Flashfiction: One January Night

He pulled into the snow-covered driveway. It was an incredibly bright night. The snow had stopped a couple of hours earlier, and the clouds had cleared off, and the full moon cascaded over the white landscape. He really didn't even need the front porch light that his wife had left burning.

The house, though, was very quiet as he walked inside. He could smell fresh coffee in the kitchen, and there was a cooling cup of it sitting on an end table in the living room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace, and the television was off, but the light on the patio was on.

He slid open the glass door, letting a bit of the night's cool into the house. A line of footprints led from the patio into the garden and he followed them. There was very little sound except for a barking dog in the distance and the muffled noise of his feet walking in the snow as he walked across their yard into the garden.

She stood there, silently, looking up at the sky, standing next to a lilac bush, all snow-trimmed bare branches, wrapped up in one of his old work jackets. The moonlight touched her dark hair with silver as she stood, and her breath fogged in front of her. As he neared, she pulled the jacket close to her and took a deep breath of the night air.

"Isn't it magical?" she said, well aware of his presence.

"What are you doing out here, woman? It's too cold for you," he chided, walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her.

"Watching the moon," she replied, turning to look at him. "Isn't it beautiful? If I look at the garden just right, it feels like it's just us here, and nobody else left in the world. All this magical night, all for us."

He rested his cheek against the side of her head. "That'd make a pretty lonely place."

Tiptoeing up, she gave him a quick kiss, and a playful look that promised a lot more. "But think of all the fun we could have enjoying it."

He lifted a hand to her cheek, and brushed his knuckles across it. "Silly woman. We can do that anyway."

"Yeah, but we have to be quiet. If it were just us, we could be as noisy as we wanted."

He just laughed, and led her back into the house.

Boom!

It was a warm, sultry, summer’s night. The breeze that blew in through the window, lifting gauzy curtains, carried the hint of rain, making the hot night feel even warmer. The man and woman in the room, however, were too occupied to notice much. Stretched out on the bed, the covers thrown aside, their nude bodies were highlighted by the light of a dim lamp off in the corner. They glimmered with a fine sheen of sweat.

The woman arched up as her partner touched her. “Please, Tim,” she said, her voice full of need. She was beautiful in her hunger, raven hair cascading over the edge of the bed, her breath ragged, her eyes heavy-lidded with want.

The man beside her smiled and let his fingers skirt over the warmth of her tummy, drawing circles around her navel, to just above the dark patch of hair shrouding her womanhood. He bent over and let his tongue flick the delicate cup, wrenching a small gasp from her.

“Please what, Maya?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. He began to trail his mouth up towards her breasts. One hand, though, dipped between her spread thighs, dancing across the soft skin, avoiding her hot center.

She tugged on his hand, trying to draw it up to the part of her that ached to be touched, but he escaped her grasp effortlessly, and gave her a small grin. “Oh no,” he said. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

He rolled half on top of her. Neither of them noticed how the wind blowing through the window picked up speed, or how the breeze had suddenly grown much cooler, perhaps because he was busy assaulting her earlobe, then trailing a string of wet kisses down her throat. She moaned under his assault, oblivious.

Suddenly, there was a loud clap of thunder, startling them both. They froze, both looking toward the window. The first clap was followed by another. Lightning flashed nearby and for a split second illuminated the room, followed shortly afterwards by a loud boom.

“Damn,” he said, rolling off his wife. “Better get ready.” He grabbed at his boxers, tossed a blue gown in her direction, and pulled the sheet over them.

“Maybe...” she said, slipping into the garment.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the door. “Daddy! Daddy! The sky’s going boom!” said the voice of a small child. “I’m scared!”

“Maybe nothing, he said. He gave her one last, heated look. “You’re not out of it yet, though. We’ll finish this later.” He got up and walked to the door. “I’m coming, Bubby.”

“I hope so,” she said, and got ready to comfort her son.

Victory Party

Flush from the battle, and wine, and the cheers of his soldiers at the victory party, Arthur, the young king of the Britons, strode through the camp and back to his tent. Opening the flap, he was surprised not to see his page Tadhg, but her.

She waited for him on his bed, green eyes hot and sultry, red hair cascading down to drape creamy white shoulders, half cloaking firm white breasts with their rosebud nipples, but her legs were covered by the coverlet of fine scarlet wool pulled over his bed.

"You came," he said, dropping his cloak onto a chair. He swayed slightly in his intoxication.

"I promised to help you celebrate," she replied, smiling. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

He unfastened his belt, and lay his sword on the table. "I didn't know, my mysterious lady. Where's my page?"

She stood up, letting the red cloth fall away from her. "I sent him away. I thought you'd prefer some privacy for this."

His mouth went dry as she walked lithely towards him. He collapsed into his chair, sitting on his cloak, and kicked his boots off. "So when will you tell me your name?" he asked.

She bent over him slightly. "After you give me what you promised me," she said, letting her arms wrap around his neck. He stood up, and she pressed her body invitingly against his. Her lips kissed the base of his throat, and then she dragged her tongue up from there to the tip of his chin. "As for me, I always deliver what I promise, my liege."

It was enough. His mouth crushed hers as his hands wrapped into her flame-colored hair. With a moan, he carried her to the bed, and lost himself in her taste, her breasts, and the warm inviting wetness he found as she wrapped her legs around him.

In the morning, he awoke alone. Tucked in his hand was a slip of paper. Sitting up he unfurled it. "My name is Morgause," he read. "Daughter of Ygraine and Gorlois of Cornwall. Thank you for a pleasant evening, brother. As I told you, I always deliver."

Suddenly he grew cold, and his victory seemed very far away.