What Is Love?

Half Past Five

Author's Note: Hi! I originally had an ideas for  a one shot that I was just going to add to "What Is Love?" but after writing it, I realized I wanted it to go in a longer, different, direction...

I may actually just leave it as a one-shot :) ) I'm not getting much of a response...so I figured I'd just put in here to see what happens :)

So, here it is:

Additional thing to note: It takes place during the last DWTS Tour (as I said before that I was inspired by Mark/Witney/Val's trio. :) )  Neither Mark or Witney are in any sort of a relationship.
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Her aroma was sweet, her breath warm and boozy; his mouth was over hers, unforgiving, though not brash.  As tongues mingled, and bodies swayed to a sultry rhythm, their locomotion lewd and uninhibited, his hands buried deep into her hair.

He had her pinned against the wall, while his hips pushed into hers, thus achieving maximum arousal, and it was then, when he knew. He had her dress bunched up around her waist as he pummeled into her; the sweat was rolling off of her in hot, passionate waves, and on her lips he could taste it, was tempted to drink it from their pink skin. 

They shouldn't be doing this. No way in hell. It was a seven year difference, he was twenty-eight and she was twenty-one. They were so close, like brother and sister; they were best friends. Nothing should ever jeopardize that, yet, what they were currently doing, was.

Their friendship was everything to him, but meant nothing all the same; when she whispered 'I need you' into his ear each night, it was like an invitation to really get to know her - limbs draped upon his body, inhabiting a dancer's flexibility, lovely in all its  deriving pleasure. The prospect of having with her, such an intimate bond, made him so utterly happy, so much so that he was willing to risk all that they had as friends for something more, as lovers.

"What are ya thinking about, Ballas?" Witney asked, her mouth against the shell of his ear, so close that he could feel the otherwise imperceptible inhalation-exhalation pattern of her breathing, feel her eyelashes grazing his cheek, ever so soft and gentle, like kisses from a butterfly.

"Just you," was his response as he began to suck on her neck, having found her particularly sensitive area quite quickly the first time they'd done this; it was almost a reflex now, and the  tiny beats of her pulse were like fundamental dance steps long-ago memorized: it was a dependable, soothing thrum that was forever etched into his brain.

"That sounds promising," she joked, her hands snaking up his chest and under his shirt, exploring the chiseled contours with a few barely-audible moans intermixing with heavy sighs. 

"Don't do that."

"Don't what?"

"Make those sounds...they're driving me crazy baby - " his words were severed by a throaty groan, " - do you want to kill me?"

Witney giggled, leaning against him, her body beginning to lag from the alcohol, its saccharinity lacing each breath as she spoke to him in whispery tones, somewhat slurred. "They're gonna be back soon babe. We don't wanna get caught.  Ugh...you're so cute...mmm..."

As she moved to kiss him again, she was not at all shy with the provocative motions of her mouth, opening and closing as his did the same; they were hopelessly tethered together by drunkenness and trademark adrenaline.