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alitheamateur · 6 years ago

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Party of Three

TOMMY CONLON ONESHOT

Characters: Tommy Conlon/OFC

Warnings: NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content. Language. Brief mentions of childbirth. Fluffy fluffy fluffy.

Party of Three

*Quite lengthy. I just got carried away with Tommy Conlon. It happens to the best of us*

(GIF NOT MINE)

The strobing of a weak streetlight bulb flickered as the haze of dawn drew pink and orange waves of the sunrise in the Pittsburgh skyline. While most 31-year-old, sensible men were still tucked into their Egyptian cotton sheets, nuzzled into the crook of their college-sweetheart turned lawyer wife, Tommy was jogging alone before daylight half withdrawn from the 8 days without Oxy. The sweat sagging neck of his hoodie smelled of exercise and rock-bottom, and his stomach churned from the lack of practical nourishment his breakfast of whiskey and dry-toast lacked. His night-shifts down at the new factory mended his bank account enough, so he had finally relocated from the mildewed, night-mare stained childhood bedroom at his pop’s place. The paint was chipped, the carpet was slimy and stonewashed, and the bathroom sink seemed to be eternally clogged, but his name was on the lease. It belonged to him, and it was his own to tarnish, and morph into a lifetime den of twisted memories.

He rounded the final corner of his 3-mile journey, approaching the two-stepped stoop of his gray townhouse and the chugging engine of a garbage truck roared up the street beside him. He turned, nodding an empty ‘good-morning’ to the driver exhaling his nicotine morning breath out the window, when a yelping body apparently below his peripheral line of sight collided with his stalky glide.

“What the fu-“

His dry-worked hands skidded across the crumpling sidewalk to keep his teeth from implanting into the concrete, and smashing whatever lightening quick object had made its way under his running feet.

“Cole! Oh my God, are you alright, sweetie?!”

Tommy felt a squirming, snubbing mass finagle free, to run towards the safety of the panicked, flailing arms of the fitful brunette galloping down the driveway. A small boy with a shaggy bowl haircut, decked in the white-cotton threads of a karate suit, wiped the streaking tears down his flushed cheeks, and wrapped his lanky arms around the waist of what appeared to be his older sister. Aunt, maybe?

“I’m so sorry. He’s a little excited. He ran ahead of me out the front door before I could wrangle him up. Are you hurt?” The striking hazel eyes of a petite face framed in chocolate, wavy mane knelt to assess the child for bruises or blood.

“I’m uh… Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Is he… is he okay?” Tommy stuttered, searching his face for injury.

“No blood, no foul. Right, sweetie?”

“I’m not hurt, mommy. Boys who know karate are tough, ‘member?” He peered up at his young mother, puffing his chest to allude imaginary muscles there.

“That’s right, how could I forget?!” She conked a fist to her noggin at the little man beside her. “I’m Whitleigh, by the way. And this is Cole. We live next door now. Just moved in a few days ago.” The lady outstretched a shaking hand, and Tommy noted the lack of a ring on her left hand.

“Oh yeah? I saw some movin’ trucks out front. I’m Tommy. Tommy Conlon.” His clammy palm met her feminine skin, and he might’ve even weakly smiled at the sensation of her touch. “So, karate, huh? You prolly a real scrapper, ain’t ya’?”

“You’re um, you’re a fighter or something, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in the paper before, I think.”

Tommy dropped his head diffidently at her inquisitiveness, peeling back his hood to palm the back of his blotched neck.

“Really? You fight people? Like, like a real-life wrestler?!” Cole yipped, eyes widening at Tommy like he was some superstar in the flesh.

“Uhhh, somethin’ like that, I guess. But, I couldn’t take you, that’s for sure.” Tommy weak fisted the boys bicep, and he chuckled with a snaggle-toothed smile.

“Well, we better get goin’. Cole has a big meet this morning down at the Y, and we’re already running late. See you around?” She suggestively hurried the boy up the drive towards her black sedan parked near the front porch, combing the blonde hair from his eyes.

“Right, yeah. Um, I’m sure I’ll be seein’ you guys.” Tommy cleared the lump in his throat. He hadn’t exchanged a conversation of this length with another human being in months, and his mouth felt tired from the foreign amount of chit-chat.

“Mommy, can Mr. Tommy come watch me today? My friends would think I was the best if a tv fighter came to my match!”

Whitleigh’s mouth fell open into a slack smile as she clicked the boy into his back-seat booster. Her eyes caught the rising sun, and Tommy felt an unfamiliar stir somewhere near his heart. Like, maybe there was actually a beating organ inside his scathed, tattooed chest.

“Not today, buddy. I’m sure he’s got lots to do. Maybe another time though, alright?”

Tommy coughed, and scratched his five o’clock shadowed jawbone. “You can show me those skills some other time, Cole. Good luck today, though.”

The adolescent lad nodded with hopefulness, and she latched the rear-door while coyly smiling at Tommy from a distance.

Tommy turned his back, stomping up his porch and beginning to peel loose the ratty confines of his sleeveless sweatshirt. This newfound, sudden appearance of tangible emotion had him questioning his insane decision of recent painkiller sobriety.

……

Whitleigh and Cole settled nicely on the block, and next door to Tommy, the man they both had inherited a specific soft spot for. The impressionable, aspiring karate kid carefully noted his fighting role models routine, and would wake up every morning before the birds even began stirring, to watch Tommy stretch, and yawn as he jogged down the sidewalk, only keeping track of him when his shadow would fall into the glare of a streetlight. Then, he’d settle back beneath the rumpled covers of his plaid patterned sheets, and wait for his mother to rouse him for school.

