Otherwise it's more keeping up with expectation. [She's easy with odd angles but it will still be more comfortable to stretch her legs out across his lap.] Is there anything else to it? [Her tradition.]
[And a candle, which he picks carefully from the side of the box and fixes into place. He checks the pockets of this new suit for where he replaced his wallet after changing, digging out a rarely used book of matches from a restaurant in New Jersey he and Cameron had liked. Strikes one.]
Have you heard the theory on eating, eye contact and civilisation?
[After he swallows. But one sugary bite is enough for now, he returns the cake to its box on the dash - distractedly - and leans in a little to watch her mouth.]
[They're very nice, but he'd rather have them undone and rolled down, something he sets to, head bent low. He presses his mouth against the faint line where the stockings have held to her skin.]
[Her eyes lighten for a second, then she closes them, breathing in the smell of what's happening, her heels settling against his coat. She's careful with them, she doesn't want them to catch, to ruin the fabric.]
[It's simpler for him not to take the risk with the fabric of her skirt. Simpler to push her skirt up a little more and push his hands underneath to hold her hips and let his nails graze bared skin instead. She'll know his way by now, both endlessly patient and cruelly intense.]
[The sounds she makes are not so unfamiliar, not so inhuman. A soft keening as she nudges her hips up, towards his mouth, the hand in his hair moving to the nape of his neck, her rings cold against his skin. Her reaction is clear enough that she's enjoying it]
[He gasps against her when her fingers catch at the nape of his neck, the rush of cool air a brief interruption to how he stays with her, pressing his tongue into her, against her, meeting each request for more for as long as she asks.]
[It's a few minutes of coaxing, of his cruelty, of his mouth, and she shudders, her legs tightening slightly, her orgasm making her cry out more, keening like a bird for a moment. It's the most human sound she makes, thoughtless, pleased.]
[He bites his bottom lip down, sitting up enough to look at her as he replies, crossing his arms over her raised knees. Runs his tongue across the back of his teeth.]
It could be a new tradition. [He will find something more tangible for her, eventually, however late it may be in coming.]
[But he smiles, lazy, tilting his head into her touch. If this were the back seat he'd have pulled her closer by now.]
You define everything according to a set of rules you didn't make. I've asked a lot of questions and been told what Anansi need, and what they don't. The answer's never just 'because it makes me happy'.
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[He likes that they please her.]
Otherwise it's more keeping up with expectation. [She's easy with odd angles but it will still be more comfortable to stretch her legs out across his lap.] Is there anything else to it? [Her tradition.]
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Happy Birthday.
[It's too awkward a song to sing solo.]
Make a wish.
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Now you can eat it.
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We should have brought something for you.
[Yes, he would have sat in the car with a date drinking a liver smoothie.]
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But I'm not hungry.
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[He swipes a pinky at the edge of the frosting and holds it out to her, then takes a bite.]
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[She takes his pinky in her mouth, though, tongue pressing on the tip]
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[After he swallows. But one sugary bite is enough for now, he returns the cake to its box on the dash - distractedly - and leans in a little to watch her mouth.]
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[She looks up at him, licking her lips, getting the last bits of sugar.]
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[His mouth is sweet, too. Too sweet to taste the sugar on her tongue when he kisses her.]
They might have to rethink the theory.
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Humans think they're unique in everything.
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And yet you seem to be a fan.
[Both hands run down over her legs and, if she'll let him, they'll be hooked over his shoulders in short order.]
Still haven't figured out why.
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A fan of humans? Or a fan of you?
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Both.
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I need humans to live. More than spiders need flies. Ananasi are synanthropic.
You, are more complicated.
[She's watching him, her fingers still caught in his blonde hair. Like gold, she thinks, with no trace of poetry at all.]
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This time he can taste her. A different kind of sweet.]
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Is that a birthday present?
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It could be a new tradition. [He will find something more tangible for her, eventually, however late it may be in coming.]
Am I breaking the laws of nature?
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[She has the tips of her fingers in his hair, they move to touch his skin on his face very gently]
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[But he smiles, lazy, tilting his head into her touch. If this were the back seat he'd have pulled her closer by now.]
You define everything according to a set of rules you didn't make. I've asked a lot of questions and been told what Anansi need, and what they don't. The answer's never just 'because it makes me happy'.
[He pauses.]
Almost never.
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