the two of them are immediately seized with an irrational jealousy for being so robbed from witnessing you, like this. “since when does she sleep naked?” “suppose it’s hot nowadays.” caitlyn answers airly, as if her nails aren't digging into the heel of her palm and the tent in her trousers' isn't stiffening. urgently. since when did she have the libido of a teenage boy? vi elbows her, voice teasing—if not equally as hoarse. “cupcake. you’re packing.”

"like you're not thinking the same." caitlyn scoffs, and vi can't argue with that. she is thinking the same. if the same, is the idea of hovering over your blissfully relaxed figure, splayed out on the bedspread. tearing off her pants and—

“..perhaps, we could.. indulge.”

“oh, baby. you read my mind.”

you wake, to a burning in your lungs, and your cunt. there's a stuffy headiness enveloping your head, something hot and wet and slippery pressing up against your chin. you open your mouth, only half-consciously, when your tongue meets salt and your eyelids flicker open in sleepy befuddlement. heat, and muscular thighs clamp down on either side of your head. a rough hand twists in your hair.

vi jerks you tongue-first into her cunt. your, whatthefuckisgoingon??? comes out more like; "mmrmgh?”

"poor baby. can't breathe, huh?" vi only shoves you deeper up the wedge of her thighs, your nose burrowed into the curls of her hot-pink bush and mouth at her sopping pussy. "oh, right there, princess."

she hisses, wresting you by the hair and rubbing her slickened folds against your face. your hands are scrambling at the mattress, each and every attempt at speech muffled by the squeezing of vi's legs. she pants in pleasure, as you pant in need, into her pussy—choked out by the sheer force of which vi's thighs are coiled around your head. she eases up, just enough for you to wriggle your mouth to gasp for air, and release a breathy, plaintive whine—eyes sleep-glazed and blinking hard, trying to get your bearings. c'mon, now—get with it; you're being suffocated by your girlfriend's pussy. not four AM on a workday and your chin is coated with slick. vi lets out a petulantly dissatisfied noise when you're gulping air for too long—shoving your head back down with a low growl. "don't—hah—you fuckin' stop."

you're so preoccupied with trying to breathe, head spinning, cogs whirring at a slow, slow pace as it attempts to process the fact you're gasping into your girlfriend's pussy; you almost don't realise the burning in your belly has rescinded to a low simmer. mistake.

"don't tell me you forgot about me, darling." like caitlyn can sense your distraction, there is a blinding jolt of lightning that crackles through your body as she gives you an idle jerk. something twitches, and you realise, belatedly, there is a cock inside of you. you tense up, and your walls clench. caitlyn's moan is dizzying.

"ah—ah.. fuck, sweetheart. you feel almost as good as you did, before."

vi presses up flush against your face, groaning as she rocks, grinding picking up the pace. of course, the tighter she holds, the less you can breathe, and your limbs jerk, fingers fisting into the sheets.

"stop squirming. you're only going to make it worse." caitlyn's pace is leisurely, manicured nails pinching either side of your hips. she rolls her hips forward, teeth biting down at her bottom lip. "it's a shame. you made such a good cocksleeve. all relaxed. pliant." 

it feels wrong to hear words so vulgar rolling off her silken tongue, so casually, so early-in-the-fucking-morning, as if you haven't heard filthier come out of her mouth. the shock of it is wearing, giving way to the blazing warmth that so throbs in your pussy that you can't believe you hadn't noticed. though perhaps, that was the whole point.

"you didn't expect me to wait my turn, did you?" oh, caitlyn is definitely smirking. you can hear the smug undercurrent in her voice; even if you can't see a thing, other than the swollen nub of vi's clit and the hastily-cut bristles of her bush as she gets off, chest rising and falling in shallowing breaths. caitlyn, however, is still only working in idle, languid pumps. like she's savouring your sleep-ridden compliancy; how you are, for once, thoroughly silenced by the clench of vi's pussy and vice of her thighs.

"you—mm—do look pretty when you shut up." vi gasps out, and you can feel her cunt pulsing around you, you want to whine, grumble, protest—anything—but the press of your lips only spurs her on, the hand in your hair yanking you deeper. vi's breaths stutter, tensing. "..shit." vi cums, her weight on your chest shifting, smushing you against the mattress as she squirts, right down your throat. caitlyn barely moves, content to, apparently, continue using you as her personal cocksleeve as vi humps out her orgasm against your face, milky fluid and your own saliva—from having nowhere to go—completely immersed in heat. caitlyn's thrusts are lazy, and vi's grinding vigorous. your chest is tight, thoughts almost nothing in your light-headedness, mindlessly gaping open and simply taking it.

the second vi collapses, thighs finally, finally lifting off your shoulders—caitlyn rams her cock into you. no longer muffled by vi's cunt (though, her cum still dribbling out from your lips), you cry out. you really can't catch a break, can you?

