Duncan should've been embarrassed, that she felt his dick strain through his fly. She should've been conscious, of her nipple peaking in his hand through her satin slip, dress slipping down.
The booth was dim, not private. The bar quiet, not empty.
What he should've foreseen was: regret.
But he was too present. Lost in time, as if that wasnโt luxury exclusive to combat and retirement. Gear is expensive. Old age, moreso. But her thighs tightened and his mind blanked. The curl of her tongue against the wall of his mouth was treasure to bury forever in an empty heart.
xmas drabble 2025; (That Dive Bar) (nsfw)