The sweet up-tempo bass line reverberated in her core like it was coming from the earth itself, shaking the translucent stems of grass that teased prickling across her cheek, poked into her ear. The picture in front of her was framed by the bright green blades: tanned ankles, bright-colored flip-flops, tattooed feet, bright purple toenails, bare feet, anklets with bells that tingled, unheard under the notes that scattered the air, the dirt, the clouds. Morgana closed her eyes, tumbled onto her back, stretched her arms high above her, far enough that she could feel the pull in the backs of her shoulders, far enough that, if she kept her eyes closed, she could imagine herself reaching out and tugging the clouds from the sky, wrapping herself in the billowy air and toppling down the hill, the clouds like a comforter, breaking her fall, keeping her safe as she spun to the beat. With an exhale, a torrent of air wooshing from the base of her belly to the back of throat to join the air swimming around her, she flung her arms wide to the side into a T, opening her lungs, her heart, herself to everything that flickered and moved and danced and lived above her around her underneath her. The sun bloomed its warmth on her face and she dug her toes into the grainy dirt, waved her shoulders from side to side in time with the floaty spinning feet around her, felt a wide grin splitting her face. She was jitterbugging with the earth, with the energy spiraling around her, with the music that coiled its way into her chest.
Over the bright see-through red pushing down on her eyelids, a shadow fell. Morgana opened her eyes. Backlit by an aura of gleaming white sunshine, a woman stood at her shoulder, wild curly dark hair pinned back with strings of pearls and violets, brown eyes intent and warm, smile creases at the edges of kissable lips. A purple and white flowered sundress skimmed high above her dusky, strong thighs, and Morgana wanted nothing more than to peek under it, to taste her skin. The sweet silence that grew between them as they watched each other was the nicest way to say hello, Morgana decided.
The woman cocked her head, bit her full lip. “I like the way you dance,” she said dreamily, the words loose and smooth like thick vanilla ice cream on her tongue.
Morgana reached out to curl her fingers around the woman’s ankle, trailed up the soft muscle of her calf, kneaded behind her shin, ran the backs of her short fingernails over the tender flesh behind her knee. From this angle, Morgana could watch the quickening rise and fall of her breasts under the dress’s tight fabric. The woman closed her eyes, eyelashes dark and thick, and Morgana felt herself damp and hot between her legs, desire warm and lazy diffusing into her bloodstream like the heavy punch of too much wine.
“C’mere, then,” Morgana grinned at her, exerting just enough pressure on the warm skin of the woman’s thighs.
The woman held Morgana’s gaze, looked at her like she knew her, like she knew exactly what Morgana wanted, like her hands had mapped Morgana’s body a thousand times, like she could already taste her on her tongue. She sank ever so slowly to her knees, straddling Morgana’s waist. A needy, shivering sound keened from the back of Morgana’s throat, and she latched both arms around the woman’s neck, hauled her closer.
“Hi,” the woman sighed, lightly brushing the tip of her nose against Morgana’s twice.
“Hey there,” Morgana replied, tightness like spun sugar coiling in her core, in her throat, in her voice.
Then without further words, she stretched out, holding her weight to the side, ground the heel of her hand against the fire in Morgana’s groin, teased her fingers over Morgana’s impossibly short cutoff jeans, and nudged her hand up under the frayed denim. When she encountered no underwear, no resistance, nothing but wetness, she gasped and Morgana echoed the sound, pulsed her hips up to meet those prying fingers, spreading her legs as wide as should could and rooting her feet into the ground. The angle was awkward but it was enough, her eager fingers pushing in and pulling away, teasing over Morgana’s greedy, hungry clit, and then diving back into her slick; all the while the woman studied Morgana with eyes so deep and still that Morgana could see herself reflected in them, arching, squirming.
The beat changed, unhurriedly spiraling down from pitched happiness, lowering into something throbbing, steady, warm. Only feet away, a few hollers and catcalls broke the bubble of the wordless stare between the two of them.
Morgana moved to frown at them, to throw out a lazy curse, but the woman shook her head. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” She swooped down, then, her lips meeting Morgana’s softly, gentling her as her fingers shifted to move deep in her, her hand pushing aside the denim over Morgana’s crotch, wedging the fabric against her sensitive, wet folds and the juncture of her right thigh.