"shh." caitlyn commands, and now, you can see her eyes flicker up at you in annoyance, though beneath the gaze—gleams amusement. she slides herself in, deep, and your own hips rise in instinctive reaction, whimpering, lungs all used up.

you manage to do as caitlyn says, and shut up, chests heaving as you needily gulp in the mercy of fresh air. vi's large hands skim your bare chest, circling your nipples, thumb swiping underneath your breasts. "easy," she husks, voice gravelly, as if you have the energy to go anything but. or perhaps, she's talking to caitlyn. you can't tell, because caitlyn is certainly not going easy—and you are paying the price. in fact, she's begun to jam her hips with vicious force, pace vigorous—pulling out, ever-so-slow, before plunging back in again. there is no longer any restraint; as if she has held herself back, enough, and deserves this. to plow your pussy and drink in each and every broken gasp it elicits.

They leave Chicago in someone’s black Subaru Impreza that looks like every other black Impreza on the highway, a couple of backpacks thrown in the back seat and their hearts racing as they speed out of the city, sneaking glances and laughing every time they make eye contact. Ian’s driving, so Mickey gets comfortable and kicks his feet up on the dash, window rolled down and cigarette smoke billowing out. There’s wind in his hair, there’s music blaring. There’s Ian beside him. And he just settles into the feeling. The thrill of it buzzing through him. The pure, unadulterated fucking joy of ditching their respectable lives for a minute so he can steal a car with his husband and disappear from the city with it. Something about it feels like a return to form.

It isn’t long before the adrenaline pumping through them redirects, morphing into something incendiary and landing Mickey’s hand between Ian’s legs, those shared glances no longer getting them laughing.

Before Mickey knows it, he’s giving Ian the road head of a lifetime, getting him dangerously deep, not even thinking to worry about hitting potholes or Ian having to slam on the breaks or the fact that there are other cars around or anything. There’s just this. Just the weight and warmth of him in his throat, the satisfaction of it, just Ian biting his lip and trying to keep a straight face above him. He’s steering with one hand and gripping Mickey’s hair with the other, desperately trying to keep it together while Mickey does his thing, trying to hold on and not let him suck all his focus out of him.

It ends up being one of countless such moments in the coming days. It’s unsurprising that behaving like this has this effect on them, they know they’re like this. They’ve never cared that it’s maybe at least a little fucked up. They’re happy to roll with it.

The Impreza does the job for a day, but when it inevitably comes time to find something more interesting, they leave it in the parking lot of a diner situated on the edge of what barely passes as a town. It’s late into the night after driving along a scenic route through field after field and not much else for hours. They haul their bags out of the back seat and start walking along the main street to see what they can find, sticking close together like they’re waiting for something to creep out of the shadows.

It’s unclear what had possessed them to stop here of all places, dusty and unsettlingly quiet, not even a traffic light to speak of. Wherever they are has an air about it like it’s been left behind and forgotten while the rest of the world moves on. It’s an uneasy feeling, walking through such darkness, and it gives Mickey a chill despite the balmy heat making the back of his neck sweat. He’s wearing a muscle tank, flannel in hand, and his backpack is uncomfortable against so much bare skin. He’s itching to take it off and drive the fuck out of here, making more than one joke about escaping before the locals can wake up and cannibalize them. He can only hope that making this stop ends up being worth it.

Relief and victory, finally. It’s not like there aren’t any other cars around, but the tiny parking lot behind the semi-decrepit church across the street bears fruit that can only be dreamed of.

The first car that had caught Mickey’s eye is an old LeSabre that had seemed incredibly promising, but upon closer inspection it’s apparently seen better days, the front and back seats littered with garbage and filth.

The one other car in the parking lot is somehow older than the Buick, and it’s red and would stick out like a sore thumb on the highway, and it’s definitely a gas guzzler. But when it catches Mickey’s eye, he’s helplessly drawn to it.

It’s a Cadillac Fleetwood. The thing has to be from like 1980, but it’s clearly loved and impeccably maintained. Mickey looks into the windows and grins enormously at what he sees.

