Taking time to read any fanfiction is a personal choice. To those readers who continue to read and follow each chapter in this story, I can't say it enough - Thank You.

Also, Thank You to ALL those who've taken the time to leave a review.

Trigger Warnings:

All wordsmithing errors are mine alone — notes at the end.

I post this knowing I might lose my entire readership once they've read it.

Chapter Title: So Many Paths

Heard A Lot Of Talking

Jesse stared in disbelief at Detective Heider. He really was a dick. Figuratively and literally. "What ..." Jesse stopped short of uttering 'fuck.' Instead went with a minor expletive, "the hell do you mean, you're not going to search the river?" He inhaled, to hold his breath until it burst from his lips, "This is evidence from a semi-automatic!"

The older balding detective looked up at the young officer. With his hand, he adjusted his coffee-stained tie across his pronounced belly "Look, kid," indifferent to the younger officer. "Yeah, you're right. They could be evidence. But there isn't a serial number. And the only prints were from your farmboys paws." Slurping coffee from a stained cup. "And I can't think of any diver in this county or the state for that matter that wants to freeze with fish looking for cloth bags that may have been dropped randomly into a river." Slapping his hand on the desk, "Even if I could find a diver, he couldn't stay under for more than a few minutes. It's fuckin' cold out, Officer St. James" he spat "in case you hadn't noticed.

"Could be evidence?" Jesse annoyed at the suggestion, "They were found within a half-mile of the Karofsky estate. Send divers down where the river goes past the house. He probably dropped some reminders to the family nearby." Jesse displeased with the wait, "he's a sick mother, fucker!" immediately regretting his temper and the expletive.

"Oh, he' a sicko, all right. He probably attended the funeral too. But I can't send resources to interview everyone who attended the funeral. Now, can I?" He took another slurp from his cup. "We're looking into a few promising leads. If nothing breaks before spring, I'll see what I can do about getting divers in the water. Those bags aren't going anywhere."

"What are those promising leads? Huh? Some jealous boyfriend of a woman Karofsky banged last summer? Or some poor bastard that got fired? An anonymous crank caller?" Jesse huffed, irritated at the old man. "You don't have shit, and you know it, Detective!"

Detective Heider rose from his chair. Jesse could smell the Old Spice aftershave, Heider wore as the paunchy man stood inches from his face, "Son, I seem to recall you're up for promotion. And as I recall, you didn't do too well on that last time." Jesse caught sight of Heider's index finger as he moved it to wave in Jesse's nose. "There's a reason you're in that patrol car, boy. Interfering with my case will keep you there. You can bet on that." Heider turned back to his desk, lifting a file off his calendar desk pad he placed it in a file organizer. "Get the fuck out of my sight."

Jesse stood on the stoop of the Sheriff's office. The bright sun shone in the clear sky, a contrast to the cold he felt around him. From his pocket, Jesse took his knit cap, covering his head, zipping his jacket, slipped on his gloves, stuffing his hands into the coat pocket. Jesse bounced on the balls of his feet as he breathed, letting the cold air release his anger. Removing his car keys as Jesse made plans for his next stop. "You don't need divers to find fish," he mumbled to himself.

Nearly Drowned In Their Words

Quinn's schedule was busier now that spring was approaching. New buyers wanted to look at homes with the intent of moving during the warmer months or to take advantage of lower interest rates. Sellers either genuine or not wanted to get their homes on the market in case it was a buyer's market year.

"Hey, girl," Mercedes said as she dropped a Subway bag on Quinn's desk. "Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki for you and a Meatball Mariana for me." she smiled down at the blonde, who's hair color now was more platinum then honey. "No clue why, in this weather, but I had them warmed up." Pulling the chair away from Quinn's desk to take a seat. "So, what's up? Why your office and not the diner for lunch?"

Quinn finished up entering a description of her most recent listing. She turned away from her computer screen, "I wanted some privacy," looking around at the open office layout, "let's take this into one of the conference rooms." She replied, disconnecting her laptop, "I'll grab the sodas from the frig."

Once in the conference room, Mercedes set down the bags, tossing her coat on a chair while Quinn set up her laptop. "Hope this isn't about you finding me my dream home in Lima." Mercedes laughed, sitting down next to Quinn.

"No, I got to thinking about Brittany's list."

"OK," Mercedes said as she unscrewed the cap from the Coke bottle, taking a sip. "So, what are you thinking?"

"I was wondering if we couldn't use the reference directories, archived real estate listings, and county tax listing to cross-reference some of the names. See if they're in town."