Morgana clutched at the woman’s neck, twisting her fingers in her thick, soft hair that smelled like rain and grass and fireside and marijuana. Tingling was spreading through her twisting body, colonizing her from the arches of her feet, to the sides of her torso, to every single inch of her scalp.
The woman’s fingers were searching inside her, twisting, tapping lightly, when suddenly they pressed against that spot deep deep inside where everything came together, where everything fell apart. Morgana whined, suddenly thrashing under her, and lifted to pull the woman’s bottom lip into her mouth, to suck at her tongue, to clack their teeth together.
Morgana could only whine in response, buck into her hand, try to pull her fingers farther in. The pressure of the coarse denim on her clit and the opening to her cunt, the twisting certainty of fingers filling her up, the closeness of lips, the skin of her neck, the wild grass-stained smell of her, it all whisked together inside her, like the slow steady churn of a whirlpool molding her body, her senses, into one aching column of need.
Morgana was flying, skimming over the surface of the ocean, reaching down to trail her finger through the water, and turning back to watch its wake. Loosening every muscle of her body, she sped faster over the frothy waves, not wanting to dive down, not yet, not yet. The sky was huge above her, the music her air, the steady tramp of feet nearby the pulse of her blood.
The woman was panting hot, sweet air against her cheek, and Morgana gripped her hair and tugged her head to the side, so she could reach the salty smooth flesh of her neck. She licked up and down the tendon there, tasting the warm summer on her skin, messily trying to get inside her, under her skin.
And then the waves splashed up to pull her under, tightening everything inside her, holding her deep down where the pressure on her skin exploded, where the world floated by in slow motion.
Morgana stilled, came back, after having passed through worlds.
The woman above her pulled up, soothed Morgana’s hair over her forehead. “I’m Gwen,” she said simply and then with a stuttering exhale she fell off Morgana, so they lay side by side, and fisted her hand in the soaking fabric at the crotch of Morgana’s shorts.
“Morgana,” she replied when she was able to find her voice, hoarse and scratched. Then something warm, easy, and happy became unmoored inside her, and she laughed, long and low, from her belly. She turned her head to find Gwen’s face close, so close all she could see were smile lines and pores. Morgana kissed her, mouth sloppy, tongue lazy, as though she were full but still wanted to eat because it tasted so good.
After long minutes, Gwen glanced up and squinted. She pointed skywards, the sunlight catching on her glistening fingers. “Hey look, it’s a dragon in the clouds. That’s good luck,” she said softly with a grin.
thanks so much! i say it feels very random and i don't know where that came from, but i must confess, this fic was very much a product of me taking my headache meds which contain codeine. lol.
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while our blood's still young 1/2 (warnings for public sex, and possible drug use)
Date: 2011-09-05 11:52 pm (UTC)Over the bright see-through red pushing down on her eyelids, a shadow fell. Morgana opened her eyes. Backlit by an aura of gleaming white sunshine, a woman stood at her shoulder, wild curly dark hair pinned back with strings of pearls and violets, brown eyes intent and warm, smile creases at the edges of kissable lips. A purple and white flowered sundress skimmed high above her dusky, strong thighs, and Morgana wanted nothing more than to peek under it, to taste her skin. The sweet silence that grew between them as they watched each other was the nicest way to say hello, Morgana decided.
The woman cocked her head, bit her full lip. “I like the way you dance,” she said dreamily, the words loose and smooth like thick vanilla ice cream on her tongue.
Morgana reached out to curl her fingers around the woman’s ankle, trailed up the soft muscle of her calf, kneaded behind her shin, ran the backs of her short fingernails over the tender flesh behind her knee. From this angle, Morgana could watch the quickening rise and fall of her breasts under the dress’s tight fabric. The woman closed her eyes, eyelashes dark and thick, and Morgana felt herself damp and hot between her legs, desire warm and lazy diffusing into her bloodstream like the heavy punch of too much wine.
“C’mere, then,” Morgana grinned at her, exerting just enough pressure on the warm skin of the woman’s thighs.
