So I keep my footlights shining bright like I keep my exits wide

Letha’s palms run over his shoulder blades, gripping lightly until his thrusts become more ramped and her nails dig into his skin, something she knows he likes otherwise she wouldn’t try it. Her head leans back and she closes her eyes, letting herself hang in the ecstasy of their embrace for awhile, moans falling from her mouth melodically.

The sound of wet skin hitting skin fills the room only to be interrupted by her moaning and the sound of the desk moving a couple of inches whenever Peter adds more strenght into his thrusts. His palm explores the territory he is already so familiar with, his fingers recognizing her skin with the same ease they’ve got to know the metallic band of the rings around them. Soon Peter is touching her face, his thumb playing with those rosey lips of hers.

“What’d you think of,” the words come out with pauses between them, as he is already panting heavily. “When you touch yourself?” 

“Sausage wrapped with chicken and bacon and that cheese you didn’t like.”

If he was half as smart as he claimed to be, he would have walked out of this, Peter reminded himself as he stepped out of the trailer. But, how fucked up would it be to leave this chick, the one on his old hammock of all places, there in the open after she was assaulted. So he walked between and over the knocked out guys, barely believing a fragile looking girl like her could have knocked all of their lights out. “Nenorocit,” he huffed, almost feeling bad for the poor assholes.

“Peter,” he finally offered as he stood by her side. “And you better bounce. People here tend to hold grudges.” Jerking his head he pointed at the ‘gypsy scumbags’ written in bright red across his old home.

Being chased wasn’t her favorite thing in the world. Hertha ran through the woods as fast as possible from these terrifying men. She ended up at a turquoise trailer and had enough running. She took a crobar that was laying around and struck them with it. She brought them down with strikes and takedowns until they were unconscious. Hertha lay down on the hammock and closed her eyes. “Oh gods, why does this always happen to me?”

The second he hears the yelling and trashing outside Peter swears it must be racist assholes who have spotted him again and decided to follow him, a welcome full of fists sure waiting for him. But it all suddenly quietens down and, by the time he dares to come out and take a look none of what he has imagineed is waiting for him out there. Including some blonde chick on his hammock.

“The fuck happened here?” He demands as he steps out of the trailer.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Shaking his head, Peter stubbed out his cigarette in the glass ashtray, before pushing it away. After eyeing her little hand and those lean muscles of hers, Peter finally agreed, setting his elbow firmly on the table and wrapping his hand around hers.

How long until you allowed a chick to win?

“Gonna show me what your learned at army camp, tough girl?”

“Wha- What?”

There’s still pieces of flesh around scattered around the floor, blood that has dried over the course of the last few hours. Since, against nature’s will he transformed under the wrong moon. There’s slashes around his body that have not completely healed yet. Punishment for his choices.

Propping himself up with his elbows, he stares at the strange woman. “How did you get here?”