Microfiction Mon... erm Wednesday! Water, fall

Note from Mad:  Sorry this one is so very very late, guys!  I deserve to be punished!  (hee hee, please!)  But um.. better late than never?

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Her lips were blue. Kind of ironic if you think about it, since it was the hottest day of the year by at least a good five degrees.

April was stretched out the full length of the dirty old futon in a tiny white tank top and thong and nothing else. Her long sun-bronzed legs shimmered with tiny beads of sweat. I'd been banished to sitting on the floor beside her, with her free hand dangling in my lap—the most physical contact we could stand in this heat.

She had filled an ice tray with fruit drink earlier and was now letting one of the cubes—an odd space alien blue—slowly melt against her lips. When she noticed me watching her, she palmed the ice and took her time licking the sticky punch off her thumb and forefinger with long, slow strokes of her blue-streaked tongue.

The rest of the juice was rapidly becoming unfrozen but no longer aimed at her mouth—a huge drop skipped its way down her throat to nestle in that little indentation where the neck meets the breastbone, and that for some unknown reason I've elected the sexiest part of the female body. She gasped in surprise and arched her back, sending the liquid rolling down an eerie blue trail along the line of her shoulder-blade.

I watched in silent fascination while the droplet continued its path along her bicep to come to rest again in the crook of her elbow. Strange that I should notice it was only about half the size it was before it started its exploratory journey of my lover's body. April was so still that I could see the tiny hemisphere of liquid bounce in time with her pulse.

One...two...her third heartbeat set the liquid rolling again on a path toward her open palm.

I wondered if it had enough substance left to make it to the end while I watched it mimic another delicate spidery vein down her wrist, and weave its way through the maze of lines that creased her hand. What would a palm reader make of that cerulean map?

The juice chose her pinky finger to follow, and it didn't need to stop when it reached the tip—it had faded completely into a tiny pinprick stain of vivid aqua. I lifted her hand to my face and she slid her finger into my mouth. It tasted like raspberry candy, but there was nothing cold about that tiny trace I'd tasted. I slowly started to lick up the blue line on her palm. I wasn't worried, I knew that If I followed the lines, I'd run into something cool and refreshing eventually. It was a lazy summer day—I had all the time in the world.