"Bullshit!"

"It's true."

"There's no way it's physically possible."

"Of course it is."

Fifteen minutes after watching the latest episode and you and Norman are still arguing heatedly and more than a little drunkenly about what you've seen.

"You're full of it," you yell at him, sloshing wine from your glass as you wave it in his direction.

"C'mon, I'll prove it to you," he yells back, grabbing the glass from your hand and setting it down on the coffee table. He gets to his feet, swaying a little and pulls you up with him where you crash into him, nearly sending you both back down onto the sofa before he steadies you.

He pulls on your hand, towing you after him through the kitchen and opening the door to the garage. He fumbles for the light switch as you shiver beside him, the cool air inside a contrast to your warm house, making you tug down on the bottom of the oversized t-shirt you stole earlier when Norman took it off. As the stark, fluorescent lights suddenly spring into life, you see goose bumps standing out across Norman's bare torso and you have this overwhelming urge to just pull him back inside the house and warm him up. Let him win the damn argument, you think, it's not like you're really fighting about it anyway, it's all in fun. But he pulls on your hand, leading you across to where his rental car is tucked in beside your beat up ride, same as it is every weekend. He leaves his more conspicuous vehicles at home, preferring, for your sake, to keep a low profile during his visits to your home, showing up in a non-descript rental car instead.

He lets you go, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, pulling them down just far enough for you to get a tantalizing glimpse of his happy trail as he searches for his keys, just that little bit too inebriated to find them without digging around. With a triumphant grunt, he pulls them loose from his pocket and starts stabbing at the buttons on the key fob until he finds the one that opens the trunk and pops the lid.

"See?" he says, crossing his arms and smirking at you.

"See what?" you reply, mocking his stance. "Like I said, there's no way two grown-ass human beings could comfortably fit in the trunk of a car."

"Pffft," he huffs, waggling a finger under your nose, "I'm telling you, Em and I both fit in, no problem and they shut the lid on us."

"Bullshit, I know you used a cut-away trunk."

"For some of it, sure, but we also used a real car."

You skeptically raise an eyebrow at him.

"Goddamit, woman, I'll prove it to you."

Before you can stop him, he's clambered into the empty trunk, curling himself in on his side and looking up at you expectantly.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asks, holding out a hand to you and beckoning you in.

"I'm not getting in there!" you exclaim, wrinkling your nose in disgust. "You're drunk and crazy and knowing my luck we'd never get out again! Besides, there's still no way I'd fit."

"We won't get stuck, you can't shut yourself in any more, remember? They added the pully-thing," he says, indicating the little handle dangling from the inside of the lid. "Plus, I have the keys and my phone, it's perfectly safe."

"Famous last words of every idiot before they do something brain-numbingly stupid."

"Okay, maybe you're right, maybe you couldn't fit," he answers, a sly look creeping over his grinning features, "maybe Emily's ass is a lot smaller than yours!"

"And maybe you're sleeping on the couch tonight," you shout, knowing exactly what he's trying to do and knowing, if you weren't half drunk right now, there's no way you'd even contemplate getting in that trunk with him. But you are half drunk and your ego has been challenged so, with an overly dramatic huff of breath, you hook your leg over the edge of the trunk and heave yourself in to curl in front of him. He reaches over you to pull the lid down until it's almost closed, leaving just a sliver of dim light creeping in.

"Ha!" he crows gloatingly in your ear.

"I hate you," you mumble back, wiggling yourself to get comfortable and elbowing him in the ribs in the process.

"Loser!" he laughs, wrapping his hand against your side to tickle your ribs until you're thrashing against him, helpless with laughter. He finally subsides and you relax against him, catching your breath, his hand stroking absently at your stomach. The combined heat from both your bodies is warming you up quite nicely in the enclosed space of the trunk and the feel of him pressed tight against your back, his fingers now trailing up and down the inside of your arm, is starting to send the heat to other parts of your anatomy. You shift your ass a little, rubbing against his crotch, being rewarded with a sudden intake of breath behind you and the tightening of his hand on your arm.

"I'm thinking we should take this conversation back inside," you whisper softly, turning your head to him, just able to make out his features in the dim light.

"What's the rush?" he asks, hand coming up to cup your face as he leans in to kiss you.

The taste of the red wine is sweet on his lips as they cover yours, his tongue begging for entrance to your mouth almost immediately, sliding against yours with a languid stroke. You deepen the kiss, pressing further into him, straining your neck to claim his mouth with yours, flashes in your mind of his arrival earlier in the day, how he'd barely closed the door behind him before he had you pinned against the wall, a week's worth of sexual tension pouring out of him as he'd torn at your clothing and fucked you right there on the rug in the entryway, hard and fast, shouting your name with every thrust. You give a small, impromptu moan in the back of your throat and Norman responds by sliding his hand up under the hem of your t-shirt, pushing up until his fingers brush across your bare breasts, your nipples already raised from the cool air of the garage, stiffening even more as he rolls each one between his thumb and forefinger. You grind your hips back into him again, feeling the hardness of his erection digging into you, and you reach back to grasp it through the soft material of his sweatpants.

