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rainbowfic2023-10-13 09:16 am
ilthit) wrote in rainbowfic2023-10-13 09:16 am
Blue Caravan #6, Cloudy Gray #10, Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #7: Lingering Summer, Borrowed Time
Name: Lingering Summer, Borrowed Time
Story: Peccadillo Parlour
Colors: Blue caravan #6: All my maps will only show me how to lose my way, Cloudy Gray #10: empty, Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #7: provoke
Supplies and Styles: resin, canvas
Word Count: 2,396
Rating: explicit
Warnings: May/September (she is nineteen here), sexual politics, unequal relationship, background of mild depression.
Summary: It's hot. Henry has airconditioning. Juliette does not.
Note: Written fororiginal_works_ex , posting here now that it has been revealed. Also on AO3 here. Thanks to cindybug for beta and Britpick!
It was Henry's second house, here on the coast, where it used to be too chilly to spend most of the year, with those miserable wet Hampshire winters. Now it was September and the sun was beating down like it was Ibiza twenty years ago. Which is why he'd had the pool built.
Not one of those collapsible pools people stuff in their tiny backyards, Henry wouldn't be seen dead in one of those. He hadn't been shy with his money since, well. Since Ibiza twenty years ago. No, it was a nice pool, tiled in a rich blue, with underwater steps built in to lead up to the patio, where it was one step from a jacuzzi done in the same style. He'd had a man come in and install large patio plants in boxes there as well: majesty palms and kalanchoe, for privacy, and to complete the tropical look.
It was a little over-the-top for Henry, who preferred the greys, whites, and black he'd filled his Croydon home with, clean and streamlined, with a single statement piece here and there, and all clutter hidden away behind smooth featureless cabinet walls. Often his freshly pressed orange juice was the only spot of color in the kitchen in the mornings. But this was his holiday house, after all, and let's face it, it was a fuck jacuzzi. It had to be magical. No one came to Henry expecting anything less.
(Well. Maybe some. Henry was forty years old and even now he had barely any control over where his libido would point him next. Sometimes it wanted basic broken sofa fucks in some tiny apartment in East London. But not that often.)
He was grateful for it now. He'd left his mobile off after only caving twice since this morning and turning it back on to hate-scroll his ex's Instagram. The day was turning to evening. It was still hot as the devil's arsehole, but with his feet in the jacuzzi, a whiskey on rocks in his hand, and the solitude far away from his London office, he was starting to lose the feeling of being wrapped up tight like a sandwich in a plastic wrapper.
The plants provided some extra shade, too: their own fresh smell permeated the air. With a little breeze from over the sea, and the quiet... He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting go of it all.
But then he found he wanted a cigarette, so he put his glass down and splashed out of the jacuzzi. While rummaging around for a pack, he picked up his phone and turned it on zithout thinking. Its blip when it turned on broke the silence of the evening.
-
"I'm not him," Henry grunted, his head aching slightly in the bright morning sun.
"You're not who?" asked the bleached-blonde little thing who had been openly staring at him the whole time they'd been shuffling down the queue at the corner shop. The aisle space here was narrow, and half the products were only named in Hindi, but Henry was out of Chesterfields.
"Whoever you think I am." He gave her a rueful smile and a casual glance, as if he hadn't been looking.
Of course he'd been looking. He knew what he was. He just didn't want to be the perv in the corner shop queue, with a slight hangover, dark shadows under his eyes and an expensive shirt with its sleeves rolled up, looking over a young girl like that. She was what, sixteen? Seventeen? Sweet round face with almond dark eyes, perfectly pretty, with no flesh on her bottom and barely any tits, but what she had she'd displayed in a light pink tube top and cut-off jeans embroidered with flower patterns. Summer fashion never changed, did it?
"I think you're the guy with the pool who lives across from Mr Whitley."
"Yeah, fair," Henry said and turned away, towards the front of the queue. "You've figured me out. Now stop drilling a hole on the back of my neck, alright, darling?"
