#miraclesabound

The shower has been running for a very long time and when Frankie hears a clatter, then a curse, he hurries to the bathroom. Through the mist and the wet of the cabinet glass, he sees Jay trying to bend down to pick something up. The nine month bump is, however, slightly in the way.

"Jay?"

Her head snaps up and he can see that she's pissed.

"I'm fine!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to shave but your child keeps getting in the way," she snaps, letting him know in no uncertain terms that it is his fault that she's in this predicament. "Not only am I unable to reach down there, I also keep knocking things over."

"Shave?" Frankie may be an accomplished pilot gifted with quick wits and lightning fast reflexes, but sometimes he just doesn't keep up with Jay. And his first thought when she talks about shaving is armpits.

Then he catches up, and frankly doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Do you have to shave down there? You're about to pop in a couple of weeks, can't it wait?" he suggests carefully, not wanting to piss her off even more - or let her know that he finds the issue moot and, truthfully, funny as hell.

"Would you prefer to have your mouth fill with hair every time you have a snack?" she points out, turning off the water and looking around for the can of shaving cream on the cabinet floor. Frankie shakes his head.

"You know I don't care."

"Maybe I do." Jay spots the can and takes a step back as she prepares to crouch. Frankie, in no mood to watch her slip and crack open her skull, puts a stop to it.

"Jesus fucking Christ, woman, stop it. I'll help you."

"Just what the fuck did you call me?" she asks acidly, but he can hear the relief in her voice. Shedding his clothes quickly, he opens the shower cabinet, picks up the can, then steps in, crowding Jay towards the corner.

"Hi," he tells her in a low voice, the sight of her big belly and swollen boobs making him a little lightheaded.

"Hi yourself," she replies, a little distant but with a lopsided smile on her face. "You've got a job, soldier, focus on that."

"Kiss me first," he asks, and he doesn't have to ask twice. Leaning in, her belly separating the two of them, Jay presses her lips to his in a sweet, long kiss. Knowing her so intimately, Frankie appreciates the apology for what it is, and plants a second, small kiss on her lips before she withdraws.

It's not in Jay's nature to ask for help, so he knows she's indeed incapacitated when she doesn't make any more fuss about him stepping in with the razor. Kneeling in front of her, he directs her legs apart to get a better view.

And what a view it is; his favorite one. Even in this mundane, slightly ridiculous situation, he has to focus on the task at hand instead of the alluring slit right in front of his face. His cock twitches in anticipation and he can see the delicate skin on the inside of Jay's thighs rise in goosebumps when he applies shaving cream on the bristles surrounding all the parts he wants to taste.

She doesn't speak, neither does he. Dragging the razor gently along her skin, he takes every precaution not to nick her, uses his fingers to stretch her outer labia to get as close a shave as possible, swallows hard when he sees the little bud at the very top of her slit wink at him. Jay's breathing seems a little labored, which pleases him a lot. When she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, he sees the slick seep out between her inner labia.

Madre de Dios.

"Little more," he tells her quietly, even if it might be himself that he has to ensure. A little more, just a little more before he can taste her, wet his lips with that sweet juice, bury his face between her legs.

Jay exhales in a subdued sigh, and Frankie finishes up as quickly as he can.

"Shower."

She takes the showerhead off its mount and hands it to him, turning on the water. He waits until it's warm enough, then directs it between her legs to rinse off what's left of the shaving cream. A tremble runs through her when the water sprays over her clit, and as soon as every last trace of cream is gone from her now hairless pussy, Frankie puts down the showerhead, grabs Jay's thighs, and presses his mouth on her.

She chokes on his name and grabs his hair in a half-hearted attempt to make him go slower, but Frankie is a man on a mission, and so Jay succumbs to him.

He really doesn't care what her pussy looks like, shaved or hairy, but he'll admit that there's something special about a hairless pussy, especially a newly shaven one. It's so soft and smooth, and obscene in how it reveals everything. Then again, hair has its own allure in how it frames and hides the wet heaven he just wants to plunge his tongue into. The contrast between the hair and the tissues is so stark, so intriguing. Frankie truly has no preference as long as the woman is the right one for him. And this one is the only one.

