Walking The Line

The neighborhood is big, so getting new neighbors is somewhat commonplace.

However, what is less common is having neighbors move in directly next door. Bless the Smith's hearts, but they unfortunately had to be transferred to a home. They were a sweet couple, having shared fifty years and never letting that joy die. Chris found hope in the light of their shared life. A love that was kindled steadily like a bonfire over the years. Something that didn't need to be fought for, but was instead tended to and nourished. Chris always thought that's what marriage should look like, that's what he assumed was in store for him and Hazel.

That narrative shattered when he found out his wife was cheating on him, with multiple men, no less, and the Smiths were moving across state lines to die in peace in some random nursing home, never to be seen again.

He mourned both losses at the same time, the loss of his dear neighbors, his wife, and the inevitable changes that would soon be thrust upon him. Hazel doesn't know that he's aware, and he hasn't decided what he wants to do with the information yet, so it's just as well in his mind.

Of course, when it rains, it pours. When he first met the new neighbors, he wasn't sure why, but he felt his stomach twist, sensing trouble where he would typically be none the wiser. Perhaps it's age, making him more weary, or maybe the trauma of broken vows is keeping him alert, but a new couple replacing the old would usually be mundane; people move out, and new people move in - it's normal. But when Hazel and he marched up to the front door a few days after they had initially spotted the moving trucks, hand in hand like a normal couple, Chris sensed issues right away as soon as the door swung open. And the pit in his stomach hasn't gone away since.

It's Friday evening now, and they're preparing to go to a housewarming party at said neighbor's house. Chris doesn't want to go; he senses danger on the horizon, though he isn't exactly sure why. He's never had to rely on his instincts to guide him through social situations; his wife has always been the more personable between them, and now he feels like she's at arm's length. She isn't, of course. Nothing has changed in their relationship on the surface; they still joke around, go on dates, and have a normal amount of sex. But Chris has changed, fundamentally. Something broke in him the day he found out, and he's now just sitting in the eye of the storm, waiting for something to occur. He doesn't dare to confront his wife, nor is he sure that's even what he wants.

What does he want?

He ponders this question as the sun begins to set, the soft orange glow of dusk dusts his wife's cheeks, making her appear as if she were blushing. She's as beautiful as the day they were wed, but she's no longer his. He swallows thickly as he averts his eyes, feeling like the guilty party despite having done nothing wrong.

He's been wronged by her, so why does he feel like a criminal hiding something from his wife?

"Are you ready?" She grins up at him and looks radiant. She does a quick twirl, dress fanning out around her and then settling back onto her minute curves. She's always been a petite woman, short, even by her gender's standards. She exudes an air of innocence, and people naturally trust her due to her kind smile and doe-like eyes. He did, at one point.

He gives her a thumbs up, and Hazel rolls her eyes, unimpressed by his cheesiness.

"A yes, would have sufficed."

"A yes would take too much time, we're running late as is." He glances at his watch, not to check the time but rather to give his wife a pointed reminder. She is habitually late to everything, never able to get going unless given multiple reminders. They have little excuse considering that the party is right next door, but left to her own devices, he's sure that she would find a way to be late.

She pokes him in the chest, playful as ever. "Don't be like that, I'm sure they won't mind."

Chris still thinks it would be astonishingly bad manners to be late to the neighbor's party for virtually any reason. Still, he also recognizes that arguing with Hazel would not only be a waste of time, but would additionally waste time in the literal sense. He ushers her out the door before she can find a reason to stay.

He keeps a hand on the small of her back as they walk over, propelling her forward and guiding her to the steps. Occasionally, his hand hovers, drifting from her back so he's not touching it any longer. He finds himself torn; he doesn't want to touch her, feels almost dirty doing so, but can't let her become suspicious.

They ring the doorbell and are greeted by an already tipsy Avery. Chris's eyes go wide as he glances between their new neighbor and Hazel, but Hazel simply shrugs her shoulders.

When in Rome, he supposes.

"Welcome!" Avery hollers, forcing Chris to wince in response. "Come on in, make yourselves at home!"

They do just that, taking trepid steps into the house they'd seen a hundred times before when the Smiths lived in it.

Avery and her Husband, Sam, had some remodeling done, but only on the parts that mattered most. The kitchen had been updated with new appliances, and the home got a fresh coat of paint, but other than that, virtually nothing changed. Chris hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until making this discovery. He's not sure why he feels relieved that the house is the same, but he's still grateful for it nonetheless. Perhaps it was the historic nature of the property, an old school charm that's so difficult to find these days.

