3 comments/ 4077 views/ 0 favorites To Call for Hands of Above Ch. 01: Wolf's Teeth By: amadan_dubh Notes on pronunciation: The characters in this story have some rather unusual names. Here are some notes on how to pronounce them. Cearbhall O'Connor: key-ARE-voll/oh-KON-ur Sylwia Neschume Appolina Gwozdek: SILL-vee-ah/ney-SHOO-may/ah-PO-lee-nah/guh-VOZ-deck Michael Tornit: my-KULL/TORE-neet ***** Cearbhall O'Connor sat at his desk at 11am dialled a familiar number on his mobile. The phone rang twice before a young man on the other end picked up. "Hello, this is the office of Michael Tornit, solicitor-at-law. How may I help you?" "It's O' Connor. Put Tornit on the line. Tell him we've something to talk about" "Certainly sir. If you'll hold for just a moment, I'll get Mr. Tornit on at once." Two minutes later, Michael Tornit's rasping voice came out of the receiver. "O' Connor, my friend. What's new with you?" "Nothing. Same as ever." "I bet. My assistant tells me you and I have something to discuss?" "That's right." "Legal advice? Something troubling with a case, perhaps?" "No, this is about you." "Me? Well I can't imagine what you'd have to talk about me." "Hm. It's about that girl you sent into me. You know the one." There was a pause. "Tornit?" "Ah - yes, I know the one. What about her? Did - something happen?" Cearbhall frowned. "No, nothing's happened. Nothing yet." "Yet? So you think something will happen?" "Not exactly, but there have been - issues. Certain clerical errors, statements drawn up wrong. I've got one of my workers looking after her, and she's had a few complaints for me." "How did you reply?" "I told her not to bother me unless something serious happened and to get back to work." Tornit chuckled. "How very like you." "Whatever. You still haven't answered me. Look here, Michael, I know you. We've worked together for a long time, and I know you would never push for an apprenticeship for some random girl just out of the goodness of your heart. Even if you did, why give her to me and not just take her for yourself? What I want to know: Who is that girl, and what is she to you?" For a long while, Tornit said nothing. It was a new kind of silence that Cearbhall was not used to from his business partner. The kind where he struggled to find words. At last he said, "She has quite an interesting name, doesn't she?" Cearbhall's frown grew deeper. "Eh?" "I think it's lovely myself. You all call her Snag in there, correct?" "...It's how she introduced herself." "Of course. As far as I know, she been calling herself that all her life. It is, of course, what you get when you put the initials of her name altogether: Sylwia Neschume Appolina Gwozdek. Such a lovely name, don't you think?" "I know what her name is. I also don't care." "Really? I thought you'd like to know. You've clearly been paying close attention to her. Even sticking up for her on occasion, from the way it sounds." "What are you trying to say, Michael?" "Nothing, Cearbhall. Just making an observation." Cearbhall sniffed in dismissal. "Listen here, I need to know if this girl is going to end being a problem for me and the firm. If she turns out to be more trouble than she's worth, then I'll get rid of her." "Really?" Tornit asked in a tone of such concern Cearbhall had never heard, "You'd really just discard her like that? Could you?" "...Yes. If I have to. What is it to you, anyway?" "It's just - she seems so fragile, doesn't she?" Cearbhall couldn't think of anything to say to that, and Tornit sighed. "Look, O'Connor, I'm sorry, but that's all you're getting out of me. It's just not something I can just talk about. All I can say is that a certain someone, who will not be named, called in a favour from me, and I had no choice but to grant it." Sitting in his office, scowling into the telephone's receiver. Cearbhall remembered how little he knew about his business. He knew he came here to Dublin in the early late eighties. He knew he was of Inuit heritage with a French Canadian mother. He knew he was one of the most intelligent men he knew. He was also a great lawyer: Cunning in argument. Ruthless in strategy. All else was conjecture and rumour. He could say nothing for sure. At length, Cearbhall released a sigh of his own. "Alright, fine," he said, "I give up. That's the last you'll hear of it from me." "Glad to hear it," Tornit answered, his mock-cheery attitude restored. "Do let me know if you need anything else. I'll do what I can to assist. Talk to you again." "Yeah. Bye," grumbled Cearbhall. He threw down the receiver. No sooner had he hung up did the girl in question enter the office. "Snag." "Yes sir." "Ah, I mean, Gwozdek." "Yes sir." "Can I - help you with something?" "Yes sir. Ms. Martina sent me to give you the revised witness statements from the Rory Carragh case." Cearbhall looked the young woman up and down, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. Medium height. skinny limbs. A thin waist. Long black hair, tied and draped over her shoulder. She was slender, and quite beautiful. And yet her presence disconcerted him, in a way that he didn't understand. Her face had no expression, frozen in place, like a Classical sculpture. Her voice, without emotion. The longer he looked, the more agitated he grew. He did not understand why. "Oh yeah, that's the one about the dog attack, right? Client's