Whitleigh’s sprouting intrigue for the brawny man next door however, was certainly one of a more adult rated nature. She found herself tip-toeing passed the living room window more often than necessary to check for stirring in the house next door. Was he home? Was he home alone again? She waited specifically unnervingly for another excruciatingly hot evening hoping the sticky summer sun would have him washing his motorcycle shirtless on the curb again, covered in sweat and cool drippings from the water hose. He was like living, breathing, X-rated erotica for her to enjoy at her leisure. Not only had he been candy for her eye, but his extreme observance, and need to protect she and Cole moved her greatly. If the motion light she nailed over the backdoor detected any movement, and clicked on, she’d find Tommy peeping through his own curtains as she did the same, investigating the surroundings. And when the mailman seemed to be lingering on her porch one morning while she drank her coffee in the swing, Tommy ran him off quite harshly, informing her the guy was a no good, ex-con.

One Saturday evening, she was scurrying, and tripping over her own two feet trying to wag in grocery bags with the help of her as always very active 6 year-old. The thin strap of her black, flowing tank top was sliding over tip of her shoulder, and she blew a lock of her untamable hair from her eyes, giggling as Cole’s hiccups from gulping his slushy too fast on the car ride home echoed from behind her.

The trunk of her car slammed to a close, and she heard the rustling plastic of more bags being unloaded.

“Tommy! Hey, Tommy look! My tongue, is it blue?!” Cole’s toothless lisp screeched at the man walking up the steps with an impressive amount of cargo lined on each arm.

“Yeah, buddy. It is. Whatchu been into, ya’ lil smurf.”

“He insisted on a slushy at the grocery. And he did so well at practice this morning I just couldn’t say no.” Whitleigh smiled, pinching her tongue to aid in concentration as she maneuvered for the front door key.

“I got a medal, too. Most ‘intuned’ in the class!”

“Most-improved, baby. You’re most-improved.”

Tommy, and the child’s mom chuckled to themselves, careful not to discourage Cole and his little blunder. She kicked the door open easily, Tommy catching it with his own foot to prop it open for Cole and the measly two bags he carried.

“Hey uh, how would you feel about maybe takin’ a run with me in the morning, Cole. It’s gonna be a hot one, and I could sure use somebody to go with me. You down? If your mom says it’s okay, o’ course.” He tousled a noogie over the boys head, and looked side-eyed to Whitleigh as she lunged upward to store the unloaded contents in the cabinet.

The waistline of her light-washed, denim capris clung perfectly fitted to her displayed backside, and Tommy caught a glance of her tanned lower back. Her figure wasn’t toned, and gym-fit like the twenty-something, single women around town. But the way her womanly hips curved, and her thick thighs from the exercise of chasing the likes of a hyperactive kindergartener moved, very much had Tommy’s approval.

“Oh, Tommy… I don’t think you really want him tagging along. Won’t he slow you down? And you’d have to keep a really close eye on him. It’s barely daylight when you leave.”

She turned away, mouthing curses to herself for giving away that she had seen him leave the house a few times before dawn when she heard the pattering racket of his front door closing. Cole wasn’t the only person on dutiful neighborhood watch. She may, or may not have been checking to see if it was indeed a female making her break for it after a night of tantric rolling in the sheets with her unannounced crush.

“He’ll be fine, Whit. I’m not incapable of taking care of a kid, y’ know…” He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to appear insulted.

“MOMMA, MOMMA! Please, please, can I go wif’ Tommy? Please!”

The mother hen sighed, and reluctantly nodded the granting consent and Cole began hipping and hopping circles around the kitchen counter, throwing in a few of his martial arts kicks, and grunts to boot. His erratic spinning of circles weighed heavy on his balance, and Tommy caught his wheezing, giggly body before he toppled face-first onto the floor.

“Alright, kid. You better get to bed early for ya’ mom tonight. I’ll be here for you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Whitleigh’s heart, among other things were warmed watching the way this mysteriously gentle, yet rough around the edges man had already taken such a liking to her young son. Friends for a single-mother were rare to come by, and she intended somehow to relay her gratitude to Tommy for his blind kindness to the both of them.

She sat her alarm for 4 a.m., allowing herself 30 minutes extra to peel Cole from underneath his plethora of stuffed friends in his bed, but was taken aback when she found him sitting cross-legged in the floor of his bedroom when she opened his door.

“Cole! What do you think you’re doing?! We don’t play with scissors, do you hear me?” She yanked the ragged blade of her kitchen shears out of his grips, and scolded his disobedient act.

She assessed him thoroughly, searching for any nicks or cuts on his arms or legs, then groaned out when she realized what he had done. A still tagged sweatshirt she had bought him back at Christmas was missing a sleeve, and the other hung on jaggedly by a thread.

“Honey, what did you do, huh?” She sighed, and searched Cole’s explanatory eyes.

“I wanted mine to be like Tommy’s, mommy.”

Cole had abstractly chopped the leaves of his hooded shirt to mock Tommy and his DIY running attire. She wanted to be angry, and she would be internally. But, she couldn’t help but laugh at his clever thinking.

She wet his toothbrush and watched him brush, then double knotted his tennis shoes before stepping out the front door to wait for Tommy. The silken robe tied around her waist covered her braless chest, and the men’s boxer briefs she unconventionally used as pajama bottoms.

Next door, Tommy was readying his post-run protein shake, setting aside some ingredients for a kid-friendly edition, thinking Cole would want his own when they returned. He couldn’t make sense of what he felt for the boy, or the fact that he was feeling anything period. Maybe, he saw flashes of himself in Cole’s fatherless lie? Did he want the kid to have some male in his life that encouraged him, and taught him the way a man should behave, and treat people? Sure, maybe Tommy wasn’t the most equipped man for the job, but he knew not to beat women, or lay hands on children. Which was more than his own father ever bothered to teach him.