Mercedes unwrapped her sub, "Woah; she had six pages of names. That's a lot to look up and cross-reference." She said.

"Not if we just start with the four, Schumacher, Scholl, Johnson, and what was it? McGovern. See if they're still in town. And if they had a house and sold it, I'll call the listing agent to see if they remembered why. Or where they moved too."

"You remember all your clients?"

Quinn shrugged, "Not always, but some clients stand out." She said with a raised eyebrow. "It's worth a try at this point."

"Isn't this like confidential information or somethin'? I mean tax records? Seriously Quinn?"

"No, that's the good part, it's online public domain. Anyone can search for it." Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin.

Mercedes with a pensive expression, "I don't Quinn," said. It irked her that what she paid in taxes for her home was public. Yet a curious part of her wanted to know what the city accessor had on her home. "OK, I guess, but it has to be public domain, Quinn. I'm not snooping on my neighbors."

"Understood Cedes. Do you want to see what the accessor has on your home first?" Quinn asked, seeing her friend nod, she brought the website.

After an hour of searching, they had a list of the three men. Mercedes called work. She'd be out of the office for the remainder of the day. Quinn on the phone to a realtor, "Ok... ah huh... I see... So, he said it didn't work out at KEI... What was that?... He didn't care for the management... Did he say why?... Oh, he didn't. Do you know where he went?... Quaker Oats, in Cedar Rapids, IA. OK, well, thanks, LeAnn... Yeah, I'll see if my buyer is interested in the house nearby. Yeah, you tell Harry I said hello. OK, Bye." Quinn pressed end call, "I suppose you heard?"

"McGovern didn't like the management. Well, he did work for Lavender. I can understand that, I suppose. Richard can be cynical sometimes." Looking down at her notes, "Scholl didn't like the management either, but he was in business development. I think" Mercedes resting her forehead on her hand while she thought. "I think," dropping a fist to the table. "I can't think of the guys' name. Hang on, let me text Hunter he might remember." Mercedes tapped on her phone within a few minutes she had a reply. Chuckling as she read it, "Boris Yeltsin, that's what we called him." Texting another message, an immediate answer arrived, "Don Nading, that's it. Don would have been Scholl's boss. He was promoted. Let me check the KEy, app for his name." tapping on her phone screen. "Yeah, he's a regional brand manager based out of Phoenix." Laying her phone on the table, "I remember Don, aside from his nickname for the resemblance, he was a fun guy to be around. They threw him a big party when he moved. Dave and Paul were there, Santana might have even shown up."

"Not being happy with management doesn't mean you don't like your manager," Quinn responded. "Schumacher was fired for stealing, but he's still in town."

"At the trailer park though Quinn."

"If it were Vista Park, I'd agree with that Cedes, that place is an eyesore, but he's at Lake Ridge Estates." Pausing to breathe, "Those are newer modular homes and can cost as much as old stick-built homes in Lima. And it's a better neighborhood."

"So, you're crossing him out?"

Quinn pondered her answer, "No, I don't think either Scholl or Schumacher should be crossed out." Tapping her pen point on Mercedes's paper, "We still don't know anything about Johnson. Or were Scholl moved too."

"Are you thinkin' we're going to have to include maybe Puck in this?"

"I want to give Rita more time to call me back regarding Scholl. Her dad is still in the hospital after his heart attack. But yes, I think we'll need to ask Puck and possibly Jake about Schumacher and Johnson."

"Why, Jake?"

"Because Puckerman's are like prairie dogs. Highly social and span a wide area." Picking up her phone to send a message to her baby's daddy.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Puck in paint-stained black ZZ Top tee, a pair of white carpenter pants, and paint-splattered work boots. Nodding his head, he sang a chorus from Leg's,' as he rolled the paint across the dining room.

She's got hair down to her fanny

She's kinda jet set, try undo her panties

Every time she's dancin' she knows what to do

Everybody wants to see if she can use it

"Puck! You here?" Quinn called out from the door.

Stepping back from the dining room, "Yo, in here, baby mama.", setting the roller in the paint pan, taking the rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. A wide smile spread across his face as Quinn walked toward him "Tell me you're here to ask me to be Rachel's sperm donor? Or yours?" he wiggled his eyebrows.

She let out a sudden laugh that echoed throughout the empty room. "Now, why would you think that?"

He responded with a raised eyebrow, as a knowing smile crossed his face, "Word gets around." Slipping the cloth back in his pocket, "Beth would have a real sibling, just saying," with a shrug.

