Chapter Text
Burn for me
Midwood, 1997
“Pyro technics?” she sipped her gin and squinted her face up at him, as if that would help against the blaring stereo right above her head. The bar was filled with sweaty leather-clad metallers but here at the counter it was a bit more isolated, but louder.
“Pyrolagnia, T” he said patiently, his barreling voice reverberating down her spine. Despite the baritone, she could only hear the chants of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. Thankfully, the song split in half at the very moment he confessed his fetish to her and she finally caught the word. It still didn’t mean much to her, though.
He was looking at her shyly, his eyes flitting across her face and then back to his beer, and then back to her face and over to the crowded floor again. The urge to make a ridiculous joke, or just get up and leave, was almost overwhelming. Instead, he ran his hands through his hair and shook his leg restlessly on the bar stool.
“Ok big guy, I’m pleased for ya, but you’re gonna have to give me a bit more to go on here”. Noticing his nerves, she extended a hand and squeezed his jean-clad thigh, her red nails contrasting sharply with the black denim. He inhaled a breath and took a huge swig of the beer, draining it. She pulled herself in closer to him, sitting between his spread thighs now. She was perched high up on the bar stool but he was merely leaning against it, his long legs slightly bent at the knee.
He sighed as she snaked her arms around his torso and pressed her cheek against his chest. He leant down and inhaled the scent of her hair. Cinnamon. Coconut. He instantly felt a warmth travel down his belly and to his thighs and moaned, rumbling in his chest. She smirked. “I… I just…. It’s like, fire represents life and death. Like blood. It’s violence. It’s energy. It’s love. It’s death and rebirth…” he swallowed, a click in his throat. “And watching something burn is like… I take its energy. It gives the only thing it has left, to me. It’s… it’s very sexual. Sensual”, his voice dropped down to a whisper, but his mouth was right against her ear and she heard every word this time. She raised her head up to his, watching his blue-hazel eyes carefully. He fixed her with an intense stare, and she forgot to breathe. All the world collapsed into his gaze. He smirked, blinked, and she exhaled the breath she had forgotten about. She licked her lips, wanting to kiss his more than anything in the world.
“Would… would you like to burn something together?” she asked, watching his reaction. A pink hue travelled up his neck and reaching his strong jaw before halting at his cheeks. He cleared his throat, attempting to be nonchalant, but Tara almost slid off the bar stool at the sound, her eyes wide and her legs squeezing closed.
“W… well that would be delicious” he murmured, and she leant up, unable to resist his full cupids bow any longer. He sighed as she sucked on his lower lip and ran her tongue over it. His own hands grasped her hips and he pulled her closer, wanting her on his lap, legs spread over his waist.
“Can I get this dessert to go, please chef?” he growled against her kiss and she giggled.
*********************
Instead of driving back to his apartment, he pulled a right and parks by Pier Four, the concreted dock on the East River. Her face fell but she tried to hide it. She had expected to go straight back to his place and get ruined on the bed again.
He put the car roughly into park and sat back in the seat for a moment, staring ahead at the midnight abyss of the river. She swallowed, suddenly a little on edge.
“You trust me, Tara?” The question came out of nowhere, and she felt a rush of adrenaline make her blood turn to ice. She felt ridiculous at the sudden fright and shook her hair out, attempting to be casual.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she said, blinking back the concern. They had been together a few months and he had shown her nothing but gentle love and shy lust. Everything about his physique screamed strong bullish brute but the little boy stuck inside the ox was anything but that. The question side swiped her, and she wondered for a moment if she’d got him completely wrong.
He tapped his thighs, still staring ahead. “Come with me, if you want to live”, in his best Arnie voice, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He got out the car without looking at her, and she gulped again, feeling at once ridiculous and like this would be her last night on planet earth. She reached for the oversized door on the Grand Prix but he was already on the other side, opening It for her.
The cold wind blew straight into her bones and the shiver that overcame her made her teeth chatter. His eyes were instantly coated with concern and he draped his leather jacket around her, swamping her in his masculine scent and body warmth.