Plush red upholstery and spacious leg room. He’s never seen a car with such pillowy-looking seats. And the dashboard is ridiculous.

“What is that, mahogany?”

“Who the fuck knows. Here, help me out.”

Mickey knows Ian’s getting ready to protest, but before he can even get the words out Mickey’s trying the handle and the door is swinging open, creaking loudly in the oppressive silence.

Unlocked. He fucking knew it. Basking in the thrill of this victory, Mickey climbs into the passenger seat.

Sensing Ian’s hesitation, Mickey rolls his eyes, absolutely no patience for the fact that he’s almost definitely about to suggest they find a Honda or something from this century.

“Ian, if you don’t fuck me in this back seat at least once I will literally kill you.”

A pause. A longing look into that back seat again.

With a resigned sigh, Mickey’s husband settles next to him and starts making quick work of getting it going, checking around first to make sure the key isn’t also somewhere inside the car before he sets in to work his magic, Mickey grinning with satisfaction at yet another victory. He’s got quite a streak going tonight.

Then the engine’s rumbling to life, getting Mickey’s blood pumping like crazy, no doubt seconds away from a raging hard on, and Ian is pulling out of the tiny church parking lot before the sound can draw any sleepy townsfolk to their windows.

Taking off into the night again, they admire their newly-acquired ride and point out details to each other. The seats are really as soft and comfortable as they’d looked, and Mickey thinks he could pass out or have his back blown out comfortably here.

There’s a rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, its little silver crucifix catching the moonlight. Mickey wonders if the car had belonged to whoever runs the church it was parked behind.

“What, like the pastor?” Ian asks him.

“Yeah. Think we’re gonna go to hell for taking it? For fucking in it?” Mickey teases.

Ian doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, smiling, and rests his hand on Mickey’s knee.

Soon enough that back seat is calling to them and they end up parked again, this time along some quiet side road, too lost in each other to care about anyone driving by. Not that anyone does. It’s desolate here, forested and quiet save for crickets, the breeze, and unabashed sounds of pleasure carrying out the open windows as Ian gives Mickey exactly what he wanted and roughly takes him apart on those plush seats.

Being in the Fleetwood lights a fire in them, it seems, and their journey south sees them fucking at every single pit stop without fail, like it simply can’t be helped, whether they’re ensconced in the soft confines of their ride or they’re pressed close and draped against each other in a bathroom stall. More than one gas station bathroom offers dubious seclusion for a blowjob or a quickie, the two of them adept at the art of getting themselves and each other off quickly and sometimes even quietly. But sometimes it’s shameless and luxuriant, like with Mickey on his knees and taking Ian so deep and so lost in it he can’t seem to hold himself up, Ian slipping just as deep into it and not realizing how loud the filth and praise pouring from his mouth is getting. Or knowing without a doubt that there are people nearby waiting, and the thrill of it settling in them and getting them louder, performatively or not, having Mickey practically thrashing against a closed door while Ian hits him too, too fucking good inside, getting them off that much more powerfully from the notion of an audience. And when the location is seedy enough, when there’s enough threat of exposure, when there’s enough perceived danger, it makes it that much sexier, more satisfying, better in every way.

Moving on from the Fleetwood and taking something else comes up more than once. It wasn’t their intention to keep her for more than a day or two. But they’ve gotten attached, maybe even loyal. It’s loud and it’s old and they have to stop every ten seconds for gas, but they can’t let her go. There’s a million opportunities for something more practical and less eye-catching, but it becomes unimaginable to sacrifice the kind of atmosphere they’ve built up in their rolling fuck pad. The Fleetwood’s rosary still dangling from the rearview mirror and her upholstery getting worse for the wear with every backseat session have become iconic and intrinsic parts of this trip, somehow. It simply wouldn’t be the same without them.

They sit in the grass, propped against the warm side of her when they pull off into a park and stop near a lake with a name neither one of them will remember, drinking beer and watching the sunlight gleam off of the water while they talk about nothing and fuck around. They sit on her hood at midday and eat hot dogs at a roadside snack bar in the middle of nowhere, sun-warmed and a little sleepy, Ian periodically resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder. They’re caught in the middle of things once, both of them naked from the waist down when a park ranger taps on their window and is too embarrassed to say anything other than to tell them to cut it out, getting them laughing before dressing and taking off to find a better spot.

