DANCE YOUR HEART OUT

Even the slightest whisper of her finger across his chest sends shivers throughout his whole body. Barely no time at all and he’s back playing the horny teenager again, the least little touch from her lighting him up and pushing him closer and closer to crazy.

“God fucking damn, Trita Airin.”

His voice is shaky as her finger moves down his chest and he gulps hard.

“You always did have those magic fingers, didn’t you.”

The sly smile only gets to stay on his face for a second before he presses his face back to hers, pulling desperately at her bottom lip, feeling the soft skin give under his teeth, pulling it to stretch until she moans into his mouth.

He pulls her shirt over her head too, not even stopping to comment on what he sees, immediately pressing his face to her chest, humming into the soft spot where her cleavage presses against him. It almost slows him down for a minute, almost. Remembering how she’d held his head to her chest and let him fall asleep that night he’d gotten in some awful fight with Kvanne, had snuck out, and climbed up the window at her house. How she’d done the same thing so many more times after that. This is the most comforting place he’s ever had, but he feels too desperate to waste too much time on comfort now. Something tells him they’ll make time for it later.

He’s trying to unclasp her bra behind her back, and he can feel her laugh tumble in her chest, and although he knows she’s laughing at him, he can’t help but laugh with her. In high school he’d pout, get mouthy when she’d make fun of him for not being able to undo her bra to save his life. Now it just feels sweet, a welcome inside joke between the two of them, let out in this space that he thought would never get to exist again.

If they weren't already working each other up, there would be something sweet to the way he presses his face right into her chest, but right now feels anything but slow and sweet. It still feels loving, but in a desperate way, like coming up for air after your lungs start burning underwater. It's greedy, hungry, necessary to survive. So, rather than comfort, she feels a chill go across her skin at the feel of his eyelashes brushing softly right in her cleavage, the hit of his breaths out of his nose against her.

"No, stop, we'll be here all night. I remember how this goes."

She laughs softly at him, kissing the top of his head, lingering there to breathe him in, feel his wet hair against her face. Just to be a playful little jerk about it all, he doesn't move his hands from the clasps, even when she's reaching behind her to undo them herself. They playfully fight with each other, both laughing like kids at their little battle.

But some things never change, she wins by throwing her body against his, pushing him back against the wall, letting his face stay right at her chest like they both clearly want, but using the impact to make his hands slip off of her. With him no longer in the way, it's a simple task to get the clasps open, the hardest part is leaning away from his face so she can slip her bra off, tossing it to the side to join their discarded shirts.

She can hear him click his tongue, see a flash of something hungry go across his face, and that gets her smirking right back at him.

"Oh? Like what you see still? I'm glad I haven't changed too much for you."

Hooking her fingers under the waistband of his pants, she works at his belt, everything just coming back naturally. It just slips out through the loops with ease, the buckle smacking the floor with a loud metal clank that echoes in the room around them. The button of his pants is the next to follow, then the rest of his pants really don't stand a chance, tugging right off of him like they wanted off on their own.

He thinks if this was anyone else, in any other situation, he’d be ashamed at how desperate and hungry he is. But then again, no other person or place or thing could work up these feelings in him. It’s purely her.

“Fuck, Trita.”

He doesn’t punctuate the words with anything else, just lets his raw tone and the pinch of his eyebrows do the talking for him as she works his pants down. The hard edge of the open zipper catches against him and he curses again, hisses at how sensitive he’s become so quickly, worked up almost into a sweat just from having her in his lap. If Dolan has ever had kryptonite, this would be it.

He pulls one of her nipples into his mouth to take his mind off how hard he is, working it over with his tongue, feeling her chest give under him with the quick little jerks her body has to make like this, attached to him, to dispense with his pants altogether. He’s working at hers too in a heartbeat, as soon as her position will allow him too, and thank God theyre sweatpants, infinitely less troublesome than her bra. But her underwear is something different altogether, something lace and scant and he nearly gasps against her nipple as a thought pops into mind.

“Hey, you- you still got that one, you know the slinky black leather thing-“

He doesn’t have to describe it any further, she just leans her head back and laughs, a full and beautiful sound and he’s sure he’s never heard anything so sweet in all these years apart.

"Wait, you mean- The one that had the opening? It didn't cover anything, just had the thin straps that went along the inside of my thighs?"

She laughs at him while trying to keep her mind functioning enough to keep up with him. The work he's doing to her already sensitive nipple already has her hips bucking some. There's some satisfaction when he gets her pants off, but how he pauses and struggles some with the tight lace of her underwear builds some frustration.

"You really are an idiot. You ripped those, remember? That one time Kvanne wasn't home and you decided it would be fun and daring to see how loud we could get in your room, like tempting fate."

He's still taking a teasingly long time with her situation so she decides to make him pay for it. She sits back, rocks herself down against his hips. It may be her plan of attack, but it has her moaning right along with him because she can feel him immediately, feel the tip pressing up against her, hard enough that she can feel it push some of the lace of her panties up into her.

Trita can't tell if it's because he's that hard already or she's that wet already. Maybe both. Definitely both. This feels like some wet dream but the most vivid one she's ever had. One she's not too keen to wake up from.

"You. You used to be so good at ripping things off of me, at pulling my hips to yours. I had to buy new underwear nearly every week. Don't tell me you've gotten rusty."

It's really difficult to speak, especially as she starts moving her hips, dragging the irritating fabric of the lace all over him, trying to really push him over the edge. He slips and rubs up where her thigh meets the heat, giving them both a moment to gasp as their skin connects, but she won't let him have that satisfaction. She reaches down without a trace of shame, using her hand to pull him back to the lace, to keep working over him there.

