hand, spike

He’d been driving for hours, a trip to the city for supplies had stalled the two of you for a few days, him following you around as you sipped on overpriced coffees and ducked into expansive antique stores just to wander through the aisles and say things like “that would be perfect in our living room,” and “do we need an oil lamp?”. He’d simply let you lean into him and play along with your whims, nodding and shaking his head when appropriate.

Currently, you were curled up, his tan jacket acting as a pseudo-blanket as he drove, Tim’s hand curled around your thigh. The broken AC still huffed every now and then, but left you both in what could be compared to a brisk refrigerator. Winter was fast approaching.

“Mm,” You huffed, drearily, turning your face into his arm sleepily. “How close are we?”

“‘Bout an hour and a half, baby.” Tim adjusted his grip, allowing the slow cling of you around his bicep, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

You hummed, nose buried against the flannel over his arm, hugging it to your cheek like a pillow and closing your eyes again to the low rumble of music and the gravel beneath you.

A low rumble of thunder in the distance. A crackle of lightning. The soft sounds of your breathing as you drifted into rest. The atmosphere was quiet, calm.

Then, a sputter from the engine. A wheeze. A bump of a pothole in the road, the radio plinking as something jerks loose.

“Fuck,” He cursed, wheel shaking under his hands as the truck jolts to a stop, a pothole sending you off the road.

“What happened?” You blink blearily as you sit up.

“I don't know.” He answered, a gruff, irritation permeating the space.

You shuffled towards the passenger side as Tim shoved the door open into the pouring rain, grimacing as he slammed it shut and cracked open the hood. You couldn't particularly see him, and even if you could, you doubt there was anything you could do to help. Fingers fidgeting, nail biting into the cuticles of another finger, you bit along your ruined nails until the car door wretched open again, and Tim shoved his way into the driver’s seat, dripping wet and frowning deeply.

“Engine’s shot.” He said after a moment of silence. “Can't move. I texted Brian, but he ain’t gonna be here for another fuckin’ hour.”

“Shoot,” You matched his frown, hand going to offer him the warm jacket, but he shook his head, pushing the hair back from his face. “Tim, you’re probably freezing. It's only going to get colder.”

He just shook his head, hand tapping erratically against the wheel, a sign he needed a cigarette… or another stress reliever.

The hub of the cab surely isn’t built for this, the bench whining beneath the two of you as you swing your leg over Tim’s lap, settling atop him and pulling his jacket around you both as much as you could.

“Sweetie, the fuck ‘r’you doin’?” He groans, but his hands settle on your hips anyways, holding you close even though his tone suggests otherwise. Your hands thread through his damp hair at the base of his skull, a toothy smile playing about your month.

“Keeping you warm.” You shrug, still smiling as you press your lips to the hinge of his jaw, then to the swell of his cheek, then the bridge of his nose. “‘S chilly.”

“Honey, I’m soaked through.” One of his hands trails up to catch your face in a big palm, thumb catching the apple of your cheek.

“Mhm, ‘s’why I’m warming you up.” You push at the wet flannel around his shoulders, and Tim lets it plop onto the leather seat with a schlap. He’s left in a white shirt, damp enough that you can see the dark spattering of hair across his chest, down his stomach and towards his hipline.

“Yeah?” His expression twists with recognition at your advances, a slow smirk playing across his mouth now. “Gonna keep me all nice ‘n warm? How’re you gonna do that, my girl?”

His tone makes a blush spread down your neck, heat blossoming across your cheeks and smile turning shy.

“Oh, I don’t know…” You laugh, leaning back onto his thighs, but Tim’s grip on your waist doesn’t let you get far.

“Well, look at that,” He starts, mouth pressing to the line of your jaw now, the corner of your mouth, the dip of your nose into your cheek. “My girl gettin’ all shy now. Speak up, let me hear you.”

Mouth closing around the spot of skin behind your ear, Tim bites at you softly. You arch into the pressure of it, a soft sigh coming out much louder than intended in the small space.

“Oh, there she is.” He says, hips pushing into yours with the noise, coaxing another one out of you, and then another one.

