I walk over to the screen door, preparing to go in and pour myself a hefty scotch when I hear a car. I turn to look and my eyes widen. The picture Toga sent didn't really do it justice. It's a gorgeous machine, elegant on the exterior but lots of power underneath. I can see how Will relates to that. I move to go get in, but I notice that he's getting out. I forget sometimes how mannered he is compared to the boys I'm used to being around. Not that any of them respects me less; they're just much more likely to dump me head first in the car than to walk up to the porch.

I wait, tapping my toes (ironically painted with my 'Vamp' nail polish by the way; don't ever say I don't have a sense of humor) in my black, Roman style sandals. I feel that dread curl of nervousness crawling up my spine and I take deep breath, willing away the need to kick myself in the shin. Loth pops out the door, chuckling at my rigid posture. He pecks a kiss on my cheek and passes me the picnic basket, slipping back inside. I can hear him laughing at me through the screen door and I get an overwhelming urge to bang my head on something.

He ascends the steps at just that moment and I freeze mid pace. I run my hands over the skirt nervously, and give him a half smile. His eyes widen as he takes in my attire, and for moment, he just gapes. His silence makes me even more unsure of myself, and I sigh in exasperation.

"I knew I shouldn't have worn this stupid thing. I'm going to change. I look ridiculous," I growl, turning on my heel and heading towards the door.

He reaches out and grabs my elbow, his astonishment having run its course, and he clears his throat. "Please…that is not necessary. You look lovely. I did not mean to…Forgive me."

I gauge his expression, afraid he's just saying it to placate me, but it seems guileless, so I pick up the basket and take the arm he's offering. I struggle with myself in my head, battling my uncharacteristic nervousness with as much ferocity as I can muster. How is that I had wet, wild, bloody sex with this man on my back porch and I still feel like I'm fifteen and about to lose my cherry? You'd think with the amount of sex I have in day, I'd be able to get a grip on my libido long enough to sit in the damn car without shaking. I decide for the second time in five minutes that I have completely lost my mind.

He smiles at me as he helps me into the car, which yet again unnerves me since typically I have to wrestle one of the boys for the front seat and even if I get it, I end up on someone's lap being poked the whole way there. The top is down, which makes me grin; I love the wind in my hair. My eyes drift to the basket he's putting in the back, and I ponder telling him to get the champagne out so I can pop it and take a slug. But no, I promised I'd be sober this time, still wild, but sober. So I grit my teeth and pull out my acting training, hoping to look like I'm not a big pile of pudding on the inside.

It's quiet as we leave, my eyes catching T and the baby waving from the porch as we pull away. Will smiles broadly at the sight of my safety pinned Sex Pistol holding the baby in her pink frilly dress, and I can almost hear him coming up with poetry about dichotomy in his head. I wave back, blowing kisses as they fade out of sight. I'm introspective for a moment, being so glad my boys trust and love me that they spent most of the day doing things to help me get ready. Not that they don't do that anytime I go somewhere special because they do. But it's different when they do so to help get ready to go out with someone who's not them.

Once my thoughts stop whizzing through my head, the silence starts to breed nervousness again, and I fidget with the hem of the dreaded skirt. It's not much longer than the cutoffs I wear so often, yet the idea of me wearing a skirt is so unheard of that it makes me feel exposed. Not just physically, but for some reason, emotionally, and I suspect that it is causing a lot of my anxiety. Well that and the fact that the handkerchief halter I'm wearing is silk, and the wind is getting ready to make my nipples look like laser pointers under this thing.

I must have shivered just a bit, because he turns to look at me for a moment, his mouth curving into a wicked smile as they tour me. I realize that it's too late to cross my arms over my chest, and I cover up for my slightly flustered state by laying my head on his shoulder. The proximity actually makes me feel more like myself and a small smile crosses my lips as I begin to consider my options. My hand settles on his thigh as I watch him drive, knowing we have quite awhile left before we hit the exit we need to turn off on.

My eyes dart around, taking in the space I have to work with. Turning my legs sideways in the seat, I duck my head under his shifting arm and lay my head on his thigh. He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I smile innocently, which earns me a smirk. I lean in and zerbert his tummy through his shirt, and he takes one hand off the wheel to run it through my hair briefly.

His hand returns to the wheel and I lay there for a moment, getting my bearings. I told Fen this was an art form, and I meant it. I'm very scientific about my sexual encounters at times, especially if they require tricky maneuvers. This is definitely one of those Einsteinian moments in my sexual rolodex; how to do this, do it well, and not make Will wreck the car and get us killed is not only difficult but challenging in that way that makes my blood flow directly southward.

