Drin gets a kick out of standing in the Metro Airport waiting area in his dark suit. He’s holding a sign emblazoned with Dance’s name in the Korean characters, and he’s pretending to be a chauffeur waiting for his pickup.
And god, they look beautiful together. He can see them walking together, a long way back through the safety doors; the tall amazon of a woman and her miniature, elegant, boyfriend. Not your normal happy-ever-after, Drin thinks to himself, and feels one of those flashes of pure joy that have been upsetting his equilibrium lately.
Emma is smirking, when she sees him; Dance has dropped into one of his satirical foreign expressions, with a devil dancing in his eyes.
“Mr Dance Gum-Moo?” Drin says in a flat, midwestern accent. “Welcome… back to our town, sir and miss. Do you have luggage? Yes? Right this way, sir, I’m afraid the carousel will delay us a while. How was your flight?”
Dance is purse-lipped and dimpling, trying not to laugh. Emma takes up the slack; “It was un-exceptional,” she uses braying, Aussie tones, “And the takeoff was difficult, wasn’t it, darling?”
“I do not care for the Kentucky airport,” Dance agrees. “And we did not go a mile high.” The dimple deepens for a split second.
“The plane was so bloody crowded,” Emma explains. “Children with earaches.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Drin steps forward to hoist Emma’s Samsonite off the carousel, and is able to snag Dance’s soft roller bag right after it. “I can drive you straight to your residence though, and I’m sure the management will gladly assist you in going a mile high… or even a little higher.”
“This is good to hear!” Dance displays his white teeth.
“We aim to please, Mr Dance.” Drin tucks his precious pair into the back seats, and looks frequently into the rear-view mirror as he guides the car out of the Airport maze.
Emma talks about the conference high points, waving off huge chunks of it as irrelevant to the interests of her listeners. The restaurants come in for more detailed analysis than the lectures on conservatorship advances that she went to see in the first place. “Same old, same old,” she says, annoyed. “If we’d all trooped off to Spain, as originally planned, we’d have heard from a lot of the Europeans we don’t get to see much over here, we might have learned something for a change.”
She talks excitedly about introducing Dance to old friends, and tells stories about the restaurants they visited, and that day’s adventures in domestic traveling. “And of course Dance has to cause a scene, we nearly didn’t make it through security!”
“What were you smuggling?” Drin wants to know.
“Nothing! It was the security, it went off each time I went through it. Three times. And three times–”
“They sent a more higher-up higher-up, each time, to wave those stupid wands. And the wands never buzzed, not once.” Drin can hear the familiar smack as she slaps Dance’s arm. “You were just doing it for the drama. Admit it.”
“Oh, yes, because one handsome man is not enough for me. ” Dance agrees. “Now I must have every man, even underpaid security guards.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “And apparently you’re so irresistible that each higher-up level had a great need to see that much more of you each time, too! Where the hell did they take you, the restroom?”
“It was a little room with a little crooked chair and a big mirror and a lot of very large men, and I am very small and looking very silly in my shorts and my socks and I am not wanting any arguing!” Dance says, wryly. “I am sure I disappointed all of them. They really wanted somebody to hit them. I tell them they should hit each other, they would enjoy it much more.”
Emma opens her mouth, staring at him wildly. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Tell me you’re making all of this up,” Drin says, and fights down a little ember of doubt. Habit, nothing more. Worry is nothing but a bad habit.
“Anyway, the most highest up of them even apologized. And they gave us a very fast cart ride to the gate.”
“With your shirt hanging out and your pants unzipped.”
“Madam, you didn’t mind looking,” Dance says, but he’s grinning.
“And feeling, either,” she says, with her eyebrows going up.
“I warn you, Drin, she’s very sneaky– arghhh!” and then they’re tickling each other in the back seat, giggling.
Drin grabs glances, while he works through the mid-town traffic, at her lush mouth and all its expressive motions. He sees a blue eye, half obscured by caramel curls and, as the two bob and bounce like children, Dance’s flying black hair and golden forehead.
