Slow Burn
Sophie Mouette

KAREN GAZED OUT through her powerful binoculars, scanning the familiar vista of pine-forested mountains, the needles dusty and tired-looking now with late summer drought. Following her long-established routine, she peered in every direction, looking for any telltale sign of fire: a plume of smoke, a flicker of flame, even unusual activity among birds and animals that might signal flight from a blaze not yet visible from the tower.

And in one direction, she watched for another telltale signal – a Forest Service vehicle heading for the base of the trail to the fire tower. The final approach was accessible only on foot, but David would bring his Jeep in as far as it would go and she would help him carry in the supplies he’d need for his shift in the tower.

David – her relief in more than one sense of the word.

At last, she saw the vehicle in the distance, its green and brown tones blending in well with the scenery. At this distance, she couldn’t see much of the driver, but she filled in the details from memory.

Short-cropped fair hair. Dark eyes in a weathered face. Great legs that she’d first noticed in the shorts of his summer uniform. Long hands, strong and rough from outdoor work, but amazingly deft at touching her most sensitive areas. Cheekbones that suggested Scandinavian ancestry, although she’d never asked.

There were a lot of things she’d never asked David, a lot of things he’d never asked her. She wasn’t even sure where he lived – they had each other’s contact information but never sought each other out in town on the rare occasion they’d had off-duty shifts at the same time. Their relationship was here, in the fire tower, as one relieved the other for a six-month stint in the majestic solitude of the mountains. It worked for both of them.

Until now. This would be their last meeting here. The tower would be decommissioned after David’s stint, replaced with aerial and satellite surveillance. At the end of the last shift, several rangers would come in to help carry out equipment and supplies that would no longer be needed.

And after that, who knows what happens to two hermits without a hermitage?

She set down the binoculars and began to make herself ready. Not that David expected a Victoria’s Secret model waiting for him, but Karen enjoyed the occasional moments of not being her usual low-maintenance self.

She’d washed her hair the night before; even in summer, the thick chestnut locks took a long time to dry in her usual tight braid. But her morning’s routine had left her a little sweaty so she climbed down the one-hundred-and-twenty steps to the little living cabin and its solar shower stall.

This was her notion of luxury, one she would miss back in so-called civilisation: dappled sun playing on her bare skin as she soaped up, a pair of jays squabbling in a nearby treetop for music. She was hyper-aware of the flow of soap and sun-warmed water over her skin.

For days at a time out here, she could forget she was a sexual being. Sensual, yes, revelling in sun and rain and the play of light, pine fragrance and bird call and simple tasty food. Sexual, no. Now she was letting herself remember.

She imagined David’s hands on her slippery body, sliding from her shoulders down her torso and back to her breasts. As she imagined, she echoed her fantasy with her own hands. Her nipples tightened. Blood seemed to pool in her groin, changing her centre of gravity, making her feel weighty and languid.

She was tempted to slip a hand between her thighs, but she didn’t have time for that. The downside to solar showers was that there was only so much time to linger.

She finished rinsing just in time.

She patted some of the water off then headed, naked and damp, into the cabin.

The ten-by-twelve interior was spartan: a narrow bed topped with a sleeping bag, a plastic chest of drawers, a plain pine wardrobe, a folding table and camp chair, Coleman stove and lantern. Shelves on the walls held a curious but organised mix of canned and dried food, books, first-aid supplies and other necessities. But a bunch of wild flowers filled a salsa jar on the table and the table itself had a bright purple tablecloth.

She had other little luxuries squirrelled away as well.

From a mostly emptied drawer that had until recently been full of cotton panties and hiking socks, she pulled an emerald-green stretch lace camisole and matching boy shorts. She slipped into the lingerie and checked the effect in the scrap of a mirror, stretching and turning so she could get a better idea. She’d tried them on in her apartment when they’d first arrived, but that had been months ago.

They still looked good. If she wanted to be critical, the classic Forest Service tan – face, forearms, a V at the neckline and a bit on the legs – didn’t complement the outfit, but she wasn’t in the mood to be critical.