He poked a finger through his kitchen blinds, the window that looked directly across the driveway into Whitleigh’s bedroom, and saw some lamp light peeking out behind her darkened curtain, alluding she was awake and readying Cole. He wondered aimlessly if he should extend the invite for her to join he and Cole, but remembered how she often teases him for his ‘meathead’ lifestyle. Tommy knew she appreciated his workout habits more than she let on though. Her sideways good morning glances at him while he did his routine 100 jumps of the rope before his 8 a.m. spar told him so. However well his stupid abs, or bulgy biceps usually helped him reel in the brainless groupies down at the bar he frequented, he knew Whitleigh needed more. His grunts, and sulks wouldn’t be enough to impress her.

He shook himself out of the spiraling abyss of questioning, and almost grabbed a shot glass to smother the thoughts. But, he’d need to be sharp, and responsible with Cole if he wanted to remain in good standing with the beautiful family next door.

He left his side door unlocked behind him, as he walked the minimal steps from his house to the residence next door. Cole was bouncing up and down the steps, spitting impersonations of an airplane, or a tractor maybe, chasing an imaginary object around the yard. His mom sat arms crossed on the stoop, her half-exposed thighs fidgeting with the morning chill. Tommy admired her without the touches of makeup, and with the lingering dark circles of a less than restful night.

“Tommy, hey look! Look at me!” Cole galloped into Tommy’s arms, grinning ear to ear, and pounding his chest.

“I caught the little troublemaker in his room with scissors before I got up morning. He took the liberty of nixing the sleeves from that brand-new sweatshirt. Wanted to look like Tommy, didn’t you, bub?” Whitleigh sarcastically smirked, standing at Tommy’s arrival.

He looked at Cole in his arms, giggling uncontrollably at the boy’s miniature hoodie cut to resemble the one he was also wearing. He became instantly afraid, dazed with pressure even. He hadn’t realized the intense way that Cole had indeed been noting him, and observing his every move. A duty to tow the line, and keep on his toes for the sponge of a child settled hard on his heart.

“You look badass, buddy!”

“Tommy!!” Whitleigh scolded with lightening speed.

“I.. Uh, I mean… You look awesome, bro. Real uh.. real cool. Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Tommy coughed and clambered to bury his little expletive mistake.

“Watch him. Please…” She cocked her head, pleading to him with a crinkled nose. “You listen to Tommy, Cole. And stay right by his side, got it?”

“Yeah, momma. I be good, won’t I Tommy?” Cole yanked on Tommy’s long arm, pulling with all his might to hurry him down the road.

“We’ll be fine. No worries, okay? Be back in a couple hours or so. I’ve got my cell if we need ya’.”

She peered down the empty, slow streets of Saturday until the pair turned the corner out of her sight. Tommy glanced back a couple of times, with Cole following suit to wave at her smiling on the porch. She trusted her son was in good hands, and it was safe to squeeze in a least another hour cat nap before breakfast.

Her cellphone vibrated and buzzed off the side of her end table next to the couch, awaking her with an incoming call. The lazy slumber passing immediately at the disturbance, as she feared the worst expecting trouble with Cole. Tommy’s named lit up across the touchscreen, and she said ‘hello’ before the call had even connected.

“Incoming. Just wanted to make sure you were awake.” Tommy meekly whispered.

She abruptly stood from her couch, peering out the glass storm door, to see the man shoving his phone down into the slick pocket of his shorts, and Cole’s legs dangling around Tommy’s waist.

Jumping barefoot outside, Tommy lifted a hand to calm her, and slow her down before she woke the snoozing child.

“Shhhh.. Hey hey hey, he’s fine, Whit. He’s fine. He got sleepy about 2 miles in, and said his legs were tired,” he smiled sweetly. “So I just carried him back. He fell asleep about 10 minutes ago, I think. At least that’s when he stopped talking about Power Rangers, so I think that’s when anyways.”

Whitleigh reached forth, opening her arms for Tommy to pass the petite, sleeping mass to her so she could settle him inside. But he shook his head under his hood, and continued towards her house.

“I got ‘em. Just lead the way.”

He walked quietly on her heels down the hallway, barely lit with the yellow glow of the sun’s onset towards Cole’s bedroom. Posters of MMA circuit fighters, and a few baseball stars pinned to white walls, and a nightlight near his bed in the shape of a boxing glove. He imagined it would’ve been a room much like his own had he not had to share the small, attic space with his older brother who cared more about women and cars rather than fighting. On Cole’s nightstand, stained with the wet circle of last night’s glass of water, was a portrait of he and Tommy dressed in matching karate garb, drawn in faded marker.

“Best friends, huh?” Tommy nodded towards the misspelled words on the work of art, catching Whitleigh’s eye as she nestled him under the comforter, kissing his reddened cheek.

“He made it last night,” she answered. “I couldn’t get him into bed until he finished. He was planning to give it to you after the little jog this morning.”

“The kid has good taste in friends. What can I say?”

“I guess so. The verdict is still out.” She winded a hand through the tangled ends of her hair, leaving a tiny crack in the door as they scurried out so she could peep in on him later.

“Well, share that pot of coffee I smell, and I’ll see if I can convince ya’.”

He watched her dainty, painted toes stick to the cool floor as she swayed slowly into the kitchen, and he wafted his shirt to let some cool air onto his perspiring chest. He let his brain simmer on the possibilities of what was hidden prettily under the pink robe that skimmed just above a thin scar on her knee.