Drin feels his chest squeeze in breathlessly tight. It almost hurts to look at them laughing together in his car, with that slanting coastal light striking gold everywhere, absurdly lush as a Renaissance landscape. The air is cool, the odor of sage from the cliffs riding along with that of the sea. Their laughter bursts out like sprays of music.
“The caves, oh, tell him about the caves!” Emma exclaims then, calling truce, and bouncing around in the back seat as if seat belts don’t slow her down one bit. She slings her arm around Dance’s shoulders, while he smiles into the mirror broadly at Drin.
“We wanted to make out like horny teenagers in the caves,” Dance says grinning.
“Doesn’t everybody?” Drin says, just to hear Emma roar with laughter.
“It causes quite the crowd, yes,” Dance agrees. He turns his head and regards Emma, as she’s laughing, and then he leans in and kisses her ear. When he draws back, smiling, his eyes are dark and warm and at peace. He looks into the mirror again, and says, “We agreed we would just have to settle for beds. No limestone fucking.”
“You just like making suggestive remarks about stalagtites,” Emma says.
“Who needs to suggest? I am away from my husband for three whole long days listening to lectures on crumbly moldy paper, I am lonely, I have an armful of beautiful woman I should not be drooling on if I am queer like I say, all I can see for miles are rock formations in these– shapes–”
“The perceptive tendency towards phallic imagery is a nearly universal–”
“It was linghams everywhere. It made me so crazy horny.” Dance says with great finality. “So we had to go to the hotel.”
“Believe me, lover, the relief was all mine!”
“I blame it on linghams affecting her yoni,” Dance confides.
“And yonis affect your lingham huh– after all?”
“Emma’s does!” Dance rolls his eyes, shakes his hand in the air as if he’s burned his fingers.
Emma smacks him on the chest.
“This woman’s legs go on for miles, you know that, right?” Dance says.
“Ye-eess?” Drin drawls it out.
“So does her stamina. You think I can tire you, you just wait–” it’s a little muffled by Emma grabbing him and covering his mouth with hers, with noises.
Drin is suddenly sorry that he put both of them in the back seat, out of his reach. There’s a ruffle of cream-colored something or other lacey drifting across the dark leather seats between her thighs, where her skirt has joined the rest of her wardrobe in the maddening habit of sliding apart at the slightest excuse. Oh, there’s an excellent excuse this time–Dance’s hand is sliding up into the lace.
Drin jerks his attention back sharply to the road.
Emma draws back and says, huskily, “You know you only do it to tease,” and she looks up, bright-eyed, into the mirror. The same devil is dancing in her eyes as in Dance’s, as he grins back at her.
“This is a little rough on the chauffeur,” he suggests.
“Thaaaaat’s the general idea,” Emma says, and leans in and runs her tongue slowly up Dance’s neck, up his cheek, along his temple, and then tugs on his hair with her teeth, leaving bright red lipstick marks on his forehead, to match the ones smutched across his mouth. Then she begins unbuttoning Dance’s collar. “You think the chauffeur gets off on seeing you get kissed, Dance?”
“I think I do,” Dance says, shifting his hips in a way that Drin doesn’t need to see twice.
“Not fair,” Drin mumbles. “If I have to stop this car and separate you two–”
“We’ll all be arrested for indecent exposure. So don’t stop the car.”
“I’ve had enough fuss from large men in uniforms,” Dance says. “I just want you to — oh. Oh.”
“Airport security brought in large men in uniforms?” Then he gulps, because Emma has placed her curly head in such a way that Drin can tell exactly what her teeth are doing to his husband’s nipple. Dance leans his head back, eyes drooping shut. His mouth opens then, rounding into the blissful welcome smile that Drin has missed very badly the last week.
Drin forces his own eyes forward, where the freeway interchange should be taking up all of his attention. Should be, and does not. But Emma’s in no hurry at all. She takes her time, torturing Dance properly. And she has come up with the startling habit of leaning back well out of the way, showing off what she’s doing to him, showing it off to the mirror.
“I’ll give you some lingham worth looking at,” she growls, with her lipstick all over her chin like warpaint.
Dance looks very, very relaxed. He looks like he’s been trampled by this woman. There are hickies. There are bite marks. And she’s got them too, where her clothes are falling off her creamy round ass–
“Arresting?” Drin manages to get the words out. “Uniforms?”
