly running his finger against her covered nipple that was quickly growing pert under his attentions.  “Fuck, Jerry, don’t tease me,” she rasps.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I thought you wanted me to touch you,” he replies smugly, tugging the cupped lace down to reveal her breast.  He presses a kiss to her cheek, listening to her breath catch on a high moan as he rolls the dusky nipple between his fingers, the delicate skin quickly budding in the chilled night air.  A sweet noise leaves her as he flicks, then gently pinches.  “Would you rather I do this?”

Her fingers flex, tugging his hair out of its usual perfection that she had long since ruined.  He pulls gently in response, drawing another delicious moan from her lips.  “Jerry-” she breathes, her chest heaving under his ministrations.  “Will you hurry it up?”

Lips curl his grin into a sneer, meeting her expression with equal intensity.  “Give me a break.  You've been teasing me all night,” he argues, pinching her nipple a little harsher this time, eliciting a yelp and full body twitch from her.  Back arching, Mabel writhes under his ministrations as he speaks, bed creaking as he leans over her, tongue licking a slow stripe up her neck, working in tandem with the finger tracing around her nipple.  “Let me savor it”.

Mabel grits her teeth and hisses air through them as he releases her, kissing down her chest until his lips wrap around the pearl of her nipple.  He scrapes his teeth, watching her expression with rapt interest as her back arches.  He hums, savoring the salt of her sweat against tender, sensitive skin.  His hands rove, petting her sides, stroking down until they hitch at her hips.  He tugs at her waistband with an unspoken question.  

She scrambles under him, seemingly trying not to move away from his mouth while still eagerly tugging her shorts down.  Jerry laughs under his breath, rewarding her with a lick before pulling away to help remove the offending clothing.  He hardly has a chance to see the dark patch on her panties where she’s soaked through before she kicks them off with a grunt as well, throwing them onto the floor with the rest of her dirty laundry.  

Listening to her breath come in pants, Jerry strokes her thighs, admiring the strong muscle and soft fat.  His palms taste her smooth skin appraisingly.  “Was this for me, too?” he asks smugly, thumbing a little spot at her hip that she missed when shaving, eyes wandering up her legs to her trimmed bush.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she snips as one of her hands slips down the collar of his shirt, dragging her nails against his shoulder.  There’s a flicker of hesitance in her eyes, turning away as she cups the back of his neck stiffly.

His smile gentles, leaning in for a kiss.  She meets him with false bravado, teeth against his tongue that quickly melts as he cups her sex.  Palm curled around her, he grinds his hand against her clit in indirect pressure, teasing her lips.  Mabel moans into his mouth as he pulls back, watching her.  Jerry couldn’t help but grin, tapping his middle finger against her hole, enjoying the wet little noise it made.  Pulling back he watches a needy little string of slick join them, gleaming in the low light like a firefly.  “Oh, sweetheart…  Is that all because of me?” he asks with false innocence, teasing her 

The glare Mabel fixed him with would have made his hackles raise under any other circumstance.  Instead, his grin just widened.  “Shut the fuck up, Jerry,” she grumbles as she lifts her leg, the petals of her cunt spreading.  Her own excitement drips from her entrance, silky and sweet in the air.  

“What was that?” he asks easily as he strokes over the lips of her sex, memorizing the way she twitches under him, enjoying the little bubble of wet excitement that leaks against the pads of his fingers when he moves them just so against her.  He circles her clit, staying just shy of real pressure as she squirms.

“God, why can’t you be one of those guys that just sticks it in?” Mabel groans, sounding closer to frustration than pleasure even as her body betrays her.

Smiling thinly, Jerry retorts primly, “Tell me in the morning that this wasn’t an accident, and I’ll look into it.”  Before she can respond, Jerry sinks his fingers down to the knuckle, curling them.  He finds exactly what he’s looking for in seconds, watching Mabel’s expression fade fast from frustration to overwhelming pleasure. 

“Fuck, Jerry-!” she cries in a long, low moan.  

It’s almost musical.  His own private concert, he thinks to himself with humorous exhilaration.  “Is this what you wanted?” he coos, lips turned up in a smile.  “Did you want me to take care of you?”

“Yes-” Mabel gasps, fingers twisting in his hair desperately as she arches.  “Fuck yes, yes, yes,  please, so good-!”

“Better than anyone else, right?” he adds with casual cruelty, his smile sharpening like a knife against a whetstone.  He thrusts roughly a moment before he strokes them against that sweet spot in her pussy that has her eyes rolling back in her head.  “I can give you more with two fingers than that moron can give you with his whole body.  Remember that the next time you start getting ideas,” he sneers, watching as she rocks against his hand.  

