Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s the grossest June Helaena can remember. Stepping outside feels like opening the door on someone’s shower; a fucking blast of sticky steam to the face. Instant wet. Humidity, sweat, the smell of asphalt and cigarette smoke melting and running down your neck. It’s vile.

Too much for her, so Eyeball’s fucking dying. He runs ten degrees hotter than anyone she’s ever met, and in this shit, he tastes like a salt lick when she runs her tongue over the bolts of his collarbone. She could practically fucking drink him, she thinks, way he’s dripping. Right down his flat little tummy, overflowing his navel like a goddamn cup.

Air conditioning in this room is a fucking joke. Shit’s going full blast, and it’s rattling like Daddy’s lungs used to and spitting air about as well. Barely enough to make a difference when it’s working, and the thing shits the bed every other day. They’ve been in this rathole eight nights, and her brother’s had to pull it apart four times already. After the second, the front desk sent over some dude who looked like he just crawled out of a grave, and all the motherfucker did was blow on the filter like an old Nintendo game, so Eyeball’s been dealing with it since. He can rig it for a minute, but it quits eventually. Unit’s older than the maintenance guy. Not much anyone can do to resuscitate it anymore, he says.

It’s heaving now. Clacking and shaking and all sorts of sketchy shit, but if she’s honest, Helaena’s kinda glad. At least for the moment. Might be louder than she is; cover up some of her bullshit, so she can’t complain too much.

She’s not complaining at all, actually. Little tied up.

Literally.

Got Eyeball’s bootlaces wrapped around her fuckin’ ankles. Stretchy leather things, worn out and soft; they don’t hurt. They move a little with her, only dig in if she starts fighting with them, and she’s not. Just jerking a little bit, twitchy or something when he touches her right.

Other end of the stupid things are wound around the legs of the fuckin’ rickety bed. Queen sized thing, sits lower than either of theirs back at Mama’s, and the laces are just the right length to spread her wide. Hold her apart. Show him what he’s fucking doing to her, leaned up over her like this, playing with her fucking pussy like he just got it for Christmas.

That’s what it feels like, too. Fucking Christmas. Shitty room in a shittier motel, creepy fucking neighbors, and every day’s been fucking Christmas morning. Waking up wrapped around each other like that springy ribbon shit, getting into it whatever which way they fuckin’ want, whenever they fuckin’ want.

Too loud, probably, but no one’s said anything yet, and if everyone else’s fucking a/c sounds like theirs, that’s why, she guesses.

Good thing, ‘cause he’s got her going. Wriggling all over; hips and toes, fingers twisted all up in that ugly, scratchy, threadbare blanket. Can’t decide if she wants to bite his goddamn throat out or let him have hers. Both, probably. Leave this whole fucking place bloody.

drip
drip
drip

Sweat sliding down his pretty jawline, right onto her panting, swelled-up lip.

He’s three fingers deep, just holding her that way. Open. Staring like he’s fuckin’ watching porn or something, wide eye and dirty mouth.

“Fuckin’ wet like you get paid for it,” he says. “Christ. Look like I already fucked you up.”

He’s right. Fingers come out stickyslick and white like he’s playing in his jizz, and when he stuffs them in her mouth it tastes like it, too.

She fuckin’ purrs around them; sucks them hard and filthy because they’re good. They’re his, and he’s hers, and she can fucking have him like this now. Loud and nasty and all fucking night if she wants it, and they taste like him because they are him. They’re both of them. Fucker came inside her three times since yesterday, prettyboy moaning in her ear, and she doesn’t give a fuck; she’ll swallow her fucking Plan B with a shot of tequila because they’re free. They’re fucking free.

“Pussy needs to be fucked,” he says. “Tell me, Laney.”

“Mmhm.”

“Mmhm what?” Big hand curled around the back of her neck, yanking on her. Look at me shit, so she does. She looks. Whole mess of him, hot and wet and pink in his cheeks like a girl or something, hovering over her. Tall, so tall.

“I need your fucking cock,” she says. Reaches her mouth up; wants him in it, looking for a kiss, but he wants her talking shit to him. Just gives her a little nip, a pinch with his teeth before he pulls away.

Helaena pouts at him, but it’s quick; air hissing on the inhale when he pinches again. Fingers this time, between her fucking legs, right on her clit. Feels like brat shit. Like Waffle in the back seat of Mama’s Nissan, squeezing her fucking arm too hard because she won’t share her gummy worms.

