Author: Namariel PM
Because people do it like bunnies, and that's fine; but it doesn't mean you want to hear them. Bella and Edward converge in the woods unexpectedly. Hilarity is the only possible outcome. Oh. And TMI. Right.Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor/Romance - Bella & Edward - Words: 5,611 - Reviews: 65 - Favs: 101 - Follows: 75 - Published: 08-01-09 - id: 5267534
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is the Tattward of the Many Names, known throughout history as Randomtattward, Nicoward, Panthercock and its many variations, etc, etc.
I wrote this is a gift for my girlz Cheddah and eye ree, and eye ree edited for me because she is my Latin Lovah.
It's purposefully random so if you read something and shake your head and wonder WTF? then I have achieved my goal. Enjoy the insanity and look for no deeper purpose--though it's hidden right there. Oh yes. This story has a hidden teaching. You need to crack it and find it. Like in fortune cookies.
This might have a second chapter eventually, if we gather enough insanity (shouldn't be difficult).
Parkward One-Shot Contest
Your pen name: Namariel
Characters: Bella and Edward
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, however I do own the Nicoward persona of Edward. And his tats. I own his tats.
Despite the fact I am quite fucking aware that one talks about the weather because one has absolutely nothing else to talk about, I want to start this by pointing out this fact: the weather sucks.
It would have been quite fitting if, for a change, the weather actually did follow the mood of the characters in this story, a la Tim Burton, but no; no, no.
If the weather had, in fact, been following my unsteady moods, the night would have been stormy and starless, temperatures below zero and ice cracking the streets, blizzards of silver snow destroying everything, and my breath would have been white clouds of thick steam as soon as it left my pale lips.
It was a beautiful night. It was even hot, and I had broken into a light sweat in my walk.
About a mile and a half down the trail from my house, in a wide clearing, a truck was parked. I took a good long look at it, arching a brow.
Carlisle Cullen, successful, famous oncologist, made more money that he would ever need. His wife Esme Hale-Cullen, admired interior designer, had actually made enough to buy herself an island off-shore Brazil. Their eldest son Emmett was a famous rally race pilot that made plenty a penny.
So why, oh why, was Edward's truck a piece of shit with pieces falling off of it? Huh?
He said it was hand-made.
Obviously. The tailgate was made of fucking wood.
I squinted and realized he had added a detail; he's scrawled a 'DUCATI' on it.
Priceless. Especially considering Ducati didn't make cars, only motorcycles.
Shaking my head, I stomped over to the truck and knocked on the pane of glass of the window—which, I noticed, was cracked. I wondered in which of his many run-ins with poles and trees ('It assaulted me!') he'd done that one.
Edward was asleep, sprawled on the backseat, one arm thrown over his face turned towards the seat. He didn't have enough space in there for his ridiculously long legs; one of his feet was flat against the floor and the other one, flat against the window pane. He was barefoot. His dark, faded jeans were low on his hips and the button was open, the belt undone, and I could see the edge of his black boxers and the trail of reddish hair below his navel. And the letter of the small tattoo over his hipbone.
His shirt had ridden up to his stomach. My eyes lingered in the small indentation of his navel.
I got on my toes to see around the truck; there were no bottles of anything around and the pack of cigarettes was not open. He was just healthily snoring away the night. In his truck. In the middle of the fucking woods.
I tried the door and it turned out it was open.
Marvelous. This meant anyone could just walk right in and basically empty his truck with him sleeping right there, and judging by his reaction when I opened it (tread: none whatsoever) he wouldn't even know. Knowing him, he wouldn't even realize he'd been robbed until like a week later.
The stereo was on and a song was playing low; I remembered he often couldn't sleep if the silence was too deep, and he listened to the radio or to music from his iPod. I cranked the volume up to try and identify what song it was.
Let's start a war, start a nuclear war
At the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar
At the gay bar
Now Tell me do ya?, but do ya have any money?
I wanna spend all your money,
at the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar
I skipped to the next song. It started slow and I didn't recognize the words… unless… what that what I thought it was?
It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life
Yup, Edward had The Lion King's 'Circle of Life' right next to Electric Six's 'Gay Bar'.
I don't think you can get any more eclectic than that.
I skipped again.
My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me "Sue."
I take it back, you clearly can.