Wet, sloppy sounds echo in his ears as she moans helplessly, pulling him down into kisses broken by her moans.  Every time she grinds her clit against the heel of his hand her moan gets pitchy, her foot kicking against her pillows.  Mabel arched against him, cheek to cheek as he coaxed soft moans from her lungs.  Her breath brushed his ear as she clung to him, his jaw clenched.  “Fuck, fuck-” she mumbles against his lips, hardly kissing anymore and just lapping at him like a needy dog while she moans curses interspersed with his name.  It actually wasn’t too different from how she usually communicated with him, when he thought about it.

A small laugh trickles out of him, feeling her pussy clench up on his digits.  God, was she tight, the walls of her cunt swollen with arousal for him.  Gripping his fingers with every stroke, she was practically sucking him in, as if she were hollow and needed Jerry to fix it.

Just moments ago she’d been complaining, whining about how he wouldn’t hurry up.  Now he has her mewling for him with just two fingers, her pussy practically milking them in desperation for his attention.

“Are you listening to me?” he asks patiently, working his fingers quicker, rougher against the soft spot.  Her hole snaps tight around him like a vice as she whimpers, blinking up at him with blurry eyes.  “Pay attention, will you?  This is important.”

Mabel’s moans cracked like lightning, high and broken as her cunt pulsed around him. “Jerry-!”

“The next time,” he begins, murmuring against her cheek as he presses a kiss to it, “you get so needy you’re ready to call up some random idiot that won’t know what he’s doing, remember that I’m the one that made you feel like this with one hand.”

Head falling back, Mabel moans, scratching at his back through his shirt.  “Jerry-  Mm, fuck, I’m going to cum…”  she moans, teeth scraping the shell of his ear.  

Air leaves him in a wheeze as he quickens his hand, her hips meeting his eagerly as he pulls back to look down at Mabel.  She’d fiercely fought him for so long, but now she trembled as she fucked herself on his fingers.  “Is this what you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yes!” she whines, high and hungry.

“That’s right,” he hears himself say, eyes locked on her as he feels the walls of her cunt clench in uneven little twitches.  “Use my hand to make yourself feel good…  You look so beautiful right now, Mabel.”  He bows his head, taking her nipple into his mouth.

It’s her undoing, Mabel howling into the night her pleasure.  Jerry lets her hips ride her through it, meeting her every movement generously, working her through as her slick orgasm drips down his wrist to the sheets below.  Her sweet pussy clutches his fingers, quivering with every stroke as if begging him.  God, what would she feel like if he’d actually fucked her?  Just feeling her cunt suck at his fingers made him sweat.

It wasn’t long until Mabel was whimpering under him in overstimulation.  With a set jaw and an awful idea taking shape in his mind, Jerry resettles against the bed, bracing himself before plunging his fingers harshly against the oversensitve sweet spot that had just earned him a wet hand.

With a yelp, Mabel’s legs jump, trying vainly to close only to put more pressure on her already sensitive clit.  “Fuck!  Jerry, what are you-?!”

Grinning at her wide-eyed expression, Jerry doesn’t just stroke his fingers into her.  He fucks them into her with brutal efficiency.  Her walls squeeze him with unrestrained hunger.  There was no way he could just leave it at that.  He had to make this memorable if he was going to have the experience cut through the haze of the hangover she was sure to have in the morning.

“No, fuck, Jerry-!  Too-  Ah!  Too much!” Mabel cries out, clutching his shoulders tightly as he rocks his wrist faster, more determined.

“You can handle it,” he hears himself purr, mesmerized as he rambles.  “Just one more, sweetheart, you can do that for me, can’t you?  You need a little more; I can feel it.  This mouth is a lot more honest, isn’t it?  You’re tightening up on me, again.  I can feel it-”

Mabel shakes her head, tears pricking the corners of her eyes before streaming down her face.  He tastes salt when he kisses her cheek.   “No, no no- Fuck!  Too much!” she hisses, glare suddenly softening in the wake of what he’s sure is his own adoring expression.

“Shh…  It’s okay,” Jerry reassures, pressing more insistently against her orgasm swollen walls. Her fingers tighten in his hair before they come down on his arms.  “I can feel how much you need it.  Just let go, Mabel.  It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Hesitantly, she blinks up at him before nodding.  She doesn’t settle so much as she gives in, hips trembling as he fucks her with his hand.  “So good,” she whimpers against his mouth as she turns her face to his.  Her eyes glisten as she looks into him, drunk with passion.  “So fucking good for me, Jerry.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, tilting his head as he watches her hole twitch around his fingers, the muscles in his arm bunched and sore as they carry out his mission.  “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

“Fuck-!” she cries from a particularly devious stroke, though her next words leave him breathless.  “Thank you, Jerry,” she moans, and he knows this is what will haunt him the most when he leaves.  If this never happens again, if she avoids him until the day he dies, Jerry is going to hear those three words echo in his ears on his deathbed.  “Thank you, thank you-!  Shit, that’s so fucking good-!”