“Cream and sugar?” She peeped as the pour of coffee flowed into the bottom of a ceramic mug.

“Nah, black is good.”

Whitleigh served two cups, and tucked her leg underneath her as she sat in the wooden chair across the table from him. She fiddled with the silver chain hanging from her neck, only more attracting Tommy to the fluttering gape of her robe as she moved in her seat.

“Was he good for you? Didn’t give you any trouble or anything?”

“He’s a real good kid, Whitleigh. Honest. You done a real good job wit’ him.”

His lips squished on the rim of the cup as he slurped the bitter brew, and she felt her center ignite.

“Thanks, Tommy. It doesn’t hurt that I’ve got somebody like you around to be an example to him either…”

Her lashes cast a fluttering, unmeasurably lengthy shadow over the rim of her lower lid onto her cheek, and Tommy had to situate his visibly growing attraction to her. The strength and steady head she displayed in raising her son alone, the way she held her composure day in, & day out with work and managing a household. What wasn’t to like? The heavy swell of her bosom, and the way her smile seemed to be effortlessly seductive no matter the occasion didn’t hurt matters.

“Trust me… My shit isn’t together even half of what yours is. But, I like the kid, so I’ll help any way you need me. I kinda like hangin’ around you two.”

Tommy didn’t want her to mistake his comments as a come on, but the other half of his shifty brain hoped she would, and maybe he’d get some clarity on how she felt towards him. He couldn’t handle the subtle exchanges, and cheeky stealing looks. Tommy wasn’t the type who played well at cat & mouse, unless he was standing in the cage toying with his next victim.

Neither had really noticed how many wordless seconds had ticked by until the rhythmic drip of the kitchen faucet splashed towards the drain, shaking them to reality. Tommy gulped, scratching his forearm nervously and looked around the room pointlessly, while Whitleigh raised to tend to the leak. She shook the handle, jiggled the spout, and Tommy heard her murmur a ‘piece of shit’ under her breath. He scooted the chair from under him, and rounded the table sitting his empty glass there, to take her side.

“I can fix that, if you want. Not a problem at all.”

He meant to stand to next to her and estimate the appliance issue, but instead he settled his feet behind hers on the kitchen mat, and extended around under her arm. He saw the hairs on Whitleigh’s arm raise, and his exhales ensued goosebumps where her shoulder met her neck. Her fruity scent tickled his nostrils, and a chill rolled up his spine as the sweet aroma nearly instigated a sneeze. She slowly set free the tension his closeness brought to her bones, and she whimpered as he pushed the loose crotch of his pants into the center of her cheeks.

“…..it’s….it’s fine. Just a little shake of the handle usually…usually takes care of it.” She choked, and heaved a struggling breath. Her head fell weightless to his shoulder, and she white knuckle gripped the counters edge to squeeze out some of the pent-up need.

One of his broad, promiscuous hands pulled on the ribbon of her robe, while the other probed up the back of her thigh, tickling the curve of her round ass with calloused, worked fingers. Whitleigh’s nipples poked from the confines of her t-shirt and Tommy envisioned the pink bulbs wet between his teeth.

“Let me tend to some other things around here that need seein’ to then, hm?” He suckled on her earlobe, the gold bulbs of her earrings clanging gently against his teeth.

Her shutter sent the bathrobe cascading from her arms to topple gracefully around their feet. Once Tommy’s hands got a feeling of her soft skin against his, his hunger became irrepressible. He tugged at her legs, rushing her to climb his body. Their lips crashed into each other, their desire screaming at the introduction. Tommy reached his hands into her hair, massaging into her scalp, and his tongue took note and moved seductively against hers. Her mewls of his name, and the breath tossed from her mouth into his enticed Tommy to furthermore explore her every crevice.

“Quiet, Tommy. We have to be quiet. Cole…”

He nodded, lowering her back to the white, chipped tabletop. Her toes curled as her licked up her leg, leaving imprints of his crooked bite on the fleshly meat of her inner thighs. He pulled away to push up the hem of her shirt, and her eyes peeled shut with reluctancy.

“Woah, woah. Hey, whatsa matter, Whitleigh. Talk to me, babe.” He froze, careful not to further intrude if he had done so.

“Nothing. It’s.. I’m fine. Really. Keep going.” She answered surely, but the reluctancy still hid in her underlying tremble of her voice.

He chewed his lips, and carefully continued to peel back her remaining attire. He pulled loose the fabric, and she raised herself to assist him in the undressing. Her hands coyly slid to cover a scar drawn into the lower of her belly, and Tommy’s eyes followed whatever shame she felt there was to hide. He kissed tenderly on her fingers, and eased back her hands to lay behind her head.

“This what you’re so worried about?” He curiously sketched over the marking.

“I’m sure most women you get with don’t have ugly battle scars from childbirth, Tommy…”

He blinked repeatedly, exaggerating his look of taken aback confusion, and almost offence. His palms leaned flat on the table, carrying his weight as he dangled above her.

“First off, you ain’t just somebody I wanna ‘get with’, Whit. Second, don’t ever be ashamed. This,” he pointed. “This scar gave you that badass little boy in there sleepin’. The one that you’re doin’ a damn good job of raisin’, too. Don’t ever feel like you gotta hide that wit’ me. Okay?”

Whitleigh blushed, and her fitful heartbeats bringing a swell of reassurance over her body. To hear that Tommy hadn’t intended on her being just the bed buddy next door eased her worries. She saw potential in Tommy, and whatever this could turn into with him, as well.