suing his neighbour for not keeping his dog on a chain. Give them here, I'll look them over." "Here, sir." As she turned to leave, Cearbhall stopped her. "You've been here four months, yes?" "That's right sir." "Mmh. How are you finding it? Working here, I mean." "Not so bad. It's hard work, but I manage, sir." "Well, let me know if you're having any problems, and I'll at least help to take care of it." "I will, sir. Thank you." And then Snag left. Cearbhall sat at his almost empty desk. Pretending to read the witness statement Snag had handed him. Thought about what Tornit had said. Fragile, he'd said. Just seems so fragile. Yes, Cearbhall thought, she does look fragile. And yet there was something else that he could not put a name on. She was beautiful. There was no doubt of that. But she was too thin, too pale. Too light, like she was in danger of fading away. Most unsettling of all was her personality. Her lack of one. No, not just a lack, an absence. Standing there. A white blouse. A grey skirt. Dark stockings and black sensible shoes. In his mind's eye, she appeared translucent. Like a living ghost, leeched of all her colour and substance. Seeing her, being near her, thinking about her. It filled his with the most awful sense of restlessness. The all but uncontrollable urge to do something. Something. Anything. Anything he hadn't done before. An urge to tear everything down, to burn all bridges, cut all ties. Cearbhall looked around his office. Well organised, arranged to perfection. Nothing out of place. Nothing superfluous. On the four walls, his law diploma, team photographs. On shelves, certain law texts and statements. Two simple filing cabinets on either side of the desk, which had a lamp, a laptop, some pens, and a photo of his son. He picked the photograph and looked at it, his features softening ever so little. No, he decided. She has to go. She can't be here anymore. It was cruel, he knew, but it was necessary. He would find some pretext, some error, something, but he would be rid of Snag. Cearbhall O'Connor sat in his office. He released a deep breath, and read the statement that she had handed him. The first time Cearbhall called, no-one picked up. He allowed her time, letting the phone ring for close to five minutes. But he gave up at last, and headed on to the station. It was evening-time now. Another day's work completed. Now all the hard-working people of Dublin City thronged the streets, trailing to and fro on their way home. Whether by train, by bus or by tram, they all wanted only to go home. Except for a few who didn't, but went anyway because they had no other choice. Cearbhall tried calling again, ten minutes later. She could have left her phone somewhere she couldn't hear it. That would happen a lot, when they were married. She would leave her phone in the weirdest places. Find them later in surprised. Once, she put it down in the boiler cupboard. It was only found a month after she'd bought a new one. Yet another five minutes, and still no-one answered. Cearbhall was not looking forward to going home. Not that he especially loved work. It wasn't all this way. Once upon a time, he took every day like a new challenge. He was strong, confident, full of energy and life. Now he was old. Not older or getting old, but old. Catching sight of himself in a window, he saw the long lines. The dry skin. The grey widow's peak. He was a dark grey suit, a black wool overcoat and a burnt red tie. His back was not yet bent, he still stood straight at 190 cm. But he could feel it bending. He could feel the weight, the shaking hands, the dimming eyes. He was old. He'd been old for a long time. Cearbhall was not looking forward to going home. Not because there was anything bad there, but because there was nothing to look forward to. When at last sat at the tram stop, Cearbhall called his ex-wife's number again. He knew full well what he was doing, and he hated it. Stilted, confrontational conversation. It would be painful. But he insisted on doing it. Once a month, every month. Self-flagellation. He insisted, because he felt he had to do it. He had to prove that he was capable. To show that he could still do this much, at least. He all but jumped when someone picked up. "Yeah?" For a moment, Cearbhall didn't recognise the voice. "Ah - Cornelia?" "Try again, Cearbhall." The voice was young and unimpressed the way only a 19-year old could sound. "Cormac? What are - where is your mother? What are you doing on her phone?" "Mam's out. Having dinner with some mates." "So then, she left her phone behind?" "Yeah. She's been doing it a lot lately." "Ah - well, okay. Well, since you're there, how are you doing?" "Hm - I'm grand, I suppose. Nothing important happening." "Nothing in college?" "No. College is fine. Same as ever." "Then - what about that girl you've been seeing. What was her name - Michelle?" "...We broke up. A while ago, two months in fact." "Ah...I - I'm sorry to hear that, son." "No need to be. We weren't a good couple." "I thought - your mother never mentioned anything." "Did she not? Must have slipped her mind." "Well, she can be quite - forgetful." "Yeah." A dreadful sweat surfaced on Cearbhall's brow. "Oh yes, that reminds me. Your birthday is coming up soon, isn't it? I was thinking, maybe I ought to show my face. I mean, it's been a while since we've have a good