Author's Note:
I know, I know, I'm weak and I gave in right away - and here's the second half of today's double update! What can I say? I just want to bring my readers a bit of joy.
Love,
K. xx
***
He gave her his familiar tilted nod, so slight that there was a second when she thought he shook his head. She scooted even closer, and her knees pressed into his side. He slowly moved his arm out of her way, behind her, without touching her. Fiona closed her eyes and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. He shifted, turning to her, aligning their mouths. Their lips remained closed. His were warm, and hers trembled - and then she smiled and moved back.
"It's–" she murmured, "not kicking in."
His eyes opened, and she saw the dark blue of his irises.
"The generator?"
"My craving," she said. "I don't– It's not like before."
He studied her eyes, and she smiled wider.
"I thought it would be like before, this heat, and it's like I'm drunk," she said, "It feels mucky, and hot inside– and here." She covered her throat with her hand. "And I had these fantasies– about other men. And I don't have it right now."
His left eyebrow rose a tad.
"No fantasies with me?" His voice was raspy.
"No," she said and giggled. "No fantasies with you."
She then put her hand on his right shoulder, and pulled herself closer to him.
"May I–" she asked, and pointed at his lap with her eyes.
"What even–" he muttered, and then shook his head. "Yeah, be my guest."
She carefully moved her leg over him, and lowered herself, her knees on two sides of his hips on the floor.
"Can I kiss you again, please?"
"You can stop asking," he grumbled and nodded again - and she haltingly leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
This time he moved, tilting his head, and she felt his bottom lip brush at hers. She pressed closer and cupped his face with her hands. A second before his beard scraped at her palms, she wondered what it would feel like, pausing the kiss in anticipation - and to fully savour it - and then her fingers curled into the whiskers, scratching gently at his jaw. She felt his breathing flutter on her lips.
She moved back and greedily peered into his face. His eyes were even darker now, and his cheekbones seemed flushed.
"Still nothing," she said, and he suddenly barked a throaty laugh.
"This makes one of us," he said, and then bucked his hips, making her bounce on what no doubt was his body's reaction to their kiss.
"I don't mean that I feel nothing, but it's still not–" She brushed her right thumb to the longer whiskers in his moustache, above the corner of his soft upper lip. "It still doesn't feel wrong. I'm not... ashamed. And I'm not losing control," she said surprised.
"I've noticed," he said.
She'd been listening to the odd sensations in her body, and then she focused on him again.
"I've never– Before my marriage there were just some– boys, you know." She chewed her bottom lip in embarrassment. "And I had a boyfriend for a bit, but it was just– It doesn't matter." She shook her head. "But then for years I just had these images in my head, and then the night before I read a book from the shelf–" She nodded towards the large bookshelf by the wall. "About pansexual dystopian pirates." He was listening without interrupting, his eyes twinkling, and she blushed. "That's what it says on the back cover. That's why I asked if you used to write this sort of thing, because the author's name is Dair Naofa, and that's 'holy oak' in Irish. And the stuff in it– it's just– It's a lot like those things I used to imagine, just sort of twisted and indecent. And I thought I'd feel like that, if I actually touched anyone." She frowned. "I'm a married woman, and he's the only man I've ever– you know, I've ever done it with. So I thought–" She shook her head. "I don't know what I thought I'd do. Lose control, I reckon, and–"
She realised he was pressing his lips very tightly - and she gasped.
"You're laughing at me!"
"No," he said.
"You are, aren't you?! Well, of course it's funny to you!" she hissed, taken aback, "That I was convinced I'm a nymphomaniac, and now that I'm actually with another man, I'm– I'm–"
"You're talking about books," he deadpanned. "And it's Clem's. That's her second pen name."
"It's very– intense. And graphic. And... acrobatic. Painful, even. I don't think I'd enjoy this sort of thing," she said, and his lips started twitching again. "Stop laughing at me!" she exclaimed - and he cupped the back of her head and pulled her to his lips.
Oh, this is– different. This is–
She couldn't think. He was kissing her - and she was kissing him back - and she couldn't think. Her hands flew first to his jaw again, and then she pushed her fingers into his hair, rumpling it, grabbing handfuls. It was softer than she thought, silky, and heavy. Not at all what she imagined bear fur would feel like. Her head spun, and she moaned. She felt the familiar heat and pull in her lower stomach and between her legs - and yet, it didn't feel shameful, or wrong, or dirty either. She pressed into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and moaned again.