“Ouch,” she says; legs trying to close against him, but of course they can’t. She’s tied, open, fucking right there for whatever bullshit he wants to do to her, and it’s pain but it’s not. Fuck, it’s not.

“Say it again,” he says, softer now. The next touch is an apology, something close; gentle fingertips rolling back over, and it’s so good she growls. Fucking growls at him and gets a sweaty-faced smile.

“I need your fucking cock,” she tries again, and that’s a growl, too. He’s got her inside out, pouring buckets it feels like, so slippery and swollen that the two fingers he starts fucking her with make tears spring up in her eyes. Frustrated shit.

Claws come out then. Rake down his shiny chest and make him almost swallow his tongue. She can see it; Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, sweat slipping by into the hollow just below, and she wants to crack his fucking neck bones with her jaw. Suck out his marrow and spit it back into his mouth.

“Bitch,” he says, lips half-cocked while blood beads up in jagged lines. It’s a smile though, wolf-y and delicious, and she could eat his fucking face, too, she thinks.

Just for a second, though; thought fast as his fingers inside her, fucking that goddamn mess all over her. It’s in the cracks of his knuckles, in his palm, slapslapslapping against her, and it looks so fucking hot when her eyes flick down that she almost comes right there. Big hands, big fucking fingers, wet to his motherfucking elbow almost. Sweat, probably, and her slop, and his goddamn arms are flexed; veins dilated with the heat and he looks so good she fucking bites him.

Bites him.

Needs him so bad she pushes up with her hands and grabs his goddamn shoulder with her teeth, it’s right there - right there - and it just makes him fuck her harder. Makes her screammoanhowl into his salty fucking skin, let go with the sound, and then he’s got her by the back of the head again.

Mouths all fucking mashed together; metal somewhere - copper, blood, the steel of that stud in his tongue - and it feels like a goddamn fist fight. Like they’re out back behind the bar, chipped teeth and busted ribs and skinned-raw knees.

Heat’s got them all fucked up, or it’s the fucking rail she did off his pretty wrist - right along that bluegreen line nestled up against his bone - before they started, or it’s the leather gnawing at her ankles every time she moves.

Whatever it is has him in a fucking chokehold, too. Pupil dark and dangerous and beautiful. Something predatory in there.

“Say it, fucking crazy bitch,” he tells her. Words down her throat with that fucking tongue of his, her hands sliding all over him, eyes stinging, hips twisting trying to get him deeperdeeperdeeper and then there it goes.

There it fucking goes.

Air conditioner shudders like it just got slapped, rattles big and sighs to a stop, and Helaena laughs against his teeth. Feels him smile as the room goes quiet, so thick their fucking jacked-up breathing echoes.

“Son of a bitch,” she says, half fury and half hilarity, then, “fuck my pussy, motherfucker. Before we fucking melt.”

Motherfucker does.

It’s a mess. A goddamn brawl. Slippery fucking hands, both of them trying to fucking get at it, his dick dripping at the tip so fucking bad it’s like he’s pissing on her when he bumps her with it.

He pokes her in her stupid thigh. Runs it up her cunt, makes her yelp when it grinds against her clit then leaves a streak on her belly. She can’t fucking hold still, keeps saying fuck me but won’t make it easy, won’t get out of her own damn way, disorganized and desperate and orchestrating chaos til he’s finally over it.

He pops her in her face. Sweaty little backhand swat to her cheekbone that sets her right; makes her turn on him like she’s gonna knock him out, but at least she’s quiet. Just her eyes like flinty knives, drawn and dirty, but her body stops. Hips stop. She pauses long enough for him to grab her; bend her knees and haul her up.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, and then there it is. All at once.

Dick so fucking big it’s a goddamn gut-punch for a second; she’s gotta wrap around his neck to stay steady, legs splayed all out with his hands under her ass, and that’s how it goes for a minute. Two of them tangled around each other like a pair of those fucking maneating plants, vines, whatever; that shit with teeth and tendrils and poison. All arms and mouths, bruise blooming in a handprint where he’s squeezing her, Helaena tearing at his goddamn neck like an animal.

Vicious shit. Noisy, even muffled against one another, all that fucking wet slapping and the escalating ah ah ah ah ah every time he moves. She’s fucking with him, too; harder, I can’t even fucking feel it while she’s definitely fucking feeling it, but it gets her what she wants.

Gets him to drag her to the end of the fucking bed, knees up and open so wide her thighs ache. Gets him to push her onto her fucking back, hold her down by her neck, get her fucking screaming for it. Hit that button that makes her mouth run all by itself, til it’s all out there. Naked as she is.