I lowered the volume again and got on my knees in the front bench seat. This truck was such a mix of stuff I didn't even know where he'd gotten these old seats; maybe he'd stripped a car he found in the street.
I reached over and poked his stomach.
I poked again.
Well, he didn't smell, so he had to be alive.
Grinning, I shifted my hand and poked his crotch.
That got a reaction. He startled awake, groaning.
"Jessica," he growled.
I blinked and giggled.
"I knew you were fucking Jessica!"
Edward's head swiveled to look at me, his eyes still sleepy.
"I'm not fucking her. She gives me head."
"Ew," I scrunched up my nose.
"She has a tongue ring, It's good."
"The ring, or her tongue?"
"She learns fast," he shrugged.
"Do you know what TMI means, Edward?"
He considered it, "Take My Irginity?"
I snorted. He chuckled low and threw his long arm up to grasp the handle in the ceiling above the door, hoisting himself up to a sitting position. He bent his right leg and leaned his elbow on his knee. His jeans rode down lower and I saw his boxers had—
"Are those Star Trek boxers?" I asked, leaning over the back of the seat to look closer.
"Are those yellow panties?" he asked in return, peering over at the curve of my ass where the jean had separated from my skin and my underwear was visible.
"Don't be a pervert," I complained.
"You're the one poking my dick," he replied, arching his right eyebrow—the pierced one. He also has a viperbite piercing on the side of his bottom lip and I had always wanted to tug at it with my teeth.
"Why are you sleeping out here?" I asked.
"Rosalie's staying over. My parents are out at a cocktail party. I listened to Metallica but I could still hear her moan over it. It's fucked up."
"What's fucked up is I left for the same reason, only it was my parents."
"Yours have sex, too. Like bunnies, I'm sure."
If I was married to Carlisle Cullen I would fuck him like a bunny too.
"You think they do it in my bed?" he asked, speculative.
"Oh, I'm sure. And I bet they watch porn on your laptop."
"That's cool. If they ever ask about it I can call them out on their shit."
"What kind of porn do you like?" I asked conversationally.
"Double penetration," he answered, grinning.
"Ugh," I grimaced. He laughed loudly and slapped my arm. Ever since we'd met each other, we'd been playing this game in which we tried to up each other's fucked-up-ness (and yes, that is a word, live with it) and so far, we were very much even.
"So your parents passionate sounds of lovemaking ran you outta your house? What were you gonna do while they humped?"
"Just walk about."
"How very 'Crocodile Dandy' of you. Haven't you ever seen any cheap horror movies? If we were in one, someone would have killed you out in the woods at night."
"And according to cheap romance movies, I would have come back to Earth to uncover my murderer."
"Or declare your love to your long lost teenage crush."
"Actually, I think I would have been too distracted terrorizing all the bitches at our high-school."
"Eh, revenge first, love later."
"It's what Jesus would have wanted."
"Praise His light," he thought for a moment. "How sad though—your death."
"You would have died a virgin," he shook his head, clucking his tongue like that was a sad, sad fucking thing.
I arched a brow, "Don't tell unless you're willing to fix."
He shrugged his shoulders and suddenly lunged at me, grabbing the waistband of my jeans and pulling me over to him. I screeched, and he laughed loudly. I bumped my nose against his chest and my cheek pressed against the small hardness of his nipple ring. I squirmed, blinking fast, and he laughed.
I loved Edward's laugh.
"Just stay like that!" he said, wrapping his arms around my shoulders so I was cradled against his chest. His shirt smelt of soap and his neck of cologne. I loved how he smelled, so… male. I'm not going to say he smelled like Edward because 1) I have no idea what that fucking means anyway and 2) I never smelt another man, so whatever. He smelt of soap and cologne. Move on.
"I want to sit up," I mumbled, and squirmed again.
I must have pressed down against something because suddenly, Edward tensed and I felt an unidentified bulge against my hipbone.
Okay, not unidentified.
"I'm sorry," I blushed fiercely, squirming.
"Bella, that feels good," he said sharply, as if reprimanding me. "Hard-ons happen. Just ignore it. Unless of course you want to put it to use."
I slumped against his chest. His arms tightened around me and he shifted in the seat, spreading his legs a little so that I laid directly between them. We were both more comfortable like that, though the distinct, um, bulge was a glaring pink elephant in the truck.
