A short short painting in prose...

It was a cotton candy kind of afternoon that followed them home, fluffy white clouds in a perfect blue sky, blue grass under bare feet, blue grass music in the park air, kites and balloons, giggles and grins.  If it hadn't been for the huge bouquet of balloons conspiring with an area rug that simply refused to lay flat the evening might not have turned out as delightful as the afternoon had been. But conspire they did, unlikely as it might seem. Coming in the door the balloons met the ceiling fan, and before all was said and done she'd tripped on the contrary rug, falling face first down  the back of the sofa with an audible "ooof!"

Before she'd caught her breath from laughing at herself his hands were on her, flipping her skirt up over her waist to leave a pair of shining white panties contrasted against the tan of his hands holding her hips.  He bent down, put a kiss on the small of her back, let it linger to savor the little shiver rippling away from the caress of his breath.  "Tell me no now or just wiggle your bottom," he said softly, his fingers flexing oh so slightly as her back began to arch.   The sofa only slid eight or ten inches across the polished hardwood floor before everything relaxed enough the old sofa could go back to simply squeaking in counterpoint, and no one really paid any attention at all to the balloons cuddling in all four corners of the room teasing the poor ceiling fan, who of course was still stuck in the very middle of the middle unable to do more than turn slow lazy circles trying to ignore what couldn't be touched.