Dance rolls his head on the seat slightly, and sighs. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Oh, he’s very happy.
Emma leans up between the seats then, with her arm resting confidentially on Drin’s shoulder, and she says, huskily. “You wouldn’t happen to have some extra condoms on you, now love? We’ve run out.”
“I am not very sorry to say this, and no I don’t.” Drin says. “You will just have to wait till we get home. Which is only fair, goddammit, you’ve been gobbling each other without me–”
She pouts. “Oh, that’s sad. I was thinking about sitting down on that lingham right there on your lovely leather seats–I just love how that leather feels on my bottom, rub it around like that, oooh, that’s buttery, that is–and having fun with it. Oh well, needs must, and all that.” And she leans into Drin, and she kisses him on the jaw just in front of his ear, lingeringly, with just the lightest, lightest touch of her tongue. “I’ll just have to suck on it instead. Pity. My jaw’s gone quite tired, propped open that much. He just tastes so damn good.”
“Yes, he does,” Drin agrees. “I’m not a jealous man, but I find myself to be very, horribly, envious right now. Please, Madam, have mercy and we’ll be home in five minutes…”
“Liar, we’re a good hour away still,” she says, and tugs on Drin’s earlobe with her teeth, lightly. “I bet you taste pretty fine too.”
“Ah,” Drin says, “Now that is mercy.” He tilts his head invitingly.
She licks the back of his neck, up into his hairline. “Mmm,” she says. “Mmm, I could be having with more of that, oh, that’s lovely. I just love that little hollow–”
Drin gives a startled yelp at being licked on the back of his ear without warning.
“Oooh, watch the road, love, the trucker there is staring at us,” Emma says, nibbling. Then she chuckles, looking past him, and she sticks out her tongue at somebody outside the car, and she parts her knees, and she drags Drin’s hand back onto her thigh, and she wiggles–where somebody outside is probably seeing all of the show.
“Jeeesus–” Driving one-handed is more interesting when the trucker looming over them is just as distracted as he is. Drin’s hand has been dreaming of this, the hot silky wetness of Emma’s pussy.
Her hand slides up onto his thigh, and goes for his fly. “Jesus, Emma!”
But that’s not Emma going after his other ear. That’s Dance, leaning up on the other side of the driver’s chair, licking his neck, and the hand coming round by the door sliding up his ribs, that’s Dance’s hand sliding into his clothes, going up his chest, and that’s Dance growling into his cheek, licking him. “You can stop here,” Dance growls, and he’s not sounding tired at all. “God, I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”
Drin stops the car quite acceptably, under the circumstances, at a rest stop that ought to be designated specially for drivers getting molested in their chairs. He wouldn’t be surprised if Emma planned for that. Maybe she knew she’d need it even more, because she’s the one who comes first, groaning under Drin’s fingers, with Dance leaning over her and kissing those astonishing pale breasts.
Then Dance is lunging under both their hands, yelling out as if he’s been turned on for hours, restraining the impulse, even harder than Drin waiting for them in a fever of exhaustion and need. It startles him, that kind of drive on their part, because he’s never found air travel sexy–just dull. Get on the bus, wait a lot, get off the bus, wait some more. Well, he didn’t have company like this to entertain him, either. “Your turn, big boy,” Emma growls, and dives in on his mouth.
It’s a busy few moments before he thinks to look around for interested truckers or station wagon drivers with kids peering out the back windows or teenagers giggling in their mom’s cheesy little economy box–or all of the above. Maybe it’s all that froth of lace under the otherwise ordinary clothes Emma is wearing, waggling about in the back passenger window as she moves.
It’s just as well there’s no condoms handy. Public interest in their kissing him is plenty high enough.
“I could fuck your mouth so much,” Dance says into his neck, going down his chest. Drin can’t think how he’s managed to squeeze in between him and door, but there he is, with his hands in Drin’s pants right along with Emma’s. “God, and have you up the ass, and–”
“Yeah?” Drin gasps.