I’m such a fucking slut for you come on come on come on oh shit oh shit like that oh fuck you feel so deep shit shit shit yes yes yes like that oh shit come on motherfucker shit it’s so good

Got his mouth on her to try and shut her up, crouched over her so the angle’s more down than in, like he’s trying to pin her dumb ass to the fucking mattress, nose to nose and sweat on sweat and the air’s so goddamn thick all the sudden it feels almost solid. Every breath like summer’s fucking her throat; her brother’s tongue full of ash and coke and salt, blood smeared over her stupid tits from where she scratched him up, ankles rubbed raw, and he’s so fucking deep he’s gonna pop her goddamn eyes right out. Make her look just like him.

Fucking Christ he says, ‘cause now she’s got him by the fucking throat, too; both hands, she can feel his pulse like a fucking skittery animal running across her fingers, and she’s trying to fucking keep up with him. Move herself so the friction’s right, but it’s so goddamn fast, and she has no leverage all tied up, so it’s back to fucking mayhem. Jerking and shrieking and hollering at him, and someone’s gonna call the fucking cops. They are. It’s late; fucking world is hot and tired and cranky, and she just wants to get off before someone comes pounding on the door.

come on motherfucker come on come on fucking shit please please please

And then they fucking find it. She twists a little, feels it just right when he leans, gives him her best yes like that fuck and she doesn’t have to tell his stupid ass twice. One hand comes down to hold her there - God he’s fucking strong he’s such a fucking boss sometimes holy shit - and he doesn’t fucking move. Rhythm pace angle yes yes yes yes yes yes yes FUCK FUCK FUCK and then he’s fucking talking back to her, big old feedback loop, come on my fucking cock come on slut come on come on my cock and then it’s yes daddy yes, that word sitting in her mouth like it belongs there, and holy shit.

Whole body clamps down like it’s afraid he’s gonna go somewhere. Pulls him right in, feels like, and he puts his nasty sweaty fucking forehead right against hers and her goddamn bitch howl echoes off his teeth. Orgasm is one of those sharp, shattering things that makes her toe-to-head shake like a goddamn off-balance washing machine.

Must feel like he’s fucking a vibrator for a second, ‘cause he goes still to feel it, stops balls-deep in her cunt to let her wring it right the fuck out of him, little bit of a tremor in his arms, too.

Jesus Laney, Jesus Christ, fuck, and the kiss he gives her is so off-kilter, so goddamn sweet, it makes her laugh. Then she’s shaking and laughing and laughing and shaking and so tight from it all that she can feel him come. Empty his balls right inside of her again, little oh at the end of the kiss like he surprised himself.

Surprises her, too, maybe. Just because she can’t believe he’s got anything left, the way they’ve been at each other for the past fucking week. Two fucking horny off-leash dogs. But there it is.

Sweat and spit and blood and spunk and heat. Oh my god it’s so hot, and the two of them are stuck together like their fucking skin melted or something.

When he fucking pulls out, it’s a sucking sound like they just drained the goddamn tub, and her giggles get him going, too. He rolls off, just lays there, leaves her dumb ass tied to the bedframe, laughing so hard he shakes the damn mattress underneath them.

“Fuckin’ Chinese finger trap,” he snorts, and then she’s got tears. Wipes her hands over her face, and they come away with six kinds of mess, and he’s so red in the face she can only imagine what she fucking looks like.

And they just laugh, chests heaving, mouths open, jizz dripping, in goddamn hysterics until Helaena smacks him in the face with a slow, sloppy hand.

“Untie me, shithead,” she gasps. “I need a fucking cigarette. And some goddamn air.”

The knots are tight, and he’s got clumsy coke-and-cunt fingers, so he just ends up grabbing his knife off the floor and cutting her out.

Tries to pull some shit, too; sticks his damn face right between her legs like he’s gonna eat her wrecked-ass pussy, but she kicks him. Fucker likes to play in the mess like a toddler, but she’s in no mood. Needs her nicotine and to be able to breathe, and it’s so fucking stuffy in there he doesn’t even fight about it. Just nips the inside of her nasty thigh and helps her stand up.

She’s wobbly, losing crud down her legs, mottled across her chest when she looks down like this shit gave her a goddamn heat rash. Got a bruise ringing her nipple, little purple dots through it where her capillaries burst under his mouth. Marks all the fuck over her. Somebody’s six-dollar trick.

