Wake-up Call – Chapter 53

Do you know one thing I hate in movies? The fade to black.

You got a romantic comedy going, and you know the [only] reason anybody's willingly sacrificing their non-renewable braincells to the dark gods of Hollywood's accountants through the spiritually painful experience of watching the cinematic abomination is to see the hot couple we all know will get together at one point. We struggle to keep our brains from fleeing through the back of our skulls at generic dialogue that we not only have seen a thousand times before, but already was trite the first time around, and, finally, after more than one hour of the two leads trying to pretend they aren't in a glorified, high production, prudish porno where the [only] point is to get them to fall in bed together…

Fade to fucking black.

Seriously? One moment, they are ripping the clothes off one another like genital secretions are the only cure to their particularly virulent zombie virus, and the next we get to see them chastely covered by pristine bedsheets that are obviously not soaked through with all the disgusting things a human body should produce when having enthusiastic fun? Sheets that are perfectly shaped to cover a woman's breasts while exposing the shiny, oiled, waxed chest of any sufficiently muscular male? And, [if] they get out the bed to dress themselves so the plot can pretend to continue after the only reason for the film to exist has been consummated, [they are still wearing underwear?!]

What the fuck, Hollywood. What the fuck.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Taylor says, her lips briefly abandoning the inner side of my right thigh as she struggles to pull my white jeans off with one hand.

"Free association?" I answer, contemplating whether or not I should already be pulling her hair.

Nah. Later.

"You… were thinking about something other than… [this?"]

"Believe it or not, Tay, I think about plenty of things other than my gorgeous girlfriend ravishing my helpless body."

She raises her head as my jeans go down to my knees. She's kneeling by the side of my bed, between my legs, and her eyebrow is doing that [thing].

You know what thing.

[Taylor Hebert's command of eyebrow movements unlikely to—]

Oh? You mean I'm projecting my wants and desires on the body language of my lover? Noooo. That can't be. You're pulling my leg.

Like Taylor's currently doing.

[Sarcasm often thought of as childish—]

Love you too. Now, shut up; I'm about to be eaten out, and I no longer feel that comfortable sharing my headspace with my younger sibling while that happens.

[Lisa Wilbourn's anthropomorphizing of parahuman ability's interface—]

Love you too. Now, hush.

"So… what did Power have to say?" Taylor gruffly comments as she pulls my jeans down to my ankles.

"Something about you not having a supernatural ability to control your eyebrows."

"… What?"

"He says I'm projecting my feeling for you on every nuance of your body language. Such as when I think that you do a particular thing with your eyebrows that makes me want to rub my thighs together and—"

"My eyebrows do [what?"]

"Whatever you want them to do, sweetie. Just like I do."

Taylor blinks behind her glasses and then looks straight at me.

I, raising myself up on my elbows so I can look at her over my chest, grin in that infuriating way I know just makes her want to push me down.

Except not. Because my lips soften as do my eyes, and I just…

Well. I look at Taylor.

At the girl I love.

And now she's blushing.

Score!

[Lisa Wilbourn's fetish for emotional closeness—]

It's called being demisexual. I think. Look, this didn't come with a manual, you know?

"You lie as easy as you breathe…" she mutters. Likely referring to my earlier statement about doing whatever she wants.

"That's not true; I often find it harder to breathe. Especially when you look at me," I answer, fluttering my eyelashes just the right amount not to be mocking.

She arches her eyebrow. Something I'll strive not to assign any particular meaning to.

And then she stands up.

My panties are still on.

Damn it!

"No," I tell her.

"You're asking for it," she says.

"No, what I'm asking for is for you to tear off my underwear and get to work after a very frustrating week without any sexual release."

"It was you who got weird about doing it in your dad's home—"

"Look, as mushy as I can get while thinking about it, Colin's [not my father—"]

She looks at me.

Her eyebrow does the [thing].

Damn it!

[… Taylor Hebert's dominion over facial musculature higher than—]

Fuck you.

"Tay… I [do] want you. And yes, I'm distracted, and my mind is running a mile an hour, and I know how rude this is, because I should be focused on you and only you while I let the rest of the world fade away to the back row where it belongs whenever you enter the stage, but—"

I'm trapped on my bed, with one bulky suitcase on either side of me, and with Taylor astride my prone body, her hair falling around both of us as her hand digs into the mattress at the right side of my face.