With the third, you tug the hair between your fingers, bringing him to kiss you. He obliges, of course he does, Tim lets you pull his mouth to yours, lets you writhe against his lap, would let you take parts of his soul and tie them to yours if you asked, would let you devour his heart whole.

His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, using the grip on your face to tilt your head and open you up more for him. You let him in, eagerly leaning into his grip and gasping when his hips jut into your clothed core, let him drag your own hips down against him with a groan against your mouth.

Tim’s hand trails over your waist, down over the swell of your ass, then below the flouncy fabric of your skirt to dig his fingers into bare skin. One palm cups the full of you, grinding you down fully onto his hardening length, the rough fabric of his jeans digging into the plush of your thighs.

“Feel that?” He asks, other hand dipping beneath the hem of your sweater and forcing an arch in your back, a slow grind bumping your clothed center into the ridge of him, a sweet sigh spilling from you. “‘st’s allllll yours, my girl. Right fuckin’ there.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a dreamy smile on your face, even as Tim’s hand under your sweater trails up, catching the underside of your breast. “‘M all yours, too, Tim.”

He smirks, fingers unhooking the band of your bra with practiced ease that might piss you off if he didn’t distract you with another kiss, teeth sinking into the plush of your lower lip and pulling.

“My fuckin’ girl, right?” Tim’s hand shoves under your bra band as his teeth continue their descent to the line of your collarbone. His hand cups the full spillage of your breast in one, pinching a little meanly at the peak, though he’s rewarded with a full, whiney breath from you as you rock against him again.

“Yes, oh, God, yes, Tim,” Your clit catches, a jolt shaking your body as you roll your hips forward. “Always your girl.”

The hand against the skin of your ass threads beneath your panties, another mean motion as he pulls against the fabric to catch in your center. Another pitiful sound comes from you, and you topple forward at the sensation, forehead pressed to his shoulder with a gasp as he forcibly grips the fabric again, the rub against your clit overwhelming.

Tim curses lowly at the sound, dropping his own head back against the seat, overwhelmed with the picture you make. Letting him touch you, letting him bite and maim and grope at you, the soft sounds you make, God, it’s fucking insane how good you are to him. His girl.

A push at your chest, the tug of your thighs back over his hips startles you as you find yourself being pushed against the door, splayed open as Tim hitches the fabric of your skirt over you, holding it to your belly as he readjusts.

“Look at all this, huh? Goddamn gorgeous, my girl.” He taps your clit with a thumb, and watches the flicker of want, the pinch of your brow.

You’re heaving, sensitive and dripping in the seat of your underwear, as he spreads your thighs wide enough to accommodate the space. He’s got one foot against the floor, knee pressing at the inside of your thigh as he takes in the picture you make, groaning at the sight of you. Skirt splayed out, wet spot prominent in your polka dot lace panties, sweater pushed over your tits and bra shoved to give him a view of a healing hickey from a few nights ago.

“Jesus, baby, yer so fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, accent deep and thick as he pushes his thumb into you, watching the fabric dampen even further as you moan, high and sweet. “This yer spot, honey?”

“Yeah,” You reiterate, blinking through your lashes down at him, flush deep on your cheeks at the unwavering attention of his dark eyes.

The almost smile he’s got playing across his mouth at the sight of you, the ever stern set of his features, the way his shirt has ridden up and shows you the thick thatch of dark hair that disappears beneath his belt.

Your own hands push under his shirt, still damp from the downpour that beats against the metal roof of the cab and he lets you push it up just a bit, just to see his brawn, lets you lean up for another kiss that you ask for without words.

Tim would let you kill him if you asked.

“Fuck me? Please?” You ask against his mouth, sweet as syrup, and he allows you this, too.

Wet jeans are hard to pull down, but you make do in the small space, pushing at the chill of his belt until it opens and pulling insistently at the waist of his jeans and his boxers until Tim gives you reprieve, and pulls himself over the hem, hard and thick, head an angry red. His size was always intimidating, thick like a beer can and plenty long.

You make a small, needy noise at the sight of him, hips rolling up almost in autopilot in an effort to find release, and he takes pity on you, notching the crotch of your underwear to the side, and then bites back a groan at the wet, pink of you, the way you whine as he drives himself forward and rubs the underside of his cock against you with one slow glide of his hips against you.

