iZombie: Binge Your Life (Patreon)

Peyton lowered her bare feet into the fountain. “Thaaat’s better,” she moaned, pointing her toes and splashing her bare soles down into the water’s calm surface.

Liv sighed exasperatedly. “And now everyone’s looking at us. You know how many of them probably have foot fetishes? It is the most common kink…”

“I’ve been wearing pumps all day,” Peyton retorted. “And we actually walked here…”

“Serves you right for being so damn tall,” Liv said. “What do you need heels for too?”

“The view of the top of your head is very becoming,” Peyton told her.

“That’s what all my boyfriends say.”

On the other side of the fountain, a gang of kids jumped and stomped in the water, giggling as they were inundated with splashes.

Peyton smirked at Liv. “There, see? Nobody cares.”

“Those are tiny gremlins. You’re an attorney.”

“And you’re a medical examiner. Doesn’t stop you from dressing like Elvira’s understudy…”

Liv sat down on the parapet of the fountain, turned away from the water, her shoed feet down on the concrete walk. It was a hot day and the museum commons seethed with people: guests, staff, and students from the nearby campus that got free admission and so had turned the place into an informal hangout, as Liv and Peyton had when they were in college.

“It’s not like I have much of a choice,” she said, her voice low, not letting her bitterness out.

“Yeah, but no one cares. Get me? As far as they’re concerned, you’re just a goth and they’re fine with it. If there’s one upshot to all this Z stuff, it should be knowing that you can get away with a lot more than you used to think, Miss Perfect.”

“I’m Miss Perfect?”

“I’m trying to be perfect. There’s a difference. People expect me to be perfect. No one wants to hear their daughter’s killer went free because the attorney was going through some stuff. You’re just… amazing.”

“Peyton—“ Liv began, starting to tell her how far from amazing she was. For starters, her last roommate had been a corporate spy, they’d parted company after Rita slept with her first love, and now Rita had turned up dead, with Liv eating her brain to find out how she’d died.

“You don’t tend to think of a museum as a meat market,” Peyton began, flashing a smile at how obnoxiously she’d changed the subject. “But there are some major hotties around here. Someone here has gotta like the platinum blonde look.”

“Is that all you care about? Guys?” Liv made a face. “I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“That didn’t stop you from looking when you had a boyfriend. I should know. I was the one you were looking at half the time.”

“I blame it all on how you were dressed. C’mon, we’re not running a mutual admiration society here. Put your shoes back on. Let’s take in the museum.”

“Do we have to?” Peyton asked. “It’s so nice out. It’s Seattle—it’s never nice out.”

“Now you want to suntan? We come all the way down here and all you want is to soak your feet?”

“And listen to you bitch,” Peyton teased. “It’s adorable.”

“Come in with me and you can listen to me bitch about art history.”

“Stay out here and you can listen to me drool. I’ve never seen so many hot guys in my life. How many of them do you think are gay?”

“Peyton!”

“It is Seattle. Maybe they’d let me watch if I convinced them it was ‘anarcho something’.” She squeezed her bare legs together.

Liv stood up. She wasn’t ashamed of Peyton, but she was in no mood to be the party pooper when Peyton wanted to goof off. “I’ll catch up with you later. And I hope you get sunburned.”

“Only if I take off my clothes,” Peyton told her, and then showed Liv her crossed fingers.

Liv climbed the steps of the natural history museum. At the top she looked back down to the courtyard, seeing Peyton splashing with her bare feet. As she kicked, slapping her soles down into the rippling water, her pointed toes made her look like a ballerina doing warm-ups—not that Peyton’s physique was anywhere near that petite.

Liv shook her head, unable to help but smile at her friend’s wholesome good looks and high-spirted attitude. She watched Peyton cross her legs, swinging the uppermost leg rhythmically with her bare toes pointed like a gymnast. That was enough to garner Peyton attention, as if she were trying to appeal to the endless crowd passing by.

But it was more than lingering looks that Peyton was getting out of her crossed legs. Liv knew she was working her labia together underneath her tight blue shorts. With her statuesque, curvaceous body, Peyton considered it a waste to go without sexual stimulation. She had to be enjoying a low level of aroused self-fulfillment, even in public, in the middle of the day.

Liv turned away and opened the door to the museum. She could hardly complain about Peyton being a slut. There’d been plenty of times when she’d found it very accommodating, how Peyton didn’t mind being on the receiving end of a lapdance or helping Liv out with sudden bondage needs.

She wondered what it said about her that she was the other end of that equation; the one who was always beside Peyton when she was in tight leather pants or a push-up bra. As a kid, it’d seemed weirdly innocent that Charlie’s Angels went undercover as strippers together. But how many times could you see your best friend naked before it was sexual?

The air conditioning dried the sweat on Liv’s forehead—what there was of it with her condition keeping her body temperature down. She hadn’t even realized how hot it was until she’d stepped into the museum. Now she felt bad for Peyton, out there in the burning sun.

Not enough to pity her, though. If Peyton wanted to stay out there, let her. Liv wouldn’t hurry up on her account. However long Peyton had to wait for Liv, that was her business.

But she wasn’t the only one who’d decided that it was too balmy out to waste time in a stuffy museum. The place was nearly deserted. Liv came across an opportunist or two, taking advantage of the museum’s emptiness, but for the most part she had the place to herself.

She found herself in an exhibit dedicated to Washington’s Indian tribes. Her eye was caught by a life-size sculpture of a Yakama brave. The statue dated to the turn of the century and the artist had rendered the brave without any clothes on, his cock dangling right there between his muscular thighs.

Liv inspected it at length, sometimes glancing around self-consciously to see if anyone were present to see how lewd she was being. According to the placard, the artist’s personal papers later revealed him to be gay. Liv wasn’t surprised. He’d sure given the sculpture one large, lovingly rendered cock. And he hadn’t skimped on the balls it hung over either.

She was alone with it—there was no stanchion barring the way—nothing to keep her from touching the bronze statue but good taste and her own morals. Liv’s heart pounded. Her breath came fast. She reached out and felt the metal contours of the phallus, ran her fingers up and down it. Feeling veins exquisitely rendered under the skin; the scoring of hair when her fingertips rippled over the bloated balls.

As her fingers delineated every facet of the brave’s sexual organs, her own sex throbbed against the seam of her shorts. Her breasts swelled, nipples stiffening against her bra. Liv squeezed her legs together, wondering what had come over her.

Peyton had put the idea in her head and now Liv was getting off as she had, even a little turned on that she was doing what Peyton was doing outside. Helping along the natural passion of her moist, searing womanhood. Throbbing waves of lust ran through her loins and her face flushed hotly. All of a sudden, she was on the verge of coming.

And Liv did feel herself going over a precipice. But not the rush of orgasm. This was the vertiginous plunge of her own life being subsumed into another’s death. Rita’s memories and personality crashing over hers like a towering wave finally breaking, drowning Liv in a whole new story that refused to let go of her…