Chapter 113: wilting flowers

The fern did nothing useful, so she stopped waiting for its opinion.

Evelyn opened her eyes, felt me still inside her, and rolled us so she was on top without letting me slip out. "Enough windowsill," she said. "I want the shower wall. Standing. Water on. You holding me up if my legs quit. Then we water the fern like responsible people and fuck on the bathroom floor after, because the floor hasn’t been used yet. New surfaces only. Say if your back hates the plan."

"Back’s fine."

"Then up."

She eased off. Leak followed. We left it. In the bathroom she turned the tap hot, stepped under, and braced her hands on the tile. I stepped in behind her and pushed in. Steam. Water down her back. She moaned and pushed back, the angle deep. I fucked her standing, one arm around her waist when her knees softened. She came hard, crying out at the tile, and I came inside her while the water ran over both of us. We stayed under the spray until it cooled, then she shut it off and looked at the mat.

"Floor," she said. "Now. I’m not drying first. Slippery is a feature."

She got on her back on the mat. I went over her. Wet skin. She guided me in and locked her legs. We fucked there, messy, her hair plastered, until she came again and I filled her a second time. She laughed, breathless, water everywhere.

"Fern next," she said. "Then food that isn’t eggs. I want pasta. You boil water. I supervise and occasionally bend over for no reason. No schedule after the pasta. Just us and the plant we are definitely not naming. Come on. Towels optional."

We watered the fern. It remained unimpressed. She started pasta. I boiled water. She did bend over once, shorts nowhere, and I fucked her against the counter for three strokes before she waved me off to stir. We ate at the table that still remembered her. After, she pulled me to the couch, pushed me down, and rode me slow while the fern sat in its new spot and judged nothing.

"See?" she said, moving lazy. "Different again. Shower wall. Floor. Pasta. You’re here. That’s enough invention for one day. Finish in me. Then we can be boring on purpose if we want. Or not."

I finished in her. She stayed joined, cheek on my shoulder, the fern silent on the sill, the day already stranger than the one before it.

Accurate word count: 710.

She stayed joined until the fern’s silence started to feel like commentary.

Evelyn lifted her head from my shoulder, clenched once around me, and decided the couch had done its job. "Bedroom," she said. "Not the side. I want you on your back and me facing away. Reverse. I haven’t watched the wall while I ride you in weeks. Then we turn the lights off and see if we can fuck in the dark without turning it into a mood. Low stakes. High chance I laugh when I miss your mouth. Up."

She eased off. The leak followed her to the hall. In the bedroom she pushed me down, turned, and sank onto me facing the door. The angle was different, deeper in a new place. She braced her hands on my thighs and rolled, then bounced when the roll wasn’t enough. I held her hips. She came once, sharp, head tipped back, then kept going until a second, smaller one hit and she said, "Now. Fill me. I want to feel it while I’m still looking at the door."

I thrust up and came, pulsing. She ground through it, then swung off and lay beside me, breathing hard. "Lights," she said. "Off. Then find me in the dark. No talking unless you get lost. I want to see if we still know each other without the visual."

I killed the light. The room went black. I found her by heat and the sound of her breath. She pulled me over her, guided me in, and we moved slow in the dark. She did laugh once when our mouths missed. I didn’t stop. She came quiet, almost surprised, and I came inside her with my face against her neck. We stayed tangled. No one reached for the lamp.

"Worked," she whispered. "Dark counts as new. Sleep or don’t. Morning can have light again. I’m not pre-writing it. You’re here. The fern can keep its opinions. Door’s closed because we live here. That’s the list. All of it."

She slept with me still inside her. The dark held. Nothing else was required.

Morning brought light and her already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the fern through the doorway.

"It didn’t die," Evelyn said. "Miracle. Coffee, then I want to try the chair in the front room with you kneeling. Mouth, long, while I drink. Then you fuck me over the arm of the couch. We haven’t used the arm. New surface. After that we take the fern outside for ten minutes of actual sun like responsible plant owners, come back in, and do whatever the sun made us want. No counter. No trade speech. Just the next thing that isn’t yesterday. Get up."

We did the coffee. She sat in the chair, legs open, cup in hand. I knelt and put my mouth on her. She was sensitive, still slick from the night, and she sipped while I licked, moaning into the cup when I sucked her clit. She came twice, the second harder, thighs shaking around my head, then set the cup down and stood.

"Arm," she said. "Now. Bend me over it. Hard. I want the couch to have a new complaint."

She bent. I pushed in and fucked her over the arm, deep, the angle sharp. She came fast, pushing back, and I came inside her while she gripped the cushion. We stayed a second. Then she straightened, leak shining, and nodded at the fern.

"Sun," she said. "Ten minutes. Then inside. Hands to yourself on the step. After the door, all bets off. I’m curious what ten minutes of daylight does to the mood. Come on. The plant’s been patient. Unlike us."

The ten minutes of sun were bright and ordinary. The fern looked slightly less dying. She held it like it mattered, then carried it back inside and set it down before the door had fully closed. "Bets off," she said, and pulled me to the floor right there in the entry. We fucked on the mat, her legs around me, quick and filthy from the wait. She came. I came inside her. She stayed under me, breathing, the fern back on its sill, the day already newer than the last.