"Mmmm. And we never- shit. We never got a replacement set?"

It's so damn hard to talk through this, the way she's working him over, reminding him more and more reasons why he could never be happy with anyone else. She grabs at him with confidence, her hand wrapping and pulling with that same muscle memory, like they were destined to always be able to remember how to do this.

His teeth are almost chattering against each other now, and he's trying to keep his jaw clenched tight against the overwhelming sensations already. It has the opposite effect that she'd probably been going for. He has to let go of her underwear altogether and wrap his arms around her body, holding her tight to him, pressing his eyes closed.

"God, you gotta. You gotta slow down if you want me to accomplish anything. I️ actually haven't done this in... in a while."

It only brings a hint of embarrassment to his cheeks after he's said it. It's not like it matters, this is like riding a bike with the two of them, except much much better. But something about how true that fact is, at how overwhelming and amazing this is, after so long. It makes him feel even more like a teenager again, hints of the same feelings and sheepishness from that first time they'd undressed each other. Back then, she'd been the one to take his shirt off first, too. Some things you can always count on.

He tries to find a moment of clarity, a moment in time when her hand against him isn't shorting his brain out, and he reaches back down, crunches and maneuvers himself to get the band of her underwear between his teeth, pulling against the part in his hand until he hears that deep ripping. A satisfied hum purrs in his chest as he finishes with them altogether, one hand slipping up under her backside and squeezing, pulling and pushing her across his lap to increase the friction, to spread the wet warmth across both of them.

"Well, damn, for being out of practice, you sure worked your teeth into the mix fast."

She desperately tries to laugh through it with him, to not moan so much that she cant get a word out. But he is and is making it incredibly hard, incredibly appealing to just let go, fuck all this playing around and teasing, get right to what they want to do.

But she lets herself get caught up in the moment, get swept away by the way his hands move her hips, dragging himself all around between her legs. Her head rolls to the side, pressing her cheek against her shoulder, slightly ashamed she's enjoying this so much already, but also not caring because she is very much enjoying this.

Yeah, she remembers this. The two of them share a lot of preferences, don't they? They both enjoy watching the other get a little desperate, get pretty forceful. She's more than content to let him move her around, letting her hips sway with where he guides them, feeling how he'll press into the folds, open her up, just to jerk her off to the side as if trying to make sure every possible inch of him is covered with the wetness that's dripping from her.

Her brow knits some, jolting a bit on one of those particular passes where he stays pressing her open a bit longer than the other times.

"You."

Her eyes flick down to their hips then back up to his face quickly her cheeks red. She hasn't felt this embarrassed since they snuck into that junkyard.

"Were you... Always that big?"

She knows there were nights she dreamed about him, but she definitely thought she was exaggerating, living some female fantasy. Apparently not. Even just feeling the tip of him there has a sweat building on the back of her neck, has the muscles in her thighs shaking with anticipation.

He just laughs at her, something low and so damn seductive that she bites her lip at the sound of it only to gasp when he slaps himself up against her with a wet sound.

No, she's not here for anymore teasing, not like that. Trita slams her hands against the wall behind him on either side of his head, leaning her face in towards him, flicking his bottom lip with her tongue. Then pressing his top lip up with her tongue to open his mouth, never giving him the satisfaction of fully putting her lips back to his.

He gets caught up in trying to chase her, trying to grab her lips with his teeth, and she leads him along as she starts to slowly rock down against him, slowly bring her hips down towards his, feeling around for the fit. When she's sure she's found it, she lets him win, lets him pull and bite hard on her bottom lip in the same moment she sinks down onto him.

They both moan against each other, but she keeps moaning, gasping, as she has to bounce herself down quite a few times just to stretch herself open enough to take all of him.

A string of things comes out of his mouth on its own, and he's not sure whether they're curses or some kind of hymn or other adoration, but he whines it unabashedly up into her mouth, brow knit and eyes closed, his brain barely able to keep up with how tight and hot she is around him, how she squeezes down on him so forcefully even from just trying to take him in.

"Trita-"

His voice is shaky and that's all he can manage before she starts slowly working herself up and down on his lap, hands still firmly planted on the wall to steady herself. His hands grab at her hips, taking handfuls of her so tightly her skin bends under his hands, soft and supple and pliant for his touch.

It takes a moment for her to get any traction, settle into any sort of rhythm. But once her slickness is spread all up and down his length, it helps them slip together more easily, helps her body accept him and stop resisting his size, stretching more and more easily to take him.

By then, her chest is bouncing in his face and he feels a little helpless under her- that old, familiar feeling that he can't get enough of, watching her work over him, not sure of what part of her he wants to grab more, moving from place to place, only succeeding in adding to the frenzy of it all. He stretches his shoulders, his neck, and sucks against her chest, gasping for air on every downbeat, suctioning red marks into her skin for all he's worth before she pulls herself from his mouth on every bounce.

It's already hot in the studio, sweat working up between the two of them, and over Trita's shoulder as she rides him, he can see their reflection in the mirror wall directly across from them. A perfect, unadulterated view of the best fantasy he's ever had.

"Oh, God. God, fuck."

His voice is getting more and more strained and his teeth come out to play against her skin, punctuating his whimpers and his dirty murmurs against her skin with pinprick bites that draw red to the surface of her pale skin for him to kiss against.

