[fiction] aubergines.
365 Gay Sharks
Day 318, Word Count: 1728
Theme: November; Write Until You Drop
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
She tangles their fingers together, letting herself relax into the feeling of just being near Taylor, and wonders what they look like. Maybe they look like they're in love or maybe they look like they're a couple who's coming home instead of people who've barely just met. Maybe she looks like the a college girl honor student that's on a date with her college boyfriend she's been in love with since high school.
It's something she tends to do, wonder what other people think of her, and she wonders if Taylor does the same thing. If they're synced up. That's like wishing for too many things, though, so Chris just lets her head drop onto Taylor's shoulder and rocks with the train's motion. They get off at a stop Chris has never been to and wander through the city some, wind nipping and curling around them like an old friend.
"It's a couple blocks away," Taylor says, fingers still tangled with hers, "are you okay to walk in those?"
Chris laughs, "Taylor, I'm a professional dominatrix. I wear shoes like this all the time and stand around for six hours. I'll be fine."
"I just wanted to make sure," he squeezes her hand, "Come on."
Chris lets Taylor tug her along to his place, keeping up with him even though her heels are slightly unsteady on the uneven sidewalk. He lives in one of the weirdly out of place apartment buildings that are scattered around the city, something old and shabby about them. Chris curls her fingers around the banister and tries not to fall over while she ascends the narrow staircase to Taylor's apartment. He lives on the second floor in a tiny box of a place that is a little cluttered but somehow charming. Chris leans against the wall.
"Sorry," Taylor rubs the back of his neck, "it's a little messy, but it's home. You can take off your shoes, if you want."
"It's okay," Chris says as she bends to undo the straps on her shoes, "It's not like I'm a paragon of cleanliness myself."
"You're a girl," Taylor says, "I though you were supposed to be into clean things."
Chris steps out of her shoes, frowning, "That is a sexist statement and you should feel ashamed of yourself. Girls can be messy too."
"Sorry," Taylor look genuinely chagrined, "It's just hard not to think in gender stereotypes, you know?"
"Forgiven," Chris smiles, "because you're right. It is hard."
She crosses most of the room to sit on the tiny couch that right in front of the proportionally small TV. It's very cozy and Chris likes it. Taylor sits down next to her and turns on the TV, which is set to the Discovery Channel. Chris makes a noise of approval, and Taylor grins.
Which is how they end up making out to a Mythbusters marathon. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chris thinks she should feel bad about it. She actually can't bring herself to, not with Taylor's hands on her hips and the upholstery of the couch under her palm, a hand in his hair. Chris loves kissing. She kind of wishes she got to do it on the job more often, but she's got her own personal policies about that.
There's an explosion behind them, and Chris has to pull away and laugh. It's not exactly the fireworks Hollywood tells her to expect.
"We're making out while the Mythbusters are doing science behind us. This is unreal."
"You're unreal," Taylor retorts, laughing as soon as he's said it, "That didn't make any sense, I'm sorry."
"We don't make any sense," Chris whispers across his lips, "but I'm okay with that."
Chris tightens her grip on his hair and crushes their lips together in an inelegant and messy clash of teeth. Taylor doesn't seem to mind. It's just when they're getting into the rhythm of it that Chris' phone goes off, loud and completely incessant. She groans, pulling away.
"I'm sorry," she says, "but that's Aidan's ringtone and I need to answer it or he'll bother the police."
"Tell your Aidan he's a cockblock. Kissblock. Whatever."
Sliding off Taylor's lap and walking over to where she'd dropped her purse, Chris chuckles. She digs in her purse for phone, answering it.
"Taylor says to tell you," Chris says as she leans against the wall, "that you're a kissblock."
"Is he compromising your virtue? No means no," Aidan says, voice metallic, "You tell him that."
"Aidan says no means no," Chris says dutifully, "although we were both consenting in this situation so he's being overtly cautious."
"Is he going to come kick my ass if I try and push you for sex? Not that I am. I'm good with just making out."
"I don't know," Chris sighs, "Aidan, if Taylor were to push me for sex - which he's not! - would you come kick his ass?"
"No," Aidan scoffs, "I'd probably just tie him up and leave him to think about his actions."
"He says he'd tie you up and make you think about your actions. Is there anything else you guys want to say or can I hang up now?"
"When are you going to be home?"
