oh hello f-list, newbies and old faithfuls, one and all

[dire_redux]

So I am stealing this from my darling featherfish because it is a very, very rad idea and also some of you are shy and I wish you wouldn't be because I really don't bite unless you're into that.

So without further ado, I give you:

In past Christmases, I have left an open invitation to write little fanfic drabbles for LJ holiday presents. I'd like to do that

Comments

Fill: Plate Glass (2/3)

[dire_redux]

He watched my fingertips tremble and ran his tongue along his teeth. Hungry, hungry and hollow and needy, or maybe I’m just projecting. Doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

He kissed me and I shattered like plate glass.

I shattered and shattered into stars and dust with the door to my office wide open. Anyone at all could see. Anyone. My boss. He grabbed a handful of my hair and I stopped thinking. No, no. That was a lie, I stopped thinking when he walked in. He has that effect on me, you know, it’s probably his eyes.

There’s something there behind them that I could never quite sort out. It scares me, it’s too hot and too bright, but at the same time I’m drawn to it. I was fascinated by the person that I thought he was, but I’m even more fascinated by the person that I am finding out he is. A spider unfolding his legs, delicate but hypodermic-sharp, showing fangs and glittering eyes.

Is it worth it? Of course it is.

(that wasn’t even a question, if I’m being honest)

He tangled me tighter in his hands and I’m caught though he hadn’t even said ten words to me. He doesn’t need to. I know what all those words would be, I know the script up until this point. In media res. He cuts to the heart of the matter like he’s made out of piano wire, the same way he cuts into me, knows every secret hidden under my skin.

I had my hand knotted up in his cashmere sweater, soft and smooth as the best-told lies, sweet as sin, and I could hear stitches pulling while I bit back on moans. Something’s always got to give and I wondered if that was another metaphor. My thoughts were drifting and he wanted me right there, so he bit down, drew blood like a spell to keep me grounded, keep me here and now.

In the back of my mind I was thinking about blood dripping down my chin onto a Lindy Hemming commissioned geometric print Turnbull and Asser tie that I can’t exactly replace. It excited me in a way that I don’t think I can explain, don’t think I understand. I always knew what I was getting into, there’s destruction hanging around him like a haze, like cigarette smoke and I just wanted to breathe it in, breathe deep until my lungs ache.

He pulled back and his hand had crept up the back of my jacket, he’d half-straddled me on my office chair and I wonder when that happened because I barely noticed, barely had time to get my bearings. The door was still open, I heard high heels in the hall while he ran his thumb over and over my bottom lip, smearing blood like lipstick, like costume paint. I tipped my head back, leaned back in the chair. I looked at the open door out of the corner of my eye and he caught my chin between his thumb and first finger, hauled my head back down, saying No, no. Eyes forward. and I didn’t even hesitate to close my eyes, press my lips to his throat, where his pulse was singing.

Well worth it, I thought and he made a noise that I felt against my lips although I couldn’t hear it over every reminder that we should not be doing this, this is not the place, not the time but then I remembered that he is my law, he is my everything, after all.