She nodded her head, smiling and sighing a loud release of the worrisome pressure she’d been choking on moments ago. Once the exquisite man gathered she had relaxed once more, he began petting over the soft, feminine curves of her body’s edges. His licked his pouting mouth, and journeyed upward to the round handful of her breasts, leaving his hands to work down below. He moaned, stroking the wet patch that stained the warm center of her panties and Whitleigh nearly jolted from the table when his tongue devoured the sensitive line of her ribcage.

Tommy hooked his fingers into the band of her shorts, cheekily popping the elastic before tugging them down her tanned legs.

“I like these, by the way. They look much sexier on you than me..”

He dropped his own shorts, the clunk of his phone in the pocket hitting the floor, revealing a nearly matching pair of his own boxer briefs. Only his, screaming at the seams trying to trap the large member he was stroking beneath them.

Without so much as a hint of warning, Tommy clutched the backside of her bended knees, and drew her forth toward him. Her feet now weightlessly suspended over the tables edge. Glittering rays of sunlight illuminated through the curtains, catching the speckles of green hiding in the eyes she stared hungrily into. The demanding, heated cosmic pull his body exuded excited Whitleigh more than any desire she had ever known for a man. She withheld a giggle, knowing breakfast every morning seated at this now tarnished kitchen table would never be the same.

Anxious for a quick taste of her pink folds, Tommy kneeled face-to-face with his warm breakfast. Fuck that gritty, bland protein shake he had in the blender at his own house, he thought. Whitleigh was more his flavor. Her hips bucked seductively when the vicious laps of his tongue separated her lips to prime her with another layer of wetness. Delight and orgasm poked her nauseous belly like a prodding finger. She grimaced, but welcomed every nibble of his lips over her blossoming bulb.

“Upstairs, Tommy… let’s go upstairs.” The volume of her needful pants echoed off the hollow ceilings, and she feared their elicit noises would stumble upon the ears of her hopefully sleeping son just down the hall. It took all her mighty efforts to piece together a sentence amongst Tommy’s feasting murmurs smashed between her thighs. The hum, and suckling sounds of him devouring her sopping mound hypnotized her wholly. His touch would be burned there at the most private corner of her body forever.

“I can’t make it that far, Whitleigh baby. I gotta have you. Now. Here, bite down on this to keep quiet.” Tommy tossed her the tee he had discarded, and chuckled. Relishing in the fact that he had her body running on amped speed. She nearly lost all control when he caught a stray trickle of her juices escaping from the side of his mouth with the tip of his thumb, and sucked it dry.

He clung to his thick erection, and lead himself to her steaming entrance, teasing her with slow in and outs. He felt her deep, and so satisfyingly warm squeezes twitch around him, already milking forth his first release with a female in months. He hadn’t really had time for a hookup lately, and thinking about the filth that he typically attracted only made want to down capsize a bottle of narcotics.

The angsty thoughts that had always swam in his mind suddenly fled when he admired Whitleigh’s blissfully reddened cheeks, and rosy, swollen lips gaped open with the sound of his name. She was reeling him in, damning his demons back to the hell they came from, and shocking his soul back to life, and she had no idea.

He gripped her forcefully by the hips to secure a steady rhythm so her breasts would continue that perfectly timed, spellbinding bounce. He didn’t want to split her painfully in two, but the faster he lunged inside her, the more he could feel the rough flickerings of a hard onslaught approaching.

“More. More.” She read his mind with expert timing. “More!”

The legs of her antique table scuffed and creaked against the floor below them, and Whitleigh wondered whether the weathered wood was a match for Tommy Conlon. She knew Cole would be stirring soon, but she needed to feel this way, in this moment with Tommy, for hours before it would ever be enough. He brushed, and touched her lips with his fingers, grazing her cheeks thoughtfully. His face nuzzled the tips of her nipples, and his lashes tickled them to an even higher peak while his two-day old scruff chapped her sensitive skin. Whitleigh wanted to feel the sweat of his hard-work fall from his perspiring brow and leave his scent on her like a dirty secret.

She hinted sparks flying inside her belly, instigating the release ready to reach the surface. Every raw, barely noticeable taste of delicious pain that came with his every lunge kidnapped her further towards the explosion of orgasm. A pulsating vein in Tommy’s neck protruded from his straining, broad neck and she sensed he was holding back his own ending for her sake.

“Tommy, I’m close. Really… really close.” She whispered, nearly biting her own tongue between gnashed teeth.

He closed his eyes, his back now standing straight to give her a hearty, heavenly view of his tattooed pecks, and insultingly large shoulders. His harsh sucks of air, and vice-grip squeezes on the bone of her hips gave her the push she needed to climb the summit. Using the shirt she still held onto, Whitleigh quickly shoved the cotton between her jaws to absorb her curdling screams. Her eyes watered beneath sealed lids, tears dripping from the corners, and Tommy covered his own mouth muffling what was the most beautiful portrayal of climax she had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“Now, I already won Cole over, we know. So, what’s that verdict you were talking about earlier, huh?” Tommy suggested.

Hoping not to offend him with her abrupt dismissal, and nixing of post-cuddle, she stole a fast kiss from him as she hopped from the table to dress. He rubbed over her bare backside once more before she stepped into her bottoms, then shooed her down the hall, understanding the importance of her motherly duties. He speedily decked himself in his own shed clothes, and placed the kitchen back to it’s original tidy state before the observant young boy came for his breakfast.

Whitleigh came leisurely down the hall moments later, holding the hand of a slightly disorientated blonde boy who smiled ear-to-ear once realizing his new best friend Tommy was seated at his kitchen table. He climbed into the empty chair next to Tommy where his booster seat waited, eager to chat all about the things they had seen while on their morning stroll. Whitleigh stirred the batter of chocolate chip pancakes near the stove, stealing smiley glances at Tommy when Cole was caught up in one of his stories.