My heart is [thundering].

"Tell me what's wrong," she says, glasses askew but eyes intense enough that it doesn't detract from her powerful stare, from the way she can hold me down without touching me.

"I… [Everything]. Because… things are working out. No ABB, no Empire, the Undersiders are now independent heroes, Coil is discovering his latent homosexual leanings, and I am with you, and Colin is… [Colin]. And it's everything I thought I wanted, everything I thought I needed to finally [breathe], but…"

"But it isn't. It never is, never will be. Why?"

I look up at her.

At green eyes that cut deeper than any faceted emerald ever could, at the curtain of dark hair around us, at the sharp lines she thinks are too masculine, and I think are just masculine enough…

"It all was so easy, you know?" I say, raising my right hand to caress her cheek, to feel the peach fuzz bristling across my palm. "I would… I would find a little corner of the world, far from the family that wasn't and that I would leave forever behind, and then I would build something mine. Something small, something that wouldn't last, but it wouldn't matter, because I only needed it for so long as I lived. And so I would live a small, unimportant, petty life. Maybe be happy, or as much as anyone ever is, and… And then I would die, and that would be it."

She stares at me, her eyes searching for something I dare not divine.

"And then you met me," she says.

Someone else would've said it with pride. Some others wouldn't have at all. Some wouldn't even have thought it, because they would know that my little plan had gone to Hell long before long legs and dark hair walked into my life.

She… She knows. Understands.

That what I lost wasn't the plan, but the goal.

"Yes. Then you walked into my life, and I… I can't be that small, Tay, not with you by my side. And I no longer want to be. I want… You [are] a hero. You will do great things. And I…"

"You defeated a supervillain organization with a [phone]," she says.

"I still want that on a t-shirt."

"I'll still burn any such t-shirt as soon as I find it."

I snort. So does she.

And then she drops down on top of me, twisting her body so she doesn't aggravate her still healing arm, and kisses my cheek as her hand is freed from her weight and she can use it to brush my own hair away from my face as I turn to my left to look right into her smiling eyes.

"I am not the hero, Liz. You are," she says.

And, before I can even think how to answer that, she leans forward and kisses my lips.

My mouth opens not to protest, but to let her in, and she takes the invitation as soon as I offer, her tongue pushing in, capturing mine, entangling me in a hungry demand I'll never conceive of denying, and…

And the hand brushing my hair aside lowers, caressing my neck with deft fingertips, taunting me as it lightly goes over the line between my breasts so carefully I have to arch my back up, trying to press against her, desperately craving for more contact as I gasp into her mouth.

Then she reaches the bottom of my pink top, and she slides between it and my stomach, her warm palm lying on top of it, making me burn, giving me a fever her lips and tongue only aggravate.

"You are the hero, you insufferable Thinker six," she whispers before silencing my indignant reply with a more aggressive kiss as the hand crawls up my body, leaving a trail of fire on my skin before pushing up my bra and palming my right breast, pressing it down hard enough my flesh pushes against the space between her long fingers and I gasp yet again before she pinches my lonely nipple and the gasp turns into a whine of fulfilled desire mingling with desperate yearning.

"I… I'm not. I'm small, and petty, and I've only gotten this far because I wanted to be by your side, and I don't—"

"Whatever the reason? You did it. Whatever you wanted to achieve? You… You saved this city, Liz. You've given it a fighting chance after years of people giving up on it—"

"I just… No. No, there were others. I couldn't have done it alone; I had to rely on you all to do the fighting while I talked, and thought, and tried to be cleverer than I am… Tay, I…"

"You don't need me to tell you how stupid that is," she says, her hand resting on top of my breast, her eyes looking at me not with paralyzing intensity, but with aching tenderness that is [so much worse…]

So I close my eyes.

And think.

[Motivation irrelevant to results—]

You know that's not true. Humans don't work like that; intent matters a lot to us.

[Motivation multi-pronged. Subjective. Results, objective facts—]

Yes, that's true. But facts aren't truth. Facts are data, meaningless without a context, without something that turns them into stories. We… Humans aren't databases, Power; we need meaning. We crave it, we aspire to it. We cannot look at a cloud without thinking it reminds us of a bunny, how do you think we look at our personal histories?

