Something Sweet
I wrote this last night (Valentine's Day) as a gift for @interestingguesses ♥ Happy Femslash February!!!
“Mmm, you're so sweet.”
Molly blushes to the roots of her hair. (Janine knows this for a fact; she has the perfect vantage, tucked behind her in bed.)
“You're sweet.”
Janine laughs.
“No, not really.” She nuzzles Molly's neck, licks behind her ear. “Brash, yes. Bold. Daring.” She nips Molly's lobe, eliciting a giggle. “Abrasive, even. But not sweet.”
“Hmm.” Molly wriggles back against her, nestling closer into her embrace. “I dunno…” She lifts Janine's hand from where it's wrapped around her waist, brings it to her lips. “You taste pretty sweet to me.” A flicker of tongue on wrist, and Janine's squealing, unable to stop the embarrassing high-pitched sounds and accompanying flailing of limbs.
Molly grins against her skin.
“See? Sweet.” Another lick, this time long and slow, and Janine calms, ticklish sensations subsiding under Molly’s hot mouth. “Delicious.” A long stroke ending in a swirl in the centre of her palm, and Janine sighs into Molly's hair. “Intoxicating,” Molly whispers. “Like Irish cream.”
Molly brings Janine's wet palm down, down, between her legs, and Janine thinks that she can live with being ‘sweet’.
***
It's sitting on the table when Molly comes down for breakfast the next Sunday, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She frowns, looking around as if she might be on camera, but the flat is silent, Janine still dead to the world (she probably will be for hours, the lazy dosser). She approaches it cautiously, carefully picking up the bottle to examine it closer. When she sees the label, she breaks out into a giddy grin.
“You ridiculous romantic.”
***
When Janine finally stumbles down to breakfast at half ten, the kitchen is full of rich smells, sizzling butter and sharp acidic coffee and the seductive low notes of fatty meat simmering away in the crockpot. Molly is humming and dancing from stove to counter to fridge and back again. She does a little twirl and catches Janine's eye, teetering off-balance for a second as she tries to compose herself.
“Oh, you're up!” She flushes, a smile spreading across her face despite her best efforts.
Janine chuckles.
“And you found my present.”
Molly flashes her a wicked grin.
“Guilty.” She spins to Janine, a steaming mug in her hand. “Care for a sip?”
Janine squints down at the pale beige liquid. “Just how much did you put in this?”
Molly shrugs. “Enough.” She steps closer, dark eyes alight with mischief. “C’mon. Some Irish coffee for my Irish toffee?” She raises an eyebrow in mock challenge, then bursts into laughter, and it's so adorably endearing, Janine can't help but join her.
“Fine, you win.” She catches her breath and leans forward, lips wrapping around the lip of the proffered mug. She looks up at Molly through sleep-heavy lashes and winks. Molly tips the mug towards her and Janine swallows down a creamy-bitter-sweet-holyhellalcoholic mouthful, and Christ but that's good and strong first thing in the morning. Molly withdraws the mug and Janine licks her lips, slowly, gaze fixed on Molly. Molly’s eyes track her tongue, her breath drawing in with an audible “ah!” that Janine wants to taste.
So she does.
Molly tastes of coffee and booze and buttery toast, and Janine thinks she could live on her kisses alone. She licks into Molly’s mouth, chasing the heady flavour and the soft moans coming from the back of Molly’s throat.
When she pulls back for air, panting and a little lightheaded, she’s gratified to see the slightly awed look on Molly’s face, eyelids fluttering and lips parted.
“Good morning,” Molly breathes.
“A very good morning.”
Molly giggles, breaking the moment, then turns back to the stove where something is still sizzling away.
“Omelette?”
“Sounds good.” Janine slips into a stool at the counter and watches her work, hips swaying as she hums to herself.
“What’s that, love?”
“Old show tune. It’s silly.”
“Go on then,” Janine challenges, and she can feel Molly’s grin though her back’s to her.
“You’re the cream in my coffee,” Molly croons with a tipsy warble. “You’re the salt in my stew — that's Irish too!” She points at the crockpot, and Janine laughs, Molly’s girlish joy infectious. “You will always be my necessity…” She spins to face Janine. “I’d be lost without you.”
Janine can feel unabashed affection spreading out of her chest, warm and bright, up and out through her cheeks stretched wide in a smile.
“My sweetheart,” she sighs, and it comes out more besotted than she’d intended. Molly blows her a kiss.
“My Irish cream.”
Also here on AO3, if you want to leave me comments (I live for comments!!!) Inspired by this pic ~ tags & embedded image under the cut ♥
