Drabble Tree Start
A drabble tree is more of a vine with tendrils than a tree. Here's how it goes: I'm posting a drabble at the end of this start. Someone else takes a line from my drabble and writes their own, posting it as a reply to that drabble. Anyone, at any time, can take a line from any drabble. Multiple lines from the same drabble, one from each, whatever. Knock yourself out. Drabbles are traditionally 100 words, but I'm not going to hold anyone to that (mostly because mine are almost always 200).
Anyone, any fandom welcome.
Owen was drunk. Completely smashed actually and Tosh hadn’t realized until his mouth was on hers, warm and slightly chapped. Until his tongue was in her mouth, tasting of the double jacks he’d swallowed in the hub, toasting them all at Midnight on the New Year. Three am though and he shouldn’t have been feeling it as much as he obviously was, hand on Tosh’s arse as she stood, frozen- her hand still in the air, holding the mistletoe above them, right above where Owen darted his tongue out to lick her lips in the open air before pulling her closer and hiding his face in her hair.
“Bloody cold,” he mumbled, lips on her neck. She was fucking freezing and could have stayed like that for hours. The thought, of course, as immediately followed by the cab finally arriving and Owen bounding away into the promised warmth of the taxi, calling out, “Come on, Tosh, shake a fucking leg, now.”
Tosh shook herself, tucking the mistletoe into her coat pocket. As first kisses went it…was still pretty damned bad.
Anyone, any fandom welcome.
Owen was drunk. Completely smashed actually and Tosh hadn’t realized until his mouth was on hers, warm and slightly chapped. Until his tongue was in her mouth, tasting of the double jacks he’d swallowed in the hub, toasting them all at Midnight on the New Year. Three am though and he shouldn’t have been feeling it as much as he obviously was, hand on Tosh’s arse as she stood, frozen- her hand still in the air, holding the mistletoe above them, right above where Owen darted his tongue out to lick her lips in the open air before pulling her closer and hiding his face in her hair.
“Bloody cold,” he mumbled, lips on her neck. She was fucking freezing and could have stayed like that for hours. The thought, of course, as immediately followed by the cab finally arriving and Owen bounding away into the promised warmth of the taxi, calling out, “Come on, Tosh, shake a fucking leg, now.”
Tosh shook herself, tucking the mistletoe into her coat pocket. As first kisses went it…was still pretty damned bad.