Prior matches had taught Shimmerlace to be skeptical of a
sure thing—you could get the business end of a loaded wand shoved deep inside your enemy's throat, and the fuckstick
still would find a way to backfire straight down your own Seelie throat.
But such was not her fate this time. There were no spikes on the mat, no botches in her form leading to agony in her hips or spine or head. Just the feeling of breeze in her cherryblossom hair as it unfurled around her and Brucey, the magic of weightlessness for that half-second fall, and then a
crack that felt like a gunshot from her knees to the devil's jaw.
...There were pinkettes in the crowd.
Her people. Sweet college kids with dorky lil fairy wings and glittering paint on their face. When Shimmerlace kipped to her feet, all grins as she caught her balance and brushed the dust off her skirt, the Coterist Crew a gave a holler. A
whoop, one might even say. Before she knew enough to guard herself, the sound was inside Shimmerlace, spreading out warm and glittering in her chest. Which gave this...Goofy-ass smile. She glanced at Bruce, and he seemed indisposed enough for her to take a moment, so—fuck it. She shot the idiots in the crowd a wink, and then a little curtsy, too, for good measure.
(And when that made the pissants and shitheads roar all the louder, her heart melted just slightly out of shape)
But she couldn't be distracted long!
There was
Man underfoot.
A beautiful, devilish Man, with loot to plunder.
Shimmerlace sidled beside Bruce, slipped one leg over his head, and stood with his face directly between her heels. He'd be getting a nice view indeed if he were conscious—and it was about to get nicer. Facing his body, she lowered herself, eyes lidded as his face settled between her legs. The stubble from his shave clung to her bare thighs, and when her pussy pressed against his face, she could feel the shape of his lips, chin, and nose against her. His breathing was warm on the exhale, cool on the inhale—a sensation that made her lips droop.
"Well, my fine feathered devil. What fine pickings we have today..." Her hips lifted, then thrust, raking her nylon-covered groin firmly across his face. Her hands trailed down his chest, over his abs, down his navel. She was crawling down his body while her legs trapped his head and locked at the ankles. She could still picture the way his face had smoldered when he smirked at her—and now when she flexed her legs, she could bury that face. Suffocate it in her smell. Her eyebrows pinched, cheeks flushed, and her hands gripped hungrily his hips. Her thumbs slid under the hem of his shorts.
"Bruuuucey. Brucey-butter-dee-loo..." His head shook, left, then right, as her hips swayed.
"How's about you wake on up and...Gimme a lil nibble huh?"