As Tommy watched the wild-eyed kid stutter and sling his busy hands throughout the air, pretending his fork was a spaceship. All the while also falling in love with the big-hearted, slightly bashful, head-spinningly beautiful woman across the room. He had never known true family in his entire life. But silently observing the lazy comfort he felt of that Saturday morning with Cole, and Whitleigh, he decided it was worth the wait.

TAGS: @eap1935 @torialeysha

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thehorrcr · 6 years ago

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FIRST CHAPTER OF VAMPIRE MCR FIC THAT U SHOULD DEFINITELY READ, BECAUSE IT’S ACTUALLY PRETTY FUCKING FUNNY

Frank’s stomach growled furiously, he clutched his abdomen and used his other hand to steady himself against a wall. The world swung in and out of focus, like carnival lights through squinted lashes. Everything felt as if it were blushing, drunkenly. “Fuck.” Frank gasped, resting his forehead against the cool brick of the alleyway. The rough surface cut into his skin, but he welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the growing hole that was forming in his stomach. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He spat each word out, like it was made of acid. This was the part he always hated, the part where he had to decide. Whether or not he’d rather starve to death, or… or. His mind quieted, not wanting to finish off that last part. It was better not to think about this. Maybe this time he’d have enough control. He’d simply ride out the hunger pains, the shaking in his hands, the splitting headache and icy chill that ran up and down his spine. Until it faded into nothing, like morphine being shot into his veins. He’d lick up every last bit of his own destruction, until it tasted like starlight on his tongue. Until, he’d simply fade into it.

Another bout of hunger pains stabbed through Frank’s stomach and he let out a yelp, turning so that his back was pressed to the wall. He slowly slid down it, until he was crumpled over his knees. His head, tilted back so that he could see the sky dancing above him. The stars winked back at him, like rotting teeth in a monster’s mouth. “Stop laughing at me.” He muttered. The universe had been using Frank as its toy ever since December of last year.

Frank, in his pity party, let the memory come back to him. It had been a frigid night, and Frank had been staying over at Brian’s house until dawn started to shiver its way out of the horizon. The temperature had dipped into the single digits, turning everything the wind touched into a walking popsicle.

“Don’t go out in that shit, Frankie.” Brian had said, as Frank started to collect his things. “You could hit black ice or somethin’, and I can’t have you dying on me.” He pointed a pair of chopsticks at him. They had ordered take out, and there was still some leftovers scattered on the table. For a moment, Frank had hovered by the door. The temptation between the fried rice, and full-feeling of his stomach, placing a haze over everything. Who wanted to go out into the freezing fucking cold, when Brian had a couch and a heater?

But then, reality sunk back in. Frank had work at 8 a.m., and there was no way he was going to make it, if he stayed at Brian’s. And he was already dangerously close to getting his own ass fired. (An incident with the ice cream machine had gone awry, and had caused Triple Nut Blast to get all over the kitchen.) (It was safe to say, Frank’s manager hadn’t been too pleased to have been informed that there was triple nut juice all over everything.)

Frank let out a heavy sigh, throwing his keys up in the air and then catching them before they fell, “I gotta work, Brian. You know that.”

“Call in sick. That’s bullshit! The roads are covered in ice!” Brian exclaimed, jumping up from the couch. “Is your job really worth your life?”

“Without my job, I can’t afford my goddamn life. That’s capitalism, babe.” Frank teased.

Brian groaned, “Shit, fine. Just be safe.” He threw an ice scraper at Frank, which he fumbled with before catching it. “You’ll need that, Iero. Thank me later.”

“Goodbye Brian.” Frank sang as he opened the door, letting the chill morning spill into the living room. Brian cursed, practically hissing at mother nature as she invaded his house.

“Shut the goddamn door!” Brian called after Frank, as he had pulled the door close, and had headed out into the still-night. That waited, like an egg, waiting to be cracked open into dawn.

The memory faded, as the pain intensified. Frank felt sweat beading at his brow, as he tried to focus on the world around him. Any moment now, and he’d lose his last bit of restraint. He’d descend into that dark place, and by this time tomorrow night he’d have more blood on his hands, than a filthy rich politician. Frank swore, banging his head back into the brick wall. He had to get to Ray’s place soon, or else he was going to turn the entire town into an All-You-Can-Eat-Buffet.

Frank stumbled to his feet, and started to make his way towards the vague direction, in which he remembered leaving his car. Laughter filled the alley, and for a second, Frank wondered if God was truly mocking his pain. It wouldn’t surprise him, he turned his head over his shoulder to curse up at the sky, but his attention was caught by a blur of movement, down at the other end of the alleyway. Steam was rising up from the grates in the ground, making it hard to make out the silouhettes. But Frank could see a group of guys, huddled around something. Their figures dancing like shadow puppets. Adrenaline kicked into Frank’s chest, he could smell them.

The scent of their blood, rosey, and full of decay, flooded Frank’s system. Saliva pooled into his mouth, his incisors, starting to push their way through his gums. A moan escaped his lips, without his consent as he blindly started to fumble his way towards the group. He couldn’t stop himself, the only thoughts that filled his mind was longing for the crisp, salty taste of blood on his lips. The type that blurred his vision, and filled him with infinity on high. As if he had tipped the stars into a wine glass, and had drunk until he saw visions of heaven itself.

He needed that fucking juice. The same way humans needed oxygen, or beauty sleep. They were shouting, the sound bounced inside of Frank’s skull. Until the noise twisted itself into a lullabye of screams, the types of screams that would bloom from their throats, as Frank tore into them. They didn’t even notice him, he was a panther, a shadow, the fucking grim reaper himself -

And then Frank caught his reflection in a puddle. He could see the veins, spreading out from his eyes in black rivulets. His eyes, a starved crimson started to fade when they met their own gaze. He looked deranged, like a stolen version of himself. Frank started to come to his senses, his own thoughts staining his conscious as he realized… he had wanted blood. He had wanted to kill for it.