Quinn smiled, "We'll keep you in mind." She replied, teasing Puck with the possibility.

"Quinn! Puck!" Mercedes shouted out.

"In here Cedes,"

"Ah, afternoon ménage à trois. I can get down for that."

"I did not hear what you just said, Puckerman," Mercedes huffed as she entered the dining room.

"Forgive him, Cedes. He suffers from delusions of grandeur."

"Hey, I'm the Puckasaurus. What's grander than that? And it's no delusion."

"Why did you drag me here again, Quinn," Mercedes rolled her eyes, "to listen to this fool?"

"Hey, my ears always perk up when my baby mama calls?" Puck walked around the room, tipping over an empty bucket for a chair "Sorry only got one," he offered the two women. "Might be a beer in the fridge if you two don't mind sharing."

Quinn unbuttoned her coat to let in some warmth, "We're here on business, Puck."

"Business, I like the sound of that. So, tell me what's up?" Stretching his arm out to lay his palm on an unpainted wall to lean on, crossing a foot over the other for balance. His free hand on his hip.

Quinn cleared her throat as she glanced at Mercedes, "Do you remember Del Schumacher?"

"Yeah sure, ole Delbert, played D End," scrunching his face as he thought "graduated the year before we started McKinley. I think. Del turned down a football scholarship, forget which college. Now the dude is just another Lima Loser. Why?"

"Do you know where he works?" Mercedes said

"Last we talked, rendering plant. Del bounces around. The guy has sticky fingers."

"What's he stealing, do you know?"

"Mostly construction stuff, old boards, cinder blocks, roofing tiles. Del resells it, has a couple of storage sheds. I've seen him out in the morning shuffling through trash at the curb, saw him toss an old chair in the back of his truck." Shrugging his shoulders, "Del's a harmless dumpster diver."

"Anything else about him? Is he married? Hobbies like, say hunting?" Mercedes asked.

Puck shook his head "Nah, Del likes the strip joint I've seen him there. Hobbies not that I would know." Taking his hand down, he crossed his arms over his chest "So you ladies mind telling me why the interest in Dumpster Del?"

"He worked at KEI, fired for stealing," Quinn answered.

Puck grinned from ear to ear, as a light laugh left his lips "And you think Del had it out for Dave?" Puck rubbed his chin "Lima's own Rosetti and Isles. Or, in this case, Fabray and Jones." He snorted, "Del's harmless unless you try to take something he wants. He'll get feisty, like taking a toy away from a kid, but he's not the type to fight back. Or hold a grudge."

Mercedes eyes met Quinn's "He's off the list, I guess."

"For now," Quinn replied.

"So, ladies about this ménage à trois," he snickered.

"You know Puckerman one of these days you'll figure out that your brain resides in this head," Mercedes pointed her index finger to the side of her head "and not the one below your belt buckle."

"Come on, Cedes, let's get out of here" Quinn grabbed her friend by the arm to lead her to the door.

"Hey Quinn," Puck shouted "My offer is still on the table, except no cup. Real deal or nothing." Laughing as he watched their backs leave the room. He mumbled, "God, they hate me. Until they love me."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Come on, people. This is a basic hip-hop move," Jake yelled over the music at the ten teenage boys in front of the mirror. "I've got a class of 4 years old's that can dance better than you guys do" walking between the rows "Baker, this isn't boxing, relax. Liam, Wes, bend your knees a little more." Moving to the front row, "Nice job Zach. You to Nathan. Charlie, you look like a wet noodle, show me some attitude." He paused to watch the boys, "Much better Liam. Baker, you're still boxing. Relax your hands like you're holding a microphone. That's better." Clapping his hands, the boys stopped. He reached over to turn the music off. "OK, listen up. Overall, you're doing better. But if you want to win at regionals. And you know Ms. Berry wants to win." The boys all chuckled in unison "You're going to have to step-up your game. And that means practice. OK, I'll see all of you next week." Jake walked over to the chair, taking his towel, he laid it around the back of his neck, using a corner to wipe off his face.

"I don't get it, little Puckerman."

"What's that Mercedes?"

"That you share DNA with Noah. He dances like he's got a stick up his backside. Whereas you have some of the sweetest moves I've ever seen a man do."

Jake shrugged, a hint of a smile on his face "If that weren't coming from you, I'd call it racist."

"Nah, Noah is by far the better guitar player. And a singer."

"Eww, that hurts." He said, nodding at Quinn. "So, you ladies here to sign up for more salsa lessons? Or thinking about trying some hip-hop moves?"