"When I get home," Chris shrugs, "if I'm not home by noon tomorrow, call the cops."
"Does that mean you're staying the night?"
Chris shrugs, "We'll see. I'm hanging up now. Bye, Aidan."
Hitting the end call button in the middle of whatever Aidan was going to say, Chris drops her phone back in her bag and returns to Taylor. She straddles him, knees settling on either side of his legs, and settles onto his lap, smiling. One of Taylor's hands settles on her back.
Taylor looks up at her, "Are you going to stay the night?"
"Yeah," Chris says, "but I still won't sleep with you. I just wanted to piss Aidan off."
"I'm cool with that," Taylor presses her forward until she's a little unsteady, "I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with."
Taylor kisses her then, and Chris stops worrying, stops wondering when everything is going to start falling apart, and just lets herself be. She nips at Taylor's lip and he arches up into her, which she files away for later use. It's a good piece of information to have, she knows. At some point they should talk about kinks and hard limits and other stuff but for now she doesn't worry about anything other than his lips.
The TV switches into something else, something that's not people blowing things up for science, and Taylor shuts it off, picking up Chris. He carries her to the bedroom, she twines her arms around his neck and touches their foreheads together. Taylor sets her on his bed. It's barely more than a mattress on wooden slats, but Chris doesn't really care. She pulls Taylor towards her and scoots toward the wall.
"Hey," she says, "little spoon or big spoon?"
"If I say little will you think I'm a sissy or anything like that?"
Chris smacks his hip, "You're being sexist again, of course you can be the little spoon. What time are you getting up?"
"The alarm is set for 10," Taylor says, "Is that good or bad?"
"It's fine," Chris noses at Taylor's neck, "Now go to sleep."
She flings an arm over his hips, pressing their bodies flush, and feels when Taylor relaxes into it. His breathing evens and hers does too. She wakes in the morning to an obnoxious and Taylor flopping out of bed trying to silence it. She yawns, stretching to shake off sleep. It occurs to her that this is the first time in a very, very long time that she hasn't woken up to Aidan cooking breakfast for her.
"You have two options," Taylor says, voice slightly thick with sleep, "we go to Noah's Bagels or we both shower."
"Bagels," Chris replies, "I want bagels and coffee, fuck if anyone cares what I smell like."
"I like the way you think," Taylor grins, "do you wanna borrow some clothes?"
"Is this your subtle way of ensuring that I have to see you again?"
"Maybe," Taylor shrugs, "Also I happen to have clothes that'll probably maybe fit you."
"Yes then."
He's rummaging through a chest of drawers that contain clothing, and he tosses a washer-shrunk t-shirt and a pair of exercise shorts at her. Chris blinks at them before tugging her tshirt off and pulling on the fresh one. She's shimmying out of her skirt when Taylor turns around. He stares, jaw hanging down, and Chris rolls her eyes as she pulls on the shorts. Taylor looks away, embarrassed, and mumbles something.
"I'm not ashamed of my body," Chris says as she adjusts the shorts, "you would have seen me naked eventually anyway."
"Most people are a little more reluctant to strip and get changed with a near stranger."
Chris shrugs, "Doesn't bother me. Naked people are beautiful. Are you going to get changed or what?"
Flustered, Taylor grabs some clothes and ducks into the bathroom. Chris takes the moment to fold her clothes and wander over to her bag. She shoves them in, muttering to herself then they don't quite fit and refolding them until they do. Her shoes are going to look ridiculous. She can't quite bring herself to care, though, because it isn't like people in San Francisco are the pinnacle of fashion 100% of the time.
Chris checks her face in the mirror she stuck in her purse and her make-up's pretty much shot to hell. She grabs a paper towel and wets it. Giving her face a good scrub (terrible for her skin, Aidan'll be mad), Chris wipes away the worst of the carnage and touches up the rest. She knows that Taylor probably won't care, but it matters to her. Even though she's not for heavy make-up, she likes to look presentable.
"I don't even know how you manage to look so fabulous," Taylor says when he emerges, "You're wearing exercise shorts."
"It's a little known fact," Chris shoves her mirror back into her bag, "that I am secretly just that fabulous. Also it's about confidence."
"I've come to the conclusion that you are some kind of crazy, magical faerie."
"That's pretty much the truth," Chris shrugs, "I'm magical and I do magical things."
