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Sunday 6 April 2008
Feather Lust- adronicus
Title: Feather Lust
Author: adronicus
Prompt:#91 Birthday
Word Count: 908
Rating: Hard R (mayhaps even nc-17 but I doubt it)
Summary: A very special birthday present from Nino to Ohno.
Author's Notes: Ok…so this is what turned out from
lady_gemma’s request…I think it has very many problems…and really, really didn’t want to post it… but since she insisted here it is. Yes, I realize that maybe the ‘PoSO’ is rather….well…not understandable...so we’ll see if someone will get it…if anyone gets through the fic without clawing their eyes out that is…So…go ahead and try wading through this crap…
On this one day of the year this deep-set ache in my chest really should not exist.
The presents were equal parts amusing, precious and questionable.
I know that my smiles could be less fake, my bows more thankful but that part is buried in the sea of hurt.
Because, because, Nino sits on the other side of the room and because his present is just an impersonal card –empty – and because it is like he is an island onto himself and I am uninvited to that paradise.
Its cold, and the thoughts are dizzy and loud and splitting themselves in a hundred different directions and its getting hard to catch them and pay attention to what is out there where there are smiling faces and brotherly touches and garrulous, happy voices.
Time somehow gets away again and in the next blink of an eye - carefully slow and free of the moisture that is cracking and bruising against its dam, trying violently to get out – I am backed against the door of my own apartment and Nino is right there all warmth and quiet murmurs and closeness.
All is mostly silence and white noise and my mouth is open but nothing can make it past the mass of _something_ and my eyes skitter away from his figure uncertainly and the storm inside picks up again and there is nothing but shrieking, ripping wind and vague, lingering heat and gripping, taunting uncertainty.
He calls my name, quietly and insistently and I’m trained to follow the call, my mind snapping to focus on nothing but the syllables of the name coiling through the air.
Looking up now.
Eyes that were somehow closed.
Focus.
And there is something in his figure, something strongly alien to a body that should be known perfectly, instantly, constantly. The posture is slumped and awkward and somehow fluidly-jittery. And his face is set in apprehension and a forced blankness and contours are stark and oppressing and he looks at me and turns away.
My heart stopped and there is a pain in my knees and the floor is stable only in its detached coldness.
Don’t leave Don’t go I’m sorry I need you Come back I’ll take anything I can I’m sorry Don’t walk away Don’t Don’t Don’t Sorry Please No
And its all so confusing and he isn’t walking away.
There is metal snick of his belt coming loose and he is puling down his slacks and
Why?
He looks at me over his shoulder and there is something in his eyes which I should be understanding and its so frustrating that I can’t seem to grasp something that should be so familiar.
His eyes flicker downwards and my eyes follow slowly, frightened and drawn and there just below the line of the lowest jeans, where no light of the camera can touch it there is something new, something different and starkly colorful.
It’s a tattoo, the letters read “SK” and in smaller script “PoSO” and underlying it all two feathers - red and blue – delicate and intertwined and wholly beautiful.
From one second to the next I am close where I was so, so far before and my fingers trace the words and the texture is too subtle and curious and so there is a need.
A need.
I touch the soft skin with my tongue, outlining the feathers, feeling the lines, marking them, authenticating.
He moans, soft and gossamer but solid and real and there and suddenly its like we are on the same plane again and I can read him again and his gaze is understandably mischievous and apologetic and his body is heated and wanting and taut with unwarranted apprehension.
My tongue is still tracing, possessive and wanting, and my senses are drowning in his smell and his skill and his heat.
He is trembling, soft mewls and ragged gasps.
Mouths touch and there is the slickness, wetness, dark chocolate and bitter mint and something that I’d like to think is the essence of violets and the cream of daffodils. Freshness and cold, crisp winter nights and something that is just indescribably and solitarily Nino.
The softness of the bed is surprising, but the pulsing length of him is familiar between my lips and the taste of him is like coming home and if my heart could sing.
He keens as I enter him, and his hands are scrabbling at my back almost painfully, his legs tight around me, and trembling and his eyes are stained momentary by pain.
I halt, panting, needing, wanting and his smile is like heaven and there is movement.
My thoughts are silent and there is nothing but his sweet noises and this isn’t going to last.
White starburst and black oceans and his frayed screams.
Silence.
Warmth.
Comfort.
Safety.
Love.
Contentment.
My hand finds its way to the new addition of color on his body. The visual representation of all that we have, all that we will always have.
He murmurs and burrows closer kittenishly and grumbles petulantly about the pain of the procedure and how I should be thankful and grateful and indebted to him.
I can do nothing but laugh softly and whisper thankyous and praises and promises in his ears and run my hands through his hair and over the water-blue and fire-red of the tattoo and all of a sudden this birthday is maybe the best ever had.
