Chapter five: Sating

They crossed into the kitchen together. Her right hand loosely gripped him, her palm at his back and her long, thin fingers curling gently around his abdomen. She lifted him over to her left shoulder, and he reached a hand out to wind through her hair, securing a firm grip on a ringlet before he transferred any weight to his feet atop her shoulder. He found soft, sure footing at the center of her shoulder, and turned around to face out in the same direction as Ness. She stood still while he adjusted, familiar with this rhythm, and was careful not to move too suddenly until he was safely in place. He inched in closer to her neck before he slacked his grip on her hair, letting his hand loosely run the length of the curl as he dropped to a sitting position. He scooched in close, leaning his head towards the soft lobe of her ear. His hand traced goosebumps as it traveled up from the base of her neck, his arm vanished almost to the elbow as he secured hold of her hair again in the deep forest of her drying curls. Settled into a comfortable seat in the dip of her collarbone, he leaned a long, firm kiss at the juncture of her jawline and neck.

She stood at the countertop to the left of the stove, where she had plated their breakfast before their living room detour. She lifted the plate in her right hand, spun on her heel, and crossed the kitchen towards the fridge. His perch afforded a view of the space as if from her eye-level. It was a small kitchen, half of a galley, with the opposite wall bare save for a floral painting hung on it and a small dining table with two chairs against it. The doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen was just past her right shoulder as she stopped at the fridge. The sink faced them at their left.

She pulled the refrigerator door open. Its light blinked on and cool air washed over them as she hunkered gingerly into a squat so that they could both see its contents.

More than two weeks had passed since she had last gone grocery shopping, and it showed. The fridge was sparse: a water filter sat half-filled on a shelf almost alone, save for a carton of eggs. The shelf below it had an almost-empty carton of oat milk, a jug of orange juice, and an open box of baking soda. The crisper still held some slices of cheese, and the base of the fridge held an old jar of pickles alongside the remains of last night's Chinese takeout. The door was a mess of condiments and syrups, an entire shelf of it reserved for cocktail syrups from a chapter in Ness' life where she had become fascinated by mixology.

"Thirsty?" Ness asked, as much to herself as to her passenger.

"Coffee's probably enough for me right now," he said, closing his eyes as the cold air washed over him. He could practically murmur from here, nestled against her neck, and his voice would carry the few short inches to her ear.

"I want something cold, too. Would you drink some juice if I poured some?"

"Probably," he yawned. His time in her tights was catching up with him. He could feel the panging tension in his abs, the promises aches in his arms and thighs. It had been a busy morning.

"You're such a help."

He knew she wanted him to express more excitement about the orange juice to motivate her to pour some. He turned his face to her, pressing his lips against the side of her throat and blowing a long raspberry.

"Ass." The ghost of a laugh touched her voice, flattening her attempt at annoyance. She grabbed the juice and rose quickly to her feet.

The motion of her rising to her feet tickled his stomach, but his seat was secure. His view shifted as she turned to her left, stepping towards the cabinet above the right side of the sink to draw out a glass tumbler. She twisted the plastic lid from the jug and poured juice into the tumbler, replacing the lid and dropping a straw into the glass from a tin near the sink. The stainless steel straws were another carryover from her mixology period, and proved incredibly useful for keeping her boyfriend hydrated at his new size.

He tightened his grip in her hair with his right hand and bunched a fistful of fabric from her shoulder with his left in anticipation of her next move. She raised both tumbler and plate and spun quickly on her heel. She took a half step forward and leaned towards the table, sliding plate and tumbler in front of the chair facing the living room door. She straightened herself before spinning back towards the counter, sidestepping to face the coffee machine, and grabbed a pot from the cabinet above. As she filled the cup she opened the silverware drawer in front of her, pulled out a fork, and shut it with her hip as she turned to face the table again. He jostled along through this dance, having become intimately familiar with the slips and strides of her harried routine. He braced himself for impact as she crossed the small kitchen in a single stride to drop down into her chair, colliding bodily with the length of her neck as she came to a seat. She centered the plate in front of them, then set the coffee and juice to the right of it before scooting the chair in under the table.

"Eat up!" She chimed, rolling her shoulder slightly in the direction of the table. It was his cue to hop off.

