"There went the carport," he shouted over the hurricane's howl and the sounds of splintering wood, rending metal. He looked down into his bride's fearful eyes and trembling lips.
They should have evacuated; would have, if the storm had struck after payday, or the credit cards were less close to maxed out. As it was, they'd pretty much emptied their account just buying the rolls of duct tape that criss-crossed the jalousied windows of their rented one-bedroom capehart duplex. Maybe they could have begged shelter from their neighbors before they left to whatever haven they'd gone to.
So he stood at the small bathroom window and watched their neighborhood get blown away. The bathroom window, because the bathroom walls contained the most pipes, shared with a kitchen wall, and because if the roof fell, the washer and dryer afforded some protection from being crushed.
But the roof wouldn't fall, they realized, listening to the sound of shingles and plywood being ripped from nails. The sound of shattering glass nearby let them know that duct tape was not true hurricane-proofing.
And then his bride was tugging at his belt buckle, sliding his zipper down. "What are you doing?" he yelled above the shriek of the wind.
"Taking my mind off the storm," she'd hollered back, fishing his cock out of his pants and into her mouth.
Incredible, he thought. My first hurricane. And my first time being... the aptness made him laugh, and when he shared his thoughts, she laughed with him, before she returned to his cock. That laughter warmed them both through the long day and night ahead.