(no subject)
enabled by the folk in chicago (mostly Dante. is anyone surprised.)
Ever since those first days, Trish likes showing up in unusual places where Lady can find her-grocery stores, car repair shops, and that one day in the library, where Lady attempted to play coy and easy, surprised that a demon would end up in a library. For some reason, Lady is always there on her tail, watching her when she’s not gathering bills or organizing things to destroy a demon, feigning surprise and ease, but finding herself backed into a stack of books or a half-fixed car while Trish smirks in her face.
The library, Trish decides, is her favorite place to do these little meetings. Big libraries, small ones, during children hours or near closing, in university libraries where people will think the sounds are a couple of overeager individuals who have grown tired of studying, or in stuffy old places, where few bother to visit any longer. Lady always starts the same: smirking, head to the side, but her face flushes face as Trish’s hand tugs down her pants, sliding inside her panties and rubbing fast against her clit.
“Like that?” she asks, but Trish doesn’t seem to care about her response. She looks past her head toward the collection of Dickins novels. “I always liked Bleak House.”
“I didn’t know … demons … read-” Lady spits out, a sharp moan following. Trish laughs, but it’s heartless, careless, before leaning in and kissing Lady, pressing her harder against the bookshelf. She tugs her pants down a little more while she bites hard on her bottom lip, and her hand works harder, fingers working in and out of Lady, thumb pressing against her clitoris.
Sweat drops form on Lady’s brow just before she comes, pale skin colored for once with a bright pink, chest thrusting forward. Trish pulls her hand back when she’s done, fingers artfully wiping off on Lady’s panties before she turns away, pulling out the very book she mentioned, and pulling it open to remove a letter inside.
“Why won’t you let me-”
Trish doesn’t respond to the question, merely quirking an eyebrow at Lady’s lowered pants. She waits for her to pull them up and fix them, and then hands her the book (letter excluded), and then steps out of the aisle.
Before Lady can catch up with her, she’s already gone.
Ever since those first days, Trish likes showing up in unusual places where Lady can find her-grocery stores, car repair shops, and that one day in the library, where Lady attempted to play coy and easy, surprised that a demon would end up in a library. For some reason, Lady is always there on her tail, watching her when she’s not gathering bills or organizing things to destroy a demon, feigning surprise and ease, but finding herself backed into a stack of books or a half-fixed car while Trish smirks in her face.
The library, Trish decides, is her favorite place to do these little meetings. Big libraries, small ones, during children hours or near closing, in university libraries where people will think the sounds are a couple of overeager individuals who have grown tired of studying, or in stuffy old places, where few bother to visit any longer. Lady always starts the same: smirking, head to the side, but her face flushes face as Trish’s hand tugs down her pants, sliding inside her panties and rubbing fast against her clit.
“Like that?” she asks, but Trish doesn’t seem to care about her response. She looks past her head toward the collection of Dickins novels. “I always liked Bleak House.”
“I didn’t know … demons … read-” Lady spits out, a sharp moan following. Trish laughs, but it’s heartless, careless, before leaning in and kissing Lady, pressing her harder against the bookshelf. She tugs her pants down a little more while she bites hard on her bottom lip, and her hand works harder, fingers working in and out of Lady, thumb pressing against her clitoris.
Sweat drops form on Lady’s brow just before she comes, pale skin colored for once with a bright pink, chest thrusting forward. Trish pulls her hand back when she’s done, fingers artfully wiping off on Lady’s panties before she turns away, pulling out the very book she mentioned, and pulling it open to remove a letter inside.
“Why won’t you let me-”
Trish doesn’t respond to the question, merely quirking an eyebrow at Lady’s lowered pants. She waits for her to pull them up and fix them, and then hands her the book (letter excluded), and then steps out of the aisle.
Before Lady can catch up with her, she’s already gone.