[Projection of personal biases—]

Yes, of course, but… what am I if not a collection of biases? A series of lenses to see the world with? Experiences that formed Lisa Wilbourn and turned her world into something uniquely hers and no others?

[Shared experience—]

I don't know if you're talking about you or Tay. But… yes. That's true. The… the people we let into our lives change us. Change our worlds.

[Identity—]

Is self-defined, but also a social construct. The intersection of one and many.

[Heroism—]

Can be claimed or be thrust upon.

[Tattletale—]

Was just a name…

[Lisa Wilbourn—]

Another one. A more important one.

And I open my eyes.

"Did you just finish your self-therapy?" she says, the wry grin covering up the genuine worry.

And I kiss her.

She's briefly surprised, and I turn in her grasp so I can grab her cheeks between my hands as I push her back against the suitcase behind her, so I can be the one to thrust my tongue past her lips, to steal her words even as her hand reflexively closes around my breast, even as I have to suppress another moan as I arch my back, pressing myself against her gently enough that I don't aggravate the arm slung across her body.

And then I pull back.

"Liz?" Taylor asks, briefly disoriented.

"Shush," I answer as I stand up, careful not to trip with the jeans wrapped around my ankles.

She's lying below me, her cheeks redder than I thought, and… And I…

I pull off my shirt, adding a bit of a seductive twist to my shoulders so my breasts sway beneath my crumpled bra, and then I lean forward to unclasp it so those very same breasts dangle above Taylor's very interested eyes. She's trying to think of something to say, but I don't let her as I turn around and shoot her a look over my shoulder before slowly bending over, pointing my ass at her, the powder blue panties with a wet patch moving side to side as I run my hands from my ankles to my knees, and then I seductively caress the outside of my thighs while looking straight ahead, unwilling to face Taylor's hungry eyes while… while making a spectacle of myself, trying to tempt her beyond her ability to speak.

And then I… roll my panties down my legs.

[Slowly].

I step out of my bunched jeans and panties, only a couple of knee-length white socks remaining on me, and so I straighten up, my hands following the upward motion at the sides of my body, at the curves of my breasts that manage to be barely visible from my back when I lift my arms, and then I undo my side ponytail and shake my hair loose before running my fingers through it, pulling it up to bare my neck…

And I look back at her.

Her eyes are… wide. Stunned.

She's breathing roughly.

And I…

I've got a nervous smile that still tries to be sexy and appealing, and I think it is because of my obvious vulnerability rather than in spite of it. Because Taylor isn't seeing a consummate seductress, an attractive girl using her body as a weapon like… others. No. She's seeing her girlfriend, her lover, trying to make things special for her.

The difference is… Vital.

She looks that tiny bit nervous as she pulls her white blouse out of her own black jeans and starts undoing each button one-handed, and so I…

"Shush. Let me," I tell her, my hand on hers, right over the part of her belly that is close enough to her sex for me to feel the waves of heat rising from it.

And so I undo her pants and do what she was doing to me before, Taylor cooperatively raising her hips so I can get them off before I spread her shirt open down the last button unmade, just below the arm on a sling, her breasts still covered as I unveil her trim belly. And then it's time for me to reverently touch her right above her navel, my hands slowly, gently, brushing aside and down to her waist.

I'm tempted to grasp her. To hold her in place as I lean down and pull her panties aside with my teeth before diving in and devouring her, making her cry my name out over and over again.

I swallow my saliva and lick my nervous, dry smile before I instead drag my fingers down over soft skin and find the edge of her white panties.

I look into her eyes. She raises her hips, her shoulders buried on the cream duvet.

And I pull them off.

Her scent hits me when I peel the stretched fabric, and it's… It makes me lightheaded, to the point I think I'm about to fall down on her, and I have trouble remembering what I wanted to do next other than being with Taylor, letting her turn me into whatever she wants me to be as long as that is hers, and…

And I manage to look aside, to my bedside table.

I don't know how, but I gather the strength to pull the second drawer open and…

"Really?" she asks, her eyebrows doing [that] thing.

I smile at her.