“Come, it’s just over there” he said, leading her down a small flight of steps to a small concrete bunker tucked under the pier. As he guided her to the opening, he explained in an anxious chatter. “My dad used to work the ships at the yard here, before the fuckers gentrified the whole area. I played here growing up. I know this fuggin place like it’s my mother’s back yard”. He ducked his head under the rebar entrance way and made sure she was safe before turning back again. “I once his here from my sisters for six hours. They never found me. I went back home cause I was hungry”.
She could hear the smirk in his voice. The bunker smelt musty but clean, and it was warmer here than outside. It was pitch black though, and she had no idea where to put her feet. Suddenly, a bright blaze of orange illuminated the shelter.
It was bigger than she imagined, obviously a storage area for the old shipyard on this pier. There were old remnants of chairs, crates, and shelves dotted around. Leaves. No evidence of homelessness, which surprised her.
And Peter’s face was lit up as he beamed at her, proud of his hiding spot and excited to show it to her. He turned to the left, and she could see a small fire pit made of breeze blocks, wood, and blackened bricks.
“I… I come here sometimes. When I’m… uhh… when I feel the need.” He was suddenly overtaken by crippling shyness.
She stepped forward and embraced him tightly. The gentleness of this giant man constantly surprised her, and the need to protect him welled up inside her again. “Hey, Pete. Show me what you’ve got” she smiled up at him, his loose and long black hair tickling her cheek.
A small smile pulled at his lips and he whispered, “okay lady”. He stepped back and reached into one of the shelves on the wall, pulling out a wad of paper. He squatted down by the makeshift fireplace and brought the lighter up to the paper.
Slowly, as in a trance, as in ritualistic fashion, he let the flames lap around the edges of the paper gently. His lips parted, saliva coating the bottom one, as the flames danced higher on the edges. He held the pages until the very last second, before the fire bit into his fingers, and he dropped the wad into the fire circle and stood up slowly. The flames caught the rest of the items in the fireplace and became a larger circle. His face was painted in orange and red and shadows, but unmistakable was the growing bulge between his thighs.
She padded over to him, watching him more than the fire, and ran her hand down his torso. He either pretended or actually didn’t feel her there because he didn’t move. He stared into the blaze, unblinking, his hands squeezing together and releasing. She pressed her body against his and let her hand fall to his bulge, and he blinked, seeing and feeling her for the first time. He cleared his throat, and she gasped.
“Uhhh…” he said, embarrassed by his physical reaction.
“Give me some of that” she whispered, taking the lighter from him with her free hand. He stared at her, uncomprehending, and she nodded over to the shelves. He blinked again and reached up, finding some more old pages left by the warehouse. She smiled at him and gave his length a squeeze in her palm before releasing him and taking the paper.
He coughed again and his own hands fell to his expanding crotch, feeling embarrassed but also needing release desperately.
She held the paper between her fingers and set fire to it, moving it around so the flames lapped large at all edges before burning into the centre. He gasped, watching her hands move. She dropped the pages at the last second, and his eyes never left the orange glow. His hands rubbed incessantly at the growing pole buried under his denim. As the flames died down, he realised what he was doing and even in the dim glow of the embers, she could see the blush had travelled all over his face.
“Fuck. I’m sorry… for myself…” he growled, suddenly disgusted and deeply ashamed. He took several steps back, into the shadows, and she had to chase him, her legs so much shorter.
“Listen here, Ratajczyk. You don’t get to bring me all the way down here into the bowels of Red Hook and not offer me some dessert. You promised” she smirked, trapping him against the cold concrete wall and pushing her body against his.
He looked down at her passively as she ran her fingers under his shirt and fingered his abs beneath. They travelled lower until she felt his leather belt. The metal buckle. The tucked in portion which she swiftly untucked and unhooked. He gazed into her eyes, his hands resting gently on her shoulders, but his thighs quivering.
“You’ve got more to show me. I can feel it” she said quietly, pulling on his jeans belt loops intently, leading him backwards to the fireplace. He walked willingly, held in place by her fingers and his desire for her.
“What else do you have?” she asked.
He felt back on the shelves but was out of paper. They looked around for a while, but came up empty. She had an idea.
“Get on your knees, Peter” she said, feeling emboldened by her own overwhelming yearning for the giant man and his giant body. He dropped to them willingly, silently. “These are your next victim” she said, lifting her shape-fitting dress up to her hips, looping a finger under her tanga briefs, and snapping them against her skin.
