Sunday, May 5, 2013

Shards To A Whole: Chapter 80

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

80. Laundry

Some things get more complicated when you live with someone. Grocery shopping, that gets tougher. Less expensive on a per person basis, but more complicated because suddenly you’ve got two sets of taste buds and nutritional/diet needs to deal with.

Laundry, on the other hand, got a lot easier.

Well, sort of.

For Tim it got a bit more complicated. Having lived on his own for quite a while he had a pretty streamlined system for dealing with laundry. Namely, his washer and dryer were in the bathroom, behind his shower, so every night he’d strip off, dump the clothing into the washer, brush his teeth, put his pjs on, and head to bed.

When it got full, he’d add soap, turn it on, and fall asleep to the swishing sound.

Next morning, toss it in the dryer before hopping in the shower.

And that night, he’d toss in sheets and towels, and iron while watching TV or talking to his mom or sister on the phone.

Add in the occasional dry cleaning run for his jackets and suits when he wore one, and that was his laundry system.

Abby has a significantly more complicated system. For example, in addition to a dry cleaning pile, she has three hampers (whites, colors, delicates) and several different soaps. And she actually uses the temperature settings on her washer. (According to Tim, his washer had one setting, and that setting was “on.”)

So it wasn’t long into the two of them living together that a new system of laundry labor division came into being.

Yes, he could learn how to handle her laundry. No it wouldn’t have taken much effort. However, it was a lot easier to just play to their individual strengths. Namely, he memorized which bits of his clothing went into which hampers (not too hard, he doesn’t own any delicates and hardly any whites), she handles the actual washing, sorting, and putting away, and he irons.

He’s very good at it. Since he wears something that requires ironing every day he’s at work, he gets a lot more practice at it than she does. So adding her skirts and the occasional blouse to his ironing pile isn’t a challenge. And since his non-ironed clothing fits into one of four categories (socks, boxers, pants, t-shirt), sorting it out isn’t much additional work for her.

Sure, he did this every six or so days when he was on his own, and they do it closer to every four now, but it still works out to a bit less work.

And he’s got mad skills when it comes to ironing pleats now.

So, it was two weeks later, while he was ironing, and she was putting the dry cleaning away that she noticed the Marilyn dress and remembered something. “I never did get to hear what happened Halloween night 2006, after you got home from work.”

He looks up from shirt he’s ironing. “Huh?”

She turns so he can see the white dress in the plastic bag, and he  realizes where her mind must have gone.

“I still can’t believe you did that on purpose.”

“You spent four days telling me about how hot and blonde your Ice Queen was.”

“So you decided to out hot and blonde her?”

“Yep.” She grins at him. “The original plan was just to wear it to the party and make every guy there fall in love with me. Getting to wear it to work in front of you was just icing on the cake.”

He snorts a little and shakes his head, pressing the cuff on his shirt.

“Don’t snort at me, you loved that.”

“Yeah, I did, but talk about frustrated!”

“That was the point. I hope it was a lot like hearing about how hot, and blonde, and did I mention fifteen years younger, and cheerleader your date was. You going to tell me you weren’t doing that on purpose?” She sits on the bed and starts to fold t-shirts.

“Maybe a little. You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“And sometimes sexy.”

“Very sexy. And with as many Valentine’s Days as I walked down there and found fifty million flowers all from guys who weren’t me, or as many boyfriends I heard about, and the number of times you wandered around in a tiny little skirt, hugged me, kissed my cheek, pressed up nice and close, and then pulled back to head off and go sleep with someone else, I am not at all bothered by making you jealous when I had a chance.”

“Well, it worked.”

“Good.” He flashes her a satisfied smile.

“They really were mostly friends.”

He’s not looking very convinced by that. “I’ve got female friends. You wanna guess how often I send them Valentine’s Day flowers let alone sleep over at their homes?”

Fifty million flowers from guys who aren't me.
“You always got me a Valentine’s Day present.”

“You think we were friends?”

“Not exactly.”

He nods.

“A lot of them really were friends.”

“Sure.” He’s not buying that at all. If they were friends, they were the same sort of friend he was. “Guys don’t send flowers to women they don’t want to sleep with.”

