IDK, gang. When the mood strikes, it strikes. Nothing explicit. Use your imaginations.
Dessert
Johnny carried two plates from the kitchen, laden with the most scrumptious smelling meal, placing one at your empty seat before rounding the corner of the square table to take his place opposite Kyle.
Kyle, who wondered why Johnny had left the meal delivery to you before he found himself side-eyeing the gap in your blouse created as you leaned around him to set his own plate down and not missing the way your free hand settled lightly but with an undeniable purpose on his shoulder as you did so.
It had already been an interesting evening, beginning with the dinner invitation sans Lt. or Cap. Then the lingering hug as you welcomed him in at the apartment door and the brush of your lips near his own as you kissed his cheek in gratitude for the bouquet of flowers (favorites recommended from Johnny) and neat white paper box tied with string and full of what he'd gleaned all by himself was your favorite dessert.
Drinks in the living room, sultry jazz low on the stereo and your sweet laughter ringing in his ear as you perched what might be considered too close on the couch while Johnny regaled you with the latest Ghost mishap. The way you clasped Kyle's arm as if you needed something to hold you up lest you double over in a fit of giggles.
Now he had confirmation of what he'd suspected since the welcome hug. No bra. The soft chub in pants hardening to at least half as you settled into your own seat and he wondered if you'd left the panties off under your flowy skirt, too.
Bit of a trap, it was. Nothing overt. He'd definitely seen you in riskier outfits on nights out at the club with Johnny. Though he'd snagged his own one night stand each time, if the memories of the sway of your hips in a tight, too-short mini or bounce of your chest against barely there fabric helped him climax with his conquest for the night, who would be the wiser?
You apparently, he thought, as he wrapped his lips around another forkful of your masterful cooking in an effort to stall joining the dinner conversation. His voice would betray him, he was sure of it. And he hadn't yet gleaned if tonight was what he thought, hoped, it was.
There'd be a signal from Johnny, he was sure of it. A knowing nod or maybe even an overt offer. Anything to confirm his guess that he'd been invited this evening to put his prowess on display. Maybe, hopefully more.
Johnny's bird had always known about them. Johnny made that clear. He wouldn't lie about it to anyone, and anyone who had a problem with it, never lasted long. But it'd been months with this one, seemingly ever understanding if Johnny asked for a night away during what was already a short supply of off-mission time.
Johnny cleared the table while you led Kyle back into the living room for after-dinner drinks and maybe a bite of that delicious dessert he'd brought.
"Or I could be dessert," you'd purred in Kyle's ear.
For @feelingsinwinter because thanks to your encouragement I finally had the courage to post the last two parts <3
8. Winter
Winter, Antonia has always thought, is a time for reflection. The endless balls and galas her mother insists demand her presence give her ample opportunity to do so.
There is her mother, the regal beauty of the ball, all smiles and warm welcomes as she gathers information, listens and watches with a sharpness hidden by velvet and diamonds.
There is her father, entertaining friends and enemies with his tales and his bragging, loud and louder, filling the room with noise, shining bright enough to blind. Dazzling his audience with too much freely shared information to give them the chance to ask relevant questions.
There is Tiberius, navigating through the crowd like a seasoned sailor approaches the sea, a winning smile on his lips as he jokes and teases and flirts his way into the good grace of yet another young lady in attendance, a cocky playboy enjoying his youth, for all the world to see.
The images they portray may fall a little flat here and there, may be disturbed by the occasional pointed question her mother asks, the wordless threat in her father’s smile when one of his acquaintances’ derb comments goes too far, the untouched coldness in Tiberius’ eyes that never warm, but those inconsistencies are lost in the glitter and glamour of the season.
For what is Christmas, if not the time of lies? What is there to reflect upon, when your world is only as deep as the two-dimensional illusion everyone is so careful to maintain? What is kindness, if not the pretence to care?
I swear I didn’t mean to make it depressing. It isn’t, not really. I tried to address three of her most important personal relationships without actually addressing them, which then turned into this *shrug*