The woman held Morgana’s gaze, looked at her like she knew her, like she knew exactly what Morgana wanted, like her hands had mapped Morgana’s body a thousand times, like she could already taste her on her tongue. She sank ever so slowly to her knees, straddling Morgana’s waist. A needy, shivering sound keened from the back of Morgana’s throat, and she latched both arms around the woman’s neck, hauled her closer.
“Hi,” the woman sighed, lightly brushing the tip of her nose against Morgana’s twice.
“Hey there,” Morgana replied, tightness like spun sugar coiling in her core, in her throat, in her voice.
Re: while our blood's still young 2/3 (warnings for public sex, and possible drug use)
Date: 2011-09-05 11:53 pm (UTC)The beat changed, unhurriedly spiraling down from pitched happiness, lowering into something throbbing, steady, warm. Only feet away, a few hollers and catcalls broke the bubble of the wordless stare between the two of them.
Morgana moved to frown at them, to throw out a lazy curse, but the woman shook her head. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” She swooped down, then, her lips meeting Morgana’s softly, gentling her as her fingers shifted to move deep in her, her hand pushing aside the denim over Morgana’s crotch, wedging the fabric against her sensitive, wet folds and the juncture of her right thigh.
Morgana clutched at the woman’s neck, twisting her fingers in her thick, soft hair that smelled like rain and grass and fireside and marijuana. Tingling was spreading through her twisting body, colonizing her from the arches of her feet, to the sides of her torso, to every single inch of her scalp.
The woman’s fingers were searching inside her, twisting, tapping lightly, when suddenly they pressed against that spot deep deep inside where everything came together, where everything fell apart. Morgana whined, suddenly thrashing under her, and lifted to pull the woman’s bottom lip into her mouth, to suck at her tongue, to clack their teeth together.
“Yeah?” the woman said against her lips.
Re: while our blood's still young 3/3 (warnings for public sex, and possible drug use)
Date: 2011-09-05 11:53 pm (UTC)Morgana could only whine in response, buck into her hand, try to pull her fingers farther in. The pressure of the coarse denim on her clit and the opening to her cunt, the twisting certainty of fingers filling her up, the closeness of lips, the skin of her neck, the wild grass-stained smell of her, it all whisked together inside her, like the slow steady churn of a whirlpool molding her body, her senses, into one aching column of need.
Morgana was flying, skimming over the surface of the ocean, reaching down to trail her finger through the water, and turning back to watch its wake. Loosening every muscle of her body, she sped faster over the frothy waves, not wanting to dive down, not yet, not yet. The sky was huge above her, the music her air, the steady tramp of feet nearby the pulse of her blood.
The woman was panting hot, sweet air against her cheek, and Morgana gripped her hair and tugged her head to the side, so she could reach the salty smooth flesh of her neck. She licked up and down the tendon there, tasting the warm summer on her skin, messily trying to get inside her, under her skin.
And then the waves splashed up to pull her under, tightening everything inside her, holding her deep down where the pressure on her skin exploded, where the world floated by in slow motion.
Morgana stilled, came back, after having passed through worlds.
The woman above her pulled up, soothed Morgana’s hair over her forehead. “I’m Gwen,” she said simply and then with a stuttering exhale she fell off Morgana, so they lay side by side, and fisted her hand in the soaking fabric at the crotch of Morgana’s shorts.
“Morgana,” she replied when she was able to find her voice, hoarse and scratched. Then something warm, easy, and happy became unmoored inside her, and she laughed, long and low, from her belly. She turned her head to find Gwen’s face close, so close all she could see were smile lines and pores. Morgana kissed her, mouth sloppy, tongue lazy, as though she were full but still wanted to eat because it tasted so good.
After long minutes, Gwen glanced up and squinted. She pointed skywards, the sunlight catching on her glistening fingers. “Hey look, it’s a dragon in the clouds. That’s good luck,” she said softly with a grin.
Re: while our blood's still young 3/3 (warnings for public sex, and possible drug use)
Date: 2011-09-08 03:56 pm (UTC)Re: while our blood's still young 3/3 (warnings for public sex, and possible drug use)
Date: 2011-09-08 10:19 pm (UTC)