talk, and I think -" "Dad, listen." Cearbhall bit his tongue. "I appreciate the - effort, it must take to make these calls every month, but you can stop now. There's just no need for you to keep doing this. Now, I mean this in the best of ways, but Mam is over you. The fact is, there's no need for us to be a part of your life." "But -" "And there isn't any need for you to be part of ours, either." "Cormac..." "Mam will find a new boyfriend. And I will find a new girlfriend. And we will both be fine. You don't have to make like you worry about us. You don't have to pretend to care anymore." Cearbhall rose to his feet. "Now hold on -!" "I'm hanging up, Cearbhall. Bye." And he hung up. It crossed Cearbhall's mind to ring back, but he knew no-one would answer. The other people at the tram stop ignored him. They were oblivious in their own worlds. Cearbhall sank back onto the bench, stared at his feet. He sat and tried not be relieved. The tram arrived, and out of habit Cearbhall rose to get on. But then he thought of all those people. Breathing his air. Tasting their apathy. He decided not to get on. He decided that he needed to get away from people. He didn't know how, but he knew he had to get away. The tram left. Cearbhall walked away from the little platform, just as a young woman in a dark coat sprinted past him. His eyes followed her, running just out of reach of the tram doors closing. Shame, he thought, no bother, though. There's another one coming in ten. He turned away. Then she tripped over her own feet and landed with a thud on the concrete. He hesitated a moment, then went over. "Are you alright? Can you stand?" Kneeling down, he placed a hand on her shoulder and immediately regretted it because the woman was Snag. She was crying. "M - Mr. O'Connor?" Dumbfounded was the only word. To be completely lost for words. What a strange thing to see. A young woman kneeling on a tram platform, her leggings torn. Tears streaming down her face. Making no sound, while her mouth twisted. What could he do? Cearbhall helped her up, and said nothing. They stood there for a long time, Cearbhall silent, Snag wiping at the tears that flowed from her eyes with one arm. Her other hand clasped in Cearbhall's. Around them, the city of Dublin winded down for the night. "I've been under much stress lately. When I fell over and hurt myself, it must have all came flooding out. I'm sorry if I made you worry, sir." They sat across from each other in a restaurant with a French name. A quiet place, Cearbhall had not eaten there for around five years. "Don't be sorry," he said, "it's fine. Happens to everyone." Snag looked up at him, seated with a new pair of stockings. "Even you sir?" "Yeah. Even me." Forty minutes previous, Cearbhall had bought the stockings that Snag now wore. Her other pair were destroyed from the fall, and she had no spares. Twenty minutes before that, he cleaned her wound with a damp cloth and placed a plaster over it. Then, he decided she ought to get some real food into her for once. So there they were. "You know, you really should eat more." "It's fine, sir. I have a small stomach anyway." "How long have you been living here?" "A while." "Have you any family? Brothers, sisters?" "Only my mother." "Do you enjoy living here?" "I don't really know." Snag proved to be even more guarded than Tornit. Even as she sat there, Cearbhall could feel the restlessness. Simmering under the surface. A powerful urge to make something happen. A maddening urge. She ate her meal. Answered his questions in monotone and monosyllables. Remained otherwise silent. Maddening. The tears from before were gone, like they had never been there. Her face returned to its forbidding, statuesque mask. Cearbhall fidgeted in his seat. He could feel something. Something just there, but just beyond his reach. That was what agitated him so. "Mr. O'Connor?" "Hm?" "Is something the matter?" "Eh - no, why?" "You're not eating, sir, and you look like you're contemplating violent murder." "Eh?" Cearbhall blinked, and laughed. "Is that what it looked like?" "Yes. You often have a look that looks like you are thinking about doing bad things to people you don't like. "Do I now?" He laughed again. Snag wore a gentle smile. "That explains what happened to all those other interns" Cearbhall said. "What happened?" Snag asked, curious. "Oh, they all quit within a month or so. Longest endured for two. Until you appeared, of course." He looked at her sidelong. "It bothers you, doesn't it? We're not friendly people, in that firm of ours. At least I'm not." "It doesn't bother me." "Why not?" "It's interesting working with you." Cearbhall blinked again. "Interesting? I suppose that's one word for it. I don't see it. From where I'm sitting, we're just a building full of hardass, antisocial arsehole lawyers." "Oh no, not them, sir." "Eh?" "I mean you. You are interesting." Cearbhall stared as she continued. "You look and talk so scary, but you helped me when I hurt myself. You bought me new stockings and even dinner. Even before that, you have always been very kind to me, even though you're in charge of so many people. It's interesting." Cearbhall didn't say anything for a while. He was sure that this was the most words he had heard Snag speak in one go. "Interesting..." he sighed. "I'm no more interesting than anyone else. I'm just an old