Author: adronicus
Prompt:#91 Birthday
Word Count: 908
Rating: Hard R (mayhaps even nc-17 but I doubt it)
Summary: A very special birthday present from Nino to Ohno.
Author's Notes: Ok…so this is what turned out from
lady_gemma’s request…I think it has very many problems…and really, really didn’t want to post it… but since she insisted here it is. Yes, I realize that maybe the ‘PoSO’ is rather….well…not understandable...so we’ll see if someone will get it…if anyone gets through the fic without clawing their eyes out that is…So…go ahead and try wading through this crap…On this one day of the year this deep-set ache in my chest really should not exist.
The presents were equal parts amusing, precious and questionable.
I know that my smiles could be less fake, my bows more thankful but that part is buried in the sea of hurt.
Because, because, Nino sits on the other side of the room and because his present is just an impersonal card –empty – and because it is like he is an island onto himself and I am uninvited to that paradise.
Its cold, and the thoughts are dizzy and loud and splitting themselves in a hundred different directions and its getting hard to catch them and pay attention to what is out there where there are smiling faces and brotherly touches and garrulous, happy voices.
Time somehow gets away again and in the next blink of an eye - carefully slow and free of the moisture that is cracking and bruising against its dam, trying violently to get out – I am backed against the door of my own apartment and Nino is right there all warmth and quiet murmurs and closeness.
All is mostly silence and white noise and my mouth is open but nothing can make it past the mass of _something_ and my eyes skitter away from his figure uncertainly and the storm inside picks up again and there is nothing but shrieking, ripping wind and vague, lingering heat and gripping, taunting uncertainty.
He calls my name, quietly and insistently and I’m trained to follow the call, my mind snapping to focus on nothing but the syllables of the name coiling through the air.
Looking up now.
Eyes that were somehow closed.
Focus.
And there is something in his figure, something strongly alien to a body that should be known perfectly, instantly, constantly. The posture is slumped and awkward and somehow fluidly-jittery. And his face is set in apprehension and a forced blankness and contours are stark and oppressing and he looks at me and turns away.
My heart stopped and there is a pain in my knees and the floor is stable only in its detached coldness.
Don’t leave Don’t go I’m sorry I need you Come back I’ll take anything I can I’m sorry Don’t walk away Don’t Don’t Don’t Sorry Please No
And its all so confusing and he isn’t walking away.
There is metal snick of his belt coming loose and he is puling down his slacks and
Why?
He looks at me over his shoulder and there is something in his eyes which I should be understanding and its so frustrating that I can’t seem to grasp something that should be so familiar.
His eyes flicker downwards and my eyes follow slowly, frightened and drawn and there just below the line of the lowest jeans, where no light of the camera can touch it there is something new, something different and starkly colorful.
It’s a tattoo, the letters read “SK” and in smaller script “PoSO” and underlying it all two feathers - red and blue – delicate and intertwined and wholly beautiful.
From one second to the next I am close where I was so, so far before and my fingers trace the words and the texture is too subtle and curious and so there is a need.
A need.
I touch the soft skin with my tongue, outlining the feathers, feeling the lines, marking them, authenticating.
He moans, soft and gossamer but solid and real and there and suddenly its like we are on the same plane again and I can read him again and his gaze is understandably mischievous and apologetic and his body is heated and wanting and taut with unwarranted apprehension.
My tongue is still tracing, possessive and wanting, and my senses are drowning in his smell and his skill and his heat.
He is trembling, soft mewls and ragged gasps.
Mouths touch and there is the slickness, wetness, dark chocolate and bitter mint and something that I’d like to think is the essence of violets and the cream of daffodils. Freshness and cold, crisp winter nights and something that is just indescribably and solitarily Nino.
The softness of the bed is surprising, but the pulsing length of him is familiar between my lips and the taste of him is like coming home and if my heart could sing.
He keens as I enter him, and his hands are scrabbling at my back almost painfully, his legs tight around me, and trembling and his eyes are stained momentary by pain.
I halt, panting, needing, wanting and his smile is like heaven and there is movement.
My thoughts are silent and there is nothing but his sweet noises and this isn’t going to last.
White starburst and black oceans and his frayed screams.
Silence.
Warmth.
Comfort.
Safety.
Love.
Contentment.
My hand finds its way to the new addition of color on his body. The visual representation of all that we have, all that we will always have.
He murmurs and burrows closer kittenishly and grumbles petulantly about the pain of the procedure and how I should be thankful and grateful and indebted to him.
I can do nothing but laugh softly and whisper thankyous and praises and promises in his ears and run my hands through his hair and over the water-blue and fire-red of the tattoo and all of a sudden this birthday is maybe the best ever had.
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