MMoM Day 25: "Coffee and Kahlua", Diana/El, Diana/Christie, NC-17
Title: Coffee and Kahlua
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairings: Diana/El, Diana/Christie
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Diana is stuck in an airport reading and remembering.
Words: 1,050
MMoM Day 25
The flight was delayed: thick fog rising into San Francisco from the bay, slicking roads, muting city noise. Diana called home. “Hey baby, I’m stuck.”
“How long?” Christie was, of course, disappointed.
“Not sure. If it’s not gonna be tonight, I’ll go back to Nikki’s.”
“Call me either way.”
“Love you.”
Diana slumped down in the chair at gate thirty-two, terminal B, hoping like hell she didn’t have to go back to her sister’s for another night. They’d had one of their colossal fights. She just wanted to get home to D.C. To her lover.
After an hour and a half of miserable waiting, she picked up her things and went to the airport bar. She sat at a small table in the corner with a draft beer and dug her book out of the carry-on. Diana read a few pages, and she wasn’t sure if it was the beer hitting her empty stomach or the writing, but she found herself getting slightly aroused. And then she read:
“She stayed the night in his bed, coiled around him like a snake. He lived in her cunt as if it were the Garden of Eden, memorizing it so he would never forget the smell or the magic of the terrain.”
“Shit,” Diana muttered to herself. Her pussy slicked up; she could feel the cream trickle between the lips of her sex, down over her anus. She took a cooling sip of her beer. Her thoughts drifted off the page.
First, she thought of her partner, the only woman she’d ever allowed to Top her, driving into her from behind in the dark. Diana’s cunt felt bereft, empty. She looked around the bar. There were just two guys with their laptops open across the room and the bartender wiping a white rag over some glasses in a way that looked less like cleaning and more like some sort of Zen practice.
Diana missed her partner, their big, soft bed, hands that knew her body by heart. But she found her thoughts floating back to that one night in New York, the time Peter and Neal had been away on a case and El had invited her for dinner. The time they’d had too much red wine, shared too many stories, kissed innocently at first, even though Diana didn’t believe in innocent kisses. That time she’d snaked her hand up between Elizabeth Burke’s thighs and made her shudder.
Diana held the book up, now just pretending to read, her thoughts deep in the past, before she’d left for D.C. Before she’d hidden that part of herself down underneath the shiny veil of her new life.
She had made love to Elizabeth for hours. They’d been on the living room floor, her hot mouth on El’s pussy, delving down to rim her sweet ass. She’d strapped one on to fuck her slippery cunt. El had pushed Diana down onto her back, had straddled her hips and ridden the vibrating cock to a loud and sweaty orgasm. Diana had rolled her onto her stomach, gone slow, and pushed the thing up El’s ass. Diana had come that way, plowing those soft and illicit depths.
Six months later, she and Christie had packed up a U-Haul and headed for their new jobs in D.C. Diana wished she could say the guilt had driven her away. The truth was she’d rather have stayed…had wished for another night like that. She knew herself too well: she was a bit of a rake, had some trouble with impulse control, and she would never have told El no. She might have even coerced a yes. The distance was maybe the only thing that kept Diana from showing up some night when Peter was away again, wine in hand, seduction at the ready. She knew El now…the change in her breath when she was touched right, the quiver of inner thigh, the arch of her back, the dirty things she could only whisper, the way her bra strap fell off one shoulder, the way her hair clung to her breasts…
Her smell and the magic of her terrain.
Diana knew she could have lived in El’s cunt, or tried to, split herself between two women, could have fallen in love, lived a double life. So she left.
But here she was, clit buzzing in an airport bar, with nothing to do but remember. She felt like she’d never forget: El in one of Peter’s dress shirts afterward, coffee and Kahlua and a roaring fire…their fingers intertwined like real lovers while they talked about what they wanted for the future. And then one last time, wrapped around one another and slow, so slow, mouth to confessional mouth, into the dawn.
Diana wanted to touch herself under the table. She wanted to soothe that sinful, piercing need. She wanted to call El in New York, even though it was much too late there, and she’d probably get Peter anyway. Or Neal. When El had talked about the future, almost all she could talk about was Neal Caffrey. Diana squirmed in her seat, the desire on the verge of turning to nostalgia, yet she knew she could bring herself off in about fifteen seconds flat if she wanted to.
She dug her cell out of her bag and held it in her hand, staring at the black screen, thinking of Elizabeth Burke’s wet mouth. Suddenly, the phone came alive, ringing, making her jump. It was Christie. It was her deepest love, her life, her reality come to call.
“Hey,” she said.
“Any news?”
“None yet. I may have to bug Nikki here pretty soon.”
A resigned sigh. “I miss you.”
“Me, too.”
“Call when you know.”
“I will, honey.”
“Love you.”
Diana hung up. She put the phone away, the ache of loss pulling at her ribs. The bartender signaled to her. “Another?” he asked.
Her beer was gone. “No,” she said. “No, thanks. But could I get a coffee and Kahlua?”
“Sure thing,” he said.
Diana took a deep breath, the sleepy airport a surreal thing around her. It made that night feel closer. It made El feel closer. Diana wondered if she ever thought of it…ever remembered what Diana felt like, sounded like. If El ever drank coffee with Kahlua and wondered how things might have been.