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D
Day 318, Word Count: 1728
Theme: November; Write Until You Drop
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
She tangles their fingers together, letting herself relax into the feeling of just being near Taylor, and wonders what they look like. Maybe they look like they're in love or maybe they look like they're a couple who's coming home instead of people who've barely just met. Maybe she looks like the a college girl honor student that's on a date with her college boyfriend she's been in love with since high school.
It's something she tends to do, wonder what other people think of her, and she wonders if Taylor does the same thing. If they're synced up. That's like wishing for too many things, though, so Chris just lets her head drop onto Taylor's shoulder and rocks with the train's motion. They get off at a stop Chris has never been to and wander through the city some, wind nipping and curling around them like an old friend.
"It's a couple blocks away," Taylor says, fingers still tangled with hers, "are you okay to walk in those?"
Chris laughs, "Taylor, I'm a professional dominatrix. I wear shoes like this all the time and stand around for six hours. I'll be fine."
"I just wanted to make sure," he squeezes her hand, "Come on."
Chris lets Taylor tug her along to his place, keeping up with him even though her heels are slightly unsteady on the uneven sidewalk. He lives in one of the weirdly out of place apartment buildings that are scattered around the city, something old and shabby about them. Chris curls her fingers around the banister and tries not to fall over while she ascends the narrow staircase to Taylor's apartment. He lives on the second floor in a tiny box of a place that is a little cluttered but somehow charming. Chris leans against the wall.
"Sorry," Taylor rubs the back of his neck, "it's a little messy, but it's home. You can take off your shoes, if you want."
"It's okay," Chris says as she bends to undo the straps on her shoes, "It's not like I'm a paragon of cleanliness myself."
"You're a girl," Taylor says, "I though you were supposed to be into clean things."
Chris steps out of her shoes, frowning, "That is a sexist statement and you should feel ashamed of yourself. Girls can be messy too."
"Sorry," Taylor look genuinely chagrined, "It's just hard not to think in gender stereotypes, you know?"
"Forgiven," Chris smiles, "because you're right. It is hard."
She crosses most of the room to sit on the tiny couch that right in front of the proportionally small TV. It's very cozy and Chris likes it. Taylor sits down next to her and turns on the TV, which is set to the Discovery Channel. Chris makes a noise of approval, and Taylor grins.
Which is how they end up making out to a Mythbusters marathon. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chris thinks she should feel bad about it. She actually can't bring herself to, not with Taylor's hands on her hips and the upholstery of the couch under her palm, a hand in his hair. Chris loves kissing. She kind of wishes she got to do it on the job more often, but she's got her own personal policies about that.
There's an explosion behind them, and Chris has to pull away and laugh. It's not exactly the fireworks Hollywood tells her to expect.
"We're making out while the Mythbusters are doing science behind us. This is unreal."
"You're unreal," Taylor retorts, laughing as soon as he's said it, "That didn't make any sense, I'm sorry."
"We don't make any sense," Chris whispers across his lips, "but I'm okay with that."
Chris tightens her grip on his hair and crushes their lips together in an inelegant and messy clash of teeth. Taylor doesn't seem to mind. It's just when they're getting into the rhythm of it that Chris' phone goes off, loud and completely incessant. She groans, pulling away.
"I'm sorry," she says, "but that's Aidan's ringtone and I need to answer it or he'll bother the police."
"Tell your Aidan he's a cockblock. Kissblock. Whatever."
Sliding off Taylor's lap and walking over to where she'd dropped her purse, Chris chuckles. She digs in her purse for phone, answering it.
"Taylor says to tell you," Chris says as she leans against the wall, "that you're a kissblock."
"Is he compromising your virtue? No means no," Aidan says, voice metallic, "You tell him that."
"Aidan says no means no," Chris says dutifully, "although we were both consenting in this situation so he's being overtly cautious."
"Is he going to come kick my ass if I try and push you for sex? Not that I am. I'm good with just making out."
"I don't know," Chris sighs, "Aidan, if Taylor were to push me for sex - which he's not! - would you come kick his ass?"
"No," Aidan scoffs, "I'd probably just tie him up and leave him to think about his actions."
"He says he'd tie you up and make you think about your actions. Is there anything else you guys want to say or can I hang up now?"
"When are you going to be home?"
