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thunderheadfred · 8 years ago

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Kiss Prompt #14 - starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion

Hopefully, parts of this will end up heavily edited for In The Yellow Time Of Pollen. This got really long, still feels pretty unpolished, and also flirts with NSFW content near the end. BUT HEY! I wrote a thing! Huzzah!

It’s getting worse. All of it.

First, the sticky fingers. With Lexi’s help, Kallo masters control of his nuptial pads in the span of a few concentrated hours. He is able to resume his duties at the helm with no one the wiser.

The next morning when Suvi walks onto the bridge with her coffee, she telegraphs Kallo a friendly side-eye and asks about Ryder, but gives up when her third attempt at casual chatter meets a wall of silence. He almost feels bad about it. Almost.

No use spreading rumors. There’s nothing to spread. Nothing is going to happen. He’s not about to mire the Pathfinder in a swamp of uncomfortable biological inconveniences. She has much more important things to worry about. Rebuilding civilization takes precedence over the alarming and foreign developments in Kallo’s crotch.

Salarian mating season: even he doesn’t want any part of it.

The season should last four weeks at least, eight at most. Hard to say. A few months of hell before Kallo can get back to normal. Lexi forwards more information than he knows what to do with. Terabytes of pamphlets and diagrams, one worrying link to a discreet manufacturer of plastic sheeting and other “interspecies play aides,” terrifying videos of adventurous (and well-compensated) asari maidens splashing around in pools with salarian partners.

Kallo can’t even make it past the video thumbnails, can barely look at those e-mails at all except to freeze in surprise and spend a few brief seconds obsessing over Sara’s body instead of his own. What she might really look like under all that pretense, the scuffed leather and showy grins…

He avoids the terminals after that. No. Thank you, but no. Too confusing.

So, he gets his hands back under control. Fabulous. Also, fruitless. Hours after that victory, his body begins to itch.

Everywhere, every inch of skin alive with pain as if Kallo is due for a terrifying biannual molt. He’s not, Lexi reassures him. His body is just flooding with hormones that are readjusting his natural excretions, he might notice some flare-ups. Nothing to worry about, the doctor coddles, Kallo is only preparing to transform from the outside-in, apparently.

Somehow that thought is less comforting than the somewhat more relatable prospect of shedding his epidermis whole like a snake.

So, he showers. Constantly. Sometimes twice a day, alternating hot and cold. Blessedly, the itching stops.

But then, of course, along comes something worse. His skin begins to… seep. Moisture beads out of every pore, covering him in something clear and slick and flavorless. He’d prefer not to call this newest development lubricant like Lexi does with a clarity and ease he refuses to understand, but he can’t seem to find a better name for it either.

One afternoon while Ryder is off punching lowlifes in Kadara port, Kallo paces across the galaxy map station, desperate for an occupation. Uncharacteristically out of his seat, standing because he can’t bear the pornographic mess that now constantly lines his suit, he grimaces and rubs his fingers together. He evaluates the ease of the slip.

Dammit, it’s lube. It’s definitely lube.

“You have the bridge, Suvi. I’m going to take a long shower,” he announces, bolting for the door.

Suvi jumps. As Kallo sprints aft, she turns to watch his retreat.

“Now? Right now?”

“Yes, right now!”

The doors close over her baffled reply and Kallo throws himself down the port crew ladder, rungs forgotten. He comes to a hard stop at the lower deck and realizes his hands have left a smear on the flawless chrome side rails. He yelps, staring at his palms with accusatory horror, then charges into the shower.

The shower, which is occupied.

By Ryder.

To her credit, Ryder barely flinches, but her face does look plenty startled. She’s not naked, which is a small miracle, but she’s close enough. Only a damp towel between Kallo’s imagination and the hair-covered madness of human anatomy. One of her legs is up on the waterproof bench outside the communal shower stall, and she’s picking at a bright red rash that covers a quarter of her calf.

“You. Kadara. On. Kadara. There. Kadara. Punching.”

Ryder stares at him, blinking with the slow awe of a sunbathing lizard.

Unforgivably, he doesn’t leave immediately. He can’t tear his eyes from the glittering hollow at the base of her neck. Why is she here? Oh just leave. He can’t leave. Her hair is wet. The room smells like her. The soaps she uses, Ryder’s signatures, invisible and private. He’d never realized it before. Of course, it’s the soap. Stop panicking. Leave. Leave.

She takes in a deep breath, apparently on his behalf as well as her own, then slowly says,

“I got some of that local hell water in my suit. Hurt like a bitch, so I called off the rest of the scouting. I needed a break from that place, a nice long shower. I told you that twenty minutes ago when I cleared decon…”

“You… did?”

He can’t remember, which fills him with terror like he’s never felt.