He turned himself around to face her as he began to slide himself down her front. He pressed his palms to her collarbone, gripping at the material of her dress as he shimmied over the front of her chest. Once he was flat against her she leaned forward slightly, closing the narrow distance between her breasts and the tabletop and deepening the incline to accelerate his descent. He released his hold on her dress and felt as gravity began to carry him over her. He leaned his head against her and brought his hands into a pushup position, enabling him to control his speed and wriggle down her without falling clumsily onto the table.

His hips quickly crossed the flat drop of her sternum, and he landed straddling her left breast. He sat back against her for a moment, feeling his meager weight sink slightly into the soft warmth of the top of her chest as he looked over his shoulder to adjust his trajectory. His seat rose and fell in a gentle crest as she breathed. Her lean had shifted the apex of her breasts to face down at the table, hovering less than an inch from the cold, stained wood of its surface to facilitate his trip. It would be a safe fall at this height, only four inches or so to slide before a short drop onto the table, but he risked stumbling over himself and landing in a mess of breakfast if he just let go.

He leaned forward into her again, placing his right ear flat against her chest, feeling the deep rhythm of her heartbeat gently drum against him. He rolled his hips a few times to work himself over the incline of her bust, and flailed his right leg awkwardly outwards to free it from its confines inside the bodice of her dress. When he felt his leg land upon the cooler fabric facing the kitchen air, he inclined towards it. His left leg hand landed in her cleavage, and it was an awkward swing of his hips to free it and ensure that he would travel over, not into, her dress. With both legs freed he slacked the pressure in his thighs to release his straddle, traveling the remaining distance over her in a quick slip.

His legs left her for the table, only in free fall for a moment before thudding clumsily against the light wood of its surface. He stumbled back and away from her as his weight shifted fully onto the table. He lost control of his stumble, tripping towards their breakfast in jerky back-steps. He suddenly felt her behind him. She had brought her hand down in a sloping cup to catch his fall. He collapsed backwards, expecting to find cold dish and hot food where he landed, but was accepted into her open palm. He leaned into its center, welcoming the dissipation of momentum and the transition of his weight back under him. The steadiness of her palm rose from just above his backside up to his shoulders. He had thrown his arms behind him in the panicked discovery of her hand, and his left arm ran along her index finger, his right hooked over her thumb and down towards her palm. He leaned to her thumb as he steadied himself away from her palm to kiss its tip gratefully, turning back to look up at her.

"Thanks for the catch." Her hand withdrew from behind him as she rested her arm along the table. He stood between the plate and her forearm. She had shifted back into an upright sitting position, no longer needing to incline towards the table, and smiled at him as she pierced some of the scramble on her fork.

"Any time, bug. Can't have you bodyslamming breakfast again. Eat, it's going to get cold." She brought the fork to her lips and took the bite of cheesy egg and pepper into her mouth. He turned his attention to the plate, increasingly aware of the renewed rumbling in his stomach. The scramble smelled incredible, and he could feel his mouth begin to water at the thought of finally getting some breakfast into his body.

He took a step towards the plate and sat cross-legged at its rim. It was a large square with rounded edges, a deep forest green mottled throughout. It rose in a gentle slope from its base, cupping slightly at its rims, and he could fit his feet and crossed angles under the plate's lip, allowing him to easily reach the food at its center. He reached forward, lifting from his seat slightly to grab a handful of egg. It was soft and warm in its hand, smelling richly of melted cheese and the bite of the jalapeno, but it broke away in an enormous, unmanageable chunk. He pulled it apart, ending with a handful that sat in his hand like a large apple, and sat back to bite into it.

A panging emptiness awoke in him as his body realized the depth of his hunger. He chewed eagerly and swallowed, immediately taking another bite of the egg in his hand. She brought her fork back down to the plate, searching for some veggie sausage to skewer, and worked another mouthful before she spoke.

"Any big plans today?"

"Nuff-," he started, stopping himself when he realized how ridiculous he sounded with a huge bite of egg in his mouth. He smiled at her and shook his head as he chewed. After swallowing he tried again, "Nothing much. I'll try to get some cleaning done I spose, and I'm hoping to get some writing done. If all goes well I'll be able to get the next chapter going, but we'll see. Yesterday was slow going."