David would be there soon, and his Forest Service tan and hers would be wrapped together. That was all that mattered.

She put a clean uniform on over the lingerie. eCrisp short-sleeved tan button-down shirt with a Forest Service patch on the left sleeve. Green chino pants, still neatly creased after being packed away in anticipation of this day. A brown leather belt. Boots she’d even bothered to clean the night before, by lantern light when it became too dark to read.

A simple uniform, not that different from her standard shirt and jeans, but it meant a lot. Her return to the outside, for one. For most people, the routine she would be entering, of patrolling trails and educating visitors, would be an isolated life, but compared to the quiet of the fire tower, the human contact was overwhelming. The uniform formed a barrier to keep the human world at bay until she was ready for it.

Even David, she admitted. Her skin felt feverish anticipating his touch and the delicate fabric of her panties was already soaked through, but for the first half-hour or so, trying to remember the give and take of conversation was nerve-wracking. The uniforms, hers and his, helped with that, gave a little formality to the exchange until, by some unspoken signal, they’d know the time for formality was passed.

Was that the Jeep? He had to leave it almost a mile from the tower, but in the quiet, the engine noise carried.

Only one way to be sure.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d made the hike to the access road so quickly. Probably the last time she’d been waiting for David to arrive.

‘Long time no see.’ Did her voice always sound that hesitant or was it just rusty?

Fortunately, David didn’t mind, if his smile were any indication. ‘It has been. Too long. It’s good to see you.’

She drank him in. Not actually the first human she’d seen since she’d relieved him on fire tower duty, but the first one who mattered as something other than a terse line in her log book. (July 6: party of three hikers. July 14: two hikers, German; directed them towards Squaw Lake.) He too was turned out in full kit, although he wore shorts of the same green as her slacks, and he was a bit rumpled from the drive.

She didn’t realise she was reaching out her hands until he took them.

Just hands, but the skin contact was enough to make her catch her breath.

In a movie, David would have pulled her into a passionate kiss. Instead, they held position, in contact but at arm’s length, just looking at each other. And for the moment, this, her first skin-to-skin contact in ages, was enough to make both her heart and her clit pound.

David was the first to speak. ‘Let’s head up. The sooner we do …’ He grinned and blushed a little under his tan.

She grinned back. ‘Give me some stuff to carry.’

The short scramble to the cabin and tower seemed to take forever and not just because they were carrying heavy packs and a canvas bag of groceries each. They were both used to that. The trail was too narrow to walk side by side and hold hands, so Karen led the way. She could feel his eyes on her the whole way up.

It was part of the ritual to put away the first load of David’s stuff, chatting a bit to let Karen rediscover her voice and David re-accustom to the quiet. ‘Looks like you brought less than usual,’ she commented.

‘No point in more than I’ll need for this rotation; we’d just have to carry it out again.’

The can of tomatoes she’d been holding slipped from her fingers. Fortunately, she’d been about to set it on the shelf, so it sounded only like she’d put it down a little hard. ‘Don’t remind me.’

An awkward silence. Then, to fill it, she said, ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’

‘I put in for a transfer to Alaska.’ His voice dropped at the end of the sentence, as if he expected a bad reaction. ‘You?’

They never talked about their outside lives; it was strange to hear it now. Stranger still to articulate.

‘I bought some undeveloped land near Eureka years ago,’ she said. ‘I’ve been socking money away, clearing the land when I have time to get out there.’

‘Sounds like you planned for the inevitable.’

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t expect them to decommission so many towers so quickly. I was just planning for retirement.’

She didn’t want to talk about it any more. Didn’t want to think about this being their last meeting. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, took the sack of flour out of his hand, and led him across the room.

The bed was sturdy, but only big enough for one. Years ago, one of them – she’d forgotten which one – had hauled up a queen-sized futon mattress. Normally it stayed folded up in the back of the wardrobe.

In preparation for David’s arrival, she’d swept the faded rugs on the floor and laid the futon on top of them, spreading crisp, powder-blue cotton sheets and plumping up the feather pillows. A quilt was folded on the bed, easily reachable to drag over their tired, sated bodies. She’d arranged a grouping of three fat white candles, dried leaves pressed into their waxy surface. They wouldn’t light the candles – far too dangerous during the dry season they were here to monitor – but she liked the homey look of them.