"I like what you've done with the place." Hazel beams at Avery, not missing a beat as they all make their way into the living room. A game of some kind is on, which appears to be the center of attention. Chris can't tell if it's live or a replay of some sort, but that wouldn't make a difference to him; he's never particularly been into sports.

"You're too kind! We fell in love with it immediately, so it's nice that we didn't have to make many changes. Just widen one of the bedrooms."

"Ah, do you have children?"

"No, Sam just needs his office space."

They continue to prattle on, and Chris almost feels a little impressed by the way Hazel can ingratiate herself into new situations so easily. It's only been a few minutes, and the two of them are getting along like lifelong best friends. It's a quality he's always admired in her: her extroversion.

They excuse themselves as they go hunting for drinks, and Chris's stomach rumbles at an embarrassing volume. Luckily, the other housewarming guests don't seem to notice or mind, all engrossed in their conversations or the TV screen.

The night continues without issue. Luckily, they weren't the last ones to arrive, and the house steadily fills up with an assortment of people. Some of the people he recognizes are from just down the street, while others he doesn't. He supposes they invited a lot of friends or work colleagues.

"You look like you'd rather be somewhere else." A gruff voice says from behind him, and Chris is roused from his thoughts as he turns to face the homeowner he had yet to see.

"Sam, it's good to see you again." He extends his hand, and Sam takes it, smiling warmly despite the previous assertion.

"You too. I don't blame you for hiding out here; this whole thing wasn't exactly my idea." Sam sighs deeply, running a hand through graying hair. He appears to be quite a few years older than Avery, but not to an alarming extent. Not that Chris really ought to judge such things.

"I'm sorry," Chris quickly bows his head, feeling like he's been caught. He's just in the dining room, but most people use it as a passing space, to get from the kitchen to the living area. He's gotten far too cozy in the vestibule, nursing a single beer and thinking about what needs to be done at work. He's always preoccupied these days, his mind wandering to things more mundane, such as work or politics. Anything to keep it away from the topic bothering him the most, he's not ready to unpack all that grief yet.

It's not that he didn't try socializing earlier; it's just that the place got entirely too crowded too quickly for his liking, so he felt the need to make a tactical retreat. Embarrassing at first, but it would seem like he wasn't the only one with the idea.

Sam leans back against the wall facing Chris, looking up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. He waves off Chris's apologies with his hand. "No worries, it wasn't an accusation."

At that, Chris tilts his head to the side.

Sam winks at Chris as his lips form a thin line, a ghost of a smile. "I'm hiding out too." He stage whispers.

"Ah." Chris shifts his weight from foot to foot, grateful for some calm company, but still feeling a bit out of place. He supposes it's normal when inside someone else's home. It feels invasive, too intimate. However, they've yet to unpack as there are no family photos or personal decor pieces at all, for that matter.

"Did the moving truck get lost?" Chris blurts out, mouth moving faster than his brain can catch up. He supposes it's somewhat of a fair question; the same thing happened with him and Hazel when they moved in.

Sam pauses before slowly answering the question, as if he needs to think about his words carefully. "Not quite."

Chris mulls those two little words over for the rest of the evening. After conversing with Sam, he returns to the main areas and socializes more, drinking a bit too much and becoming a bit too comfortable with strangers he hardly knows. It's liberating, strangely, he so rarely gets to attend events like these, let alone feel somewhat competent at them. But despite the night going smoothly, the two words linger with him, renewing his sense of dread.

But why? Why does he feel like this couple is just so... off? Is it him? Is he judging these people too harshly? He shakes his head as he stumbles upstairs in search of a bathroom. The ground floor one is occupied, and he thinks it would be rather rude to splash his face with cool water in the sink while people are in there eating and chatting.

He skims his hand along the beige wall; the hallway is dark from disuse. The housewarming party has been fully contained downstairs. He wonders if he's being a bad guest by wandering away without asking permission first.

He shakes his head, solidifying his resolve. He's only going to use the restroom; it's not an invasion of privacy. Besides, he wants to avoid the homeowners if possible. Loose lips sink ships, and he's not sure he can keep his unsettled feelings to himself when tipsy. He doesn't want Sam or Avery to know that he feels unsettled around them, as it's not their fault. They've done nothing thus far to give credence to his uneasy feelings, so the issue must lie within himself.

