It Was Becoming 'A Thing' With Them...
ooc: written for Sascha of breaker_street for the snuggle meme.
“Admit it, I look goo-ood in your shirt.”
“No.”
“Then don’t. Doesn’t make it less true, sweet Pete.”
“Never call me that again.”
“Stop hogging the blankets.”
Sascha made a big show of pulling Peter’s t-shirt snug across her chest before shimmying under the down comforter and pressing herself against the man. Their banter could go on like this all night, they didn’t stop the inane comment trading even while fooling around with each other, there was no way they’d drop it while simply cuddling.
“I’m not hogging any-Jesus your feet are like ice cubes, woman!”
“So, be a man and take it.”
“Your hands aren’t any better.”
“Not what you said earlier.”
“‘Mmm ngh fffff-God’ is actually Swedish for ‘Sascha, you have some serious circulation issues because your extremities are…oh, ha ha you can stop playing dead because if you drool on me with your mouth hanging open like that, I am so shoving you out of bed.”
She wasn’t pretending to be dead, just bored into a coma. Of course, Sascha was also prone to testing limits and pushing boundaries and with the way she was laying, her head on his shoulder and her face so close to his neck, temptation really did beckon. She did the most logical thing given the situation and stuck her tongue out, licking Peter from collarbone to jaw line. Sometimes words were over-rated.
“Ugh!”
“Mmm…”
“Gross.”
“Tasty.”
Being bigger and the one with the upper body strength, Peter found a solution to her apparent tasting problem in simply lifting Sascha up and turning her around so that they were lying back to chest. He kept her there by crossing his arms over her hers and hugging the slim wisp of a woman securely. She didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m keeping your shirt.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I think I am, Peter, honey.”
“Sascha, baby, no, you aren’t.”
He was going to let her have the shirt but there was no point in telling her that yet. Peter had other things to say to her instead. Things he whispered into her ear and made her laugh about. A few things that had her pretty mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ and then dissolving into giggles, shocking things-at least coming from him.
“Where does a choir boy learn such filth?”
“Hanging out with rock stars.”
“Those bastards.”
“Bad influences. Corrupted me in really bad ways.”
“Are there good ways to corrupt choir boys?”
“Admit it, I look goo-ood in your shirt.”
“No.”
“Then don’t. Doesn’t make it less true, sweet Pete.”
“Never call me that again.”
“Stop hogging the blankets.”
Sascha made a big show of pulling Peter’s t-shirt snug across her chest before shimmying under the down comforter and pressing herself against the man. Their banter could go on like this all night, they didn’t stop the inane comment trading even while fooling around with each other, there was no way they’d drop it while simply cuddling.
“I’m not hogging any-Jesus your feet are like ice cubes, woman!”
“So, be a man and take it.”
“Your hands aren’t any better.”
“Not what you said earlier.”
“‘Mmm ngh fffff-God’ is actually Swedish for ‘Sascha, you have some serious circulation issues because your extremities are…oh, ha ha you can stop playing dead because if you drool on me with your mouth hanging open like that, I am so shoving you out of bed.”
She wasn’t pretending to be dead, just bored into a coma. Of course, Sascha was also prone to testing limits and pushing boundaries and with the way she was laying, her head on his shoulder and her face so close to his neck, temptation really did beckon. She did the most logical thing given the situation and stuck her tongue out, licking Peter from collarbone to jaw line. Sometimes words were over-rated.
“Ugh!”
“Mmm…”
“Gross.”
“Tasty.”
Being bigger and the one with the upper body strength, Peter found a solution to her apparent tasting problem in simply lifting Sascha up and turning her around so that they were lying back to chest. He kept her there by crossing his arms over her hers and hugging the slim wisp of a woman securely. She didn’t seem to mind.
“I’m keeping your shirt.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I think I am, Peter, honey.”
“Sascha, baby, no, you aren’t.”
He was going to let her have the shirt but there was no point in telling her that yet. Peter had other things to say to her instead. Things he whispered into her ear and made her laugh about. A few things that had her pretty mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ and then dissolving into giggles, shocking things-at least coming from him.
“Where does a choir boy learn such filth?”
“Hanging out with rock stars.”
“Those bastards.”
“Bad influences. Corrupted me in really bad ways.”
“Are there good ways to corrupt choir boys?”