We both chew, solemnly.
“Not bad.”
We do the same with the salmon and the seabass, though I let him munch the whole California roll.
“Full?”
“For now. Come here.”
He solemnly licks the last of the fishiness off my décolletage, suppressed laughter twitching at the corner of his mouth. We share a kiss, but rapidly want somewhere more comfortable.
Ade stands up, pours himself a drink. “Try this.” He passes me a glass with a dribble of golden liquid. Lagavulin.
“It’s my new smoking substitute. Beats that fucking gum.”
It is indeed smoky, and peaty, with a bit of saltiness offsetting both. “That’s rather good! I don’t think I’d buy it myself, but it’s good.”
“Wait up.” He’s poured a measure of another. I didn’t see what it was, but he’s replaced the bottle in its box and there’s a gap on his top shelf. “Try that, before heading to the bedroom.”
I take a sip.
“Smooth, smoky and stylish, the reviews say. Kinda like me, really.”
It’s good. Similar to the previous one, only so much more refined and interesting, like a top wooden musical instrument versus the plastic basic version. It’s smoky, yes, but flows in my mouth smooth as silk. There’s a sweetness in the aftertaste that balances out the salt and the peat. “I like the warm sweet notes at the end. Did they use sherry casks?”
“I think so.” He checks the box. “Aye, you’re right. Good spot. It’s the Distillers edition, 1991, bottled in ’07.” He pours himself a similarly restrained measure. “Bring it with you.”
I set my glass on the far bedside table and turn back to where Adrian is lying on his side. He’s looking happy, with what can only be described as a shit-eating grin.
“Enjoying the view?” I ask.
“Obviously. I mean, I know I’ve seen you topless before…”
“Oh god. That party.” Half-way through first year. That might have been the one where Adrian passed out on the stairs and had to be bumped down to the bottom, with people stepping and tripping over him in the hallway all night. Or maybe not, if he could remember me running around, thanks to that game of Truth or Dare?
“Aye, that one. That was when I first got it together with Gareth, too.”
“First? You mean it was more than that once?”
“Aw, fuck.”
“Tell.”
He takes a larger sip of the Lagavulin. “Not much to tell. Half a dozen times, from then to late second year, couple of times relieving stress before Finals… That’s it. Couldn’t do more; he’s too much of a romantic wee sod…”
“Ah. Can see how that wouldn’t work.”
“Mm. You, now. You know what you’re getting into. Just something you do with a mate.”
“Exactly.” I giggle. “Dave asked me recently, if I wanted to see the full Lord of the Rings trilogy at the IMAX. The director’s cut. Twelve hours of bloody hobbits and goblins! I told him, that’s something you do with your other girlfriend, you sick pervert…”
Ade laughs. “Did they?”
“They did. All-night showing, so I bet they fell asleep for a bit. I mean, yet another orc battle — how would you tell?”
“Eh, they were all right. Not bad fillums.”
“Oh no, not bad. Just I wasn’t particularly interested the first time round!”
Another chuckle from Ade. “The second fillum, we saw on Boxing Day, evening. Me, Will and Linz. Cinema was packed out, loads of people not caring what fillum it was, just couldn’t take their families any more and bought tickets to the longest thing going…”
“Lots of booze smuggled in, too?”
“Aye, most of the audience was half-cut, so by the end of the opening credits they were heckling. By the time you got to Gimli the dwarf going ‘Toss me, Legolas…!'” He wipes his eye, still mirthful over it.
We’d laughed at the idea of the elf giving the dwarf a hand-job, too. “Could have done with that down our way. Actually, I enjoyed them well enough, until halfway through the last, when I started muttering “Push him in, Gollum!” And then finally they get home, and I knew from the news they’d left out the whole Return to the Shire bit which is the best bit of the books, so I thought finally, we can go home in a minute — but no! They’ve axed the Shire only to replace it with forty-five minutes of them all meandering around gormlessly, that wasn’t even in the bloody book!”
He pats me on the shoulder. “I feel your pain.”
He’s being sarky again. Then he’s feeling round the side of my breast and I pull him on top of me. My arms are all round his back, lovely warm smooth skin, nigh on hairless, and I’m enjoying running my hand over this different man. Ade’s both more slender and shorter than Dave, who’s almost furry, with thick curly hair so it’s much more obvious even to look at. Adrian, from the back, could almost be a woman, just with more muscle in the shoulders and a smaller narrow arse, which is fun to squeeze, through his jeans. I wrap my ankles over his to hold him in place, and snuggle with my human blanket, his weight falling just between my legs.
He’s smiling above my face. Then a kiss, followed by scooping up one breast in his hands and applying kisses to that. It’s intense, that time of the month when every touch to my breasts is treble the sensation, and I’m sighing even before he applies his mouth to my nipple.
When he does, squeezing my breast into his mouth, I can’t help bucking up against him, moving my hands to his denim-covered thighs, gripping the solid flesh there. All that cycling has given him what must be beautiful leg muscles, and I really want to see them. Actually, no — his leg firm between mine, me rocking against it to make it good, a hard bump starting to push on my pubic bone, his mouth returning to mine for a whisky-tasting kiss… this is good. Very good.
I clutch his shoulders to encourage him to keep moving against me. He does.
And then he manages to get one hand between my legs and pinches my nipple with the other, and life really couldn’t get any better.
By the time I’ve returned to Earth, Ade’s given up on any plan to wait until I leave before getting his own rocks off, belt undone and hand inside his pants. He looks embarrassed when I meet his eyes.
“Sorry…”
“No, go on. I’ll watch.” I undo his fly-buttons for him and he moans with the sudden freedom of movement. I don’t think he meant to, but his briefs don’t cover him as he pulls his cock, exposing his head, already leaking over his hand. It’s not the biggest cock I’ve seen, but assuming he knows what to do with it, it should be perfectly satisfactory.
He’s still looking slightly awkward, jerking off in front of a woman he’s known for twenty years, so I lean over to put my mouth over his prick.
My lips hardly touch his tip before he’s come, all over everywhere.
Unsurprisingly, his come tastes of the usual salt water with a hint of whisky. It’s an improvement over most, I have to say. I lie back down next to him — he can look at my tits again — and smile at him.
“You a happy boy?”
He rolls his eyes. “You have to ask? A happy man with a beautiful view -” he gestures at me from head to stocking-clad toe – “and a rare fine whisky. What’s not to like? I should buy you sushi more often.”
“Oi! I’m not being bought! I mean, not that I’m ever going to say no to good sushi. Or your booze.”