She lifted her mug of coffee and sipped as he spoke, watching him over the rim of the mug. She set it down next to him: his cue that the coffee had cooled enough for him to retrieve some. She reached over their plate, plucking a tiny mug from atop the pepper shaker with pinched finger and thumb, and offered it to him. He received it gladly, "Thanks."

"Don't clean anything in the bathroom without me." It was as much a scold as it was a reminder. Cleaning the bathroom fixtures required a lot of climbing for him, and she worried he'd fall. "The bedroom could really use a dusting though. How's the story coming?"

He feigned shock, placing a hand to his heart and offering a ridiculous pout. "You mean you haven't been reading?" He rose from his seat at the plate, mug in hand, and approached the cup she had set down behind him. It was a somewhat rough piece of ceramic that she had made for him in the days following his Diminishing. She had made it at a larger scale than he needed out of concern that it would crack in the firing, and it was huge in his hand. She had painted it a deep gray base, and drawn a ladybug onto it in jesting reference to the nickname she had bestowed at his new height. It had been her first gift to him at his new height, and he treasured it.

A gentle wisp of steam curled out of the dark pool before him. He gripped the thick handle of the mug with both hands and lowered it it into the coffee. He tipped some of its contents back into her mug as he retrieved his pour to avoid spilling any onto the table. The coffee's scent coursed through him as he heaved the now-full mug up and out of hers. Ness favored bold brews, and notes of caramel and chocolate washed over him as he adjusted to the weight of the mug. He slipped his right hand under the mug to support its weight, his left steadying it at the handle, and breathed deep through his nose. The fog of exhaustion began to lift from him as he took in the smell. He stepped backwards, dropping slowly to a cross-legged seat at the plate again, and sipped.

"I haven't read the last few updates, no." She lifted her own mug to sip at it when he had finished taking his fill. She drank deeper this time, no longer concerned about his ability to retrieve liquid from her mug. She sighed after swallowing, and set the mug back on the table. "Good coffee by the way."

"Thank ya kindly," he smiled as he leaned forward to wrest a chunk of sausage free. "If you find some time to catch up let me know. I'd love your thoughts. No rush, though." He bit into the fistful, savoring the savory mix of peppery spices.

"Oh I know, bug. I'll take a look at it soon, maybe on break this afternoon. I've certainly enjoyed living it, so I'm sure I'll love reading it." She chewed another bite of breakfast thoughtfully and added, "Hopefully you don't get me too worked up before I have to present."

He smiled up at her as he swallowed his last mouthful of sausage. He filled quickly these days. "Here I am, once again offering to come along to help with that. It would be a fully immersive experience, like one of those 4D rides but, you know, horny." He hugged at the warmth of his huge coffee mug between sips.

"I have no doubt." She lifted her cup for a final sip, raising her chin to drain the last of the coffee. His eyes crawled over the linework of muscle in her neck as she drank, the quick pulse at her throat as she swallowed. She set the empty mug back on the table with a hollow clink. "Any other day and you'd be coming with me. You know I hate leaving you here." She cut the remaining chunk of egg on the plate in half with her fork, pierced it, and chewed.

He swallowed his coffee and conjured a feigned cheeriness. He missed her enormously on days that she couldn't bring him along to work, but he didn't want to add stress or guilt to her day. "I know. Hopefully the day flies for both of us. We still on for date night tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I'll be home as soon as the session's out, unless you want me to pick anything up. It's still your turn to choose, by the way. What do you wanna do?" She eyed the clock on the stove and sighed. "I have to go soon. You want any more of this?" She nudged the plate in his direction, its cool glass pressing against his feet.

He shook his head. "I'm all set. It was delicious though, thank you." He drained the last of his coffee, untucked himself from under the plate, and clambered to his feet as she ate the last bite of their breakfast. "I'm up for whatever tonight though, what are you in the mood for?"

"I'm in the mood for you to make a decision," she teased coolly. She placed the form onto the empty plate with a slight clatter, added her mug to the stack, and scooted her chair back. She rose from her chair and lifted the dirty dishes. The plate passed over him as he watched her step away from the table and cross over to the sink. She let the dishes slide into the sink with a clatter and turned to face him. She leaned against the sink and offered him a playful glare. "I chose last week, remember?" They had gone to the theater last week to catch a movie. She had smuggled some chocolate, wine, and him in. They had caught more of a buzz than they had planned for and wound up in bed before eleven.

