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Beach Ficlets

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Greg took another long swig from the bottle in his hand and leaned back against the wall. The sky was clear above them. That was unusual this time of year, but even so, only a handful of stars shone through the haze of city lights.

“It’s not that I mind,” Molly said, her shoulder warm against his. “Much.”

“Why do we put up with it? It’s not like we have to do. Not the way John does.”

“Because deep down, we actually love him very much.” She said it without an ounce of irony, but Greg laughed anyway.

“God help us, we do. Even with all the trouble he makes for us at work.”

“And elsewhere.” She smiled and picked up the small bottle that she’d brought up to the roof. She unscrewed the cap and lifted it to her lips.

He frowned. “What are you drinking?”

She ducked her head, clearly embarrassed, and turned the label so he could see it. “I overdid it last weekend on a hen night. I’m still not quite up for alcohol.”

“God, Orangina.” He grinned. “That takes me back.”

“Back to where?” Her face looked almost angelic in the dim light, with curled tendrils of loose hair framing the long pale line of her throat.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, then swallowed. “Italy, a long time ago.”

She leaned a little more heavily against his shoulder. “There’s a story to be told, I hope.”

“Do you really want to hear about my scandalous teenage years?”

“Yes!” she said, and then winced. “I mean, if you want to tell it. It’s always interesting to hear... “ She stopped herself and looked up at the sky again. “I’d like to know more about you, I suppose.”

He felt a pleasant shiver in his belly. “I’ll try not to disappoint, then.” He lifted his own bottle for another drink and let the memories roll around in his mind for a moment. “I had a mate in school whose family liked to travel, and since he was an only child, they’d let him bring a friend along. The summer I was fifteen, they invited me to go to Italy with them for a month.”

“That sounds like an adventure.”

“Especially since they let us roam about as much as we wanted.” He grinned at the memory. “They’d rented an apartment in a beautiful town on the Mediterranean, and so we spent every day on the beach, and every night on the town. God, the things we got up to that summer.”

“Such as?” Molly poked him in the ribs with an elbow.

“Name it, and we did it. It was the 80s.” He shrugged. “And I fell in love with a girl called Annamaria.”

“Oh, this is getting interesting.” She took another drink from her small bottle.

Greg watched the movements of her throat as she swallowed, and forced himself to look up at the sky again. “She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She had long dark hair and amazing eyes, and she was funny as hell. And she wore this tiny bikini.” He still remembered the way her small breasts fit perfectly in his hands. “I couldn’t speak a word of Italian, but she spoke a bit of English - not that we spent much time talking.”

“Summer romance,” Molly said, a bit wistfully. “Was she your first?”

“She was. In every way. I’d never even kissed a girl before her.” He was silent for long moment, lost in the memory.

“What about the Orangina?”

“Oh, right. Well, my mate and I were always drinking beer and liquor and smoking whatever we could get our hands on, but she wasn’t interested in getting high. Every night she’d have a little bottle of Orangina with her. She carried it everywhere and just took sips all night. And so every time I kissed her, that’s what she tasted like.”

Molly raised the bottle to her lips again and hummed in amusement.

Greg inhaled deeply and caught the scent of oranges. He felt another twinge, something he’d not felt around Molly before. “Jesus, even the smell of the stuff, to this day…”

“What, Orangina?”

Greg nodded, eyes closed, mind filled with an image of Annamaria on her knees, setting her bottle down before unfastening the zip of his trousers and stroking his cock, tracing her lips along the length of it and tickling sensitive skin with her orange-scented breath.

He opened his eyes to see Molly watching him closely.

“It gets you going even now?”

He stared back at her, at the way her eyes sparkled in the dim light. The breeze ruffled her hair, framing her face. She was very close, and he could smell the Orangina in the air between them.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She sighed against him and raised one hand to his cheek, warm and steady. He slid his arms around her to pull her closer. The taste was the same, but Molly’s kiss was nothing like the memory of Annamaria’s sloppy youthful snog. It was delicate and controlled, intentionally restrained, as if she were testing the waters. She shifted onto her knees and moved even closer, entwining one of her thighs with his, and oh, there.

“Yes, it still does,” he whispered against her lips.

She pressed her thigh forward against his erection and grinned. “So I see.”

He felt the heat of her pussy against his thigh and he clenched his fingers at her hips. Jesus, they were on a roof with only the illusion of privacy. He could see the headlines now: DI Lestrade Arrested for Public Indecency!

She pulled back from the kiss to pick up the bottle, and gave him a sly smile. The shape of her body was silhouetted by the streetlights below, far curvier in this cocktail dress than the loose work clothes she usually wore. She raised the bottle to her lips.

“Oh, God,” he said.

She took another drink and carefully screwed the top back on, then leaned in to kiss him again. She didn’t hold back this time, and he found himself melting against the low wall behind him. It was good, better than good -- he hadn’t been so thoroughly kissed in a decade. Just as he was starting to wonder where exactly this might be headed, she pressed one hand against his cock through his trousers.

