lunching

not really erotica, but they wish it would be. this is what happens when my roommate's boyfriend walks, pointedly shirtless, into my line of sight with a jar of peanut butter and a devious glint in his eye. haven't even edited it, but i wanted to post something. --k.a.p.

She has peanut butter on her chin. It’s adorable and pathetic at the same time: her eyes lighting up as she licks marmalade and bread crumbs off her fingers, wiggling in her seat at the taste, completely unaware of the mess she’s made of herself. It’s almost sad how oblivious she is. But, then again, she may not be the only one who’s done that.

‘You have peanut butter on your chin.’ Her eyes are kind and smiley, she thinks, wiping off the gooey love and slurping up that as well.

‘And what’s wrong with that? You’ve gotten peanut butter on your chin before!’

‘Yes, but I don’t hum whenever I bite into my sandwich.’

She doesn’t blush. She refuses to blush. Blushing, she resolves, is something for lesser people, people who are ashamed of their peanut-buttery mistakes. Which she is not. Because peanut butter is delicious. ‘Peanut butter is delicious. My peanut butter sandwich is delicious. And it has just the right amount of jelly, thank you very much.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She leans her cheek against her hands and shakes her head slightly. It’s even more pathetic that she can be so touched and enamoured with someone who has such a sorrowful tendency for peanut butter messes. Yet here she is: powerless to the juvenile tendency of the peanut-buttered chin. And, unfortunately, she’s not the only one who’s realised it.

‘My compliments to the chef.’ She winks. Lewdly.

‘You’re cheeky.’

‘You love it.’

‘That,’ she states stoically, ‘is inconsequential. I have done nothing to deserve your impish demeanour and that should be duly noted.’

‘I’ll have my secretary shorthand it!’

‘You’d better not…’ She laughs and decimates her sandwich, leaning across the table to plant a messy kiss on her lips.

‘You’re prettier than her, anyway.’

‘Liars go to hell.’ Her smile is wry, though appreciative.

‘Well, I think you’re prettier.’ She pouts good-naturedly, giving her lips a long-awaited wipe with the cloth napkin beside her plate. ‘And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

Her brow furrows. ‘I can’t tell if you’re being egotistical or complimentary.’

‘Neither. I’m being happy and full and the sandwich was delicious.’ Another kiss, this one a little more guided. ‘As always.’ And another, this one threatening to push lunch a little later than the office will allow. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice has turned to a throaty whisper, eyes having darkened suddenly despite the brilliant light streaming through the picture window.

‘You’re going to be late.’

‘Oh, to hell with them!’ She bounces as if to further display her fury. ‘Demon servants of The Man! What do I care what they think?’

‘Because you could lose your position.’ She softens the blow a bit. ‘And I don’t have one to make up for the loss.’

‘Your pragmatism is infuriating.’

‘You love it,’ she retaliates.

‘I do.’ She sighs dramatically and flops back in her chair. ‘Such a cruel woman. I come home to find a most delicious sandwich and you in that frilly apron I like so much--’

‘I don’t have another apron. You set my other apron on fire. There were no other aprons to replace it.’

‘--And you turn me away with not a hint of sexual gratification outside of sloppy, post-sandwich kisses--’

‘You’re going to be late.’

Her sigh is natural this time, eyes surveying her quarry lovingly. ‘I know.’ She returns her smile, tugging her close by the back of her neck and offering her a real kiss: long and lingering, offering all sorts of promise and anticipation. She groans. ‘Tease. Vile temptress. Creature of the night.’

‘Whatever you’d like.’ Perhaps she will push the envelope. Just a tad. ‘Baby.’

‘Your candied words taunt me.’ She smiles nonetheless, standing and stretching, reaching for her briefcase. ‘When I get back,’ she orders from the door, finger pointing threateningly, ‘we’re re-enacting every bad vampire movie we can find on HBO.’

‘This coming from the woman with the briefcase.’

‘It shows that I am powerful.’ She tries to look pointed and meaningful. ‘Powerful.’

‘Until I tie you to the bedposts and you can’t move anymore.’

She groans, high and breathy, face a picture of true pain. ‘I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.’ She blows a kiss, lingering perhaps a little longer than is necessary.

And she catches the kiss. And then she is gone. The walls grow up around her, yawning and stretching, wide-mouthed in her loneliness. She is left alone with her edgy anticipation and the remaining peanut butter clinging to her lips.

safety in the afternoon

my first attempt at serious heterosexual erotica. just a random idea i had driving back from a friend's house a week ago. feel free to criticise or share your thoughts. --k.a.p.