“Tiiiiiiim,” You sigh at the feeling, hands clutching at his chest, nails biting into his skin. You’re a fucking sight. He loves you so goddamn much, it’s going to bleed him from the inside out.

“Yeah, baby? You wan’ it?” He taunts, another slow movement of his hips to drag him against the heat of your being. “Tell me how much, huh? Be nice about it.”

“So much,” Your eyebrows pinch with need, and he almost gives it to you immediately, but he’s mean. He’s so mean.

He pulls away, dips his head low, and spits right on your cunt. Smiling up at you with a wolf’s maw when your breath hitches at the sight, he asks: “You can be nicer, my girl. What do you want?”

“You.” Your brow furrows again, leg hitching around his waist to draw him closer as his back straightens.

“You have me.” He kisses the side of your head, then your nose, a breath through his nose like a laugh when you huff and roll your eyes.

“No, want you,” You bite the inside of your cheek, “Want you inside.”

“Ohhh, my girl wants me inside.” The hand notching your underwear to the side twitches to himself, tapping against you with a wet plop. “Ask me real nice, sweetheart.”

“Please, Tim, can you fuck me?” You ask, hands now cradling his jaw, feeling the grind of it as he gives you a sweet kiss.

“Yeah, think I can do that, my girl.”

Tim’s cock breeches you slowly, the first press inside drawing out a high moan, and a shudder that runs along his spine as he sinks in.

“So fuckin’ tight, shit.”

The space does not give you much room to back away from the feeling, the thick split of it making you squirm, hand scrambling along the fogged window as he presses even further in.

“Don’t run from it, baby.” He stills his hips, letting you writhe a little from the sheer stretch. “Shit.” Tim grunts as you tighten, forcing himself deeper until his pelvis hits yours.

He’s so fucking deep. It’s like you can’t get enough, and you can’t get away. He’s everywhere as he slowly rocks his length in and out, hands pulling at your hips, your ass, rattling your teeth and filling you so fucking good. You’re sure you sound incoherent, throat going dry as you meet a thrust bearing your own hips down, head catching on a spot inside that has your eyes rolling back.

He bends his head down, catching the peak of your chest in his mouth and biting over the purple mark that had faded, and you almost squeal at the feeling.

“You’re so,” You don’t finish, hand threading through the hair at the back of his neck again and tugging harshly.

“I know, sweetheart, you take it so damn good.” His teeth catch the underside, biting another mark into you again.

“So deep,” You whine, mindless now as Tim buries himself as deep as he can get, then pulls his hips back harshly and drives them forward again. “Oh, my God. Feels so good.”

His hand comes to rest over your throat possessively as he sits back, leveraging the space to fuck you just that much harder. Not squeezing, not bearing down, just a heavy hand reminding you just how much control he’s got, how big he is compared to you.

“So pretty, my girl, just takin’ it. Right where you should be, huh?”

You nod, tugging him down by his hair for a sloppy kiss, his hand threading into your own.

It’s not precise, your mouth falling open in a moan or a sigh while he drives into you, car rocking with the force. It seems that reminds Tim of the setting – the rain around you, the fog of the windows. The highway just outside of your bubble, anyone able to pass by, to stop and help, to see you getting fucked by him.

“Anyone could – fuck – drive by. See you all full’a’me, see you get fucked all nice.” He drives in more violently, now, hips almost bruising in their effort to get you more fucked out, a groan rumbling his chest at the thought of anyone seeing you. “I’d hunt’m down, my girl. You know I would. Shoot their fuckin’ brains out after seein’ you like that.”

His words drop your mouth, brow pinching as you take him in, handsome face tight in pleasure, sharp jaw clenched as he watches you, feeling you tightening that much more around him.

“My girl, you like that? Shit. Shit. I’d kill ‘em all.” Tim’s hips drive faster, arm going to band over your head as he fucks you, takes over your vision, your mind, your soul.

“Fuck. I wanna…” You breathe into him, the smell of cigarette smoke and pine, chill of the air biting into your skin forgotten.

