Kyle: Just like Amy said, Mikyle will lose all contact with everyone until November and I have a feeling that we aren’t going to tell you what’s happening until we’ve written something to blow your minds and empty your tear ducts. There will however be a few changes to the way that Kyle acts to things.
Riley: Sadly, she is going to lose a little of her shiny. Her mutation is one that has so much influence over personality and her connections with other people, and thus she is going to learn to exploit it - mostly for good, but in a bad way. As Erica said, she’ll be living with Ethan, but unlike him, she’ll be out as much as she can be, gambling for their supplies and the like.
Hopefully she’ll stay in contact with a few, but she might get frustrated with people who aren’t making the most of what they do have. (i.e. being fucking annoying to Ethan, potentially Harry if he spends to much time sleeping etc). Thankfully, in my plans, she’ll still be a huge optimist, however there will be a constant glint of mischief behind it, focusing on the positives for herself and those close to her.
A delicate hand wiped cooling water from the mirror in front of her. The blurry vision of her flushed pink face before the hot steam rose up and hid her from view. Yet even the temporary blindness wasn’t enough to remove the thoughts that had crossed Riley’s mind as she stood under the hot shower. It could have been an hour, probably more before the taps had been turned off, bringing the constant stream onto her body to an end. Gallons upon gallons, pouring onto her body, turning pale skin bright red before it finally settled upon pink.
Closing her eyes, she dropped her head against the cold glass, a light gasp from her mouth as it connected. Anything to quell the heat that burned on, even after she wrapped her body tight. Towelling that failed to soak up the moisture so quickly being mixed with the sweat she had hoped to remove with the shower. Still, the feeling of hot droplets, pounding on her stomach, her thighs when she moved and the soft skin that wanted so much more. Aching that stayed, plagued her body and begged for what she couldn’t give to it. Wouldn’t give no matter how much she knew she needed it.
Breath kept the mirror from losing it’s fog as she fought to keep the image of his devilish smile from her mind. Phantom fingers trailing up and down her legs with a delicacy she wouldn’t have attributed had she not felt it. Words etched in her conscious, all synonyms of beautiful and requests for the lips that had desired his whiskey stained skin, and all the while she fought against it. Fought and triumphed until she realised that neither of them was going to win.
“Suck it up, Riley,” she commanded, wet strands of hair clearing the mirror with broken streaks. A mess of darkened blonde that framed her still flushed face, jutting blue eyes, just lighter than his staring back with desperation. If she leaned back, she might have thought about the length of her hair, now well past her ears with no cut in sight, but that would not quell the want to feel his fingers pull at it. “Don’t let it get to you,” she urged, as her fingers refused to listen. Pulling at the threads of her towel until it fell from her body. Sliding down the moist skin of her sides, searching for an end the feeling that was driving her insane.
“Don’t think about him,” she begged herself, knees dropping out from under her. Cold tiles rushed up to meet warm skin and her sigh could have been heard for miles had anyone been listening. Riley brought her arm across her mouth and bit down as her stray fingers found hair that hadn’t been manicured in some time. A barrier against wanted contact. What he could give her, if she just gave him the chance. “Don’t…” she pleaded, delving deeper to find what was wet with not water nor sweat. A single touch reminding her just how long it had been since she had felt true pleasure. The adult kind that she locked away for fear of what it might lead to. What it would lead to.
Spine stretched and bent as she slid her fingers up and down, searching to release the pressure that her shower had failed to relieve. Cabinet handles dug into her back while her toes curled and pushed against the tiles. Body shoved backwards as she found it and then a cry of pain when it became clear her nails were far too long. “No!” she screamed, his face coming back into view, as mask that dulled the pain of nails scratching skin. His fingers wouldn’t be like that. Short and firm, pressing down her, giving her something that she would never be able to give on her own.
“Stop!” she moaned. A rhythm had been found and it rocked her harder than she remembered it could. “Please,” Riley whimpered, the last of her fight against what she so desperately needed. Harder. Harder still. Sweat coated her skin as if she had never washed. Tiles covered, no longer cold to the touch. More. Panting, sighing, moaning as if she had someone to urge on with the sounds of her enjoyment.
Orgasm wasn’t going to come quick. It never did. Not when she knew how much better it would be to feel masculine fingers take the place of her own. Masculine or more delicate, anything but the long chipped nails that prolonged the effort. Cries of pain and pleasure, cut short by the biting of her shoulder whenever she remembered her position. Finally, it came. Short and sweet, nothing like the feeling she remembered from the last time someone had been there. Still, it was enough.