“Straight guys don’t send flowers to women they don’t want to sleep with.”

Okay, that’s probably a distinction worth paying attention to. So he shrugs a little. “True.”

“And a lot of my guy friends are gay.”


“Did it really bother you?” She asks, finishing folding up all of his t-shirts, putting them in his drawer.

“Yeah!” He goes and hangs up the shirt he was ironing, and grabs a new one.

She shrugs a little. “I’m not exactly sorry, because I kind of really like how it feels that things like that bothered you, but... it wasn’t kind either, and I am sorry for that.”

He flashes her a perplexed look. “Um… thanks… I think.”

“It just feels really good. All those years, you wanted me.”

“Yeah, I did. Of course, I did.” He thinks about it for a moment. “And yeah, it always felt good when you were jealous of one of my girlfriends. ‘Course would have felt better if you had just dragged me back into your office and made out with me.”

One lick at a time.
“Okay, the teasing thing might not have been kind, but knowing what you wanted, and knowing what I could give, and still sleeping with you, no matter how cute you were, and how often you looked at me like I was ice cream and you wanted to eat me one lick at a time, and no matter how good you are at that, and how fantastic it would have felt, would have been just downright cruel.”

He thinks about that and nods. “Yeah, it would have been. As much fun as it might have been,” because he can think of at least half a dozen times where they very easily could have tumbled into bed over the years, and a few dozen more where he was giving her that ice cream look, and would have very happily eaten her one lick at a time, “I couldn’t have stood to be your friend-with-benefits.”

“I knew that.” She sits on the bed and starts matching up socks. “So, Halloween 2006. We got to do what I was thinking about that night. What did you do when you got home?”

“You want to do this now?”

“You want to watch Dr. Who and come back to this later?” They often watch TV while handling the laundry.

He checks the clock. And the pile of things to be ironed. And if they want to get to bed in time to actually get some solid sleep in… “Dr. Who will still be there tomorrow.”

She grins at him.

“If I burn myself, it’s your fault.”

“Come on, I know you’re a better multi-tasker than that.”

“Never tried talking dirty and ironing before.”

She laughs. “You know, about ten years ago I got a birthday card, and it was a picture of this really hot, mostly-naked guy ironing. The outside said, ‘You know what’s wrong with this picture?’”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“The inside said, ‘Nothing.’” And she smiles at him brightly.

“So you’re saying sex and domestic chores together is something of a turn on?”

She laughs. “It’s certainly not a turn off.”

Chuckling a little, looking wryly amused, he pulls off his shirt, tossing it in the colors hamper, along with his socks, slowly pulls his belt from his pants, carefully draping it over the crossbar on the ironing board, and then, holding her gaze, popped the button on his jeans. Then he gave her a long, steady, gonna-make-you-come-so-hard-the-neighbors-complain-about-the-noise look, and said, “You like this, right?”

She grins. “Yeah, I really do.” She got up from the bed, stepped around the ironing board, and gave him a long kiss. “Yes.”

“Ironing might become my favorite chore.”

She stepped back, traced her finger from his lip, down his throat and chest, settling it just above the zipper on his jeans. Her thumb pressed into the fabric just to the left of the zipper, gently stroking him, as she pulled it up to meet her index finger and tug the zipper down.

“Perfect,” she said, eyes tracing over him. “Love you like this.” Then she turned, walked back to the bed, and returned to sorting the socks.

He laughed a little, took a deep breath, grabbed the iron, turned it back on, (it turns off if you don’t move it for a few minutes) and waited for it to heat up.

“So, Halloween 2006. Do you remember the last thing you did that I saw?”

Asking nicely.
She thinks about it for a moment. “Trick or Treating at your desk?”

“Yeah. Remember what you did?”

She grins.

