Vegas in Red: What Do I Care4
It was the second time that Moira heard it. A weird scratching sound, like nails on glass. Between all the noise and motion it was a wonder she had heard anything at all. It was a small sound, lost in the concert of breathless whimpers and masculine grunts and the counter creaking. The utensils on it shaking, shaking. Between the submissive position, the wild sensations of John's hands, John's mouth, John's cock as he proceeded to fuck her brains out yet again.
"John! John! John!" she cried to each eager, deep thrust, but her suddenly strident tone broke through his sexual enjoyment and complete possession of her.
He paused, mid-thrust. Her long hair was wrapped around one of his hands and he gently tugged her head back. Making her arch and splay her thighs even wider for him as she was prone over the counter on her stomach. The other was cupping a breast, gently squeezing the nipple. "What?" he snarled, resumed his erotic motions.
"Listen! Listen to oh John!" Her words ended in a whimpering cry as he moved faster, faster, faster still to bring them to a satisfying conclusion.
"In a sec, baby, oh fuck there it is!" he exulted, groaning loudly as he achieved his goal. She cried out breathlessly as she followed after him. His movement slowed, slowed at last. He leaned on her, resting a moment. "What?" he asked into her hair, kissing her shoulder, her neck up to nuzzle her earlobe.
Moira squirmed, trying to think, but it was impossible with the rush of orgasm, the press of John's heavy body on her, in her as he hadn't released her yet. "I…I…I heard…"
"That. Oh shit," he said quietly.
She turned her head as he freed her hair. He was staring at the front window. She looked there as well. A pair of shining eyes were visible between the folds of the curtain. "Oh my God!"
"Ssh!" He freed her, moving off her, out of her at last. Pulled up his shorts and grabbed the gun. He sprinted to the window, tore the curtains aside. Moira scrambled off the counter, flustered more at the thought of being spied upon during sex than having a space alien lurking outside her house. She smoothed down the lilac t-shirt, covering herself. John let the curtains slide back into place. "I don't see anything now. Stay here, Moira." He unlocked the door.
"John! You can't go out there like, like that!" she scolded, rushing to grab his arm.
He met her gaze. Smiled. "Like what? Sated?"
She scowled. "John, damn it, be serious!" She was flushed, reeling from the intense sex. The awkward yet sensual positioning, the kinky elements. John was certainly teaching her things she had never experienced before with any other man.
"I am serious, baby. Always serious about sex." He kissed her. "Stay right here." He opened the door. Stepped out of the house. The street was quiet. Dark. An amber pool marked the streetlight at the corner. The moon was high in the sky, a full, opal orb that glistened in the surrounding darkness and outshone the stars. John circled the house, gun at the ready. Feeling slightly ridiculous clad only in his underwear, but determined to make sure it was safe.
The pavement was warm under his bare feet. The grass warmer, wet with water as a few sprinklers had been working in the late hours of the evening. He checked all around the house until fences blocked him.
Moira waited on the threshold, one hand on the door handle. Staring round but seeing nothing. Hearing nothing. Reasoning it had been an animal, nothing more. "John?" she called.
John whirled, hearing a noise. But it was just a cat, its eye shining in the moonlight as it looked at him and ran across the street. He scratched the bandage as he stared round. Finally he circled back to the front of the house, gently guided Moira back inside and shut the door. Locked it. "Nothing. It's the damnedest thing, Moira! You saw those eyes, right? It could have been that cat I saw but…"
She took his arm. "John, it probably was that cat. Just a cat. Let's go to bed, John." Her fingers slid down to his empty hand and she grasped it. Led him back towards the bedroom.
John kept looking behind him, firm grasp on the gun, on Moira's hand as she led him. "Okay, I guess. I just…" He frowned. Stopped at the bed. "My arm. It stopped itching."
"Good." She turned to him. He was frowning, eyes on the bandage. Moira smiled as the moonlight played lovingly over him, caressing every contour, every muscle. Glinting on the silver hairs scattered amid the darker ones at his chest, his sideburns. His full, perfect lips were forming a pout as his brows furrowed. Long, dark lashes concealing his eyes as he flexed his injured arm. "Come to bed, John."
He met her gaze. Eyes full of puzzlement, suspicion. Full of softer, warmer emotions as he looked at her. He kissed her. Freed her hand to move to the bedside table and set the gun onto it. He wiped his wet feet on the carpet. He slid into the blankets as she did. "Okay, I guess. I just…oh fuck," he muttered, as she ran her hands along his waist. Into the shorts.
"Sweetie, it was just a cat. It's that time of year, you know."
"What time of year?" he asked as she gently pushed him onto his back. Fingers grasping.
"Mating season, sweetie," she whispered into his ear.
It climbed, climbed. The tree was close to the house, close to the window. It wiped the saliva off its chin, scrambled across a branch and peered into the bedroom window. Eyes yellow, pupils wide slits to allow as much light as possible, but the moon provided plenty of illumination as it hit the bed. Hit the two occupants upon it. A man. A woman. Involved in an energetic but prolonged series of motions. Motions it recognized as mating.
It breathed deeply of the night air. Took in the scents of the neighborhood. The sleeping residents. The warm breath of the night. But mostly it concentrated on the occupants of the house. The scents of copulation heavy on the air. The aroma of the man's blood. It recognized the scent as belonging to the one it had attacked.
It wanted to feed. Its hand formed a fist in frustration, unable to feed. It ground its sharp teeth. Wanted to crash into the house, onto that bed. To tear and tear into the two humans upon it. Tear flesh and crush bone. Rip muscle and suck on tissue, on blood, but it wouldn't be enough. None of the kills had been what it needed, what it wanted.
The voice of the other had fallen silent. Desperate to hear another of its kind it had followed after the man, sensing a link between the two, the man, the other of its species. But the other Wraith was not here. It was only the man, and a woman with whom he had repeated copulation.
It held itself back from attacking. Fractured thoughts coalescing. It had a mission. A task to perform before it could go to the other one. Before it could go home.
It slithered down the tree. Stared as a cat hissed at it. It hissed back. The cat's fur stood on end and the feline bolted. The Wraith smiled, pleased. Quick as lightning it stole across the neighborhood, back to its hiding place. Back to its safe place until it was time to act.
John woke again. He rolled onto his side, easing himself from Moira as he freed her. He stared at the window. His arm had been itching again, but suddenly it had stopped. He kept his gaze locked on the window.
Moira snuggled up against his back. Her arm sliding over his waist. Hand moving up to touch his chest. Fingers sliding into his chest hair until she became still, falling back asleep. Body pressed to his. Her soft murmuring sounds becoming silent.
John saw the shadow of the tree shake. Elongated darkness infiltrating the room, breaking the moonlight into patches of irregular shapes. Then nothing. He saw no shapes in the tree as the branches stilled, and the moonlight once more flooded the bedroom, unobstructed. He heard a hissing sound. A cat. Two cats. Then nothing.
He relaxed. Catching Moira's hand at his chest and sliding it down to his waist again. Her hair was tickling the back of his arm. He didn't close his eyes. He knew the gun was within easy reach. Not that he'd need it.
Still, he did not go back to sleep, not right away.
He kept his gaze on the window.