Sheela-Na-Gig
By Missy

SERIES: Sheela-Na-Gig
PART: One of One
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING(s): Lenny/Laverne.
DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine. Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!
CATEGORY: L/L
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: California Cannon, post-reunion
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Gardening in the summer...
NOTES: I wanted to see if I could do erotic without being explicit at all *chuckles *. Named after one PJ Harvey song and inspired by another ("Long Snake Moan").

For Kath's birthday.

****

The air felt dirty against her skin.

Dirty, and acrid. She wore one of his white tee-shirts for protection against the sun. Sweat rolled down her forehead, over her Roman nose (honker, she corrected mentally).

The dirt needed priming, over and over; nothing seemed to grow as well as she imagined it would in the beginning.

He watches her from the bedroom window, chin on arm. She is sexy in his clothing (because she doesn't want to dirty her own in the garden. That's a big lie on her part; his clothing probably feels more comfortable in the hot sun. He's never cared about dirt; it all comes out in a little soap).

His jeans are cut-offs on her (sculpted by her own scissors), and he can see her thighs. Her legs are the greatest thing in the whole entire world, and what he used to stare at when they would play stickball in the street. He was an easy out, every time.

Green eyes climb the wall like Ivy as her wrists plunge into the compost. Her smile is subtle. He always knows what she's thinking.

He has finished scrubbing the floor, and she has trained him to expect a reward afterward. He licks his lips, unconscious of his own actions.

A little daisy grows by her hand; she encourages it with a pet of her hand. Everything else is either dying or threatening never to bloom. Her toes thread through the dark green grass as she leaves the yard. She has wanted him ever since this morning, as she watched him mow the lawn.

He is leaning out of the window to watch as she stands, adjusting a strap on his tee-shirt. Nothing is displayed, but the gentle sway of her hips, and the soft, masked rounds of her breast sing a song of their past, their present; a tomwoman with a delicious sense of fun.

He meets her at the door.

"You exhibitionist."

"How'd you learn that word?"

"Read it in the dictionary."

She seals her sweaty chest to his own. "How about a shower?"

He pouts, "For you?"

She smiles, "I said a shower. Not two."

"Oh?" as he closes the door, clarity comes to him. "Ohh..."




The End!













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