She screams his name so loud he almost doesn’t know what she’s said, shocked by the volume of her voice and the sheer amount of liquid rushing down his hand.  He’s soaked to the wrist in her fluids as she cums, every pulse of her cunt bearing a new gush against his hand.  He rocks her through it, murmuring placations and reassurances in her ears that he’s not sure she hears, with the way her head falls back.  

A strange, high noise leaves her when he slips his fingers free, somewhere between a hiccup and a moan.  Whimpering as if wounded, Mabel twitches on the soaked bed, limp and wrung out.  Dead to the world around her, Mabel’s legs fall open and spread, baring her red, abused hole to Jerry as he watches it twitch with sensitivity.  His hand is numb and he flexes his fingers, working the static out of them.

Blinking, Jerry looks up, watching Mabel’s half covered chest rise and fall in shallow, even breaths.  “...Mabel?” he calls cautiously.

No response.

“Mabel?” he tries again, shaking her shoulder.  She only whines, wriggling against the touch.  Her eyes remained closed, breathing steadily.  Her mouth parted, drool already joining sweat on her pillowcase, one tit popped free of its satin prison.

A disbelieving laugh leaves his lungs in a huff at the sight of her sleeping form.  Jerry looks around at the messy room, the smell of a good fuck hanging thickly in the air.  His mind slowly catches up to him, the amused smile washing from his face.  Mabel’s room really was messy.

Mabel’s room.

He looks down.

Mabel’s clothes.

He turns.

Mabel, sprawled spread eagle and sated on her bed, a large wet patch bloomed on her mattress that would no doubt stain.

Mabel, Mabel, Mabel.

Jerry’s lips drew into a tight, thin line as numbness washes over him like a freezing wave.  Carefully, he takes the corner of her balled up blanket and draws it over her up to her chin.  There’s not even a twitch.  She lets out a snore.  He might have laughed if it felt possible.  Making his way to the door, he tries not to remember how everything looks in Mabel’s home, the way the floorboards squeak in some spots, or how much it smells like her, or the worn look of the door handle where she’s probably turned it before to let someone else help her inside.

Instead, Jerry calmly and simply unlocked his car.  He opened the door, sat down in the driver’s seat, and closed the door.  He did not turn the car on.  Instead, he looked down at his hand.  The wet rivulets gleamed, as if he’d dipped his hand into a spring and accidentally splashed himself up to the middle of his forearm in silver moonlight.

His belt buckle was undone before he knew what he was doing, his hard cock in one hand and his tongue lapping at the other.  She was so sweet.  Jerry moaned, sucking his fingers as he closed his eyes.

What if he had stayed?  What if he hadn’t pushed her off of him in the car?  Would he have pulled the lever that let the seat fall back?  Would she have gone straight for his pants, let him bounce her on his lap, let him feel her squeeze his cock?  Or would she have gotten demanding?  Would she have slung her legs over the headrest and let him drink straight from the source?

God, she tastes divine.

Even just from the sample that clung to his fingers.  Sweet and tangy, flavor bursts across his tongue as he pulls his lips down one finger, cleaning it off.  He has himself in a death grip; there’s no foreplay, no teasing.  Mabel had been teasing him all night and he needed relief now.  

Fantasies scrambled his thoughts in flashes of ideas and visions of her just moments ago, writhing in his arms.  His hips meeting hers as he fucked her over his desk so hard she’d have bruises from the force.  Mabel’s throat tightening as she gagged on him, looking up at him with that fierce, unwavering determination.  His hand in her hair, her tongue flat against his dick.  Mabel’s thighs wrapped around his ears while he sucked her clit, fingers pumping into her as he gently worked her through orgasm.  The way she’d moaned his name, begging so sweetly for him to fuck her with his fingers harder and deeper.  Jerry was dizzy with the thought of her moaning like that again and he wondered if he could get her to beg like that again with his cock, if he could make her voice get pitchy or if she’d destroy him in some new, undiscovered way when she felt him sink into her wet pussy, splitting her open, feel her milking him as she came, legs twitching and his name on her lips and since she was so, so good for him he’d tongue her clean, just him, all for him, say my name, sweetheart-

He wanted to lick her until she cried.

Thank you Jerry!  Thank you, thank you, thank you-!

Jerry came with a choked noise, halfway between a yelp and a whimper, spilling his seed over the already stained band shirt.  White flashed behind his eyes, fist tight as thick cum spilled down over his knuckles in shots, until he could give no more.  

He sat there, alone in his car, staring into the darkened window of Mabel’s front window.  Ragged breaths pulled through his lips, fog beginning to condense on the bottoms of the windows.  He reeked of sex and alcohol in a way he hadn’t in years.

He looked at his left hand, painted white with his own semen.

He looked at his right hand, sticky with drying drool and Mabel’s juices.

Jerry looked out the windshield.  

“I am so fucked.”