iverin
in
zekkouchou
Untitled--PoT, Atobe
Title: Untitled poem
Series: Prince of Tennis
Characters: random fan, Atobe Keigo
Notes: I don't own PoT, but this time I'm referencing indirectly, aren't I? Originally written as a "fandom" contribution for busty_neko at bnf_brawl. Posted here for archival purposes.
You blink.
Your bright eyes move slowly over the slight curves of impossibly powerful muscles.
Your breath catches in your chest as he moves.
One hand reaches out, desperate to touch what you can never have.
Your heart seems to stop, missing that crucial beat.
You die another small death.
You are revived by the movement of his hips, his arms, his legs.
Perhaps, you think, if you grovel.
If you worship.
If you give him everything.
His head will turn.
His eyes will gaze on you.
The tables will be turned.
You can own him.
====
You own them.
Everything is in your hands.
Your eyes see everything and nothing.
Your gaze is fixed firmly on the future.
You have everything.
You are their god.
Perhaps, if they grovel, you will look.
Every movement of your body is a sacred dance.
They would die for you, willingly, needlessly.
But your heart is not yours to give.
You reach for the one think that no human can attain.
With all of your being, you strive onward.
Only one thing can satisfy you, and it has no characteristics of a human being.
It is perfection.
Series: Prince of Tennis
Characters: random fan, Atobe Keigo
Notes: I don't own PoT, but this time I'm referencing indirectly, aren't I? Originally written as a "fandom" contribution for busty_neko at bnf_brawl. Posted here for archival purposes.
You blink.
Your bright eyes move slowly over the slight curves of impossibly powerful muscles.
Your breath catches in your chest as he moves.
One hand reaches out, desperate to touch what you can never have.
Your heart seems to stop, missing that crucial beat.
You die another small death.
You are revived by the movement of his hips, his arms, his legs.
Perhaps, you think, if you grovel.
If you worship.
If you give him everything.
His head will turn.
His eyes will gaze on you.
The tables will be turned.
You can own him.
====
You own them.
Everything is in your hands.
Your eyes see everything and nothing.
Your gaze is fixed firmly on the future.
You have everything.
You are their god.
Perhaps, if they grovel, you will look.
Every movement of your body is a sacred dance.
They would die for you, willingly, needlessly.
But your heart is not yours to give.
You reach for the one think that no human can attain.
With all of your being, you strive onward.
Only one thing can satisfy you, and it has no characteristics of a human being.
It is perfection.