Quinn stepped forward, "No, we want to pick your brain."

"I may not have much brain to pick. It's been a long day."

"Problems at the plant?" Mercedes asked, curious about what she'd missed at work during the afternoon.

"Let's say Trent is a little overwhelmed at times." Jake quirked an eyebrow, "Mike came in and rescued him. Otherwise, we'd have the floor covered in nuts."

"Not sure I want to know, but I already thought the factory floor was a bowl of nuts. I mean, some of those workers all they do are watch tubs fly by them on a conveyor belt." Mercedes laughed "That's like watching a dryer tumble clothes."

"You'd think that, but those women have a sixth sense about the belt. To them, it has a hum, a rhythm, a flow, and if it's not there, they have the maintenance guys tweaking it until it comes back." Jake shook his head "It's weird." Leading his visitors out of the practice room, as the square dancers filed in, "Tell me what's in my brain that you want to know?" opening the door to the office.

Quinn entered the office, turning as Mercedes and Jake followed, "Do you remember a Mark Johnson?"

Jake walked over to the desk, grabbing a bottle of water, he unscrewed the cap "Mark Johnson?" sipping from the bottle as he thought, "Yeah, I do. He was on the QC team. He checked the temperatures mostly. Why?"

"Do you know why he quit?" Mercedes asked as she sat down on the couch.

Jake exhaled, "I worked with him. He'd fill as incident, have us check it, then he'd go back and validate the temps. Otherwise, we weren't buddies."

"Do you remember anything about him?" Quinn asked

Sliding some paperwork toward the center of the desk, Jake sat down on the corner. "He wore a cross. Tall, blondish color hair. Kinda scrawny. I mean not the kinda guy I go for."

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "He was gay?"

"Scrawny like bookworm nerdy. Not slender like Kurt." Jake twisted off the bottle cap, taking another sip, "But yeah, he pinged my gaydar. Mike and Sam too. I think Sam had lunch with him. He said all he did was ask about Sam's girlfriends or talk about his lack of dates." Screwing the top back on, Jake snorted, "Sam ended up giving him hints on how to talk to girls."

Both women blushed at the idea of Sam, giving anyone hints on picking up a girl or a guy. "Sam probably taught him his Sean Connery impression. Or gave him one of his lame pick-up lines." Mercedes chuckled. "Do you remember why he left, Jake?"

"There was a week maybe two when he was distraught about something. Irritable. Nervous. Afraid maybe. Something upset him." waving the water bottle, dismissively. "Then, he quit. All I heard was he left for personal reasons."

Quinn prodded Jake, "Any idea where Mark went?"

"Uncertain on an answer Jake shook his head "No idea. I could ask around. As far as I know, the guy kept to himself."

"Yeah, do that. But be discrete. Let us know what you find out."

Quinn and Mercedes sat in the realtor's SUV, "Well, that wasn't what I was expecting." Quinn said as she started the vehicle.

Mercedes rummaged in her purse, removing the paper they'd taken notes on earlier at lunch "I guess we can cross of Dumpster Del." She said.

"Agree. Though, to be honest, Del has me worried in other ways."

"Yeah, I kinda had visions of Hoarders flashing through my mind too." Mercedes snorted. "We've already eliminated McGovern." Making a line on the paper. Then another as Quinn's phone played.

Quinn withdrew her phone from her pocket, glancing at the screen. "Hi, Rita, thanks for calling back so soon. How's your father? ... Good happy to hear that... You remember Scholl... OK... Yeah, he did?... Back home to Lexington... Did he say why?... Alzheimer's?... Oh, his mother, early-onset Alzheimers... Ok... only in her fifties?... that would scare me too... Yeah, it's picking up now...Yeah, I'll ask Puck if he can go over and take a look at it... Just text me the address... Ok, thanks, Rita... mmhm... You too, bye." Ending the call, returning the phone to her coat pocket. "Puck really needs to pay me for these referrals or being his secretary." Quinn scowled. "You heard?"

"Guess Scholl is off the list too, that leaves Johnson."

My Heart Is Full Of Answers

Brittany, detected the sweet scent of jasmine beneath hints of tart lemon and an earthy musk as she breathed. A warmth surrounded her, the throw across her. The couch fabric against her back. A firm toned butt that snuggled into her hips. Her fingers made circles on toned abs, moving upward toward the breastplate, then back down again. Beneath her fingers, she felt a chest move steadily, rhythmically as breath fell out softly from the slightest of parted lips, another breath to inhale. Hair tickled at her chin as her head adjusted to find comfort. Brittany felt a calmness to her own heartbeat. A sense of absence at the removal of tension or stress in her body. The connection to another life, where silence was enough. At these moments, in this space, she had no desire to be anywhere else.