The queue shuffled along, her sandals whispering on the uneven floor behind him.
"It's hot," she told him. Her voice was slightly accented, though he couldn't place it, and her tone was subdued and sweet. "Mr Whitley doesn't have a pool, or A.C."
"Who's Mr Whitley to you?" Henry asked despite himself. There was now only an older woman in a dark flower-print dress ahead of them, offering up her Lotto ticket.
"His daughter is a friend of my parents. I've been looking after him this summer while she's out of the country. He doesn't need a nurse yet, but it's heading that way. I'm a sociology student. Second year. Back in London." She finished there as if this explained everything. Henry upgraded his assessment of her age. "Laura's back next week."
"Chesterfields?" the shopkeeper interjected.
Henry switched his attention to him. "Yeah, thanks, that'll do it."
The only thing the shop had for cooling was a lazy fan and the shade, with the fridges working overtime, but outside the heat hit like a wave, perspiration springing up instantly. Just a short walk home. Anybody would be mad to be out in this weather, but a lot of mad people were out that day, pushing past in sun-hats with red shoulders and glistening faces. Henry stopped for a car before crossing the street, and when its rumble moved away, she was there again, nose covered in droplets and her cheeks pink and still looking at him.
He smiled down at her, flicking the cigarette case open with his thumb. "Stalker."
She shrugged and smiled up, her eyes crinkling. "You have a pool."
Henry grunted and popped a ciggy between his lips. "Come on. You're not that stupid. Are you? Or do I look that harmless?"
She tilted her head and smiled, joining her hands behind her back, the perfect little coquette. "I can be sweet to you if you're sweet to me."
Henry didn't say anything as they crossed the street, the girl a step behind him, but once they'd rounded the corner and stepped into the shadow, he said, "I'm Henry."
She linked her arm with his. "Juliette."
-
"Oh yes, that's so good." Juliette lay naked in Henry's sheets, the A.C. on full, making strands of her pale blonde hair flutter. She had her eyes closed, arms and legs spread, shamelessly displaying her body, with its shaven armpits and trimmed pussy. Her mosquito bite tits had large, dark pink nipples, and Henry couldn't tell if they'd puckered up from the AC or from what his hand was doing between her legs. One of her legs twitched as he slid his finger in almost to the knuckle, and her back arched as he brushed his thumb up by her clit.
She was dripping wet. She'd been glistening already when he'd gently pushed her knees apart to have a look, but now every time he pulled his finger back it came back wetter, making a satisfying noise every time. He couldn't tell if she wanted him particularly, but at least he knew she wanted this, and he was enough of a dog to go for it. He knew that, he'd made peace with it. There were worse men out there than him. And she'd be gone in a week, right? Long before this could spiral down the usual path.
He added a finger, tugging at the buttons of his own shirt. His breath was coming in faster now, watching her pretty cunt leak on his hand. Fuck.
She pushed herself up on her shoulders to look at him. "You can come inside," she said, a little out of breath herself, "just wear a condom."
"I'm eating you out," Henry said bluntly.
"Oh." She did not object, and only shifted her knees up a little as Henry pulled his fingers out of her and shrugged off his shirt, tugged her legs up to the side of the bed, and kneeled down in between. "Oh, you really are."
Henry loved the smell of cunt, the weight of a pair of legs on his shoulders. Juliette crossed her ankles and shimmied her hips up invitingly.
Henry's tongue found her dark pink little clit and rolled it, to a keening cry and a tightening of the grip of those thighs. When her legs began to shake, he took mercy and spent some time kissing the inside of her thighs, licking her gently, and then went in again with finger and tongue.
"Oh God, oh God!" Juliette whimpered as she bucked her hips up into his face and came in a rush of warmth down his chin. "Henry, Henry, stop."
With one final lick, he stopped and pushed himself up on his hands to watch his work with satisfaction. She was hazy eyed with pleasure, his sheets under her wet. "I'm sorry," she said, backing up along the bed. "I-- I made a mess."
