.
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Sometimes, late at night,
After a dose too much of whatever bottle I scrape from beneath my bed,
I find myself staring at the ceiling and thinking about a certain sweet, but sour, red-haired angel.
Sweet and sour, huh? Yin and Yang, black and white. She has it all. Anything you'd like, any little piece of everything you could ever want. Thinking about her, my heart likes to plug itself to a pair of power-surged jumper cables and let a shock through its weak, feeble fibers. It starts beating like crazy, is what I'm trying to say. Beating like crazy at the thought of Exusiai.
Ah, Exusiai…
Ah, Exusiai, Exusiai, Exusiai…
Those teeny tiny lips, those empty, doe-like eyes…
You could shine a flashlight in there, and the beam would come out the other side. I'm not saying that she's necessarily empty, but y'know. She kinda is.
Nevertheless, I'd like to imagine myself on a night-time crawl through Lungmen. A love-drunk crawl, sure.
During that crawl, I would actually really love to find myself in the same locker room as Exusiai after a long, winding workout. A whole day of exhausting work could do too, actually.
I'd love to creep my way over to her back and surprise her with a smothering hug from behind. Tightly wrapping my arms around her tank top, I'd catch each little, twitchy fiber of muscle tightening beneath my hold. Like a coiling snake, startled by a snapped branch – she'd shudder at the sudden invasion of privacy, as my arms cross each border of that unimportant little matter some call "personal space."
I bet she'd squeal a little with those pretty little lips of hers and give me that pouty, playfully-serious look, as she turns to glare at me. Oh, just the mere sight of those saucer-sized, apricot peepers would get me all worked up and a little warmer beneath the collar.
She'd probably giggle a lot, too. She'd giggle, as I lower myself over to her eye level and gently trace my fingers along her forearm, aimed at the crook of her elbow. My thumb would perfectly mold into that tiny, little crevice I bet. I mean, you know it would. With all the slippery sweat over her glistening skin? It would HAVE to fit.
"What're we doing, huh? What's the plan here?" She'd ask, all giggly and eager. A few little thump-jumps of her bouncy hips would bring our bodies closer, now locked in a steady grind.
I'd shush her down with a little smooch to the neck. Just above the point where the windpipe meets her shoulder blade – right there, I'd plant my soft lips on her even softer skin, and let my tongue slide all over. Back and forth, without any grace to it. You know I'm hungry. She knows I'm hungry. We both are, so she lets me feed off of her body.
The first hints of flavors hit my tongue. Droplets of sweat stain my tastebuds with their savory aftertaste, but it's not nearly enough to satiate the need. My tongue crawls on forward, on all fours if it could, aimed to please its master, right beneath her jawline. A meek murmur spills from her lips, a waterfall of earthly pleasure. My ears stand on attention – soldier's eager to listen and obey a direct order – but I can't quite make out what she's trying to say.
"What's that, El?" My voice rings out in her ear. Gathering the opportunity into my basket, I lean in and flick the mushy tip of my tongue along her earlobe. She's trying to whisper something – again – but a low growl of striking pleasure cuts her words in half. My smirk grows, as I push on deeper and latch my lips onto her ear.
"Y-You damn perv, you…" She musters a breathless giggle, as the mushy tip of my tongue worms its way into her melty insides. I can't feel anything but the booming warmth washing off of her in waves, and the fire radiating from inside her ear. I explore her ear-crevice through with the wriggly twitches of muscle – each one, locked in a competition between the two of us – a competition of who's receiving the more bountiful bloom of pleasure at this point. I'm not sure. She's not sure. I've got her in my arms, whimpering in soft, and needy moans, intermissioned with weak mentions of my name. And me? I'm just licking her ear. The inside of her ear. It feels warm, and it feels nice, but there's not much else to it. It tastes quite sweet, though.
A finer line of sweet, and melty drippings pours from her ear, and trickles down my chin. I catch the golden ambrosia with the tip of my tongue – can't let it go to waste, right?
"Right, El?" I murmur into her face. Somewhere along the line, I find myself lost in the warmth of her cheek again.
