Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

Charlie watched them harden beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.
    Oh God.
    He picked up his pen and wrote, “What are you doing?”
    Callie shook her head, then slowly lifted her shirt. Even though Charlie knew some asshole was likely watching them from the other side of a security camera, he didn’t care about anything outside of the moment.
    Though Callie had been naked up until about two hours earlier, and he’d not found her nudity arousing in their situation, something had changed. Callie had been given clothes, and was now choosing to reveal herself to Charlie. Slowly. Teasing him.
    Callie exposed the bottoms of her breasts, then lifted the shirt to expose just one nipple, which she pinched.
    Oh fuck.
    Charlie reached down and squeezed the thick of his flesh through the thin of his pants.
    Her eyes, big and beautiful, lowered to stare.
    Charlie felt odd. He’d touched himself thousands of times, but never in front of someone else. He kept stroking his cock through his sweats, then watched as Callie reached down the front of hers and began to rub herself.
    She arched her head back, and though Charlie couldn’t hear it, he was sure she moaned.
    Callie looked down and mouthed the words, “Show me.”
    Charlie did as instructed, lowering his sweats just enough to pull out his cock. He started stroking it as he watched her. While Charlie had always felt like his penis was average at best, it felt like a beast between his legs in the nest of his loose fist.
    Callie pulled her pants down a bit, then slipped her fingers past the waistband.
    Charlie started stroking himself faster, harder, as Callie’s fingers plunged into the depths of her sweats. She rubbed herself between her legs, then lowered her sweats to just above her knees.
    Oh fuck, yeah.
    He stared at her pussy. And she at his cock. And then, their eyes met. In that moment, Callie opened her mouth and bit her bottom lip. Charlie stroked faster and faster as the intensity of their stare seemed to coalesce into something with a force of its own.
    He looked down again to see that she was now sliding her fingers in and out of herself as fast as he was stroking, if not faster. He looked up again and their eyes locked.
    She mouthed the word, “Charlie,” just as he exploded and splattered the glass. As he emptied the rest of himself onto his hand, Callie’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and then she closed them, as her lower body shuddered.
    When her eyes met his again, she giggled, almost embarrassed. Charlie looked around for something to wipe up his mess, from both his body and the glass, then stripped his tee-shirt off and used it to wipe up the evidence of his embarrassment.
    After a long awkward moment where they were unable to meet one another’s eyes, Callie grabbed her pen and paper and wrote, “That was nice. Thank you.”
    Charlie wrote, “Thank ME?! No, thank YOU! That was SO HOT!!”
    Callie smiled.
    Charlie wanted to write something else — that he loved her. But that seemed so stupid, immature, and probably weird, that he couldn’t bring himself to write it.
    So, instead, he wrote, “I’m going to miss you so much tomorrow.”
    She wrote, for what seemed a long time, and then held it up to the window, “Do you remember when you told me you liked me? I’m not gonna say I’m sorry that I rejected you then. I’m not. Well, I am, and I’m not. I’m not because I’d never lie to you. But I am, because it made you leave. If you hadn’t left, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe we’d have found a way to get along without Bob. And eventually, I would’ve discovered that you are so much more than I thought.”
    As Charlie read the page Callie was holding up, she one-handedly scribbled on another, then held it to the glass for Charlie.
    It read, “I’ve never really let people get too close to me. And I didn’t want to let you in, either. Yet, you found a way inside my heart. I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I love you, too.”
    He finished the page and met her eyes. They were tearing.
    He cried, too, as he set his hand against the glass, wishing like hell he could touch her and hold her. He was almost willing to break glass again, and get shot to death by Guardsmen, if only to hold her for one more minute.
    “I love you,” he said, mouthing the words, feeling as if the weight of the world had slipped from his shoulders and his soul. A giddiness took its place.
    They lay down, side by side, separated only