anythingbutblue | (no subject)

When movement on the bed wakes her, Faye rolls over onto her stomach and pillows her head on her folded arms. Her eyes open, and she peers quietly over her arm at Gren as he sits up next to her.

It's not his chest, breasts half hidden by the hair that falls over his shoulders, that her eyes are drawn to first. It's not the less hidden distraction between his thighs, either.

It's his face she has to look at.

Those damn blue eyes are even bluer when his hair falls into his face like that -- which is almost all the time -- and it's that long dark hair that draws her eyes next. It practically cries out to be touched and felt, but before now she's always been able to resist it with no trouble.

Always.

The ends of his hair touch this curve in his lower back that nearly makes her heart speed up all by itself, and why is it that she never notices just how long his arms and legs are when he's wearing clothes?

It's a second or two before she realizes he's started looking back at her, and as though there's been nothing to see all along, she smiles with every ounce of feigned innocence that she can muster and lets her head sink into the pillow of her arms enough that her eyes are just barely visible over them.

Well, he can hardly blame her.

Threaded | Flat

Prettiest boy in the bar and the prettiest girl in the bar: it was bound to happen.

She's beautiful, and there's a slow and luxurious sensuality to Faye that she keeps really well hidden. He didn't know, didn't suspect. He thought she would be a pure force to be reckoned with in bed and she is, but she's also full of surprises. Little flirtations, unexpected sweetnesses, turns of phrase and fingertips both that belie her outward indignation when someone first eyes her up and down, as if despite her dress she deserves this special prioritized dispensation from prying appreciative eyes.

And who wouldn't want to look her up and down? Who in the universe could resist? She's all curves and fluid texture and dark-haired green-eyed lust packed into a yellow-and-red-clad bundle, and one of the biggest pleasures and honors he's had lately has been peeling that protective skin off her slowly, intentionally.

It's all about the way she feels beneath his hands, the way her hands feel on him, the way she looks up at him through those eyes of hers, the perfect plum of her lips, the demand tugging at the ragged and husky edges of her voice. In the heat of the moment Faye's as much tigress as woman and it's one of the headiest combinations he can imagine.

Just now he doesn't say a word. Instead, he lowers his body back onto the bed, rolls onto his own stomach, and on the way by, presses a kiss that's not quite lustful but neither is it soft and chaste to the spot right at the back of her neck.

See, he likes it when he makes her shiver just a little.