by Ruby Lang
“Oh, no.”
“Every seed or cutting must come from somewhere. You need soil and water to grow a new life.”
Her voice was faint and sleepy. “And a big pile of manure.”
“Or compost. Some sort of fertilizer.”
She laughed softly. At some point, she had stretched out to lie down beside him. Now, he could feel her turn her head, the way her breath whispered across his ear. “You’ve got that covered.”
It was stupid how much he was enjoying this. “What are you saying about my wise words about the glorious future that’s within your reach? I think you need to spell it out.”
She poked him. It hardly should have felt like an affectionate touch, but that’s what it was, affection, pain, humor, understanding, a jab in his arm that warmed him all over.
He turned to his side to face her, to at least see the faint outlines of her face, the wet gleam of her eye. But her breathing had become slow and deep.
She was asleep.
He didn’t want to leave her outside alone.
He didn’t want to leave her.
So he settled back and stared up at the stars—no, the planets, the planets full of possibilities.
Chapter Ten
Later That Night
Magda awoke with a small start. It was so dark and so warm—warm because she was curled up against a body.
She was next to Ty. On the roof.
He’d stayed with her. He didn’t need to, but he’d done it.
The power must still be out. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she recalled talking and talking with him. He’d given her a small bubble of happiness; she was still in it. That was what it was like to wake up next to him.
She couldn’t think that way.
She felt for her phone to find out what time it was. Maybe if she shielded the light with her body. But of course, before she could close her hands around it, he woke up, and of course, he reached for her. Because he’d formed this bubble with her, because he wanted to stay in it as much as she did.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“Of course, yes. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
They both paused to take a breath.
“I know I told you a lot of things—”
“We probably shouldn’t do this. It would mix things up. A lot.”
Another pause. “Yeah.”
But they were still lying facing each other, holding each other, though it was still too hot out for all this closeness. Every place he touched her—his arm on her, her knee to his—every place she touched him was damp with sweat. Was it hers, was it his? Who could tell? They’d already muddled everything.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Time has stopped. Light has stopped. Everything.”
“We could be trapped like this forever.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
He rested his forehead on hers and stroked his hand down her arm, slowly but surely, lingering only at the damp curve inside her elbow, before smoothing down to her wrist. She breathed deep. Her body was tingling and restless. She shifted her legs, her ankle connecting with his calf. And suddenly it seemed like a good idea to smooth her foot along his, to relieve the pressure along the inside of her legs by pulling his hips in close, until she felt it, his cock, right at her groin.
“Magda,” he said, “I would like...”
He exhaled sharply. Not, I want. I would like. A desire in his words that left room for her, room for everything she wanted, too. “I would also like this,” she whispered. “I want this moment with you. Please, just once.”
He pulled her closer—or did she pull him?—and now their bodies were aligned, stomachs, chests, his free hand tracing the neckline of her shirt, around to the back, then down her spine, each millimeter he traveled, tugging her closer to him.
“Yes, yes, yes, please,” she said as he finally reached the bottom hem of her shirt.
With each yes, each breath, their mouths touched lightly. The please ended with a tease of her tongue, a breath before he rolled her on top of him.
They were kissing lushly now, in the dark, where no one could see them, where they could hardly see themselves, only feel the hurried breathing, her hands in his hair, on his face, the click and suck of his mouth as she leaned more hungrily forward. His hands, now both free, moved under her shirt, under the waistband of her pants, her underwear, squeezing, pulling the clothing more tightly around her until she wanted to writhe and scream from the teasing pressure around her thighs.
Her whole body was wet. Sweat and desire mingled together so completely, every part of her hot and wanting.
She reared up and his hands moved around under her shirt to cup her breasts. “Can I take this off?” he asked hoarsely.
“Yes, yes,” she muttered, even as she ground herself against his erection.
He groaned “Fuck,” and pulled her shirt off, pulled her down again so that one breast was in his mouth.
She grabbed his head and held it there until it was her turn to roll him on top of her, to grab at his tee and tug at it until they both managed to stop for a minute so that he could take it off. They paused for a minute, one minute. She could make out the outline of him over her, the gleam of his eyes and lips, the solid shape of his shoulders, down, down to where his legs straddled her. The tip of one breast shone wetly where his mouth had been.
She touched herself there and he groaned again and bent, his mouth taking in her fingers, her nipples, moving down, dipping to her belly button until he was pulling down the rest of her clothing and she was naked on the roof, her one leg over his shoulder, the other stretched almost too wide, held down by his hand, his breath cooling the wet between her legs.
But it was dark. Everything was all right in the dark. She could have this one small thing, this small moment to do something that she wanted—God, she wanted—instead of always thinking ahead to the task that she needed to complete.
Another glimmer from his eyes, a pause as his clothing rustled, a grunt as she imagined his hand moving over his cock before his nose and mouth nuzzled into her. She felt the slight rasp of his stubble, the gentler kiss of his lips, and he settled over her and he began to lick in wide strokes.
