DRABBLE (622 words): Un Matin
Written last Sunday at a café. It has no context whatsoever. Saint-Just deserves it. End of story.
Title: Un Matin
Words: 622 words
Rated: R
Not beta'ed.
A/N: I really abuse of this whole “smell” topos of the historical novels trying to portray the 18thc. realistically. It fails a lot and is not original. Apart that I use it in a totally opposite way than said topos usually does. La.
He disturbed the older man in the middle of his morning toilette: it wasn’t a spontaneous moment of passion; it was entirely intended.
He wanted to feel him fresh against him, the man’s cheeks cooled with the water; he wanted to smell the powder on his body, the dried armpits under this new shirt, still smelling like the courtyard of the Duplays’; he wanted to dig his fingers into the wavy hair, not yet powdered, still free of this so very proper wig. Antoine wasn’t as neat as his friend yet, having waited for him to be done first as he always wished, but it took too long and he couldn’t wait: his urges couldn’t wait.
He was still soiled with the night’s activities, by the dried sweat on his body and in his hair; his cheeks weren’t shaved yet, but Maximilien’s neither, and their contact was bristly, but it would be a lot more for the other man when Antoine would reach his neck to kiss it very, very closely. The man moaned. The younger grinned against the skin and took a small bite.
His fingers slid down from the man’s shoulders to the chest, maddeningly tormenting the nipples and making them desperately hard under the shirt. His tongue proceeded to do the exact opposite, drawing the contours of the neck up and down from the tip only, barely touching. The man was trembling, his legs weak, and he held himself only by gripping at the edge of the table behind him.
Antoine could feel all the suppressed moans dying in the man’s throat; he sensed the shivers, the contractions of the Adam’s apple. His lips closed themselves on the sensitive skin, nipping and suckling, and his hands let go of the chest: one settled on the small of the back, the other climbed up to twine in the hair. He opened his eyes, seeing the blur of close skin, then looking up he saw the mirror behind Maximilien and he could see himself; he could see himself stopping to kiss the neck to lick it again, licking it sensuously down to the shoulder he partially bared; he could see his friend trembling as much as he had felt him under his fingertips; he could see his own hand moving from the back to the front, where he knew the hand was sliding under the edge of the shirt, feeling the hair rise on the thigh and reaching for the painful erection.
He continued looking at himself impassively in the mirror, seemingly thoughtful and yet not thinking about anything. His cheek was resting against Maximilien’s and he felt the quick gasps in his ear; he felt a tongue reaching for it, lips suckling the lobe; he saw himself flushing, unable to resist this feeling he could never get weary of.
Suddenly, one of Maximilien’s arms braced itself against Antoine’s shoulders; his other hand reached up to younger man’s cheek, meeting each other’s eyes. Maximilien was smiling dreamily, hazily, and his eyes were half-opened, now looking into Antoine’s eyes. Antoine smiled. They kissed, tasting each other’s lips very softly.
Maximilien’s fingers ran down Antoine’s body, pulling up his shirt and pulling up his own, grinding their crotches together by grasping the younger man’s buttocks. Antoine caressed their erections together, soon joined by one of Maximilien’s hands, uniting closely and completely, moving in one movement; and Antoine’s fingers tightened at the root of Maximilien’s hair; and Maximilien’s fingers kneaded at Antoine’s left buttock...
When their passions finally triumphed over them, when they embraced each other tightly, feeling the slick warmth between them, when they kissed their lips and cheeks confusedly, they knew that the morning toilette would need to be started all over.
Title: Un Matin
Words: 622 words
Rated: R
Not beta'ed.
A/N: I really abuse of this whole “smell” topos of the historical novels trying to portray the 18thc. realistically. It fails a lot and is not original. Apart that I use it in a totally opposite way than said topos usually does. La.
He disturbed the older man in the middle of his morning toilette: it wasn’t a spontaneous moment of passion; it was entirely intended.
He wanted to feel him fresh against him, the man’s cheeks cooled with the water; he wanted to smell the powder on his body, the dried armpits under this new shirt, still smelling like the courtyard of the Duplays’; he wanted to dig his fingers into the wavy hair, not yet powdered, still free of this so very proper wig. Antoine wasn’t as neat as his friend yet, having waited for him to be done first as he always wished, but it took too long and he couldn’t wait: his urges couldn’t wait.
He was still soiled with the night’s activities, by the dried sweat on his body and in his hair; his cheeks weren’t shaved yet, but Maximilien’s neither, and their contact was bristly, but it would be a lot more for the other man when Antoine would reach his neck to kiss it very, very closely. The man moaned. The younger grinned against the skin and took a small bite.
His fingers slid down from the man’s shoulders to the chest, maddeningly tormenting the nipples and making them desperately hard under the shirt. His tongue proceeded to do the exact opposite, drawing the contours of the neck up and down from the tip only, barely touching. The man was trembling, his legs weak, and he held himself only by gripping at the edge of the table behind him.
Antoine could feel all the suppressed moans dying in the man’s throat; he sensed the shivers, the contractions of the Adam’s apple. His lips closed themselves on the sensitive skin, nipping and suckling, and his hands let go of the chest: one settled on the small of the back, the other climbed up to twine in the hair. He opened his eyes, seeing the blur of close skin, then looking up he saw the mirror behind Maximilien and he could see himself; he could see himself stopping to kiss the neck to lick it again, licking it sensuously down to the shoulder he partially bared; he could see his friend trembling as much as he had felt him under his fingertips; he could see his own hand moving from the back to the front, where he knew the hand was sliding under the edge of the shirt, feeling the hair rise on the thigh and reaching for the painful erection.
He continued looking at himself impassively in the mirror, seemingly thoughtful and yet not thinking about anything. His cheek was resting against Maximilien’s and he felt the quick gasps in his ear; he felt a tongue reaching for it, lips suckling the lobe; he saw himself flushing, unable to resist this feeling he could never get weary of.
Suddenly, one of Maximilien’s arms braced itself against Antoine’s shoulders; his other hand reached up to younger man’s cheek, meeting each other’s eyes. Maximilien was smiling dreamily, hazily, and his eyes were half-opened, now looking into Antoine’s eyes. Antoine smiled. They kissed, tasting each other’s lips very softly.
Maximilien’s fingers ran down Antoine’s body, pulling up his shirt and pulling up his own, grinding their crotches together by grasping the younger man’s buttocks. Antoine caressed their erections together, soon joined by one of Maximilien’s hands, uniting closely and completely, moving in one movement; and Antoine’s fingers tightened at the root of Maximilien’s hair; and Maximilien’s fingers kneaded at Antoine’s left buttock...
When their passions finally triumphed over them, when they embraced each other tightly, feeling the slick warmth between them, when they kissed their lips and cheeks confusedly, they knew that the morning toilette would need to be started all over.