In fact… he still almost-wanted it. The sensation of the senseless greed tugged in his stomach, like a riptide that had threatened to drag him out to sea. It took all of Frank’s strength to fight against it. He took another glance at the group of boys, and disgust pinched at his insides. He needed to get to Ray’s house so he could take a bath, and drown himself in beer.

Plus… Ray’s company could solve any problem, and that was one thing that Frank was entirely sure of. So, he turned on his heels and started to make his way back to his car. This time, his head was clear, despite the horror that was ripping its way through his stomach…

And then there that scream… that ripped through the night, like lightning tearing a hole through the great big beyond. It was desperate… and so… so… scared.

Frank recognized that noise… it sounded like how he had… on that night… that night when -

“I don’t want to die! Don’t fucking touch me! I said, don’t fucking-” It was a guy, a young guy, from what Frank could tell. It came from the group that Frank had almost turned into human-capri sun pouches, only a few moments before. It took Frank a second to realize, that they weren’t just having a jack-off session in the middle of an alley way… they were fucking mugging someone. Anger tore a hole through what was left of his restraint, if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was bullies.

He placed his hands on the brick wall beside him, and silently prayed for a moment that his weird powers would kick in, despite the fact that he was weak as all hell. He started to climb, his hand slipping after a few steps, but he regained his footing quickly. Frank crawled his way up the wall, and onto the fire escape, and then the roof.

The thing was, sure Frank had weird demonic capabilities that had been “bestowed upon him” by the dark one, himself. Or at least, that was quote, unquote what Luke claimed. But, he was still 5’6, and low on battery power. Taking on a group of guys that were twice his size, wasn’t the best possible choice he could make at that moment in time.

However, sneaking up on them could give Frank an extra edge, and that was all he needed.

Once Frank was on the roof, he stationed himself so that he was right above where the group was huddled. He could then see, that they were in fact, towering over a smaller kid who looked like he had lost a fight with a straight iron. One of the guys, was holding a gun and had it pointed at the kid, as he emptied out his pockets. From here, Frank could hear him saying, “Listen, I don’t have any fucking money!! This is all I have!” But the guys weren’t having any of it… they wanted more than just money…

They wanted blood.

Frank let out a sigh, standing up and popping his neck. “Ladies and gentleman prepare yourselves… as Frank Iero takes the high dive - “

Down below the click of the gun cocking, echoed off the walls. That were bent over the figures, like nosey old ladies.

Frank bent his knees, preparing himself to jump, “In one spectacular display of -”

The kid began to sob, “Please, you can’t do this to me -”

“Stop crying, or I’ll blow your brains out, fucko.” The guy replied, a cruel smile creeping its way onto his face. “Tell me, how do you look in red?”

“Self destruction.” Frank finished, and then jumped off the edge of the building. The wind rushed past his ears, as he plummeted to the ground below. The world’s colors blended together, until they all sang together, like a symphony of grey and yellow. New Jersey’s shine, couldn’t even cut through the crimson headache that pounded through Frank’s head as he smacked into the pavement. The sound of a gun firing went off, and another pain shot through Frank’s chest. It felt as if a snake had bit him in the goddamn tit. “Mother! Fucker!” Frank exclaimed. Blood was pouring from his mouth, as he sat up.

His neck was turned 180 degrees, and he was looking straight up at a blonde kid. Who couldn’t be older than 18, his mouth dropped open into a wide O. “What? You’ve never seen a double axel performed off of a 20 story building before?”

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?” Asked one of the other guys. Frank twisted his neck around with a sickening pop. Half the group shivered, collectively at the noise. “Who the fuck are you? Some sorta goddamn mutant?”

“Do I look like Wolverine to you, jack-ass?” Frank hissed. The kid all but sewed his mouth shut. Frank turned so that he could see the victim, a stick-like kid who wore glasses all the way at the bottom of his nose. One of the lenses was cracked, and blood was pouring from his nose. He was staring at Frank with an awe-struck look on his face. “Were they fucking with you, kid?” Frank asked.

The kid looked from Frank to the group, who seemed to all take a big step away from Frank at once. All except for the one guy with a gun. “Y-Yes.” He stuttered out. He frowned, “Who are you?”

“Your guardian angel, baby.” Frank replied. He pushed himself up to his feet, and took a deep breath before saying loudly, “Listen. For all you shits know, I am a God sent here to fuck your absolute sorry asses up for being a pile of dick bags to this kid right here. Either you take yourselves back home to your moms and have a self-pity jerk off session, or I’ll unleash unholy reckoning onto all of you.”

Half the guys backed out, but the guy with the gun barked back at them, “Don’t listen to him! He’s a crack head! Help me gut him, and I’ll pay you later!”

“Yeah fuckin’ right! He’s a crack head that just survived a 20 story drop onto the pavement!” Said the blonde kid, as he started to turn to make a run for it, “He could be the anti-christ for all we know!”

Frank smirked, he liked the sound of that. The kid with the glasses turned to him, looking dazed and a bit like he forgot to turn the stove off at home. “Are you the anti-christ?”

Before Frank could answer, a sharp pain shot through his skull. His jaw smacked into the rough brick of the wall, as a guy shoved him into it. “You should’ve minded your own goddamn business. Now I am gonna have to kill you, too.”

Frank started to mutter something. The guy growled, “What?!” Frank continued to try to speak, until he finally let up, and pulled Frank away from the wall.