"Right, what?" She asks, in a whisper lower than the buzz of the nearest AC unit. Even with the cooling breeze, nothing could put out the smoldering flames of passion coursing between us two. "... You're just talking out your ass again, mmm~?"
I don't actually know what I'm saying. I don't think she does, either. I don't think my brain's functioning correctly at this point in time, due to all those wonderful flavors dripping down my Exu-hungry throat. I swallow her scent and dive in for seconds.
With my fingers off her arm, I find myself reaching underneath the thin fabric of her sweat-soaked tank top. What lies beneath, I ask? One way to find out.
She "Eep?"'s at the sensation. My fingertips seek, and eventually touch the general area of her lower abdomen, somewhere where the fabric meets her oversized shorts. Somewhere around there, I stick a finger up the fabric and feel around for any particular vantage points.
…
…
… Nothing much. Her stomach feels strange. Hard, of course it's hard. Hours of running and gunning work have turned her into quite the sportslady, huh? Jumping from roof to roof in Lungmen takes its toll, but also works wonders on the body.
The form. The shape, the mold, the cut.
My hands rest on top of her tummy. The harder I press into her skin, the more I can feel her warm body leaning into mine. Her hair fills my face and nostrils, sending gentle waves of pure pleasure coursing through my brain. A gentle hum escapes her lips, as her eyelids close to shield her from the bright lights reflected off the countless lockers that make up this little fortress. An intimate fortress, built just for me and her. My lips press into her hair, because I feel like doing so. Loose strands of slightly moist locks invade my mouth. I welcome them without hesitation, and mush my lips flush to the crown of her head. She shudders and giggles, and the sound only drives my feverish need for her, onward. It lights a flame that can only be extinguished by peppering her lush forest of crimson hair with tiny, little kisses.
My hands trail upwards. I can feel her skin bending beneath my touch, droplets of sweat sinking into my palms. The fabric parts to make way for my hands, as I pass the boney valley of her ribs, playing a gentle melody of pleasure over each one, like a plate of cymbals. My fingers dip into the crevices between.
Dip, dip, dip.
With each touch, comes a blow of air escaping her lips.
Dip, dip, dip.
She whispers my name, and asks me to keep going. I've always had the soul of a musician, so I do. My nails dig into her skin, to caress and lovingly worship her warm, and soaked flesh. I run my tongue through her hair, and discover a whole new flavor of Exusiai hiding within. This one, a little salty, a little sweet, a little dull, a little bitter. Bitter, like soap. Understandable. As my mouth fills with her essence, my nostrils whiff up a lungful of Exu, to enjoy her through and through. It smells godly – truly un-Terra-like. Hints of sweat mix and mingle with the overbearingly perfect hue of her savory musk, and create a concoction akin to the most perfect of perfumes – something not even Jean Paul Gaultier, or his Terran equivalent, could rival. The smell clashes with an artificial bloom of a mechanical apple. You know what it is, I know what it is. Does she know?
"... Apple shampoo?" I ask, amused by her pretentiousness. My hands can't help but slide along the rubbery strap of her sports bra.
"You know it, big man." She snortles a snarky response. But I'm neither a man, nor a woman, nor anything in between. I'm a concept both beneath and above those three labels. What a brat. Just for that, I break the moral barrier and "accidentally" slip my palms over her chest.
Her head turns. I can hear the cogs turning, as her cheeks are sprinkled with a little dusting of red, and she shoots me a look . Her eyebrow raises.
"... And what exactly do you think you're doing there, mister? "
I smile like the biggest moron on Terra. For sure the biggest idiot in Lungmen. My hands curl around her petite curves.
"Doing a little exploring. Some deeper digging, dig? Searching for treasure, scaling the empty plains and looking for the X-mark."
"There's no X mark on my tits, dum-dum."