He hums his satisfaction, knowing how the vibrations of his voice will feel to her: as amazing he feels when she's groaning with his cock down her throat. Jay keens, and he digs his fingers into her butt cheeks as he licks into her, rubs his nose against her clit, uses his bristly chin to gather her slick, he wants to be drenched in it, wants to smell of her for the rest of the night. Freeing one hand from the soft flesh of her ass and thigh, he runs it up her inner thigh before slipping two fingers inside her. Focusing his mouth on her clit, he uses his fingers to really make a mess. Might as well make her squirt when they're in the shower cabinet.

She cums within moments, the gush of fiery liquid drenching his knuckles, her thighs trembling and her wail echoing between the tiles. Frankie hums his approval and goes on licking her, catching as much of the tangy sweetness as he can before Jay wraps her fingers into his hair and pulls him away. He sits back on his heels, catching his breath and looking triumphantly up at her disheveled, red-cheeked appearance.

"Don't... have to look so smug," she mutters. Frankie rubs his glossy chin.

"I think I earned the right."

She hums and offers him her hand to help him up. His rock hard cock bobs against the underside of her belly, and Jay catches it in her hand. Looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes, she slowly strokes the girth of it, her fingers teasingly light.

"Want to do something about this...?"

He kisses her then, lets her taste herself and his own desire, cups her round tits, filling with milk for his baby. Tearing his lips from hers only to whisper one thing:

You don't.

You stir, amongst the blankets and the unwashed sheets - but you're not even close to getting up.

How dare he even ask it of you?

You burrow back into the pillows - body feeling heavy, eyes baggy and stinging with salt. Not quite tears, but...different, somehow. You swear these eyes were easier to break open, once.

His calloused fingers drift onto your shoulder, and he's not one to swallow so hard - but he does, all the same.

He sucks the inside of his cheek; hand squeezing on the sheets.

"What is it?"

He wants to fix something vague. Something not quite described to him - ethereal, when it sits in your muscles. Tightens in your chest. Why do you wake up, some mornings, heavy and dark and aching?

A nondescript feeling. Oddly painful in the way it constricts over you - flattens you, as you stir and hope the sunlight will kiss you into something better.

"Go shower," you tell him, your dry tongue finding the top of your mouth as you wrap your arms around yourself, "I'm fine."

I'm fine.

I'm fine, you've learned, is a form of punctuation.

A full stop. It invites nothing - no beginning, even as Charlie's brow creases. Something warm traces down your cheek, and...those are tears, somehow. You'd forgotten it, maybe.

Forgotten that crying is painful. It aches; a tight ball in the bottom of your throat.

Dear God, but did it always ache like this?

"I'd rather stay with you," he tells you, with no uncertainty. "If that's what you want."

His lips find your forehead, and you're groggy. Aching, under the weight of this, as his plush lips imprint something meaningful onto your hairline.

Silent. It's quiet, here, as you shake in his grip.

He kisses your forehead, and you snake around him; and the silence breaks, little by little, with the sound of you hitching on a sob.

“If Craig sent you out here to check on me or whatever, don’t bother,” You huffed as you heard the gravel crunch under heavy boots. You didn’t turn to look who had come to check on you, Craig had an abundance of minions to do his bidding and you walking out of the cocktail party for his art piece crying wasn’t enough for him to do it personally.

The boots stopped and a low, male voice answered you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Craig, but if you need him, I can definitely ask around.”

You let out a sarcastic bark someone could describe as a laugh, maybe, and twisted around to look at the man who spoke. He was… handsome, your mind supplied. He was clad in a jumpsuit fit for a mechanic or maybe a pilot, shaggy and curly brown hair sticking out from under his hat, large hands streaked with grease and open, brown eyes that looked at you with worry in them. He was definitely handsome in that unassuming way and his posture was harmless, relaxed as he stood a little way from you.

