Information: written for kink-bingo’s January remix challenge. Kinks include confined/caged, unsanitary sex, danger, exhibitionism, and watersports. Read with caution.
Word count: 508 + 524 + 500 = 1532
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(1)
Leslie lies on the dirt floor, sprawled wide in the backwards image of a snow angel. “It’s too hot.”
And it is too hot. That’s what Ann tried to tell Leslie before she insisted they both take the trek down into the pit at Lot 48 to make their weekly status report on the conditions there (“Weekly?” Ann had asked. “You tromp down into my backyard once a week?”
And Leslie, not surprising Ann in the slightest had nodded, adding “Sometimes twice.”). It’s too hot for much of anything, let alone the pit, where somehow everything feels hotter. Leslie told her once it’s because the bottom of the bit is closer to the center of the earth, but Ann’s sure there’s some fault in that logic.
Getting no response from Ann, Leslie repeats herself. This time with emphasis. “It’s too hot,” she says, rolling her head back and staring at Ann forlornly.
But Ann just sighs and sits down next to Leslie (it doesn’t look like they’ll be heading back to the surface any time soon, at least not until Leslie rouses herself), drawing a little frowning face in the dirt with her finger, refusing to think about how filthy it is down here. How, when Leslie fell down here when they first met (it hasn’t been that long, strangely. It feels like they’ve known one another forever.) Ann was probably more concerned about the possible existence of deadly bacteria than about any lasting injuries. Even then, Leslie seemed pretty hard-headed.
“Don’t you think it’s too hot, Ann?”
Dirt clings to Ann’s ankle, making her itch slightly. “Too hot for what, Leslie?” Ann asks instead of answering her obvious question.
Leslie turns her head sharply, sending up a tiny land hurricane rising between tendrils of blonde hair. “Too hot to move, obviously. We’re trapped here, Ann. At least until the sun goes down.” Leslie shivers, and it can’t possibly be from the cold. Her voice has changed from whining to serious, “Lie down next to me, Ann? But not too close, you tend to be kind of roast-y.” Leslie wiggles a little in the dirt, and despite Ann’s skeptical look, pats the ground next to her, then squeezes Ann’s thigh.
So Ann, because she always will gives in to Leslie’s kooky desire and lies down just close enough to tangle her fingers in Leslie’s. “What do you plan on doing until we’re free to climb back up and track dirt into my house and shower?”
Leslie smiles in a way that suggests she’s not deathly hot at all, that she’s feeling strangely fine in this predicament she’s imagined for the two of them, that Ann needs to forget, and quick, about all the filth they’re potentially exposing themselves to. “I plan on getting dirty enough to make the shower worth it.” And Ann can’t help smiling back, tightening her fingers around Leslie’s.
She feels the heat baking into her skin, sees the walls of the pit rising up around them, and turns to Leslie because she always will.
(2)
“Ann!” Leslie gasps, feigning some kind of horror at the brashness of Ann’s actions as Ann’s fingers work to undo the combination of belt/buttons/zipper at Leslie’s fly. Her eyes narrow like a cat and she draws a sharp breath before whispering, “Anyone could see us!”
She’s not wrong. Anyone could see them. Just happen to stroll by Ann’s house and think, wonder what’s in that pit or golly (because the people in this town use words like golly), those are some strange noises for a big dirt hole. However, Leslie, for a member of Pawnee’s esteemed local government, and a one-day presidential hopeful, doesn’t have much modesty when it comes to sex. Indoor sex with a guest in the living room. Hotel room sex, loud and bed-creaking. Outdoor sex, the hot dirt of the pit underneath them.
Maybe, Ann thinks, it’s that she just gets so tuned in to whoever she’s with that she forgets all of the potential future mud-slinging. Maybe, Ann thinks, Leslie gets off on it. And maybe, presidential hopeful or not, there’s nothing wrong with that.
“No one’s out here in this heat,” Ann says, knowing that the appeasing line holds no meaning. After all, aren’t they out here in this heat? Still, it seems to settle Leslie while Ann works her pants down past her hips, ignoring still the dirt that clings to the fabric and shifts around them in the non-existent breeze.