Is there? I glance past her shoulder and shamelessly stare down her cleavage. I'm honestly not surprised in the slightest by what I see. No X anywhere, but a pair of untainted summits, hugged neatly from all sides by the elastic fabric, and my hands. Not the highest peaks I've ever scaled, but surely perfect in their own, tiny way. Just to make sure that I haven't truly missed the mark, my hands allow themselves a little grip. A gentle fondle of her soft and moisty breasts, like squeezing a pair of reliable stress balls, eager to help me unwind after the horrors of a full day's work. Her gaze stills on mine, and she looks most unamused.
"Oh, wow."
"What?" I respond with a chuckle. As if to pour some more oil over the sizzling flames, I cup her bra again. Up and down, I slide the tiny balls of dough-like fluff, to entertain myself a little. She doesn't seem to mind.
"..."
She does, actually. Her halo flickers dim, and her eyes remain uncharacteristically dull. I reach out and tap her on the nose.
"Boop. Lighten up, cowgirl."
"I'm as lightened as can be, jackass." A hand reaches towards the bright ring of light above her head. She slides a finger along the rim. "... Refer, here. See how bright this is? Can't sleep at night 'cause of it, sometimes."
"Oh, can't you?" My fingers knead, and knead, and knead, and knead…
The feel of fabric shielding her warm piles of mushy batter brings an inexplicable surge of pleasure to my weary brain. Weary from what, exactly? I can't tell. Even if I tried, I can't. Instead, I grope her chest again. With each touch, my hands start getting more and more used to this unfamiliar position, and I can't say I mind. She's soft, she's warm, she smells like the Law-given heavens, and her back's pressing into my chest with each squeeze. What else could I ask for?
A taste, maybe. A new flavor.
I reach out to grab her hand. She yelps, but doesn't protest. Physically, at least.
"What is it, this time?"
"Can I move this thing around?" I ask, eyeing her halo. In this position, it almost looks like we're dancing some elaborate waltz – but no, in reality I'm just fondling her tits from behind. "... Does it hurt? The halo?"
"Does what-... OW?!" Her lips burst into an explosion of surprised befuddlement, as I reach for her light-ring and tug at it, downwards. Her head tilts. I let go of her chest at the feel of her pulling away. "Ow, the hell? Dude, some warning next time?"
"...?" She falls from my arms.
Bummer.
The tank top flows down the ravine of her silky-smooth body, and covers it all in its all encompassing embrace. My eyes feel a need to shed tears at the sight of her perfectly toned tummy disappearing beneath. A great sadness taints my soul. "It's just some halo touching, relax."
"Halo touching hurts, dipshit." She scoffs, then fixes the ring back in place. "... Just ask next time."
"Yeah, yeah…" I blow a raspberry, to show her how little I actually care. Yeah, that'll string her. For sure.
"..."
I realize that I do actually care. My feet shuffle closer to her hers, and our bodies touch once more.
"... So, can I?"
"Can you, what?" She looks into my eyes. Fun thing about being short is not needing to look down at her. She's perfectly my-level. Very level-headed. If you were to put an industrial level to her eyes, then mine, it'd give you a perfectly straight line. It's kinda funny how pissy and annoyed she looks. So feisty. So out of character. I chuckle and lean in, to stuff her mouth with my tongue.
"Mmmph…?"
A questioning mumble manages to slip past her lips. I can feel her tongue try to formulate some sort of sentence, but at this point I'm too deep in her throat to make out what she's saying. Her eyes soon flutter closed, and she melts into the smooch. Our lips grind gently against one another, and her arms unwillingly knot around my neck. Close and personal, just how she's always liked it. The firmness of her chest, the warmth pouring from her body, it all crashes against me, as she clings to my skin tight. I return the favor with equal fervor, my arms slithering around her back. Our tongues wrestle, one trying to grind the other down into a fine, fibrous powder. I can't let her win, so I push on deeper and catch her off guard. It gives me a chance to slither my way over the top wall of her mouth, and press down on her muscle to whip it into something resembling obedience. A low moan of pure neediness reverberates through our shared tunnel of mouths, as she gives herself fully into the kiss and grips the nape of my neck. My hair stands up straight, but it's alright. It matters little.
I feel warm. I feel really warm, but there's another matter at hand. The tasting matter.
