Spending an afternoon and evening and morning with tabaqui is ... inspiring. There was much time spent in a car by myself. There were hugs when I arrived and a huge, very old cemetary to walk around. There was talking and laughter and a wonderful child's smile and joy and spirit. There was Supernatural and Deadwood and falling alseep on a couch in a house that feels as comfortable as my own. There were cats and pancakes and Cat (!) and a beautiful thunderstorm in the morning to watch with fresh, hot coffee and good friends.
I hope that I have found what I was beginning to think was lost.
These are for stars91 Under Fourhundredword Drabblethon. My sincere apologies to those who I was charged to write for and was so very late in delivering.
voluptuous, black, taste
Human blood in Angel’s mouth, rich and thick and hot. It coated his tongue with life, with promises, with emotion, with the black taste of denial. Every cell danced under the cold shell of his skin. Every part of Angel responded to the flavor of, the temptation of life like nothing else. Lindsey’s body was warm under his hands. Sweaty and salty and sweet and alive.
The exact opposite of the man himself.
Angel’s voice was a low growl and he absolutely refused to beg.
Angel licked his lips, savoring. And then he did the same to Lindsey.
voluptuous, black, taste
She was tiny under him. Her body nothing more than a thin paper shell over a heart that beat too fast to be real. It was dark in her room, Angel could see, but he wondered how she could stand the black after the sun fell. The shades pulled down, the thick curtains drawn against neon night. It was dark and quiet and she shivered under him as he broke through her hymen and the smell of blood was sharp and immediate.
Her fingers clutched and dug into his shoulders and her breath felt hot on his face.
Snow, Blood, Chosen
She’d always envied those women. Women like Lilah. Women chosen to rule, to own, to rise to the top like snow-white cream on a cup of black coffee.
Perfect fingernails. Perfect hair. Perfect smile with perfect lipstick.
They never perspired. They never got dirty. They never looked like they just came from a battle with demons or a late-night poker game with the boys or a lifetime in a cave in another dimension.
Held down, her skirt around her waist, her pantyhose around her knees, Fred writhed. She whispered in Latin and never stopped touching the naked perfection above her.
Max/Liz + Michael
Chocolate, handcuffs, postcards
The hotel room was stuffy, the engine of the air conditioner sounded like a dying animal as it attempted to churn cool air into the room. Max felt the tickle of a drop of sweat as it trailed from his forehead into his hair.
“Tell me.” Liz asked again.
Straddling his hips and looking down at him with that oh, so familiar smile and a completely unfamiliar light in her eyes. She wore a white silk robe that did nothing to hide and everything to emphasize the curves of her naked body underneath. Nothing to keep the hard pebbled shadows of her nipples from his hungry gaze.
“Liz …” Max whispered.
He pulled against the metal of the cuffs that held his wrists up to the iron frame of the bed and he whimpered as Liz drew the edge of the postcard down his chest.
“Tell me what Michael meant by those words, Max.”
“What words?” Max croaked, trying to remain innocent in her eyes. Failing as she shifted on him and the hot, wet heat of her sex rubbed against his aching cock.
“I miss you, Max. I miss … chocolate.”
Liz read the card, then tossed it off to the side where it fell on the obviously cast-off, second-rate orange carpet that covered the floor. “Tell me what that means, Max.”
Two years since they’d left Roswell. Six months since they’d all split up. Max and Liz, Michael and Maria, Isabel off to San Francisco with Kyle. And Max was not any closer to figuring out what made Liz happy. What made her sad. What made her smile so hard he had to squint when he looked at her and what made her cry in the dark of night and he would have died for her … he would do anything for her … and so, he told her.
She let the robe fall from her shoulders. The white silk pooled over Max’s tied ankles and his mouth fell open. Liz pushed his thighs further apart, she slid two lube-slick fingers inside of him and he could feel the hard, solid plastic of the strapped on dildo that jutted from just above the curly black hair of her groin nudge behind his balls.
“Was it like this?” She asked.
Her breath was cotton candy sweet as she leaned over him and Max’s fingers curled into fists.
*loves you hard*