Catching Fire

Author's Foreword: This series has themes of romance, sex, friendship, humor, safe and consensual BDSM, and above all, intimacy and the concept of memory. Any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental. I want you, reader, to come away with more empathy, appreciation, and joy for yourself and others than you began. As I did when writing this.

***Mid Summer***

The steam of the running shower roiled behind the curtain, making the loose curls of her blonde hair cling damply to my face, hiding her from me, trapping her half-sobbed, ecstatically repeated "yes" between us. We strained against each other for yet another time that night, desperate for more of whatever it was we shared before it ended. That night, and altogether.

She clung tightly to my neck. I felt her entire body vibrate as I supported her with just my arms, her fingernails tearing into my back.

"Don't stop," she urged, "Don't stop." As gently as I could, I spun us around and braced my back against the wall. I slid in and out of her, fully and easily. I felt my fatigue melt away as she used her strong, flexible body to contort enough to watch us join and rejoin inside her. She swore in appreciation as she felt the waves reach a tipping point in her, her rhythm beginning to fall apart. She convulsed, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around me. I didn't stop for a moment as she gasped her way into one orgasm and straight through into the next, and finally a third that we shared.

The steam of the still-running shower made it even harder to get enough air as we shuddered together. She began to go weak against me, and I pulled back from her just enough to look into her far-away eyes, savor them and her whispered exclamations before I kissed her and squeezed one hand between us to quickly bring her to one more aftershock.

Then we had to suffer the endearingly awkward process of a safe dismount. Eventually, she had her feet on the floor and her face pressed into my chest. I sagged against the bathroom sink, one exhausted arm wrapped protectively around her. We both shook and shone. I kissed her forehead and breathed her in.

"Too complicated," she insisted, when I offered to wash her hair. So I washed her body, lightly massaging her from shoulders to calves as she groaned, cooed, stretched, and showed off. As always, I was mesmerized by the paint-spatter constellations of her light yet ubiquitous freckles, the sweeps and contours of her lithe body. Then it was my turn, and I knelt so she could reach my hair and shoulders. Eventually I stood up, and looked down at her with the shower pelting against my back. It was beginning to go cold, and I turned it off. We got out and toweled ourselves dry, then looked at each other for a long, wordless moment, afraid to break the midnight spell.

If we'd been able to give it a name, we may have been missing each other before we left. We both draped our towels over our shoulders, and I brought her into my arms again. She sighed and stroked my torso. Her self-satisfaction over the evening could have been a crown in her sodden hair.

"God, you're stunning," I said. I felt myself swell and press against her. She reached up with both hands to hold my face, standing on tiptoe and forcing me to bend to her. She could convey so much emotion with only her lips.

"And a great kisser," I added with a small grin.

She kept her piercing hazel eyes on mine as she began to slowly slide down to her knees.

***End of Spring***

My parents' home phone was ringing again. It hadn't stopped since the day I got back for summer break in one of the college years. It was the early to middle 2000s.

"More calls in a week than we get in a month," Dad joked as he made dinner. The handset read off the stored name so I knew who it was before I picked it up, but I was polite anyway for the sake of appearances.

"Monica and Dan's house, this is Luke."

"Hey dude, it's Alexander."

"Hey, Al. What's up, man?"

"Oh, you know: shady as usual."

"Cool, cool," I said nonchalantly, "So what're you up to?" I gathered up the spare handset and went to my old room. Dad already had his music cranked up, and I knew Mom was in the garden, so it was as safe as it could get.

"I thought we handled that thing the other day," I said once I closed the door.

"Don't worry, it's not that. And nobody the wiser," he replied.

"That's a relief."

"No shit. Anyway, this is about Lily. Sorta."

"Wait, that's all? What's the problem, then? I thought things were going well so far."

"Oh yeah, I think by the end of the week if not sooner. I owe ya."

"More than one," I said, "This is Lily we're talking about."

"True," he conceded, "but listen. Got a little problem. Lily's got this friend, Erin. Hot."

"Damn hot," we said in sync with the old movie quote, laughed, and continued.

