FICLET/Drabble Cae's challenge
Jul. 23rd, 2007 08:05 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
crabby-monkey.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
wl_fanfictionTitle: One Perfect Rose
Pairing: Col/???
Rating: R
Word count: 694
In honor of Cae's lovely picture at http://community.livejournal.com/wl_fanfiction/374303.html
Synopsis: From that moment on, for the rest of his life, he would always think of roses…
He really had no business being there, but as he lingered outside, a light came on inside the house. It was in the back – and he thanked the gods that the bedrooms were to the rear of the house. The shadows would offer cover and hide him from any prying eyes.
As he slipped into the backyard, his movements became more furtive. Crouched down, he slunk along below the bushes, his almost cat-like grace leaving no sounds to betray his position. There was no moon – but the light drew him on like the beacon from a lighthouse.
After what seemed like no time and forever, he found himself below the lit window. There were roses climbing up a trellis beside the window, and their thick leaves would hide him from anyone who cared to look out. Dressed all in black, he was just another shadow, a child of the night, invisible.
The light spilling out from the room was soft – a bulb set on its lowest setting. He licked at lips suddenly dry, and tasted the softness of a rose petal.
The man inside the house moved slowly and gracefully, listening to some music that the one outside couldn’t hear. His eyes were lowered, his gaze soft and unfocussed as he brought his hands languidly up. Both hands cradled his skull, caressing … stroking… his elbows drew back, and as his back arched, the watcher licked his lips again. This time, he fancied he could taste the slightest hint of salt on musk.
The man inside let his eyes fall shut as his hands slipped to the buttons on his shirt. His lips parted company as his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, each button was undone… The shirt being opened bit by bit, exposing the pale skin beneath.
The watcher in the shadows bit his own hand to stifle a moan. The other hand dove down… hovered over flesh that was suddenly too warm, too sensitive… He welcomed the pain of a thorn as it pressed into his chest – almost piercing a nipple.
The man inside drew nails down his chest. Little welts, ribbons of palest pink now marred the alabaster skin. There was a gasp as he tugged and pulled on his own nipples, making them as hard as diamonds… as sensitive as a baby’s skin. His hips pulsed, pushing his not-insignificant package forward… back… His pants slipped lower on his hips, baring that dusting of fur leading down from a perfect ‘keyhole’ bellybutton.
There was a hiss – as if the pressure that was building up inside him suddenly found release… Or was he melting? He no longer knew or cared… the only thing that existed, the only thing in his universe, was behind the glass.
There was nothing in his world except sound and sensation. The music wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, his hands were no longer his, but belonged to the one that visited in the darkness of his imagination. Impatiently he tugged down the zipper of his jeans, releasing the beast… the jeans fell to the floor, only to be kicked off and away.
A low purring growl was torn from deep within his chest. His face was buried among the roses – all that existed was the god offering himself to the darkness.
His hands… whose hands? The hands were stroking his flesh found a rhythmic counterpoint to the music. Soft… firm… gently roughened… caressing… pulling the feelings from deep within… His head was thrown back in abandon – as he surrendered himself to the hands…
As the god inside moved, so did the man outside. He drew back further into the shadows, no longer touching himself. It didn’t matter… he felt HIS hands caressing, heard the triumphant shout of release, felt himself cum in response. When the light was finally extinguished, only then did he slip back into the shadows and steal away as silently as he came.
From now on, whenever he thought of this night, he would always smell roses…
Pairing: Col/???
Rating: R
Word count: 694
In honor of Cae's lovely picture at http://community.livejournal.com/wl_fanfiction/374303.html
Synopsis: From that moment on, for the rest of his life, he would always think of roses…
He really had no business being there, but as he lingered outside, a light came on inside the house. It was in the back – and he thanked the gods that the bedrooms were to the rear of the house. The shadows would offer cover and hide him from any prying eyes.
As he slipped into the backyard, his movements became more furtive. Crouched down, he slunk along below the bushes, his almost cat-like grace leaving no sounds to betray his position. There was no moon – but the light drew him on like the beacon from a lighthouse.
After what seemed like no time and forever, he found himself below the lit window. There were roses climbing up a trellis beside the window, and their thick leaves would hide him from anyone who cared to look out. Dressed all in black, he was just another shadow, a child of the night, invisible.
The light spilling out from the room was soft – a bulb set on its lowest setting. He licked at lips suddenly dry, and tasted the softness of a rose petal.
The man inside the house moved slowly and gracefully, listening to some music that the one outside couldn’t hear. His eyes were lowered, his gaze soft and unfocussed as he brought his hands languidly up. Both hands cradled his skull, caressing … stroking… his elbows drew back, and as his back arched, the watcher licked his lips again. This time, he fancied he could taste the slightest hint of salt on musk.
The man inside let his eyes fall shut as his hands slipped to the buttons on his shirt. His lips parted company as his tongue slipped out to moisten his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, each button was undone… The shirt being opened bit by bit, exposing the pale skin beneath.
The watcher in the shadows bit his own hand to stifle a moan. The other hand dove down… hovered over flesh that was suddenly too warm, too sensitive… He welcomed the pain of a thorn as it pressed into his chest – almost piercing a nipple.
The man inside drew nails down his chest. Little welts, ribbons of palest pink now marred the alabaster skin. There was a gasp as he tugged and pulled on his own nipples, making them as hard as diamonds… as sensitive as a baby’s skin. His hips pulsed, pushing his not-insignificant package forward… back… His pants slipped lower on his hips, baring that dusting of fur leading down from a perfect ‘keyhole’ bellybutton.
There was a hiss – as if the pressure that was building up inside him suddenly found release… Or was he melting? He no longer knew or cared… the only thing that existed, the only thing in his universe, was behind the glass.
There was nothing in his world except sound and sensation. The music wrapped around him like a lover’s embrace, his hands were no longer his, but belonged to the one that visited in the darkness of his imagination. Impatiently he tugged down the zipper of his jeans, releasing the beast… the jeans fell to the floor, only to be kicked off and away.
A low purring growl was torn from deep within his chest. His face was buried among the roses – all that existed was the god offering himself to the darkness.
His hands… whose hands? The hands were stroking his flesh found a rhythmic counterpoint to the music. Soft… firm… gently roughened… caressing… pulling the feelings from deep within… His head was thrown back in abandon – as he surrendered himself to the hands…
As the god inside moved, so did the man outside. He drew back further into the shadows, no longer touching himself. It didn’t matter… he felt HIS hands caressing, heard the triumphant shout of release, felt himself cum in response. When the light was finally extinguished, only then did he slip back into the shadows and steal away as silently as he came.
From now on, whenever he thought of this night, he would always smell roses…
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