Title: "Wait a Minute, Mr. Postman"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VMars
Rating/Classification: adult language, humor/fluff, V/Lamb, ficlet.
Disclaimer: I'm SO not making money off of this.
Summary: This is a bit of totally plotless licking that can be blamed on Angel Grace.
"Sheriff, if you don't mind me saying so...you smell delicious."
"Sacks, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that."
:::sluuuuuurp:::
"Sacks, did you just lick my hand?"
"No, Sheriff. You must be pretending that, too."
"Get out of my office."
"Yes, Sir."
***
"Sheriff, there's a call for you on line three."
"Thanks, Inga."
"And if I may say so, you smell nice today."
"If this is a ploy for a raise, you're still not getting one."
"It's no ploy, Sheriff. Did you buy new cologne?"
"Just transfer the call, dammit."
***
"I hate you," he growled, as she locked the door and industriously closed the blinds. "Do you know what kind of day I've had?"
"You're welcome." A rueful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, just begging to be kissed into submission...and he planned to do that as soon as humanly possible.
"The mayor licked me. The *mayor*, Veronica."
She climbed onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. The desk chair was definitely not built for two, but he wasn't about to complain. "Technically the county supervisor," she pointed out.
"He. Licked. Me," he repeated, emphatically. "I am not a goddamned postage stamp."
"Silly Sheriff, you know most stamps are self-adhesive these days." She poked him in the chest with one finger. "Besides, a bet's a bet, Don. You said the Seahawks would win the Super Bowl and you paid the price for your sports ineptitude."
He caught her index finger before it could go forth and poke some more. "This Bath and Body crap smells better on you."
"I beg to differ."
She leaned in.
She inhaled slowly, her breath warm against his neck and sending every single one of his nerve endings into overdrive. "Oh, Christ," he hissed through his teeth. "Jesusfuck."
And then she licked him, dragging her mouth slowly from where his pulse was drumming out of control all the way up to his cheek. "Yum," she whispered, huskily, brushing against the stubble on his jaw.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured, shuddering, whimpering, and being generally useless at anything except turning his face and kissing her. He could actually taste the vanilla brown sugar whatever on her lips..."The *death*," he repeated, reaching up to cradle the back of her head against his palm.
She stroked her evil, borderline illegal tongue against his bottom lip. And then she laughed. "Wanna bet?"
--end--
March 2, 2006.