"So," Alex said, "Erin has been tagging along with Lily to almost everything for the last week and trying to horn in. Even at my damn house. Thing is... it's working, because I'm stupid and she knows it. But Lily is my goal, you know?"

"And you need someone to run interference."

"Right, because Lily doesn't want Erin there, but she can't stop her for whatever reason. She is determined, man. Me and Lily think you're the perfect guy for the job. Besides, Lily's already priming Erin about you."

"Hm," I said with a frown.

Lily and I knew quite a bit more about each other than Alex needed to be aware of. Not least of which was that at least since late high school, she'd been my proofreader and idea backboard for all the smut I wrote as a hobby, mainly of the BDSM variety. She was a year older than me, and I had been keen to both impress a college girl and explore myself a bit without real risk. And when Lily had once confessed to me that she wasn't sure why she couldn't orgasm through masturbation, I gave her some tips that seemed to work out just fine, after a little feedback and adjustment. No telling what Erin would already know about me before going in.

"Look," Alex said, bringing me back to present, "it's still a few hours to go until talk minutes are free, and I'm almost out this month. Hence the house phone. Head over to my place at seven and I'll fill you in. And don't look like shit. We're going to a party with the ladies tonight."

***

Mom and Dad weren't surprised when I said I was probably going to be out all night, though I was vague on why. Pretty standard practice for me. Mom told me to take a jacket and my cell phone. Dad told me not to do anything stupid. After dinner, shave, and a shower, I drove to meet Alex at his parents' house.

He seemed keyed up when I arrived, a six pack dangling in each hand as he walked out to his car, wearing one of his many lucky pairs of shoes. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, handsome barbarian of a guy. He was also a good person and closet turbo-nerd, which is why we had been close friends for a long time.

As for me, I'm a little below average height, unimposing, but lean and sturdily built from active hobbies and hard manual labor. That said, my favorite things to do are read, write, and observe. While I've never been one to "wow" on first impressions, having a deep voice and a quick wit has helped me in and out of things more often than not. I was wearing a plain, well-fitting black tee shirt and a thrifted leather jacket in a futile effort to seem mildly interesting and cool rather than impossibly nerdy and responsible. I wasn't sure why Alex thought I'd be able to impress this other girl, but I had to admit he'd demonstrated a nose for some things in the past. We sat in his old clunker of a car to strategize in private from his parents.

"Thought I told you not to look like shit, Luke."

"I don't see any 'ladies,' Al," I retorted.

"Well they're not in the trunk, asshole," he said, "they wouldn't fit between all the spare parts. We're going to meet them at the party."

"I'll take my car and follow you," I said, "I don't feel like pushing your rolling hardware store halfway there. So. What's with Erin?"

"She, ah.... she's bold," he offered. The guy is a master of understatement, so I shrugged and gestured for him to continue.

"Gimme an example," I said.

"Last time I saw the two of them, Erin took my car keys, hid them down her bra, said I had to come and get it, and ran off," he stated with his usual deadpan delivery, "Then I had to fish around in there while she laughed at me and got all handsy. And Lily was right there, all kinds of pissed. I was sweatin', man. Shut up, it's not funny." Of course it was.

"And what am I supposed to do?" I eventually asked, "Hit her with pepper spray? You're fucked, dude. Accept it."

"I'm way too into Lily to take any detours, and she definitely doesn't wanna share with Erin. Hell, they barely seem to like each other."

"Ahhh," I said, gears turning, "starting to make sense."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I remember now. Few years ago, Lily mentioned a girl at another high school she'd been 'friends' with since they were toddlers. Always trying to one-up each other. Lily doesn't have that many girl friends, especially not from that long ago. Gotta be Erin. Of course Lily doesn't want her around. They're competing with each other."

"Oh. Well, I don't get it, but whatever. That's your department. So. You in, or you out?"

***

"How long until they said they'd get here?" I asked, leaning against my car. We were at the party, but hadn't gone in yet.

"Twenty minutes, give or take," Alex replied, pacing back and forth.

"Plenty of time. Tell me everything you know about Erin," I said.

Alex stopped walking and started laughing.

"What?" I asked testily.

"You shady motherfucker. I know you," he exclaimed, pointing at me gleefully, "I knew you'd come through!"

