MINT
A/N: an old one already posted on LiveJournal; now dusted off for ff. net and posted for nostalgia =) Drinks prompt, from LiveJournal comm. Established relationship (Raydor/Flynn).
Coffee is bitter on her lips, strong and tart like wine but with a faint hint of Arabica that soothes upon taste. Wine on her tongue is only ever faint and with the foremost flavor of mint; put into her mouth by consideration. Mint dominantly the fresher savor, a taste that makes his lips fasten to hers with more energy than usual, languid replaced by fervor. To catch every little particle that lingers of the flavor, to trace and to savor.
Andy, she says in a little breathy tone, her voice just short of a giggle. Her smile deepens when she opens her front door wider, letting him in with a hand on his sleeve. He gladly follows, the light in her eyes beckoning, the mussed hair that is usually so well-together seeming almost unruly. The door closes with a small click and she leans up, her lips soft against his own. A welcome treat, one he will never tire of. Her hands are soft against his jaw, under his chin, caressing.
Mint on her lips is followed by fingers intertwined in his hair at the back of his nape, followed by her body close to his.
She murmurs something incoherently, another little giggle when she catches his eyes. They settle on her sofa, her hand already impatiently trying to sneak under clothes.
Mint on her lips and her eyes are a vivid green flecked with gold, flecked with a little golden hue of something untoward.
It's dark outside, curtains withdrawn. It's one of those nights were neither moonlight or streetlight seems to shine, one of those night where her hands are already under his pants, the heel of her palm against his cock, a leg around his waist bringing him flush down on her, keeping him fastened to her.
That underlying note of wine in her kiss, it's a path that trails past clothes, it rests in the crevice of his collar bones, travels with warmth across the expanse of naked skin, tracing muscles. Pectorals, a linger. Serratus anterior, a glide. External obliques, a grasp. Slender, pale fingers flexing and extending across his flesh, digging and soothing, warm with life, calm as she maps out his existence. A slide past his hips and a stop at his spine; trailing along upwards, grasping the muscles of his back. Lattissimus dorsi, a hard grip when her hips collide with his.
Impatience has never seemed this entrancing. She's quick with a giggle, swift with the buttons on his shirt and the buckle of his pants, quick to slip if all off and cover skin with her hands instead, with her mouth. Quick to land lips and to suck, to kiss and to slide them across his body.
Mint upon her breath, humid and fresh. Green in the air, in her eyes.
He cups her face, runs fingers down her throat, back up into her hair.
Mint in her exhalation, and the slide of a bare calf along his own.
She moans against his mouth, moans hungrily into every kiss.
Mint in a moan, and it's an explosion.
She giggles afterwards as well, fingers running through his hair as she looks at him, their sticky skin holding them together.
He never registers the bitter taste of alcohol on her breath; it's always doused in something else.
He laughs with her, only too happy to oblige, only too happy to content himself with this. He will treasure waking up with her even more in the morning; he will treasure bringing her coffee in bed and listening to her grumble about headaches. He will treasure it when she insists on staying in bed with him the entire day.
/
=)