And shove my purple, double-headed dildo inside of me.

Which… May not have been my brightest idea.

"Liz? Are you—"

"Fine! Fine, I just… Damn it, I should've taken a bit more time with that."

"Does it hurt?" she asks, rising up on her elbow.

And then I'm on top of her. Straddling her like she straddled me moments ago.

"Not… really," I tell her, looking straight into her wide-open eyes. "It's a bit uncomfortable, though. You made me ready enough."

She bites her lip, her eyes darting to my breasts and then forcing herself to stare at the purple thing hovering between her legs.

"I… I think you've made me more than ready as well," she says.

And I kiss her.

Just a brief meeting of our lips, barely a brush that makes both of us close our eyes, and that's all the time she needs to wrap her long legs around my waist, to gently pull me down, toward her.

I grasp the… the rubber cock going out of me, and I maneuver the head over her lips, gathering enough of her wetness that the tip shines with the soft light filtering through my gauze curtains, and Taylor bites her lip once again, her eyes inviting me to go ahead, to do this one thing we both want me to do.

I push.

The last time we tried this, she took control. I had been teasing myself silly for hours, and she just did that thing she does, and I couldn't even think to want to stop her.

Now…

Her eyes close as the pressure of my hips on hers increases moment by moment, the tip of the toy pushing against her without going in, and then I push just that tiny bit harder and suddenly the whole head is past her opening, and Taylor's eyes are closed, her hair spread on my bed, between two suitcases, and her healthy hand buried in my hair.

I kiss the side of her neck, little, peppered pecks rising up until I reach her ear.

"I love you. But you know that, you've known for quite a while. What I don't think you know is how much that truly means to me. How you've… changed me.

"How you've made me a better person."

"You always were, Liz," she manages to mutter, turning aside before kissing my lips and smiling tenderly at me, her eyes soft enough that something in my chest feels almost pained at the naked trust and affection.

And then I push forward. Just a tiny bit, just enough to make that gentle smile into something briefly overcome by sensation.

Then her legs press down on my back, and I follow her lead as my body sinks into her, each shuddering advancement echoed inside of me as the toy wriggles and shakes with our combined gasps and clenching.

"Liz… I want you. [You]," she says.

My own smile is silly, stupid, far from someone domineering and in control bringing pleasure to her lover.

Hers is… Beautiful.

And equally silly.

So I just move. I just let our bodies dictate our slow rhythm, our pushing and pulling, her legs always accompanying me rather than directing or demanding as we turn the act into something that is more a caress than sex.

Even if it is also sex.

Even if my stiff nipples brush over her white blouse as I try not to fall on top of her arm.

Even if the inside of her thighs rubs against my hips, making me feel an electric tingle every time we don't move in perfect unison and her skin brushes past mine.

Even if our lips meet again in again, not quite opening fully, not sharing our tongues as each kiss is followed by another gentle, silly smile.

Even if I look into her eyes and she into mine, her hand yet again brushing my blonde hair aside so there's nothing between us, nothing that can hold me apart from her gaze, from everything she shares and demands with her open, raw vulnerability.

"I love you. I love you so much," I tell her, no longer able to keep my eyes on her as I dip down to yet again kiss the side of her neck, this time sucking on the smooth skin, my tongue tracing the hollow between taut muscles.

"I love you. I love you more than even you can ever know," she answers, the hand in my hair going back around me, pulling me toward her as her injured arm slips out of her sling, and she rests it by her side so I can be fully on top of her.

"Doesn't… doesn't that hurt?" I ask her, my hand sliding over the dip of her waist, between her arm and her uncovered belly.

"Not right now. Not when I'm with you," she answers.

And I push harder against her.

Deeper.

She gasps, the hand in my hair clawing, her fingertips digging into my scalp.

I pull. Almost entirely out of her.

And she pulls me back.

I don't stop, not until our flesh meets, until our clitorises are pushed against one another, until I have to close my eyes as bursts of sensation spark behind them.

"Liz… Do me. Make me yours. Even more than I am."

I do.

A part of me is stunned, unable to even react.

The other…

"Ah!" she yells as I bite my lips to not do the same while my hips move, faster than before, harder than before.