He smiled up at her as he stepped towards her, approaching the edge of the table. The narrow kitchen allowed only a couple short feet of clearance between table and countertop, and he inclined his head to meet the teasing gaze of those bright, brown eyes. "Of course I remember! You just did such a good job, I thought I'd defer to your fantastic event planning prowess."

She crossed her arms. "You're so annoying it's actually kind of impressive."

He beamed at her. "For real though, you've had a long week, and I'd be down for a quiet night. Let's order dinner, watch a movie, take a bath, and go to bed early?"

She considered him for a moment, arms crossed. "That sounds perfect. I'm not letting you off the deciding-hook though. Your failure to specify what we're ordering has not gone unnoticed."

"Fair enough. I'll have an answer for you by the time you're home. Promise."

She adopted a caricature of a deep, gravely tone, "See that you do."

He chuckled. "Can I come down now, or do I have to live up here?"

She squinted at him and slowly stroked her chin. "Hmm, good question. You make a cute centerpiece."

"The cutest centerpiece. Beyond a doubt. The guests will especially love it when the centerpiece gets naked and tackles their dinner."

Ness roller her eyes as she stepped towards the table. "You're a mess. Come here." She reached for him with both arms. He lifted his arms out to his sides slightly to accept her hands. Her fingers knit together behind him, her thumbs limply splaying over his shoulders. He gripped her thumbs parallel to his chest, as if he was settling into an inverted coaster. She lifted him up to eye level, his stomach flitting at the sudden acceleration. Her pursing mouth filled his vision as she planted a kiss across his face. His senses were lost in the soft warmth of the kiss, the padding press of her lips, the current of coffee on the warm breeze of her breath. He kissed back, turning his head up to press his face against the fullness of her top lip. He strained against it, lifting his weight towards her lips as if trying to gain admission. They puckered around him, relenting as part of his face passed through and into the humidity of her mouth.

The gentle padding of her lips sealed around his ears as his vision vanished in the darkness of her mouth. Familiar breakfast scents washed over him, the notes he had picked up on her breath much stronger in this humid heat. Her tongue, a broad and featureless shape in the darkness beneath him, rose to greet him. It rose across his face, a wet pressure washing over him. His hands pressed against the restraints of her thumbs as he pressed into its mass, planting a long kiss to the tip of her tongue. She flattened its weight against him in response, lingering long enough for him to register his inability to breathe against it. She lifted him away from her slowly then, suckled gently as she drew him back out. A thin line of saliva briefly crossed the growing space between their lips, popping into nothingness as the distance could be measured in inches.

They held one another's gaze for a few breaths. The still waters of his green, the crisp depths of her brown. Her saliva was cool as it dried on his face. He was hard again, which was entirely impossible to hide as he dangled in her hands like a doll. Air escaped her flaring nostrils in a chuckle. "You're too much, little bug."

His eyes lingered on the fullness of her lips as she formed her words. The cold air on his drying face did what it could to lift the drunken daze her kiss had placed him in, but he only became more aware of his own arousal as each recovering breath carried more scent memories of her mouth to him. She had lowered him slightly when she had pulled him out from the kiss, his head parallel to her jugular notch. He inclined his gaze further, climbing over her lips as they twisted into a taunting smirk. Lucidity crept back into him as he found her eyes, shining down at him in pitying jest, and he realized he had not heard a word that she had spoken.

His voice came back gravel until he cleared it in a huff. "Sorry, what?"

She felt his limp weight in her hands. She always marveled at the lightness of him, barely a pound, so utterly small and helpless and hers. He had come away from their kiss in a drunken stupor; she could follow his gaze back to her mouth in an obvious line. She felt the briefest pang of guilt at working him up again so quickly before she had to leave for the day before it was washed away by the teasing fun of how easily she had done it. She had noticed a transition in his awareness of her over the past weeks. They had known that he would become dependent on her after his Diminishing, sure, but she hadn't been fully prepared for how inescapable she would become to him. How overwhelming her presence would be to him. She seemed to swallow up every iota of his attention when they shared a space at this new scale; he became so easily entranced and distracted by her now. This was understandable enough, she supposed, but had still come as a surprise, and was still fun to exploit in moments like this.

She decided to see how far she could push him before he broke.