"You've done nothing wrong, darling," said Henry, wiping his mouth on his arm and climbing up between her legs.
"Really? But it's such a-- It will stain." Her hair was sticking in every direction, her eyes still delirious with pleasure, and now he could be sure the pink on her cheeks had nothing to do with the weather. His cock was heavy in his trousers, begging to be wetted.
"You're golden," Henry assured her, reaching in his back pocket for a string of condoms. "Now--unzip me."
-
A little later, he watched Juliette splash her feet in the pool. She'd had a shower--he'd made her--and slathered herself in sunscreen, but she hadn't brought a bikini, and the meager flesh of her buttocks was bare against the dark blue tiles. Henry sat in his trunks in the shade on the patio, under the curved roof with its pull-open screens, smoking and watching.
He felt a little better. It always felt good at first, relieving a little tension with sex, like untying a knot in his belly. He'd just ride this one out.
Fuck, people whose opinion he valued had told him before: just let yourself be happy for a little bit. It doesn't always have to come with a price. What are you, Catholic?
It worked with the quality whiskey and first class seats and the expensive furniture, but not so great with... people.
Juliette slipped into the water and swam and splashed about like a happy frog, coming up every now and then to flash Henry a smile. But enough wasenough. He only had to drop one hint and she gathered up her clothes and kissed the top of his head, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her down on the sofa (leather, air conditioning whirring, slipping against the throw blanket) and licked her clean again, this time with her tube top still on, his hand sneaking under it to play with her tiny tit as she convulsed under his mouth.
Yeah, that never got old.
He spent that night drinking and thinking, and very nearly bought a ticket back home several times. But the weather report said it would be over 30C again tomorrow, and at least one of the trains would be hot and crowded. Best wait until Tuesday.
She came over at around eleven the following day, and they had Chinese takeout and talked about university, then fucked for half an hour before she went back to the pool. Henry left her to it, and opened up his laptop in the breakfast nook to catch up on work.
-
"Laura's back tomorrow," Juliette said, cuddling up to Henry's shoulder in the pale afternoon light.
Henry could hardly believe it had been a week already. "So you'll be heading back soon, eh?"
"Yeah," she rested her head down on his shoulder and sighed. "It's good. I need to get back to class."
He kissed her forehead absent-mindedly, his heart sinking. Shit, and he'd just started to relax. He could hear it word by word before she even opened her lips. Let's meet up in town. Here's my address. You know there's this play on in theWest End. And then the same thing would happen that always happened. She would milk him and milk him and one day jealousy would grip him like a demon and he'd turn into a facsimile of his own bastard of a father, fists ready and frothing like a beast.
It was always the same.
"Juliette," he started, "I'm not a good--"
She interrupted him. "I don't think we should see each other again."
Their eyes met. She looked down first. "It's just that I'll be busy, and like-- I don't really want--"
"Okay," Henry said. The noose that had been gathering around him loosened and slipped away.
"I mean, you've been really great, Henry. You're really good at sex and you never hurt me even once. It was really nice. I just want to--not make it serious, I guess. Are you angry?" This last was said in a small voice.
"No, darling," he said, an odd warmth spreading in his chest. "No, you're golden."
-
The heat would break next week, according to the news. It would start with a storm, lightning across the sea, and peter off into a few days of drizzle and grey skies. He'd go back then. London in the rain was a truer one than London under a hot sun. He did miss some of it by now. His boat at the St Catherine Docks, the clink of glasses and murmur of voices in a restaurant, the anonymity of crisp hotel sheets after he'd stayed out too late or drank too much.
He sat in the jacuzzi alone, the ghost of Juliette flitting by the pool in his mind. He wondered if she'd always be a part of this house; if this house wasn't quite his alone now.
Had he been happy this past week? Would this heal him? Probably not. But it hadn't done him any harm. He hoped it hadn't done her any harm either.