Then her legs spur me on, pulling me back in as soon as I leave a brief emptiness inside of her, and I have to do it, I have to answer as she wants me to.

So I do it. I make love to Taylor. I fuck her, harder than I thought I would, faster than I thought I could.

I can barely hold on.

"Liz! Liz, it's so—ah!"

"Tay! Tay, tell me you like it, tell me you want me to—"

"Everything! I want everything from you!"

And our lips meet again, but, this time, so do our tongues.

She pulls me inside her mouth, her lips closing tightly around me as she sucks, swallows my own spit as my eyelids flutter, and I almost stop moving my hips. Except when I do, I feel the empty, aching thing between my legs demand I keep going, that I keep sawing in and out of Taylor, rubbing my insides to the rhythm of her pleasure.

So I twirl my tongue around hers and manage to open my eyes, to see hers closed, her glasses on top of her sweaty forehead, the stray locks of her dark hair matted beneath the lenses, sticking to beaded skin.

And that's… enough.

I shift my hands to hold her hips, to keep her steady below me as I go up and down, the movements as ample as the toy allows without going out of any of us, my insides clenching tight around it so that it's Taylor the one who receives the full brunt of it, the one who feels me slide in and out of her.

And then she throws her head back, and her voice rises to a keening pitch as her legs close tight around me, and her clitoris grinds in narrow circles around mine, and I just can't hold on anymore.

So, my lips still feeling her absence, my tongue still peeking out of them in search of hers, I join her in my complaint, my proclamation of a pleasure too intense for me to withstand.

And my fiancée and I… orgasm together.

It… It takes me a moment to get a hold of myself, to look up from her sweat-drenched blouse into her warm eyes as she pets my hair.

I smile. Silly, dopey.

Open.

She smiles back.

"You are exhausted," she says, her legs by my side briefly closing against my own.

"I… I will buy the damn gym," I tell her.

And Taylor laughs in that relieved, free way she has that only comes out at times like these, when we both leave the rest of the world behind.

But the world's still out there, and I…

I'll be the wife of a hero, at some point.

And it's not very heroic to ignore a world in need of us.

So I drag my sweaty, exhausted, and completely disheveled self up a bed that is definitely not ready to properly cover both our breasts with immaculate sheets that aren't soaked with the mess of two bodies that recently had some very enthusiastic fun, and I drop to Taylor's side before, with a grunt, and trying to ignore the toy still sticking out of me, I push the suitcase on my back to the floor below.

Taylor almost jumps up at the unexpected noise until she realizes I'm just being my exasperating self and putting my comfort ahead of lesser concerns, such as my recently repaired floor now needing further repairs.

So she turns to lie on her side and face me, her healthy arm below her, the hand sliding beneath my cheek so I can nuzzle it.

"Before that, though… I need to buy the complete collection of Asterix," I tell her.

She looks at me in confused incomprehension, then sees my smug smirk and rolls her eyes.

Then she kisses me, and the rest of the world, even the part that is in dire need of reading about some Roman-punching Gaul, fades away once more.

Sorry, Dinah. I'll be there soon.

==================

This work is a repost of my most popular fic on QQ (https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/wake-up-call-worm.15638/), where it can be found up to date except for the latest two chapters that are currently only available on Patreon (https://www.patreon.com/Agrippa?fan_landing=true)—as an added perk, both those sites have italicized and bolded text. I'll be posting the chapters here twice weekly, on Wednesday and Friday, until we're caught up. Unless something drastic happens, it will be updated at a daily rate until it catches up to the currently written 88 chapters (or my brain is consumed by the overwhelming amounts of snark, whichever happens first).

Speaking of Italics, this story's original format relied on conveying Power's intrusions into Lisa's inner monologue through the use of italics. I'm using square brackets ([]) to portray that same effect, but the work is more than 300k words at the moment, so I have to resort to the use of macros to make that light edit and the process may not be perfect. My apologies in advance

Also, I'd like to thank my credited supporters on Patreon: Niklarus, Tinkerware, Varosch, Xalgeon, and aj0413. If you feel like maybe giving me a hand and helping me keep writing snarky, useless lesbians, consider joining them or buying one of my books on https://www.amazon.com/stores/Terry-Lavere/author/B0BL7LSX2S. Thank you for reading!