“No, I don’t need him. Definitely do not. Need him that is.”

“May I ask then, why…” His voice died out as he gestured at your formal outfit and you let out a second bark. You knew he saw the tear tracks that contradicted the happiness that was normally associated with formal wear, it had to be the reason he asked.

“You may. Craig Owen is revealing his latest art installation in hangar 3 tonight and being his partner, I was forced to come with. He’s good, the art is good but he’s a complete fool in all other areas.” You sighed, rubbing your bare wrist as you went through the past half an hour in your mind, the events that made you walk out of the hangar and into the cool evening air.

“So I’m here, wallowing in self-pity and he’s in there, wallowing in the lustful gazes of the masses and ass-kissers. And apparently I was fool enough to believe he’d sent someone over to do some damage control, but instead I interrupted an innocent bystander on their way out of here.”

He lifted one of his shoulders in a small shrug. “I’m in no hurry.” He seemed to offer more silently, his eyes betraying the worry he felt and you were sorely tempted to open up the wounds, let someone in for a moment. You took another look at his jumpsuit and the patched name over his left breast.

“Thank you, Frankie, but I should go back in, I think. It doesn’t do any good for his image if I’m gone for too long.”

“Pardon my words, but if he’s left you out here and hasn’t come out to check on his partner, he doesn’t deserve you going back in.” The bite in his words was harsh and normally you’d jump on Craig’s defence, but the exhaustion of his actions piling up in the back of your mind made you close your mouth with a snap. Frankie looked at you, his eyes turning calculating and after a moment, he dug up a small handkerchief from his pockets and gave it to you.

“Would you like me to call you a ride, so you can get out of here?” He nodded towards the brightly lit parking area a small distance away. You wringed the cloth in your hands and nodded quickly. Going home sounded wonderful.

Frankie held out a hand for you and you stepped on the path in front of him, walking briskly. You heard him fish out a phone from his pockets and called a cab company, speaking in a clear voice about the directions on where to find the parking lot. Once the call ended and you reached the lot, he gestured towards the small garden patio set in front of the sliding doors.

“I know it’s not much, but it’ll take at least 10 to 15 minutes for the cab to arrive, so you can wait out here. If you need anything at all, please give me a call.” He held out a small card for you and as you took it, he tipped his hat in your direction before vanishing inside the doors. The parting words seemed a little off, but you chalked it up to chivalry as he was essentially leaving you alone in a remote place.

You sat down on one of the chairs and turned the card around in your hands.

Francisco Morales, Private Investigator, Mollier Investigations.

A phone number followed the three lines and a company logo in the right corner seemed to combine two letters M together. You thought it curious that a private investigator was openly handing out cards in the middle of a private airfield, but living in the large city never stopped surprising you. Maybe this was one of those surprises.

You tucked the card into your pocket just as the cab rolled out on the curb and a short man jumped out of it to open the backdoor for you. As you slid inside, you glanced at the sliding doors and swore you saw a flash of movement inside. Shrugging it off, you turned back to the driver and instructed him to drive you home.

Inside the hangar office, in the shadows behind the doors, Francisco Morales watched the cab peel off. A pang hit his heart for the wet tracks he’d seen and somewhere deep inside, the need to make it right swam up. But first, he had a job to finish and a lucky streak just might make it two jobs that night. He could always look you up later, he knew he’d be running into you again.

Frankie dug up his phone and pushed the number on his list. He waited for it to ring twice, before another male voice picked up.

“You have it?”

“Not yet, but… Something curious came up. Do you remember the Owen case? I think I might have a lead on that.”

“You serious Catfish? That trail has been cold for months now!”

“Yeah. You never guess who is holding out a party in the private airfield I keep my plane at. Craig Owen himself.”

“No fucking way! We need to get into that party, this could be it. Can you find us a way in?”

“Sure. Do a little this and a little that, make the lights go off in say… 30 minutes?”

“Copy that, Catfish. Ironhead and I will be down there shortly. Let’s catch this motherfucker.”

*

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this!