Trita huffs out of her nose ever every time she sinks back down on him, like the sheer length of him alone is forcing the air right out of her. Not that she minds, because feeling that same length, every agonizingly long inch of it, pull out on the downbeat has her gasping. Sure, she's doing all the work, swaying and thrusting down onto him, but every bit of him is making the effort worth it.

"Didn't you miss this, hm?"

Between her labored breathing, she manages to force out some words, hearing the quiver to them in time with how her muscles start pulsing and tightening around him.

"Did you miss Bunny-"

His eyes are locked over her shoulder, focused enough to make her turn, catching a glimpse of their reflection on the other side of the room. Even in the dim lighting, she can see the red handprints all along her backside, but the view of where they press down together is obstructed by the amount of space between them and the mirror.

"Are you admiring Bunny? You know, I was just thinking about watching you, too."

She lifts herself right off of him with a loud pop that has him whining immediately. Not that she'll leave him there for long. Trita wraps her arms around his neck, looking at him softly for a short moment before she nearly throws him down to the floor. There, sprawled out, she climbs over him, hover on top of him on all fours, no longer embarrassed to openly just stare down at all of his body.

"Wouldn't you like a closer view? I know I would. I haven't see it in so long, it had to stretch me open so good. Don't you want to watch, too?"

Her hand slips under his head, fingers grabbing his hair, jerking his head back so his neck is arched and exposed, but, more importantly, so he's nearly face-to-face with his own reflection. There is one perk to being in a studio, there are mirrors on nearly every wall. No need to strain eyesight.

His eyes lock onto his reflection, then up to her mirrored form, so she makes sure to make a suggestive motion with her mouth, opening it to mouth at the air, let her eyelids nearly close.

"Don't watch my face. You have to watch me take all of you, watch me have to work myself down over your, listen to me whine and struggle because you're just so fucking big."

He seems to get the memo, his gaze moving from her mouth to where she teases his tip with her hips again. Sure enough, once she has his attention, she sinks herself back down onto him, rocking on her knees, angling her back this way and that to open herself back up and make room for him again. The longer this goes, the more the two of them swell and the harder it gets to pull off completely then press back down, but she manages.

"Oh my God, do you feel that? Do you feel how much I have to work for you? Fuck me, Dolan. Shit."

And, just as she promised, she whines and whimpers, really getting herself down onto him but immediately picking the pace back up when she's there, no slow rocking themselves back up to it.

He feels his head loll almost under her grip, every bit of his aggressive resistance to her draining out of him, making his eyes go half lidded and glassy as he watches her work him over, pushing her hips across him and up and over him over and over.

Even in the softer light, it’s easy to see how red and flushed she is- her chest, her ass, between her hips. All of it lights up in the mirror view on her pale skin, the perfect canvas for this.

He’d nearly forgotten how they used to do this. Of course he remembers the power play, the struggle. But the part that always got him, always wonder her the upper hand. The way she could always make him compliant and begging underneath her with that tone of voice, that dirty talk. That one word- Bunny.

He hums out with whine and whimpers, his face contorting against how strong the sensations are, how her every moment jolts up into him and makes every muscle he has quiver. It would be fucking embarrassing to not last even this long, but God if trying to make it as long as he used to isn’t torturous.

Maybe there’s another trick he can play, something coming back to him now. His view stays locked on the mirror, face angled against the ground, his mouth open and his tongue nearly hanging out in the mindless ecstasy of it. But he’s aware enough for this.

He reaches behind her body, back between his own hips and finds her tail between his fingers, the fur soft and plush and thick. He gives the whole thing a little squeeze in his fist just to watch her face light up, to hear the sound that squeaks out of her.

“Does... does Bunny still like that?”

He’s breathless and strained sounding, but he manages to slip with a wicked grin as her hips shiver over him.

The squeak is completely opposite any other seductive talk or noise she was trying to give him. It's high-pitched, airy, frantic. It embarrasses her immediately, face red from more than just the effort she's using to grind down onto him. Her wide eyes lack any sort of half-lidded alluring guard as her gaze locks onto his in the reflection, her chest heaving.

"You. You cant do that."

Trita shifts herself, sinks down onto him and holds there, keeping him up inside of her and not moving, trying to work it as a punishment, especially with how she can feel him twitching.

He responds to the threat by yanking her tail again, making her jolt nearly halfway off of him, off her spot of power in this play, squeaking out again, tagging this one with a frustrated gasp and sigh.

"Dolan. Fucking. Fox."

A low, frustrated laugh trails after it, mostly because, clearly, she still does like it. She likes it a lot. If he couldn't tell from the noises, he can tell from the way her legs shake, how she has to plant her hands on his chest to steady herself, and how she hangs her head, letting her hair curtain her face off from him as she tries to collect herself.

The frustrating part is because she can't top when he's doing this to her. Trita never minds switching, dividing the roles, but damn if his hand on her tail doesn't make her body immediately try to kick into bottom-mode.

"Do you want Bunny to rock every drop of cum out of you or not? You... You know Bunny can't do that when you're being like this."

Her voice is hoarse already. To think there were nights when he'd have her squeaking and making noises like that for hours, but here she is only a few minutes into this side of things and her throat is already irritated. It definitely has been a while.

He gives a little chuckle to match hers, his own breath shaking as he jerks his hips a little to try and find any kind of relief.

“Seems like Bunny might be a little rusty too huh?”

The laugh and the pointed, focused look into the mirror that follows is teasing and dirty, but something about it is still soft and sweet, clearly relishing in every moment they spend remembering something from the old days, something clearly not so old as they were inclined to think before.

