burnsall 02
… We pass police cars as we drive out of Burnsall. You’re not worried, telling me no one even believes what it is you do. I put my hand on your belly, wedged between your spine and the dashboard, and feel the powerful muscles of your stomach rhythmically contract, breaking down the youth I dared to jump.
The vibration of the engine helps the process. The body is almost slop when I choose to pull us over by a tea room in a little village. You look at me balefully, having been lulled by the soothing car noises and the delicious weight of food. I grin back.
You accept my hand and I pull you to your feet. Though you’re massively front-heavy I am reminded by how little weight you place on me that you are an expert, and very strong. Pride makes me spontaneously kiss you on the cheek. You look at me puzzled, unsure of where the feeling came from, and I just give you another grin. “You’re beautiful. Did you like Burnsall?”
A little bell rings as I open the door for you, the other hand holding yours. I’m never lighter on my feet then when you’re heavier on yours. Two or three pairs of customers, mostly female, all older, stare at us as we enter.
“I liked the cuisine, but it took ages to get served,” you say, attempting biting sarcasm but actually managing warmth. The feeling of a full belly just makes the world feel right. “You could have hurried with my food.”
“Believe me, I went as fast as I could. They wanted me to… serve… first, and God knows what would have happened if I’d reached the table before anyone else.”
“I think we both know what would have happened,” you say sweetly, threading between delicate tables and chairs. Too delicate, too close together. Your gut almost knocks over one table, and when I pull out a chair for you, it is willpower alone that lets you squeeze yourself into it without upending the table behind you. “Why did you bring me somewhere where everything’s so small?!”
“Because they make good tea,” I say, like it’s obvious. I take the delicate chair next to yours and place my hand on your belly again. “And because I am fucking with you, dear Rey.”
Your smack on my shoulder sounds loud in the little room, as does my laugh.