| Title: Spider-silk Author: Jo Pairing: Lawrence Makoare/Sala Baker Rating: PG Summary: Sala likes to be touched. Disclaimer: Sure, this happened. And I sleep with Karl Urban on a regular basis. Well, why not? If you believe one, you have to believe the other. *nod* In other words, it's fiction, folks. I made the whole damn thing up. Naughty of me, really. Notes: For Kielle, because she quite shamelessly begged for Sala fic on his birthday (9/22) and issued the challenge that "no one" would write it. *mwah*
"Mmhmm...." Sala smiled, stretched, didn't bother to open his eyes. No need to, really. He knew what he'd see: Lawrence naked, crouched over him, blunt fingers almost, but not quite, touching his skin. He'd seen it thousands of times already. Not that he didn't like looking at Lawrence, mind. It was just...this time wasn't about looking. It was about touching. Being touched. Sala wasn't at all complaining that he was the one being touched at the moment. He liked being touched. For a long time, he'd thought it rather feminine of him. Then he thought, "Fuck it. My body, my skin, I know what I like, and I like to be touched, damnit." And he did. Like to be touched. Loved it, actually. All over. Especially the little nooks and crannies, out of the way places that usually got overlooked -- like the back of his knee, the inside of his elbow, the arch of his foot. Lawrence, clever man that he was, had discovered every spot in the first weeks they'd been together. Right now, Lawrence was intent on a slow, thorough rediscovery of all those spots. Particularly, the smooth dip of skin just on the inside of Sala's right knee. The one that always made him shiver when Lawrence touched it. Strange to think that hands so big and blunt could be so delicate. Like spider-silk drifting across his skin. First, initial contact, light and airy as gossamar. Then a slightly more intense feeling, a single strand of webbing draggliding over warm, damp skin. No matter when Lawrence did it, Sala always shivered and let out a soft sigh. Always. Lawrence never rushed when he got to that tiny patch of skin. He always settled in, took his time. Just the way Sala liked it. Slow, lazy, like a summer afternoon. First fingers, then...yes. Lips ghosted across his flesh. A shiver went up his spine. Another. So incredibly nice, that feeling. Only it was much better than nice. It was sublime, sinful, richer than the darkest, richest chocolate. "Impatient?" Lawrence murmured, lips against Sala's knee. The resultant vibration hummed along Sala's skin, pebbled it. Sala made a soft sound, turning his head a bit, biting his lip hard at Lawrence's answering chuckle. Lawrence really was going to be the death of him. But, oh, what a way to go. Naked, warm, being touched. Sounded like a delightful final event to him. Not that he was in any hurry to go. No, not him. Not as long as Lawrence kept touching him like that, kept swiping that wet, warm tongue along the crease of his knee. There it was again. Spider-silk, slipsliding over him, caressing needy flesh. Definitely the most exquisite feeling in the world. It danced up his spine, chuckling with each shiverjump of startled muscles. "Like that?" Lawrence whispered in Sala's ear. Sala rolled to his back, neatly trapped by the larger body over his and not minding in the least. He smiled. "Yeah." "Got something else you'll like." "Yeah?" "Yeah." Oh...yes. Sala liked that, too. But only when Lawrence did it.
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