He gives her tail another few good gropings over, smiling up at her reflection as her eyes roll back slightly, her airy and desperate noises echoing off the walls of mirrors around them.

“But I️ guess I️ can’t be waking up anyone, huh? Not like when we were kids making use of every minute we had home alone.”

When he lets go of her tail, his hands go to her chest instead where she hangs over him trying to catch her breath. He grabs one in each hand, fingers working to get a good grip against how much he has to hold, before pulling, using her chest as leverage to jerk her upwards to get her moving again, start the friction back between the two of them.

“Don’t worry. I️ remember how to be good for Bunny.”

He lets his head relax against the floor again, lip caught in his own teeth as he waits for the backlash he knows is coming, for Trita to take the reigns back and make him pay just how she knows he loves.

It takes her longer than she'd care to admit to collect herself again after his playing with her tail. It nearly gives her whiplash to be on top and in control to her body craving everything the most devoted bottom would want just to be thrown back into the role of top again.

"Honestly, fuck you."

She gladly moves with him, body jerking at the rough push and pull of his hands, fingers digging into her breasts. The rhythm is annoying inconsistent but it's forceful and demanding enough that she can get over that for the time being, just really let herself feel his impatient wants. He certainly still has her eyes rolling back with his work.

"Why do you do this to Bunny? After she's been so generous to you."

Her hand fumbles around off to the side a bit until she hits the object she's looking for, her lips quirking into a smirk, enjoying how his eyes are already rolling back at the sound of her cracking the leather against itself.

"I don't want to hear this backtalk. You need to learn to appreciate Bunny again. It looks like you forgot how to let Bunny just fuck you so raw, take all the cum right out of you for herself."

Trita shoves his belt roughly between his teeth, reaching back and clasping the buckle behind his head, tightening it to the point she can see his lips shake as they struggle to fit around it. She tugs his head one way then the other, letting the tension build all along his scalp from the pressure.

"If you wanted to hold Bunny down, you should have said something sooner. It's too late now. Bunny wants to take what she wants, not give you anything."

Leaning down, she runs her tongue flat up him, from the bottom of his chest up to the tip of his chin, licking her lips to taste his sweat, humming in satisfaction. She goes for a second taste, moving slower this time, moving as slowly as she moves her hips down, pressing their hips flush together, really having to shift to take him all and keep him there but she manages.

From there, she doesn't pull off or push down onto him, instead she rocks from where she is, moving her hips forward and back to tug him repeatedly, quickly, never letting him get the relief of a downbeat. No, he's hers to tug and jerk around inside of her how she pleases now.

He mumbles from behind the makeshift gag, feeling spit accumulate as his mouth waters. The swatch up his chest that she’d licked had provided a chill, a shiver as the air between their bodies hit it, but now he’s hot again, sweat beating at his temples as she rolls her hips around, spreading her weight out over him again and again.

He’s moaning and goes back and forth from eyes bulging to rolling to closing tight and when he manages to look up at her here and there, he can tell she’s enjoying her view, just like he is.

The tension in his gut is growing, he can feel himself twitching in her as she keeps forcing him to feel up inside her as far as possible, feel how she closes around him in every way, tight as she jerks him forward and back with little care.

The noises he’s making are pitiful and drool is making its way out from under the belt and onto his own chest, but that’s the least of his worries. His restless hands go to her hips, her waist, to try and pick her up and set her back down on him, stimulate some movement to push them along, but she sits down hard on him, clamps herself so hard that he can’t remove her. That alone earns a nearly wild howl out of him. Without the gag, he knows he would have woken everyone.

He’s mumbling incoherent things, made even more incoherent by the obstruction in his mouth. He’s begging her to give him something, anything, all the while gripping into her skin in the helpless frustration of feeling her around him, wrapping him tightly, but giving him nothing.

He even sits his hips up off the floor, lifts her whole body with his lower body, trying to shock her or force her into moving, but she adjusts, staying on him like an experienced rider would wait out a bucking bronco.

“Fuck, please.”

It comes out garbled but more sincere, and he locks into her eyes to show her how truly ready he is to be good, to plead with her, to give her whatever she wants.

"Fuck, Bunny has missed that look."

She's smirking at him, something cruel, wicked, watching him struggle to get what he wants, but she can't help but feel a small spark of something fond jolt like a bolt through her. They've done this so many times, she's seen him look up at her like that more times than she can count. It was her high years ago, damn she's missed this.

"You want Bunny so much, you want to move Bunny how you want, but you know that will just make her mad. It's not about you. It's about what Bunny wants, when Bunny wants it. You're just here to make her feel so, so good, to get her moaning and tensing, making those pretty little orgasm sounds. That's all you're good for. Did you forget?"

Trita clicks her tongue almost as if she's disappointed in him, but it doesn't stop her from leaning her face down to his so he can see her expression better. God, he's a mess and it's such a good look on him. No one should be allowed to look that appealing when they're the one tied down and desperate, but he does.

Her teeth grab his upper lip, playing with it, enjoying how he can't even try to pull back from her and enjoy her mouth himself. Then, she slips her tongue under the belt, tastes the inside of his mouth, gets more of his drool on her tongue than she expects. It's a tight fit but she uses the to her advantage, pushing and pulling her tongue in and out over and over, keeping eye contact with him the whole time, hinting at everything he wants just with the wrong parts of their bodies.

"You like that. You want Bunny to do that? Hm?"

