A warning to readers: I refuse to reveal beforehand the flight of stories on
the chance that they might make people uncomfortable. This story will make you
uncomfortable. It's an aspect of storytelling, and it is up to you to see how
it fits in your life. Suffice to say, if you have read Blowjob and found it to
be within your tolerances, this should only be a small stretch.

I remain,
f. aces

PS: as always, feedback or commentary is welcome at slipstream_sunrise@hotmail.com

------------------------------

Run
by Sanity's Plight


1.  Quick Beginnings

``Some days I feel like work follows me home.''

She smiles, ``You don't seem to mind that much.''

``Hey, that's not fair.''

She cocks an eyebrow at him.

``If I couldn't work, I wouldn't know what to do with myself.
I am very good at this, and it's what I do.''

``I didn't mean it like that. I'm happy you like your work.''
He's not usually this touchy. He's agitated. Maybe he's getting
it from her.

``Sorry....'' A satyric smile, ``Come here you little whelp, and
I'll show you what I think real work is.''

Lana laughs in what one would consider a musical tone, if the musician
were a bit tone deaf.


2.  Quickening

``These flowers would go very well. Very well, sir.''

And they will. Orchids will complement the black and white photographs
for the gallery display, this one on Terns.

``You think so? I'm a bit flower-deaf, you might say. The birds I can do,''
and well, he being the photographer, ``but these flowers are dead already.
They don't look quite right now matter how I look at them.''

He smiles at her.

Slightly odd yet romantically corny speech. A whimsical smile.

He's one.

Her heart smokes through her veins, as she watches his eyes.

``I'll take them.''

``No need, sir. We at the gallery will handle everything.''

``Including myself,'' she doesn't add.

He's one.


3.  Pace

``....''

The distinct sound of a woman's masturbatory breathing. It's tight and controlled,
to increase pleasure, but it's also a bit wild, from the pleasure.

``....''

``....''

She pulls the heavy comforter up and over her shoulders, and leans further into her
pillow, which makes her breathing echo in her ears, and the gentle caress of the
fabric weighs on her cheek.

Lightly stroking now, angling toward the goal but not running dead-out. Her knees
curl up over her elbow, and she gets smaller and smaller and smaller.

``....''

And she's almost gone.

You almost can't see her.

``....''

``...!''

And she's gone.


4.  Gate

``You know the rules. You know the circumstances. You know the goal.''

``There is no goal.''

``Incorrect. There is the one goal: to never stop.''

``....''

``You must never stop.''

``Is there any strategy?''

``Never stop.''

``Is there any safe ground?''

``Never stop.''

``Does it hurt?''

``Never stop.''

Never stop. Once you go, you never stop.

You never stop.


5.  Steeple

``Mmmmm....'' He really can kiss.

``Where've you been?''

And he never acknowledges it.

``At work. Another exhibit. Herons.''

``More like an albatross.''

``Money there is, and money there was, and money there yet may be.''

He smiles.

``You think you're so smart, but I've seen you naked.''

``And it's just like you to bring up pop culture.''


6.  Hound

``I had a puppy when I was 12, you know.''

He looks at her oddly, ``That's a rather odd way to put it.
I mean, no one ever says `I had the flu for an hour,' now do
they?''

She smiles.

``And how does this tie into your statement that I shouldn't get you a dog to
celebrate you having a job for an entire year?''

She smiles. This crypticity will drive him nuts for a week, she's sure.

And she remembers the Pug's left ear.

It was all that she had found of Grim, after.

After.

She stops smiling, and leaves.


7.  Trap

This one smiles with an open face, after he runs into her and spills her
coffee.

``I am so sorry.''

`It happens.''

``Here, take my coffee. I'll go get another one.''

She looks at him in surprise. A bit of an unusual offer.

``What the hell,'' she thinks, and takes a sip.

Ick.

She's not sure what it is, but it manages to combine everything she hates
about coffee and combines it into one drink. If ever there was a drink made to
order not for her, this is it.

She walks over to the line and hands him his coffee-vitriol product.

``Not to your liking, eh? Well, mine neither, really. I suppose I almost got
the better of that deal.''

This guy is beyond belief.

``How do you take your coffee?''


8.  Spurs

``You knew you were not allowed to have a pet. They're dangerous for you.''

``He's right, dear. They'll kill you, those kinds of things. They
slow you down, and they make you more open.''

``Don't go looking for him. He's gone. I gave him to a neighbor in the
next section over. He's gone.''

``Dear, really. Don't try again. You don't want to do that. You'll understand
later.''


9.  Warren

She leans into him, pressing the cove of her waist to his stomach.

A kiss.

``How did I ever meet a girl like you? You're something, you know.
Not something you meet everyday.''

``Perhaps you should order the wrong coffee more often.''

``It wasn't all that deliberate.''

A smile.

``Just a bit.''

She shakes her head, and rests her head on his chest, cradling her head
on his shoulder.

``And it's not like a knew that you were going to your interview for the
job.''

It's so comfortable, here.

``Let's go away for the weekend. Let's go to the lake.''

``It's winter. It's cold.''

``I know. It'll be perfect.'' A flash of teeth.

He's different. He's different.

``She leans over and kisses him.''

``Pardon?'' She's a bit puzzled.

``That's the next part of that internal narrative you've got going.'' Another
smile.

She leans over and kisses him.


10.  Fox

Silk robes. Red silk robes. His almost a kimono, hers a Victoria's Secret
affair with black lace edging.

A warm fire going in the hearth, bathing the couch in heat.

A warm brandy in her stomach, bathing the whole room in a glow.

A warm mouth on her lips.

A warm, hungry mouth on her lips.

A rough, gentle hand on her chest.

A rough, warm palm on her breast.

A warm, dreamy surrender.

Red robe's lace crushed against the small of her back when she arches,
a small short pain, a friendly warm thrust, and breathing in her ears.

Hers and his.

After, his hand closes around hers, as he lays beside her. Her knees
twitch languidly, trying to find a comfortable position for the feeling
of calm flowing out of her.


11.  Fence

``Here.''

He's helping her into her robe, and then her sandals.

They're going to go look at the moon, and listen to the lake breeze go through
the trees.

Out, into the night air. The shock of cold hits her and sets her blood
aglow. They wander down to the cove of trees, and stop.

``It was fun.'' He says into the distance.

``Yes, it was.'' She smiles. The wind blows through her robe, ruffling
her still mussed hair. It's an odd feeling, and she cocks her hips
to the side to meet it, shivering all the while. With a smile.

His hand is on her shoulder, and he pressures her to get down on her
knees. As she does so, he turns toward her.

The frame of the automatic is warm from his skin. The barrel is cold,
as gunmetal always is.

His semen is trailing its way down the inside of her thigh, it's icy
path lit by the wind.

``You led a good hunt.''

A pause, as he looks in her eyes.

``And you have a marvelous pelt.''