"Just hurry up," I grumbled, deciding to leave my leather jacket in the back seat. One less thing to keep track of.

He walked me through what he knew, which wasn't a lot. Erin was apparently a petite blonde with curly hair, a brazen attitude, and a skimpy dressing aesthetic. I reminded Alex I'd see her soon enough and needed information, not a description. I was feeling a little sour because I didn't care for blondes or curls. The rest had more potential. Alex elaborated that Erin had focused on the arts (he wasn't sure what kind) and math in high school. She was studying on the East Coast for both. Very much like Lily. They were definitely competing. Erin had a single mother, didn't like chocolate, didn't care for more than one drink, and didn't like mean or "bad" guys. He didn't know anything about what she actually liked beyond aggressive flirting and animals. To me, that meant she probably made up her mind on the spot, and otherwise played it close to the chest so that she could pounce where and when she chose. I was also getting a feeling that she was used to dealing with guys that couldn't think with both heads at the same time. I could handle that. I was glad she didn't like bad boys, because I'd never be able to pull that off.

Given that it was the start of summer break in our fairly large hometown during the college years, the party was mainly a lot of old high school friends catching up about who they were dating in other states and tough classes or working in town and blah blah blah. There were also a few recently-singles, a category I fell into. It was nice to see some people I'd known since elementary school, others were best avoided, and there were quite a few I didn't know, since the party jammed together a couple different high school groups. I've never liked crowds (or high school, for that matter), so I went to the back yard after a while to help haul crap around to make room for the steadily growing party and set up for a bonfire. The host's dog picked me to follow and I played with her a bit. Animals tend to like me. As I worked, I noticed a few girls watching from the house's elevated deck.

"Black Shirt's got some killer arms," I heard one say quietly to her friends. When I turned around and looked directly at her, she startled slightly before smiling and heading back into the party. I didn't mind the confidence boost. I had a definite feeling I was going to need it. Then Alex came out on the deck.

"Luke," he barked, "They're here. Head around front." I nodded, brushed myself off, and went over the lawn to the front street where all the cars were parked. I could hear the party ramping up inside. Cops were definitely going to show up for a noise complaint once it got late enough. As I got to the sidewalk, I heard a musical voice call my name and I looked a few blocks away to see Lily waving at me with a wide grin, bouncing on her toes and everywhere else.

Lily has a permanent place in my memories, because she is truly unforgettable. Moderate height for a woman, slender, an uncannily beautiful face, huge dark eyes, pearly skin, full lips that she accentuated with just the right thickness of lipliner, jet-black hair to the middle of her back, and a near perpetual expression of amusement and interest. And she was of course brilliant: State youth orchestra, perfect GPA, full ride to a rather famous school on an academic scholarship. None of which explained why she also made such an eager hobby of regularly reading BDSM-themed smut written by a nerd like me, even discussing it with me for hours in person. Had I been any older or more confident or more single at the time (really, having a girlfriend at all should have ended that whole smut editor thing sharply, but I was very young and stupid), I would have at least asked her on a real date. Ah well, hindsight thinks we could have been braver than we were. Also, and without a word of a lie, she had some of the most perfect natural breasts that I'd ever seen on any woman, especially on a seemingly delicate little thing like her. Even just walking around the front of her car, she made my ears ring. She was stunning, and either did an amazing job of hiding that she was aware of it, or really didn't understand that you could hear a pin drop and eyeballs click wherever she went. In short, God was in a very good mood when he made her.

The passenger-side door of Lily's small SUV opened and I saw a pair of short, pink kitten heels touch down on the pavement, but nothing else until the car door shut.

***

I quickly realized Alex had done an absolutely terrible job describing Erin. Probably because he has never really appreciated poetry.

If she was five feet tall, I'd have been surprised. Erin's dyed-blonde hair was naturally slightly curly, and she wore it at a bob length. Longer ringlets framed her mischievously intelligent hazel eyes, well-defined jaw and cheekbones, and overall vulpine face. She was lean without being anything like skinny, instead projecting a confident, glowing athleticism. Her skin was naturally tanned to a warm honey color, with a light scattering of freckles all over her face and body. She had also faintly dusted parts of her skin with something that seemed to glint in the early evening light. Under a cropped white cardigan that she immediately took off to drape over one arm, she wore a pale pink top that revealed and framed rather than fully hid the elaborate bra behind, all of which did a superb job of enhancing and showcasing what very little she had in the way of breasts. Below her nicely formed waist, she wore a short, flowy black skirt of thin material over tanned, freckled, wonderfully bare legs.