man." "Of course you don't think you're interesting, you live with yourself. It's normal to you. You don't see yourself the way others see you." "I think I do, that's the problem." "If that's true, then why have you been so kind to me?" "I don't know!" He hadn't meant to say it so loud. "I don't know. Maybe... maybe I'm trying to make up for the past. I've got - a lot of regrets. You know, when you're young, you think you'll be that guy. That old man, made all the wrong choices. The one that regrets his whole life. You never think about your life. Not until you are that old man. Not until it's too late." Before he knew what he was doing, Cearbhall started telling her everything. Everything about his marriage and his divorce. His estrangement from his son. His monthly phone calls. The call from only ninety minutes ago. "I was a bad husband, and a worse father. The least I can do is try to keep in touch. To show that they did mean something more to me than alimony." He sighed again, deeper than ever. "But now Cormac is going to university, Cornelia's doing her own thing, and I'm nothing but a bad memory. Now all I can think is: what have I been doing until now? Have I wasted half of my life?" Snag listened to him with intent. Making no sound. When he finished, he sank a little deeper into his seat. "Ridiculous," he groaned. "Man my age, unloading his problems onto a girl like you. An employee, no less. I'm sure you've had enough." "No sir. This just makes you even more interesting." "Eh?" "You've gone through so much, and yet you still helped me tonight. You have so much weighing down on you, yet you're still so strong. You can still stand so tall. It's fascinating." Cearbhall suppressed a blush. "I said so, didn't I? If you needed anything, you could come to me." Snag smiled. It was a lovely smile. He paid for the room with cash. €35 for a two single bed room for one night. The receptionist, a young man, asked if he and his daughter would like any room service. The tall old man glowered. Answered no, in such a voice that frightened the poor boy. The pair went up the elevator in silence. They said nothing until they were in the room, the door locked. Safe from the outside. "Would you like to take a shower?" The young woman nodded, and entered the bathroom without a sound. As the water ran, the tall man pushed the two single beds together. He grunted with exertion. Undid his tie. Removed his jacket. Placing them on the back of a chair. Then sat at the end of the beds and waited. Thinking of nothing. Just waiting. The water stopped running. The woman came out, clothes discarded, only a towel wrapped around her. Covering her white-pale skin. Her hair, loosed from its binding, fell down to her lower back. It clung to her skin with its moisture. "I need to dry my hair first," she said. "That's fine," he answered, "you do that while I wash." As he passed, he touched her arm. His fingers brushed the soaked skin. Lingering. Then he passed and entered the bathroom. He removed the rest of his clothes. Saw his body in the mirror. Would it be good enough? The tall man frowned. It doesn't matter, he thought. It will be. The water was still warm. He was not under long. He washed all over, under his arms, his chest, his groin. He looked to see already he was rising. "Not yet," he whispered, "settle down." He stepped out of the shower. The electric hair dryer switched off. He dried his hair, assaulting it with a white towel. Got down a XL bathrobe from a hook, folded like a Celtic knot. He hesitated at the door. His hand hovering over the handle. He took a step back. Took a slow, steadying breath. Then took hold of the handle and stepped out. To Call for Hands of Above Ch. 01: Wolf's Teeth Taken by surprise, the pale girl closed the towel around her. The barest glimpse of the body beneath. "I - I'm not ready yet," she said, blushing. The corners of the towel tight around her. Her hair, dry now, seemed so much brighter and lustrous then it had before. Her skin shone. Her eyes glimmered. Hands so delicate, lips so luscious. "You look beautiful," he said. There was no need to say anything else. They looked at each other, and both came to understand what was happening. A synchronised motion, so smooth it looked rehearsed. Snag let the towel fall from her body and Cearbhall threw off the robe. The garments fell unnoticed to the floor. How long they had prepared in secret for this moment, only to begin with a simple phrase at a city tram station. "I don't want to go home tonight." Who was it that said that. Cearbhall found he could not remember, but he did remember that something happened. Restlessness. Four-month old agitation. An inconsolable urge to do something, taking hold, and so they did something. A soft kiss beneath the hollow light of a streetlamp. Wild, passionate making-out, safe behind the security-locked door. Standing, pressing their naked bodies against each other, their hands clinging, stroking, groping. Cearbhall was aware of their contrast. The coarseness of his body hair against Snag's smooth, milky-white flesh. So thin, so thin against his broad shoulders. She had to stand on her toes to reach his lips, and even he had to hunch over to meet her. Her thigh stroked against his. His penis, a good seven inches now erect, rubbed against her belly. Sweat ran and grew sticky, so that their bodies