Pink lemonade filtered through the blinds, sunlight refracted by a sheer curtain shading the window. It was raining, but only distantly, as if the clouds couldn't make up their mind about it. The clothes hanging around them shook and swayed, like frilly, ribboned ghosts. Ichigo smiled easy, leaning back on the futon.
Today was a day off from doing nothing.
Momoko gathered her skirts so she could maneuver one leg on either side of Ichigo's head.
Ichigo licked her lips, staring up at Momoko with dark, glossy eyes. The intensity held her spellbound, like a cobra hypnotizing a snake charmer. She inched forward, unconsciously pulling the fabric of her dress closer to her chest.
The movement revealed Momoko's lacy underwear and a sliver of creamy skin at the top of her white thigh highs, peeking out from behind a sparkling garter. Above that was the barest suggestion of a navel, a little impression in an untouched plain of snow. Ichigo was drawn to it, easing onto her elbows for a better reach.
"I wanna taste you."
"Don't be vulgar."
"Who's vulgar?"
When her own weight became a burden, Momoko dropped the bottom half of her dress so she could clutch the makeshift headboard. The fabric fell around Ichigo's head like a veil as she bowed to press her nose to Momoko's panties. Their fingers twined as Momoko canted her hips and began slowly lowering the little slot between her legs to Ichigo's lips.
She breathed into the fabric and Momoko bit her lip, swallowing the sound of defeat that tried to escape her throat. Her knee knocked the round table beside her bed, rattling a dirty teacup. Ichigo untangled one of her hands so she could pull the expensive underwear aside and kiss her properly.
"I bet I taste sweet."
"More like sashimi," Ichigo chided. "Kidding!"
Climax didn't unfold til hours later, and then there were two, maybe three, one after the other, like a half-loaded handgun. Face-to-face in the aftermath, Momoko side-eyed the evidence, trying to ignore the dark red color smeared across Ichigo's mouth. She eased back and lowered herself tentatively into Ichigo's lap.
"Your turn."
Momoko lifted the cheap bargain store top to lick her chest, nipples furled like pink peonies floating in a saucer of milk. Her whole body bounced when Momoko slid a knee between her spread legs, bumping into the wet spot starting to show on her pants.
Ichigo twisted at the waist to bury her feelings in the floral duvet. Her thighs trembled as she breathed a damp spot into a pastel rose. Momoko tried to brush a strand of hair from her forehead but it was stuck with sweat.
"Who knew even someone like you could look cute."
"Shut up!" Ichigo snapped. "Don't look."
Momoko laughed and looked anyway. "Scared I'll see your cumming face?"
Turns out Ichigo orgasms stretched out, lips parted, like she's posing for a French painting. The whole thing was over before they'd gone very far. Momoko brought the edge of her nail to a clump of mascara webbed between Ichigo's fluttering eyelashes. Their gazes locked and cicadas stopped humming just to watch.
Momoko didn't work, as a general rule of thumb. She did, however occasionally, entertain Ichigo.