He had his hands splayed on her sides, on her ribs. She shortly wondered whether he was staying away from her tits on purpose, and then she forgot about the question, because his right hand slid on her back, covering it from the bra to the knickers - and some sort of a wicked shudder ran through her whole body. She kissed him deeper - not enough! - and moaned as if begging for something, and ground her hips into him, and he pushed his hand in her hair at the back of her head.
"Blimey," he exhaled in their kiss - and moved away.
What?! Is he– done? Distracted? Bored?
She whined in panic - and then saw that he was moving his hand, making her hair run between his fingers, and that's where he was looking.
"Wow," he whispered.
She looked at his hand askance, and saw him slowly curl his fingers into a fist, around a handful of her curls.
"Will?"
He looked at her again.
"Fiona," he said, "You should–"
A doorbell rang through the cottage, and the second one followed immediately after. She stared at him. There was a pause, and then another two bells rang very closely to each other. He narrowed his eyes, and she saw muscles bulge on his jaw.
"Who's that?" she whispered.
"Not someone I'd invite on my own," he grumbled, and then looked over her shoulder. "The electricity's back."
She whipped her head and saw that clocks were blinking on all devices, and the light was on in the hall. Fiona giggled.
"We didn't notice the outage was over," she said, and then something made her lean in and place a quick firm kiss on his cheek. "I mean, maybe you did, but I surely didn't. Do we have to open the door?"
Another two bells rang.
"She won't leave," he said, picked Fiona up under her backside with both hands - she froze and gawked at him - and carefully moved her off him. "Let's just deal with it quickly."
And do what afterwards? she wanted to ask, but of course didn't.
She grabbed the nearest shelf and rose - and then she swayed, and he supported her pressing his hand into her hip.
"Feeling drunk after all?" he said.
She gave him a confused look, but he already let her go and was rising awkwardly, pushing his weight into the cane in his left hand. He straightened up and squared his shoulders, moving them side to side, with an annoyed grunt.
"Maybe we shouldn't do it on the floor anymore," Fiona blurted out, and he threw her a look from under a raised eyebrow.
She blushed furiously and giggled.
***
He went to open the door, and after a few seconds of hesitation she followed. The awkwardness from his sister finding Fiona in the kitchen making herself a cuppa hadn't worn off yet.
"And here I was, thinking I should indelicately ring again, in case you haven't heard me the first time," the woman in the door drew out sarcastically.
She was blonde, gorgeous, and looked like a Vogue cover, in her short puffy jacket, tall boots, and a charming little hat with a giant fluffy pompom.
"Hello, George," he grumbled.
Fiona threw him a quick look.
"Oh my, Di was right. You're quite something!" the visitor addressed Fiona and stepped inside, unceremoniously passing Holyoake. "I'm George, Di's partner. And you're our Fred's accidental victim. Fiona, right?"
"Fiona King."
"Enchantée," the blonde said and marched into the kitchen, pulling off a long silk scarf from around her neck. "Let's have some tea and an awkward conversation, shall we?"
He made his usual low annoyed noise in his throat and followed. On the way, he stretched his hand behind him, and Fiona rushed to catch his fingers. They came into the kitchen. The one called George was opening a cabinets after a cabinet.
"Where are Clementine's famous biscuits?" she asked. "Don't tell me you ate them all."
"I ate them all," he said.
"God, how are you all not forty stones?" the blonde muttered. "Damn Holyoake genes! They can eat sweets for three meals a day and still look like Greek gods. So unfair!"
Fiona threw him a quick look. Hephaestus. Or even better... Vulcan.
"Ah, and she already has the Holyoake Wife Twitch," the blonde laughed. "Believe me, Ms. King, we all develop it after a while. When something happens, we look at them first. Not that we can't handle life ourselves, but they express so little, we need to routinely check in, in case their majesties aren't amused. Castles fall, and cities burn when Holyoakes go to war."
Fiona's cheeks started to burn painfully.
"So obviously, your sister sent me here to snoop," the blonde announced, taking off her jacket and her hat. "Apparently, John said he's staying out of it. But you know Di. She's got the grip of a bulldog. And she's apparently worried for Ms. King here." She sat at the table and threw one - endlessly long and slender - leg over the other. "I'm not, by the way. You two look like I've interrupted a snogfest. You, my dear Fred, are the hardest to read out of your siblings, but even you aren't immune to the 'ginger fever' apparently. And you've just shifted shielding Ms. King from my greedy eyes. And yes, my dear," she said, leaning on one side to throw Fiona a flirty wink, "I am looking. The whole Lady Godiva meets Swan Maiden vibe from you is most charming."
The kettle whistled.
"Shall I be mother?" the blonde said. "See you two have your hands full."
Fiona couldn't help but look down at her fingers intertwined with his.