With her tongue conquered, I can freely run my tasting-fibers over each little part of her. Eyes closed, I'm groping in the dark, only led forward by the savory surge of flavor of her spit. She's breathing through her nose, not to break the kiss. Clever girl, I should do the same.
A combined wave of smell and taste hits my receptors, as the dish also known as Exusiai captures me fully in its masterful composition. The taste of her spit and insides, combined with the natural smell of warm sweat that drips from her in rallying gales, gives way for my brain to short circuit for the second time tonight. Something goes a little wrong – something slips, something doesn't – and we find ourselves on the floor. I may have hooked her leg. She may have hooked mine, actually. Can't really rule that out, with those sporty shanks of hers. God, I could just gobble those thighs right up…
"... Stop ogling." Her breathless voice brings me down to earth. A mischievous glimmer in her eyes leads the tip of her finger, and her hand curls around my face. "... And get to work. Time's money, and we're on the clock, bud."
"Right. Of course."
To be on the clock is to be hurried by an invisible whip. A rapid current of crackling electricity that elicits a reaction from my brain. I see her heaving chest beneath me, and her hungry eyes begging for some sort of initiative. Her cheeks are flushed. Of course they are. Peppered with kisses, soon enough, as I loom over her pretty, little angel face and brush my lips all over her. Squeals of unfiltered glee fly out from behind her lips, as my hands find themselves leading a thorough search around her waist area. What are they even searching for? A lost cause? A reason to go on? The truth to life? She's my truth right now, that's all I need to know. She's my truth, and she's soft and wobbly under my touch. Her sides bend under my fingers, and I push myself further over her head.
"Hey? H-Hey, hello? What're you–...?" She asks me, all confused and thrown off guard. That's the fun part, making her flustered and leaving her questioning. I grab her halo again, and the warmth it exudes radiates through my palms. It's hot. Really hot. Both metaphorically and literally – it's really, really hot. I can barely see the flash of her apricot irises fluttering in confusion, as I bury my lips in, and run them along the golden brim.
Exusiai's breath hitches in her throat. The soft "O-Oh", I can hear it even from here. From up there, all the way over her head, right by the glimmering cluster of bright particles. My tongue slips and gently allows itself a little taste.
A taste of an angel's halo. How poetic is that? This is what makes them be, truly. The wings are purely cosmetic anyway, and they don't even take on a corporeal form, but the halo? No, the halo's fully corporeal. It's corporeal as fuck. It's so corporeal that I can lick it clean and then go in for seconds, cause it's never leaving our mortal plane. What a lucky son of a bitch I am, huh?
Her soft whimpers drive the urge forward, and her hands latch onto my body. She's reaching somewhere beyond my waist. Somewhere, further. I'm not sure where, so I let her. It's her choice, after all. I'm the one licking her symbol of heritage clean, after all.
Speaking of, it's not the best. Not the brightest taste, actually. This one's a total miss. Back, back, way back then, I used to lick TV screens to get a hint of the static coursing through their ever so bright panels, but it always just reeked of pure technology on my tongue. Same case here – it's all just artificial. No natural hints of womanly odor, no girly girl-smell – just pure TV static. I pull away, and her needy moans stop at once.
"W-... Why'd you stop?" She asks, breathless. I lower myself onto her, straddling her body flush with my thighs.
"Tastes horrible."
"... My halo?"
"Yeah? What else?"
"A-And my ear wax doesn't?" She seems befuddled at my reasoning. To be fair, her ear wax did bring some much needed sweetness to my tongue, so I can't say it was the worst. The halo, though? Like licking a warm game console.
"You ear wax's actually pretty good. Digestible, you know?"
"No? I d-don't know, you freak." She giggles. Her tank top's already slipped a little from her cleavage, showing a little more than usual. It captures my sight and makes me stare – because who wouldn't – at the perky outline of her bra pushing against the fabric. She scoffs, finding the gesture most childish. "And you're back to ogling? I thought we were past that already, c'mon…"
Sure. She's right. I nod at her accusation, with full admittance of my crime. If I were to be jailed for simply admiring the female form, so be it. Penance, it is. Bind me, wrap my soul in chains and whip me for all eternity, but I shall not – never – not allow myself a peek at Exusiai's petite curves. If eternal damnation is what awaits me for such a frivolity, I accept it. I welcome it, actually, with arms wide open.
