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.