By the time she pulls her face back from his, there is a thick string of saliva that connect her tongue to his bottom lip, light catching off it even in the dark studio.

"You're so lucky you told Bunny that you haven't done this in such a long time and that Bunny has missed having such a big, long toy all to herself."

She snatches his wrists, pinning his arms down beside his head, letting it angle her chest right above his face but she keeps looking down at him like a cat toying with its food. He whines something incoherent again, nearly sending a chill down her spine, but she just flicks her tail back and forth to relieve that tension.

"Bunny is willing to pity you. Tonight. You better tell me how much you love this, love Bunny, how she's saved you from yourself. Use all those pretty words I know you were thinking whenever you dreamed of Bunny while pulling on your own cock."

That's the only warning she gives him just before she picks her hips right off of him and slams herself back down without a second's pause. She keeps pumping herself on and off of him mercilessly now, hearing his wet back slap against the studio floor under him.

Fuck, he's so hard and with how she's angled, he's hitting just the right spot. She can't even tell how far in he is, what's her wetness or what could even be his at this point, there are just so many sharp, slick noises, she can't even think. There hips making contact alone is loud enough by itself, but everything else on top of it... The studio is loud. Not a single second of silence.

Trita starts huffing from the effort, from the strain, from pushing past how her legs shake, how her palms sweat and make it difficult to keep his wrists down so she has to dig her nails into his skin. She hangs her head for a moment, her long hair draping onto him, sticking to his sweat on his neck and chest. That doesn't last long because he's twitching right up into her and her muscles are pulling on him, she has to throw her head back and moan up to the ceiling.

It really has been a hell of a long time since she's done anything like this, but something tells her that the real reason it feels like this, feels like she's losing her mind and loving it, is simply because it's him. Dolan has always made her feel like this. Top, bottom, doesn't matter. He has everything she craves all in one person and, God, if that does set a white hot haze in her mind, has her sounding like an animal as she thrusts down onto him over and over to take what she wants. It seems like he's enjoying her desperation too.

God, after all these years, she’s still got his number. He’s played the part for so long, like he’s had it all together, like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything. But here he is all the same, back under her where he belongs, letting her see through the facade.

He’s saying things now that his brain doesn’t even register, telling her how tight she is, telling her how many times he’s jerked himself off over the years just thinking about her, pretending she was there. How good she makes him feel, how helpless he is without her. How the only purpose he’s ever had, the only time he’s ever felt like he had a reason for anything, is when he’s under her getting those noises out of her.

It all comes out garbled against the belt, of course, but it doesn’t stop his dedication and his intense urgency, the tendons in his neck straining to talk through the unbelievable high feeling she’s thrusting onto him. Spit runs from both sides of his mouth as he refuses to stop talking, desperate words punctuated with moans and whimpers that have him shutting his eyes hard against this feeling, her.

Every time she bears her weight down hard on him, he feels a rush, a shiver up his spine that grows every time until his stomach feels so tight, the muscles so rigid and tense, that he wonders if he might die.

God, how many times has he tried to forget this at the bottom of a bottle, on a dark back road at midnight doing twenty over the speed limit? It had been one thing when they were kids. Theyd been fooling around at first but then they hadn’t, they’d fallen in love. Even then, things were different. Theyd been each other’s first time, and their hundredth time after that. Dolan never thought in a million years that he’d be with anyone other than her ever, in his whole life.

And then he wasn’t. That old saying, you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone? He could have invented it himself. Once Trita was gone, only then did he realize the wholeness, the perfection that he’d lost. How irrevocably shattered he’d become that night. And then, he’d accepted that he could never be whole again.

So even then, back when they were kids in love on top of the world, it hadn’t even felt like this. This is something different, a high altogether unmatchable. He knows now, understands how dark and cold and terrible the world is without her. He knows now just how much he has to have her by his side, on top of him, in the passenger seat. He knows how empty it feels any other way.

He keeps twitching inside her until the spasms start to grow into something more. He tries to warn her, tries to tell her through the leather between his teeth, but his voice is so strained and desperate and his face is so flushed and everything is so damn wet and loud and mine numbingly good. Every muscle he has tenses and then jolts and he has to bite into the leather hard to keep his gasped moan from waking the whole town as everything between them gets hot and infinitely tighter.

There are all sorts of sounds and formless words tumbling out of his chest, spilling in a jumbled mess out of his mouth. It's possibly the most beautiful sound she's ever heard, she doesn't need to understand him to know what he's saying. The intent, the submission, the obedience and giving her everything she asked for then some, is so obvious that all of it alone could probably push her to the inevitable climax of this all.

She leans up off of him, but she brings his wrists with her, guiding them to where she wants him to hold, on right back on one of her breasts, shamelessly coaxing him to move his hand around, to push and pull as it rests right in his hand like that's where it belongs. The other hand, she brings to her mouth, bending a few of his fingers, pushing them past her own lips.

They taste like salt and rain, some odd combination of the weather outside and his sweat. It's not bad, actually, she finds herself enjoying it, leaning her head back so he can reach further in, see all the muscles and tendons in her neck bulge and flex as she mouths at him, lets her tongue wander as his fingers press all around. God, he tastes good. She keeps her grip on his wrist to keep him there, but she's also holding onto him for dear life, eyes rolling back, her drool coating his hand, slipping out the corners of her mouth. Occasionally, he'll try to reach too far back and she'll choke, cough against his hand, but it's always followed by a loud moan.

