Room 305 (repost)
Title: Room 305
Pairing: Anybody really, as long as he has lip piercings/ You
Rating: PG-13 I guess...
POV: First Person
Summary: In a class room alone with any guy you like (as long as he has lip piercings). You kiss..what happens next?
Disclaimer: This is a figment of my imagination. I am not making any money from this
A/N: I do have a beta, but since everybody can miss a mistake I'm hoping to get a second one. Any volunteers?
Also, I originally posted this in olleh_sexplz as nieti_murha please don't claim I copied this
Room 305
“ I…it’s just that…I’ve been meaning to tell you that-“
You start to say but stop. Your pierced lips are parted ever so slightly. Not enough to make you look like the American stereotype I so often tease you with, but nonetheless still open. Before you get to complete your sentence the hand that was previously resting on your knee goes to your neck as I pull you in. I haven’t done anything, any yet your eyes expel a look of pure terror. In a split second all thoughts I should have had before came rushing in like an avalanche. I realise that it is quite possible that you don’t like guys, and that even if you do you probably don’t even like me. If I continue to do this you could be disgusted, swear at me, promise never to speak to me again. I should never have started this but I just can’t stop now. It’s too late.
I slowly press my lips to your parted ones, feeling all the cold metal rings and studs. You know that one place on your lower lip? The one you always nibble on when you’re nervous? I found it. All these contrasts are killing my senses. The soft flesh of your lips, the cold metal of your distorted jewellery, the slightly swollen patch on your lower lip. You taste of raspberries. The highly artificial ones though. I know it comes from the lip balm you’re addicted to. I even carry some in my locker for when you run out.
I still haven’t sensed any response from you and I panic. There is no way of knowing how long I have been kissing you. In one way I think it has only been a spilt second, just a ghostly brushing of the lips. But then it feels like I have been doing this my entire life and I’m convinced that I have. No matter the duration, this is a one-sided kiss. You haven’t moved your lips or pulled me closer. I pull away, the gap between us no doubt broadened forever. As I mumble something about me being sorry and how I’m an idiot I feel your hand on my wrist. It’s clammy cold and your grip is very weak. With an unexpected strength you suddenly pull me back onto the table desks. The sudden force imbalances me and, so as not to fall over you, I place my leg between us at an odd and slightly painful angle.
I cannot bring my self to look into your eyes when you are going to insult me so instead I look at your nails. A different colour every week, but this time black with pink ridges. They’re all perfectly manicured except for one. Your index finger on the left hand. I remember you telling me today how you broke it in gym, and you swearing you would never go back to that “demonic pit of doom, led by a fucking neo-nazi satan worshipper.” The memory makes me smile, despite the tears that are slowly dripping from my eyes onto my shirt.
Your hands move to my head and weave into my hair. This time I do look at your eyes. I can’t explain exactly what it is that I see. Our roles are reversed as this time it is you who pulls me in for that final inch.
Our lips touch and you do everything I dreamt you would. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts of you that when the yellow elevator doors opened, I didn’t notice. I’m so wrapped up in thoughts of you that when the red door opened, I didn’t notice. I’m wrapped up in thoughts of you, but not so tightly wound are they that I cannot notice your {probably ex-} girlfriend screaming.
You left the room swearing that you would never again speak to me. Now I’m back to being alone, except this time there is no more hopes of you. Just more pinky-purple lines adorning my arm.
Pairing: Anybody really, as long as he has lip piercings/ You
Rating: PG-13 I guess...
POV: First Person
Summary: In a class room alone with any guy you like (as long as he has lip piercings). You kiss..what happens next?
Disclaimer: This is a figment of my imagination. I am not making any money from this
A/N: I do have a beta, but since everybody can miss a mistake I'm hoping to get a second one. Any volunteers?
Also, I originally posted this in olleh_sexplz as nieti_murha please don't claim I copied this
Room 305
“ I…it’s just that…I’ve been meaning to tell you that-“
You start to say but stop. Your pierced lips are parted ever so slightly. Not enough to make you look like the American stereotype I so often tease you with, but nonetheless still open. Before you get to complete your sentence the hand that was previously resting on your knee goes to your neck as I pull you in. I haven’t done anything, any yet your eyes expel a look of pure terror. In a split second all thoughts I should have had before came rushing in like an avalanche. I realise that it is quite possible that you don’t like guys, and that even if you do you probably don’t even like me. If I continue to do this you could be disgusted, swear at me, promise never to speak to me again. I should never have started this but I just can’t stop now. It’s too late.
I slowly press my lips to your parted ones, feeling all the cold metal rings and studs. You know that one place on your lower lip? The one you always nibble on when you’re nervous? I found it. All these contrasts are killing my senses. The soft flesh of your lips, the cold metal of your distorted jewellery, the slightly swollen patch on your lower lip. You taste of raspberries. The highly artificial ones though. I know it comes from the lip balm you’re addicted to. I even carry some in my locker for when you run out.
I still haven’t sensed any response from you and I panic. There is no way of knowing how long I have been kissing you. In one way I think it has only been a spilt second, just a ghostly brushing of the lips. But then it feels like I have been doing this my entire life and I’m convinced that I have. No matter the duration, this is a one-sided kiss. You haven’t moved your lips or pulled me closer. I pull away, the gap between us no doubt broadened forever. As I mumble something about me being sorry and how I’m an idiot I feel your hand on my wrist. It’s clammy cold and your grip is very weak. With an unexpected strength you suddenly pull me back onto the table desks. The sudden force imbalances me and, so as not to fall over you, I place my leg between us at an odd and slightly painful angle.
I cannot bring my self to look into your eyes when you are going to insult me so instead I look at your nails. A different colour every week, but this time black with pink ridges. They’re all perfectly manicured except for one. Your index finger on the left hand. I remember you telling me today how you broke it in gym, and you swearing you would never go back to that “demonic pit of doom, led by a fucking neo-nazi satan worshipper.” The memory makes me smile, despite the tears that are slowly dripping from my eyes onto my shirt.
Your hands move to my head and weave into my hair. This time I do look at your eyes. I can’t explain exactly what it is that I see. Our roles are reversed as this time it is you who pulls me in for that final inch.
Our lips touch and you do everything I dreamt you would. I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts of you that when the yellow elevator doors opened, I didn’t notice. I’m so wrapped up in thoughts of you that when the red door opened, I didn’t notice. I’m wrapped up in thoughts of you, but not so tightly wound are they that I cannot notice your {probably ex-} girlfriend screaming.
You left the room swearing that you would never again speak to me. Now I’m back to being alone, except this time there is no more hopes of you. Just more pinky-purple lines adorning my arm.