(no subject)
---==---==---==---
The sinful whisper of skin on skin, secret language of the night, is sometimes the only way we communicate anymore. You've lost the passion, brother, the fire, and I watch you drift away. My words mean nothing to you, our dreams, our purpose. We've been the same through eons, too many languages to count were shared between us. Now this is all we have left. This - my hand on your skin after *she* washed it. Your lips on mine... and her scent in your hair. In this you still have passion. In this, my fire doesn't scare you away.
[100 Kronos]
Inspiring fridgeporn:
sinful whisper
of skin on skin
language of the night
---==---==---==---
It used to be playful laughter. Methos remembers it, bright and delighted, like a warm summer day in a green meadow. Or sometimes, like the glimmer of metal in the darkness, something whispers to him. It turned colder with the years. Harsher. Delighted turned to exhilarated, intense, and what used to bring happiness to his heart now injects fear, heavy and dangerous, into his veins. He thinks about all that, watching Kronos' smile as he slides sputtering and coughing down the side of the car, knife embedded deep in his chest.
He thinks of it again sobbing over Silas' body.
[100 Methos]
Inspired by the line: Playful laughter that escalates into maniacal laughter that transitions into coughing that degenerates into sobbing. From here.
---==---==---==---
The sinful whisper of skin on skin, secret language of the night, is sometimes the only way we communicate anymore. You've lost the passion, brother, the fire, and I watch you drift away. My words mean nothing to you, our dreams, our purpose. We've been the same through eons, too many languages to count were shared between us. Now this is all we have left. This - my hand on your skin after *she* washed it. Your lips on mine... and her scent in your hair. In this you still have passion. In this, my fire doesn't scare you away.
[100 Kronos]
Inspiring fridgeporn:
sinful whisper
of skin on skin
language of the night
---==---==---==---
It used to be playful laughter. Methos remembers it, bright and delighted, like a warm summer day in a green meadow. Or sometimes, like the glimmer of metal in the darkness, something whispers to him. It turned colder with the years. Harsher. Delighted turned to exhilarated, intense, and what used to bring happiness to his heart now injects fear, heavy and dangerous, into his veins. He thinks about all that, watching Kronos' smile as he slides sputtering and coughing down the side of the car, knife embedded deep in his chest.
He thinks of it again sobbing over Silas' body.
[100 Methos]
Inspired by the line: Playful laughter that escalates into maniacal laughter that transitions into coughing that degenerates into sobbing. From here.
---==---==---==---