He poured himself another glass from the tray he'd set beside the jacuzzi and toasted the memory of Juliette, who was probably at Charing Cross by now. "You'll be fine." It was a prayer as much as a statement. Be fine.
Do better than me.
Story: Peccadillo Parlour
Colors: Blue caravan #6: All my maps will only show me how to lose my way, Cloudy Gray #10: empty, Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry #7: provoke
Supplies and Styles: resin, canvas
Word Count: 2,396
Rating: explicit
Warnings: May/September (she is nineteen here), sexual politics, unequal relationship, background of mild depression.
Summary: It's hot. Henry has airconditioning. Juliette does not.
Note: Written for
original_works_ex , posting here now that it has been revealed. Also on AO3 here. Thanks to cindybug for beta and Britpick!It was Henry's second house, here on the coast, where it used to be too chilly to spend most of the year, with those miserable wet Hampshire winters. Now it was September and the sun was beating down like it was Ibiza twenty years ago. Which is why he'd had the pool built.
Not one of those collapsible pools people stuff in their tiny backyards, Henry wouldn't be seen dead in one of those. He hadn't been shy with his money since, well. Since Ibiza twenty years ago. No, it was a nice pool, tiled in a rich blue, with underwater steps built in to lead up to the patio, where it was one step from a jacuzzi done in the same style. He'd had a man come in and install large patio plants in boxes there as well: majesty palms and kalanchoe, for privacy, and to complete the tropical look.
It was a little over-the-top for Henry, who preferred the greys, whites, and black he'd filled his Croydon home with, clean and streamlined, with a single statement piece here and there, and all clutter hidden away behind smooth featureless cabinet walls. Often his freshly pressed orange juice was the only spot of color in the kitchen in the mornings. But this was his holiday house, after all, and let's face it, it was a fuck jacuzzi. It had to be magical. No one came to Henry expecting anything less.
(Well. Maybe some. Henry was forty years old and even now he had barely any control over where his libido would point him next. Sometimes it wanted basic broken sofa fucks in some tiny apartment in East London. But not that often.)
He was grateful for it now. He'd left his mobile off after only caving twice since this morning and turning it back on to hate-scroll his ex's Instagram. The day was turning to evening. It was still hot as the devil's arsehole, but with his feet in the jacuzzi, a whiskey on rocks in his hand, and the solitude far away from his London office, he was starting to lose the feeling of being wrapped up tight like a sandwich in a plastic wrapper.
The plants provided some extra shade, too: their own fresh smell permeated the air. With a little breeze from over the sea, and the quiet... He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting go of it all.
But then he found he wanted a cigarette, so he put his glass down and splashed out of the jacuzzi. While rummaging around for a pack, he picked up his phone and turned it on zithout thinking. Its blip when it turned on broke the silence of the evening.
-
"I'm not him," Henry grunted, his head aching slightly in the bright morning sun.
"You're not who?" asked the bleached-blonde little thing who had been openly staring at him the whole time they'd been shuffling down the queue at the corner shop. The aisle space here was narrow, and half the products were only named in Hindi, but Henry was out of Chesterfields.
"Whoever you think I am." He gave her a rueful smile and a casual glance, as if he hadn't been looking.
Of course he'd been looking. He knew what he was. He just didn't want to be the perv in the corner shop queue, with a slight hangover, dark shadows under his eyes and an expensive shirt with its sleeves rolled up, looking over a young girl like that. She was what, sixteen? Seventeen? Sweet round face with almond dark eyes, perfectly pretty, with no flesh on her bottom and barely any tits, but what she had she'd displayed in a light pink tube top and cut-off jeans embroidered with flower patterns. Summer fashion never changed, did it?
"I think you're the guy with the pool who lives across from Mr Whitley."
"Yeah, fair," Henry said and turned away, towards the front of the queue. "You've figured me out. Now stop drilling a hole on the back of my neck, alright, darling?"
The queue shuffled along, her sandals whispering on the uneven floor behind him.