And the moan is followed by her tempo reaching the highest yet, dropping down onto him with all the force she has, throwing her body weight onto him. Her breasts are bouncing from the movement, her ears swaying, the floor sounds like they're about to rut a hole into it.

For a moment of air, she backs his hand from her mouth for a moment, panting and gasping.

"Fuck. You're so- I'm going to be so raw. Fuck, Dolan."

She can't even get her thoughts straight to put together a cohesive sentence, much less a seductive one. Thankfully, she doesn't have to. He forces his hand back in her mouth with enough desperation that it jolts her head back, makes her neck arch . Her vision starts going dark around the edges as she huffs through her nose to keep up with everything, keep up with how her muscles clamp onto him, pull him back in every time she tries to pull him out.

She could stay like this forever, this was how it was always meant to be. And damn if she's ever going to let it be anything but this ever again. He just fits up into her so tight and perfect, she could never get over him even if she tried. Years of him stretching her open in high school and her body still couldn't get used to him, couldn't stay stretched. They have a lot of catching up to do and forever to do it.

There is definitely wetness in her that isn't hers, she can tell by how there's a new hot line of sensation every time she feels his tip drag along all the pulsing muscles inside of her. The smart thing to do would probably be to get off now, but they were never smart. They knew what they wanted and she wants this, wants this familiar sensation, of knowing she's going to feel him all up inside of her even after he pulls out. They used to laugh and joke about it like two careless teenagers do, but now it means something more, and in a way she can't explain.

She lets his fingers keep pushing around, even lets his other hand grip her neck and hold her head still to let his fingers explore, adding some external choking in with the internal side of it. He's lucky she wants this too or else Bunny would have some strong words and consequences for him. As he's having his fun, she presses her hands down to his hips, pinning his body to the floor so he can't follow with her movements. Now, all he can do is just take her, take her with all the force she's driving onto him, no relief to be found, just hard, forceful, borderline painful thrusts down onto him, pushing him, hitting him up into her so hard that she can feel her eyes water.

Everything is sensitive- God, three, five times more sensitive than when this all started. How had this started, even? He’d come into her studio, yes... he’d... where had they been earlier that night? Somewhere together?

His brain is shorting out in all the best ways, and he can feel his tongue tongue start to slip against the leather, putting an end to his string of incoherent words marching in broken, incoherent sentences. Now, he’s just panting, his chest heaving up and down like a racehorse, his head arched back, pressed hard into the floor as he rides out the wildest wave of spasms yet.

His hand grips her chest hard, so hard he’s sure there will be a handprint when he releases it and the hand that was in her mouth goes shakily to her hair, trying to hold onto anything for any kind of stabilizing support.

When it all bursts between them, his moans take on a fever pitch, a desperate, fervent sound that pushes out of him despite his heavy gasping. It becomes too much to expend energy to moan and feel these feelings at the same time, so he just bites down hard on his belt and whines into it, eyes closed hard. His brain keeps repeating her name over and over again as the waves wash over him. Trita, Trita, Trita. He could repeat it to himself from here on out his entire life and never make up for all the time lost, but damn if he’s not still going to try.

His hips are spasming too, jerking up into her, despite how intensely sensitive it all feels now, how the heat and the pressure exploding have made him feel every little thing so much more- the pull of her muscles on him inside, the weight of her between his hips, her grip on his wrists, the pant of her breath on the skin of his arm. He’s got chills.

The waves wash over him and his head rolls to the side, cheek to the floor, the energy to hold it up all spent. He can feel himself smiling exhaustedly behind the belt as he breathes hard, aftershocks quaking through him, triggering more squeezing from her.

"Oh, no, you don't get to pass out that easily..."

There's sweat dripping down every inch of her skin, she can feel how it rolls from her neck and the way down her back. It only adds to the hot mess between both of their hips. She keeps her eyes on him, watching how his head turns to the side, but she can't move immediately. She has to take a long minute to feel this out.

He's panting under her so hard that it lifts her up where she sits even, and the slickness between them makes it hard to even sit still. They feel meant to be like this, like maybe they should never pull away. He's up inside her in multiple ways now and it's intoxicating. She lets go of his hips to grip his thighs, whining as she tries to ride out how he's still twitching, how her muscles refuse to let him out of her. It's tight, it's nearly painful, it's definitely uncontrollable. There may never come a day where she doesn't remember how it feels, how the explosion fills her up and the way she squirms for hours, sometimes days, after because she's, for starters, raw, and secondly can't forget this odd wet sensation.

Almost like a claiming, like this is his but also like she's claiming what she has for herself. With them, it's usually the latter and she sure as hell doesn't mind.

Before she ever even thinks of getting off of him, she slowly works herself back up him, undoing the belt, just letting it drop open under his head. Trita shoots him a tired but obviously satisfied, coming off of a serious high, smirk, cupping his jaw in one of her hands.

"I never thought I'd ever even see you again, much less... You should apologize more often."

Her laugh is shaky just like her breathing, but it doesn't stop her from resting her body on top of his, lazily kissing his mouth over and over, kissing at the red corners of his lips and the lines of drool dripping down to his chin. Waste not, want not.

"I don't really want to let you leave now. You were always such a cuddler after sex. But I guess you can't stay here, huh?"

He lets out a long groan, half from the high he’s still under and half from the thought of having to ever get up and leave.

“The lease is in your name, huh? Can’t you just kick them all out? Lock them... in a closet or something?”

An easy smile spreads across his face and despite this tired, worn out feeling, he feels so light. So... open. Like for the first time in years there’s nothing to hide, nothing to run from, nothing to deny. Nothing to hurt him.