"Really?" you ask, tearing yourself from his kiss. "This is turning you on?"

"It's all about the friction, baby," he replies, grunting a little as you squeeze him harder. "I'm kidding... being this close to you is all I need to turn me, hell, just being in the same room as you turns me on."

His hand had worked its way down from your breasts and is now pushing past the waistband of your panties, his fingers sending tingles up your spine as they gently part your lips to stroke at your clit.

"Seems I'm not the only one who's turned on around here," he whispers against your ear as his fingers push into your wetness, making you gasp a little.

His lips move down the curve of your neck, leaving tiny, tickling kisses in their wake, his fingers keeping up a slow in and out against your pussy, until you're shivering a little under his touch, your body quickly responding to him, heightened by the alcohol in your system.

"These need to go," he growls, slipping his fingers from you and snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin. He starts to tug them down past your hips and you wriggle in the confined space, trying to help him but you just can't leverage yourself up enough to get them down over your thighs.

"Wait," exclaims Norman, cursing as his head cracks against the inside of the trunk lid, "I've got this!"

You feel him fumbling around behind you, hear the jangle of his bunch of keys and then something cold and metallic slides against the bare skin of your thigh.

"Don't move," he breathes, his head leaning over your shoulder, as you feel the icy blade of his penknife trace its way up your thigh until it slips under the edge of your panties and, with one upwards move, he slices through the flimsy material and the thin elastic. He pulls roughly at the material between your thighs until it's stretched away from your body and then, with another deft swipe of the blade, he splits the gusset in two, freeing you with a hard tug and tossing your ruined panties in front of you along with his keys. His hand is back between your thighs, his fingers manipulating your clit once more before you can even protest the destruction of your underwear and, after a few minutes of his touch, you forget what you were going to say anyway. Your eyes are half-closed, your heart-rate is increasing and you're moaning hard as you let him work you to a climax only to have him stop before he tips you over into your orgasm.

Flustered, you open your eyes, a protest already spilling from your lips which you silence as you realize he's moving behind you, elbows and knees battering your body as he fights to release his rigid cock from his sweatpants. With a gruff exclamation of triumph he obviously succeeds as you feel the wet head slide across the skin of your ass, leaving a sticky trail behind. He grabs at your thigh, pulling your top leg up and back to him as much as he can and you brace your foot against the top of the trunk's wall, angling yourself back into him as much as possible as he shifts position behind you. He curses as his head bangs into something once again, the limited space forcing him to be creative as neither of you are able to stretch your legs out. You're about to suggest giving this up as a bad idea before you both die from frustration when suddenly he finds the right angle and his cock is sliding into your waiting pussy as he spoons tighter around you, his knee coming up tight behind yours to give him the leverage he needs to start thrusting slowly into you.

As his length fills you, pushing slowly in to open your walls, he nips at your neck with his teeth, his breath hot and moist against your skin, his arm circling your waist to keep him close to you. The air inside the trunk is starting to become a little stifling, the scent of your sex permeating the air and you can feel the sweat from Norman's skin soaking into the back of your shirt as he increases his pace, rolling his hips a little faster and delving deeper into you each time. You brace your hands against the lip of the trunk, fingers curling against the rough carpeting of the interior as you push back against him, his cock now hitting your g-spot with every stroke, small bursts of light flaring against the inside of your eyelids as your pussy contracts involuntarily around him.

"Baby, don't...," he grunts, "don't... uhhhh..."

His words vibrate to your core and, even though you know it's going to push him over the edge, you start squeezing your inner muscles tight around his cock every time he pushes inside you, releasing him just enough to pull back before tightening around him again on his next push. The hand holding you to him snakes up under your shirt where he grabs hard at your breast, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipple, and you arch against him, smiling with the knowledge that he knows how to make you come as easily as you do him. You know that you're close, your body is already tensing to let go but you also don't want to let him win this battle so you pull out one last trick.

"Yeess... Norman... there, right there... fuck me harder... fuck me... I want your hard cock to make me come... make me come like the filthy whore I am," you yell, breathlessly panting between words and moaning loudly until you feel his whole body lock around yours.

"Shiiiitttt..." he shouts behind you, his cock pulsing into you as he comes hard and then you let yourself go, riding his orgasm with your own, feeling the sudden rush of wetness against your thighs as you push him out of your spasming pussy, your body going limp against him.

His arm wraps your waist once more, as he buries his face against the back of your neck, giving you wet, exuberant kisses and laughing into your hair.

"Bitch," he mumbles affectionately.

"Dick," you reply, snuggling back against him.

"So, I was right, huh, about the whole trunk thing?" he asks smugly and you roll your eyes, even though you know he can't see you.

"Yeah," you say grudgingly, "I'll give you that one but you owe me new panties."

"Do I get to pick them out?" he asks and you cringe at the thought.

"You get to give me your credit card and be happy about it."

"Fair enough," he replies, pushing up the lid on the trunk and letting in a cold blast of fresh air that makes you gasp as you blink in the sudden light of the garage, "but I think you may want to buy extra. You haven't seen where we're hiding in next week's episode yet!"