Author's notes:
Trish and Narancia are aged-up to their early twenties.
A good half of the Naratrish fanarts dresses them in original outfits, and it's always SO GOOD omg.
Vivid colors. A meadow of angiosperms. Corollas. Center = Yellow androecium stamens pollen. Appetizing.
Reorientation. Aim. Landing...
Abnormal touch. Unusual odor. Confusion... Doubt.
Reach yellow. Food. Eat. Abnormal texture... Can't eat. Confusion. Yellow pollen food? No? Anomaly. Reassess?
...! Violent blast of air. Danger flee up up up- AGGRESSION left flank hit by giant lump of flesh- Flee up up up far far far
Trish's sight follows the tiny bumblebee clumsily flying away.
"Oh! You chased it?" Narancia asks in a disappointed tone.
He's sitting next to her on a large blanket spread on the grass, cross-legged, the hem of his pants hiking up on his calves.
Trish sighs. "I knew this dress would attract bugs..."
She runs a lazy finger on the embroidery adorning the wide flared skirt: red, purple and pink flowers sowed on a baby blue fabric. The bottom of the dress is wide enough to cover entirely her folded legs. She wore the beautiful garment today thanks to Narancia, the man ceaselessly emphasizing on how the pink flowers compliment her hair. It didn't take more to convince Trish to choose the dress for their excursion to the park, much to her partner's joy.
As for him, he had set his heart on a coral top with a cutaway neckline endowed with a peter pan collar, the whole completed by a second layered neckline falling below his swole shoulders. The intricate item paired with some simple straight-cut taupe pants.
Pants currently sprinkled with crumbs from the peach crumble he is carelessly eating. Trish and him had baked the dessert in the morning to savor it during their picnic at the park. Inevitably, the abandoned goods have attracted an ant colony, the little insects more than happy to nick the sugary leftovers. Noticing the line of tiny black dots leading to his pants, Narancia, being the generous type, begins to settle a tiny pile of crumbs on the blanket; to the ants' delight, who busy themselves around the pile.
Trish observes the scene out of the corner of her eye. While moved by the ingenuous gesture, she can't resist from playfully scolding her boyfriend for wasting their dessert.
"You should have told me your six-legged friends were invited to the picnic! We would have baked more servings..." she says in a teasing tone.
"Says the living flower field!..." He retorts, a sly smile on the face. "...At least I'm offering them real food!"
Trish feigns a pout. "I thought you liked this dress..."
Narancia can't help but break out of character, his look softening. "I do... You're sublime in it." His hands gently settles on hers and he leans forward, lips puckered- instantaneously captured by her girlfriend's.
Their kiss lasts enough time to make butterflies hatch in their stomachs. When they part, eyes shining, the mood is no longer one of pseudo-squabbles.
However the show must go on, if the audience doesn't mind a change of direction.
"Sorry for mocking your dress," Narancia picks up. "It looks gorgeous. Really. How can I make up for it?"
Trish lifts an eyebrow. I'm not really mad, you don't have to...
A wink from her partner makes her swallow back the sentence. Catching up, she stretches her lips in a smile which gives a whole new meaning to her still raised eyebrow. "I don't know... What are your suggestions?"
His hand leaves hers to slide to her waist. The other slowly sneaks under her skirt and begins rubbing her thigh. "What about moving to a more private location? So I could apologize properly..."
The girl lets a few seconds pass before replying. Not to ponder, as she has already made up her mind; but to delight in her boyfriend's shiny begging eyes a little bit longer. She almost expects him to wag a non-existent tail in excitement, like a young pup waiting for his treat.
She finally nods at a beaming Narancia.
But suddenly, the reality catches up with their little game. The walk to their home is at least 25 minutes long. Are they really going to leave the park after not even an hour just for the sake of prurience?
"Say... What do you mean by 'private location'? Home?" She asks.
Narancia, who obviously didn't think further, is caught off guards. He scratches the back of his head in confusion. "Well..."
They stay silent for a moment that drags on as they sit there, pondering on what to do.
Trish throws a glance at the dense thicket bordering the area of kept turf where they are settled. A thought springs to her mind. That could be a possibility...
A bit taken aback by the fact that she's seriously considering such thing, she weighs the pros and cons. She knows for a fact that the adventurous man in front of her will be down for it. He had suggested the idea more than once in the past, always meeting Trish's reluctance. The young woman chews on her bottom lip, mulling the idea. Will she have the guts to follow up?...
Eventually, her desire gets the upper hand. She points at the thicket and leans in to Narancia's ear to say in hushed tones:
"Darling... Do you think the bushes and trees out there are dense enough to hide us…"
As she leaves the end of the sentence hanging, the young man looks at the thicket, eyes wide open and breath made heavy by the excitement.
"I think so," he lets out in one breath.
He turns his head to exchange a look with the pink-haired girl. A flash of mutual understanding crosses their gaze, and without a second thought they quickly collect the scattered picnic items, roll the blanket after merely shaking it from the crumbs (to Trish's insistence) and walk to the trees with great strides.
