Touch , Challenge #13 -- Gojyo, PG-13
This is my first time posting and I'm fairly nervous. I hope this is done correctly. Please let me know. Concrit is appreciated.
Subject: Touch, Gojyo, PG-13
Title: Being Real
Author: Cheyenne Dancer aka wolfraven
Warnings: Worksafe, mentions of hetsex
Pairing(s): None really, a little Sanzou UST
Notes: Challenge #13, I went over by two minutes. Total time including spell check ran 12 minutes. I'm sorry, I've never participated in timed prompts before.
Gojyo didn't think about it too often or too deep. But he knew that he craved touch. It was how he connected.
He loved the feel of a woman's soft body, the roundness of her hips and the fullness of her breasts. He loved to kiss the corner of their lips and feel their smiles soft and tender against his.
Somehow in the slick heated slide of body against body, he felt most complete... he could lie to himself then, hide in the wonder that was sex and pretend that this moment was everything he needed.
He loved the hardness of men. Sex with men was entirely different than sex with women. With women, he was careful, tender and caring. He always made sure to offer his words, sweet as summer melon, because the women he took to bed were often as battered and fragile as himself.
When he left them, he wanted them to feel better for having succumbed to his touch. He wanted them to feel the wonder and the promise, that maybe not this time, but somewhere there was someone. It was important to him--to them--that his women knew they were worth something to someone-- even for a short time.
Wanting to heal the wounds he could feel in them, because they were still bleeding in him.
He hated the feel of men... hated the harshness, the brutality... but he needed it, needed it like the last drag off his cigarette, like the first drag of his next. Men took without apology.
He craved the rush for completion, hard hands on his face, lips swollen from use, bruises on his hips, the initial thrust of connection that permeated with pain. He liked to feel the bruises left behind. He liked to feel the pain, sharp spasm like an echo of the beat of his heart.
Sometimes, the touch of pain let him know he was real.
Hidden behind a cloud of smoke, gaze hidden by lowered lashes, he followed Sanzou with his eyes. If he just dared to touch, maybe the pain would go away, even if for a little.
Subject: Touch, Gojyo, PG-13
Title: Being Real
Author: Cheyenne Dancer aka wolfraven
Warnings: Worksafe, mentions of hetsex
Pairing(s): None really, a little Sanzou UST
Notes: Challenge #13, I went over by two minutes. Total time including spell check ran 12 minutes. I'm sorry, I've never participated in timed prompts before.
Gojyo didn't think about it too often or too deep. But he knew that he craved touch. It was how he connected.
He loved the feel of a woman's soft body, the roundness of her hips and the fullness of her breasts. He loved to kiss the corner of their lips and feel their smiles soft and tender against his.
Somehow in the slick heated slide of body against body, he felt most complete... he could lie to himself then, hide in the wonder that was sex and pretend that this moment was everything he needed.
He loved the hardness of men. Sex with men was entirely different than sex with women. With women, he was careful, tender and caring. He always made sure to offer his words, sweet as summer melon, because the women he took to bed were often as battered and fragile as himself.
When he left them, he wanted them to feel better for having succumbed to his touch. He wanted them to feel the wonder and the promise, that maybe not this time, but somewhere there was someone. It was important to him--to them--that his women knew they were worth something to someone-- even for a short time.
Wanting to heal the wounds he could feel in them, because they were still bleeding in him.
He hated the feel of men... hated the harshness, the brutality... but he needed it, needed it like the last drag off his cigarette, like the first drag of his next. Men took without apology.
He craved the rush for completion, hard hands on his face, lips swollen from use, bruises on his hips, the initial thrust of connection that permeated with pain. He liked to feel the bruises left behind. He liked to feel the pain, sharp spasm like an echo of the beat of his heart.
Sometimes, the touch of pain let him know he was real.
Hidden behind a cloud of smoke, gaze hidden by lowered lashes, he followed Sanzou with his eyes. If he just dared to touch, maybe the pain would go away, even if for a little.