"When I get home," Chris shrugs, "if I'm not home by noon tomorrow, call the cops."
"Does that mean you're staying the night?"
Chris shrugs, "We'll see. I'm hanging up now. Bye, Aidan."
Hitting the end call button in the middle of whatever Aidan was going to say, Chris drops her phone back in her bag and returns to Taylor. She straddles him, knees settling on either side of his legs, and settles onto his lap, smiling. One of Taylor's hands settles on her back.
Taylor looks up at her, "Are you going to stay the night?"
"Yeah," Chris says, "but I still won't sleep with you. I just wanted to piss Aidan off."
"I'm cool with that," Taylor presses her forward until she's a little unsteady, "I won't do anything you're uncomfortable with."
Taylor kisses her then, and Chris stops worrying, stops wondering when everything is going to start falling apart, and just lets herself be. She nips at Taylor's lip and he arches up into her, which she files away for later use. It's a good piece of information to have, she knows. At some point they should talk about kinks and hard limits and other stuff but for now she doesn't worry about anything other than his lips.
The TV switches into something else, something that's not people blowing things up for science, and Taylor shuts it off, picking up Chris. He carries her to the bedroom, she twines her arms around his neck and touches their foreheads together. Taylor sets her on his bed. It's barely more than a mattress on wooden slats, but Chris doesn't really care. She pulls Taylor towards her and scoots toward the wall.
"Hey," she says, "little spoon or big spoon?"
"If I say little will you think I'm a sissy or anything like that?"
Chris smacks his hip, "You're being sexist again, of course you can be the little spoon. What time are you getting up?"
"The alarm is set for 10," Taylor says, "Is that good or bad?"
"It's fine," Chris noses at Taylor's neck, "Now go to sleep."
She flings an arm over his hips, pressing their bodies flush, and feels when Taylor relaxes into it. His breathing evens and hers does too. She wakes in the morning to an obnoxious and Taylor flopping out of bed trying to silence it. She yawns, stretching to shake off sleep. It occurs to her that this is the first time in a very, very long time that she hasn't woken up to Aidan cooking breakfast for her.
"You have two options," Taylor says, voice slightly thick with sleep, "we go to Noah's Bagels or we both shower."
"Bagels," Chris replies, "I want bagels and coffee, fuck if anyone cares what I smell like."
"I like the way you think," Taylor grins, "do you wanna borrow some clothes?"
"Is this your subtle way of ensuring that I have to see you again?"
"Maybe," Taylor shrugs, "Also I happen to have clothes that'll probably maybe fit you."
"Yes then."
He's rummaging through a chest of drawers that contain clothing, and he tosses a washer-shrunk t-shirt and a pair of exercise shorts at her. Chris blinks at them before tugging her tshirt off and pulling on the fresh one. She's shimmying out of her skirt when Taylor turns around. He stares, jaw hanging down, and Chris rolls her eyes as she pulls on the shorts. Taylor looks away, embarrassed, and mumbles something.
"I'm not ashamed of my body," Chris says as she adjusts the shorts, "you would have seen me naked eventually anyway."
"Most people are a little more reluctant to strip and get changed with a near stranger."
Chris shrugs, "Doesn't bother me. Naked people are beautiful. Are you going to get changed or what?"
Flustered, Taylor grabs some clothes and ducks into the bathroom. Chris takes the moment to fold her clothes and wander over to her bag. She shoves them in, muttering to herself then they don't quite fit and refolding them until they do. Her shoes are going to look ridiculous. She can't quite bring herself to care, though, because it isn't like people in San Francisco are the pinnacle of fashion 100% of the time.
Chris checks her face in the mirror she stuck in her purse and her make-up's pretty much shot to hell. She grabs a paper towel and wets it. Giving her face a good scrub (terrible for her skin, Aidan'll be mad), Chris wipes away the worst of the carnage and touches up the rest. She knows that Taylor probably won't care, but it matters to her. Even though she's not for heavy make-up, she likes to look presentable.
"I don't even know how you manage to look so fabulous," Taylor says when he emerges, "You're wearing exercise shorts."
"It's a little known fact," Chris shoves her mirror back into her bag, "that I am secretly just that fabulous. Also it's about confidence."
"I've come to the conclusion that you are some kind of crazy, magical faerie."
"That's pretty much the truth," Chris shrugs, "I'm magical and I do magical things."
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D