They hit their intended stops, plus countless others they never planned for. Louisville and Nashville and Birmingham and New Orleans and an endless string of suburbs and nameless small towns. Their favorite parts of the trip are those tiny towns, some of them like something out of a movie, dusty and quiet and offering a different kind of anonymity from the cities they visit. So many of them are like the town in which they found their Fleetwood, and in fact it’s in such a town where they finally almost leave her for something else, a Mustang that they know they wouldn’t be able to get far with, sexy and tempting as it is. In the end, they simply can’t. When they drive out of there, they do so without looking back, not a second thought spared for that gorgeous Mustang.

When it comes time to go home, they have one last backseat session before leaving her in a church parking lot in the middle of the night, Mickey figuring it would at least be funny to set her free in an environment she was familiar with. They make the most of it, Ian fucking him like it’s their last night on earth and drawing it out almost unbearably, every desperate gasp steaming up the windows ever further, keeping it close and tight, snapping hips getting the car rocking. Mickey will never get over how perfect this back seat seems to be for them, one of his legs draped up along the back of the seat and his other foot braced against the ceiling in a position that’s become his favorite way to keep himself spread for this. He glances around and tries to commit it all to memory, the comfort he feels, every detail he can see, trying to work past the way Ian’s got his mind swimming, trying to stay just coherent enough to absorb this fully.

And then they leave her, trudging on foot to a motel where they can get some rest before taking a cab or something to the airport the next day, their fingers tangled loosely and each of them glancing over their shoulders until they disappear around a corner and she’s gone from their lives for good.

Ian had taken the rosary, which amused Mickey to no end. Sweet, sentimental fucker. He gets it, though. She’d been theirs for almost two glorious weeks, it only felt right to carry a part of her with them.

You're so glad that the house was empty, no Gallaghers to walk in and disrupt you two. You already wanted to have her under you, to taste her and have her to yourself. The desire for her was strong from the beginning, but when you found out that she has never been in an actual relationship with a girl, let alone get eaten out by one, that desire and want for her became stronger. That want turned into a need, and that desire turned more into a craving for her. You just wanted to have her, even for a night and you finally got that.

You held her thighs apart, keeping them wide open while you slurped at her exposed cunt. Her pussy dripping from her own juices and now, your saliva. Your chin drenched in her essence and her fingers tangled in the roots of your hair while yours curled in her pussy and gripped the fat of her thighs.

Fiona's back arched off of her bed, toes curling as your fingers curled against that spot that made her scream.

The room was filled with her moans. whimpers, whines, airy breaths and your name. The way it rolled off of her tongue sounded so natural, the way her body reacted to your touch seemed like this was an everyday thing.

"You sound so pretty sayin' my name like that,"

She smiled at the praise and looked down, "Didn't think you were the kind of person to praise someone." she chuckled, "What do you wanna hear then, Fi? Want me to degrade you? Call you 'my slut' or something?" you asked, your fingers never stopping.

She clenched around your fingers at the suggestion, "Deadass?" you asked, stopping your movement, causing Fiona to let out a whine. "You're serious?" you asked again. She covered her face with her hands and nodded. You pulled your fingers out and licked them clean before climbing onto the bed and hovering over her.

"Move your hands, pretty."

She did as told and looked up at you with those eyes. Those beautiful, brown eyes.

"Were you serious?" you smirked, "Yeah...do you wanna try it?" she asked, you gave her a nod, "I'll try anything with you,"

She laughed, God her laugh was just so full and happy, "You're so corny!"

You left a trail of kisses down her body, "Shut up," you muttered as you made your way back down between her legs.

"You know, for the record, I didn't take you for one to like being degraded." you mentioned, flicking her clit with your tongue.

She moaned, and pushed your head down, "But I'm glad I know now,"

You continued to talk as you ate her out, the vibrations of your words on her pussy sent shivers throughout her body.

She didn't mind that you were talking, but God, she just wanted you to call her names while praising her. You guys can have a conversation any other time.

"Reader."

"Pretty."

She smiled at the name, "Just eat me out, we can talk normally after."

"Impatient much?" you mumbled, sitting up, resting your hands on her thighs. Fiona whined and reached out for your hands, trying to move them between her legs.

"Why? Please, don't do this right now." she panted, "Don't do what? Use your words, bitch."

"Don't tease right now."

You chuckled and hovered over the brunette, your arm wrapping around her waist as you switched positions.

You lied on your back and had Fiona in your lap. Her hands rested on your chest and yours rested on her waist and thigh.