David turned to her, took her face in his hands. ‘You are a sight for sore eyes,’ he said, his tone bordering on wonderment.

Karen’s throat tightened. They were both thinking the same thing: that this was their last time. Somehow, the stars had aligned so they’d met here, clicked into a strange, twice-a-year relationship that suited them both.

She wasn’t sure if she loved him, because she wasn’t sure what love felt like. But she thought that if it did feel anything like this, it must be pretty damn good. She didn’t kid herself that this could be more like normal love, like a normal relationship. They both knew they were too set in their ways, too much loners to survive together for any length of time before they turned into snarling, territorial creatures.

She skimmed her thumb over his lower lip, dipping into the cleft in his chin and feeling the prickle where he’d missed a spot shaving.

Accepting the truth didn’t make it feel any less bittersweet.

They kissed, his tongue searching for hers. She met him gleefully, feeling the touch resonate. Each six-month wait made the first kiss feel new again, yet still with a sense of homecoming.

She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt so she could press her mouth against his collarbone, drinking in the scent of him. No aftershave or cologne, just the smell of healthy male. She nibbled the spot where his neck met his shoulder, and smiled against him when he caught his breath.

‘Ah, Karen.’ He rained kisses on her face even as he tugged her shirt free from her waistband. Impatient, wanting to feel his hands on her now, she helped him, sighing with happiness when the final button came free. He pushed the shirt back over her shoulders and caught sight of the emerald lace camisole.

‘A present I get to unwrap for a new surprise every time,’ he said. He spanned her waist with his large hands, slowly skimming upwards until they rested on her ribcage, just beneath her breasts. Normally she wore a pull-over, functional sports bra, not needing strong support because her breasts were small. The benefit of their size was that when she wore something like this (which was, admittedly, only twice a year), they didn’t need support at all.

Her nipples stood out against the lace, begging for attention, and he didn’t make her wait. He ran his thumbs over the needy peaks, and she rose up on her toes, the sensation starting a wildfire that rippled down between her legs.

He turned her around and pulled her back against him. She could feel his erection press against her ass. Part of her wanted to drop to her knees, unbuckle his belt, and taste the hard length of him. But another part of her wasn’t ready for him to stop teasing her.

This was part of the ritual, part of the pleasure. Kneading and pinching her nipples, he brought her to greater heights of excitement. Her clit throbbed as she wriggled back against him, stimulating him until he, too, was on the edge.

And all the while they gazed out at the most beautiful sunset, the sky afire as the sun sank over the wilderness vista they loved.

She was gasping by the time he stopped, her head spinning as her body sizzled. As if by unspoken agreement, as he tore off his shirt and shucked off his shorts, she divested herself of her boots.

He liked to undress her, so she let him undo her buckle, slide the chinos down her legs. His eyes glittered his approval at the boy shorts that skimmed low on her narrow hips, accentuating the curve of her bottom.

The shadows deepened, and she turned on a single lamp before they knelt together on the futon. His cock made a tent of his red cotton boxers. A smear of fluid darkened the material, further evidence of his excitement.

She loved his cock, long and slender, rising from a thatch of crisp blond hair. Loved its taste, its smooth hardness. Her sex spasmed. She wanted him inside of her, filling her.

He pushed the camisole top up and feasted on her nipples, fingers on one, mouth on the other, then alternating, until she was trembling with need. She ached. He drew his finger along the outside of the close-fitting shorts, and she realised she’d soaked them through. She smelled herself before he tasted her on his fingers, eyes locked with hers and promising so much more.

Not to be outdone, she threaded her fingers through his thick chest hair and tugged gently. Such a different feel to her own body. Beneath her hands, muscles flexed. She tickled his nipples, knowing how sensitive they were. His hand moved back between her legs, stroking her over the lace shorts. The sensation was maddening; not quite hard enough to push her over the edge, not with a layer of cloth between his hand and her aching clit.