She felt the squeeze of one hand, the fingers holding her down, digging deep and filthy into her flesh. She whimpered and moved her hips again. “Ty.”
He paused at her words. “Do you like this?” he whispered.
“Fuck, yes. Please don’t stop.”
She lifted her hips as much as she could, even as his grip tightened around her thigh. And then he let go and trailed one digit toward her clit, down the crease, and with a soft kiss from his lowered head, she felt him slide it into her and she let go of a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and his lips and tongue found her again.
She was close. She was so close. She had to be quiet, but her body was pulling her up and up in a long, deep pulse. She flung out her arm, scraping it against the hard roof where the sleeping bag ended.
Another suck, a firm push from fingers thick inside her, and she sobbed finally, long and loud.
She was never going to recover.
Ty kissed the inside of her thigh and cupped her briefly as she pulsed under him as if to capture something precious, to let her feel it a little longer. The gesture was so gentle so...so affectionate. And that softness was almost too much for her. She swallowed a sigh as he sat up, smoothing his hand along her. And then he was very quiet.
She said, “Is that all right with you? If I touch you? I want to.”
Another pause. “Yes. I want to feel you everywhere.”
His voice was everywhere, the heat was everywhere. He rasped quietly, “I also have condoms
in my emergency kit. They were there so I...left them in. No pressure. No assumptions.”
The last part of his sentence sounded strangled. But she could picture the expression on his face: determined, strong, yearning.
It wasn’t pressure. It was freedom. To choose, to not have her life circumscribed by all the limits and responsibilities she’d felt for so long while she worked her way through the long days. Physical consequences could be swallowed up by the protection, any emotional ones by night. Her hand slid down to where he’d already partially undone his shorts, under the waistband of his boxers. She shifted herself down again. Her breasts still felt sensitive as they grazed along his chest and her thighs were sticky from exertion, from sex. His cock was so hard, for her. From her. Oh, she wanted this again. She wanted to feel reckless and powerful—both things she hadn’t allowed herself to be or feel, in such a long time.
She smoothed her hand up and down the length of him, once, twice.
“Find that condom,” she said.
He scrabbled away, cursing at the dark as he felt for the kit. “I don’t know what I’d do if we kicked it off the roof,” he muttered.
She smothered a laugh. But a minute later she let it out when she saw his cock, and almost nothing else, outlined faintly and palely by the condom. “You packed a glow-in-the-dark in your emergency kit?”
His laugh was still strained. “No, it’s your standard latex. But it seems extra visible under these circumstances.”
He moved toward her, taking her waist again. “But I can hide it,” he murmured slyly. “If it makes you feel better.”
“That’s terrible.”
But she smiled as she kissed him, and reveled in the feeling. Then he moved between her legs once again, kissing her breasts, nipping the undersides, then licking a path between them to her neck, and she felt him tense, and she moved her hand to guide him inside her.
She was already full and thick and sensitive from her orgasm and she grunted as he filled her heavily. A choked sound came from his throat, and excitement rose in her again. She dug her foot into his ass, commanding him to move. He began slowly, measured, despite the strain she felt in the taut muscles of his thighs, in the tremble of his arms locked around her, then he bent to kiss her again, and he gasped as they surged toward each other.
Maybe at some point, she’d thought they should be quiet, but maybe it was the pounding of her heart, his and her harsh breathing, the sound of their bodies pulling at each other, the wet smack of lips and skin, but everything felt loud and bright. He’d put his hand down between them as they moved, searching for her clit, touching her, but she wanted to do it herself. She moved his fingers away, and they rolled again to the side where he pulled her leg up and fucked her open like that. Then another rotation and she was on top of him, one palm on the slippery sleeping bag, another on the rough surface of the roof. There might have been a tearing sound underneath them as the material shifted, but she was past caring.
Leaning over him, she let him bounce her up and down, as she moved her hand between her legs to touch herself. He was close. She could feel it in his desperation, in his struggle with and against her body, his harsh breath and the moans he tried to swallow in his throat. She was close again herself, her body wanting to turn inside out with tension and heat.
As her body arched, she reached her hand down to his neck and felt the cords of his muscles stretch and reach until they seemed about to snap even as she suppressed the scream in her own throat. Then she felt him, the quick jab of his hips going upward, the wild jostle against her hand. And she was with him falling on him, her mouth open as she yelled silently into him.
She closed her eyes to the blackness of the night. Her body pulsed and opened and expanded and contracted the whole universe in a second. They both came down on a series of quiet sobs and quakes, gently, gently, until she could feel the sleeping bag under her numb knees, the hard roof, his body solidly under her, still in her, surrounding her. And when she finally opened her eyes again to look down in his face, she stared fascinated at the gleam of the stars—no, the planets, reflected in his eyes.
