Ficlet - Misinterpretations
Title: Misinterpretations.
Author: Kay. Formerly xemoxomegax. Remember that crazay chick?
Rating: R.
Author's Note: Drabble. 223 words.
Disclaimer: Hey, this totally coulda happened! *thump* OW. .. yeah. . .. so. No.
Fair skin was flushed, faint crimson splotches rising to the surface as his circulation electrifies, barely able to reach his frantically beating heart fast enough. Slim chest rises and falls heavily in an attempt to keep up with his choked, panted breaths; writhing in my bed, white sheets sticking to, barely covering, his wet, naked body, fine cotton rough to over-sensitised, over-heated flesh.
He throws his head back as I watch him, baring the smooth tendons in his neck, pulse throbbing, lithe muscles throughout his form visibly tense and strained; his damp hair sticks to his nape and forehead, cheeks blushing, lips glossy and slightly parted, allowing difficult, haggard breaths to pass.
Emerald eyes clench shut, body bowed as he becomes lost within his own mind, head somewhere far above, overwhelmed by the blistering rush of sensation.
He squirms, tossing my head, the heat building mercilessly deep within him, every nerve ending on fire, so close to spontaneous combustion he can feel every inch of his skin tingle, just waiting for that breaking point, that blissful release punctuated with whimpers and moans.
Then his flesh begins to cool and his body begins to calm as he floats peacefully back from his high.
And I can only watch, my own eyes wide, my own breaths shaking.
Nursing a fevered Ville Valo is hecka fun.
Author: Kay. Formerly xemoxomegax. Remember that crazay chick?
Rating: R.
Author's Note: Drabble. 223 words.
Disclaimer: Hey, this totally coulda happened! *thump* OW. .. yeah. . .. so. No.
Fair skin was flushed, faint crimson splotches rising to the surface as his circulation electrifies, barely able to reach his frantically beating heart fast enough. Slim chest rises and falls heavily in an attempt to keep up with his choked, panted breaths; writhing in my bed, white sheets sticking to, barely covering, his wet, naked body, fine cotton rough to over-sensitised, over-heated flesh.
He throws his head back as I watch him, baring the smooth tendons in his neck, pulse throbbing, lithe muscles throughout his form visibly tense and strained; his damp hair sticks to his nape and forehead, cheeks blushing, lips glossy and slightly parted, allowing difficult, haggard breaths to pass.
Emerald eyes clench shut, body bowed as he becomes lost within his own mind, head somewhere far above, overwhelmed by the blistering rush of sensation.
He squirms, tossing my head, the heat building mercilessly deep within him, every nerve ending on fire, so close to spontaneous combustion he can feel every inch of his skin tingle, just waiting for that breaking point, that blissful release punctuated with whimpers and moans.
Then his flesh begins to cool and his body begins to calm as he floats peacefully back from his high.
And I can only watch, my own eyes wide, my own breaths shaking.
Nursing a fevered Ville Valo is hecka fun.