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Lal doesn't know where the wind inside her room comes from. The window isn't open. But she also doesn't know where the yogurt is coming from either, so perhaps it doesn't matter.
The light in her room is atypical, purple, framing Wine just right, intensifying what can only be fantasy. Khun Wine looks beautiful, of course. Her glasses sitting just so on her nose, just a little too low. Her hair tied back, only a little messy, mystery breeze fluttering through it. Her bra is black and frilly, covering both too much and not enough all at the same time. There is a mole on Wine's torso, just under the left side of the ribcage, and Lal can't look away.
So when a spoon appears too, Lal has stopped worrying about that sort of thing.
Wine is straddling her, eyes batting, as the spoon is raised to her lips. Lal clutches the sheets of her own bed, breathing heavy and unable to look away.
The yogurt disappears inside Wine's mouth, tongue curling around the spoon with only the faintest rattling of teeth. But one drop escapes, falls onto bare skin on the inside of one breast.
Lal is not the one eating, but she swallows nonetheless. Wine makes an apologetic face, scoops up the dropped yogurt with a finger, and as Lal stops breathing in anticipation of Wine popping the finger into her own mouth. But instead the spilled yogurt is brushed over Lal's lips. Wine leans down and kisses her, over and over. Wine's mouth is warm and wet, tasting of yogurt and honey and excitement. If Lal were not already convinced this was a dream, she might be afraid of fainting.
Her face feels numb, her lips tingling. She reaches for Wine's waist, lurches when hands make contact with smooth skin. They press closer amid kisses, glasses bumping into Lal's face.
They both giggle at that, but Wine takes the opportunity to stand slightly, shimmy out of her pants and underwear, and straddle Lal once more. Wine's legs are higher up now, just under Lal's arms. Something warm drips onto Lal's chest this time, and she knows it's not yogurt.
"Are you hungry?" Wine asks, shuffling higher still, her need on full display, and Lal fixated. "Would you like something to eat?"
Lal's heart races. A whine starts somewhere deep in her throat, but it comes out only as a weak whimper.
There's barely a nod before they move together, Lal craning her neck and Wine rushing forward. Wine's knees are on either side of Lal's head, her thighs pressed against Lal's ears, her fingers tangled in Lal's hair. Wine rocks her hips, grinding her core against Lal's mouth.
Lal eats hungrily, revels in the wetness slicking her chin, the mewling sounds coming from Wine. The scent is intoxicating—dairy and desire and desperation. Lal wants Wine, of that there is no doubt. But Lal wants to be wanted too.
One hand grips Wine's waist, guiding her to accelerating rhythm. The other hand finds one of Wine's, fingers interlacing as their movements synchronize. Lal looks up to see Wine's eyes closed, glasses askew, her mouth slightly agape, tongue flicking over glistening lips, and Lal's own hips shake.
Wine's eyes open then, fierce gaze boring straight into Lal's.
And Lal shoots up alone in bed, shocked at how vivid it all was. It is dark in her room, pyjamas and sheets drenched in sweat, the smell of arousal thick in the air. She takes several deep breaths and stares unblinking into the night.
Maybe she shouldn't have had that yogurt snack right before bed.
Maybe she should have eaten more.
Lal has to stop thinking about yogurt. Or rather, she has to stop thinking about Khun Wine Waythaka, Accounting Manager, in this decidely unprofessional way, but the yogurt is what keeps getting to her.
See, Wine always has Dutch Mill products sitting on her desk, and they keep reminding Lal of her. Sometimes Lal opens the lunch fridge at the office, and there are yogurt cups on the shelf. She doesn't know if they belong to Khun Wine. It hardly matters. Because it's the simple thought of yogurt that gives her flashbacks and the need to run away.
It was a stupid dream, really. Absolutely crazy. Because Lal would never let anyone eat yogurt in her bed. Not even someone as hot as Wine Waythaka. Just think of all the mess.
Lal shakes her head. She is thinking of the mess. She is thinking way too much about it. About Wine making a mess.
Stupid. Stupid.