“I’ll take that as a yes. So, I get home, and all I can see is the way you got the treat from me. Everyone else you asked nicely and waited for them to give it to her. But me, noooo… You step right next to me, lean over me, and reach across my body to the drawer I keep my snacks in, rummage around it, for, what was that, ten minutes? Before raiding my cookie stash. You weren’t wearing a bra, and with the way you were leaning, your breasts were hanging soft and loose right in front of my eyes, and your nipples weren’t exactly hard, but that dress is pretty much translucent, so I could see the shadow of them against the white fabric, and then your ass is about a foot away, and once again, translucent dress, so I can see the white outline of your panties, and you’re leaning over me, which meant I could smell you as well as see you, and your legs in those shoes… Look, I love the boots you usually wear, but they call them fuck me heels for a reason. You have no idea how much control it took not to grab you right there and fuck you on my desk in front of everyone. And honestly, I don’t think any of the guys would have blamed me if I had done it.”

She stares at him in disbelief. “I’m getting trick-or-treats for the five-year-old-girl standing two feet away and you were thinking that?”

“Baby, by the time you were reaching into that drawer, your body was three inches away from my lap. The bullpen could have been on fire, and I wouldn’t have noticed, let alone a little girl a few feet away. No, the main thing I was doing was praying to every and any deity or greater power that you’d pull back without brushing against me, otherwise you would have felt exactly how hard I was.”

“How hard were you?”

“Could have pole vaulted with it.”


“So were you in that outfit, leaning across me.”


“You’re welcome. So I get home and the one thing I know isn’t going to happen is me falling asleep nice and easy. I was way, way too keyed up and horny for that. Between you and the case, no way in hell I’ll just go to bed and snooze.

“And I also know that I don’t want to just rub one out fast. I want this to take a while, way too many good images in my head for a quick jerk off.”

She smiles at that, stands up, puts the socks away, and then returns to the bed and the pile of undies.

If asked, Tim would admit this is his favorite part of watching her sort and fold laundry. Her fingers slipping over little cotton bikini cut panties, let alone wisps of silk and lace, and yeah, he enjoys that. And she’s playing it up. Very carefully tucking her panties into tidy little squares, laying those squares on each matching bra. Teddies smoothed out and folded into quarters.



“Do you like that shirt?”

“Damn it.” He jerks the iron back. Okay, good, shirt isn’t burned. It’s just really well pressed in one spot. “So much for my multi-tasking skills.”

“Well, how about you get back to distracting me from what I’m doing?”

“I like watching what you’re doing.”

“And something equally hot to listen to to go with it would be nice.”

He grins and shifts the shirt a little. “So, I’m home. And at that point I didn’t know exactly where I wanted the fantasy to go, so instead of picking out anything in specific, beside the lube, I just put my toybox on the bed next to me, figuring I’d grab stuff as I went.

“I got naked, settled back on bed, and started touching myself.”


He shoots her his I can’t believe you just asked that look. “I was rubbing my knee. How do you think?”

“Left hand, right hand, both, start off with the lube, add it later?” She holds her fingers in a loose circle and jerks it a few times. “Like that?”

“Why would I use my right hand?”

“I don’t know. Not everyone uses their dominant hand for everything.”

“Left hand, no lube, yet, as for how…” He spends a minute thinking about how to describe that. Then he looks in the closet. He’s got a shirt for tomorrow. “Would you rather just see it?”

“Really?” She’s grinning brilliantly.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh yeah!” She scoops up the folded undies and rushes to her drawer, putting them away fast. He turns off the iron, and then takes the top sheet on the bed, and flaps it, sending unfolded laundry flying to the floor.


“Not interested in waiting to get this done.”

She’s kneeling on the bed, and he’s standing next to the opposite side of it.

He’s never actually given her a show before. Sure she’s seen him stroke himself on occasion, if he’s going down on her, rubbing himself, hand wet from her, really adds to it. But he’s never done it like this. Not for her to get off on watching.

He traces his fingers lightly over his hip, just above the waistband of his jeans, then slipped it under his boxers, and pulled gently, really enjoying the way her eyes were glued to what he was doing.

“Feel like getting me some supplies?”

“What do you want?”

“Are we still doing Halloween 2006?”


“Lube, cock ring, and put some red lipstick on.”

“Red lipstick? I thought I was watching.”

He grins. “This might be interactive.” 

She smiles at him, and heads to her dresser. She opens the top drawer and searches through her lipsticks for the right one. A minute later she has it, and is smoothing it over her lips. He’s watching her face in the mirror as she finishes and kisses her lips together.

