sunsets on powerlines

"'S always the fuckin' desert with these fuckin' people." Remi's eyes tracked the landscape through the passenger-side window, the blue-purple dusk and the unmoving ridges of the bluffs in the distance, crowding the horizon. Smoke seeped between his teeth, curling over his lip and caressing his cheek; he blew the rest lazily toward the vent somewhere in front of it, seeing it dissipate in his peripheral. "They know what happens if they try to set up in the zones," Amari replied, cutting through Remi's bitching with levelheaded disinterest, his focus directed at the dirt track that stretched out in front of their vehicle. "Fuckin' right." Remi huffed. They might as well have saved him some trouble and dug themselves in somewhere else in the first place, but power wasn't kept without challenge, and growth required blood. The SUV's suspension shuddered over the ruts in the sand, the tires dipping into a larger scar in the terrain, knocking some ash off his cigarette that landed on his thigh. He brushed it off with an irritated sigh, taking another drag.

Since moving out — which had been more sleeping in another apartment than any actual moving — Remi had not been back to his old place. Their… old place. He'd never intended to go back, but tonight — now — his key turned in the door just like it had for… if it hadn't been years then it'd sure as fuck felt like it. What did he know? He was still paying the fucking rent, because someone needed to come clean the place out, and he wasn't about to let the building's management do it, but it sure as fuck wasn't going to be him.

The lights were off, and the ghost-coat of dust everywhere made the room look like some fucked up museum, or like nothing physical at all but instead one of the dark, empty spaces in his head. Remi felt lazily along the wall for the switch until his fingers found it and he could actually see, which he regretted immediately because the light stung his eyes and because for some inexplicable reason he felt like throwing up a little bit. Everything was still where she'd left it. And then where he'd left it. Everything that didn't fit in a pair of suitcases and a fucking car, and it was almost funny. Though he fumbled a little, he was smiling as he pulled his phone out, squinting at the screen as he looked up the building manager and wrote him a text: srry fr the noise cmplaints — accompanied by a sum of money that was verging on inordinate. He didn't wait for a reply; it was four in the morning anyway, probably the guy was sleeping.

Remi continued his slow shuffle further into the apartment, attention drawn to the wall his hand had resumed its mindless drag across; pictures, mirrors, fucking mirrors everywhere— and damn, but he looked like shit. A flicker of a thought, gone (pale, hollow-eyed, dark ink he wasn't used to on both sides of his throat) as the mirror crashed to the floor along with the other frames, getting in his way so he had to step on them to move on. It crunched. Why didn't they have a fireplace? Completely unnecessary unless you wanted to burn something, which he kind of did, and he didn't think the building manager was gonna let that slide, no matter how much he paid him. Oh well. He could burn a cigarette. And he did, using one hand to smoke while the other flopped onto every surface he passed by and swept everything on top of it to the floor in his wake. The big screen in the living room was pretty easy to tip over, and it ripped a bunch of plugs out of the wall as it fell and yanked the other shit that was plugged into it along. Doing the work for him, really, which was good because he didn't have the fucking energy to start throwing shit.

Deeper in, toys already on the floor stayed ignored, but he'd lit another cigarette, and everything in the room he'd just entered was an ashtray. Shoes, bags, ridiculously expensive stupid-ass fucking dresses. He made scorch marks in them to match the ones on his arm and relit his cigarette, not caring that he kept putting it out because he had more cigarettes, and because it was fucking cathartic, seeing the pristine fabric marred with black, crumbling holes. Tugging them off the hangers and dropping them on the floor wasn't bad, either. Another ashtray. Jewelry box. Empty. He flicked ash into it, eyes darting without his instruction or intention to the high shelves across from him. Also empty. A fresh surge of hatred flared like a lick of flame somewhere between his ribs. He would've liked to have thrown those boxes. He would've liked to have opened them and thrown — one by one — every single piece of their contents at her fucking head. His hand was gripping the intricate silver jewelry box, knuckles whitening around it, and he caught a glimpse of himself again in the vanity, fucking mirrors, the box smashing into the glass a split second later, shattering it, then clattering off the makeup on the desk before landing with a thunk on the floor among lipstick tubes and brushes and whatever the fuck else.

Delilah Khatri​.

      “I don’t want—” She paused, reassessing her words, “I think this is good as a casual thing, right? But… I also think if you want to sleep here, I wouldn’t mind. I just think…” Delilah pressed her lips together as they crawled into a slow smile, “I think too much. But yes. All of that.”

    She was turned over on her stomach now, propping her head up with her hand on her chin, watching Remi smoke with a blissful grin. “You’re fun.” And hot. He was really hot — especially now that she knew what he could do. She wanted water, but her muscles felt like they were made of jelly, and she simply wasn’t ready to move. In fact, she was almost tempted to ask to try the cigarette again, except she knew the result would be the same, no matter how good the sex. 

     A casual thing. Meaning she wanted to do it again. Remi smiled, dipping his head in a short nod as she spoke to show his assent. Staying over, though… He took a final drag, dropping the filter into the glass he’d brought from the kitchen, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he answered.    “So’re you. ‘N that’s why I’m’onna head out — I ain’t nearly as cute in the mornin’.”

Delilah Khatri​.

     His kisses were electric, pleasurable shockwaves radiating from every place his lips touched. She kept up her pace and position, finding it to be just right, in that she could already feel that volcano bubbling up, almost ready to erupt. A sharp inhale followed when he gently bit her earlobe, her grip on him tightening as the action sent more shivers down her spine. His sigh, the heat, the way it traveled along her skin, reassuring her he was enjoying it just as much as she was. 

     Then she slowed, making her thrusts deeper as she felt euphoria send her brain through a whirlwind, her head tipping back as she released a loud moan, followed by softer ones, a few whimpers. Their bodies were tacky with sweat, but she still didn’t want to separate, because this was one of the very best nights — best experiences — she ever had. 

Delilah Khatri​.

     Everything had been so fun; their escapades were continuously punctuated by breathy fits of laughter between moans and sighs, and Delilah thought it was quite possible this was one of the best nights she’d ever had. She’d never felt so connected to someone outside of her family, which formed a certain discomfort in her chest that she chose to ignore for more pleasant sensations. Like this. 

     Once he had her situated in his lap, she kissed him back, slowly, sensually, allowing her hips to follow suit as she found her rhythm. In this position, he felt deeper, and she couldn’t contain the gasps that she breathed into their kiss with every roll of her hips. Before long, more passion took over, her kisses becoming hungrier as she picked up her pace a bit, her arms coiling around his shoulders to tangle her fingers in his hair.