His door was locked, but it flew open.
He was surprised to see Laura Moon standing there. Not surprised that she would break into his room, just surprised she had bothered. Surprised she wasn't with Shadow. Surprised she had found him at the dirty motel he was crashing at. He blinked at her and she just stood in the doorway.
“Miss me already, dead wife? Have to say, I thought you’d be with your man, even if your heart is beating without 'im now.”
She glared daggers at him, stomping into the room and slamming the door behind her. It bounced off the frame with a splinter-filled crunch and hung, still open.
She still had the superstrength, then, somehow.
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
“What, dead wife?”
“I’m not dead and I’m nobody’s fucking wife.” She stomped toward the bed. “Take off your pants.”
She was starting to pull off her own clothes, already.
“Hey, hey, hold on, now.” He sat bolt upright, grabbing her by her wrists to stop her undressing. “The hell is going on here?”
She let him stop her for a moment before pulling away from him. “Shit, you’re really as stupid as Wednesday says you are.”
“Will you calm down? Christ, I’m sorry if your man is…”
“Fucking stop it! He’s not my man. Just...”
She lunged at him, knocking him off balance, so he fell back onto the bed, where she landed on top of him, her lips immediately on his, and they were desperate. Hungry. Greedy. Everything about her was greedy. Her fingers were greedy on his chest and neck and in his hair and pulling on his shirt, which promptly tore. Her legs were greedy, wrapped around him. Her hips were greedy, grinding down against his. And she won, like she always did. He didn’t even fight her. There was no point. She would always win with him, even if she hadn’t been strong enough to tear him in half. She was rough, so he was rough. He pulled her hair and bit her neck and reached up under her shirt, across her smooth ribs, lacking the autopsy scars, and squeezed her tits. She moaned, and it was the most wonderful sound he could ever remember hearing, or maybe he was just grateful that the rasp of death was gone from her voice. She pushed herself up, so she was sitting on his hips, and pulled her shirt off. Indeed, the scars were gone. Everything was attached where it ought to be, and he appreciated the sight.
“You’re a bit in the way for that, love. Also, you don’t get to tell me what to do…” he smirked. “And the door’s still open.”
She scowled at him.
“Do I look like I give a shit that the door is open?”
She reached down and tore his shirt the rest of the way off without any apparent effort, before climbing off him, pulling her own pants off quickly. He just laid there and watched her, grinning.
“Pants, ginger minge.” She clapped at him.
He watched her for another second, considering arguing with her. Considering demanding she tell him what had happened. Considering letting her tear his pants off, if she wanted them gone so badly. He didn’t have another pair, though, and there was no arguing with her, so he stood and jerked his belt open, sliding his pants down and kicking them off.
“Commando, huh?” She looked amused.
“Old habits, you know.” He hadn’t worn underwear in 400 years and he wasn’t about to start.
She laughed, glancing down at him, and thought that she kind of liked the idea of choking on it his cock, but this was supposed to be about her, and she wasn’t going to let him think she was doing him any favors. So, what did she want? She walked over to him and pushed him back onto the bed, climbing over him to sit on his face. She didn’t know if he would cooperate, but she would have been happy either way, really. Fighting or fucking. At least he gave a shit.
He was quick, though, to hold onto her thighs, wrapped around his head. He was still rough with her, breathing and licking and sucking and even biting and fuuuck, she was so grateful to have full use of her nerve endings again, even as his beard felt like sandpaper against her skin. She humped his face, moaning loudly. She didn’t know his name and she didn’t much care to. Curses were a fine substitute and soon she couldn’t get any words out anyway. Her first orgasm hit her like a semi-truck and she screamed, shaking, spasming, biting her lip until it bled, her fingertips splintering holes into the headboard. He helped her hold herself mostly upright until she let herself fall sideways, off of him. He wiped his mouth on the back oh his hand.
“You still taste fucking dead, you know.”
She pulled him onto her, kissing him, tasting it. She did taste rotten. She was rotten, just not as physically as she used to be, and she didn’t give a fuck. She pulled her mouth from his just enough to spit in her hand and she took hold of his cock, which seemed even bigger now, but maybe just because her hands were small. She tried to be gentle, fully aware that she could have pulled it right off. He moaned, his breath hot on her neck, and he helped her line him up before pushing in. He stopped for a second with just the tip inside, shuddering, feeling her squeeze in anticipation. He was definitely bigger than Shadow and it hurt and she liked it, but she needed him in rest of the way. She slapped his face, just a little too hard, and he grunted and thrust his full length in, wrapping his long, calloused fingers around her small throat without really choking her. She moaned loudly, using her hand to squeeze his a little tighter, before wiggling her hips and whispering, with her teeth on his ear lobe, “fuck me.”
And he did. Hard. If she didn’t still have the durability of a god, the force would have broken her. For a moment his body would roll against hers and then he would be ungracefully slamming her into the mattress. She came quicker this time, jerking, screaming, pulling a chunk of his hair out, biting her own already-bleeding lip again to keep herself from begging. Her walls seized hard around him and he muttered some word she didn’t know before shooting his load inside her.
“Fuck!” Her eyes rolled back. The added pressure almost sent her over the edge again, but he was done, so she let it go. He slumped heavy atop her, panting, sweating. She felt trapped—like he would suffocate her with his weight if he stayed too long—and she didn’t hate the feeling. She knew she could push him off if she really wanted to, anyway. He stayed there, on top of her and inside of her, for a minute before pulling slowly away. She stopped herself from whining when he pulled out. He didn’t get to know she missed the feeling of him. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her with a crooked smile.
“The fuck are you doing here, Laura?”
She liked that he had called her by her name, but she didn’t have an answer, so she averted her gaze from his, pushing herself up onto still-shaky legs and walking into the bathroom.
“Asked you a question,” he called after her.
She popped her head back out and glared at him. “Can talking about your feelings wait until I clean up? Because your cum is running down my thighs right now.”
“And you don’t enjoy that feeling, is that it?” He grinned.
She rolled her eyes and went back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She actually did enjoy that feeling. It made her feel strangely in control. She could wipe it off, but she had gotten laid, so fuck you. That kind of thing. She didn’t enjoy him winning, though, so she cleaned up and spent a minute staring at herself in the mirror. She was so pretty. She had missed being pretty, as much as she wouldn’t admit it. On the other hand… Shadow had been right about her. She could get anything she wanted by asking. She didn’t like that. She preferred taking things to asking for them. Asking was so easy. Shadow had always wanted to do things the easy way. She emerged from the bathroom to find the redhead lying on his back in the middle of the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, his arms behind his head, and his cock laying limp and sticky against his stomach.
“Don’t look so proud of yourself," she said, scowling.
“Don’t like it, the door’s still open.”
She walked over to her clothes and started to pull them back on.
She hated him.
She hated that he knew she had enjoyed fucking him.
She hated that he knew she liked cum-stained thighs.
She hated that he knew she wouldn’t leave.
She didn’t even know why she wasn’t leaving. She balled up his pants and threw them at him, just hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He laughed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling them on.
“My name’s Sweeney, by the way. In case you need something new to yell, next time.”
“Fuck you. There isn’t going to be a next time.”
She knew there was going to be a next time, and she wished it would hurry up and happen.