He practically unloaded right there in his half-undone jeans at the sight, smell, and sound of her. “Fuck. Tara.” He breathed, pressing his face into her V. He inhaled her deeply, his eyes rolling back in his skull. He slid one hand between her legs and up against the small of her back, pulling her close against him. His other hand betrayed him and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling out his untamed length, and began stroking. Without even moving her black cotton panties, he slithered his tongue over the fabric and felt her shape underneath them, tasting her through the fibers, feeling her wetness seep onto his lips. He found her sensitive nub of nerves and lapped at it, sucking it through the panties and holding her close. She moaned, arching her back against him, squeezing her thighs together. He leaked precum all over his hand and stroked slowly, deliberately, feeling his balls tighten.
“No.” She stepped back from him and he was crestfallen, immediately compliant but achingly desperate. She bit her lower lip as she looked at him, kneeling before her, dripping cock in hand, loose black hair across his shoulders like a black waterfall. “Fuck. FUCK” she growled, her hands slipping over her panties again. “Remove these with your teeth. Burn them”, her voice cracking with desire.
With her words, he rolled his eyes back again, his mouth open and jaw slack, his hand cupping his aching balls. She stepped forward again and he barely resisted the urge to devour her once more, and did instead as she asked. He hooked one fang into the thin side of her black tanga and pulled downwards. She stepped out of them as he kept hold of them in his mouth. The very act made him inch closer to exploding all over the floor in a ruinous mess.
“Stand up, big boy” she moaned. As he complied, she slid his jeans down to his ankles, taking his purple Y-fronts with them. His cock bounced up proudly, smacking her in the cheek, and he smiled shyly down at her.
“Sorry… about him…” he whispers, holding her wet, creamy panties in one hand.
She placed the lighter in his other hand and he immediately forgot about his shyness. “You know what to do…” she says, as she kneeled in front of him, “…and I know what to do”, were the last words he heard from her.
Holding his length in one hand, she extended her tongue and lapped at the underside, tasted the oozing precum and slithered her tongue all over his leaking head. He growled loudly, throwing his head back and almost forgot his task. Just as she was about to reprimand him, he flicked the lighter wheel and began the flame, bringing the tanga close to the orange heat. His gaze was fixated on the flame, and after a while it caught the cotton fibres and they singed.
The sound immediately made his dick harden to a solid length, and she swallowed as much as she can, which ended up being not even half of it. He watched as the flames lick the panties and a whiff of smoke rose from them. The scent of burning filled his nostrils and he growled, just as she pulled down on his heavy balls, her red fingernails scratching against his flesh.
“Ahhh. Fuck. Fuck. Tara.” He managed, watching the fire engulf her creamy panties. “Fuck. I can’t. I… fuck…” he couldn't help himself and bucked his hips against her, filling her throat until she gagged at his size. She didn't stop, instead using her other hand to massage the rest of his long dick that couldn't fit in her mouth.
As the flames overwhelm the cotton underwear, he dropped them into the fireplace and slid his fingers into her auburn hair, fucking her mouth. “Tara… Red…. I’m… I’m gonna cum… in your mouth” he managed.
She just mumbled on his dick, giving him permission to unload inside her.
“Oh god girl here I fuggin cum” he growled, tensing as his body spasmed. He shot three powerful jets of cum down her throat before she pulled back slightly, but he hadn't finished, and he spurted all over her face and throat before painting her chest too.
She laughed but he just grabbed his cock and stroked, pouring the rest of his spunk into the firepit as he had done thousands and thousands of times before, alone.
Finally, he collapsed on his knees, his cock softening in his hands, his palm a mess, and his hair hanging in front of his face. She inched close to him, wiping her face with her hand and licking her fingers. With her free, clean hand, she tucked his long hair behind his ear. His breath heavy, utterly spent, leaning back on his knees.
“Mmmm. Best dessert on the planet” she smiled softly at him and he watched her eat his cum off her face.
“What the fuck did I do to deserve you, woman?” he looked at her intently.
“I don’t know, but you’d better take me for a shower now, because you’ve definitely claimed me” she laughed, patting her wet and stained dress.
**************