clung to each other. "I want you to get on your knees," Cearbhall whispered into Snag's ear. Without a word, Snag moved down his body. Hands on his chest. Pecking her way down with little kisses on his sternum, his navel, his pelvis. On her knees before him, Cearbhall saw only the top of her head, focusing on his alert member. For a moment, she didn't move. Cearbhall wondered if she was nervous. Would have said something until Snag seemed to break out of her trance. Took a breath, and planted a kiss on the tip. She kissed his cock all over: the glans, the sides, the underside, even raising it up and kissing his balls. Peeling the foreskin back, she ran her tongue all over, wetting it with her drool. All the while, she stroked with a silken touch. So gentle, so delicate. Cearbhall could tell already. Snag was no stranger to sex. No stranger to fellatio. That much she proved when she placed his cock in her mouth. Only the head first, her lips ahead of the rim of his glans. In her mouth, she caressed the whole tip with her tongue, encircling it. Covering every inch in wet drool. Bobbing her head back and forth. Bit by bit, she went further and further down the shaft. Just past the head, then half the length. Three quarters down, her nose brushing the coarse pubic hair. Then finally she took the entire length, all seven inches enclosed in her mouth. Cearbhall released a breath. She took it so slow, so well. He stroked her hair, his fingers running through the ebony strands. He could feel her tongue slathering all over his cock, even halfway down her throat as it was. Snag's hands reached around his hips. She started stroking his thighs, his butt, clutching him with surprising strength. Cearbhall bucked in surprise. His breathing got heavier. His hand, holding Snag's head, grasped with greater urgency. She seemed to understand. Not missing a beat, Cearbhall began moving Snag's head back and forth along his cock. His hand was soft but assertive. Upping the pace a little at a time. Faster and faster, back and forth. The pressure rose and Cearbhall knew he was nearing the climax. A low grunt. Snag understood in an instant. She readied herself, clutching his ass with that grip of hers. His entire length her mouth. It twitched and throbbed inside, the head pointed straight down her throat. Cearbhall clenched his teeth in anticipation. Pressed Snag's head firm against him. He came a lot. Near to a half-pint of cum spurted from his cock, shooting down Snag's throat and spilling over into her mouth. Cearbhall hunched over her from the force of the ejaculation. His legs shook, threatened to buckle. Snag kept his whole member in her mouth. Catching every drop. Letting nothing spill. They pulled away. Snag sat on her knees. Cearbhall fell to a sitting position, one knee raised. His legs shook. He stared into space for a while, breathing hard. Then he came back to himself. Looked before him to see Snag swallow the rest of his cum. "You alright? Sorry, it's been a while since..." "Don't be sorry, sir. You were excellent." Sir. Still "sir." "Sna - egh, Snag?" "Yes?" "From here on, I want you to call me Cearbhall." "OK." "And I'm going to call you Sylwia." She blinked. "OK." Satisfied, he called her over to him. She crawled over on her hands and knees. Her eyes fixed on his. She raised herself up, hands on his knees. Cearbhall looked up at her, not breaking eye contact. A wee smile played on his lips. "Give me another kiss," he said. Snag's reaction confused him. "Are you sure?" "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?" "Because...because I just had you in my mouth. Doesn't that bother you?" "Why would that bother me?" "Isn't it weird?" "Weird? Listen dear, I mean this in the best of ways, but you're young. I've been alive a bit longer than you, and I was as young as you once. I've done things in the bedroom I cannot even describe to you. Compared to some of that, the taste of my own semen doesn't even register." She blushed a little. "I feel silly now." "You shouldn't. Kiss me." She smiled and did. Cearbhall tasted her, the inside of her mouth which tasted like him now. He liked that. They broke the kiss and he leaned back, supporting himself on his hands. Snag lay against him, her head on his chest. They remained that way for a while. "You've got some experience," Cearbhall said. "Hm?" "You've done this before, I mean." "Ah. Yes. Does that surprise you?" "A little. You - never mind, it doesn't matter." "No, tell me. Please." "It's nothing. You always seemed to me to be - beyond things like this." "You mean sex?" "Yeah. Almost like you were above it all. Unaffected by petty things like sex. Not like the rest of us." Snag sighed. "I'm no different from anyone else. I'm not special in any way, I don't stand out. I'm just average." "Well, that's just not true." They looked at each other. "There's nothing average about you," Cearbhall said in a firm, soft voice, "nothing at all." Snag didn't say anything, but nestled herself closer to him. Cearbhall rested a hand on her lower back, just above her butt. For a moment, sex was forgotten. A warm embrace was all that remained. Cearbhall's cock began to rouse again. His hand crept lower to her ass. Gave it a good squeeze. Snag stayed quiet. Pressed herself harder against him. "I'm ready to go again," Cearbhall murmured. "Are you?" "Yes," Snag