Blow Job Red.
“You know, every time you wear that, every single guy in the room is thinking about your lips wrapped around his dick.”

“Every guy?”

Tim nods. “Every straight guy. They should call that color Blow Job Red, because that’s exactly what we all think when you wear it.”

She laughs.

“I’m not kidding, at all.”

“I know you aren’t. There’s only one reason a woman wears red lipstick, and it’s to make people look at her lips. It’s still funny,” she said as she opened the lid to their toybox. It lives on his dresser, and at a casual glance just looks like a nice, wooden box, maybe the sort of thing you might keep ties, belts, or handkerchiefs in, if you happened to have a whole lot of them. “Leather or silicon?”

“Silicon, no bullet.” They have three cock rings but the one he wants is the plainest of the bunch. Just a snug ring of silicon, no frills on that one. Beyond keeping him really hard, he doesn’t need it to do anything else.    

“Anything else?”

He thinks about that for a moment. Sheets are clean, and it’d be nice if they stayed that way a little longer. “Towel?”

She grins and returns from the bathroom a moment later, lays the things he’s requested on the bed in front of him, and settles into a comfortable position, leaning, back against the foot of the bed, waiting for him.

“Want me to get naked?”

She’s got on one of his button downs and a pair of panties.

“Not yet.”


“So, it’s Halloween 2006, and you’ve been teasing me mercilessly all night. And I’m finally home and can do this.” He shucks off his pants and boxers, leaving them on the floor next to the bed, and sits at the head of the bed, pillows piled behind his back, legs spread wide in front of him, cock half-hard, hands on his thighs.

His thumbs are making wide circles along the inside of his thighs. And no, this isn’t precisely what he did when he got home that night, he’s trying to make this interesting for her as well, and just jumping on the bed and beating off might be a little more direct than she’d like.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “You did that?”

Or maybe she knows him pretty well by now. His hand snaked up his thigh and wrapped around his dick, gently pulling.

“That I believe. What were you thinking about.”

“Your lips. So red, and so pretty, and so wrapped around me.”

She licks them. Pink tongue slipping over them, soft and wet.

“That, too. And there was a really vivid image of your lip print on my dick. Perfect red ring just below the head.”

“Like this?” And she leaned forward, pushing his hand down, carefully wrapping her mouth around him, leaving a red lip print just below the head, then pulling them softly up and over, finishing with a few licks to the tip.

He didn’t realize he held his breath while she did it until it slipped back out when she sat back on her feet.

“Yeah, just like that.” He begins to stroke again, looking at the perfect ring of Blow Job Red, seeing it smear a little on the down stroke.

Tim almost never thinks about what his dick looks like. Not to say he doesn’t love to watch himself fuck Abby, or her sucking him, or, hell, watch anything she might want to do with his dick. If she’s playing with it, he wants to see her do it. Watching is always a very good thing. But when that happens he’s watching her on him. Him by himself, not particularly interesting to him, at least visually.

But she’s watching his hand, his cock, like this is the sexiest thing she’s ever seen, and suddenly he’s watching himself as well.

He’s seen more than enough porn to know his dick’s not setting any records. But he also knows, that like the fact that he’s a bit taller and broader than average, he’s also a bit longer and wider than average. And by average he means in the mathematical sense, and by a bit he means that if anyone were to ever call him Python as a nickname, it’d be because of his coding skills and not what lives in his pants.

It’s straight, no curve in any direction, and the tip tends more towards pink than purple, flushing red the closer he gets to coming.

He slips his hand down, fairly slow, mostly moving the skin over the shaft, which is usually how this works before lube is part of the equation.

“You like watching this?”

Abby licks her lips again, leans forward, her arms together, pushing her breasts up and forward, and undoes the top three buttons of the shirt, enticing him with a glimpse of cleavage.

“Oh yes, I like watching this. All sorts of good squirminess from watching this.”