He tries a door and opens a rather barren linen closet. He grimaces and hops over to the next door, receiving better luck this time around. It swings open to reveal a small bathroom, dimly lit by a nightlight plugged into the wall, but it's enough to show a single person sitting on the edge of the tub.

The person's silhouette looks female, tall, and beautifully poised, with her legs spread and her hand down her-

"A-Avery?" Chris gasps, stepping backwards a few paces as his eyes strain to clarify what he's seeing. "I'm so sorry-" he begins to trip over his words, averting his eyes as he fumbles for the doorknob.

Avery's head snaps up upon hearing her name, and she hastily covers herself with her skirt, having it hiked up moments before for her purposes. If Chris didn't know any better, he'd guess that she was just alleviating herself in the minutes prior.

"Chris?" She squints up at him, as if not believing what she's seeing. Small pants escape her lips, and she struggles to catch her breath as she grips the side of the tub. "Did I not lock the door?"

"I'm afraid not." He grimaces, feeling genuine remorse. If this is mortifying for him, it must be a thousand times worse for her. He ought to have some grace and just sneak back downstairs and pretend he never saw anything. So what if they're neighbors? They can just avoid each other until one of them eventually moves, as that's a totally realistic outcome for this situation, he's sure...

His head begins to spin as his heart beats erratically out of rhythm, threatening to stop several times as he tries and fails to make sense of everything. The air in the room feels heavy, and it takes genuine effort on his part to keep his breathing even.

Avery stands up, and the moonlight from just outside the bathroom window illuminates her golden hair, turning it nearly translucent under its glow. It's striking to Chris how ethereal she looks, a drunk Greek goddess, unsteady on her feet.

She takes a few cautious steps towards him, hesitant, as if he might turn and run at any sudden moves. She then reaches a hand out behind him. He watches in confusion as she shuts the door and locks it behind them.

"What are you doing?"

"Finishing what I started." She shrugs her shoulders, then leans up and plants a soft kiss on Chris's mouth.

Chris isn't sure what her game plan is, or even what she's getting out of kissing a married man. Perhaps she's expecting him to shove her off, to run away, and tattle to her husband, or lord forbid, his wife.

The last part has him seeing red for a moment, twisting his stomach in a way that's distinctly different from just grief alone. Through the thick haze, his despair turns to anger momentarily, brought on by this wild card of a woman.

The kiss is tentative for only a moment, as if testing to see if he'll bolt, but within mere seconds, they're deepening the kiss. Something changes within the blink of an eye, and Chris's blood begins to boil under his skin. His clothes feel far too heavy, and every sense is heightened to an odd extent. Perhaps it's a mix of the alcohol and pent-up frustration, but he can't keep his hands to himself.

He slides a hand down her back, slipping it easily under her bra and feeling the smooth skin there. He smiles as she shivers.

She wraps a hand into his hair, pulling him further down to her. She's tall, even for a woman, but not as tall as Chris. She uses her other hand to brace against his stomach, feeling the subtly toned muscle beneath his clothes.

Her hand feels pleasant and warm, larger than he's used to, and in some ways more demanding. She hungrily feels up his chest and stomach as she leans into the kiss.

He pokes his tongue into her mouth, and she reciprocates quickly. They explore each other's mouths in a frenzied state, hurried and desperate as they claw at each other. It's wild, unlike anything he's experienced with his wife; in a word, desperate. Each of them is desperate.

She gasps for air, and he traces a hand down her chest, feeling her supple breasts tentatively through her clothes, delighted by how they give way when he squeezes lightly. She's well-endowed and isn't afraid to flaunt it. Her top is tight and leaves little to the imagination, but it's still nice to feel them.

"Do that again." She moans softly, voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded. The gears in his head are much too slow.

She grabs his hand and brings it back to her chest. She gives his hand a light squeeze, and he does the same thing, mirroring her action. She sighs as he slips his fingers under her top and bra, tracing lines around her nipples and marveling at how quickly they harden.

"That's nice," she sighs, voice deep and sultry. Chris gulps as she lowers herself to her knees, her focus solely on the tent he's beginning to pitch.

He sways a bit as she begins to unbuckle his pants, and he has to grip the wall to steady himself. Their joint lack of balance is not a deterrent, as when she begins to sway, she simply clutches his legs and leverages her weight to pull down his pants. She greedily claws at his underwear and frees his erection in record time. It springs to life, having a mind of its own. He's not sure when he became so hard, too distracted by all his senses being filled with Avery.