Helaena shakes her head and laughs as she tugs on her panties. Debates just stepping out fucking topless - it’s late, and it’s hot, and it feels like too much work to get dressed - but decides against it, thinking they probably woke half the damn place up, and if someone sees her boobs, Eyeball’s gonna have to slit their throat. Not worth the drama. She pulls on a tank top as he’s flipping on the overhead light, naked with his wet dick still looking for trouble.

“How are you still hard?” she snickers, watching him grab his t-shirt off the fucking cuck chair to wipe up.

He shrugs at her, smiling a little and mopping his damn forehead next, all ass-backwards. “Probably ‘cause you’re still half naked, slut.”

Left his little screwdriver on the windowsill by the a/c, and he reaches for it as she pads barefoot to the door. She rolls her eyes at him.

“Get it running again I’ll fucking blow you so good you’ll pass out,” she says, and he grins.

Helaena tosses him a cigarette and her spare matches as she opens the door, and he catches them both in his big old palm. “Prop that shit,” he says to her as the hinges squeal.

She smiles and jams a shoe in the gap.

Fucking shady place they’re at. Eyeball already had to put a knife to some asshole’s carotid four days ago; thought he was real fuckin’ smart. Had no idea who he was dealing with. Does now.

No one’s bothered them since, but they don’t wanna be stupid. He wants her in earshot. Wants to be able to get to her fast if he has to, so she gives him that.

She’s fumbling with her fucking cigarette, having a spat with the lighter when she steps out into the goddamn wall of steamy night air, and she doesn’t even notice the old bitch at first. Not til she opens her mouth.

“Was going to offer you one when you came out, but I see you have it covered.”

Helaena snaps her head sideways as she blows a stream of smoke, and there she is. Lady next door. Helaena’s seen her around - heard her through the wall once or twice - and exchanged a half-smile or whatever, but they’ve never spoken.

Older lady. Got her grays box-dyed reddish, but she needs a touch-up; roots coming in a good half-inch or so. One of those supermodel moles by her mouth that was probably kinda sexy when she was a little younger, but the skin around it’s lined now and looks droopy, so it’s not quite as hot as it could be. Fiftyish, Helaena guesses, give or take. Got that hard-living air around her, so she might be younger than she looks, but who knows.

She’s got a goddamn Virginia Slim between her immaculate fingers - professional nails, maybe, or if not, someone who’s had a lot of practice - and her bare ankles crossed. Sitting on one of those fuckin’ folding camping chairs that’s seen better days, too; fuckin’ O’Douls in the cup holder and her tits spilling out of her tank top. There are a couple of sad-looking roses poking out of her cleavage. Ink is probably older than Helaena.

Helaena’s pretty sure she’s a hooker; men in and out, usually different ones. Keeps weird hours. Room’s got weird noises. Not that she should talk.

Whatever. That’s fuckin’ motel life, she supposes. They all got some shit, else they wouldn’t be here.

Her first instinct is to smart mouth this ho, but she thinks better of it, standing out here in her ratty fucking underwear, spunk on her thighs and covered in hickeys. Probably smelling like she just left a gangbang in a locker room. Maybe even the reason this chick’s awake to begin with. Plus, the lady smiles when Helaena looks at her, and it’s warm. Maternal, almost; crinkly-eyed. Takes a couple of years off of her face.

Instead of being a twat, Helaena just shrugs. “Yeah, I’m good,” she says, waving her own smoke a little. Shifting foot to foot, suddenly a little embarrassed. Getting a reality check or something.

Inside, she can hear Eyeball banging around. Trying to get that fucking a/c unit apart.

Lady nods a little in the direction of the door, still smiling. Raises one of her fading brows. “Ever think of renting him out?”

Helaena balks. Gives her a sharp look, like what the fuck, and this bitch’s grin gets wider.

“He’s mechanical,” she explains. “I’ve seen him do more work around here in eight days than I’ve seen Geoff do in eight years.”

Geoff’s the maintenance guy. Hasn’t been back since he cleaned the filter with his gunky-sounding lungs and stripped a screw putting it back in.

They size each other up for a second, and there’s a twinkle in her eye that makes Helaena want to burst out laughing again all of a sudden. Mischievous and familiar, like she’s holding something in her damn mouth that she doesn’t want to spit out.

“He’s, uh… he’s definitely mechanical,” Helaena says. “Good with his hands. But I…” She stops. Thinks it over for a second, then just fucking goes for it. “I don’t like to fuckin’ share,” she finishes.

Neighbor lady laughs big, full-bellied and surprisingly girlish, and takes a big swig from her bottle before dropping Helaena a wink.

