Comet Quetzalcoatl—technically Comet C-2014/UN271, but called Comet Q because of some inane conspiracy theory connecting it to the gods of the Aztec calendar—curled across half the sky, visible even in the daytime, looking to Lena like the arched eyebrow of a disapproving parent.

Surely the end of the world was at hand.

It meant nothing of course, the comet was just another dead space rock from the Oort Cloud, unfortunate enough to be visiting Earth’s neighborhood at a time when science was suspect and objective truth a distant memory. People believed whatever the fuck they wanted to believe now. So while it wasn’t the comet’s fault, the world was going to end anyway: just a matter of how and when.

Lena lay naked on a plastic lounge chair on the rooftop of a NYC apartment she couldn’t afford, figuring next month’s rent didn’t matter. Her finger idled over her clit, teasing, feeding the moist tingle in her pussy, struggling to keep her rapidly approaching orgasm at bay. Not yet. Ride the plateau. Earn it.

She’d secreted her lounge chair and milk-crate table in the corner, next to the hulking HVAC unit. Her half-smoked joint issued a wispy line of smoke from the ashtray on the crate, hypnotizing her as she played with her pussy lips, keeping the fires banked.       

Manhattan burned on the streets below.

Similar blazes dotted the Brooklyn side of the river.

Screams, car crashes, gunshots brayed for her attention. 

Her nipples hardened in the night breeze. She felt the first galvanic spark of release in her belly and nurtured it, leaping down the nerve endings of her thighs like water seeking its own level. Ride the plateau. Earn it.

The access door creaked open.

Fuck.

A figure stepped out from beyond the shadows of the door in a performatively non-threatening manner, arms held out to the sides, feet slightly spread.

Lena felt more curious than frightened. Fire engines and car alarms wailed from the streets, flames licked up the Williamsburg Bank Tower across the river: the roof was safer than the rest of the world.

He stepped out from the doorway. The shadow of his cock slithered across the rooftop like a snake.

Lena laughed, even as her finger wandered toward her wet outer lips.

“Take two steps closer and stop,” she told him. He did so, eager as a puppy.

She took a hit of the joint, surveying him theatrically. She slid her finger into her depths with practiced slowness.

The man’s cock jerked, as did its shadow. He moaned; Lena wanted to.

Not yet. Ride the plateau.

“Touch yourself,” she ordered him. She watched him fist his cock enthusiastically. His moan turned to a low growl.

She dipped a second finger inside her wetness and her legs jackknifed together in unexpected spasm. He pumped at his shaft. A moment of mutual masturbation between two strangers, a spark of human connection as a dying world crumbled to ash. That feeling of complete control continued as she asked him to take one step closer, then another; her illusion of control faded as he jerked his cock harder and she realized she could hold back no longer. She sprang from her lounge, grabbed her ass cheeks, displaying herself to him without fear. She thrust hungry fingers back inside her velvet folds. She played to him, a sex kitten, a cum slut. The mask she hid behind felt thrilling. 

“Come fuck me,” she commanded. “Come fuck my tight ass.”

His growl turned to a rumble, like something large and unknown pulled from oceanic depths. He slapped his hard length against her ass.

“I need your cock,” begged Lena. She arched her back, presenting her ass. She sunk fingers into both her holes, crying out like a bobcat in heat, her cries doubling as his tongue lapped her fingers, and soon he was biting at the hot skin of her ass, tearing into her, insatiable. With a rush of cold air, his tongue and lips were gone, replaced by his palm against her ass, his fist gripping her hair, and as she screamed “Take me” felt his cock against her tight hole, throbbing, desperate for entrance. She took his thick member in hand and slid it in, the air alive, the scent of sex mixing with the smells of the burning city. Somewhere north of the roof a devastatingly large fireball lifted traffic-light-red into gray sky: a tanker or a fuel refinery. Minutes later the heat and noise rushed past them, but they were too far gone to care. His balls slapped against her asscheeks, his fingers clutched her hair; she moaned low, taking it all.         

He came hard. Lena bucked against him, adding her own orgasmic cries to his own.   

Heartbeats settled, breathing slowed.

Comet Q cut the sky above them like a bright sword.

They lay nearly unmoving, sharing the remains of the joint.

A brilliant globe of light appeared, a second sun rising in the West, much too bright to be resolved. The sphere spread out, growing in size, devouring the horizon. The light began to fade as a Halloween-orange mushroom cloud ascended like Jesus into the heavens.

It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

“Probably.” He took another hit and passed it to Lena. They watched the mushroom cloud rise.

“Nuclear?”

“Sure.”

“Terrorists?”

“Who the fuck knows? Could be anyone, these days.”

“Yeah.”

The honking and screaming and gunfire below them halted, crowds rapt at the sight, inadvertent front row seats to doomsday.

Lena passed the joint back. She noticed his cock stirring.

Men.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“How much time you think we have?”

“Until the shock wave hits? Couple minutes, max,” she told him. She cupped his balls in her hand, feeling his hardness grow, his hot blood churning, full of life, indomitable.

“But I do like your optimism.”

She leaned to him, gripped his awakening cock, and gently kissed him goodbye.