Just as Things Calm Down...

It’s a little amazing to think about, in hindsight. About an hour ago, you were expecting another boring day at school, aside from the mess with Charlie. You were oblivious to your best friend’s feelings for you and your only sign that any kind of disaster was coming was the warning your sister had given you.

Now? You’re living in the opening stages of a zombie apocalypse, you’re probably not going to have class again for a long time, and you’ve just gotten what you’re quickly considering might be the best blowjob you’d ever felt from a gorgeous girl who has been waiting for you to wise up for way too long.

You’re not sure whether the fact that your best friend is now your kinda-girlfriend (which feels really good to say, and not just on a physical level) is enough to balance out the collapse of society as you know it, but as you feel the petite redhead in question wiggle slightly against your side as she hums contentedly, you decide that’s an internal debate you can handle later.

“You know…” You feel Sam’s grin pressed against your throat. “I would say we should have done this sooner, but I’m pretty tempted to say that was worth the wait.”

“Only pretty tempted?” You feel your own grin coming back full **** as the conversation starts to flow again.

“Oh, I dunno.” You tense up slightly as you feel her leave an open-mouthed kiss against your neck. “I’m still a little worked up, ya know? But at the same time, I’m a little tired. It’s been a while since I came that hard, and it took a lot out of me.” You shiver as you feel her eyelashes flutter against your jaw, and you briefly wonder if this girl is trying to kill you. “But I get the feeling you could make up the difference. Even if you didn’t have the best ‘equipment’ I’ve ever had, I think you’d be… up to the challenge….” Her voice is coming from low in her throat now, the usual cheery tone replaced by a smoky, sensual alto that you’ve never heard come out of her mouth before and it’s doing things to you.

“Well, I’d hate to leave a lady unsatisfied.” You think your voice might have cracked, but you’re not sure. God, what is it about this girl that causes you to turn into a hopeless mess? You’re not easily flustered, but it’s been almost non-stop since it really sank in that not only is she yours, but she has wanted to be. You take a deep breath before continuing, hoping to regain some semblance of composure. “And I’d be more than happy to prove your suspicions right….” Deciding that it’s Sam’s turn to be a stuttering mess again, you move the hand not wrapped around her shoulders to her ankle, slowly drawing your fingers up her lithe, shapely leg. She shivers and presses her face deeper into your neck as your hand moves closer, closer….

And then the buzzer goes off.

“Fuck!” Sam glares at the ceiling, pulling away from you and falling back against the arm of the couch as her thighs rub together. You take a moment to admire the view this action inadvertently gives you (whoever mandated those tights for the girls’ uniform was a genius, and you briefly wonder if you should be thanking Charlie for his prank on your kinda-girlfriend - okay, no, that’s becoming more than a little stupid to keep repeating - your girlfriend that morning, because even with the tights the view is sublime) before standing up and leaning in to hover over her, grinning at the angry pout on her face as her glare deepens at your amusement. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

“You’re cute when you’re needy.” Your grin widens further as you watch her cheeks burn and her mouth fall open, and you’re tempted to ignore the buzzer and spend another fifteen minutes (or an hour. Or six) seeing just how bright her blush can get, but you decide that it’s probably a good idea to at least check. So you quickly lean in, catching her pouting lips with yours and causing her to squeak in surprise. You stay there for just long enough to get into it, but pull away just as she tries to wrap her arms back around your neck, causing her to release an almost pitiful whine, her eyes once again glazed over and lust-drunk as her legs press together in the hopes of generating the friction she needs. Reaching down to stroke her cheek (which backfires horribly, since she catches your wrist and maneuvers to briefly catch your thumb between her lips), you stand up and head for the door.

“I’ll go check the buzzer and see who’s there, maybe let Meg know so I have a little backup in case things go bad.” You don’t see her, but you can hear the redhead’s loud, drawn out sigh.

“Fine, fine. I’ll… go back to working on our supplies, I guess… Cockblocking bastards….” You are careful not to turn as Sam gets up, because you just know that she’ll do everything she can to leave you just as horny as she is and it’s already bad enough. “But just remember, Michael: you’re missing out….” Her singsong taunt is the last thing she says before you hear her walk towards another section of the apartment, and you let out a frustrated huff as you close the apartment door behind you.

