(no subject)
Title: Imperfections.
Pairing: M Shadows / Kozi.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Matt worships Kozi by destroying him. First person.
Genre: Fluffy smutty drabble.
Dedications: Kirsteehhh.
I love watching such perfection destroyed. And the one thing that makes it so much better is knowing how entirely mutual such feelings are.
You are always the picture of such entirely groomed perfection. Hair curled and coloured with flashes of whatever shade has become your preference, skin so unnaturally pale it can't help but be the most beautiful thing my eyes have fallen upon, blemishes refusing to be in any form of mild existance, the only markings being those you have made yourself - or some skilled hand has made for you.
Sweeping black and grey only succeeding in highlighting those eyes, eyes so bright with such deliciously wicked intentions. Oh your words may be beautiful but it's your eyes that tell the tale, my love, full of enough promises to have my mouth watering and my cock twitching at just the merest glance.
Long lashes and painted lips, dark colour accentuating that cupid's bow of a mouth so sweet yet so filthy.
What would your make-up artist say if she knew exactly where that mouth had been, lover? If she knew exactly what pleasure it brought me when my back was to the wall of that alleyway, my hand in those stiff, sprayed locks as lacquered nails scratched at my thighs?
I still have those marks.
Deep welts in tan skin.
Staining perfection.
Because in the end that is all it wells down to - staining perfection. Destroying and breaking at something so immortal, scratching and ripping at something so beautiful it makes my heart want to claw its way out of my chest for a better look.
That's why I love laying here and watching you. A strange sight, in all honesty - a petite man of surreal features and nature sprawled out across a motel bed filthy in its stereotypical nature.
The sheets beneath glimmering skin, almost transluscent in your refusal to spy the sun, are soaked in our shared sweat, come and blood (you tended to get feisty with those sharp nails and deadly rings, and I was no angel with my own pointed canines), tainted with the essence of hours of furious activity.
Your stamina is another of your perfections, and the one I like to wear down the most.
Traces of your casual daily make-up are smeared across your face, the pillows, and traces of it are even tingling across my lips from messy kisses.
Because for a man so shockingly perfect you lose it so easily, don't you? For a creature that looks so purely prim in all his made-up glory you can rip clothes, send buttons flying and lick up trails of crimson like the best of them.
So many glorious contradictions, so many glorious man-made imperfections... things I have inflicted upon you.
Bruises on hips, blood on neck and thighs, scratches down ribs and heaving chest, nipples ruby with the abuse of fingers and mouth, lips even darker from tearing kisses and lingering tongues, though a cigarette is still placed so delicately between them; hair a mess and polish chipped, those eyes still sparkling as they survey the damage their own form has made.
My body is of equal mess, though scratches and bruises and rips and tears aren't quite as visible amidst the inked designs, my exhaustion and satisfcation evident in the way I lay slumped, arms folded behind my head, still attempting to catch the breaths that had been panted against your shoulderblade just moments before.
"I like marking you."
The first (coherant) words uttered in that purr of a voice since we entered the room that weren't screams or pleads, and I know you're telling the truth by the way dark ash falls to my abdomen, the orange glow of embers dying against my skin, strong muscles twitching at the sparks of pain.
But I don't mind.
For the imperfections we inflict upon each-other are the most perfect things of all.
Pairing: M Shadows / Kozi.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Matt worships Kozi by destroying him. First person.
Genre: Fluffy smutty drabble.
Dedications: Kirsteehhh.
I love watching such perfection destroyed. And the one thing that makes it so much better is knowing how entirely mutual such feelings are.
You are always the picture of such entirely groomed perfection. Hair curled and coloured with flashes of whatever shade has become your preference, skin so unnaturally pale it can't help but be the most beautiful thing my eyes have fallen upon, blemishes refusing to be in any form of mild existance, the only markings being those you have made yourself - or some skilled hand has made for you.
Sweeping black and grey only succeeding in highlighting those eyes, eyes so bright with such deliciously wicked intentions. Oh your words may be beautiful but it's your eyes that tell the tale, my love, full of enough promises to have my mouth watering and my cock twitching at just the merest glance.
Long lashes and painted lips, dark colour accentuating that cupid's bow of a mouth so sweet yet so filthy.
What would your make-up artist say if she knew exactly where that mouth had been, lover? If she knew exactly what pleasure it brought me when my back was to the wall of that alleyway, my hand in those stiff, sprayed locks as lacquered nails scratched at my thighs?
I still have those marks.
Deep welts in tan skin.
Staining perfection.
Because in the end that is all it wells down to - staining perfection. Destroying and breaking at something so immortal, scratching and ripping at something so beautiful it makes my heart want to claw its way out of my chest for a better look.
That's why I love laying here and watching you. A strange sight, in all honesty - a petite man of surreal features and nature sprawled out across a motel bed filthy in its stereotypical nature.
The sheets beneath glimmering skin, almost transluscent in your refusal to spy the sun, are soaked in our shared sweat, come and blood (you tended to get feisty with those sharp nails and deadly rings, and I was no angel with my own pointed canines), tainted with the essence of hours of furious activity.
Your stamina is another of your perfections, and the one I like to wear down the most.
Traces of your casual daily make-up are smeared across your face, the pillows, and traces of it are even tingling across my lips from messy kisses.
Because for a man so shockingly perfect you lose it so easily, don't you? For a creature that looks so purely prim in all his made-up glory you can rip clothes, send buttons flying and lick up trails of crimson like the best of them.
So many glorious contradictions, so many glorious man-made imperfections... things I have inflicted upon you.
Bruises on hips, blood on neck and thighs, scratches down ribs and heaving chest, nipples ruby with the abuse of fingers and mouth, lips even darker from tearing kisses and lingering tongues, though a cigarette is still placed so delicately between them; hair a mess and polish chipped, those eyes still sparkling as they survey the damage their own form has made.
My body is of equal mess, though scratches and bruises and rips and tears aren't quite as visible amidst the inked designs, my exhaustion and satisfcation evident in the way I lay slumped, arms folded behind my head, still attempting to catch the breaths that had been panted against your shoulderblade just moments before.
"I like marking you."
The first (coherant) words uttered in that purr of a voice since we entered the room that weren't screams or pleads, and I know you're telling the truth by the way dark ash falls to my abdomen, the orange glow of embers dying against my skin, strong muscles twitching at the sparks of pain.
But I don't mind.
For the imperfections we inflict upon each-other are the most perfect things of all.