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It's Cause of These Things

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It was cold a minute ago.


Patty remembers it being cold. At least--she remembers Ellen's hand being cold. It slipped onto her palm moments ago and it hasn't moved since. There is no question or explanation. It is just something that happened at they're letting it.


The snow seems unrelenting and it's hard to tell where the road is, even though they've only pulled over the side of it. It's beginning to grow darker out and there isn't much that is visible except for a few trees lining the road.


The space between the two women stretches out along with the silence that is broken only by the sound of even breathing. Neither has said a word but their joined hands say enough.


Their hands are rested  atop the console, their arms creating a bridge between their very few differences and everything they refuse to say to each other. Ellen sits as far from the blonde as she can, resting the side of her head against the window, her eyes following the falling snowflakes from behind thick bangs that hand low over her brow like a curtain she can hide behind. Patty sits in the passenger seat, slouched comfortably, legs crossed, head tilted back with her eyes closed, wondering suddenly when it was that her thumb began to move along the back of Ellen's hand.


It's the soothing, slow circles that slowly allow for the warmth to creep up Ellen's skin and the younger woman is thankful for this, while Patty is having trouble caring for anything aside from making Ellen warm again. It's an inexplicable feeling, but so is everything else concerning Patty's need to give Ellen whatever the hell she wants, against the older woman's better judgment. It's Patty's most dreadful habit.


Somewhere along the way, Ellen's breath quietly hitches and Patty swallows audibly. Somewhere along the way, the warmth from Ellen's hand has made its way up her arm, across her shoulders and down her spine, only to wrap around her middle to fall low in the pit of her belly. Her heart begins to race and she presses her knees together. Refusing to move in fear that Patty will stop idly moving her thumb--or that she won't-- Ellen closes her eyes and lets the fluttering shiver embrace her body.


Patty feels it like a contact high. It's a long wave that reaches from the top of her head to her feet and she isn't sure when she began to breathe this harshly. She makes an attempt to move her hand from underneath Ellen's but a small gasp slips from between her lips when it is held back in a firm grasp. 


Patty's eyes fall over their joined hands and refuses to look up when her name is called. She licks her lips instead and breathes. Because she isn't sure she can do anything other than that.


"Patty," Ellen says--pleads.


Slowly, Patty's gaze lifts and in the single second that it takes for their eyes to meet, it's over. They're gone and there is no stopping once the console is lifted between them and pushed back and out of the way so violently it almost breaks. It takes some maneuvering, but Ellen knows the car well enough to get it done quickly. She pushes her seat back as far as it goes, undoes her seat belt and adjusts the steering wheel as high as she can get it in a sequence of movements that is impressively agile for such an unplanned encounter.


Patty wonders momentarily if indeed Ellen had planned this sometime in the past. But there is no time for that, nor does Patty really care if she's going to be honest with herself. Her hands and mouth would prove otherwise--the way she's pulling at the waistband of the other woman's pants and the way she reciprocates without question to every kiss delivered, her head tilted back as Ellen moves across the seat on her knees. Patty's legs would definitely--most definitely--prove her a liar, the way they part so easily for the younger woman to kneel between them. 


It's too easy, Ellen thinks as her hands slip under the hem of Patty's skirt and up stocking clad thighs, until she touches the telling signs of a garter. Both women seem to pause at the same time and there is a moment of hesitance. Of what happens after and how will they deal with the silence once it's over?


But they quickly decide they don't care, because maybe if it's quiet enough and they're lost enough so that they don't exist for the next few hours, hiding under a blanket of snow, they can pretend Patty doesn't make Ellen come two times with a only a few calculated swipes of her thumb, and they can pretend that Ellen didn't enjoy every single moan and groan against her ear as Patty begged to be fucked harder and Ellen happily obliged. It won't matter that the windows were foggy or that Patty hels on so tightly, that she pulled Ellen's hair and it felt so good. It's simple enough. Out here, in a seemingly deserted road, in a snowed in rental no one can see or hear, this didn't happen.