The walk down the stairwell gives you enough time to let your hard-on fade a little, but it’s only as you approach Meg’s door that you realize your trousers still have a somewhat visible reminder of Sam’s arousal. Sighing, you briefly consider the pros and cons of going back to the apartment to get new pants, but conclude that if you go back and take off your pants now, the blue-eyed seductress inside might not let you leave (not an unpleasant fate, to be sure, but you have other problems to worry about right now). Biting the bullet, you knock on Meg’s door again, hoping she can hear you through the music you hear her playing.

When she opens the door, you wonder if it really matters where you go at this point, because her hair is tied back in a high ponytail and there’s a smear of black on her cheek that might be paint and you think there’s a tear in her tank top that wasn’t there before and the world is obviously conspiring to surround you with opportunities to get turned on and leave you hanging so what’s even the point. Her expression is somewhere between amused and glaring, the former becoming more obvious the longer you stand there like an idiot. Finally, she quirks an eyebrow and something approaching a smile ghosts across her lips as she begins the conversation.

“What’s up, Buttercup?”

“Well, I -” You cough to clear your throat, taking the opportunity to remind yourself of your priorities (because not only is there someone who might need help downstairs, but you can content yourself with the promise that your immense sexual frustration will eventually be relieved thanks to the girl who’s currently getting supplies together in your apartment [still, there can’t be a serious penalty for enjoying a nice view, right?]) before speaking again. “I was heading down to the front door. I made a note down there that I was still here, and someone buzzed my apartment, so I figured it would be a good idea to check and see if they’re still there.”

Meg nods, considering briefly before raising a finger in the seemingly-universal sign for ‘one moment.’ She disappears into the depths of her hardware hoard and you decide to wait outside her door as you hear her muttering. Then, she returns to the door with Trusty over her shoulder and… something extended towards you in her other hand.

It’s a baseball bat. Or maybe it was, at some point, because you’re reasonably certain that with the ski blades that have been attached (three set in a vertical sequence along one side), it can’t be called such anymore. Taking the slightly horrifying instrument into your hand, you can’t help but notice that Meg somehow managed to not only attach the skis in a way that leaves the connection points almost invisible, but also altered the weight somehow so that the blades don’t cause a loss of balance.

You’d almost think it was beautiful if you didn’t consider this proof that the girl in front of you is not to be fucked with.

“I… wow.” You don’t really know what else to say, because when a hot blonde gives you an instrument of **** that she made herself what the hell do you say? “Thank you. What is…”

“It’s a macuahuitl.” Meg shrugs, acting like she hadn’t just strung letters together in a sequence that meant absolutely nothing to you. “Or at least something inspired by one.” At your blank expression, her lips quirk up. “Aztec bladed club. But I figured the ski blades might be a little more readily available than sharpened obsidian. One of my best attempts at creating sturdy connection-points. Mixing three different epoxies and reinforcing with Liquid Nails worked wonders.”

“... Right.” Okay, so you are reasonably certain that if given the right materials, this girl could probably engineer a homemade combustion engine, and maybe a tank for it to power (an exaggeration? Probably. But you don’t feel like saying it aloud and letting her take it as a challenge), but you decide to look on the bright side: she’s not aiming her weapons at you. “So why did you grab Trusty?”

“I’m coming down, obviously.” Her expression is unreadable, but you suspect that this is her equivalent of the tone one uses to explain something obvious to a child. “I have a vested interest in not letting anything or anyone in that might cause trouble, and,” her eyes flash downward, and you catch a glint of amusement in her expression again, “I get the feeling that I won’t only be helping you if I have to save your ass.” Yeah, you’re not sure if you should feel grateful that she’s going to help or just mortified.

“Right, yeah.” This conversation spiraled out of your control in seconds flat, and you know it. Shifting the ski-bat in your grip, you rest it on your shoulder and turn towards the stairwell again. “So, let’s see who’s knocking, shall we?” Thankfully, she doesn’t comment on the obvious subject change, and you soon find yourself on the ground floor, facing the door you had barricaded. There are voices outside, and now you’re left having to decide what to do as Meg pops another stick of gum in her mouth and languidly aims Trusty from the hip.