I had just barely managed to sit up and rearrange the covers so that Belle wouldn't see my rock-hard cock as she came padding down the hallway in oversized and mismatching pajama pants and a tee, her hair a wild mass around her head, her eyes swollen, and her jaw tight.
"Here, you evil, sleep-hating jerk," Belle grumbled, producing Mouse Baby from my fucking shoe where he must have stashed it, and tossing it across the room, making the cat go bounding after it, silent for the first time in half an hour. "I saw him stash it there earlier," Belle announced. "I meant to fish it out, and forgot. Give me ten minutes to pass out before you come in and start flailing," she demanded, looking at her sister, then stomping back into the bedroom, closing the door with a bit more force than necessary.
"I'm worried about her," Shy declared, scooting back across the floor to sit against the wall. Out of reach. And judging by the look on her face as she looked off down the hall where her sister had disappeared, we weren't going to be able to just pick up where we'd left off.
"She's going to be okay."
"When she said she was going to go brush her teeth and get ready for bed, she must have been crying. Her eyes were all puffy and red."
"She's had a rough couple of days. If she needs to cry, let her cry."
"I don't have an issue with her crying," Shy said, rolling her eyes like it was a ridiculous idea. "I have an issue with the fact that she is hiding it. We've always been close. Like come over in the middle of the night to cry on each other's shoulders because we watched a sad movie kind of close. Two weeks ago, she cried in front of me because she dropped her coffee. She's never been shy about that with me. I don't like that she isn't letting me comfort her."
"I don't know what to say here, babe. I don't know her like you do. But I think it is probably okay for her to cry alone sometimes. I mean, I'm here too. She might be cool with crying in front of you, but maybe she feels weird about it because of me."
"I didn't think of that," she said, shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, she would never cry in front of you unless she was, like, missing a limb. Even then she would probably tell you she was fine," Shy said, shaking her head. "Okay. I feel a little better about that," she told me, getting up, rolling her shoulders, then looking down at me for a second. "Alright. Franklin should be quiet now. Sorry about that," she added, gaze cutting away. "Goodnight," she called.
"Goodnight, babe," I said, watching as she scurried back down the hall. Almost as if she didn't rush, that she didn't trust herself not to come back and finish what we'd started.
Alone, I dropped back down on the air mattress, draping my arm over my forehead, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to bring some calm back into the chaos of my system.
My cock was still straining, my balls aching with their need for release.
The only comfort I could take was knowing Shy was just as frustrated as I was. Maybe even more so, since she'd been so close to release.
I knew it was stupid, but I was going to finish the job as soon as possible.
I passed out with that thought as a small bit of comfort.
I woke up to banging noises a few feet away from me.
I was used to people making a racket while I was trying to sleep. Some of the other guys had fucked up sleep schedules, which meant they got into projects at all different hours.
"Hey, Belle, you okay?" I asked, barely conscious, but making out the shape of the woman in the early morning light streaming through the window.
"I can't sleep," she said, eyes cutting to me, looking heavy-lidded from either exhaustion or crying. Or both. There were circles under her eyes, and she'd added another layer of clothing on.
Was she just cold because she hadn't slept well, or was she trying to hide? Trying to mask her body? Not wanting anyone to look at it after... whatever happened?
"Okay," I said, moving to sit up. "What are you doing?" I asked, rubbing at my eyes, waiting for them to acclimate.
"Taking out the TV," she said, and sure enough, the TV was out of the box, still sitting on the floor with the styrofoam attached to the sides, and the manual and remote in a bag beside it.
"Want some help?" I asked.
"Getting it out of the box was the hard part," she declared, barely paying me any attention.
"Alright. How about some coffee then?" I asked. "I'll make a pot, then clean up my bed," I told her.