He meets her halfway, still hungry for as much of her as he can get, until his neck and head are off the floor and he’s mouthing at her with all his reserves of energy.

“I’d say my place but. My nest is about as full as yours.”

His hot breath hits her neck as he kisses lazily, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to his body, laying there on top of him. Even if they can’t sleep here like this, on the cold, wet, hard studio floor where they’ll certainly be found, they might as well steal a few more moments. They sure as hell deserve it, he thinks.

Then, something clicks in his mind and damn, a few seconds ago he didn’t think he could feel any more whole than this. But it just keeps coming and coming, reminders of everything good with her.

“Hey. You, uh. You wouldn’t be up for a little ride, would you?”

He brushes some of the hair out of her face, strokes down the hair of her ear with a little bit of an awed admiration on his face. He’d forgotten how soft, how dense. How much he loves it.

“Cause, Aleric wasn’t lying. I️ did keep the corvette.”

"A ride?"

She doesn't bother pulling back to look at him, just staying where she is, where she can kiss him and he can kiss her, but the question is still there.

Not that she thought Aleric was lying in the first place, but it had caught her off guard just as much as it had caught the rest of the Fox family that Dolan kept the old car. And, again, not that she had ever wanted him to sell it, but she did figure that, after what happened between them, it would be the first to go. Thankfully, Dolan is full of surprises, even now.

"You mean like how we'd have fun in your car and then drive to spend the night somewhere in it? Maybe have a little fun again because we were young and full of energy."

The thought makes her laugh again, eyes roaming the empty studio. She can't think of any reason to stay here. Actually, she can think of a million reasons not to. Apparently, he's having the same thoughts about his place. It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to take the old car out for a spin, park it for the night, get close in the back.

"You'll have to pick where because I don't remember all the good places anymore. But I do want to wear your shirt, I don't want to put my own clothes back on. If you're okay with that then it sounds like we have a plan."

Something about her response gives him a boost, some kind of energy spike, and he pulls them both up to a sitting position, her legs still wrapped around his hips, so he can kiss at her lips properly, small pecks against every bit of cherry red skin he can touch. He knows he’s grinning like a kid again.

“Well my shirt is more than slightly wet, but you know what’s mine is yours. Clothing especially.”

His lips quirk up more mischievously and he goes to remind her about that sweatshirt in high school, the one she’d asked for so many times, the one that was his favorite and he was never quite ready to part with yet. The one that she’d snuck out of class early one day to pick his locker lock and steal, and then parades around in nothing but that sweatshirt for him that night when he’d climbed up to her window.

But none of that comes out now. He just wants to kiss her. The old days have had their time, their memories. Now he can’t stop thinking about this time in between that should have been theirs, that got caught up in lonely places they were never meant to be. He wants to just kiss her and give now it’s fair chance.

“I️, uh. Know a few good places we could park. We’re a little bigger than we used to be when we slept in the back together but I️ have a feeling we can still making it work.”

With how close their bodies are pressed together, he’s convinced they could make anything work. Still kissing at her face, her nose, even her eyelids, he hooks the collar of his shirt with his thumb and jerks it over closer to them, letting it hit with a wet slap against her back. She jumps with the contact and they share a quiet, intimate laugh.

“I️ think I’ve got a dry hoodie in the car somewhere.”

"Ugh. Fine. I'll wear this wet shirt for now, but I fully expect the hoodie once we get there."

It's not actually a complaint. Truth be told, she could tolerate the cold the shirt is going to press upon her if it meant he's got to stare at her all night, look at how the wet fabric clings, how he can see her hard nipples through it.

Then again, she's not looking to catch a cold. So she does the world a favor and slips her damp, lace underwear back on, but doesn't bother with her bra. There's no point. Dolan slips his pants on as she gathers up the rest of her clothes as to not leave a scene behind for the others to wake up to. A quick wipe of a towel to the floor, and everything is in order enough to leave.

Neither of them really say too much on the way to the storage unit. Sure, she makes some joke about how she's going to wind up dead, "crazy man kills ex-girlfriend in storage unit" on the front page of the news. He retorts back something along the lines of she would kill him first, and that gets them both laughing. Other than that, they're peacefully quiet, just holding hands, still catching their breaths.

This is it. This is how it should have always been. The two of them close, inseparable, greedily stealing every single moment for themselves, living out their sweetest dreams. They may have missed out on several years but there are several more left to make up for it.

In what seems like no time at all, they make it to the unit, Dolan opening the door with both embarrassment and pride, beaming both equally. Trita can't help but whistle some, walking around the car, running the tips of her fingers over the hood fondly. This feels like seeing an old friend after years apart. It's just as beautiful as she remembers it. There are a few more scratches from time, but, overall, it looks good, great, really.

"Wow. I. I really can't believe this is still here."

Curiosity and impatience get the better of her, moving her to open the passenger door, peeking inside. The sight gets her laughing, tail flicking under his long shirt as it presses to her body still.

"You still keep an absurd amount of change for tolls in here. I think that's good. Oh, and what do you know, you still have that rabbit charm we won at that festival in Seattle hanging on your rearview mirror."

That's all she really needs to make herself at home, plopping right down into the seat. Even the leather feels just right, gives in all the right places, molds to her perfectly. It's soft from so much use, more comfortable than any sport's car seat has a right being. It pulls a content sight right out of her, has her shifting down in the seat to cuddle against it.

"I've missed you. Well. And you, Dolan. But also the corvette."