He should say something. Now. Explain. He wrings his slippery hands, wishing they were sticky again. Wishing any single part of his body would pick a setting and stay there for longer than half a day.

“Kallo, are you okay?”

She doesn’t touch him, she’s too polite, but there’s something in her posture that warns she’d prefer to be touching him if given the chance. Would that be so bad? Probably. Should he leave? Definitely. Yes definitely, he should leave. Why isn’t he leaving?

Sara, fiddling with the top edge of her towel, which has loosened and drooped dangerously down her chest.

Sara, her hair pearled with moisture that drips to her shoulders in tiny droplets that Kallo can’t help but follow with his eyes.

Sara, staring up at him with her quiet, parted lips, the rock in her throat bobbing as she swallows nervously beneath his unblinking scrutiny.

Sara, suddenly closer, moving her face into his hand when some rogue internal force compels him to step further into a room he should be fleeing from and touch his fingers to her cheek.

“Your hand is wet,” she says, pushing herself further into his grip. No. Away. Move away.

“Sorry,” he breathes, forgetting other words like weird and foolish and mayday.

She asks carefully, “Did you need something from me?”

He feels his head slowly shaking back and forth no, though he can’t remember any such impulse leaving his brain.

She inches closer and rephrases.

“Do you want something from me?”

He stands there, unable to move forward or back, his only movement the slow horizontal surrendering of his head.

“Well fine," she gripes. "Be stubborn about it. I want something from you,”

Slow enough to grant him an easy escape, she brings her lips to his.

He’s never kissed anyone before. He thinks the event is strangely uneventful, considering all the fuss people make over it.

But, still…

Sara’s lips are pillowy, moistened by the sweat of the shower, and almost painfully warm. Her skin smells distinctly clean, like something uniquely expensive and well cultivated. He thinks of the hydroponics bay on the Nexus, then thinks he shouldn’t be thinking about that at all, then thinks he’s thinking too much to be any good at this and that he should probably stop.

She presses her face against his for a few quiet moments, her lips tightly closed, keeping herself still and careful. After a long pause, she tries to pull away.

She tries and fails: Kallo follows her when she retreats. He follows her so thoroughly that they wind up backed into the shower stall, forehead to forehead, mouth to mouth, arms in a tangle. When Sara’s back meets the wall, she breaks away to catch her breath.

He can’t stop staring at her mouth, the mouth that has just kissed him, the mouth of Sara Ryder, the woman he inexplicably wants to kiss again.

His hand finds her cheek once more, and his thumb trails toward her lips. He stares, enraptured by the automatic certainty of his own movements. A trail of glistening lubricant, his lubricant, tattooing her face with an indecent mystery streak.

He shudders with disgust or fascination or something newer and more terrifying than both. In one halting breath, he sweeps his thumb over her lips, spreading the moisture across her mouth.

Without warning her tongue darts out, all pink curiosity. He watches her take a sample into her mouth, bold and foolhardy as ever. His fingers tighten on her face and his thumb drags forcefully along her bottom lip, smearing in wider, harder strokes.

Stupid, the both of them. What if he’s excreting poison? Does he care? Does she care? Lexi would have warned him if he was going to excrete poison.

Maybe.

Sara’s eyelids droop with intoxication, but she doesn’t choke or die. She bites her lip, grazing the tip of his thumb in the process.

He’s wondering when his legs got so shaky. Have they always been this shaky? Sara holds him up, wrapping her arms around his waist and yanking him closer.

He closes what little gap remains, crashing into her open mouth. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with his tongue - if he’s even allowed to use it at all - but he knows he wants to explore the alien sweetness of her, a naked flavor newly salted with his own. In the end it’s little more than a benign mix of spit and skin.

But the feel of her mouth, lubricated and slippery. The press of her tongue. The scrape of her teeth biting his lower lip. The sound when she whines and nudges their hips together.

That… That is something else.

He drags his greased hands along her face, her neck, the wild territory of upper chest that peeks out above her towel. Her skin grows slicker with each grope, and the more freely she slides against him, the more excited she seems to get. He seems to get. They’re both very excited, and everything is slippery. He’s never been this excited.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the excitement itself that is different.

Different, he decides, might not be entirely terrifying. At least with Sara.

AO3 | FFN

#Fred writes #kiss prompts #Kallo Jath #sara ryder #Kallo/Sara #20 kisses

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wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 7 years ago

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Proof you don't have to be in the fashion industry to enjoy Paris Fashion Week

yahoo

Yahoo Lifestyle is going to Paris Fashion Week on a shoestring budget, and we’re taking you along with us. Every day for a week, we’ll give you tips on how to pack, where to stay, and how to enjoy the French capital without breaking the bank — or forgoing any of the fun. Follow us on Instagram for daily stories. Today’s lesson: How to enjoy fashion week beyond the shows.

For many seasons, jaded fashion editors have griped about the exhausting four-leg international race that is fashion month.