Chris's mouth goes dry as he stares down at Avery in awe. He's not even sure how they got here, let alone why they're doing this. But his head is fuzzy and the room is spinning a bit, so he's loath to argue with a pretty woman who wants to suck his cock.

In the back of his mind, a siren begins to blare, loud and clear to the point it almost sobers him up instantly, but the alcohol is ravaging his body full force, and he's unable to remember why all of this is such a problem.

Why was he initially wary of the couple again? Why should he not follow the beautiful woman's lead?

Why should he not genuinely think about himself and his needs for the first time in months?

"You're so big," Avery murmurs, mouth practically salivating at the sight of Chris's now fully-hardened cock. His chest swells with pride, and he coughs to cover up his lack of a response.

"All mine," she sighs before giving the tip a quick kiss. Chris sucks in a surprised breath, and Avery giggles in response.

"Just relax." She whispers, winking in the dark of the bathroom. Her sultry voice washes over him and melts his resolve, like a siren song to his ears.

He tries to do as he's told, but her tongue keeps him standing at attention. She starts slow, giving the tip tentative licks. She clutches the base firmly, and it makes Chris want to squirm, but he holds himself back. He's completely enraptured now, only able to stand back and watch as she toys with him. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out.

She draws her tongue down the underside of his cock, as if tasting a giant lollipop. The sight is so obscene and yet so decadent. He grabs her head gingerly, weaving his fingers through her hair, but doesn't force her back down; the action is more to keep himself steady if anything.

She hums, as if enjoying the feel of his hand. She continues lavishing his cock with her mouth, accumulating saliva as she does and letting it drip down the length of his engorged member. Some droplets land on the floor, but they both ignore them, far too focused on the task at hand.

She lifts her hand and lets the saliva wet her palm, a squelching sound emits from her hand every time she wrings it, expertly tugging at his base and then bringing it up to the top. The sound is deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet bathroom, but they're both too far gone to care.

She wraps her mouth around the tip and begins to lap him up in earnest. They're hard pressed for time, and he's hard enough as is: She likely knows that they've got to get back to the party soon, and it won't take long to make him come.

Usually, it would be a point of shame for any man, but in some circumstances, allowances can be made. Besides, she's not innocent either, as she already got a head start earlier.

The hand not being used to jerk him off slides up her skirt, and she moans lightly as she begins to play with herself.

She bobs her head along his erection, lavishing it with her tongue as she sucks gently, pulling out all the stops to get him to come quickly. She's an expert in every sense of the word, and it completely knocks the wind out of Chris. He's never had a blowjob so good.

Her eyes narrow as she gazes up at Chris, somewhat glazed over but full of pleasure, she assesses his expression as she works his cock. It feels like she's starting into his soul, and he doesn't feel like he minds.

His breaths are coming out in short pants now, and he can feel his orgasm rapidly approaching. It does nothing to deter Avery, though, as she sees it as a sign to speed up.

His dick pops out of her mouth for only a moment as she speaks. "I'm going to come." Her tone sounds pleading, as if asking his permission, so he gives it to her.

"Then come with me." He leans his head back against the wall, maintaining eye contact even as she begins to shudder and shake.

She whines around his cock, far too loud for his liking. The sound of their harsh breaths fills the room, and anyone passing by is sure to understand what's happening within. They can only hope that nobody else will dare to venture up to the second-story bathroom.

She bobs her head vigorously along his cock, flattening her tongue to feel every inch of his bare skin as she slurps loudly. She wrings her hands hard, and his balls tighten in response.

"God-" He groans, not able to hold out for much longer, not with the technique she's using.

Words aren't needed as she brings them both to climax. She comes a second before he does, eyes rolling back as her voice pitches up a few octaves. She moans desperately around his cock and the vibrations send electricity through his nerves, making his entire nervous system go haywire.

He opens his mouth to warn her, but only a few gruff groans come out as he violently shoots his semen down her throat. His orgasm is practically ripped from him as she milks him for all he's worth, forcing his cock back into her throat as she greedily gulps down every last drop, not leaving any evidence at the scene of the crime.

As soon as they're done, they instantly collapse. She crumples to the floor, taking deep breaths, and he leans against the door. A shaky hand wipes a few droplets of sweat from his brow as he tries to get his bearings.

They don't have long to linger in their afterglow, as at the same time, realization dawns on them through their shared drunken stupor. She glances up at him, eyes widening at the same moment that he looks down at her, his horrified expression mirroring her own. His jaw pops open as his blood begins to run cold.

What in the hell did they just do?