A/N: The quote is from page 84 of Jonathan Baumbach's "B", which I highly recommend for many other reasons besides the quoted passage.
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairings: Diana/El, Diana/Christie
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Diana is stuck in an airport reading and remembering.
Words: 1,050
MMoM Day 25
The flight was delayed: thick fog rising into San Francisco from the bay, slicking roads, muting city noise. Diana called home. “Hey baby, I’m stuck.”
“How long?” Christie was, of course, disappointed.
“Not sure. If it’s not gonna be tonight, I’ll go back to Nikki’s.”
“Call me either way.”
“Love you.”
Diana slumped down in the chair at gate thirty-two, terminal B, hoping like hell she didn’t have to go back to her sister’s for another night. They’d had one of their colossal fights. She just wanted to get home to D.C. To her lover.
After an hour and a half of miserable waiting, she picked up her things and went to the airport bar. She sat at a small table in the corner with a draft beer and dug her book out of the carry-on. Diana read a few pages, and she wasn’t sure if it was the beer hitting her empty stomach or the writing, but she found herself getting slightly aroused. And then she read:
“She stayed the night in his bed, coiled around him like a snake. He lived in her cunt as if it were the Garden of Eden, memorizing it so he would never forget the smell or the magic of the terrain.”
“Shit,” Diana muttered to herself. Her pussy slicked up; she could feel the cream trickle between the lips of her sex, down over her anus. She took a cooling sip of her beer. Her thoughts drifted off the page.
First, she thought of her partner, the only woman she’d ever allowed to Top her, driving into her from behind in the dark. Diana’s cunt felt bereft, empty. She looked around the bar. There were just two guys with their laptops open across the room and the bartender wiping a white rag over some glasses in a way that looked less like cleaning and more like some sort of Zen practice.
Diana missed her partner, their big, soft bed, hands that knew her body by heart. But she found her thoughts floating back to that one night in New York, the time Peter and Neal had been away on a case and El had invited her for dinner. The time they’d had too much red wine, shared too many stories, kissed innocently at first, even though Diana didn’t believe in innocent kisses. That time she’d snaked her hand up between Elizabeth Burke’s thighs and made her shudder.
Diana held the book up, now just pretending to read, her thoughts deep in the past, before she’d left for D.C. Before she’d hidden that part of herself down underneath the shiny veil of her new life.
She had made love to Elizabeth for hours. They’d been on the living room floor, her hot mouth on El’s pussy, delving down to rim her sweet ass. She’d strapped one on to fuck her slippery cunt. El had pushed Diana down onto her back, had straddled her hips and ridden the vibrating cock to a loud and sweaty orgasm. Diana had rolled her onto her stomach, gone slow, and pushed the thing up El’s ass. Diana had come that way, plowing those soft and illicit depths.
Six months later, she and Christie had packed up a U-Haul and headed for their new jobs in D.C. Diana wished she could say the guilt had driven her away. The truth was she’d rather have stayed…had wished for another night like that. She knew herself too well: she was a bit of a rake, had some trouble with impulse control, and she would never have told El no. She might have even coerced a yes. The distance was maybe the only thing that kept Diana from showing up some night when Peter was away again, wine in hand, seduction at the ready. She knew El now…the change in her breath when she was touched right, the quiver of inner thigh, the arch of her back, the dirty things she could only whisper, the way her bra strap fell off one shoulder, the way her hair clung to her breasts…
Her smell and the magic of her terrain.
Diana knew she could have lived in El’s cunt, or tried to, split herself between two women, could have fallen in love, lived a double life. So she left.
But here she was, clit buzzing in an airport bar, with nothing to do but remember. She felt like she’d never forget: El in one of Peter’s dress shirts afterward, coffee and Kahlua and a roaring fire…their fingers intertwined like real lovers while they talked about what they wanted for the future. And then one last time, wrapped around one another and slow, so slow, mouth to confessional mouth, into the dawn.
Diana wanted to touch herself under the table. She wanted to soothe that sinful, piercing need. She wanted to call El in New York, even though it was much too late there, and she’d probably get Peter anyway. Or Neal. When El had talked about the future, almost all she could talk about was Neal Caffrey. Diana squirmed in her seat, the desire on the verge of turning to nostalgia, yet she knew she could bring herself off in about fifteen seconds flat if she wanted to.
She dug her cell out of her bag and held it in her hand, staring at the black screen, thinking of Elizabeth Burke’s wet mouth. Suddenly, the phone came alive, ringing, making her jump. It was Christie. It was her deepest love, her life, her reality come to call.
“Hey,” she said.
“Any news?”
“None yet. I may have to bug Nikki here pretty soon.”
A resigned sigh. “I miss you.”
“Me, too.”
“Call when you know.”
“I will, honey.”
“Love you.”
Diana hung up. She put the phone away, the ache of loss pulling at her ribs. The bartender signaled to her. “Another?” he asked.
Her beer was gone. “No,” she said. “No, thanks. But could I get a coffee and Kahlua?”
“Sure thing,” he said.
Diana took a deep breath, the sleepy airport a surreal thing around her. It made that night feel closer. It made El feel closer. Diana wondered if she ever thought of it…ever remembered what Diana felt like, sounded like. If El ever drank coffee with Kahlua and wondered how things might have been.
A/N: The quote is from page 84 of Jonathan Baumbach's "B", which I highly recommend for many other reasons besides the quoted passage.