[ Sure enough, Hei tries to fall away from her and onto his back. But she keeps him in place: heat-puddled and sticky against him, his erection gradually softening in the twitchy grip of her sex. Too weary to resist, he spoons her, one hand cinching her breast, the other splayed across her round belly. Lets his eyes drift shut and buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her sweaty body, that heady whiff of pheromones and drying juices. It is good, and the change of late evening sunlight from minute to minute is good, and the prospect of a shower and a snack later. ]
[ Her prattle laps at the edges of his drowsy awareness. Sweet and heavy like sips of milkshake, but nothing he can make sense of. ]
Sure, [ he says it thickly, meaning it, whatever it is she's asking for. ( Somewhere in the rational honeycomb of his brain, unsoaked by exhaustion and hormones, a man styled after Taro Hirai's mystery fiction types ironically: He was a blind man with an armful of dynamite. He would have signed anything right now, even his own death warrant.) ]
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Date: 2015-03-13 03:11 am (UTC)[ Her prattle laps at the edges of his drowsy awareness. Sweet and heavy like sips of milkshake, but nothing he can make sense of. ]
Sure, [ he says it thickly, meaning it, whatever it is she's asking for. ( Somewhere in the rational honeycomb of his brain, unsoaked by exhaustion and hormones, a man styled after Taro Hirai's mystery fiction types ironically: He was a blind man with an armful of dynamite. He would have signed anything right now, even his own death warrant.) ]