It’s time like this when he’s most happy they stumbled across one another: slow, warm afternoons when the sun is just realising it ought to set and the shadows it sends through the Venetian blinds are as long and lazy as his limbs feel stretched out on their glorious bed. She flops on top of him with a low laugh, one hand rubbing insistently at his chest while the other traces his cheekbone with something sharp and prickling. He cranes his neck to see the culprit: an open safety pin.

‘That’s a little far-out. I mean, even for you.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she shrugs, trailing the instrument down along his jaw line. ‘Doesn’t hurt, does it?’

‘No.’ She smiles and rewards him with a kiss. ‘Just don’t go shoving it places it doesn’t belong.’

‘You’re no fun.’ Her pout is impressively unconvincing, which only proves to make it all the more compelling an expression. He catches the pin—and her hand as the excuse—and kisses her knuckles one by one. ‘Well,’ she relents, ‘Maybe a little fun.’

‘But always an adventure.’ He offers his most winning smile and another kiss to her hand.

‘Of course! Why do you think I’ve kept you around this long?’ He laughs in reply and threads his hand into her hair. Black water slides between his fingers in sheets; she purrs and pushes into his touch. She’s summer starlight and warm grass like this: legs swung over him, smiling mischievous and just waiting for his patience to wear out so she can sink onto him and at last feel complete. He wonders what to say, if there are any words at all. But the moment is so still and light, waiting on the edge for another fraction of a moment. Why disturb something as precious as that?

The hand in her hair is hard as stone, but the lips are soft and willing: pulling her closer to him and deeper into his grasp; convincing her steadily that perhaps it will be she who concedes and begs for further connection. His mouth captures her hum of contentment and traps it deep under his skin and she couldn’t be happier for such a thing. ‘You’re trying to win,’ she whispers. ‘It won’t work.’

‘My dear, it’s all-ready worked.’ His canines look especially sharp today, glittering in the afternoon light. ‘Just say the word: you want me.’

‘This seems a surprise to you. Why is that?’ She pushes back his hair and kisses his eyelids, softening the confusion her action causes from his brow.

‘Don’t be a tease; I’ve won. Admit it.’

‘But I do so love to tease you…’ She laughs at his pout and kisses that too. ‘Very well. I want you. Shall we continue this madness, then?’ And with a triumphant ‘ha!’, she finds herself on her back, laughing at the sandpaper against her neck and the fumbling arms attempting escape from underneath her. ‘You’re insatiable!’ She swats his head with the nearest empty prophylactic box.

‘I’m insatiable? Doth my ears detect hypocrisy of the most sordid kind? You, my dear, have no right or reason to criticise.’

‘Yes, but I, at least, have some semblance of self control.’ The last words are said through a mouthful of earlobe; she wriggles it appropriately.

‘Ah, but it is exactly that: some semblance. Ow, stop that.’ He nips her collar as punishment.

‘Hm, yes.’ She lets go, if only to swat him again. ‘But now, my patience wears thin. Would you please get on?’

‘Never.’ She groans dramatically, legs falling further apart when she flops.

‘Why not?’ she whines.

‘Because then I would have no hope to—surprise you.’ He lets go a breath as the first blessed inch slides flawlessly into the creature below him. Her approval is loudly hummed, lips attaching firmly to his own, hips egging him on. His smile is breathless; it’s always a wonder to him, how she can remain so animated and undeterred by their more physical efforts. Yet there she remains: smiling into his mouth as he slides steadily deeper, fingers entwined deep into his outlandish curls, body arching to meet his own.

She is perfect in her imperfections. As he rocks into her, her fingers pull harder on his hair to the point of actual pain. Her mouth grows careless and sloppy against his own and she must pull back to breathe and regain some composure. His hand smoothes up and over her rounded belly, sliding along her arm to the little scars that span her wrist. From where he’s at, he knows that she has a tiny knick above her left eyebrow, another behind her right ear, juvenile scabs on her knees from too many romps with the dog, massacred nails and too-long toes. But from here, he knows that she is everything he will ever want in a woman, in a human being. She is the summer starlight that he sees in her eyes.

‘Danny?’ It’s barely a whisper but enough for him to realise that the tugging has stopped, that time immeasurable has passed while they’ve rocked heartily against one another. Her eyes are shut tight, yet imploring, and he hikes up her right leg to drive harder and upwards, finding by practise and habit her happiness and sharp cries, smiling down at her when the tightness returns to his scalp and the sharp bite on his shoulder reveals all that he needs to know. It’s only a matter of time. And that time is something he’s looking forward to spending very, very much.