Improv fic: "Morning" 5/5 HS/OB
Gah, I'm such an idiot. Promise this was written on time...I just suck. *bats eyelashes prettily at Zarah & begs forgiveness*
Can't believe I managed to finish this series. Remind me to never listen to myself when I get ideas again. Please?
Title: “Morning” 5/5
Series: “Dance” Universe, set after the “Spin” drabble.
Author: Brenda
Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Orlando Bloom
Rating: PG
Summary: A taste of things to come.
Website: The Rolling Smut Factory
http://lionessandviper.com/rpsindex.html
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Hell, I don’t know if they’ve even met.
Notes: Last of the improv senses fics--taste is the sense. 45 minutes. Remind me to *never* listen to myself again. Cha. Written in 20 minutes, fucked with for another 20.
“Tastes like gold...
And I realize you’re mine”
--Queens of the Stone Age
Orli’s kiss tasted faintly of coffee, nicotine and Harry--bitter almonds with a sweet aftertaste. Reminded Harry of amaretto cheesecake, only without the graham cracker crust. “This was a much better idea,” Orli said, dropping his head back on Harry’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” Harry idly stroked Orli’s back, glanced down at the white sheets tangled around their legs. Made a nice contrast to pleasantly flushed skin.
“This.” Harry could feel, rather than see, Orli’s grin, and his own lips curved upwards.
“You were a better breakfast, anyway. I’m allergic to eggs.”
Orli’s head popped up, and he stared at Harry for a split second before bursting into laughter. “Fuck me...I had no idea.”
“I know.” Harry lifted his head for another sliding, sweet kiss, this time tasting laughter and joy. Cookie dough ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.
“Alright, what else don’t I know?” Orli asked, licking his lips a bit, eyes bright with mirth as he sat up, snuggling against Harry’s chest.
“Plenty, I would imagine,” Harry shrugged, propping his back with one of the crushed pillows. “But you know the important things.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.” Harry curled his fingers around the back of Orli’s neck, nuzzled the warm skin just under his jawline--tasted traces of soap, sweat and something sharp that might’ve been aftershave. Underneath it all was the heady, golden taste of Orli--indescribable and addictive.
Orli tilted his head, lashes fluttering over impossibly beautiful eyes. Harry wondered if they would taste like fairy sprinkles on his tongue. “What do I know?” Orli whispered, his own hands burning where they rested on Harry’s bare hips.
“You know how I like my coffee.” Harry smiled, leaning back, watching as Orli opened passion-hazed eyes, focused on him. “And you know the right words.”
Orli’s smile was slow, soft, speared straight into Harry’s soul. “You were worth the wait.”
“Took me long enough, though, didn’t it?” Harry didn’t wait for an answer, just swung his legs to the floor, tugged one of the sheets around his waist, and held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you to make my famous cinnamon-strawberry waffles. Decadence on a plate. Least, that’s how Karl describes them.”
“Sounds delicious.” Orli wrapped the other sheets around his hips, leaned in for another slow kiss. Earl grey tea laced liberally with honey. Funny that Harry could taste something completely different each time Orli’s lips touched his--and it still tasted exactly like Orli.
Harry pulled Orli flush against him, leaned his forehead against Orli’s, took a deep breath. Tasted the difference in the air, in himself, in his world. “Thank you for waking me up.”
Orli twined one of his hands with Harry’s, rested the other on his shoulder. And his answer was simple, soft, true. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
* * *
Can't believe I managed to finish this series. Remind me to never listen to myself when I get ideas again. Please?
Title: “Morning” 5/5
Series: “Dance” Universe, set after the “Spin” drabble.
Author: Brenda
Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Orlando Bloom
Rating: PG
Summary: A taste of things to come.
Website: The Rolling Smut Factory
http://lionessandviper.com/rpsindex.html
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Hell, I don’t know if they’ve even met.
Notes: Last of the improv senses fics--taste is the sense. 45 minutes. Remind me to *never* listen to myself again. Cha. Written in 20 minutes, fucked with for another 20.
“Tastes like gold...
And I realize you’re mine”
--Queens of the Stone Age
Orli’s kiss tasted faintly of coffee, nicotine and Harry--bitter almonds with a sweet aftertaste. Reminded Harry of amaretto cheesecake, only without the graham cracker crust. “This was a much better idea,” Orli said, dropping his head back on Harry’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” Harry idly stroked Orli’s back, glanced down at the white sheets tangled around their legs. Made a nice contrast to pleasantly flushed skin.
“This.” Harry could feel, rather than see, Orli’s grin, and his own lips curved upwards.
“You were a better breakfast, anyway. I’m allergic to eggs.”
Orli’s head popped up, and he stared at Harry for a split second before bursting into laughter. “Fuck me...I had no idea.”
“I know.” Harry lifted his head for another sliding, sweet kiss, this time tasting laughter and joy. Cookie dough ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.
“Alright, what else don’t I know?” Orli asked, licking his lips a bit, eyes bright with mirth as he sat up, snuggling against Harry’s chest.
“Plenty, I would imagine,” Harry shrugged, propping his back with one of the crushed pillows. “But you know the important things.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.” Harry curled his fingers around the back of Orli’s neck, nuzzled the warm skin just under his jawline--tasted traces of soap, sweat and something sharp that might’ve been aftershave. Underneath it all was the heady, golden taste of Orli--indescribable and addictive.
Orli tilted his head, lashes fluttering over impossibly beautiful eyes. Harry wondered if they would taste like fairy sprinkles on his tongue. “What do I know?” Orli whispered, his own hands burning where they rested on Harry’s bare hips.
“You know how I like my coffee.” Harry smiled, leaning back, watching as Orli opened passion-hazed eyes, focused on him. “And you know the right words.”
Orli’s smile was slow, soft, speared straight into Harry’s soul. “You were worth the wait.”
“Took me long enough, though, didn’t it?” Harry didn’t wait for an answer, just swung his legs to the floor, tugged one of the sheets around his waist, and held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll teach you to make my famous cinnamon-strawberry waffles. Decadence on a plate. Least, that’s how Karl describes them.”
“Sounds delicious.” Orli wrapped the other sheets around his hips, leaned in for another slow kiss. Earl grey tea laced liberally with honey. Funny that Harry could taste something completely different each time Orli’s lips touched his--and it still tasted exactly like Orli.
Harry pulled Orli flush against him, leaned his forehead against Orli’s, took a deep breath. Tasted the difference in the air, in himself, in his world. “Thank you for waking me up.”
Orli twined one of his hands with Harry’s, rested the other on his shoulder. And his answer was simple, soft, true. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
* * *