One of you should write a fic about Lee and his quest for streamed buns! I challenge thee!
Fireworks going off in the distance, his face oddly reminiscing, about a million miles away. I watch his gorgeous face reflected in the glass, his eyes wide, his thumb and two fingers toying with those glorious lips. I smile wondering where his mind was and wondering which I was most jealous of those fingers or those glorious lips.
Oh and happily yes my western accent brutalizes the mandarin pronunciation greetings the Lunar New Year, he always appreciated the effort although I think he always knew I was half assing it just to make him smile… I slide a bottle of horrible Chinese beer over his shoulder, the closest intimation to baijiu as I could get. His smile warms, still distant as he turns in his chair.
“So, where were you?” I sit on the edge of the coffee table and swill the horrible concoction from his beautiful green bottle. They sure put so much art into the bottles they forgot to put something into the flavour.
“Do you remember that place we stopped out side of Abilene the one time, you know with the great Bao bao, the Xiaolongbao?” god the way he would pronounce things that meant something to him. Like the way he would say my name. Always almost a hushed whisper, rumbling deep in his chest, slightly reverent as his throat would shape it and his tongue would lick the delicious single syllable. It was as if my name was simply engineered to ricochet in his chest, pass through his throat, the idea alone was the most delicious, most beautiful thought in the world, it infused my flagging courage, it would slip inside of me and stroke places that I had no idea craved attention, it made me shiver, it made me salivate, oh yes and yes it made me wet. He leans back taking a long draught of beer, his eyes creasing at the corners as the flavour hits his tongue.
Laughing at his face and the memory, not to distant but long enough to have that golden sheen of nostalgia. “God, yes. The most delicious thing I think I have ever eaten, those and their sticky buns liánróngbāo,” yes I lacerated and masticated the word as it poured from my lips “with the sweet lotus seeds. I still have dreams of that food.”
He sets the beer down and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. I laugh as he is walking quickly, I had to take two steps to his every one, he grabs the keys and opens the door.
“Ok what are we doing?” I asked oh so coy as I KNEW exactly what he was doing.
“Road trip” he says simply. Tossing me over his shoulder and walking out to the drive.
Sitting in the car still laughing his face a mask of beautiful determination.
“So a thousand-mile road trip… for sticky buns?”
“Yep,” he let it hang in the air, “well not just the buns.”
I threw my head back and laughed, kicking my feet. “Well, it is the year of the monkey, plenty of portends to satisfy. Ah, leave it to me to love a superstitious man. It might just be the neck kisses, or maybe that you know exactly how I take my coffee…”
“SERIOUSLY!” we say in unison, then laugh.
“Though Most likely it’s the midnight car rides on a quest…” I used to get lost in day dreaming… sometimes actually, I still believe I just might be stuck in that other world. No one ever tells lethal it is, that one might become lost in that dream and forget about anything reality might offer. Yes, sometimes I wonder… but really who cares, if it is a fantasy, I don’t want to wake, and if it isn’t I am not going to waste a minute.
Shaken from my own mind by some funky bass as he cues up SUPERSTITION, god, a man who actually has Stevie Wonder on his playlist… yeah again not a thing I am going to delve too deeply into as I begin to sing along. He always laughs at my ability to sound just like any music super star…by turning up the volume heheheheh!