She's still staring, still playfully annoyed. Seeing her pouty look, I do the only sensible thing in my current situation.
I grab her forearm.
I raise it high above her head.
I ignore her confused glare.
And I dig in.
My upper teeth rub over the deodorant-crust covered patch of her armpit.
All hell lets loose.
"... What the hell are you doing?" She asks, deadpan. How do I explain this…? How can I put into words, my need for her flavor?
"Getting a taste." I mumble back, buried beneath the softness and moist warmth radiating from the deliciously glistening part of her, where the arm meets the torso. Hues, hints, smells and stenches all waft in the air, and they all assault my nostrils in rapid succession, one after another. The fake reek of deodorant-coolness, the heavenly drops of Umami in the form of her sweat…
The flaky curst, melting on my tongue and coming apart inside my mouth – molded from nothing, dissociated into a fine flavor that sinks into my tastebuds, as I nuzzle my nose further into her pit and lick that angel girl clean. Back and forth, my tongue wriggles in and out of that tiny hole of pure flavor. Back and forth, I find myself at a lack of oxygen, as all of my motoric functions are focused on thoroughly feeling and enjoying her, as a whole. Her taste. Her smell. Her moans. Her shuddering skin. The neediness in each fiber of her voice. Pure, animalistic want , permeating each shaky whisper. My hand finds its way to her skin, and snakes beneath her shirt. As it had been written before in the book which pages tint black as ebony, and its words are laced with gold, I feel the bulging muscles twisting and churning beneath my touch, as I grope her wet stomach again. Again and again, like a perpetual pleasure machine, my tongue takes care of her armpit, while my fingers rub and caress her tummy. I'm a worshiper, and her skin is my deity. My gold-covered idol of love, tended to and cared by each and every part of myself. I whisper her name, I blurt "Exusiai…" after "Exusiai…" into her skin, but she can't hear me over the thud of her rampaging heart.
So what am I left with?
I'm left with tending to my goddess. Like a man dying from dehydration licks the insides of an empty gourd, I bludgeon her pit with my tongue and drink every last bit of musk and sweat that lines her toned muscles. I worship her. I worship her whole, like no God or pagan creation had ever been worshiped before. It's my heaven. She's my little piece of heaven. My own, tiny heaven. Laterano lied, when they taught their truths about there being an afterlife of all those who are Lawful. I'm unlawful as fuck, and I'm already on cloud nine.
Right here.
Rubbing her tummy.
Licking her armpit.
Sinking in the sound of her needy whimpers.
Each little line of strained muscle, each highway of tense skin – all of it, buried beneath a parted sea of sweat-soaked fabric, resting under the trembling huff of her voice. It's soft, and it's shaky. It's on edge, it's right there. It's right, right there…
My tongue stops. The salty rivers of sweat soon dry up and stop pouring down my throat. I find myself perplexed.
I find myself asking.
.
"What the fuck am I doing?"
.
…
.
What am I doing?
.
…
.
Oh, right. Licking up Exusiai, of course.
.
Our faces meet, and we sit side by side. Her breathless giggles fill my ears.
"You perv." She shoves me, playfully. I return the gesture by hugging her tight, a smile woven onto my lips. Her body molds into mine, a key fitting its lock. Like a perfect creation of an imperfect creator, we sit and bask in the artificial buzz of the locker room's lighting. We sit on the floor, and hold one another tight. A gentle laughter invades the room – one akin to a pair of flustered high schoolers, caught in the middle of the act.
.
We hold, and hold, until the memories of tonight disappear along with our consciousness.
.
Until neither of us can remember anything.
.
Until we fall asleep in a proper bed.
.
Until her head rests against my chest, and until her breaths meddle with mine.
.
Until we're together, huddled in each other's arms.
.
And until Lungmen wakes us the next day.
.
.
…
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So yeah, that's what I find myself imagining. Anyone else?