(no subject)
Title: Ligaments
Pairing/Character/General Relationship: Auron/Lulu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smut in the gloomy, heavy-handed, full-o-woes sense that I write smut.
A/N: Certain sects of Buddhist monks (the erm...celibate ones) would fight off temptation with the imagery described here. For aulu, especially dedicated to saharasnow, who thinks I should write more smut. Happy Saint "Beheaded" Valentine's day and all that jazz.
Ligaments
You're a strong one. You'd be a prince among us.
All of his scars are stinging brilliantly, like a thread has been pulled taut through each ridge of dead white flesh and memory. As he has always done and always will do, he fights through it. Each whistling swipe and sucking plunge courses through his heart like a narcotic and for a moment, he feels better. Still, it's not getting easier. He struggles.
I was once like you, guardian. I know what you know.
He had never been one to say tender, pretty things, but his usual way to come to her was with a gentleman's caution and an ascetic's restraint. Tonight, he bed her savagely in an open field, backs sliding against the grass, dewy with intimacy and morning time. Perhaps she could not protest, but the important thing is that she did not. She tensed and arced and his serious, hurting face guttered in her flickering and ecstatic vision.
She will grow old and withered, her breasts sucked dry by her sorrow and puckered by her weary days. She will die and her body will feed the earth while her soul is sent away to feed the likes of us. You know the true way of things, monk.
He takes another blow for her, and no-one but her sees how he stumbles slightly as the horns crash against his shoulder. Like other lovers share secrets and fantasies, between them they keep their weaknesses. She admonishes him later, mostly for show. She could have evaded it easily, she says. But she knows why he does it. She cannot help but see the whiteness of his knuckles and the trembling of his sword at the end of a battle. She knows how to read his signs and cannot truly fault him.
Join us. For all the wrongs brought against you and the ones you loved, join us.
First it's the warm, wetness of her tongue strolling against the rough nap of his ungroomed cheek and then it's her plum lips pulling slightly on his left earlobe, sending goose flesh down his body like wildfire in a windstorm. It fills him up, shuddering and breaking, like the skin of water in an overfilled glass. He drums into her solidly, a wild arrhythmia of desire and needing, more than tangible, more than real, more than this. In her, he is the radiant mystic. In her, he drives pyreflies. A bursting beyond life, death, sending or summoning.
Legendary heroes and fiends are not such different creatures. We are made of the same thing. You and I, Auron, we were broken by the same follies.
She quakes and releases. Panting, he pauses to meet her eyes, and clings to them like gravity.
It would be easier.
Still, his substance flutters at the words and threatens the anchor of his spirit. “Lulu, promise me you will know when to kill me.” He kisses her reply away and they lie together in mute repose until they know each other's heartbeats.
Pairing/Character/General Relationship: Auron/Lulu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smut in the gloomy, heavy-handed, full-o-woes sense that I write smut.
A/N: Certain sects of Buddhist monks (the erm...celibate ones) would fight off temptation with the imagery described here. For aulu, especially dedicated to saharasnow, who thinks I should write more smut. Happy Saint "Beheaded" Valentine's day and all that jazz.
Ligaments
You're a strong one. You'd be a prince among us.
All of his scars are stinging brilliantly, like a thread has been pulled taut through each ridge of dead white flesh and memory. As he has always done and always will do, he fights through it. Each whistling swipe and sucking plunge courses through his heart like a narcotic and for a moment, he feels better. Still, it's not getting easier. He struggles.
I was once like you, guardian. I know what you know.
He had never been one to say tender, pretty things, but his usual way to come to her was with a gentleman's caution and an ascetic's restraint. Tonight, he bed her savagely in an open field, backs sliding against the grass, dewy with intimacy and morning time. Perhaps she could not protest, but the important thing is that she did not. She tensed and arced and his serious, hurting face guttered in her flickering and ecstatic vision.
She will grow old and withered, her breasts sucked dry by her sorrow and puckered by her weary days. She will die and her body will feed the earth while her soul is sent away to feed the likes of us. You know the true way of things, monk.
He takes another blow for her, and no-one but her sees how he stumbles slightly as the horns crash against his shoulder. Like other lovers share secrets and fantasies, between them they keep their weaknesses. She admonishes him later, mostly for show. She could have evaded it easily, she says. But she knows why he does it. She cannot help but see the whiteness of his knuckles and the trembling of his sword at the end of a battle. She knows how to read his signs and cannot truly fault him.
Join us. For all the wrongs brought against you and the ones you loved, join us.
First it's the warm, wetness of her tongue strolling against the rough nap of his ungroomed cheek and then it's her plum lips pulling slightly on his left earlobe, sending goose flesh down his body like wildfire in a windstorm. It fills him up, shuddering and breaking, like the skin of water in an overfilled glass. He drums into her solidly, a wild arrhythmia of desire and needing, more than tangible, more than real, more than this. In her, he is the radiant mystic. In her, he drives pyreflies. A bursting beyond life, death, sending or summoning.
Legendary heroes and fiends are not such different creatures. We are made of the same thing. You and I, Auron, we were broken by the same follies.
She quakes and releases. Panting, he pauses to meet her eyes, and clings to them like gravity.
It would be easier.
Still, his substance flutters at the words and threatens the anchor of his spirit. “Lulu, promise me you will know when to kill me.” He kisses her reply away and they lie together in mute repose until they know each other's heartbeats.