“Gotcha,” she says, then puts out her hand. Got nicotine stains inside her fingers that Helaena notices for the first time, yellowish and old. “I’m Sylvi, by the way.”

Helaena takes it limply, more of a baby hand-hold than a shake. “I’m….”

“Laney?”

“Helaena, but… yeah. Laney is fine.” She draws her eyebrows together in a question mark.

“I’ve heard him say your name. Through the…”

“Lane!” Eyeball’s voice is sharp. Sounds like he’s talking around a fucking cigarette.

Helaena looks at Sylvi apologetically for a second and pokes her head back through the door.

“Who the fuck are you talking to?” he asks her. Still fucking naked, soft at least now, crouched on the floor dicking around with the plastic facing, trying to yank the shit off.

“Neighbor lady,” she says.

“That fuckin’ old ass ho in 106?” Panel pops off into his hand and he swears at it.

“Yeah.”

“Tell her you’re fuckin’ good. Don’t need a job. Tell her I fuckin’ take care of you just fine.” He looks up, only half-joking, and blows a ring of smoke towards the opening in the window where the air conditioner lives.

“Don’t be an asshole,” she says, rolling her fuckin’ eyes at him. “She’s just being nice.”

“Yeah, well. Not selling your fuckin’ holes. They’re mine. You fuckin’ tell her that. Don’t care how broke we get.”

Helaena snorts and grabs the folding knife from the table by the door and wings it at him. He ducks and laughs as it whizzes by his fucking head.

“Watch yourself,” he says. “Looking for an ass-whooping, you keep that shit up.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She kicks a fucking shoe at him for good measure and lets the door bounce against the matching one as she slips back outside.

“Sorry,” she says to Sylvi, and Sylvi just smiles. “My b— my fuckin’ man’s just being a dick.”

“He keeps tabs on you.”

“He doesn’t like this fuckin’ place. Thinks it’s full of scumbags. I mean…” She shrugs. “Not totally wrong.”

“You did have a little scuffle a few night ago.”

“Not me,” Helaena says, taking a drag. “He does the scuffling.”

Sylvi drops her own smoke and grinds it with the toe of her strappy sandal. Gives a shrewd little look. “Pardon, but you seem like someone who can hold her own.”

Helaena huffs a dry laugh through her nose. “I can. Rather him hold me, though.”

Something softens in Sylvi’s face; those fine lines at her mouth blurring a little as she runs a finger around the mouth of her bottle. “Looks like he holds awfully tight, girlie.”

Helaena’s hands go reflexively to her neck. She hasn’t looked, but she can imagine. Can still feel the press of those big fuckin’ mitts around her throat. Probably has a pretty little necklace to show for it.

Not gonna help her find a new job, she thinks. Too hot for any kind of high-up collar.

“None of my business,” Sylvi says with a shrug and another wink. “Sounded like he was trying to tame a wildcat in there, anyhow.”

Helaena doesn’t say anything. She can feel her cheeks color a little - even though this lady’s been selling her shit for longer than Helaena’s been alive, probably, she still looks like somebody’s mama - but she just stares. Some mix of uncomfortable and deferential.

“Stay ungovernable,” Sylvi tells her. “Hard to hold down. Best advice I can give you. I know you didn’t ask for it, but…”

She holds out her fake-ass beer and offers Helaena the last swig.

She takes it. She fucking hates O’Douls. When she drinks beer, she wants it to be beer, but whatever. Kindness is kindness, and she empties the bottle anyway. At least it’s wet and not piss-warm yet.

“Thanks,” she says.

Sylvi nods and pulls out another smoke.

“Lane!”

He’s calling through the window this time, top of his shinywhite head sticking out a little while he fucks around with something inside.

“What do you need, baby?” she calls back.

“Little fuckin’ hands of yours. Get in here. Then you’re gonna owe me that fuckin’ blowjob, too. Gonna be like ten degrees now. Need a fuckin’ sweater.”

Helaena laughs and reaches over. Lights Sylvi’s fancy-lady smoke with the cherry of her own.

“You heard Prince Charming,” she says, blowing hair out of her face, and Sylvi nods.

“Indeed I did.” She looks up at Helaena and takes a nice, long pull. Something you’d do to a fuckin’ joint, Helaena thinks. “You know, traditionally,” she says, “when princes lose their temper, it’s other people who suffer.”

Helaena looks her up and down. “Not the Princess,” she says finally, dragging her smoke down the crumbling brick of the building before she goes back inside.