They soon find themselves surrounded by the trees. The turf is out of sight, hidden behind the dense foliage- meaning their pair is also safe from prying eyes. Narancia unrolls the blanket and gallantly invites Trish to sit on it. He then does likewise and, wasting no time, his hand is back under her girlfriend's large skirt. Their mouths are back on each others, sharing heated kisses while the boy's hand gradually climbs up the soft thigh.
But when he reaches the top, instead of finding a pair of underwear, his fingers touch... nothing.
Well, not exactly nothing. His fingertips meet the familiar texture of his lover's trimmed hair. While the surprise is not a bad one - far from it -, he breaks the kiss to throw a quizzical look at Trish.
She simply shrugs. "I figured out underwear wasn't needed. The dress is so long..."
Narancia feels his head ready to explode. To think that a while ago, she was scolding him for going commando under his leather pants... He goes back to kissing Trish, perhaps with even more hunger than before. Meanwhile, he works his hand between her spread legs, caressing her folds with the back of his knuckles. The kisses become sloppier as the increasing feeling of arousal makes it hard to stay focused, but neither of them cares.
The brunet moves his hand to cup Trish's sex, rubbing the entirety of her slit while making sure to press his palm on her mons at each upward motion. In reaction, she raises her hips from the ground to grind against his hand, taking leverage on his shoulders.
Feeling her small hands on his bare skin almost causes Narancia's brain to shortcut. He suddenly breaks the kiss and withdraws his hand, much to Trish's discontent; she groans and frowns while looking at her boyfriend, trying to understand the reason of such abrupt loss.
He answers through action: Collapsing on his back, he points at his face with a cheeky grin. "Sit on my face."
Without needing to be asked twice, the young woman gladly complies. She hitches up the bottom of her dress and grounds her knees on each side of Narancia's beaming face. When she lets go of the dress, the blue fabric enshrouds the man below. The brunet feels like he's ascending to heaven, surrounded by the mild sunlight dimmed by Trish's dress. His eyes absent-mindedly trace the shadows of the little flowers strewn on the fabric. Such setting would almost appease the hyperactive man if it wasn't for a greater flower floating at mere centimeters of his face, one which subtle scent suffices to inflame Narancia's passions.
Slightly raising his head, he takes one large lick between Trish's legs, from her opening to her clit- almost sighing from relief. Feeling her thighs slightly tremble from his action, he grabs each leg, rubbing soothing patterns on the soft skin in passing. Then he dives back in. He stimulates her clit with the bottom of his tongue where he knows the flesh is softer, less coarse than the top. Moving the wet organ in little motion from left to right, right to left, varying in pressure.
Above, the pink-haired girl is panting and letting out soft exclamations of pleasure, struggling to keep her voice contained. She can already feel the familiar pressure growing in the pit of her stomach, so early thanks to the novelty of the setting, so early thanks to the spontaneity, so early thanks to her boyfriend's skilful tongue... Too early.
She is about to warn Narancia to slow down but the young man suddenly withdraws his tongue, as if he read her mind. Giving her a moment of respite, he trails butterfly kisses on the inside of her thighs, tickling the skin. The fire in Trish's core slowly cools down, reduced to just a spark when the boy's mouth is back on her sex- ready to work that spark into a jubilant bonfire. He switches between wet licks on her drooling opening and labia, and long suckles on her clit that has her arching her back in ecstasy.
Meanwhile, Narancia's pants gradually become more and more uncomfortable. He slips a hand down to palm at the bulge deforming his crotch- causing both relief and crave for further stimulation. He rubs it with the flat of his hand for a while which doesn't last very long: Rapidly, the zipper is down and his fingers brush against the wet stain of precome coming from his boxers. His stiff member continues leaking like a faucet as his hand keeps on stroking it through the barrier of his underwear. His poor erection throbs under his palm at every slow drag of Trish's womanhood against his jaw, the woman literally humping his busy mouth. He grabs her ass with his free hand to accompany her languorous motions.
Suddenly, Aerosmith's motor roars in the lovebirds' ears.
They freeze, alarmed. Narancia quickly summons his radar.
Someone is breathing, about 15 meters away from where they are. Or rather panting, based on the intensity of the signal.
The stranger comes closer, as told by both Aerosmith's radar and the distant - but still too close to their liking - rustling of the bushes. Trish clumsily moves out of Narancia's face. They wait without knowing what to do, their hearts hammering in their chests.
A voice echoes in the distance: "Oi, Benedicto! Come back boy, we're going to be late!"
A bark coming from the bushes answers the shout, and the signal on the radar quickly moves away in the opposite direction of their spot.
The two young adults look at each others with dazed expressions on their faces, before bursting into laughter. Narancia's back hits the blanket, arms around his poor ribs shaken by chuckles; Trish joins him, lying on her side to lay a loving stare on his merry face.
Little by little, they calm down, the session of laughter seemingly ending on a contest of who will give the most tender pair of eyes to the other. The mood is no longer set for sex, both of them discouraged by the mishap. But the minor incident is far from enough to deter the high-spirited man. He straightens up on one arm, moving the other toward his girlfriend's face to gingerly move a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Hey... That was hot. May we take a rain check for a next time?"
The pink-haired girl raises her head to kiss the tip of his nose before replying.
"Yes."
The boy is over the moon.