She raps her knuckles against her own head, looks down to see one of those fermented milk drinks in her hand, plastic bottle and red cap.
Oh god.
She wanted to apologize to Khun Wine—on behalf of her team—but they had already gone ahead and done it without her. So now Lal is stuck having to apologize to Wine on her own, and Lal does not trust herself around Wine.
She can't show up empty-handed. She needs a peace offering. So she's here, in the convenience store next to the office, and she has a yogurt drink in hand without even thinking about it.
Pull yourself together, Lal.
She shakes her head. Puts the bottle back into the open fridge. She grabs the green one next to it instead. Sugar-free. That seems more like Wine's usual, though not to her taste. Because while Wine might prefer the sweetness, she would never admit it. And she definitely won't let herself have it.
Lal would let Wine have it though. Lal would let Wine have anything if she asked.
The apology fails. Lal doesn't get to say her piece. She only gets to say she's sorry before Wine up and walks away.
And so Lal is standing there, holding her dream in her hands, as Wine strides out the door.
Later that night though, everything has changed. Because Lal got Wine out of an uncomfortable situation.
And Wine is in her apartment now. Wine says Lal's confused face is pretty. Wine says she doesn't want to leave. Wine steps really close, looks right into Lal's eyes, and says "I want to do this. So Lal kisses her, just like she's been dreaming of doing, and Wine kisses back. It's hands on shoulders and hips, eyelashes blinking against hard lenses, the two of them twisting to fall onto the bed.
It's not at all like Lal's dream. The light is wrong; the clothes are wrong; the smell is wrong. Wine smells like the beer that Lal had spilled on her. Wine is the one laying on the bed with Lal on top of her. But Lal shrugs off her own jacket, and Wine opens the buttons on her own shirt. When Lal runs her hand down the front of Wine's chest, nobody stops her.
Wine's skin is smooth and soft, and she closes her eyes when Lal touches her just so. Fingers trail down Wine's torso, dipping into the bellybutton. Lal kisses the spot they just passed, imagines drizzling some yogurt onto Wine's body and licking it off of her, swirling her tongue into Wine's navel. Lal smiles, feeling the haze of alcohol behind her eyes, and the flush between her legs.
She presses on, ready to stop if Wine protests, but no objections are forthcoming. Her hands slide past Wine's hips, underneath the skirt that has ridden up while they were making out. Lal kisses the inside of one thigh, and then the other. She looks up to see Wine watching her, and when Lal raises an eyebrow, Wine nods.
Lal doesn't waste any time. She pulls the underwear out of the way, lifts one leg onto her shoulder, and dives right in. Wine is just as wet as Lal feels. She groans when Lal's mouth makes contact.
It's intoxicating, the smell of Wine, the slickness coating Lal's face, the look that Wine gives her from higher on the bed—glasses and all. Wine is so cute and so hot, all at the same time. Wine is everything that Lal has ever dreamed of, and Lal wants to eat all of it. She would pull Wine inside of her if she could, hold onto Wine forever and twine their hearts together.
She redoubles her efforts, and Wine's fingers land on her head. Wine clutches Lal and presses hard against her. Wine gasps and shakes, bucks against Lal's tongue.
"Lallalin," Wine whispers, and Lal shivers at that.
But before Lal can even think of a response, Wine is sitting up. Wine is stripping out of her disheveled clothes and reaching for Lal.
And maybe Lal's outfit had been a little risque today, especially without the jacket, but here it feels just right. Wine runs a hand across Lal's collarbone and down her sternum, lingering at the top of her breasts. The other hand drifts lower, expertly undoing Lal's belt and pants.
When Wine's fingers slip inside, it's Lal's turn to grunt. And now it's just like her dream, because Wine is staring right at her, long lashes behind wire-frames glasses, and Lal can't look away. Lal doesn't want to look away.
Wine licks her lips then, and it's too much for Lal. The thought of yogurt crosses her mind again. The smell of it, Wine eating a spoonful of it in the most scandalous way possible, the silkiness of it against her lips.
Lal is done.
She collapses onto the bed. Wine falls on top of her.
They hold each other and do not speak.