She was gazing at him, still gazing at him, when the power came back on.
* * *
Somewhere downstairs the alarm was beeping insistently. Lights had probably snapped on, like the ones in opposite houses, in apartments nearby.
And he was still inside Magda, she was still on top of him, raising her slumped form, her hair making a soft yet resiliently springy trail across his torso. In the dimness, he could finally, finally catch a glimpse of her breasts, her dark nipples, the curve of her waist, But despite the fact some of the lights were back on, it was too dark to see the spot where they were still joined. It was as if that part, at least, would remain concealed.
She pulled herself off of him carefully, the final slide making him grit his teeth. He paused for a breath then said, “I should go downstairs and get rid of this condom.”
“And I should go to the bathroom, and, and—”
“We can take care of the alarm and the lights. And the melted ice cream and whatever else we accidentally knocked over.”
They gathered their clothing and dressed, their bodies so much stiffer than when they’d flung everything aside.
Better not to think too hard about it. Better not to feel too hard about it.
Magda picked up the sleeping bag. “The underside is pretty shredded.”
“Worth it,” he couldn’t help saying.
He was pleased to see the relief in her eyes.
She hurried downstairs to take care of her business, and he remained up on the roof a moment longer, stuffing things back into his kit. He let himself back down and found a bathroom. There was a hole in the ceiling and buckets of plaster on the floor, but it was useable. He took care of the condom, cleaned himself as best he could, and went to the kitchen. Magda had shut off the beeping alarm and was moving around somewhere else in the house. He rinsed out the recyclables and tossed the rest into a garbage bag he’d found under the sink. The house was getting colder again. The air conditioner had kicked on. By the time Magda appeared, he’d poured a glass of water for her, another for him, and he was drinking slowly at the counter.
The lights were on, and everything had changed again.
She stopped, and maybe he imagined it, maybe her eyes softened. She touched her wild hair a little self-consciously. But she didn’t come much closer. “I, uh, I wanted to thank you.”
He gave a small twisted smile into his glass of water. “It’s fine. I know.”
“If I had the time and energy to devote to a relationship, if things were different.”
“But they aren’t, are they?”
She shook her head.
“I see how you sacrifice your personal comfort, wearing your professional clothing in the heat of summer, spending the night here, probably not eating enough. And I know that I’m, if not on the opposite side, then on a different side of this garden issue. Tonight was good.” He faltered. “It was more than good. But if I stayed, if we tried to have more, it would cause you stress.”
He felt hollow, as if his own words had pulled everything out of him. Bereft. Could that be true if they’d been together for a handful of hours? He took his glass to the sink and after a minute, decided to wash and dry it. She said nothing.
He put it back in the cupboard where he’d found it and turned back. Magda was twisting her hands. She looked young and sad. But she didn’t deny what he’d said.
“I like you.” He almost laughed. “Still, I don’t want to burden you with this, with my feelings. I won’t start demanding we walk around holding hands or ride around on a bicycle built for two. So let me just say it. I like you. I know you have your work and you feel you need to be single-minded about it, and you can’t get entangled in something with me. Anyway, I won’t be in New York much longer.”
An intake of breath from her that he felt. He felt it all over.
She said, “What do you mean?”
“I’m moving to Portland. To be nearer to my sister when she goes. I’m still making arrangements. Helping to find and train my replacement at work—”
“What about the garden?”
She’d put her hand on her stomach for a moment. But as he was about to ask her if she was all right, she turned and opened a kitchen cabinet.
“I’m going to be here to help, of course, with fundraising and figuring out some financial things. But I never was really a member.”
“That’s bullshit.” She slammed the cabinet door and finally looked at him. “You’re there. You help people. They like you. They depend on you, whether you like it or not. You’re running away from them.”
He recoiled. “So what if I am? Should I stay and watch a developer dismantle all these people’s hard work? Tough out all the consequences for commitments I made to them when I was still trying to figure things out, like you are? How’s that working for you?”
“That’s a shitty thing to say.”
“I’m saying you’re brave and I’m not. It’s a shitty situation for you. Are you saying you don’t wish it away?”
“I want my debt to go away. But it’s money. To like and to be liked is not always a burden.”
“My liking you seems to be one.”
She stiffened, and immediately he regretted saying it. It sounded too much like bitterness, although the tang of it was still on his lips.
He licked them and continued, “We want the same things. I want the people I like and love to live forever. I want them to be healthy and thriving for as long as possible, and I know that isn’t realistic. Magda, this was one of the best nights of my life, all right? It was perfect because I got to be with you. And you are better and more warm and hopeful and beautiful than anyone I’ve ever met. But we can’t. The lights are back on. The spell is over. You’re still wonderful, but you told me going in that you have too much to deal with, and in my own way, so do I. I’m telling you I’m moving because I’m giving you an out. I’m giving myself one so that both of us can be okay again after this is over.”