answered, eager. "I'm ready whenever you are." He stopped and thought. "Agh hell, I don't have any condoms." "I do. In my purse. In my coat pocket." "Alright. Then go to the bed and wait for me." Her jacket hung off one of the hooks at the door. Sure enough, the purse was inside. He fished the condoms out from behind a little pouch. Cearbhall remembered a time, not that long ago, when he had to drive up North to buy condoms. such was Ireland in the late seventies. He felt fantastic. Younger than he had in an age, and all his fatigue scrubbed off. As he was, he could take on the world. He regarded the condom: a weird little bit of rubber, once the topic of so much controversy. Controversy that the girl; no, the woman on the bed just a few feet away couldn't even imagine. How wide the gap between them was. How different their generations. What would people think, if they saw them here, like this? Lots of things. Whatever they wanted. Cearbhall decided that he didn't care. For the moment, at least. Because ahead of all that was the way Snag made him feel. How alive he felt. How easy it was to open up to her. Never before, had he been able for that. Not with anyone, not to this extent. He strode to the bed. Confident. Strong. Snag waited for him, knees together. Fingers interlaced. They made eye contact. Smiled. He left the condom on the bed for the moment. He had something to do first. Sitting as she was, Snag covered up most of her naked body from the front. The barest hint of her, hidden by her legs and hands. He knelt over her on the covers, hands on the headboard behind her head. "Are you ready?" he said. "Yes." "You're sure? I'm not one to hold back once I get started." "I'm ready, sir. Please, do what you like." He frowned. "We talked about this already." "Wha- oh, I'm sorry - Cearbhall." "That's fine. That's fine, Sylwia. You're allowed make mistakes tonight." He kissed her lips and she opened her legs. Kisses all over, on her throat, her sternum, her navel. Plenty of attention he lavished on her small, perky breasts. Fingers grazing the scant pubic hair, dark as the hair on her head. Mirroring Snag's from when she went down on him. Once she realised what he was doing, she spoke up: "Ah, si - C-Cearbhall, you don't have to go so far." "Nonsense, it's only fair. I like when things are fair." "But... "Shush now. You said to do what I liked, so that's what I'm doing." "You - like doing it?" He grinned up at her. "It's the best thing in the world." Cearbhall licked his lips and planted a wet kiss on Snag's pussy. She shivered right away, her body prickling with goosebumps. Down south, Cearbhall placed his whole mouth on her sex and sucked on it. His tongue lashed the apex of her pussy without mercy. Trying to get the red little berry the show its face. Each time he'd release suction, she'd shiver some more. Snag's hand reached down, groping for Cearbhall's hair. Before she reached him he took hold of it and he placed it on one of her small breasts. Working herself up, feeling up her breasts, kneading them, pinching the nipples. He left her to it, returning to his task. He reached his hands under her butt, squeezing the cheeks. Ragged breath. Resuming the pace, it did not take so long for her clit to show itself. How responsive her body was. Now that the odd berry had risen from its hiding place, Cearbhall increased his assaults. From every angle he beat the bishop, all the while sucking her entire snatch. Snag kept shivering. Kept groping her breasts. Hands on her thighs, Cearbhall spread the labia with his thumbs to reveal the pink lips. Sticky like honey, she smelled like aloe vera bodywash. Snag gasped when he licked the raw flesh. First, only light flicks of the pink with his tongue. Flicking outward, all around her vagina. His tongue got tired fast, so he changed tactics. Keeping his tongue stationery, he moved his head and neck around. Up and across, he slathered her pussy. At last Cearbhall stepped back and rubbed his jaw. Tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth. It surprised him how easy it was. With a steady hand. Nevermind how long it had been since he'd used one. "I know I said this already, but are you ready?" he said, his cock rousing by the instant. "Yes, I'm ready," was Snag's answer. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." "Have I mentioned yet how beautiful you look?" Cearbhall said as he crawled on top of her. "Yes. At the beginning," Snag replied, wrapping her arms round his shoulders. "Hm. Well, you look really really beautiful anyway." He positioned himself. She grinned. "I think you are very handsome as well." He entered her with a single thrust. "Does that hurt?" Cearbhall said in her ear. