Stitch 37.5: Burgundy

Racing into the dark room, Lor pulls them to the off-limits open window. Whispering, "Come on."

Niki does. (Less entranced.)

Dancing deep into burgundy curtains Lor pulls fabric from the glass, revealing stars. Taking two fistfuls of ebony hair lost in the black of the night, she pulls the other in for what was meant to be a quick kiss, but, as always, lasts. She pulls back. Dazedly, giggles. Body turning and skin aglow with moonlights she whispers, "Students aren't supposed to be up this late."

Niki drawls, "So?" And Lor laughs.

For a few more seconds she stares, soaking in the forbidden sight of the stars, hundreds, thousands, millions, or more of white paint splatters and pale glows against the otherwise everlasting black abyss. Then she turns, eyes wide, pupils bright, irises a brilliant blue. Her mouth curves upwards and outwards and indents in the makings of the most beautiful of smiles. "It's nice to see the stars."

Niki smiles. (Nothing's really forbidden for her, but...)

The small sort of laugh associated with these sweet smiles and the saccharine taste in the air again escapes Lor's parted lips, as the space closes in, as their bodies draw together. One hand held back in the silk-satin covers, Lor leans forward, lifts the other arm up. And drapes it around Niki's shoulders. And longer fingers find their way around her waist, longer legs between her own, and in the meantime the many shadows of dislocated limbs interrupting the window's whiter cutout on the black floor slowly amalgamate into one. The deep red of the curtains frames the deep darkness of the outside sky and the infinite cosmos. The rest of the room is a forgotten mass of less-empty darkness, still hiding them away from the world.

The small sin of staying up too late is lost behind bigger problems when their lips realign. Upon parting, Lor muses, "Ah, you get me in so much trouble."

Niki drawls, "Sorry." And the laughter in her eyes is soft and adoring. Shaking her head, down, arms still wrapped around the warmth of the other's body, Lor sighs. She looks up. Eyes still bright, and alive.

"Seriously. You're like chocolate. Or something. All bad for me but deceivingly rapped in a delicious flavor - how evil. It's really frustrating, sometimes."

Again, Niki offers, "Sorry?" And this time she sort of half-laughs back, in the same short sort of way as her eyes would portend.

"No, seriously-" she starts, but Niki cuts her off by connecting their lips, after rolling her eyes. Lor glows. Her fingers fist and release and slide over and around fabric until the feeling becomes skin-on-skin. A gentle heat flows from cell to cell from her forehead to her feet. Her knees knock together. Head tilts. Heels lift. Eyes close. Somehow the blood from her brain doubles back to her heart, which begins to beat twice as fast, urging her forward.

(Though Lor wasn't finished.)

When they finally become again two separate beings Niki shrugs her shoulders and drawls, in a please-forgive-me-? kind of context, "I love you."


Corresponding art piece (take out the spaces): yeaka . deviantart . com/ art / Burgundy - 77220111

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