I always wonder why more people don’t go on extended car rides together, maybe it was just us, but there was nothing ever not discussed in a car ride. It always starts with something silly and inane like “who would win in a fight,” by the second hour topics bounce like a shiny rubber ball, third hour immersion into a deep and always oddly science but philosophical and existential and unravels into something telling and naughty and …
Our stomachs rumbling, we stopped for gas and drinks, but nothing looked appetizing, not until passing a man selling peaches on the side of the road. We, stopped and ate a peach. I could take an hour to eat a sweet juicy peach, the flavour would take me places, back home with the Popcorn trees blooming, the hot summer sun on my face, breeze at my back. Then, I would enjoy the idea of sitting alone eating a SINGLE peach, in the sunshine. I could make a peach last for hours… usually with some still on my face and evidence on my shirt… but now. Now, I loved to just watch him eat that luscious peach, he was like watching a child with candy. It is almost like he has to warm up to it, he turns the peach in his fingers, taking in the colour and texture, he would squeeze softly feeling the firm give of the flesh of that peach. He holds it to his nose breathing in the scent, his eyes rolling closed as that sweetly tart flavour caressed his senses. That first bite, his beautiful lips curl back, the light crunch as his teeth sink into the coral colored flesh. His lips close over his teeth lightly sucking as he follows through with the bite. Sweet juice rolls down his hand and forearm, dripping from his elbow. It was sexy it was sexual as he consumed the peach, he made love to that peach. The slow magic of his jaw as he chews, the slow undulation of his Adam’s apple as he swallows slowly. I watch the dribble of juice move slowly down his chin, to his jaw over the day’s growth of stubble, then down his neck. His eyes slowly open and he smiles. Unable to stop myself I lean in, pressing my lips to the rivulet of juice, then lick the luscious juice, all the way up his neck to his cheek and chin and then his lips.
He laughs taking another bite then pulling me in for a kiss, the juice spreading from his deliciously sweet lips to my own lips and cheek. We share that bite with a delicious give and take, tongues searching for the last delicious drop of divinity. Breathless breaking from the kiss he takes another bite, the juice running down his hand and arm. I can’t stop myself, I run my tongue up his arm catching as much flavor as possible as I chew the patch of heaven in my mouth. The soft sweet sticky fruit the little bite of tart making my taste buds dance in delight. Lightly crunchy candy for the soul. He pulls me in for a second bite, and make a sweet sticky syrupy mess of our faces. The feeling nothing short of the most fantastic French kiss from the lips of an angel, languorously I take my time making every bite, every sip of juice, every lick lasts a life time. Gods he is delicious; I am like that pool of peach juice in the palm of his hand just hoping to be devoured by his luscious lips. I breathe in the heady flavor in devouring it with more than just my mouth, using my nose, my lips, my eyes, my tongue to imbibe heaven into my body.
He pulls away pulling his shirt over his head mopping first my face with it, then his own, trying to clean the sticky sweet juice from his hands and arm. Yes, this is where it comes in handy that I am a 3rd degree scout (ok I never was mostly because I hated girl scouts and they didn’t let girls into the boy scouts but I had 5 brothers) Rule #12 never leave unprepared, I always carry my bag, yes it looks like an oversized purse because who wants to look like a hobo. I unzip the leather messenger bag and pull out wet ones, a sweater, and a fresh t-shirt. Although he still looked absolutely divine sitting there in his wife beater.
“Jesus, what all do you have in there? A circus?” he laughed.
“Always be prepared, come on you are talking to the girl who is the best lemon detector in the world. I never leave home without it.”
“I knew you always carried it, but I didn’t realize how much you can fit in there. Its like negative space storage.”
He mopped my face and then his, and cleaned up pretty, he pulled on the t-shirt, started the car and away we went. The sun just about setting and still 300 miles to go.
“I think we will get there about closing time.”
“That’s Ok, we can picnic.”
As expected, we pulled into the parking lot at 18 mins till 10, closing time. We ran in and I just listened as he ordered, that perfect pronunciation making me dizzy and the smell and flavour of that peach still on my lips. I think we took the last of everything they had and he must have bought the steaming basket as well since they helped us load it into the car. Then we drove out to the country. I pulled the blanket out of my bag and the two inflatable pillows, he laughed, building the fire, watching me blow them up with my crap lung capacity. Then we settled into our steamed buns, and to say that the trip was well worth it would be a sad and drastic understatement, they were like heaven in a pastry. The spicy chicken, the sweet pork, mmm the lotus seeds.
After sating our needs and the gods, what would come more naturally than intense lovemaking under the stars next to a bonfire?