She arched her back, striving to press against him, but he followed her move, backing away at the same speed so the pressure remained constant. She moaned her need, unable to articulate, but it didn’t matter – he knew what she wanted.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he slowly slid the shorts down her legs. The cool air against her crotch did nothing to quench the burning need, and when he tucked his hands beneath her ass and lowered his face to her, his hot breath fanned the flames higher.

‘David …’

He drew his tongue along her wet, aching flesh, dipping briefly between her lips and then whispering over her clit. She dangled on the edge of the precipice, as sure as if she leaned over the edge of the fire tower.

Her world centred, focused, shrank down to nothing but the sensation of his tongue against her, flicking harder and faster against her clit.

Flashpoint.

Fire flicked up her spine, connecting her brain and her sex. When she screamed, she knew the sound echoed around the tower before bursting free, resounding into the night air.

When she came down from her orgasm, he had such a self-satisfied grin on his face that she had to laugh.

His lips and chin glistened in the lamp light, and she rose up to lick, catlike, at her own juices.

He was bigger than she was, but she had a sleek line of muscles under her skin. When she pushed him down, he went – not that he put up a fight. She tossed his boxers away, straddled him, and sank down on the hard length of him.

They let out simultaneous sighs.

She leaned down to kiss him again, feeling shock waves resonate as their tongues played and she smelled herself again on his face. Then slowly, so slowly, she raised herself up, feeling every inch of him pull and drag at her nether lips.

When she got to the tip, she knew he expected her to sink down again. But she surprised him. She pulled away, and before he could complain (and, indeed, before she could miss being filled by him) she was between his legs, lapping at his cock to catch even more of the slick wetness she’d left behind.

Sweet and sour, with a hint of spice. If she wasn’t so horny, she might have given more than a fleeting thought to the Chinese food she hadn’t eaten in six months. Instead, she focused only on him, and herself. Sucking him made her even hotter. She felt herself clench, empty, anticipating when he would be inside her again.

She slid her mouth down the length of him, gently sucking. His reddened cock was burning hot, lit from within.

She could masturbate, she could make herself come when she was alone, but there was nothing like the sensation of a hard cock in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip, flicking against the spot she knew drove him wild. Then she encircled him with her mouth again, her lips tight, and moved up and down, up and down, her hand following the same path.

His hands fisted in the sheets and she knew he was close.

As tempting as it was to make him come in her mouth, she wanted his first orgasm to be inside of her. She gave his cock one final, hard suck, and climbed on top of his stretched naked form, admiring the play of muscles in his chest as he reached up to help guide her down onto him.

Filled again. She paused, her lips against the base of his cock, savouring the moment. But his hands urged her on, as did the bucking of his hips. She leaned back, and he reached up to fondle her nipples. The combined sensation brought her close, so close to the edge.

His breathing quickened, and she knew he was close, too. She urged him on, half demanding and half begging. He thrust up, hard, and behind her eyes the world exploded into fire. She cried out again, grinding herself against him to prolong both her orgasm and his.

At last she fell forwards, sweaty and spent. He stroked her hair as she nuzzled her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

‘Welcome back,’ she said.

They roused themselves long enough to have a simple, hearty meal: thick pea soup with chunks of ham heated over the hotplate, accompanied by fresh, crusty French bread he’d brought with him. To finish, they had the final two pieces in a box of Godiva chocolates she’d brought with her six months ago, letting the fine chocolate melt on their tongues and, ultimately, each other.

Karen awoke with the sense that something was wrong. At first she thought it was the unusualness of having a warm body beside her, of someone’s deep, regular breathing filling the cabin.

But even after she accepted that, she still felt the unease.

Every time she started a six-month shift at the tower, it took her about a week to get acclimatised, and she had to set an alarm. Now she automatically woke every four hours.

They were spooned together, and she felt his cock twitch and begin to harden against her tailbone. But he didn’t protest when she slid away; his sense of responsibility was as strong as hers, and he knew she had a job to do.

He even crawled off the futon and, naked, joined her on the watch with an extra pair of binoculars.