“Good.” He settled back a little further and closed his eyes, focusing on the fantasy, because if he doesn’t, he’ll get too wrapped up in her in front of him, and just beat off to that. “In the fantasy it’s your real hair. You’re on your knees in front of me, and I’m back against the desk in your office, holding onto the edge with one hand, the other stroking your hair and face as you pull back and just lick. Lots of wet visible tongue and your red, red lips slowly slipping up and down the tip, just a little suction.”

He’s holding himself with his left hand, and gently tracing the tip of his right index finger over the tip. He felt her move, and then her breath against his glans, and finally her tongue slipping against him licking his dick and his finger.

“Oh.” He bites his lip and takes a deep breath. “This is going to go a lot faster than it did in real life if you keep helping me.”

“I want to help. You look too good not to taste.”

“Okay. In the fantasy, you teased me for a while, soft and wet and just focusing on the tip. Keeping me really hard and squirming, but not letting me get close to coming. Getting me really wet, and then blowing me dry. Or squeezing firm, pushing all the blood into the tip, and then bobbing your lips over it really fast, and pulling back and stopping, just letting me rest on the tip of your tongue, and very gently scraping your teeth over the tip.”

She followed the things he was saying, while he kept up a slow steady stroke over the shaft.    

He opens his eyes to watch, and of course her hair is black, and it’s not curly, but her lips are still red, and it feels brilliant. “Fuck, that’s so good, baby.”

She pulls back and smiles at him. “What next?”


She hands him the bottle, and he pours a little in his palm, smoothing it over his whole penis. He sighs as he does that. Dry is good, slick is better.   

“And this would be the part where I stopped teasing you?”

“Yeah. Mouth and hand and all the way up and all the way down and—“ He’s stroking steadily, a faster pace, hand tighter.

“Slow down, let me see what you’re doing.”

He exhales long and slow, and narrates the action. “Moderately tight fist. Keeping my fingers snug enough so I can feel each one as I slip through. I roll my thumb over the tip as it passes through.”

“That is so hot.”

“Good.” He speeds the pace of his hand, hips rocking into the stroke. “As you suck, you hand gets wet and slick.” His right hand, the one he poured the lube into, gets into the action, rolling his balls a little, pulling them gently, and then slipping behind them, pressing against his perineum. “So you switch to just mouth and use your hand on the rest of me.” He shifts position so he’s half kneeling, butt resting against his feet, knees wide apart.

“I’m watching you suck me. Holding me deep in your mouth, hot, wet suction,” he grabs the cock ring and slips it over himself, sighing a little as he gets it set.

“How does it feel?”


“I know it makes it more difficult to get off, and I know it keeps you hard, but how does it feel when you’re wearing it?”

“Really full, really big. The closer you are to coming the bigger and harder it gets, so it feels like being on edge. The skin can’t move over the shaft, so you get more sensation out of the friction. Balls can’t creep up, so you can enjoy it longer.”

“Okay. Why put it on now?”

“Because in the fantasy your fingers are about to get into the action, and I want this part to last a while.”

“And what are my fingers doing?”

“Slipping around, pressing into my perineum, and one of them is very gently easing into me.” His left hand goes back to a long, slow stroke, all the way up and down, as his right slips further back between his legs, starting to slip in. He lets out a slow breath and speeds his hand a little, distracting himself, better lube means this a lot more comfortable than it used to be, but it’s still not his favorite thing.

He feels her move again and hears the sound of rustling clothing. He opens his eyes and sees her stripping out of her clothing, facing him, matching the speed of his hands to her own fingers moving over her flesh.

She looks at him and smiles. “Way too hot, can’t not touch myself.”

He closes his eyes again, hearing the sound of her fingers slipping against her flesh. “This is not helping me relax, at all.”

“Poor baby.” He feels her fingers on his lips, smells her on them, tastes them, and fuck it, this isn’t masturbation any more. He opens his eyes, sucks her fingers into his mouth, and pushes her onto her back.

“Tim!” She’s a bit surprised by that.

“Screw the fantasy!” he said a second before dipping into a long, hot kiss, and grinding himself against her stomach.

They kept at that, writhing against each other for a good minute before he pulled back. “Up, on your hands and knees.” His hands stroked over her shoulders and back, cupping her ass, as he kissed down her spine. “Just like that. Most perfect ass, ever.”