Which reminded me.
"You know Ducati makes motorcycles, not trucks, right?"
He paused. "You have my semi-hard dick pressed against your hip and you ask me about my tailgate? No wonder you're a virgin."
I slapped his stomach, and we both went still and quiet.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feel of his solid chest as he breathed gently, the sound of his heart as it beat below my ear.
I remembered the first time we'd met Edward, my friends Jasper and Jake and I. We'd vandalized Lauren Mallory's car—don't look at me like that; the bitch had it coming—and were running away from her stupid dad, and we ran into the forest and stumbled into his decrepit truck. He'd been napping on the tail, his legs dangling off the open tailgate, and he'd been sleepy but willing to testify we'd been with him for a while.
It was the beginning of a lovely vandals-union—I mean friendship.
Jasper and Jake were like brothers.
Edward was… not.
He felt different, we moved different around each other, the dynamic was unique. I'd seen Jasper's bare chest and sure, he was hot, but Edward… Edward was fucking hot. He made me squirm and made me heat up and blush.
I mean, I was a normal, healthy human teenage girl, okay? I had hormones.
And Edward's mind worked funny. What most people just thought and told themselves he fucking told the world.
It wasn't that I was a virgin because I wanted to wait for marriage. I mean c'mon. Who does that these days? I didn't know why I was still a virgin. I just was. And anyway, does it have to be a why to fucking everything? I just fucking was.
Which means I wasn't fucking.
Oh, yes. I went there. I'm the queen of the easy jokes.
They're easy after all.
I wish I was easy.
I realized Edward was playing with my hair, running his fingers through it gently, working off the tangles. I settled more comfortably onto his frame, relaxing, and I felt him relax as well, and even hum very low.
I'd always been comfortable with Edward. There were awkward moments—like, you know, when he sprang an instant boner or something—but he had this way of remedying them, turning them around for both our benefits. And though he was generally rude, knew no boundaries, had no social delicacy, blurted out the first thing that came up into his mind and had absolutely no mental filters…
Come to think of it, why did I like this asshole again?
Because he could play Beethoven's 'Hymn to Joy' like he could play Metallica's 'Nothing Else Matters' on a tail piano, and he could ride a horse and win a competition and look like Prince William (plus reddish hair and minus the drugs usage, but in family weirdness they were pretty much even) and he could slip under his truck and cover himself in oil and sing Beyonce's 'Nasty Naughty Girl'. Horribly off key. But whatever.
He was just so… so… Edward.
Yeah. I'm pulling that one.
He's very Edward. That's an adjective now.
That's right. Own it. Feel it.
Jesus, I'm insane.
At least we match.
Edward had pulled all my hair back and was braiding it.
"Your vagina is showing," I said just to easy my awkwardness.
He chuckled, "You like my wax? I did it all for you, baby."
I laughed nervously.
He continued to braid my hair undeterred by my jab. He was like that, Edward—he was Edwardistic. No, kidding. He was firm, he got what he wanted, nothing changed his mind.
I shifted and rested my chin on his rest, looking up at him. He looked beautiful in the moonlight, relaxed and just… content, with his jade eyes half lidded, his lashes so long and dark. He'd always been a beautiful boy.
And he had fuckhot lips.
The ones I continued to stare at.
I swallowed and licked my lips. His hands stilled.
His eyes fixed on mine. I felt myself blush and flicked my eyes back at his lips, though really that was retarded, because it's better to stare at his eyes rather than his fucking lips, but in my defense, I wasn't thinking very straight.
The form pressed against my hip shifted, solidifying. His breathing changed. So had mine.
It would only take a slight pull from my arms and the inches separating our lips would close… would disappear… I would breathe them in.
I took a deep breath and he lifted his head from the window, and suddenly we were right there… but he wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving? He always moved. We'd kissed before, when he was drunk, when I was drunk. I wanted to kiss him now.
I lifted up the last inch and touched my lips to his.
His mouth was so soft and full against mine. I brushed my lips against his tenderly, slowly, just caressing and stroking. Hi hand weaved into my hair and held my head, and the pressure of his lips became firmer. His other arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer to him and up a bit, so we could kiss more comfortably.