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. Keep going." He did. Cearbhall went slow at first. Arched over her, he kept his eyes on Snag's face. They maintained eye contact. Even as he moved his hips. Back and forth, in and out. Wet sounds accompanied each slow movement. Bit by bit, picking up the pace. Keeping her gaze. Matching her breathing, moving his body in sync with hers. At last, eye contact broke for a kiss on the neck. He kissed her many times. All along her collarbones. Between her breasts. Her nipples stuck out, like they wanted attention. Cearbhall granted it. Tongue still sore, he sucked on them. Kneaded them with his hands. Grazed the nipples with his teeth. Still rocking his hips back and forth, pressing his lower body heavy against her with each push. Snag raised her legs, crossed her ankles behind his tailbone. Cearbhall increased the pace again. The bed creaked. Her hands clutched and shifted over the bed sheets. Cearbhall took one, laced his fingers through hers. Hunched over to meet her in a kiss on the mouth. Her other hand held his other wrist. She tightened her legs' hold on him. She wanted more. He gave it. He was working at a decent pace now. His breath got hot and heavy. Raised over her, all his energy focused on pumping his hips. Snag gripped his arms which supported his frame. They held each other's gaze. Their mouths were open. Panting like dogs in heat. Cearbhall even had his tongue out. Snag bit her lip. The bed creaked even louder. She slid her hands up to his shoulders. Her smooth touch rose goosebumps on his arms. Cearbhall went down to her, laying his whole body against hers. So small compared to him, so fragile. But no, not fragile at all. Of this, Cearbhall was now sure. She was tougher than she looked. She could take it. A grin spread across Cearbhall's face. Crooked, and full of teeth. She can take it, he thought. She can take it all. A switch flipped somewhere within him. You could almost hear it. The sound of chain-links breaking. He rose. Took hold of Snag's leg. Raised her ankle over his head. Flipped her over onto her stomach. She gasped in surprise, but didn't complain any. Cearbhall took her hands and pulled them behind her back raising her onto her knees. Top speed, fucking her like an animal. She moaned and panted like one, spurring him on even more. He let go of her hands. Reached around to her front. Raised her to his level, the crest of her back against his chest. Her hands raised and locked behind his head. His face buried in the slope of her neck, kissing and licking all over. Tenderising. On instinct, Cearbhall opened his mouth. Still pounding her from behind, he stopped a moment. Let Snag feel his hot breath on her. Before her he bit her. Not so hard, but enough to leave a mark. Snag gasped and jumped, hands grasping at his hair. He held her tight round her abdomen, gnawing at her neck. She shut her eyes. Bit her lip. Cearbhall moved back a little, inspected his work. Good, he thought. The mark would remain for some time. Good. Holding her up still, he kept his arms tight around her waist. Ragged breath in her ear. Breathing her scent, her air. In tandem with her breath. Gripping her skin. Feeling her softness, her warmth. So thin, so light, so pale. He grunted, once, twice. He said her name once, and that was that. He came and released a cry approaching a bellow. Almost simultaneous, she came as well. A high moan escaped through her bitten lip. She stared into space. A little string of drool ran from the corner of her mouth. Both breathed deep, heavy and hot. They stayed that way for some time. It was late. Outside, the city of Dublin glittered with dirty orange light. Under the streetlamps, what was once concrete became ephemeral. Dyeing you in artificial shades, made you transparent. As you move from light to light, your shadow shifts, lengthening and shrinking. Wincing away from the light. Like it has its own mind. Like it doesn't belong to you anymore. You wave your hand. Your shadow waves back. You know it's still yours. But still it reacts to the light in spite of you. Cearbhall hated streetlamps. He hated night time in the city. At night, he would look out on the old town he'd lived half his life in. He would look out and hate it, hate the city and everyone in it. All the derelicts. All the businessmen. All the honest and dishonest folk, with their honest and dishonest lives. All the mothers. All the students. All the lawyers. He looked out on it now. Snag lay sleeping behind him, curled on her side. Her rhythmic breath was the only sound. Cearbhall remained aware of her presence, even as he raised his hand. Slow, deliberate, up over his head. Waved. Like he would under the lamplight. Making sure his body was still his own. No-one waved back. He stared at his hand, his arm, his body. His reflection in the glass. A sense of dispossession filled him. Like his body was not his own. Noticing the shift immediately, Cearbhall turned round to see Snag awake and up. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry," he said. "Did I wake you?" "Mm-mm. No. I'm a light sleeper. Why are you up?" "I was just - just thinking about some things." Nothing more was said for a moment. "Sylwia?" "Yes?" "Tomorrow, in the morning, I want - I'm going - I'm going to leave early. You check out an hour or so later, come into work then. Alright?" "OK." "It's just - It would not look good if we went in at the same time. You understand, right?" "Of course." "Alright... alright, good." Nice, Cearbhall thought. How awkward. How anticlimactic. No matter necessary it was, it gave him no joy to say it. There was no hint of how she felt about it. Yet he was sure it gave her no joy to hear it. He couldn't leave it like that. Not like that. He turned round again. "Sylwia, will you come here for a second?" Snag said nothing but crawled over, climbing out from under the covers. She came beside him. Cearbhall put his arm round her, pressed her against him. In the touch, the barest hint of