𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐲: "𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞; 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫."
NEW YORK, 1967
It's 1967 and Margot Murdock's life is falling apart. I...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CW: Fingering, breathplay, drug use, just the tip, dirty talk, James and Margot read a spicy book while they bang.
The book is Lady Chatterly's Lover, it was written in the 1920s, so the spice level is relatively tame and the language is a bit old fashioned, but it's a great book.
Please remember to vote and comment on fics! It means a lot to writers!
MARGOT
Margot's Apartment
Manhattan
June 4, 1967
"Jesus, Margot! Where'd you get all that dope?" James laughs.
He's lounging naked on the couch in the art room, looking entirely relaxed, his hair mussed from sex and his cheeks still pink. All of that tension in his body has melted away. He's got one arm tucked behind his head, his right bicep flexing while his left arm dangles just above the floor. His long legs are stretched out, and he's put his socks back on because he told me his feet were cold.
Everything about him is fucking adorable.
The rain pounds against the windows, almost torrential, and there are still flashes of lightning that illuminate the entire city. We're probably going to lose power tonight.
I'm still not finished the painting, but I've done enough that I won't need a model now. I can mix the color of his eyes from memory alone.
"I told you," I reply as I roll my eyes, grinding the buds up with a mortar and pestle. "The landlady gave it to us."
"Where'd she get it?"
I lift a brow
"That's classified information, Counsellor. I don't need her going to jail."
"Hey, I help people stay out of jail, Miss Murdock. I'm not one of those dickhead prosecutors."
"I thought they were necessary from the justice system."
James scoffs.
"Necessary for being a tool of the state to imprison innocent people."
I smirk.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say fucking me is altering your political views."
He chuckles, his nose scrunching up.
"Nah, I've always been like this. I just look like a square."
"And act like a square," I fire back as I roll the joint.
James hums softly and watches me, his eyes sparkling.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure." I lick the glue on the edge of the rolling paper and seal it shut. "You can ask me anything."