I rub my head against his thigh teasingly, and he chuckles, obviously wondering what I'm about.
I scoot in closer, moving my head to the juncture of his thighs, making room for one hand to snake in to undo his slacks. Normally, I'd do this with my teeth simply cause it's impressive, but in this position, there just isn't room. So I fumble with the button and zipper, occasionally sliding my eyes up to Will, who's yet to say anything, but his knuckles have turned white on the steering wheel.

At this point, I'm feeling like the naughtiest little girl ever, and I have no idea why since his cock is still in his pants. I guess it has to do with Will's sense of public decorum. It's certainly not dark, just about anyone with a hulking SUV or truck could peer into this lil roller skate of a car and whoa, what a show they'd get. The thought makes me giggle, and he groans softly. I feel a distinct bulge starting to poke my motionless face, and I reach my hand into his pants.

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets when I feel bare skin, and I take a minute to get my now racing hormones under control. I look up at him in disbelief, knowing this certainly isn't the way he runs around on an everyday basis. His sly smile gets my motor revving harder than the car's, and I hope to God I'm not going to ruin his leather seats by the time this over.

It only takes a second for me to arrange his pants and bare his shaft, and before he can even register that I'm already licking and sucking on the tip. I don't think I've ever been this eager to give a mind numbing blow in my life. I toe off my shoes so I can use my feet for leverage, all the while running the point of my tongue up the underside, tracing patterns with both it and the ball on my tongue bar. His strangled moans encourage me, and I slide my tightly puckered lips over the tip, making the entry feel almost too tight to fit him. I hear a hand bang on the steering wheel and a grunt, so I keep going down, taking him all the way in until my face is buried in his pants. I suck lightly, my tongue curling around him, tongue ball still flicking. I find this is one of the great advantages of my oral hardware: the sensation is unlike any other, and for those who haven't had a pierced BJ before, it's almost orgasmic in and of itself. The way the metal absorbs temperature changes, the way it moves against your skin…it's almost overwhelming at times.

His right hand is in my hair now, and I'm starting to move up and down, my head bobbing in the familiar motion. Every sound, every twitch, every miniscule movement he makes is taken into consideration as I relax my jaw and really go at it. I'm hoping to God that he can handle this while he's driving, because I'm in no position to help him out. In fact, I'm not even in a position to help myself out, and the throb between my legs only serves to heighten that fact.

We hit a small bump in the highway and his cock pokes the back of my throat, eliciting a deep moan from us both. I feel him tense, and I think he's afraid for second that he might be hurting me. I ponder saying that I could insert a seven inch iced tea spoon into my throat and it wouldn't hurt because I don't have a gag reflex, but instead, I press my mouth down further, letting my throat muscles open and close around him quickly. The garbled moan tells me he gets the point, and I slide my hand around the base, starting to work him in earnest.

Hand, mouth and tongue moving in opposition to one another, I pick up the pace, giving him one of the best blowjobs I think I've ever given because he has every ounce of concentration I can muster, all focused on him. His hand slips down into my hair, pulling on it painfully, and I sigh a bit, letting the vibrations resonate in my mouth. An odd sound, not quite a growl or snarl, but something primal nonetheless fills the air, and I know he's close. Ever so slightly, I slide up, raking my teeth along the underside vein, and suddenly, he's coming, filling my mouth in great hot squirts and I'm struggling not to choke myself while swallowing. My head fills with image of Raj's face from the time I laughed while blowing him, and I try not to laugh this time as it would surely cause an accident.

The last drops spill out, the bucks and pants start to fade, and I lick my way up, cleaning him off expertly. I place a small kiss on the tip playfully, and start tucking him back into his pants. I finish silently, a grin starting to creep across my lips, and when I raise my head, it's become a full scale 'cat who just ate the canary' (literally) grin. Now who's the bastard? Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm pleased with myself.

His eyes are stormy, and I can tell he's pondering what he'll do to me once we've gotten to our destination, and I feel myself getting wet again. Damn, that wicked streak kills me. I rub my thighs together unconsciously, and his look tells me he knows. For just a moment, I hope my mouth didn't write a check my ass can't cash, because the look he's giving me is making me a cross between horny and apprehensive.

I stretch my legs out to distract myself, having cramped every muscle in my body during that lil escapade, and he turns the radio on. We tussle over what channel to listen to, and I win, which is no surprise because arrogant or not, I always win. No matter whom I'm fighting with. I haven't figured out if it's because they want to shag me later and are treading softly, or it's cause I'm infinitely more fun in a good mood. Either way, it doesn't matter much, I suppose; the station is playing that 'how bizarre' song, and I'm in a bloody marvelous mood.