"It's hot," she told him. Her voice was slightly accented, though he couldn't place it, and her tone was subdued and sweet. "Mr Whitley doesn't have a pool, or A.C."
"Who's Mr Whitley to you?" Henry asked despite himself. There was now only an older woman in a dark flower-print dress ahead of them, offering up her Lotto ticket.
"His daughter is a friend of my parents. I've been looking after him this summer while she's out of the country. He doesn't need a nurse yet, but it's heading that way. I'm a sociology student. Second year. Back in London." She finished there as if this explained everything. Henry upgraded his assessment of her age. "Laura's back next week."
"Chesterfields?" the shopkeeper interjected.
Henry switched his attention to him. "Yeah, thanks, that'll do it."
The only thing the shop had for cooling was a lazy fan and the shade, with the fridges working overtime, but outside the heat hit like a wave, perspiration springing up instantly. Just a short walk home. Anybody would be mad to be out in this weather, but a lot of mad people were out that day, pushing past in sun-hats with red shoulders and glistening faces. Henry stopped for a car before crossing the street, and when its rumble moved away, she was there again, nose covered in droplets and her cheeks pink and still looking at him.
He smiled down at her, flicking the cigarette case open with his thumb. "Stalker."
She shrugged and smiled up, her eyes crinkling. "You have a pool."
Henry grunted and popped a ciggy between his lips. "Come on. You're not that stupid. Are you? Or do I look that harmless?"
She tilted her head and smiled, joining her hands behind her back, the perfect little coquette. "I can be sweet to you if you're sweet to me."
Henry didn't say anything as they crossed the street, the girl a step behind him, but once they'd rounded the corner and stepped into the shadow, he said, "I'm Henry."
She linked her arm with his. "Juliette."
-
"Oh yes, that's so good." Juliette lay naked in Henry's sheets, the A.C. on full, making strands of her pale blonde hair flutter. She had her eyes closed, arms and legs spread, shamelessly displaying her body, with its shaven armpits and trimmed pussy. Her mosquito bite tits had large, dark pink nipples, and Henry couldn't tell if they'd puckered up from the AC or from what his hand was doing between her legs. One of her legs twitched as he slid his finger in almost to the knuckle, and her back arched as he brushed his thumb up by her clit.
She was dripping wet. She'd been glistening already when he'd gently pushed her knees apart to have a look, but now every time he pulled his finger back it came back wetter, making a satisfying noise every time. He couldn't tell if she wanted him particularly, but at least he knew she wanted this, and he was enough of a dog to go for it. He knew that, he'd made peace with it. There were worse men out there than him. And she'd be gone in a week, right? Long before this could spiral down the usual path.
He added a finger, tugging at the buttons of his own shirt. His breath was coming in faster now, watching her pretty cunt leak on his hand. Fuck.
She pushed herself up on her shoulders to look at him. "You can come inside," she said, a little out of breath herself, "just wear a condom."
"I'm eating you out," Henry said bluntly.
"Oh." She did not object, and only shifted her knees up a little as Henry pulled his fingers out of her and shrugged off his shirt, tugged her legs up to the side of the bed, and kneeled down in between. "Oh, you really are."
Henry loved the smell of cunt, the weight of a pair of legs on his shoulders. Juliette crossed her ankles and shimmied her hips up invitingly.
Henry's tongue found her dark pink little clit and rolled it, to a keening cry and a tightening of the grip of those thighs. When her legs began to shake, he took mercy and spent some time kissing the inside of her thighs, licking her gently, and then went in again with finger and tongue.
"Oh God, oh God!" Juliette whimpered as she bucked her hips up into his face and came in a rush of warmth down his chin. "Henry, Henry, stop."
With one final lick, he stopped and pushed himself up on his hands to watch his work with satisfaction. She was hazy eyed with pleasure, his sheets under her wet. "I'm sorry," she said, backing up along the bed. "I-- I made a mess."
"You've done nothing wrong, darling," said Henry, wiping his mouth on his arm and climbing up between her legs.