It was part of her new normal after leaving work, stopping to feed LT, apologizing that she'd be back later. Driving to Santana's. The hum of the garage door, entering the house with her own keycode. Dinners of mac and cheese, or pizza, or pancakes or more likely healthier fare. Listened about Zee's day at school, cleaning up together. Elle on wobbly legs tentatively taking a few steps without an aide. Her giggles of success, followed by the shock at her own independence, the thud as her pampered butt hit the floor. Where crying or laughter ensues.

Bath time, as she watches Zee play with his new toys, the joy of his fantasy world. His complaints while his hair is washed. Him spitting out his toothpaste that seems to go anywhere but the sink — reading bedtime stories and tucking both into bed. Zee protected by Tigger, a hoodie, and the stuffed honey badger toy she'd bought him for Christmas. Elle half asleep as a blanket made from a sweatshirt is laid over her. The plush toy sloth hangs from her bed to protect her. Santana's laughter at the absurdity of such a slow, plodding creature being a protector. Then the two of them, her and Santana, together on the couch paying little attention to the television as they talk or cuddle or share in intimate caresses. A magical spell that is cast upon the house for scarce brief hours on a few nights only to be broken when the clock strikes midnight.

Brittany stroked the ebony locks beneath her hand "Cariño," she whispers. "Wake up. It's almost time. The news is coming on."

Santana raised her hand in protest, shooing away the voice, "Noooo, go away, Sleepyyyyy." She murmured then buried her face deeper into the throw pillow's corner.

A smile possessed Brittany's lips as she gazed upon the silhouette of the beautiful woman that laid next to her "Baby, I'd love to stay next to you, but I need to go. Lord Tubbington. He'll call the ASPCA. File another neglectful owner-report against me."

The faint motion as Santana tensed her body, emitting a sigh, "I have room, you know?" she whispered.

"Yes, you do. But it's not time yet."

With a flurry, Santana swept the blanket off them, rising to sit on the couch's edge. She buried her face in her hands, as her hair cascaded downward, blocking Brittany's view. Just as suddenly, Santana flipped her hair back over her shoulders, gathering it together at her nape, "I feel like I'm back in high school. Making out on the couch before mom and dad come home."

Brittany boosted herself onto her elbow. Lifting the shiny black hair that lay down the woman's back, twirling it around her fingers, "This is our life right now. You're adjusting. Decisions have to be made." She paused to breathe, "We can't be fodder for Lima's gossip mongers." Righting herself on the couch to sit with Santana between her legs.

The movement caused Santana to laugh at the blonde's agility, as the motion rocked her. Santana felt arms wrap around her. She felt secure.

"I heard that KEI is getting a new exec," Brittany said as she drew her back, to lay against her chest.

Santana snorted, "Where did you hear that?"

"I have my sources."

Pulling away, Santana stood, lifting the blanket to fold, "What KEI is getting is an inept, inexperienced fool who's out of their league." Laying the folded throw at the end of the couch, "and everyone knows that if it's already hit the rumor mill."

Taking Santana's hand, she guided her to her lap. "I think what people are feeling is cautious optimism." Rubbing Santana's thigh, "it's like when January comes, we know the daylight will be getting longer, even if it's only incremental changes."

"Do they know it's temporary? Keep the company afloat while Paul goes off to find himself again." Santana asked as her manicured fingers enclosed around Brittany's, brushing her thumb across soft skin,

Brittany scrunched her face as she pondered Santana's question, "Yes, some see you as a figurehead. Others are scared you'll upend the system. And others are looking forward to a little shake-up."

"That's not happening. I'm continuity." Santana laughed, moving a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "And I'll be the scapegoat if anything goes wrong."

Brittany raised a hand to caress Santana's face, "Hey, look at me," she murmured, "You're the most awesome person I know."

"You're biased," she cooed as her head fell lazily against Brittany's shoulder to bury her face against her warm skin. "I still don't want you to go."

Warm breath stirred against Brittany's neck. Soft lips grazed her skin. The brush of a tongue as it leisurely made circles on her flesh. The pressure of sucking, gentle nibbles of teeth. "You're tempting."

"You're not interested?" Santana cooed to continue her administrations.