"Why not?" you asked, "Please? Don't tease right now, please?" she begged. You pretended to think for a moment, "Nah. If you want to cum, do it yourself."

"You mean like ride you or something?" she asked, "I mean, do it yourself. I don't do anything for bitches who act bratty."

Fiona had a feeling in her core now, she liked hearing you talk to her like this. Degrading and mean. She didn't think she'd like being called a bitch. She usually doesn't like being called a bitch by anyone, but it felt different coming out of your mouth.

But the cherry on top, was the way you looked at her when you did. Especially now, with you under her calling her names. She could honestly cum right then and there from your words alone.

Fiona, very nervously, crawled her way up your body and hovered over your face. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Ride." you bluntly stated.

"Ride your face? What if I hurt you or something?" she asked, "You won't hurt me."

"But what if I do?"

"You won't."

"What if I do though?"

"If you don't want to cum then I'll leave."

"Okay! Okay!"

Fiona leveled her pussy just over your mouth, not on it, but just ghosting it.

"Fi."

"..Yeah?"

"Sit."

She sighed, she really didn't want to take that chance of hurting you. She didn't want to hurt you at all.

You grabbed her hips and pulled her down on your face. Your mouth was open, and you were lapping at her pussy like you were starved.

She held herself up against the wall behind her bed and her hips bucked on your face. Her clit would rub against the tip of your nose every now and then.

"I- fuck I thought you didn't do anything for "bitches who act bratty" or are you just a liar?" she asked.

"I'm many things, Fi. But a liar, I ain't." the more you spoke the louder she moaned. Your words sent vibrations through her cunt and throughout her whole body.

"Plus, you're the kind of brat whose too dumb to do shit on her own." you degraded. The dirty words you spewed at her made Fiona's eyes roll to the back of her head.

You licked, sucked and flicked her clit with your tongue as she rode your face. Her thighs clenched around your head and her body tremble when she felt herself cumming all over your tongue, mouth and chin.

She rested on top of you for a moment, you rubbed her back and thighs, letting her take her time. You didn't mind staying in between her legs.

After she caught her breath, she moved from on top of your face and sat in your lap. You sat up and oh my god you looked so fucking sexy.

The way your eyes were still low, evidently filled with lust, your droopy smile, your hair was a mess and you had her cum and juices on your chin. You grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and wiped the spots on your chin that you couldn't easily lick off.

Fiona stared at your shirt and played with the hem of it. "You want it?"

"Really?" she asked, hesitant to say 'yes'. She didn't want to ransack you of your clothes just yet. "Yeah, don't worry, I got another under here."

This has been one of the first times Fiona has felt truly happy and at peace with a person. Usually everything goes downhill for her, but ever since she's met you and became great friends with you, her life brightened up.

It's been around an hour or two, the two of you were in the midst of a conversation that you didn't hear the front door open and shut close. You were sitting with your back up against the wall with Fiona sitting between your legs and her back against your chest. She wore your shirt and the two of you passed as cigarette between each other.

"Fi', you don't mind if Mickey.." Ian trailed off as he saw his sister, who was naked waste down, cuddling with his boyfriend's sister.

"Did she say anything?" Mickey shouted, walking up the stairs, Ian quickly closed the door before Mickey could peak in. "She's uh naked."

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"Isn't there anything I can do so you won't give me a ticket?" You pleaded, looking up at the officer from your car window.

Carl had pulled you over for speeding. You'd never gotten a ticket in your life— hell, you hadn't even gotten detention in school.

"I'm just trying to do my job, ma'am." He muttered, flipping his ticket pad to start writing. Just before his pen hit the pad—

"You like weed, officer?"

That's how you found yourself parked in a basically abandoned parking lot with Carl, sharing a joint.

"You think one joint's gonna get you out of a ticket?" Carl asked as he passed it back to you.

"Well, um, no, but—" You stammered.

"What else are y'offering?"

After some negotiations, you're in the back seat of your car, wearing nothing but handcuffs. And Carl's face is between your thighs, eating you out like he was fucking famished.

Your handcuffed hands are gripping his hair, whimpers and moans falling from your lips, obscene noises coming from him as his tongue delves from your entrance to your clit and back.

"O-Officer Gallagher—" Was the last thing you cried out before you came. But he didn't stop, or even slow down.

His hands hungrily gripped your thighs, he was completely pussy drunk, continuing to go at you like crazy.

You were gonna have a hell of a time cleaning your back seat tomorrow.