I Love Spiked Cocoa

...You saved cedar chips from the tree they cut down two blocks over, a whole bag full of them, just for this. It's November - maybe the last good fall night, winter coming in hard, coveting whatever leaves still cling to the trees in their shrouds of color. Russet, orange, gold. I expect frosted windows in the morning.

Our porch - balcony, whatever - is tiny, barely enough room for us, the old salvaged loveseat we're on, and the little hibachi grill that serves as our fireplace. Still, it's beautiful. All the stars are out and magnificently bright. We're wrapped together in a huge old blanket, sleepy-warm, stuffed with toasted marshmallows and amaretto-laced cocoa. Our breath steams, joining the aromatic woodsmoke on its skyward journey; the CD playing ended ages ago, but we're not ready to go in yet, despite the cold. Here everything is quiet and perfect, sheltered in love.

I'm leaning against you, my back to your chest, your arms wrapped around my waist. Both half-asleep and warm from the alcohol. We could stay like this, I think through the haze; just be here forever in the crystalline dark, us and the glowing cedar coals and the stars overhead.

I don't mean to say any of this aloud, but you chuckle and tell me that eventually we'd freeze, so I guess I did. "It would be a terribly romantic end," I tell you. "Found together in the morning all covered in frost, still embracing. Very Victorian."

Warm fingertips edge under my sweater and skate across my stomach, caressing; seeking. "This is romantic," you say, as your hands slide up to cradle my breasts, no underwear to come between our skin. "I think this is fine, don't you?"

I mumble an answer and snuggle more deeply into your arms. Those fingertips trace soft circles around my nipples, barely touching, bringing them up to stiff little peaks; my head feels heavy, resting back against your shoulder. The sensations making me squirm. Against my lower back you are hard, ready; your mouth so soft, trailing kisses down the side of my neck that fill me with a beautiful slow heat, only half-awake still in this little pocket of warmth.

"We could go in..." I offer. "Warmer...private..."

"I like it right *here*," you say. Toying with me, now, gently pinching and tugging at my nipples, molding my breasts under your hands. Making me crazy. I whine, pleading, turning my face up to you for a kiss.

But you don't oblige, not yet...moving one hand down along my torso, searching, pushing at the waistband of my sweats. Sliding them down my hips. I squirm around, trying to help, making you growl when I accidentally - well, mostly accidentally - brush a hand over your cock, feeling you through soft cotton, hardly any barrier at all.

It's a matter of seconds for us to get there. Our clothes are moved aside just enough under the blanket; then you pull me up into your lap, still facing away. I'm already wet, and you slide into me so easily, stretching and filling me without effort, until our bodies are flush, connected. Wrapped warm and safe in your arms, perfectly full, feeling the pressure of your cock so deep inside me as we rock together. Fucking slow. Little easy thrusts beneath me, your hands steadying my hips, moving us in delicious counterpoint with your breath hot and unsteady against my ear. The air is so cold, God, the stars are bright, and under the blanket we're burning, we're melting together...

"Please," I say - it's so hard to talk, to form the words, to move air through my body in the right way - "Please - a little more - "

Beneath me your body shifts, leaning back further into the couch; the angle and our rythym change slightly. It's enough. I tense and for a moment everything stops; my breathing, our bodies, the smoke and the stars above us.

Then I'm coming in long slow waves, coming and rocking in your lap and laughing a little at the crazy pleasure of it.

A few seconds later and you join me; almost soundless shuddering, biting down where my throat meets my shoulder. It doesn't hurt. Everything is dim and hazed, starlight shining through woodsmoke, the perfect night.

We hold each other, and breathe, and watch the smoke rising to heaven.