A thumb suddenly presses insistently at your clit, not moving, but pressing into the bundle of nerves, just a shift against you and you almost scream.

“You wanna?” He asks you, thumb now softly circling, dark eyes searching. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, oh, holy shit, Tim, please. I want it, wan’ it so ba-,” You arch into him, back bowing severely as his thumb speeds up against you, words delving into pretty moans and hiccups.

He, himself, almost cums at the way your face opens in pleasure, how sweet you turn when you’re getting fucked, has to slow to grinds against you. Tim tells you this, something in his gut tightening when you return to meeting his thrusts with your own movements, now little jolts of your body due to the stimulation of your nerves.

“Fuck, I’m-!” You pant, open mouthed and wide eyed as you convulse, coming with a sweet moan into the cab as he ground into the tightness of you.

The tight concave of your cunt almost makes him come yet again, but he persists through it, letting you ride out the wave of your orgasm, face a myriad of pleasure that makes him proud and fucking possessive all at once.

Your body jerks, once, twice, three times as he taps wetly at your clit, still so, so mean.

Once your breathing evens out, he sticks the thumb in his mouth, groaning at the heady taste of you. Normally, he’d make you cry and come all over his mouth, but he’s been quite efficient today, fucking you hard and fast in his truck.

“You, hah, know what else I want?” A dreamy, sincere smile spreads across your face after his thrusts pick up again, chasing his own end.

“Anything, my girl, I’ll give you whatever ya want.” Tim promises, still infuriatingly composed under the circumstances.

“Wan’ you to come inside.” You blink up at him, a toothy smile aimed straight for his heart. His fucking pretty girl.

“Oh, my girl wants to feel me, huh? Wants her man to get her full.”

“Yes, please.” You clench around him, still, your own come leaking around you both, your voice trembling in the aftershocks.

Tim fucks into you, bullying your pussy, mean and fast. You’re there for him to get off, now, tight and hot and wet, all for him. It drives him fucking crazy that you let him do this, you let him fuck you, kiss you, come back every night to you even with all the blood on his hands, the sick, twisted part of him that wants to lock you up and never let you go welcomed by you.

“Shit, baby, gonna get you fuckin’ drippin’ with me.” He’s so close, “You ain’t gonna be able to move without me spillin’ out, stainin’ my fucking seats, markin’ you. Goddamn, cunt so fuckin’ pretty, my girl.”

It’s quick after that. He comes deep into you with your lips at his ear, sweet words to coax him, hands clutched at his back, hips thrusting as he rides out into overstimulation.

You lay there, both in varying states of undress as the storm. In one movement, Tim rolls into a sitting position, cradling your head into the crook of his neck and stroking at the slick curls at the nape of your neck. It’s quiet for a moment, serenely quiet – green and dewy out the window, rain pattering on the steel hood of the roof. Tim pops his door open just the slightest bit, shifting the two of you down the bench while he fishes in the jacket thrown over the back of the seat. The lighter you’d given him for your first anniversary flickers to life, and the end of a cigarette burns orange.

After a moment of quiet, a knock sounds at the still-fogged window, and you jolt, neck snapping to watch the door pop open. Tim just inhales, blowing smoke at the figure standing in the frame of the cab.

“Woah,” Brian smiles, dimples deep in his cheeks as he leans casually against the door like Tim isn’t still balls deep inside of you. “Looks like ya got real busy, pretty lady.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bri!” You yelp, pulling your sweater down over your chest.

“Don’t fuckin’ look at her like that,” Tim rolls his eyes, jaw tight as he takes a long pull before handing the cigarette to Brian. He takes an even longer pull than his partner, eyes roving over both of you.

“Not lookin’ at ‘er like anythin’, man.” The blond chuckles, handing back the stub, but Tim just flicks it past them both. “Maybe I’m lookin’ at you, dick out’n everythin’.”

“Got the car?”

“Mhm. I’ll even let you drive it.” Brian throws the keys over your head, and Tim catches them easily. “Ya made a mess I gotta clean up.

“Isn’that right, missus?” Brian’s eyes gleam in the low lighting, and your thighs tighten, instinctually.