“Is this okay?” she asked, and he whimpered and spread his thighs, not caring how desperate he probably seemed.

She unfastened the button and pulled down the zip, and it was all he could do to be patient. She finally wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked, he had to bite back a moan.

His fumbled under her skirt, stroking lightly over her mound through her knickers. She made a startled sound and shifted her position to give him better access. He teased a few seconds more, then slipped his fingers under the fabric to find her gloriously wet already. His fingertips parted her labia, stroking slowly up towards her clit and back down again, and she shivered against him. He repeated the movement, keeping his touch light until she finally pressed down into his hand.

“You feel amazing,” he said, and he pushed two fingers inside her. God, the heat of her -- he groaned. “And even better like this.”

Her hand stilled on his cock as his fingers began to move, her breath stuttering against his lips.

“Oh God, I want--”

“Do you have a--

“No.”

“Nor do I.” He pumped his fingers in and out of her while his thumb circled her clit, and thought he could come just from the noises she was making.

“It’s fine; this is… ah, Greg.” She kept stroking him erratically, her face now buried against his shoulder.

“How do you like it?” he asked, panting now. His fingers were dripping and her cunt was warm, and oh, God, he could smell her now. He wanted to bury his face between her thighs, to lick and suck until she screamed his name, to drown in the wetness he could feel dripping down his wrist.

“Deeper, another finger. Fuck me, come on.” Her hips moved in time with his fingers, riding his hand. He applied more pressure to her clit, and she gasped. She’d abandoned his cock altogether, but given the way she was digging her fingers into his arms, it was probably for the best. “Right there, right there,” she whispered, and, “oh, God, right… yes…” He felt her tighten around his fingers as she came, and it was all he could do not to go over the edge himself.

He dropped his hand when she stopped groaning, but she pulled it back between her thighs and held it there, rutting against it, and came again.

“God, Molly.” He had his own hand on his cock now, pulling the foreskin over the head with short, swift strokes.

She released him and he switched the hand on his cock -- he was better with his right anyway, and this one had the advantage of being wet and smelling like pussy and oh, God. Molly’s mouth covered his again and her hand slid into his pants, first tugging gently at his balls and then pressing her fingers up into the skin just behind.

He cried out before he could stop himself. Molly’s mouth moved to his throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks as he pulsed hot over his own hand.

He sat there panting for a moment, hand soiled and wrapped loosely around his softening cock, staring up at the sky. “That was… God.”

“It was.” Molly leaned across him to fumble through her purse, and he pressed a sleepy kiss to her shoulder. She sat back and handed him a tissue.

“Thanks.” He managed to wipe the worst of it off his shirt, but there was still an obvious stain. He’d have to find another laundry to take this particular shirt to -- he wouldn’t be able to look the staff in the eye at the usual place. He looked up to see Molly smiling fondly at him. “Did I get you as well?”

“I don’t think so.” She laughed and then looked down at his groin a bit curiously.

He’d forgotten he was still exposed. He lifted his hips and tugged his pants and trousers back up, then frowned at his shirt. “I don’t think I can go back down there like this.”

“I don’t think I’d recommend it.” She settled next to him again and picked up the Orangina bottle. “Can you imagine what Sherlock would say?”

“I don’t think I want to.”

“He’d take one look at us and announce to everyone that we’d just had a go at each other on the roof.” She frowned and lowered her voice. “From the angle the semen hit your shirt, Gavin, I’d say you were sitting at a 45 degree angle at the moment of climax.”

“No, don’t!” Greg pressed a hand over his forehead and laughed again. “That’s far too accurate an impression.”

She grinned and uncapped her bottle once more. He watched her take a long drink, then reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She turned to look at him again.

“So do you--” she said and the same time as he said, “Would you like to--”

They both laughed. He gestured for her to go first.

“I think I’ll go as well. It’s all boring small talk down there, anyway.”

“Well in that case, would you be interested in coming back to mine for… well, for whatever you’d be interested in… doing?” He winced and looked up at the sky. He was terribly out of practice with this sort of thing.

“For more sex, you mean?” He looked down to see her trying not to grin.

“Yeah.” He felt his cheeks heat.

“That would be fantastic. Have you got any condoms?”

“I don’t… think I do.”

“We’ll stop off on the way to get some, then, and I can pick up a spare toothbrush. Is it alright if I stay over?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ve tested negative for everything, and I’m comfortable with oral sex without a barrier. You?”

He blinked. “Are you usually this direct?”

“About sex? Yes.” Molly screwed the cap back onto her half-full bottle of Orangina. She stood and extended a hand. He let himself be pulled to his feet.

“I should probably tell you I haven’t had anyone over in… well, not since my divorce. I’m a bit out of practice.”

Her smile was brilliant. “I think I can help with that.”

He pulled her close and kissed her. “Yeah, I believe you can.”

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