something. Of possession. "Sylwia, there's something I want to know," he said in a low tone. "How do you know Michael Tornit?" Snag blinked. She looked surprised. "I don't know him. Not really. My mama, she..." She took a breath. "Mama came to me one day, saying there was someone she wanted me to meet. It was Mr. Tornit, and Mama said that he had helped look after me when I was very small." Cearbhall frowned. Tornit, looking after a child? "What did you make of him?" "I didn't - I didn't like him. He wasn't - honest." "How do you mean?" "I mean he was - he was like the opposite of you, Cearbhall. He said nice things and was polite, but it felt like - it felt like he was just pretending. Like he was making fun of us in secret." Cearbhall didn't say anything. He knew exactly what Snag meant. Always there, always hiding behind that smile was the laugh. To Tornit, it was like the whole world, everything in it. It was just a massive joke. A joke only he understood. "But," Snag went on, "he was true to his word. He put in good words for me, arranged everything until I got my job with you. I don't know why. He helped me, but..." she trailed off. Numb. "Go on," Cearbhall urged." "He scares me. A little. A lot. I don't know what he wants, but I'm sure. I'm sure he wants something." "I'm sure too," Cearbhall said. "I'm sure, and I know exactly what you mean. I've known him ten years, and I could never tell you anything about him. He's elusive. That makes him dangerous. But I owe him a lot. Because in the early days, it was thanks to him and his advice that I was able to start my own firm. And because of that favour I owe him, he was able to get you into my office. Because of that, we met. And that is a good thing." Snag gazed up at him. "I think so too," was all she had to say. Cearbhall held her close. There was still much he wanted to say. To ask. To learn. He knew that he was old, and she was young. He knew that he not as amazing as she seemed to think he was. But he knew that to speak now would be ruining something. So he said nothing. All he did was hold her. Felt her warmth, the beat of her heart, in time with his own. To Call for Hands of Above Ch. 01: Wolf's Teeth Morning came, like it always does. Cearbhall left Snag in the room. Kissed her sleeping forehead as he left. There was a girl at reception then. She thanked him for staying at the hotel, and hoped to see him again. He knew that wasn't true, but thanked her back anyway. There were lots of people about. Milling around on their way to work. They trooped into the trams and the busses. Like worker ants in nice suits. On a bus, Cearbhall looked around at the other passengers. Some standing, some sitting. All waiting until they could leave each other behind. Did they know? he wondered. Did they know who he was, where he was going? What he'd done? Who he'd spent the night with? Would they even care to know? His phone rang in his pocket. It was not expected. Who would be calling him now? Pulling it out, he gaped at the name on the screen. He rubbed his eyes. They must have been tricking him. He looked again. No, no trick. He tapped the green button, brought the device to his ear. "Hello? Cornelia?" "Cearbhall, it's you, good," said his ex-wife. "I was hoping to have a chance to talk." "Ah - yeah. I tried calling you last night. You didn't pick up, you must have left it behind." "Oh I know, and I did. And I hear our son had some unkind things to say." A sting. He had almost forgotten. "Yeah, well - you know how young people are." "Only too well. Hard to believe either of us were like that." "No it isn't." "No it isn't." The laughed together for the first time in years. Cornelia went on. "I just called to let you know that Cormac hasn't - he's not - he's been having a hard time lately. You heard he broke up with his girlfriend, yeah?" "I did. A bit late, but I did." "Well, from what I hear, it wasn't a good breakup. He swears he's fine, but I just..." "I know. I understand. Cormac is - he's a lot like me. That's probably the issue. Too proud, too - stubborn. Doesn't want to burden anyone, doesn't let anything under his skin." "That does sound like you." A instant of silence. "But it's still not acceptable. Not acceptable to speak to your father that way. I'll have him apologise as soon as he comes home tonight." "No - no. You don't need to go so far..." "What would you have me do, just let him away with it? "No, of course not, just... there's no point in wringing an apology out of someone. Do that, and it's just - lip service. Empty air. And anyway, you know how I am." He paused. Allowed the weight of his statement to grow. "You know how I hate apologies." Cornelia stayed quiet for moment. "Alright, fine. I get you. But he will be giving you a call later, apology or no." "That's fine," said Cearbhall. "It'll be nice to talk to him." "Heh, easy for you to say. You don't live with him." They laughed again, and wished each other well. Cearbhall stuck the phone back in his pocket. Just in time, he neared his stop. One more time, he looked around the bus. He could feel the disapproval of his fellow passengers. No-one likes it. Talking on the phone while on the bus. Impolite. Not proper behaviour. Cearbhall grinned at them. He was sure some people shifted away. Satisfied, he rose. People squeezed out of his way, and he stepped out into the world.