“I said, you can’t kill what’s already dead, asshole.” Frank then, smacked his head into the other guy’s forehead. After that, all hell broke loose. The guys all lunged for Frank, Frank was little and he used that to his advantage as he ducked between them, dodging their punches as if he were a pro-wrestler. One guy had a switch blade in one hand, and tried to take a jab at Frank. Frank jumped onto another guy’s back, just as the guy lunged forward with the blade. It’s sharp edge sunk into the other guy’s arm. He let out a cry, and Frank jumped off of him. There were only three left. Frank was winning, Frank was -

Another gun shot went off, and Frank closed his eyes, preparing himself for the pain. But it didn’t come.

He opened his eyes again, and a sinking feeling dragged into through his gut. “What the fuck did you just do?” Frank asked.

“Don’t take it personally, babe.” The guy with the gun said in a mocking tone. A shadow had fallen over the alley, the moon’s silver light had been cloaked by a cloud. The man looked more menacing now, he was a devil in hiding. Frank just wish he had realized that sooner. “It’s just business.”

“C’mon, lets book it before the cops come!” Said one of the boys. They all started to take off, one by one, down the alley. Frank watched them go, swearing at them as they ran, like a pack of wolves. His attention though, was drawn away by the sound of a low moan. It was hard to believe that it actually came from a human. It sounded like something that could only be made from the low groan of stars, grinding themselves together. Until they were nothing but dust.

Frank turned to see the kid, hunched over on the ground, cradling his stomach. “Do you hear that, too?” He asked, softly.

Frank collapsed onto his knees next to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and tilting his head up so that he was looking at him. Rage, confusion and fear wrapped their cold icy hands around Frank’s heart, until all he could make sense of was the smell of blood that was pouring from the wound. “What do you hear?” Frank asked, calmly. But he was anything but that.

“The ringing… it sounds like -”

“Kid- “ Frank started.

“Angels.” He finished.

“What’s your name?” Frank asked softly. He tried to pick him up, but the kid hissed in pain when Frank tried to move him. Helplessness was clawing its way up Frank’s throat in the form of a sob, as he stared at this other… human being. This human being that he could’ve saved, but he had failed. Failed. Failed.

“Mikey. My name’s Mikey.” Blood was starting to leak from the side of Mikey’s mouth. Frank held him closely, wrapping his arms around him so that he was warm. Mikey’s head rested against Frank’s chest, Frank ran his hands through his hair. His finger slick with sweat that was beading itself on Mikey’s forehead, humming softly, they stayed there like that, in silence until he spoke up again. “My brother is going to kill me.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, bud.” Frank muttered. He cringed, and hoped that he hadn’t caught that sentence.

“This is his favorite Iron Maiden T-shirt.” Mikey laughed. The wind-chime noise faded, and a more serious shadow crossed his face. “I don’t want to die.” His voice trembled as the words escaped his mouth. “Please… don’t let me die. I don’t… I don’t want to go. Not yet. Please.” He was begging Frank for a mercy that he didn’t know how to give unless -

Unless…

Another hunger pain shot itself through Frank’s stomach and he cursed his own weakness. The responsible thing to do would be to hold Mikey’s hand until he drifted off into that blissful sleep. Until his heart finally gave out, like a missed note in a symphony. Until everything drained out of him, like sunlight leeching itself from winter’s harsh landscape. But… the starving part of Frank… no, the hopeful part of Frank. Knew he could do something more.

But at what cost?

Frank bit his lip, and drew blood. His teeth were already starting to peek their way through, betraying his ill intentions. “What if… I told you, I could save you?”

“Does this go along with that whole God thing, you mentioned earlier?” Mikey joked. His eyes were starting to turn a glassy, as he stared up at a point just past Frank’s head. As if trying to seek divine intervention from the stars.

“It.. sorta does.” Frank said. And technically, he wasn’t lying. “I can save you, but promise you won’t kill me afterwards.” He said, quickly.

Mikey made a “mmm” sound. His face paled, his body too weak to make a proper reply. Frank swore, saying a soft “I am sorry” to no one in particular, before sinking his teeth into Mikey’s neck. The soft flesh ripped apart, juicy and raw, like a tangerine. Blood rushed to the surface, flooding Frank’s mouth until he was drowning in a feral type of ecstacy. Adrenaline rushed through Frank’s body, as he drank, and Mikey’s body convulsed below him. He felt as if he truly were a God. Strength returned to his body, and the world bloomed into full color. The smells, the noises, the sounds, all running to greet him. Frank trembled, he was going to fucking drain Mikey dry if he didn’t stop, soon. But it was… so good. Relief was a drug, and it was addicting. Frank wanted to bathe in this type of bliss for the rest of his days, until everything was this painless, this euphoric, this -

There was the banging noise of a car door being slammed. Frank snapped out of his frenzy, and withdrew his fangs from Mikey’s neck. Mikey was unconscious, his eyes still staring up at the sky like a hopeless wanderer, trying to find their way home in the stars. “Mikey?” Called a voice. Frank cursed, again. And gently placed Mikey’s head onto the ground.

“You’ll wake up in 12 hours. Don’t do anything I would do. Also you can’t turn into a bat, so don’t try to fly. I still have scars from jumping out my bedroom window... “ Frank paused, and took a quick breath, “I’ll see you soon, Mikey.” Frank said. Whether or not Mikey could actually hear him, he wasn’t sure. Someone was approaching around the corner, Frank took one last look at Mikey before disappearing into smoke. Leaving behind nothing but a pool of blood, and one of his busted up converse.

#MY WRITING #MCR #POLTERGEIST

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