"No, I didn't say that," Brittany said, a gentle movement as a hand cupped around her cheek. Brown eyes met hers, the flicker of long eyelashes, the tease of Santana's tongue as it wetted her top lip. Brittany sighed as arousal warmed her. Santana's soft voice, "It's cold out, mi amor." The enticing memory of their mouths meeting. She drew closer. "It's a long drive." Santana husked. Brittany swallowed, inhaling a breath. "Your bed's cold." She murmured. Brittany exhaled, her hand caressed the curve of her waist, fingers maneuvered hastily beneath her shirt. The heat from smooth skin beneath her palm. "Lonely." Her fingers tingled as they explored the bare silky softness. She inhaled the flowery, fruity aroma of Chardonnay as Santana's lips ghosted across hers. A breath caught in her throat, Brittany's will tumbled, she claimed those lips that teased her. Hot, tongue thrusting, desire. A wanton need fulfilled as Santana's fingers threaded through her hair.

"Bed," Brittany gasped.

"Here," Santana mumbled.

Brittany broke from the kiss.

Santana confused, stared into bright blue eyes, "Wrong couch, living room," She snorted.

"Replace that couch," Brittany replied in mumbled gasps.

"Tomorrow." Santana giggled as her fingers crawled beneath Brittany's hoodie.

Familiarity met frustration. Brittany's unyielding tee as Santana tugged it over her head, only to have the blonde ripped it off to puddle across the room, followed by her bra. Nimble fingers that struggled with a bra clasp that defied release, a peal of combined mirth before it ultimately lay next to the couch. A button that quickly popped from its reinforced hole. Teeth from a zipper that released as it was spread apart. Hands, legs, knees, and feet, wrestled with fabric as they shimmied out of pliable denim, soft cotton, and silky panties to lay together.

Heighten consciousness as electrical currents amped up at mutual awareness when their exposed skin met. The waltz that Brittany's fingers made as she explored Santana's body. Cupped the creamy flesh of luscious full rounded breasts, teased erect nipples and brushed down across caramel skin. Her hand landing on taut, sculpted abs. The indent of her waist as her palm glided over the rounded curve of her hip. Escaping underneath to touch a firm round ass, then down to silky legs. Over to the hidden den of curls between her thighs. Between folds, she encountered the wetness of Santana's arousal.

The seductive whirl of a tango coursed through Santana, at Brittany administrations. The warm wetness of Brittany's mouth as she laid warm kisses on her skin. Or teased with her tongue, or made gentle bites down her neck, across her shoulders. Her hands as they caress and lifted her breasts. The pleasure as Brittany licked around her aureole. Her mouth as it sucked on her erect nipples. Taking her time with each. Her silky soft hair as it fell around her face, tickling her flesh, covering her like a blanket. Quivering of her skin as Brittany's hands made their way down. A trail of butterfly kisses. Moist paths down her chest and stomach. Her fingers as she raked through her mound, sliding down to press against her folds. The delicate softness as she spread her folds. Deft fingers that glided into the deep recesses of Santana's most sensitive spot.

They revealed a captivating longing need for one another. Savored the tastes of salt and sweat. Enhanced by the delicate perfume interlaced with earthy musk of discovery. Wordless silence engulfed them with moans and purrs of joy. Cries of delight. Breathless moments of awe in each other. A crescendo of intense heat as nerve-endings fired. Their senses heightened backs arched. Hips raised. Toes curled. A steady arm across bellies. While intoxicating waves rippled from within. Followed by unbearable sensitive touches. Lungs, gasping for air. The thunderous beat of their hearts pounding in their chests. The taste of themselves as they cleansed fingers with their mouths. Satiated, they lay naked. Entwined in that narrow space, sharing the warmth of each other, they drifted off to sleep.

Notes

"So Many Paths" Artist: Little River Band Album: Sleeper Catcher (1978)

"Legs" Artist: ZZ Top Album: Eliminator (1983)

Cariño = Actually googled the word and found like la casa, a gender-neutral term.

For me to write love scenes, result in it all being about mechanics (no, this is not my first published FF). I'm not interested in reading a story that's a lesson in sex education. And why I kept Dave and San's scene short. That said, numerous FF writers do an excellent job with that format. They're able to intertwine the sensual with the physical without making it a lesson or extreme porn. I'm a bit like Kurt, where touch is more meaningful in a scene. Allow me to create my own erotic visual. I leave it up to you, the reader, to decide if I succeeded somewhat or made it merely another reading from a sex-ed class. Nonetheless, I gave it a shot.