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You can tell when I have school work to do. I'm all about the spam-y posting.
An attempt to kick start the muse.
She wakes up a morning three months in to find everything covered with a fine yellow dust. She turns her head to the right a little and everything, air, dirt, grass is yellow, looks like she's seeing it through the tinge of smog.
Then she looks left at what really woke her up, him tracing patterns on her bare upper arm.
She clears her throat, knows better than to try and take a deep breath. "Huh. I was wondering how things pollenated without any insects." Her voice comes out low, coated, intimate.
"Hmm." He nods and he is so close she feels his breath trace up, then down, then up with the nod of his head and she tries not to notice how that makes the hair on the backs of her arms stand on end. "We'll have to pollenate our stuff by hand." And she smiles a little because she was planning to do that already, thinks of the logistics to try and distract herself from his touch.
She needs to respond so she nods, not trusting her voice and she feels a clump of pollen fall from her hair, watches his eyes dart down to where it has fallen just below her earlobe. She anticpates his movement, tries to brace herself against the feel of his rough skin brushing against that overly sentitive bit of flesh, but cannot hold in a shiver that works its way down her skin, makes her nipples tight and visable through her thin tank top.
To his credit, he doesn't jump away. No, he takes his time, slowly brushes the last bit of pollen off the skin there and wipes it on the already covered sleeping bag, then rolls away slowly, unzips his bag and throws "I'm gonna take a look around" over his shoulder at her, where she lies trying to catch her breath and not think.
An attempt to kick start the muse.
She wakes up a morning three months in to find everything covered with a fine yellow dust. She turns her head to the right a little and everything, air, dirt, grass is yellow, looks like she's seeing it through the tinge of smog.
Then she looks left at what really woke her up, him tracing patterns on her bare upper arm.
She clears her throat, knows better than to try and take a deep breath. "Huh. I was wondering how things pollenated without any insects." Her voice comes out low, coated, intimate.
"Hmm." He nods and he is so close she feels his breath trace up, then down, then up with the nod of his head and she tries not to notice how that makes the hair on the backs of her arms stand on end. "We'll have to pollenate our stuff by hand." And she smiles a little because she was planning to do that already, thinks of the logistics to try and distract herself from his touch.
She needs to respond so she nods, not trusting her voice and she feels a clump of pollen fall from her hair, watches his eyes dart down to where it has fallen just below her earlobe. She anticpates his movement, tries to brace herself against the feel of his rough skin brushing against that overly sentitive bit of flesh, but cannot hold in a shiver that works its way down her skin, makes her nipples tight and visable through her thin tank top.
To his credit, he doesn't jump away. No, he takes his time, slowly brushes the last bit of pollen off the skin there and wipes it on the already covered sleeping bag, then rolls away slowly, unzips his bag and throws "I'm gonna take a look around" over his shoulder at her, where she lies trying to catch her breath and not think.