Four a.m. Not as silent as most people supposed. Already the first birds sleepily trilled a greeting to the coming dawn.

The Forestry Commission was already employing satellites to scan the area, ramping up the use of those while they scaled down the searches from various towers. David might be checking only every six hours on his last watch.

She slipped on the night-vision goggles, designed to catch heat sources. She’d do a naked visual scan, too.

Because of her unease, she scanned even more carefully than usual, checking near campsites where she knew people were staying.

So many towers were being decommissioned, all over the country. It was the end of an era. The loss tugged at her, and she wondered if that accounted for her disquiet. It was her last night here. Her last shift ever. Her last time with David, as far as she knew.

She’d never been good with change.

They both spotted it at once. She wasn’t prone to flights of fancy, but Karen had the strangest sensation, like a flash of vertigo, that it had taken both of them together to be aware of it.

She recognised the area. There had been campers there recently, but they’d left early yesterday. They obviously hadn’t made sure their campfire was completely out.

There was no smoke, not yet. The fire was in an area of deep underbrush, which meant it smouldered and crept along the ground below the sightline before it broke free above.

A slow burn.

The next hours were a flurry of activity.

Pulling down the alidade, a ceiling-mounted survey instrument, so she could peer through the scope and take a reading to determine where exactly the fire was.

Urgent calls on the radio.

Too-fast drives down bumpy, pitted dirt logging roads to roust out any campers who might be in danger. Further confirmations of the location of the fire.

The whop-whop-whop of chopper blades as the fire helicopter scooped up water from Blue Heron Lake and dropped it on the flames.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. The natural sounds of the forest took over, although in hushed tones, as if the wildlife were counting their blessings. Karen was exhausted, sweaty, and stinking of smoke. David suggested she stay – shower, maybe catch a catnap. The offer of sex was unspoken.

It was oh, so tempting, all of it. To spend more time in her beloved tower, to spend more time with David.

But in the end, she knew it was best to leave on the high note. They’d done their job, the one they came here for. It was a fitting farewell. The climax was over; a denouement would only drag out the inevitable.

She didn’t even let him walk her to her Jeep.

She looked back, once, when she got to the vehicle. The tall tower was dark against the bright sky. David’s form was silhouetted along the rail.

She took a mental snapshot, and drove away.

Karen’s face split into a grin at the expression on David’s face when he saw her. He wouldn’t have been watching for her arrival, but even so, she’d parked her Jeep half a mile down the road and hiked to sit on the hood of his.

‘What – what are you doing here?’ he managed.

She laughed and jumped off the hood. ‘What, not even a “hello, nice to see you”?’

She barely had time to finish the question before he dropped his pack, gathered her up, and kissed her, swinging her around and around.

When she could catch her breath again, she said, ‘Now, that’s a better greeting.’

‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ he said.

She jerked her thumb at the tower in the distance. ‘I’ve got a job to do.’ She took pity on his befuddlement and continued. ‘After we spotted the slow burn six months ago – which neither satellite nor air survey had seen, and wouldn’t have until it was much worse – they decided to keep the tower in commission. They reviewed the letters we both had on file arguing against the decommissioning. I even had to speak at the hearing.

‘We’ve been granted our reprieve, David. The tower is still ours.’

They didn’t bother unloading the supplies. They each grabbed a backpack and headed for the tower. The narrow trail seemed endless, and when it finally opened out onto the meadow beneath the tower, David took her arm and spun her around, claiming her mouth again.

They never even made it inside.

Fevered hands stripped off clothes, eager to caress the warm flesh beneath. Hot mouths meeting. Flames igniting. He thrust into her, and she gave an exultant cry.

Later, they lay on the prickly browned grass, sweat drying on their skin. A curious bee buzzed close, and she lazily swatted it away.

‘I missed you,’ David said simply.

And it was enough.

Sophie Mouette is the author of the Black Lace novel, Cat Scratcher Fever, and her short fiction has been published in numerous Wicked Words collections. Part of the writing team that is Sophie Mouette also writes as Sarah Dale, whose first novel, A Little Night Music, was published by Cheek in June 2007.