Sink Whole (Aoi/Uruha, oneshot)
Title: Sink Whole
Author: sciencesaves
Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult situations, manxman sex, implied infidelity
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha (Aoi/???)
Summary: And you all limbs, linear sketch of unstrung tendons, a splayed scene on concrete, “Did you kiss him?” Obscene.
“The man in ecstasy and the man drowning-both throw up their arms” ~Franz Kafka
“Don’t stop.”
Monstrosity.
Saccharine sinew smeared against skin.
Your back rides up against the door with a thump and you groan against my mouth at the familiar click of canines and spinal column crunch.
Fingers slip under my chin and (not-so-gently) tilt my head back, forcing me to look at you, all unswept hair and aching moans.
“Don’t. Stop.”
Devour me.
“A fucking bassist,” you hiss, your lips a heated dissonance. Knee between my droning thighs, an arc spits from your stretching spine when I bite down hard.
Hard so your shorn hair can’t hide the bruise.
Hard because I am also a monster. Open mouth, cold sparks, full set of sharpened teeth, bared.
And you all limbs, linear sketch of unstrung tendons, a splayed scene on concrete, “Did you kiss him?” Obscene.
“No.”
“Fuck you.” You laugh, eyes closed in an act of surrender. And I know you’re thinking you know just how this will end,
letting your head fall back against the door and your hips press forward in the usual irresistible smash of sex, smoke and sibilance. “Fuck me.”
Remorseless.
Because you know that
and I know that
this isn’t the first time I’ve prayed to you on my knees
this is a god damned ritual.
I thought, it must be a Sunday.
Here, you are more than the sin your skin suggests, delicate and bare-boned.
Through the window (where the neighbors once saw us dancing), I watch the morning fog lift off the city.
Buildings appear suddenly, like coastal landforms above a wave we can see.
Apartments and offices stacked for miles and miles like incongruous memories.
“Are you asleep?”
Semi-conscious on the mattress, hair clinging desperately to your face,
neck and chest a mess of yellowing bruises.
I count the rhythm in your throat-- palpable like the slip of time,
like the slip of fingertips along rippled ribs
quiet and cool like grave rubbings.
“How could I be?”
Here, the silence between your sighs is the sound of another, darker, place,
your lips, apocryphal scriptures that read in asemic writing, “there will be a tragedy.”
Here, among this fragile song of dust and sunlight,
where the sun scolds your curving spine,
Let me canonize you.
while you are still completely obliterated and naked beneath a hopelessly inadequate shirt.
You share the same eyes.
But… there is a black hole in the center of yours
that eats the light.
like it never existed.
Black whole, sink whole, effervescent sway--
you sit on the edge of the tub, cigarette dripping lifelessly from nymph-like lips.
“Hey.” Smoke weaves a cemetery trail from between your teeth when you open them to breathe carefully into my mouth. And when you lower your lips to my collarbone, uncertainties slip through with the smoke, “I’m sorry.”
Each word is a rib-snapping salvo
murmured to ashes.
Each breath like shattered glass.
Pulling my head back, I sink below the surface
I want to be the sea-side.
From here, floating motionless just below the lip, I can’t decipher the difference between screaming your name and silence, I can’t even remember to breathe in.
“Is it still warm?” You murmur softly, cigarette down to the filter.
I know what you’re asking. It’s the same thing you always do, it’s the needing to climb into a cold body of water.
I shake my head and you tumble to the top, where you can breathe my bones. Feel them, every one of them, like nasty needles, against hungry hands.
We twine thin legs and ignore the bruises on our bouyed knees.
And you, foolish flotsam,
you have no idea
just how alike you are
except you’re going under
and he’s coming up for air.
***
( Archive)
Author: sciencesaves
Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst
Rating: R
Warnings: Adult situations, manxman sex, implied infidelity
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha (Aoi/???)
Summary: And you all limbs, linear sketch of unstrung tendons, a splayed scene on concrete, “Did you kiss him?” Obscene.
“The man in ecstasy and the man drowning-both throw up their arms” ~Franz Kafka
“Don’t stop.”
Monstrosity.
Saccharine sinew smeared against skin.
Your back rides up against the door with a thump and you groan against my mouth at the familiar click of canines and spinal column crunch.
Fingers slip under my chin and (not-so-gently) tilt my head back, forcing me to look at you, all unswept hair and aching moans.
“Don’t. Stop.”
Devour me.
“A fucking bassist,” you hiss, your lips a heated dissonance. Knee between my droning thighs, an arc spits from your stretching spine when I bite down hard.
Hard so your shorn hair can’t hide the bruise.
Hard because I am also a monster. Open mouth, cold sparks, full set of sharpened teeth, bared.
And you all limbs, linear sketch of unstrung tendons, a splayed scene on concrete, “Did you kiss him?” Obscene.
“No.”
“Fuck you.” You laugh, eyes closed in an act of surrender. And I know you’re thinking you know just how this will end,
letting your head fall back against the door and your hips press forward in the usual irresistible smash of sex, smoke and sibilance. “Fuck me.”
Remorseless.
Because you know that
and I know that
this isn’t the first time I’ve prayed to you on my knees
this is a god damned ritual.
I thought, it must be a Sunday.
Here, you are more than the sin your skin suggests, delicate and bare-boned.
Through the window (where the neighbors once saw us dancing), I watch the morning fog lift off the city.
Buildings appear suddenly, like coastal landforms above a wave we can see.
Apartments and offices stacked for miles and miles like incongruous memories.
“Are you asleep?”
Semi-conscious on the mattress, hair clinging desperately to your face,
neck and chest a mess of yellowing bruises.
I count the rhythm in your throat-- palpable like the slip of time,
like the slip of fingertips along rippled ribs
quiet and cool like grave rubbings.
“How could I be?”
Here, the silence between your sighs is the sound of another, darker, place,
your lips, apocryphal scriptures that read in asemic writing, “there will be a tragedy.”
Here, among this fragile song of dust and sunlight,
where the sun scolds your curving spine,
Let me canonize you.
while you are still completely obliterated and naked beneath a hopelessly inadequate shirt.
You share the same eyes.
But… there is a black hole in the center of yours
that eats the light.
like it never existed.
Black whole, sink whole, effervescent sway--
you sit on the edge of the tub, cigarette dripping lifelessly from nymph-like lips.
“Hey.” Smoke weaves a cemetery trail from between your teeth when you open them to breathe carefully into my mouth. And when you lower your lips to my collarbone, uncertainties slip through with the smoke, “I’m sorry.”
Each word is a rib-snapping salvo
murmured to ashes.
Each breath like shattered glass.
Pulling my head back, I sink below the surface
I want to be the sea-side.
From here, floating motionless just below the lip, I can’t decipher the difference between screaming your name and silence, I can’t even remember to breathe in.
“Is it still warm?” You murmur softly, cigarette down to the filter.
I know what you’re asking. It’s the same thing you always do, it’s the needing to climb into a cold body of water.
I shake my head and you tumble to the top, where you can breathe my bones. Feel them, every one of them, like nasty needles, against hungry hands.
We twine thin legs and ignore the bruises on our bouyed knees.
And you, foolish flotsam,
you have no idea
just how alike you are
except you’re going under
and he’s coming up for air.
***
( Archive)