#mistletakao

"… list 10 books that have stayed with you. Try not to think too hard. They don’t have to be "right" or "great works" they just have had to have touched you in some way. Tag 10 friends including me so I can see your list."

So You Want To Be A Wizard by Diane Duane

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch

A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen

The Barcode Tattoo by Suzanne Weyn

Candide by Voltaire

Just Ella by Margaret Peterson Haddix

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

“I can’t believe this!” Monet crosses her arms over her chest, hissing at the swirling flakes of snow falling at a steady and heavy pace outside the window, whipped to and fro by strong winds. “You drag me all the way out here to this dingy, disgusting little cabin, and now we’re stuck here!” 

“You could fly home if it really bothered you,” Terry replies. She’s pulled one of the armchairs closer to the crackling fire in the fireplace, feet propped up on a footstool as she leans back and enjoys the warmth washing over her. 

“Yeah, and die of hypothermia before I got three miles away from this dump!” 

“Oh relax, it’s not that bad.” Terry smirks and nurses the mug of hot cocoa in her hands. She’s all decked out for the holidays, snuggled up in a purposefully ugly (but very warm) Christmas sweater depicting the Miser Brothers, along with a pair of soft and fuzzy slippers. She even has a sequined Santa hat perched atop her fiery hair and two little Christmas trees dangling from her ears. It doesn’t matter that Christmas is still two weeks away; Terry is feeling the spirit of the season. 

Monet makes a ‘hmph’ sound. “Maybe not for you, but I could have been somewhere warm and tropical this weekend.” 

“Then why aren’t you?” 

“Because you said we’d have a fun weekend together,” Monet snaps. She takes back to pacing back and forth in front of the window, just like she’s been doing for the past fifteen minutes, ever since the snow started falling. The storm hasn’t been there for long but already around three inches have accumulated and the forecast was calling for at least four feet by the time the storm was done. That, in addition to the gales shaking the little cabin, meant travel was nearly impossible. 

“A fun, romantic weekend,” Monet continues. “Not three nights in a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere while we get snowed in.” 

Terry sighs and sets her mug on the side table next to her armchair and sits up, patting her lap.

 “Come here, M. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep up that pacing.” 

Monet shoots her a look, then rolls her eyes and walks over to Terry’s chair. Instead of sitting on Terry’s lap, though, she easily lifts the redhead, sits in the armchair herself, and settles Terry on her thighs. 

“I thought we were going to go to a spa,” Monet says, bottom lip puffed out ever so slightly in a pout. Terry resists the urge to kiss it, knowing that will only irritate Monet more. 

“So this isn’t a spa, and maybe it’s not the nicest place we’ve stayed,” Terry begins, ignoring the pointed glance Monet gives her, “But it’s still romantic. We’ve got three days all to ourselves, no X-Factor, no Jaime, no cases; just the two of us relaxing in front of the fireplace, doing whatever we want.” Terry walks her fingers up Monet’s arm, smiling coyly and biting her bottom lip. “Wherever we want.” 

Monet appears unfazed. “And what do we do if Monday morning comes and we can’t even leave this stupid little house?” 

“Please, Monet, you can lift a two ton truck without even trying.” Terry leans in and teasingly brushes her lips along Monet’s jaw. “If there’s a lot of snow you can dig us out of here easily. If the power goes out, we have a generator. There’s a water pump for the toilet and the faucets and if the pipes freeze we’ve always got an outhouse.” 

Monet looks appalled at this. “An outhouse? I will not use an outhouse--!” 

“I’m just kidding!” Terry laughs and shifts, swinging her leg over Monet’s so she can straddle Monet’s lap. “We’ll be fine, I promise.” This time when she leans in she presses her lips fully against Monet’s and is delighted when the latter responds. 

“Do you really think I’d bring us out here without any back up plans?” 

“Yes,” Monet answers immediately. But she still places her hand on Terry’s hips, thumbs slipping under the thick Christmas sweater to brush along the skin beneath. Terry gives a little shiver and smiles. 

“I suppose,” Monet says, sliding her hands further under Terry’s sweater and stopping just beneath the lacy material of Terry’s bra, “This place has some rustic charm. Very rustic.” 

Terry sucks in a breath. “That’s the spirit.” 

“But I won’t be wearing Christmas sweaters, or singing carols, or doing anything like that.” Monet smirks up at Terry as she moves her hands around to Terry’s back and expertly flicks the bra clasp open. 

“Of course.” Terry tightens her grip on Monet’s shoulders. 

“However,” Monet continues, lowering her voice to a sultry murmur; Terry shivers again in anticipation. “I do think I’ll have some of that hot chocolate.” Before Terry can do anything, Monet is pushing her off of her lap and getting up. She tosses a satisfied smile over her shoulder as she strides into the kitchen. 

“Hey!” Terry yells as she stands up, loose bra rubbing against her hard nipples beneath her sweater and keeping her uncomfortably aroused when right now she’s trying to be angry. “That was completely unfair!”

“Should have taken me to the spa,” Monet calls back in a sing-song voice, and Terry rolls her eyes before storming into the kitchen after her girlfriend. Hopefully, she thinks, Monet won’t keep punishing her like this for the entire time they’re out here.