December 2016 Drabble Advent Calendar: 2/25
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Advent Drabble 2: Morning
This fic drabble is a gift for: An anonymous entrant
āAre you awake?ā Angela asks, softly, gently, syllables in sleepy Swiss German spread between silk-smooth kisses to Lenaās skin. Lenaās German is passable, if far from functional - Angela can trust her to know what this phrase means, or at least her just-drifted-from-dreaming mind is certain she can.
Lena is naked, sprawled in the pearly duvet; a reckless angel tangled in her own wings. Her chest rises and falls with comforting lightness.
āAre you awake?ā Angela whispers again, skimming her lips lovingly across a breastbone sheās memorized the shape of from so many x-rays, so many surgeries. Lenaās breathing doesnāt change, although her face twitches - a shadow delicately flickering along her cheek, exposing the secret movement of muscle below skin.
Angela slides her fingers below a draped corner of duvet and draws a pattern of lazily demanding hunger along Lenaās inner thigh.
āAre you⦠awakeā¦?ā She murmurs, right up against Lenaās ear, the tips of her teeth on sensitive cartilage. Lena breathes out hard, shaky. She blinks eyes gummy with sleep.
āGood morning,ā Lena says, bewildered, aroused, barely free of slumber.
āGood morning,ā Angela answers, fingertips flickering higher, flowing around the outline of course curly hair, following the trail of them up to Lenaās navel and then back down again. She waits for approval before she does more, not because itās a power game of any sort, but because as much as she burns for Lena right now the sleeping cannot consent.
Lenaās eyes flicker shut again briefly, and she inhales a sharp note at the touch.
āWhatās on your mind then, I wonder?ā she purrs, the invading croak of having just woken up sending the remark into the realm of the rather masculine growl.
āI wonder,ā Angela says, leaning in and touching their noses together. Lena smiles and tilts her chin to kiss her. A morning kiss, full of potential, infused with the warmth of a shared bed, the knowing and familiarity of an evening side by side.
The fire in Angelaās skin might have settled quietly into something gentler, given that direction from Lenaās response. Instead, she found it suddenly stoked, the blunt tips of Lenaās nails forging a line of prickling heat from her hip to her knee, knee to hip, hip to back, encouraging her as they kiss.
Their hungry, staggered exhales mingle together between the increasing fervor of their kissing. Hands instigate, flowing over the landscape of body, touching soothingly, relentlessly, impishly. The question of Lenaās interest in such activity answered, Angela at last rolls on top of her, presses her thigh between her legs, and pins her wrists above her head.
Lena smirks up at her breathily, looking for all the world like roughly but cleverly sculpted marble, the raw promise of a genius at work, only just begun. Like a pond of ducks at the break of dawn, neither tame nor wild, neither day nor night.
She arches against Angela, pressing their bodies together, and Angela loses the words for her, but fails to lose the feeling. As they make sweaty love, she thinks, repeatedly, how lucky I am, to be here.