Sunday Scribblings: Skin
The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is smorgasbord; however, this being the 101st prompt, Meg and Laini collected and opened invited people to choose from the list.
This is my 13th Sunday Scribbling, by the way. Cool.
Touch, Skin, Flesh
The room is darkly lit, smoky. The jazz band is in its second set and pressed body heat gives the place a feeling of sensuality; the warmth wraps itself to exposed skin and elicits every pore to give up a sheen of perspiration.
Small, round elevated tables ring the band, the premium seats and in the direct center sits a couple who at a glance seem out of place. Older, they are dressed simply – he in a T-shirt and khakis, she in a pale peasant blouse and billowy skirt. They keep time with the music with slight nods.
An unremarkable couple in every sense, until you watch their hands. She’s sitting ahead on the curve of the table her right shoulder in line with his left. She reaches behind and strokes his thigh; he reaches forward, clears her gray/brown curls to her shoulder and tracks the pads of his fingers across her back.
She turns, smiles. He gives her a look that says he wishes for talons to pierce the fabric of her blouse, to give his fingers access to her olive skin.
She understands, twists her torso and meets his gaze; she puts a thumb to his lips, which he kisses.
And in that instant, the color of pink roses taints their flesh; their skin warm, flush. They give each other a nod, stand and he splays a palm at the base of her neck as his fingers cares the back of her skull and guides her to the exit.
This is my 13th Sunday Scribbling, by the way. Cool.
Touch, Skin, Flesh
The room is darkly lit, smoky. The jazz band is in its second set and pressed body heat gives the place a feeling of sensuality; the warmth wraps itself to exposed skin and elicits every pore to give up a sheen of perspiration.
Small, round elevated tables ring the band, the premium seats and in the direct center sits a couple who at a glance seem out of place. Older, they are dressed simply – he in a T-shirt and khakis, she in a pale peasant blouse and billowy skirt. They keep time with the music with slight nods.
An unremarkable couple in every sense, until you watch their hands. She’s sitting ahead on the curve of the table her right shoulder in line with his left. She reaches behind and strokes his thigh; he reaches forward, clears her gray/brown curls to her shoulder and tracks the pads of his fingers across her back.
She turns, smiles. He gives her a look that says he wishes for talons to pierce the fabric of her blouse, to give his fingers access to her olive skin.
She understands, twists her torso and meets his gaze; she puts a thumb to his lips, which he kisses.
And in that instant, the color of pink roses taints their flesh; their skin warm, flush. They give each other a nod, stand and he splays a palm at the base of her neck as his fingers cares the back of her skull and guides her to the exit.
Comments
i came upon your blog thru SS and have been perusing; good stuff here. will definitely have to come back to look through your archives. i look forward to reading your future posts...