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Summary
Yang hated whiskey.
"You're three behind," the purr pressed against the curve of her ear, gritty and dark. There was a grind to it like the clenching of muscles- tendon tearing tension of thighs pressed too tightly together. "...where's your stamina, baby?"
It was hot, and the room was so crowded… glasses along the back bar winked in the flashing lights like astigmatism in her eyes, long and sharp and bright. Everything had lag. She tipped back another, and the fingers slid up her spine, under her shirt to trace her vertebrae; the rim slipped, most of it went in her mouth, and the rest ran down her chin, sticky and prickling. Yang sucked on her lip where the cut was soaked, dripping with it, and the iron mingled as she suckled on the lime with stunted, stagnating movements.
Quiet. Measured. It came out hotter than she meant it to- breathier with booze: "What part of your behavior makes you think you deserve it?"
***
Yang and Blake have a couple one-night stands.
Bookmarked by Mostwantedjs
27 Mar 2025