.time alone will tell
Title: #68
Author: Ashley
Summary: No plot that I can detect, no solid story line. Amber called it graphic, and I'm just like whateva.
Pairing: Jay/Billy. Well, it can be anyone, but I picture it as Billy.
Status: Verrrrry short standalone.
Jay has gracefully long legs.
When he sleeps, they're usually tangled in his sheets. They're just right, not too hairy or smooth. When they're clad in tight black leather, I find myself devoid of all coherent thought save that I must have him right then.
It's not a problem, though, as he's usually willing to oblige.
There's a large, stuffed armchair in his bedroom, and it gives a great view of his bed. Almost every night I slip in after he's retired and plant myself in that chair with a pencil and a pad of paper. I love to sketch him while he's sleeping, though the drawings never come out proportional -- his legs are simply too long.
I've got a box that contains filled notebooks. Most sketches are of him. Him sleeping. Him singing. Him eating. The look that crosses his face as he orgasms. Him dancing. He has dancer's legs.
I've never shown him my sketches. I don't think he even knows they exist. It is my guilty pleasure, sketching him. Mine alone.
Did I mention there are mirrors on his ceiling? That's his guilty pleasure. Voyeurism. He likes to watch. Masturbation, oral, full throttle.
He likes to watch. I like to sketch.
Jay is somewhat of normal height when on his knees; it's those legs that put inches on. It's fortunate, as I am better able to sink my hands into his fine, dark hair. I have sketched the expression on his face as he's about to fellate me... an impish smile on upon his face, a deviant look in his eyes. It's my favorite look. That and the one where he's climaxing. There's something primitive, something intimate about it, and though I'm sure he's been with countless men and women, I like to think of it as mine.
In graphite, it's solely mine.
Author: Ashley
Summary: No plot that I can detect, no solid story line. Amber called it graphic, and I'm just like whateva.
Pairing: Jay/Billy. Well, it can be anyone, but I picture it as Billy.
Status: Verrrrry short standalone.
Jay has gracefully long legs.
When he sleeps, they're usually tangled in his sheets. They're just right, not too hairy or smooth. When they're clad in tight black leather, I find myself devoid of all coherent thought save that I must have him right then.
It's not a problem, though, as he's usually willing to oblige.
There's a large, stuffed armchair in his bedroom, and it gives a great view of his bed. Almost every night I slip in after he's retired and plant myself in that chair with a pencil and a pad of paper. I love to sketch him while he's sleeping, though the drawings never come out proportional -- his legs are simply too long.
I've got a box that contains filled notebooks. Most sketches are of him. Him sleeping. Him singing. Him eating. The look that crosses his face as he orgasms. Him dancing. He has dancer's legs.
I've never shown him my sketches. I don't think he even knows they exist. It is my guilty pleasure, sketching him. Mine alone.
Did I mention there are mirrors on his ceiling? That's his guilty pleasure. Voyeurism. He likes to watch. Masturbation, oral, full throttle.
He likes to watch. I like to sketch.
Jay is somewhat of normal height when on his knees; it's those legs that put inches on. It's fortunate, as I am better able to sink my hands into his fine, dark hair. I have sketched the expression on his face as he's about to fellate me... an impish smile on upon his face, a deviant look in his eyes. It's my favorite look. That and the one where he's climaxing. There's something primitive, something intimate about it, and though I'm sure he's been with countless men and women, I like to think of it as mine.
In graphite, it's solely mine.