(no subject)
Alrighty, although I haven't posted anything on here yet, I have posted some fics on harrydraco and boykissing_fic. So yeah...
Hhm... and just so you people can read my stuffs anyway, here you go.
But if you're going to say something extremely ignorant like I am lame and have no life, shove it and click that little back button.
ONE-SHOT
It hurts.
I know he knows it, but he doesn’t stop. The sweat slides off his skin and drips to mine, but sweat is not red and blood is not clear. I feel my insides slowly burning as he thrusts again, and his hot, wet breath against my back. His hard muscles work in rhythm simultaneously as he beats against me. He is so much stronger than I, though we are the same.
Yes, it hurts, but he is beautiful. He is me but not.
He is the one that moans, but the sound vibrates through my chest and lungs to the bed. My face is pressed so hard to the pillow, but his is the breath that is cut short. It doesn’t bother me anymore. No, not anymore.
For I am his and he is mine as it has always been, but no one understands.
Not even me.
I look to the silver liquid lining my dresser and see the body moving above me. Oh, what a beautiful sight.
He is breathing harder and his muscles clench. His hands form fists on the blankets beneath me. They form soft ridges and I am reminded of a desert, the wind softly blowing across the sands. Someplace I have never been.
I gasp out loud and arch up as a flash of red blinds my eyes. Bleach white floods my body as my head curves around a shoulder. It burns and he knows it.
He falls off my back onto the empty space beside me. I hear the rapid panting and then softer, slower breathing as he catches his breath. I cannot see him, but I know the sight better than my own reflection. And sure enough as I turn around, he is laying heavily on his back, one arm crossed on his stomach, the other by his side, and his eyes half closed.
The glowing neon signs are glowing outside our window through the battered, dusty blinds of our apartment though the rain makes the colours blend together and constantly move in a melodious dance. Are his eyes raining too?
I don’t move for a long while, and neither does he. It’s all part of the ritual, never speak, always think. But this time, I break the rules.
“I love you…”
The words filter out of my mouth before I even think of saying them. He doesn’t move except to roll over on his side. His back greets me before he answers.
“No, you don’t.”
It hurts.
And he knows it.
Hhm... and just so you people can read my stuffs anyway, here you go.
But if you're going to say something extremely ignorant like I am lame and have no life, shove it and click that little back button.
ONE-SHOT
It hurts.
I know he knows it, but he doesn’t stop. The sweat slides off his skin and drips to mine, but sweat is not red and blood is not clear. I feel my insides slowly burning as he thrusts again, and his hot, wet breath against my back. His hard muscles work in rhythm simultaneously as he beats against me. He is so much stronger than I, though we are the same.
Yes, it hurts, but he is beautiful. He is me but not.
He is the one that moans, but the sound vibrates through my chest and lungs to the bed. My face is pressed so hard to the pillow, but his is the breath that is cut short. It doesn’t bother me anymore. No, not anymore.
For I am his and he is mine as it has always been, but no one understands.
Not even me.
I look to the silver liquid lining my dresser and see the body moving above me. Oh, what a beautiful sight.
He is breathing harder and his muscles clench. His hands form fists on the blankets beneath me. They form soft ridges and I am reminded of a desert, the wind softly blowing across the sands. Someplace I have never been.
I gasp out loud and arch up as a flash of red blinds my eyes. Bleach white floods my body as my head curves around a shoulder. It burns and he knows it.
He falls off my back onto the empty space beside me. I hear the rapid panting and then softer, slower breathing as he catches his breath. I cannot see him, but I know the sight better than my own reflection. And sure enough as I turn around, he is laying heavily on his back, one arm crossed on his stomach, the other by his side, and his eyes half closed.
The glowing neon signs are glowing outside our window through the battered, dusty blinds of our apartment though the rain makes the colours blend together and constantly move in a melodious dance. Are his eyes raining too?
I don’t move for a long while, and neither does he. It’s all part of the ritual, never speak, always think. But this time, I break the rules.
“I love you…”
The words filter out of my mouth before I even think of saying them. He doesn’t move except to roll over on his side. His back greets me before he answers.
“No, you don’t.”
It hurts.
And he knows it.