Hunting

This would be so much easier if it were me and a gun, and a dog to flush the game.

Nope, it's down to odd flyers here and there - (one that's too good to be true having an open house this Sunday) and renttech.com. Which is giving me fits because it won't give me enough listings to sign up. Grr.

The open house is just too good - cheap, takes cats, full basement, garage... And it's available in August - I can't move that soon! The landlord wants application and deposit on Sunday, and an application from each roomie! I'm battling want - it sounds perfect, and anxiety - too soon!, and a knot in my shoulder - the one under my left shoulder blade that twists up every time I'm stressed.

I want to practice some primal scream therapy or get laid or something. I need to call the landlord and figure out if he can wait until September for tenants, and if so, get Ali and L&L to get me applications somehow. I want this one to be it, and I'm scared it's not.

M/K snippet

The following is brought to you, courtesy of my muses trying to de-stress me:

It should have been fast and frenzied, but it wasn't.

It was slow and hot and wet, the trace of lips and tongue on each other. They each had a hand up, tracing chin and neck and ear, teasing and keeping each other steady. They were pressed up against each other, full length of heat burning like a fusion plant.

Methos slid his hand up and down the side seam of Alex's jeans, paying little attention to that appendage. He rocked into the cradle of Alex's thighs, legs tangled just enough to keep them upright against the counter, while providing that blessed, lovely friction.

Their chests were perhaps an inch and half apart, but the air between them was charged and hot, heat circulating up between them from crotch to lips and back again.

Nibble and lick and pull away to gasp for air. Alex's eyes fluttered open, and closed again as he leaned into their kiss again. Methos' hand cupped his cheek, and his own hand was tracing his lover's collarbone, matching the rhythm of Methos' hand on his thigh.

Alex rocked up, gently, softly, urgently, but there was no urgency, just Methos blanketing him and sucking his tongue as if there were no tomorrow or yesterday or today. There was just the two of them in that space and that now and that heat.

Eons, or minutes later, they pulled away from each other again.

Alex's voice was a liquid growl, "I have to go." He adjusted himself somewhat ostentatiously as he stepped away.

Methos turned and leaned back against the counter, watching him. "I know. Come back?"

"Yes." And he was gone.