"Really? But it's such a-- It will stain." Her hair was sticking in every direction, her eyes still delirious with pleasure, and now he could be sure the pink on her cheeks had nothing to do with the weather. His cock was heavy in his trousers, begging to be wetted.
"You're golden," Henry assured her, reaching in his back pocket for a string of condoms. "Now--unzip me."
-
A little later, he watched Juliette splash her feet in the pool. She'd had a shower--he'd made her--and slathered herself in sunscreen, but she hadn't brought a bikini, and the meager flesh of her buttocks was bare against the dark blue tiles. Henry sat in his trunks in the shade on the patio, under the curved roof with its pull-open screens, smoking and watching.
He felt a little better. It always felt good at first, relieving a little tension with sex, like untying a knot in his belly. He'd just ride this one out.
Fuck, people whose opinion he valued had told him before: just let yourself be happy for a little bit. It doesn't always have to come with a price. What are you, Catholic?
It worked with the quality whiskey and first class seats and the expensive furniture, but not so great with... people.
Juliette slipped into the water and swam and splashed about like a happy frog, coming up every now and then to flash Henry a smile. But enough wasenough. He only had to drop one hint and she gathered up her clothes and kissed the top of his head, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her down on the sofa (leather, air conditioning whirring, slipping against the throw blanket) and licked her clean again, this time with her tube top still on, his hand sneaking under it to play with her tiny tit as she convulsed under his mouth.
Yeah, that never got old.
He spent that night drinking and thinking, and very nearly bought a ticket back home several times. But the weather report said it would be over 30C again tomorrow, and at least one of the trains would be hot and crowded. Best wait until Tuesday.
She came over at around eleven the following day, and they had Chinese takeout and talked about university, then fucked for half an hour before she went back to the pool. Henry left her to it, and opened up his laptop in the breakfast nook to catch up on work.
-
"Laura's back tomorrow," Juliette said, cuddling up to Henry's shoulder in the pale afternoon light.
Henry could hardly believe it had been a week already. "So you'll be heading back soon, eh?"
"Yeah," she rested her head down on his shoulder and sighed. "It's good. I need to get back to class."
He kissed her forehead absent-mindedly, his heart sinking. Shit, and he'd just started to relax. He could hear it word by word before she even opened her lips. Let's meet up in town. Here's my address. You know there's this play on in theWest End. And then the same thing would happen that always happened. She would milk him and milk him and one day jealousy would grip him like a demon and he'd turn into a facsimile of his own bastard of a father, fists ready and frothing like a beast.
It was always the same.
"Juliette," he started, "I'm not a good--"
She interrupted him. "I don't think we should see each other again."
Their eyes met. She looked down first. "It's just that I'll be busy, and like-- I don't really want--"
"Okay," Henry said. The noose that had been gathering around him loosened and slipped away.
"I mean, you've been really great, Henry. You're really good at sex and you never hurt me even once. It was really nice. I just want to--not make it serious, I guess. Are you angry?" This last was said in a small voice.
"No, darling," he said, an odd warmth spreading in his chest. "No, you're golden."
-
The heat would break next week, according to the news. It would start with a storm, lightning across the sea, and peter off into a few days of drizzle and grey skies. He'd go back then. London in the rain was a truer one than London under a hot sun. He did miss some of it by now. His boat at the St Catherine Docks, the clink of glasses and murmur of voices in a restaurant, the anonymity of crisp hotel sheets after he'd stayed out too late or drank too much.
He sat in the jacuzzi alone, the ghost of Juliette flitting by the pool in his mind. He wondered if she'd always be a part of this house; if this house wasn't quite his alone now.
Had he been happy this past week? Would this heal him? Probably not. But it hadn't done him any harm. He hoped it hadn't done her any harm either.
He poured himself another glass from the tray he'd set beside the jacuzzi and toasted the memory of Juliette, who was probably at Charing Cross by now. "You'll be fine." It was a prayer as much as a statement. Be fine.
Do better than me.