In a glance, I saw that she was a highly trained ballerina and dancer, as it would have been to anyone who had been involved with that particular breed of higher human. Her incredible calf and thigh musculature rippled panther-like as she moved, and her torso, arms, and shoulders were all well-filled, toned, and smooth while retaining a certain slenderness and tension. Every movement was graceful, precise, and strong; art in motion. As she turned to get a case of hard lemonade from the car and leaned down to set it noisily on the curb, I could easily see she had a small but impressively rounded bubble of an ass that flowed up into sculpted and nicely feminine back muscles. That flow is one of my favorite sights on any woman. A dancer she may have been, but with her height and build she looked far more like a gymnast; compact, taut, dynamic, powerful, bouncy. She practically radiated energy and determination and well-trained explosivity. When she slung her expensive, thin-strapped white purse over her shoulder and completely ignored me to smile directly at Alex, I was immediately reminded of the way a fencer would thrust with a rapier. If anyone could be a rival or overmatch for Lily, it was Erin.

She was like lightning in a perfume bottle.

***

"Jesus Christ, Al," I swore under my breath as we walked slowly over to them, "You didn't tell me I was up against Horny Psycho Tinkerbell. We're all gonna die."

"Don't let me down, buddy," he begged quietly.

"Luke!" Lily squealed at me once we got close enough, "How are you?" We exchanged pleasantries and she hugged me briefly (dammit that always felt good). Then she immediately stepped around me to take Alex's hand and use me as a human shield.

"Erin, this is my good friend Luke, from high school. He and Alex have been friends since they were kids," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Erin," I said, trying to sound friendly. She seemed even smaller up close, barely coming to my shoulder in heels.

"Hi," she said perfunctorily, then glanced at my offered handshake like it was a dead mouse.

"You're...formal," she said, then politely squeezed my hand once. Nice grip.

"Nah," I deflected, "just awkward." She shrugged in response, setting her curls to bouncing. It seemed like they did that with almost every movement. It was annoying at first. It quickly became captivating.

"I suppose that's better than formal," she conceded.

"Great!" Alex announced loudly with a completely unhelpful lack of subtlety, "See you guys inside." And with that, he and Lily left. Charming.

Erin leaned to the side and watched them go into the party with a calculating look before looking up at me with the same.

"Not going to offer your arm, Sir?" she asked in a ludicrous imitation of my baritone.

"Not this time," I said, ignoring the dig, "but can I help you carry anything in?" I nodded at the case of hard lemonade she'd set on the ground earlier.

"Oh, you're so sweet," she said in a high, fake simper with a pout - I was starting to get that she liked to play with her voice and expressions - "that would be ever so helpful!"

As I was about to lean over to pick it up, she abruptly tossed her purse at me. I caught it on reflex. Once it was out of her hands, she picked up the case herself and started clip-clopping towards the house. She stopped and looked over shoulder at me. The lean musculature of her upper back wasn't really to my taste at the time, but she had me wondering if I needed to expand my palate.

"Thanks for the help," she said with a saccharine wink and a teasing foot-pop. The muscles in her hamstrings, showcased by that one mocking movement, made me immediately want to see her do it again. My heart wasn't racing yet, but my mind was certainly kicking into a more suitable gear.

I said nothing. Instead, I set the purse strap on my shoulder, looked her up and down in a fresh appraisal, grinned because I couldn't help it, and started to follow. I think she was expecting some kind of emasculated frustration or dumb confusion on my face rather than genuine interest. She looked me up and down as well, more slowly than I had, her face suddenly neutral and appraising, then turned and kept going.

As we walked up to the house and joined the party, a couple of porch-lounging guys watched her strut inside with the case held easily in front of her at chest height, arms extended and hips swinging exaggeratedly for the fun of it.