When movement on the bed wakes her, Faye rolls over onto her stomach and pillows her head on her folded arms. Her eyes open, and she peers quietly over her arm at Gren as he sits up next to her
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Prettiest boy in the bar and the prettiest girl in the bar: it was bound to happen.
She's beautiful, and there's a slow and luxurious sensuality to Faye that she keeps really well hidden. He didn't know, didn't suspect. He thought she would be a pure force to be reckoned with in bed and she is, but she's also full of surprises. Little flirtations, unexpected sweetnesses, turns of phrase and fingertips both that belie her outward indignation when someone first eyes her up and down, as if despite her dress she deserves this special prioritized dispensation from prying appreciative eyes.
And who wouldn't want to look her up and down? Who in the universe could resist? She's all curves and fluid texture and dark-haired green-eyed lust packed into a yellow-and-red-clad bundle, and one of the biggest pleasures and honors he's had lately has been peeling that protective skin off her slowly, intentionally
( ... )
It's been a long time since any small gesture has pleased her half as much as the kiss he plants on the back of her neck, and the lazy smile it immediately puts on her face proves that.
Even if it's mostly hidden by her arms right now.
The warmth of that kiss stays on her skin long after he's settled back down, almost mirroring her, and having him stretched out like that is just another -- louder -- invitation for her eyes to shamelessly feast on him.
It's not often that she needs an invitation to do anything, but when given one like this, she doesn't waste any time.
She was kidding when she told him this was bound to happen sooner or later because he's pretty -- but that part she wasn't really kidding about -- and she's pretty.
If someone had told her as soon as she left the Rester House after first meeting him on Callisto that she'd wind up in bed with Gren despite what he said about women not being his style, she'd have tilted her head, smiled slyly, and asked oh really. But had she been told the same thing after she'd seen
( ... )
Ease and intimacy with a partner used to be second nature to him. Back before Titan, before prison, he joked that he was the easiest man on Mars. He'd spend hours on a lazy morning just reveling in partnership: hours and hours of this entirely sybaritic hedonism. He used to love it. Lounging around with someone, dallying unconcerned, no measure of hurry or reality invading the day. He could have been crown prince of the slow tug of satisfaction.
Since prison, though, he hasn't had much call for that and it's with this reluctant awareness now that he realizes he rarely ever lies on his stomach any more. Too many ugly, violent memories are burned into his body at some cellular level and right now he almost moves to roll onto his side, as if that simple action could wipe away the trauma of what he survived there.
Two things stop him: first, the stoic part of him speaks up with a reminder that those days are over. He's here now by choice, not by coercion; nobody's going to force him to do anything or use his body in any way. The second
( ... )
She has no cause to think of him as hers -- does she? -- but it would be a lie to say that she hasn't caught herself feeling possessive about him in more than just the way her hands play over him.
Her hand, homeless once he rolls to his side, flutters in the air above him like a leaf in fall for a moment before it lands low on his side and takes up residence there as if it was meant to be there all along and the small of his back was nothing but a flirtation.
It's too eager to touch him. She can't pull it back. Or at least she's too reluctant to show the restraint necessary to pull it back.
Restraint's boring.
What's a far cry from boring is the way he inches closer, and once they're touching, it feels like her very skin gives her away.
When he tells her hi, it's suddenly a full-body experience, and she finds herself having to answer it by leaning in practically before she even realizes what she's doing and giving him the most lingeringly sweet kiss she's capable of.
Comments 8
She's beautiful, and there's a slow and luxurious sensuality to Faye that she keeps really well hidden. He didn't know, didn't suspect. He thought she would be a pure force to be reckoned with in bed and she is, but she's also full of surprises. Little flirtations, unexpected sweetnesses, turns of phrase and fingertips both that belie her outward indignation when someone first eyes her up and down, as if despite her dress she deserves this special prioritized dispensation from prying appreciative eyes.
And who wouldn't want to look her up and down? Who in the universe could resist? She's all curves and fluid texture and dark-haired green-eyed lust packed into a yellow-and-red-clad bundle, and one of the biggest pleasures and honors he's had lately has been peeling that protective skin off her slowly, intentionally ( ... )
Reply
Even if it's mostly hidden by her arms right now.
The warmth of that kiss stays on her skin long after he's settled back down, almost mirroring her, and having him stretched out like that is just another -- louder -- invitation for her eyes to shamelessly feast on him.
It's not often that she needs an invitation to do anything, but when given one like this, she doesn't waste any time.
She was kidding when she told him this was bound to happen sooner or later because he's pretty -- but that part she wasn't really kidding about -- and she's pretty.
If someone had told her as soon as she left the Rester House after first meeting him on Callisto that she'd wind up in bed with Gren despite what he said about women not being his style, she'd have tilted her head, smiled slyly, and asked oh really. But had she been told the same thing after she'd seen ( ... )
Reply
Since prison, though, he hasn't had much call for that and it's with this reluctant awareness now that he realizes he rarely ever lies on his stomach any more. Too many ugly, violent memories are burned into his body at some cellular level and right now he almost moves to roll onto his side, as if that simple action could wipe away the trauma of what he survived there.
Two things stop him: first, the stoic part of him speaks up with a reminder that those days are over. He's here now by choice, not by coercion; nobody's going to force him to do anything or use his body in any way. The second ( ... )
Reply
Her hand, homeless once he rolls to his side, flutters in the air above him like a leaf in fall for a moment before it lands low on his side and takes up residence there as if it was meant to be there all along and the small of his back was nothing but a flirtation.
It's too eager to touch him. She can't pull it back. Or at least she's too reluctant to show the restraint necessary to pull it back.
Restraint's boring.
What's a far cry from boring is the way he inches closer, and once they're touching, it feels like her very skin gives her away.
When he tells her hi, it's suddenly a full-body experience, and she finds herself having to answer it by leaning in practically before she even realizes what she's doing and giving him the most lingeringly sweet kiss she's capable of.
Reply
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