“Yeah,” Dance says, calm again. “I want to fuck you so bad. I want to fuck you for a long time. But I might be too hard, I come too quick like this.”
“Oh, take the edge off a couple times first. You’ll last better, love,” Emma says, airily, and grins at them. “It could get busy, couldn’t it?”
“Good,” Drin says. “Talk dirty, and we’ll sit here all night. I think you must be a very bad influence on my husband, Emma. You should see his emails!”
“We’ll talk about fucking you up every orifice you got, lover, if it makes you get this hard,” Emma growls.
“Dinner will keep, I figured we might– we might want–” and Dance is sliding up impossibly between the door and the seats and kissing his neck, his ear, his belly–
“Good,” Emma says.
“What is that?” Drin says, touching her breasts gently as she leans between the front seats.
She smiles. “It’s a corset, on top. Dance was a bad boy and talked me into it. It makes my back feel…maaarvelous. Of course, amazing to find out, apparently having sex makes it feel pretty damn terrific too.”
“Sounds like a great investment to me,” Drin says, and he can’t stop touching her. Her nipples are right there.
“Told you, ” Dance murmurs, chuckling. “Seventeenth Century underwear, from people who knew what to do with those.”
“And this?” Drin moves his hand. It rather invites fumbling around in there, without stopping him getting at the important bits. She arches into it, making it even easier. And she gives that little sigh. There. Right there.
“Matching frillies, on the bottom.” With a little wriggle of the bottom in question, as if bits of her really like the leather car seats… quite a lot.
“Dance talked you into– of course he did. Dance, you are very bad. You are so bad, you have excellent taste in ladies’ frillies.”
“He tried them on first,” Emma says.
Drin’s mouth has trouble figuring out what to do. The image is… astonishing. More than it ought to be, but the idea of his silky, dignified musician all frilled out in lace is… so surprising. That butt, decked out in a bit of silk nothing– with Emma’s pale round dimpled bottom mated fiercely to it– he banishes the thought for later, when he’s not in the driver’s seat with his pants tangled up. “He did?”
“Turns him on something fierce.” Emma says.
“That’s nice to know,” Drin says, slowly. It’s very… distracting. He can see Dance grinning at him, too, knowing that it’s distracting.
“It turns you on too,” Dance says, and his hand is in a position to know.
“Hell, it turns me on, getting at that cock drooling through a bunch of lace. So now I finally get why lingerie makes money. Hey, sometimes I’m slow,” Emma says.
“Okay, I’m bad,” Dance says, smiling. “The airport people laughed a lot at my suitcase.”
“What?”
“They laughed. They told me to have fun with my toys in the suitcase. I said I would need them to please Emma, now my little man is all frightened for a week.”
Emma just roars with laughter. “No wonder they looked at me funny!”
“Well, you did tell them I was much, much better than toys,” Dance says gravely, and he flings back his head, laughing, when she splutters.
Emm sniffs. “Let’s get back on the road, shall we? Miles to go, and all that. With condoms at the end of it, and I daresay a nice stew or something?” Emma says. “If you want, Drin– I’ll be the chauffeur the rest of the way.”
“I’m starving,” Dance says then, smiling again, and he kisses Drin’s ear. Lingeringly. With nipping.
“I’m definitely not safe to drive.” Drin opens the door, as Emma clambers over the seats, plopping neatly down into the bucket, and tugging her skirt back in place. Dance pops the back door open, and Drin climbs in, into his lover’s welcoming arms. “Home, Jeeves.”
Emma puts it in motion, with a little extra rumbly growl from the engine, and slides it up through the gears as smoothly as if she’s been driving it for years. “Now this,” she says, grinning into the mirror at them, and turning on the sound system with a rumble of bass, “is the way a car ought to be tricked out. I got my boys in the back with their underpants down, I got my shades, I got my tunes–“
It’s gutbucket blues that Drin likes best she’s got blasting out on the speakers, all the windows are wide open for the sea air, and Dance’s hips rise up as silky and hot and damp to Drin’s touch as the mouth that is making wordless promises to him.
The woman in the wraparound glasses and the silk corset puts her foot down on the gas. The acceleration shoves Drin over harder into Dance’s body, and he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
