They All Fall Down

Slender fingers toy with fabric, skating down the curve of her back and stopping where the zipper has snagged. 

"Oh dear… This will not do," Titus tuts and leans in, forehead resting against the exposed skin of her back as he takes a closer look. "Darling," and Emily shivers at that word, unused to the sweetness of it. "How ever did you manage this?"

A noise escapes her throat, words garbled under layers of embarrassment and desire. He chuckles, strokes the blade of her bare shoulder. He knows, he understands. 

"It’s alright," he soothes. "You came to the right person." She feels the stretch of his smile and the fan of his breath against her. It’s maddening. "I am an expert at these things." 

She yelps at the press of his lips against the nape of her neck, as her dress drops to the floor from a simple tug. The fabric pools around her feet, leaving her exposed. Emily whips around to face him, only to meet air instead. Titus has already slipped out of her grasp, the door clicking close behind him.

I feel as though the post I reblogged the other day about cats and writing is also good for the literal approach. If you’re actually struggling with a cat, that is. They’re fickle creatures.

I believe we are in A quarrel.  I would not allow him To play with my rat, For fear that it would be the end Of them both. He has cast horrid glares Upon me since.

They’d gone halfsies on a milkshake after coincidentally running into each other at a diner. Trixie’s mouth twitches in amusement as she watches Twigs’ nose battle it out with her designated bendy straw. The younger woman loses it entirely, breaking into a fit of loud snickers once the straw surges forward and jams itself in a nostril.

Twigs’ eyes narrow, lips pulling back to bare teeth. With a snarl she snatches up the remaining straw and blows, its contents splattering across Trixie’s face.

The younger woman stills, eyes wide. It’s Twigs who is laughing now, a raspy cackle floating between them. Trixie’s face scrunches up into something incredibly unattractive and distinctly angry before she dumps what is let of their shared drink onto the older woman’s lap. 

A food war starts, no holds barred. Fries fly like bullets, ketchup spreads like blood. It lasts for several minutes before they’re bullied out of their booth and the front door by the manager, shouts of ‘Don’t come back,’ ringing behind them.

They stare down the front of the diner from across the street. 

"Want to get that guy fired?" Trixie asks, finally wiping off her face with a spare tissue. 

Twigs lights a cigarette, takes a moment to contemplate it. “Only if I can stick a cactus down his pants first.”