Re: Dinner: Cris/Lou/Sam
Yeah, yeah, Sam did good, huh? She really did. The days off would be good, stubborn as he was, Cris could see that. And, for all his frustration with her moments—her insistencea living in raindrops and not the deluge—, this very one, this razora the present—it was good. He savored it. He savored the swella Sam's hips and ass under short skirt, just as he savored the cherry-sticka her kiss. He'da savored more too, if he had the time. And, she wasn't wrong; the yelling had helped, like they got stuff off their chests that had been there since before Joey was around. Cris prolly coulda done without the blue balls at the end, but it was kinda fun, playing cat and mouse. Sam was getting good at it—pero, if Lou coulda just come five minutes later, huh? It'd be a lot easier to do as the gringa said and behave.
Still, he was trying. He adjusted his cock under the dress pants 'til he was (pretty) sure it wasn't obvious he was hard as hell, facing away from the siblings hugging, and he held Joey like the baby could make him look innocent. It was a spectacular failure.—When it came to Lou and the deity, Cris woulda disagreed with everybody present. It wasn't the same as the santos. Nah. That was some give and take, and they didn't stay. This wasn't no kinda possession, nobody speaking to somebody. It wasn't cancer either, 'cause cancer ain't intrinsic. It was the resulta exposure and/or mutation—it was cells not doing what they were meant to do. Lou's god was something else, and maybe Lou and Sam trusted it—trusted Lou to control it—, but it wasn't a risk Cris was willing to take with his family. Not after seeing the dead guy red in the weeds. Nobody's word, not even the Santa María's herself, would convince him to take that gamble. Nothing personal against Lou. He just wasn't taking that chance.
Sam talking about Iris distracted the guy from alla that though and snagged him back to the present with a violence. He frowned after he settled Joey against soft cotton and kissed her. And after he sat at the table, he turned in his seat to look at Sam as she talked, to watch her face and to reach out and touch her hand, if he was able. He covered the coinsa mauve on her wrist. He was steady, almost casual, but he had to ask before Lou did—kinda control the release valve or something, huh? There was no need to get hysterical, and Cris had already seen that firefly-flickera concern on pale face. "Hey, mami, estás recordando.¿Recuerda algo mas?"
Per the gin, well, it wasn't too bad once you kinda got used to it tasting like ass. Cris just grinned at Sam, trouble around the necka the bottle, and he took a third slug before he set the bottle down, shaking his head as he did so. It was kinda like gasoline and ass together, he decided.—He dipped over, hand on Sam's thigh, to flick her under the chin at her comment 'bout him not looking like a 'sir.' "Oye, I'm proper," he said, camiseta, hair a mess, cock just now softening.—He was happy for the plate too. Sam never really cooked and he was impressed, huh? "Looks good, mami." He ate a plaintain too, fingers and spit, and he laughed at the idea-a visiting the Alexanders. "I'd like to see that."
Cris woulda been content to keep the conversation light for the evening. The day had been stressful enough and they all knew why Lou was over. But, Sam cleared her throat and he knew it was coming. The guy had pork halfway to his mouth. After Sam was done, he popped it past lips, and he sucked on his thumb, almost as obscene as earlier in his office, but this time without any intent. He was already shaking his head. "That ain't happenin'," was all he said, stubborn as hell. He lifted his chin to the gringos, welcoming whatever challenge they wanted to throw at him. He'd already spent half the day arguing. He knew he could shout down the botha them, if he had to.