[DV] [Writing Sample]
It had been a while since he felt this.
Water rained down from the showerhead, covering Genesis, turning bright coppery red hair dark with dampness. For the longest time, he had kept himself within that seal deep underground. There, water was always still and stale. It was always quiet: a state close to death.
He took a deep breath as he let the water trickle down the length of his body: rivulets streaming down his shoulders to his arms, splitting into smaller streams to curl a little around a few fingers before escaping by the fingertips. Water ran down his chest in veins, curling over lean, well-toned muscles. It was practically meditation, feeling the water around him that way. But he couldn’t afford to take his time so leisurely. He knew someone was going to come soon. He had to be clean.
He ran a palmful of shampoo through his hair, fingertips gently massaging through his scalp, thoroughly getting the foam to every root of hair on his head. Then, he rinsed it off with the same thoroughness. It would be a disservice to his own self if his hair wasn’t kept well. And then, the soap-rubbing down his body with it, he quietly went over each part of himself with care, as if getting reacquainted with them. But, indeed, it had been a while. Goddess knows his body must have turned soft after all those years sealed up underground. It was already enough that biologically, his build was slim and couldn’t bulk up as much as Angeal’s could. But to see how the firmness in his muscle had turned soft was making him look a little more feminine than he already was. Silently, he noted that perhaps it would be a good idea to get back into shape. After all, there was only one way to earn a living in this city.
Sex. It was a word so deeply intertwined with the most human of needs. An intimacy… a need for warmth. And yet, it was also twined with death in some way. It was an act so close to the very essence of life itself. The heat of living and the crying release of death.
Death. Facing up to the showerhead, he let the soap run from his body with the water, turning him clean. His thoughts wrapped names that etched deeply into his soul with guilt. Nothing could possibly wash it off from him. The closest he could do, perhaps, was to cover it up with layers and layers of this sin and pleasure that Loki’s world was offering him.
His tongue ran over parched lips.
He could lose himself in this hell of pleasure. It wouldn’t be hard to live with reckless abandon here, to lose himself in other men’s bodies. He could almost feel it, imaging how another man’s cock would slide into his ass or his mouth. Perhaps he could taste it, too, and even smell it-the sticky scent of musk and cum. He curled his fingers firmly around his shaft, stroking it slowly, the image of his body dirtied up by other men holding fast in his mind. By pressing his back against the tiles of the shower wall, he found a kind of comfortable pleasure in the contrast between the cold ceramic and his own body heat rising as he continued to stroke himself. He shut his eyes and began to imagine.
And pools of memory from the back of his mind would rise to the surface, as if reaching deep into those still, cold waters of his mind, bringing it up from murky depths. He could recall the musky scent of leather upon cold skin. The bitter tang of metal cooling… water condensing upon its surface. And then that scent of mahogany-warm, intimate, unexpected.
And all the while, his vision only held silver. Blinding silver.