He held my head firmly and them swiped his tongue over my bottom lip, and I felt his tongue ring against my teeth. I opened my mouth and let his tongue come in, moaned when it stroked my own. He groaned and pressed me closer, and he was all heat and solid male form and his smell, and I slid my hands up to his hair and tugged.
His kiss became so heated I squirmed, feeling a rush of warmth and wet between my legs. His hand that was on the small of my back slid down to my butt and squeezed, bringing me even closer and making me moan embarrassingly loud.
He slid his hand up and under the hem of my shirt, touching skin and searing a path where he touched, until he found my bra and tugged at it playfully, careful not to unclasp it. His tongue stroked mine slowly and deliberately, sensually.
I found the edge of his shirt and the skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles shift under my palm. His erection was now very defined against my thigh, and I resisted the urge to find it and cup it, only because I didn't know what I was doing.
I broke the kiss to breathe, and kissed his chin and his throat right below it, above his Adam's apple. I swallowed deeply and he breathed my name.
"Bella," he said again, more clearly, tugging at my hair so I would look at him. "Are you sure about this? Beyond this point I won't stop. Is this… what you want?"
"I want you," I said honestly, wondering where I had gotten the spine to say that.
He smiled, "You'll have me, baby. But—in my truck? Like this? I didn't even buy you dinner."
"I want you now," I said, rushed. "If not now I'll never dare look at you again, Edward. Don't let me think."
"You should think it through, and don't worry about me—I'll make sure you look at me, every single inch of me, when you're ready."
I kissed him again, biting his lip. He moaned.
"I want you," I said against his mouth. "Now. Here."
"If you're sure," he said, and bit my lip, kissing me with a heat he had clearly been restraining before. His clever fingers unclasped my bra and stroked the bare skin below it, and I sat up. I lifted my arms and he pulled the shirt over my head, and slid the straps of my bra down my shoulders and threw it to the floor of the truck.
He settled his hands in the curve where my waist became my hips, and looked at my breasts, licking his lips.
"You have a beautiful rack," he complimented, smirking.
I laughed breathlessly, but my laugh died short in my throat when he leaned forward and kissed between my breasts, palming them. His palms were hot, dry and soft against my erect nipples. He squeezed gently and I gasped, my head falling back. Edward chuckled low. He kissed my right nipple and looked up at me through his lashes before his tongue darted out to flick it. I tugged at his hair, moaning. He took my nipple into his mouth completely, the heat of it amazing against my skin, and licked it.
I fisted my hand in the fabric of his shirt at his shoulder and pulled on it. He moved away from me and gripped the collar, pulling it off swiftly and discarding it. I looked down at his beautiful chest, sculpted and hard. His abs were only vaguely marked, not overworked.
I loved Edward's body; he was beautiful. I smiled gently and brushed my thumb over the ring on his right nipple. A phoenix in red and gold and yellow ink curved over his left side, its wings spread over his smooth stomach, its head resting on his shoulder.
On his right hipbone, the words 'I don't know either' were black against his smooth white skin.
Down the back of his left arm where it joined the shoulder and back, lines of solid black ink and circles formed an abstract design; I'd asked him once he'd explained what it meant: "It looks good." Cue shrug.
On his left side over the ribs below his arm, starting at his hip and scrawled up to his armpit in scratchy lettering, 'Acta Non Verba.'. Actions, not words.
He took in a sharp breath, and yanked me back to his face to kiss me. There was nothing searching and sweet about the kiss now, it was all heat and tongue and harsh breath against my lips.
His hands gripped my hips and he pulled me up and forward against him, shifting below me. I understood what he wanted and moved my right leg, and when he settled me back down, I was straddling him. I realized with a gasp his erections was right between my legs; no way to miss it now. I ground down experimentally and he groaned loud, grasping my hips.
The heat between my legs was almost painful now, and I felt my panties uncomfortably damp. Thrills of electric pulsing ran up my stomach and down my thighs, originating in that spot where his member pressed against the hem of my jeans and my clit.
Or according to romance novels, should I say, my core?
I stupidly giggled at the dumb name, and Edward laughed breathlessly.
"You're giggling? I'm not doing it right."
He thrust up and I cried out, surprised at the intensity of the feeling.
Okay, that stopped the retarded giggling.