He knelt behind her, thrusting in hard and fast. “Oh God! Fuck! Abby!”

The good thing about the cock ring is that it does provide a certain level of artificially enforced control. Yes, he can climax wearing the ring, but it’s a lot more difficult than usual. But feeling like you’re on edge, even if you aren’t, means that he’s got a lot less control of the rest of his body. Primary, his fine motor control is shot.

He’s kissing her shoulders and neck, hands stroking her breasts. “Touch yourself, baby. Want to feel you get off.”

She does, he can feel her fingers brush his balls when he trusts forward, and her body growing even tighter on him, and it feels so amazing, hot, wet, tight, and slick on over-sensitized skin, and his body wants to come, and the ring drags that sensation out. She’s rippling on him, twitching and moaning and that’s even better, a whole level of better, and he forces himself to stop, let her ride it out, relax for a minute.

He pulls out, going to take the ring off, and slip back in and come so hard he sees stars.

She turns to face him. “Stop.”

“Stop? What are you thinking?”

“It takes a lot of extra stimulation for you to get off wearing that, right?”


“I’m feeling awfully relaxed right now. Kneel down, butt on your feet.”

His eyes went wide, fairly sure where this is going. “Really?”

“Yeah. Hold it together long enough for me to get settled, and then you can go full out.”


“Yes, really. We’ve done this often enough you know you aren’t going to hurt me.”

He swallowed hard, and sat back, determined to stay very, very still. She got the lube, added more of it to him, and a lot more to her, and then back to his chest, very slowly eased down.

His hands curled into fists, and his feet into whatever the equivalent of a fist is. So hot, so tight, and so, so, so slow. He’s focusing on her back, tracing the tattoos with his eyes, making himself not move, not thrust, not bury himself again and again into her. And since she didn’t stretch ahead of time this takes three quarters of forever and it’s the longest, slowest, tightest, hottest, best-feeling forever of his life.

He knows he’s talking, hot, dirty, sexy words, probably cursing, too, feels too good not to let it out, but he’s got no idea what he’s saying. The feeling of it, the flex of her back as she eases down, the curve of her hips and ass, but mostly the way it feels, is keeping his mind busy.

She settled against him, just still for a good long minute, breathing quietly. Then she leaned forward, arms stretched out in front of her, head resting on the right one, ass high, and said, “Fuck me.”

It was like an explosion in his brain. Any part of him that wasn’t entirely devoted to thrusting and pleasure just vanished at those words. The whole world shrunk down to the feeling of her body tight and slick and sliding along his.

And when his orgasm started, he felt it whole body, through his arms and legs and chest and heart, pouring, pulsing through balls and cock and if fucking fantastic means anything, it means this feeling rushing through him.

They’re on their sides, him still deep in her, when he comes back to himself. He snuggles in closer, sighing happily, kissing her neck, enjoying her next to him.

They drift like that for a little while, just enjoying the endorphins and breathing together. Finally Abby said, “Can you reach the towel?”

He feels around a little and hands it to her. She slips off of him, and he hisses a little at that. Cock ring means he’s very sensitive post-climax. He takes it off carefully, trying to not touch himself too much.

Eventually they’re both cleaned up and in bed, both sleepy. He’s wrapped around her, and it’s probably the endorphins, but maybe it’s just her, and her being near, but he loves her so much right now. It feels too big to hold onto, too big to keep in just one body, one heart.

He usually sleeps spooned behind her, with his arm around her waist, hand curled loosely around her breast, but he slides it over a little, feeling her heartbeat, and the soft rise and fall of her chest under his hand.

And he feels how precious this life is, how fragile, and how much he wants, needs, cherishes it. And there aren’t words, nothing existing solely of breath of man is big enough for this, deep enough for it, so he doesn’t try to speak it.

He kisses her neck, and her shoulder, pressing his face to her back, smelling her skin and hair, and holds her tightly, trying to get the feeling across with touch, not sure if that’s even possible, but it’s--

“I love you, too, Tim.”

He kisses her one more time, wishing he was a great artist, so he could make something as beautiful as this is, and give it to her.


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