Lovely

By The Queen of Blueberry Toast


He loved her.  

He loved her just the same way he loved long dead sculptors' whose work 
museums in Paris would not let him run his fingers over, and whose minds 
he longed, sometimes for days, to snuggle his thoughts up against.  Words 
would have utterly smashed the glassy film of his inclinations, and 
probably driven her away, for as much as he craved her, as much as the 
moments he spent tucked in the wet embrace of her body crept through 
him like a sunrise, she was not like him.  

This flitted over his mind even as he dreamed, and his dream self, kissing 
her dream self until his lips ached looked through her and smiled his 
terrible smile for her. In the waking world, his mouth smarted still with the 
pressure hers had left, and the real pain seeped through his dream pain on 
the wings of her voice.  

"Schuldich?"

He murmured his assent but didn't open his eyes.  He had spent most of 
the night with his cheeks cradled against the silky perfume of her breasts, 
and with morning, for his eyes burned with the morning, he was still 
unwilling to give that up.

She snickered at him and ran her hands through his henna floss where it 
lay strewn through the smudges of light on their pillow.  "Sleepyhead.  
You made me late for work again."

"Have I now? How late? 'cause if it's past ten..."

"Oh yes."

"...I guess there's no point in you going in today."  Purring so, he shifted 
against her just enough to take one of soft, tawny nipples into his mouth 
and nibble it with the tips of his teeth.

"You wicked, wicked thing."

She always called him thing.  He was never her boyfriend.  Never a lover.  
Not even a friend.  He was her thing, her distraction, her thrill.  The 
thought of being so hopelessly lost her already stirred him, and it kept his 
mouth shut.

He felt her sinking in his arms until her lips were low enough to cradle his 
own.  For awhile he let her lead him through her mouth and the strawberry 
sweet slickness of her tongue melting with his own.  So embraced, she 
smoothed his bangs from his face, and one her wrist passed over his eyes, 
he finally looked at her, and the sunbeams so softly caught against her.

His vision- that lithe but so far form fragile frame expertly caressed all 
over with camellia petal skin.  The auburn rivulets that framed her face.  
The milky lavender of her eyes.  The lushness of her mouth once more 
wounding his own.

"Yuriko.  I want you.  It's early, but I want you."

"Hmm? And what do you expect me to say to that besides... YAY!"

They never had sex in the bed; the clouds of the sheets kept the warmth of 
their dozing too well.  She lead him only as far as the stretch of smooth 
floor between her bookshelf and her futon- a shady space where no sight 
of the city crept.  He hadn't taken her here, not yet, and he told her that he 
knew with only the disingenuous tilt of his eyebrow.  

"Oh, I've been thinking of this awhile now." Yuriko said.  "I know you 
said you weren't much on floors but..."

"Hell, if it's what you want." 

He shrugged, and for that, she promptly flipped him onto his back, tugging 
him with her hands on his thighs and his shoulder.  

"Next time, we try the shower."

"You!"

But their hands had slipped between each others legs by then; she rubbed 
his tip with her palm, and his finger tips crept into her between their 
kisses, tugging her pussy inside and out.  With her feet pressed against his 
forearms, she kept him pinned to the floor.  He didn't mind.  She dripped 
on him a little, and folded herself open so he could see the flush beneath 
her wetness.  It made him twitch and moan and laugh a little, and he 
pointed to his lips after just a minute of her teasing.

As she knelt over him then, he took all of her that he could into his mouth, 
licking her dry now and pressing his nose to her clit so she wouldn't stay 
that way for too long.  She tasted like white wine, like Paris in spring 
rather than Tokyo Julys when she came, and that was at least twice.  His 
cheeks were drippy by the time she bent and kissed her traces from him, 
drew away, and flung herself own on him.

They fucked with their laps tangled, his cock nuzzling in and out of her, 
and their moans brushing each other's throats.  She bruised his chest with 
her mouth as much as did hers.  The sheens of sweat on their skin faded by 
the time their orgasms passed over them, one after the other, Schuldich 
first, and then Yuriko, the fluttering of her sex drinking up the traces of his 
cum.

And then, even as she gasped still, licked him and fought with him still, he 
sang her to sleep, and carried her back to the clouds to dream for awhile 
longer. 

***

It was nearly noon by the time Schuldich made his way, whistling and clad 
only in his cleanest pair of jeans, to the cold cocoa machine just outside 
Yuriko's apartment building.  Crawford was there already, sipping on a 
cigarette and blotting the summer sweat from his forehead now and then.

"Well," he asked Schuldich, "How has your day been, lovely?"

"Not bad at all," he replied as his change rang through the machine's 
blinking corridors and which finally offered him a can.  He popped it open 
at once and took a swig, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  "Was 
hoping you'd stop by though."

"Oh, how come?"

"I wanted to tell you again how sure I am we're gonna have the prettiest 
little girl ever."

"You know what, lovely?" The cigarette went sailing onto the parking lot's 
dull, mid-day gleam.  As hard as the kiss was, it didn't trouble his lips, 
didn't do anything but warm him where the chill of the floor still lingered 
on his back.  "I'm sure of that too."