He slid his hands down to my butt and squeezed. His left hand got inside my back pocket and the right one slid down further between my legs, teasing me. I gasped at his rough movements, but they felt so fucking good. He thrust up again and moved his hands to the front of my jeans, undoing the button and fly quickly, with practiced ease.
He sat up abruptly, my breasts brushing his chest, and breathed against my lips, "I'm going to work you up so good, you won't even remember I'm your first."
He slipped his hands inside my jeans and palmed me over my panties, groaning at the heat and the dampness. I wrapped my arms around his shoulder, pressing closer to his chest, his breathing harsh against my ear. His fingers moved gently, lazily, working me up. I moaned and fisted my hand in his hair, tugging. I licked his neck right under his ear and sucked in his earlobe.
He moaned and drew his hand out, shoving me back and moving so quickly I barely registered what was happening until I was lying on my back on the seat, and he was tugging off my jeans. I lifted my butt so he could slide them off and sat up to lower his zipper and, feeling surprisingly bold, I palmed his erection. He groaned, hooking his fingers on the sides of my panties and sliding them down my legs slowly.
He shifted, folding his leg under his body, and his spine curved like a cat's, graceful and beautiful. He palmed my stomach and kissed my pubic bone. My hips bucked when his fingers ghosted up my inner thighs, up further across the bent of my knees to where they met my hip. He stroked me gently, and licked my belly-button.
He stroked me for a while, adding to my heat, and I felt I was going to burst into flames if he didn't do something else soon. But I didn't dare ask him either.
Then he slipped a finger inside me and I gasped, arching my back.
"Edward," I groaned, gripping his hair again.
"You're not ready," he mumbled, shifting.
"Edward, I want to touch you," I asked softly.
He nodded and pulled away, kissing between my ribs and sitting up to take off his jeans and boxers. I sat up too, and there was a brief awkward moment, because suddenly I realized I was naked in a truck in the woods with a naked man. Boy. Whatever. It had a dick.
A fucking big dick, shit.
He cracked a grin, "It won't bite you," he said, and his eyes glinted deviously. "I'm just going to stick it there," he gestured vaguely at my, um... genitalia. "you know—in your 'sopping hole.'"
Oh my god, he did not just say that. His grin was fucking huge. This dude sure knew how to kill the awkwardness.
"Oh yeah?" I laughed, "You're going to impale me with your manhood? With your 'slick boner'?"
He laughed out loud and grasped my arms, bringing me close to him again. He kissed me gently and held me close.
"You wanted to touch me. So touch me," he murmured against my lips.
I wrapped my fingers gently around his erection. The skin there was smooth and soft, and I pressed my cheek to his chest to look down. Only the tips of my fingers touched each other like this. I wondered if that was big; it looked fucking huge to me, considering the most I had ever dared try inside myself were two fingers, and this presented a rather larger girth.
He wasn't cut. I squeezed carefully and realized his erection wasn't actually like stone hard; it was like his arm, hard and firm but still pliable. He groaned and his hips shifted. I moved my hand up and the skin moved up with me, covering the head; I moved back down and uncovered it again.
I giggled, "We could play peek-a-boo." Okay. Not so sexy. But Edward didn't complain.
He didn't answer at all; his hips thrust up. I squeezed again and he took a sharp breath in. I released his erection and cupped his balls, curious. He jerked up, moaning. I pressed down on them, not sure if he wanted me to squeeze them or what, but that seemed to work, because he moaned loudly again and pushed my chin up to kiss me again, roughly.
He took my hand and put it on his erection again, showing me how to move it to please him, up and down, swirl over the head, up and down again, cup the balls. Very instructive. His moans and grunts and his sharp breathing was making me squirm, the fire between my own legs was throbbing and pulsing.
"Edward," I said between his fevered kisses. "Please."
He breathed against my lips and nodded, moving me away. I got off his lap and laid down on the seat, and he bent over the back of the front bench seat to reach the glove compartment. The profile of his firm butt was a nice sight, and I felt unexpectedly relaxed despite what I knew—or didn't know—was coming.
He came back and kneeled between my legs, tearing open a condom wrapper. I got up on my elbows, curious to see how he rolled it on. Because no, I didn't pay attention in Sex Ed, I was too busy throwing the condoms at Jessica Stanley who, in all honesty, needed them a lot more than my banana. Not that I think the banana didn't get enough action, mind you. I did give it head—I even swallowed.