He just stands there by the open bay door for a moment, smiling stupidly, an enamored observer of this magical moment that feels out of time, feels like something he’s dreamed of far too often to actually be real. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was beginning of senior year all over again, the first time he’d slammed that hood shut and told her he was tired of tinkering and they were going for a ride, dammit.

Watching her make herself comfortable, leaning forward to brush the lucky charm with her finger, all while wearing his shirt? That makes it all the more surreal. All these years the car has been sitting collecting dust, he’s never been sure of what exactly he’d kept it for. Until now.

He finally slides into the driver’s seat beside her, closes the door, and sits for a moment, allowing himself to take it all in again, this time with her beside him, how it should be. How all his memories and his dreams and his wildest fantasies for an impossible future had always told him was best.

“I️ haven’t actually driven this thing in... in a really long time.”

He leans over and turns the key and the engine roars to life, raucous and gravelly and everything a car should be, visceral and demanding. He actually laughs at the sound.

He’d driven it a few times since she’d left, but only a handful. Mostly he’d just come out here to sit in it alone, to remember, to torture himself like he thought he deserved.

When he pulls out and feels the tires crunch the pavement underneath, he thinks he might orgasm again.

“God. I️ never in a million years.”

He adjusts the rear view and then looks over to her, hand slipping into hers automatically. The muscles never really forget.

They pull out of the dark storage facility under the flickering lights and drive. He knows where they’re going without fully knowing, and the view, the winding road that relents to cliffside ocean scapes and a silvery moon overlooking them, is more than enough to compensate.

“You, uh. So dancing. In Europe. That Kynton guy?-“

Did he hurt you? It’s a stupid question Dolan already knows the answer to, but his grip gets tighter on Trita’s hand anyway. Part of him wants to brush it all under the rug, all the years between then and now that had separated them so cruelly. But he also knows that they’re different people than they were in high school. Heavier, more tired. And there’s no point in carrying those burdens alone when someone loves you.

He traces his thumb over her knuckles gently.

“So this thing with your rights and stuff. What’s with that?”

Her eyes trail down his arm to their hands, watching how his shakes slightly, how his fingers tighten, looping through hers, afraid to let her go but also afraid to think about the years he had.

And, right now, that fear all stems from Kynton. She should have known that man would be a constant mistake in more than one way. What she wouldn't give to go back to high school, to refuse his offer to be her new dance partner. Or, at the very least, go back and punch him when he showed up at dinner a few nights ago.

"He. Kynton. Well, the thing is..."

Hi, hello, I've missed you. I know we just had sex and we're getting back together after years of longing for each other, but listen to me and my issues. My abuse, my eating disorder, my loss of freedom, all of it.

All of that seems unwise to share, not that she knows why. Perhaps she's embarrassed she fell so low, maybe she doesn't want to burden him with her issues that she brought upon herself. Who really knows?

What she does manage is a sigh, sinking into the seat even further, gently running the nail of her thumb along the back of his hand.

"Trita Airin is also a professional name and, as such, has a sort of brand behind it, it's what I work under in the competitive scene. Or... Really, any major dance scene. Kynton, being a manager I stupidly trusted, talked me into signing the rights of that 'brand' to him. Please... Please don't ask me what I was thinking or what was going on. I barely remember anymore and what I do remember is less than happy, pleasant, or fun."

It makes her sigh again, finally looking away from their hands to stare out the windshield. Young and dumb is probably a good explanation to it, it would be about half the reason on her end that she would do something so stupid. Manipulative, abusive, and so on would be the other half of the excuse on Kynton's part.

"So. Basically, that means I can't do anything, can't enter a competition, can't work for a company, under my name unless he approves it. And, since I left him, I'm sure you know how many he's approved. Any business I do has to be under something else and even then it gets tricky because my name is associated with it. The studio is relatively safe because Caz is there and I can have him sign for some things, but it's not foolproof either."

Dolan listens as he takes one slow, lazy winding turn after another. Here and there he steals a glance at their hands, the way they're both leaning towards the middle, hanging over the natural boundaries of their seats to stay close to each other.

"How.. how long has this been for? I️ mean, have you looked into trying to fight it? I️-"

He cuts himself off, shaking his head, trying to calm himself down from the immediate anger and irritation that he gets when he thinks of someone, anyone, trying to control Trita at all. He'd learned enough about her over the course of growing up to realize that she couldn't, shouldn't, be controlled. That anyone who appreciated her would let all the beautiful things that naturally spill out of her do so unhindered.

He forces his train of thought to switch from asking question to trying to make suggestions, and even then he realizes it may not be the right time for it. He doesn't want her to feel stifled. God, they'd just had sex on the floor of her studio after practically being absent from each others' lives for years and years. He's not in any position to be giving advice.

But that's the one thing that, even over all these years, hasn't changed. When he looks over quickly this time, in the moonlight he sees her face, her head leaned back against the seat, comfortable and right at home, her eyes even nearly closed. She'd always been the charismatic one, the one with big dreams and the ability to get there. She'd helped him find his own big dreams, awakened a lot of things in him that would have never seen the light of day if not for her.

But between the two of them, she was always the one who was going to go places, make something amazing of herself. Dolan had never doubted it for a second. It's something he still believes in, almost more than in anything else.

"I️ mean, I️ know this isn't. I️ know you haven't, like. It hasn't been on your mind, I'm sure. But... there's still our joint stuff. The stuff under both our names. If you needed or wanted, anyway. I️ just. There's gotta be some way around all of this for you."