The kerosene heater sputtered in the corner of the converted chicken coop. One frosted window cast light on a full-size bed that just fit within the chipboard walls. Two old friends lay beneath a patchwork quilt pulled up to their ears, mouthing puffs of white panted breath. Beneath the patches their hands were wet with sweat and silky secretions; lubing their bellies, slicking their thighs. She stroked him long from his balls to the tip, around, around, and down. He traced a slow figure eight down and up her lips and around her clit. Their skin hummed, gliding sensually together. The shaft of his cock slid through her tender lips. Popping her pussy every time. They languorously licked each other’s necks, too drunk on sensation to suck. Breathless, begging with moans. Pleasure peaking like waves in a tank that never dissipate, pushing them closer and closer together. He raised his head and raised his eyebrows. She slow blinked a nod. He plunged. Pressing her tight to his chest. Their rooting mouths found the other’s tongue. Ground hips found rhythm. Their bellies gliding together like the last slow dance on a sweaty summer night. He slipped a finger between and brought her to the brink. Together they came, excruciatingly slow, their bodies shuttering.
The patchwork quilt cast off, they laid, hand in hand, watching steam rise from their skin.