When he was done, he smoothed my hair down and laid on top of me, letting his weight rest on me. His cock was nestled by my hipbone, hot and hard. He kissed me deeply and shifted, stroking the outside of my thigh as his arm slipped under my head to support his weight as he lifted himself up. His head felt big and round against my folds, and invasive when he slipped it slightly inside.
"You good?" he breathed. I nodded. "Tell me if you're not." I nodded again.
He moved slowly, though I could tell it was challenging to him. He moved an inch further inside and then pulled back, and when he slipped back inside, he went another inch. His breathing was sharp and it spiked from time to time along with mine, out breath catching in our throats. We breathed the same air and exhaled at the same time, shaking and writhing together. I stroked my hands down his strong back and palmed his firm buttocks and he touched my breasts with his free hand, his eyes closed, the lashes impossibly long against his skin.
I felt him grind against me and buck, and then tense to try and stay completely still. He shivered in my arms, flush against my pelvis and chest. I knew he was completely in now, and it felt… indescribable. Amazing. It was warm and hard and filled me completely, stretching me firmly.
"I'm all in," he breathed shakily. "I'm not gonna last long. Fuck. You're so tight. Shit, Bella. I'm going to be the lousiest fuck ever, but I'm not gonna last long."
"It doesn't hurt," I said, blinking.
He chuckled, "You sound disappointed."
"They told me it would."
"It didn't have to. It depends on a lot of stuff."
He pulled out and thrust in, and I gasped. It felt strange and wonderful. He did it again, harder, and his thrust began coming harder and faster and he took a rhythm, firm and steady. The way he slid in made me writhe and gasp and moan. He became erratic and his sounds were deeper, born in the back of his throat, grunts and moans and sharp pants, and my name spilled out from his lips a few times, followed by some kind of profanity—this was, after all, Edward.
Suddenly he tensed and cried out, his spine arching and his head falling back. I felt something shift inside and his erection was softer but suddenly warmer. I blinked, and he slumped over me, nearly suffocating me with his weight. I liked it, though, and stroked his back, damp with sweat, as he shivered above me. His head rested on the seat next to mine, and his breathing was labored.
I played my fingertips over the ink of his back and side, reveling in the feeling of his chest, expanding and contracting as he breathed on top of me.
"I'm sorry you didn't come, baby," he murmured once his mind pieced back together.
I smiled gently at him, "I didn't expect to, the first time."
"I would have liked to surprise you."
"You did," I grinned. "It was awesome. More than what I expected, Edward. Thank you."
He chuckled, shifting and slipping out of me. I gasped at the feeling, an unexpected void.
"I should be thanking you. I came; you didn't," he sighed, sitting up and getting rid of the condom. He threw it in the ash holder on the front seat; I assumed he would get rid of it later and not put it on some sort of freaky altar with candles and my picture. All my pictures were horrible anyway. Only someone obsessed with me would actually keep one, let alone put it on an altar. Someone stalker-like that climbed through your window and watched you sleep all night from the rocking chair in the corner of your room. Or some creepy shit like that.
He bent and slipped on his boxers, handing me my panties and his shirt.
"Put this on, I want to show you something."
Ooooh, I was going to wear the shirt of the boy I had just slept with! I'd always dreamt of this moment in time. I thought maybe I should sigh.
Instead, I snorted at myself and pulled my panties on, though they were a bit gross, and threw the shirt on. Edward opened the back window and hoisted himself out to the bed of the truck, in only his boxers.
His hand must've slipped on the metal because he fell down on his back, cracking his skull against the bed, his thighs halfway out the window.
I giggled. "Elegant, Cullen. You sure know how to make an exit."
"Shut up and get your ass out here," he laughed, finishing his classy exit and helping me outside. He laid down on the bed on his back, bending his knees and resting his feet flat against the frame of the cockpit, at the sides of the window.
"Look at that sky," he murmured, lacing his fingers behind his head.
I laid down on top of him, cradled between his spread legs, and delighted in the heat of the summer, the movement of his chest beneath my back, the bright stars in the sky and the full moon.
I must have fallen asleep eventually.
Because we both jerked awake, in the grey light of the dawn, at my father's voice calling my name.