Sex is Not the Enemy Ficathon - "Winter Winds" (Gen G)
Title: Winter Winds
Pairing: Gen
Rating: G
Word Count: 648
Warnings: Exhibitionism
Summery: Today is a gift, an indulgence just for her
Author's Notes: Written for the 2012 Sex is Not the Enemy Ficathon. NSFW Picture prompt can be found here
The gloves are fingerless, hand-knit, and a vibrant shade of red that makes her think of Christmas mornings and hot cider. The gloves will stay. They were an indulgence, a gift to herself much like today is a gift. One she gives when life becomes too stifling, when she needs to break free.
Every other article of clothing she removes, like a ceremony. Her fingers nimbly unbutton her jeans, sliding the zipper down while she kicks off her shoes with a small laugh, slowly shimmying out of the confining denim. Next she pulls her sweater over head, followed by a worn t-shirt, she folds both and places them on top of her jeans. Bending down she takes off her socks and stuffs them into her sneakers, flexing her toes against the dew-damp grass, she digs into the dirt, relishing the cold, malleable feeling of it beneath her feet. Panties go next and she shivers a little as the cool air caresses her body. Last, finally, she unclasps her bra, spreading her arms out wide just as a gust of wind rushes around her. Throwing her head back she laughs long and loud, bra dangling from her fingertips, she lets it slip away to be carried by the wind.
She closes her eyes and walks forward. Away from her car parked at the top of the hill, away from her clothes in their tidy pile, away from everything that holds her back. The wind continues to blow; it makes her hair dance, the cool air gently buffeting her body, tightening her nipples into hard peaks.
Taking a deep breath she fills her lungs to their utmost capacity. She breathes in fresh air, grass, trees, peace and breathes out tension; every muscle relaxing, better than a deep-tissue massage. Opening her eyes she runs down the hill, pulling her arms in for greater speed, her breasts slapping against her chest as she gains momentum. At the bottom of the hill she streaks across the open field and screams out to the heavens, ridding herself of the last remnants of restraint. She runs until her heart hammers against her chest, slowing down only so she can cartwheel, her gloves picking up dead bits of leaves and dirt which she plucks from their tight weave with a grin.
Spinning in place she spreads her arms once more and looks up at the sky, turning around and around until she doesn’t know which direction she came from anymore and collapses onto her back with a delighted giggle. Staring at the clouds, gasping for breath, she can feel the earth moving beneath her, steadying her with its constant motion.
She stays there until her heart rate slows and she begins to notice the stick digging into her shoulder blade. The world pressing in around her becomes real once more, the sun beginning to warm her body, chasing away her goose bumps even as the air remains cool. A soft, sated smile spreads across her face. In the distance she can hear a bird chirping and further still the faint hum of traffic.
It’s time to go.
The walk back to her clothes is long but she doesn’t mind, she’s still loose-limbed and at peace as her skin tingles in the breeze. Slowly she puts her clothes back on, the same sense of ritual governing her movements. She casts her eyes about, looking for her bra and spies it halfway down the hill. She takes a step then pauses, reconsidering, with a soft smile she pulls her shirt and sweater over her head and walks back to her car. Driving down the dirt lane back towards civilization, she feels freer than she has in months. She laughs again, hard enough to shake her body and make her breasts bounce beneath her clothes as back on the hillside her discarded bra is blown about by the wind.
Pairing: Gen
Rating: G
Word Count: 648
Warnings: Exhibitionism
Summery: Today is a gift, an indulgence just for her
Author's Notes: Written for the 2012 Sex is Not the Enemy Ficathon. NSFW Picture prompt can be found here
The gloves are fingerless, hand-knit, and a vibrant shade of red that makes her think of Christmas mornings and hot cider. The gloves will stay. They were an indulgence, a gift to herself much like today is a gift. One she gives when life becomes too stifling, when she needs to break free.
Every other article of clothing she removes, like a ceremony. Her fingers nimbly unbutton her jeans, sliding the zipper down while she kicks off her shoes with a small laugh, slowly shimmying out of the confining denim. Next she pulls her sweater over head, followed by a worn t-shirt, she folds both and places them on top of her jeans. Bending down she takes off her socks and stuffs them into her sneakers, flexing her toes against the dew-damp grass, she digs into the dirt, relishing the cold, malleable feeling of it beneath her feet. Panties go next and she shivers a little as the cool air caresses her body. Last, finally, she unclasps her bra, spreading her arms out wide just as a gust of wind rushes around her. Throwing her head back she laughs long and loud, bra dangling from her fingertips, she lets it slip away to be carried by the wind.
She closes her eyes and walks forward. Away from her car parked at the top of the hill, away from her clothes in their tidy pile, away from everything that holds her back. The wind continues to blow; it makes her hair dance, the cool air gently buffeting her body, tightening her nipples into hard peaks.
Taking a deep breath she fills her lungs to their utmost capacity. She breathes in fresh air, grass, trees, peace and breathes out tension; every muscle relaxing, better than a deep-tissue massage. Opening her eyes she runs down the hill, pulling her arms in for greater speed, her breasts slapping against her chest as she gains momentum. At the bottom of the hill she streaks across the open field and screams out to the heavens, ridding herself of the last remnants of restraint. She runs until her heart hammers against her chest, slowing down only so she can cartwheel, her gloves picking up dead bits of leaves and dirt which she plucks from their tight weave with a grin.
Spinning in place she spreads her arms once more and looks up at the sky, turning around and around until she doesn’t know which direction she came from anymore and collapses onto her back with a delighted giggle. Staring at the clouds, gasping for breath, she can feel the earth moving beneath her, steadying her with its constant motion.
She stays there until her heart rate slows and she begins to notice the stick digging into her shoulder blade. The world pressing in around her becomes real once more, the sun beginning to warm her body, chasing away her goose bumps even as the air remains cool. A soft, sated smile spreads across her face. In the distance she can hear a bird chirping and further still the faint hum of traffic.
It’s time to go.
The walk back to her clothes is long but she doesn’t mind, she’s still loose-limbed and at peace as her skin tingles in the breeze. Slowly she puts her clothes back on, the same sense of ritual governing her movements. She casts her eyes about, looking for her bra and spies it halfway down the hill. She takes a step then pauses, reconsidering, with a soft smile she pulls her shirt and sweater over her head and walks back to her car. Driving down the dirt lane back towards civilization, she feels freer than she has in months. She laughs again, hard enough to shake her body and make her breasts bounce beneath her clothes as back on the hillside her discarded bra is blown about by the wind.