There. A dark-blonde tangle of curls, damp with sweat. Ann rests a hand on Leslie’s taut stomach and bends low to brush her lips between Leslie’s thighs. “Ann!” Leslie whispers, caught up, her muscles tightening. “Ann!” But there’s something urgent about this, and Ann lifts her head, only a little annoyed at being interrupted. “Ann, it’s Fairway Frank!” And it must be the heat, because something isn’t clicking in Ann’s mind. She doesn’t see anyone around, let alone F–
He’s here, maybe twenty feet to their left, happily ambling through the pit. Fairway Frank, there can be no mistaking him. And while Ann’s never been this close to a possum, Leslie has mentioned the notorious beast often enough to strike fear into both their hearts. Of course, Ann might be able to brush his presence off as just another wild animal if they weren’t caught in such a precarious position. It’s worse, somehow, than a neighbor peering down over the lip of the pit, shouting “You who!”
“Don’t make any sudden movements,” Leslie whispers, her arms pinned to her sides. “He’s been known to bite the occasional golfer, and Ann, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t had his shots.” Sp Ann, believing the sensible course of action is to pack up and clear out, tries to, in small deft movements, replace Leslie’s underwear. Until, of course, Leslie’s previously prone hand catches Ann by the wrist. “Don’t stop.” Her eyes are bright, trained on Ann with little care for the deadly predator inching closer.
Ann frowns, eyes Frank’s innocent-looking behind waddling through the dirt. “I… can’t, Leslie.” But desire is already running hot in her blood, tangling in her stomach, between her legs. Ann licks her lips.
“Please?”
(3)
The shower is worth it. Ann tugs the curtain closed behind them, turning on the water to test the temperature before sending it rushing over head. Leslie (who Ann has instructed using her nurse voice to strip and put her clothes straight in the wash) is all patches of dirt and pale skin, an arch of pink across her nose. The water shoots out above them, and Ann is unable to hold back her squeak at the first cold rush before, despite the heat outside, they both sigh in comfort in the rising steam.
“Hey Leslie?” Ann says, nosing in for a kiss and sliding her fingers over Leslie’s hips, feeling the dirt move, stubborn at first, under soap and water. She closes her eyes, her world shrinking to this shower, to the slightly sun-baked body beside her, to the wet lips under hers. Leslie hums some kind of response into the kiss, and when Ann withdraws she finishes the thought, forming, like bubbles in her mind. “Do you ever think about the serendipity of how we met?” She eases her fingers between Leslie’s legs because this is important and she needs Leslie’s full attention. “That we wouldn’t be here if not for some stupid failed condo development, that we wouldn’t be,” she strokes and pushes and Leslie’s eyes fly open, her bottom lip drops. “Doing this.”
Leslie whimpers, bracing herself against the cold tile, a trickle of dirt still working its way down from her neck. Ann kisses it, not caring for once about bacteria or infection. “I feel I need to preface this by assuring you that I am not, in fact, avoiding your question, but,” Leslie shifts, pressing her own hand over Ann’s, letting out a small moan. “But, Ann,” she shifts again, her mouth twisting in desire and something more pressing. “I really, um, have to pee.” She looks adorably conflicted, her mouth alternately open, catching stray droplets of cleansing water and locked up, bitten lightly.
Ann, for what it’s worth, takes this in stride. “You couldn’t have done that before?”
“You were kissing me before, and I felt it was rude to interrupt.” And Leslie is kissing her now, perhaps in some move to make up for her missed cue.
“Just do it now, then,” Ann says, surprising them both, but immediately calmed in the knowledge that, yes, she’s okay with this. With this level of intimacy, with her fingers deep inside of the woman she loves, with knowing, knowing.
And they are both surprised, but immediately calmed when Leslie actually does it; the muscles Ann is so near tightening and loosing, the hot liquid over flesh and mixing with trails of dirt and water on the shower floor. “Better?” Ann asks, surprised again when her voice sounds hoarse with desire, surprised when her fingers tense and Leslie swallows, another small moan dripping from her lips.
“Much,” Leslie replies, and pulls the two of them impossibly closer together, moaning (loudly, this time) against Ann’s lips.