Attending fashion week shows in New York, London, Paris, and Milan isn’t as effortless as showing up and taking a seat. There are the mobs of photographers and fans to fight through, the sometimes hourslong wait for shows to begin, and suffocating heat inside packed-to-the-gills venues. But let me be clear: This first-world-problem-ridden style writer is not complaining!

For the uninitiated, fashion week, and in this case Paris Fashion Week (PFW), is a biannual gathering of fashion editors, bloggers, models, and buyers to attend shows and events. And for as much as designers claim that they want fashion to be democratic — fashion for all! — it’s not.

Meticulously curated guest lists mean even some fashion industry insiders aren’t invited to high-profile shows (I’m not saying I was denied tickets to events that would’ve made my heart sing, but I don’t know anyone who would voluntarily skip the chance to see a Chanel rocket blast off.)

Alas, take comfort in knowing there are a few ways to get in on fashion week action without being officially invited to participate. For instance, you might end up with a better view of the shows from your phone than if you attended yourself. (Follow a brand you like or a fashion editor on Instagram — ahem, @hautetakes — for live show updates.)

And for more immersive experiences, read on for three easy ways to feel like you’re on par with the fashion elite.

written in the sky #pfw

A post shared by alex carmen mondalek (@hautetakes) on Sep 30, 2017 at 6:45am PDT

1. Find a fashion exhibit

There are dozens of museums and historical sites to explore in Paris, but if you’re a fashion fanatic, the city’s art scene becomes especially vibrant during Fashion Week. This year’s must-sees include: a Christian Dior exhibit at Musée des Arts Décoratifs (open until January 2018), the newly unveiled Yves Saint Laurent museum, the Irving Penn exhibit at the Grand Palais (open through January 2018), and the Palais Galliera’s Museum of Fashion.

Before you go to any of the city’s museums, consider a few things: Will an exhibit you want to see be open to the public when you’re in town? In addition to checking a museum’s normal operating hours (for example, Musée des Arts Décoratifs, like most museums in Paris, is closed on Mondays), make sure a museum isn’t closed for a privately held event, which is frequently the case during Paris Fashion Week.

Once you’ve confirmed that the exhibits you want to see will be open during your trip, consider whether you want to purchase tickets individually or purchase a pass that gets you into multiple museums. A Paris Museum Pass, available for purchase through the city’s Convention and Visitors Bureau, may be a cost effective way to maximize your museum experience, depending on how many places you want to visit.

The cost of the Christian Dior exhibit, for example, is 11 euros for an adult; Let’s say you also wanted to attend the Louvre Museum, you’d be paying another 17 euros to do that, bringing your total to 28 euros. Meanwhile, a two-day museum pass is 48 euros and also allows you to skip the lines when you visit. So ask yourself: Will you visit more than two museums or exhibits while in Paris? If the answer to that question is “yes,” you may save money by purchasing a museum pass.

2. Look for pop-up shops and store events

Several retailers and concept stores host pop-up shops and events in Paris during Fashion Week, knowing that international visitors will be in town scoping the area’s busiest shopping districts (including Le Marais, Saint Germain, and Rue Saint Honoré.)

That means it’s easy to spot OG supermodels like Claudia Schiffer, who hosted a book signing at the Colette concept store during Paris Fashion Week, up close. The events are open to the public and often free, unless you decide to purchase, in this case, a book to be signed.

Before your trip to Paris, search any one of these store’s Instagram pages or websites to see if they’ve posted about upcoming events: Colette (closing December 2017), the Comme des Garçons Trading Museum, Le Bon Marché, Le Centre Commercial, and Démocratie. (If you don’t see anything online, you can always use that old trick called the phone call to find more information.)

3. Be part of the shows

Guerrilla fashion shows — those staged in public places — are increasingly common, as seen during the New York leg of fashion month. Paris is no exception, meaning you don’t need a ticket to see fashion’s power players in action.

This season, the Saint Laurent fashion show was held outside at the Place de Varsovie, overlooking the Eiffel Tower, leaving hundreds of people without tickets with a front row view; Gypsy Sport held its show on the streets of Place de la République; Dumitrascu went underground, literally sending models down a Paris metro station platform.

To be sure, most shows are still held inside a venue, but you’re likely to spot celebrities, models, and editors heading into the shows if you know where to look. The official Paris Fashion Week calendar is available online to the public, and many brands host their shows at the same venues every season (Chanel, for example, is almost always shown at the Grand Palais.)

And if you’re traveling to Paris outside of Fashion Week or miss the chance to glimpse a show for yourself, you can always watch a show at Galeries Lafayette, which hosts shows weekly on Fridays at 3 p.m. to showcase in-house brands. For this, you must reserve a ticket online for 12 euros.

When in doubt, follow street style photographers like bread crumbs.