An Erotic Crashers Short: Norah Aroyan and Kyle Jeong

A quiet interlude between The Witch and The Detective as seen in The Crashers.

Norah Aroyan finds her way up the creaky stairs to Kyle Jeong’s attic room whenever the boarding house falls silent. While their roommates sleep behind the closed doors of the second floor, she made the familiar trek through the trapdoor he left unlocked, where Hannah wouldn’t hear. Sometimes, Norah finds Kyle working at his computer, pouring through case files, photos, audio files. On most nights, she finds him in bed. Drink in a glass on the bedside table, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, thumbing through a book to the droning music coming from the nearby record player.

Under a slice of yellow light from the bedside lamp, Kyle closes his book.

Norah locks the door behind her.

Wordlessly, Kyle sits upright and stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. Norah doesn’t say anything either as she opens the small window, bringing in fresh air and moonlight. He stands, crossing the room with quiet steps. When he goes for her wrist to draw her to the bed, she lets him. She recognizes something like a smirk on Kyle’s face when he does, right before he pulls her into his lap on the edge of the bed.

This isn’t something they talk about. It’s easy enough; during daylight hours, they play their little roles in the house. Kyle is the fearless leader, as Bridger and Clara call him. Norah doesn’t let him get away with anything. Then when the lights go out, those things that don’t need saying bring Norah up the stairs again.

She takes his face between her hands and kisses him. He lifts her dress over her head, puts his hands on her back to feel her bones through her skin. They forget about the music, the records he’s always playing. Sometimes it’s Joy Division, sometimes it’s Adam and The Ants. Tonight, it’s The Cure that makes the floorboards vibrate. The warm, melodic plodding of Disintegration fills the attic, the track dissolving from ‘Lullaby’ into ‘Fascination Street.’ Norah lets the sound melt into the background and unbuckles his belt.

Kyle kisses her quickly, roughly, all tongue and teeth. She tries to get his jeans open and her skirt up, but he doesn’t let her, grabbing her by the waist to change their positions. Norah laughs at the abruptness of it and watches him undress her. A twin mattress is no place for this, but he hooks her knees over his shoulders and lets her thighs warm his face. The muscles tighten in her stomach, her pelvis, her legs. She runs her hands over his scalp to rest at the back of his neck.

Kyle looks at Norah like she’s something pinned underneath glass.

That smirk comes back.

She stops laughing.

When he’s ready, he licks her in a slow and careful stripe, south to north and back again. His hands roam up her thighs and over her stomach. Over the bra to cup her breasts in a squeeze. His tongue is feather-light and in-control, sweeping over her clit, above it and around it, exploring every part of her. She closes her eyes, grateful for the locked trapdoor, the music that covers up the sound of her breathing. Nine minutes of ‘The Same Deep Water as You.’

Up here, Norah doesn’t have to be quiet. She doesn’t have to be careful, mindful of how she sometimes catches him looking at her from across the room when no one else is paying attention. Hungry like he’s hungry now, looking at her from between her thighs, nose buried in her mound as he fucks her with his tongue.

Her concentration slips with a moan. She grips his hair and tightens around his face. He wraps his arms under her to devour her, abandoning any pretense of control as he eats her to his own pleasure as much as hers. The lights flicker, and the speakers warble, the familiar smell of burnt ozone filling the air. She becomes aware of the atoms between the threads of the sheets and the way Kyle’s heart pumps inside his ribcage. Firing neurons make a taste like Pop Rocks on her tongue.

For a moment, Norah feels open, expansive, connected to everything. From the electricity humming behind the walls to the blood thrumming in Kyle’s veins, there’s freedom in the current moving between them. Freedom in the too-small bed and the music that fills the spaces of his attic room, the crackle, and the hum.

Kyle’s tongue, his fingers, his breath, every singing, spinning particle that makes the whole of him. Licking, sucking, fucking, hungry like an animal for her in every way he will never ever say and then

And then

Norah lets go.