you know you got your daddy's eyes

moar icons?

2009-07-26T01:36:49Z

I just realized I've got a bunch I never posted... not that anyone uses them, but eh. Here, let me take up space on your friends feed, you guys.

K-ON!

Apparently I was extra-special lame and didn't add words to any of them, so feel free to use as bases if you wish.

Shinji, Kaworu, and KaworuxShinji

lol, wtf was I doing?

Aand sexy redhead ftw. Asahinas everywhere... that's love.

Big Numbers

2009-03-25T19:24:34Z

MWAH. So now I have a GOAL OMG. And I'm posting it here so that it will be written down so that it will glare at me every time I go on LJ, and hopefully help me remember to exercise :P.

We calculated body fat and BMI and BMR and all that good stuff in health/conditioning today. My BMI is 32.01 which, needless to say, is obese. But! It is very close to 30, which is the cutoff between overweight/obese. So... that is my goal! To reach a BMI of 30 or less! I'd like to say "before the end of the semester," but we'll see how that goes. Four and a half weeks left, and three papers, and about a billion club activities.

So... basically, I need to lose around ten pounds. Obviously, I still have a long way to go, but I feel like this is an achievable goal, so that's what I'll be focusing on. Woot cycling classes! Go weight training! And... yay cafeteria that forces me to eat cucumbers and bananas for lunch because the rest of the food is terrible?

So... READY, STEADY, GO!

Hetalia icons woo

2009-02-02T15:01:41Z

PASTA~! Hmm, I thought I'd made more of these. Blah.

Saiyuki Icons

2009-01-12T00:58:06Z

Saiyuki Icons!

Moar icons!

2009-01-12T00:28:08Z

.
Icons for Monochrome Factor and Okane ga Nai. Woo.

Dammit. Foiled again. How the hell does this icons inside the cut thing work? ><

Loveless icons woo

2009-01-09T21:01:41Z

Loveless Icons

Feel free to use. Credit is appreciated. You may treat wordless icons as bases if you wish. :D

Kuroshitsuji icon dump!

2008-12-01T23:58:11Z

So instead of working on my victorian lit paper, I made Kuroshitsuji icons. Yay.
.

Feel free to gank and stuff. If you want to use one of the simpler ones as a base, go ahead. Credit and comments are nice. <3

Vases

2008-11-02T02:15:55Z

I wish I could do something right. I wish I didn't break everything I touched. And I wish there were something, anything I could do or say to make it better.

I've become this pathetic, frightened, hurtful thing and I don't like it at all. I try so hard to make everything okay, but I end up messing up because I'm just that stupid. I'm a little kid with a priceless vase, and I smash it to pieces every time. Maybe it's too heavy or too fragile, but either way I'm too weak to hold it aloft without dropping it or scratching it.

In the end, it's all my fault. If it's precious, I'll break it without fail.

But I'm so lonely. There are moments almost every day when I feel like I'm so lonely I'm going to die. It gets really hard to breathe and I just want to be held. I just want someone, anyone, to be close to me, but I'm terrified of everyone and I'll break them in the end anyway, so why bother?

I just want a nice big hug. I want to be held tight, and maybe what I'm really looking for is a parent. There are days when I feel like I'm four years old. The world is such a scary place and I feel like it gets scarier every day. I'm inclined to believe that this is just a more severe form of the fear I had before graduating high school, but... why now? I'm only a sophomore, I have two and a half years left before I have to grow up.

This semester has been really tough. For months I've wanted to post an entry, needed to, but I haven't been able to. So many things have happened. I've tried to do a lot of things, but I think in some cases I should've accepted that there's nothing I can do; in others... other things. I don't know.

I feel so alone and it's all my fault. I'm the only person I can blame for it, so... I should either accept it or do something about it. And yet here I am, sitting alone in my room, whining about how I'm alone. I'm so silly.

Icons?

2008-08-19T00:27:35Z

YoitexMiharu icons because I am a fangirl. I should... make some more, better ones ><.


EDIT: MOAR.




Aaaand a random Wolfram :D

Aaaaaand~ colorbar of fail. I was using it as a form of catharsis, I think ;P. Aaaaaand for whatever reason, there aren't many official images of these two on the intarnets. Why is that? >< When I make another one, I'll have to gank them from the episodes. ;P

Whee, yay. I am such a fangirl. :p

therabidtoenail @ 2008-08-01T00:00:00

2008-08-01T04:12:21Z

You Have Been Tagged. Must Be Posted as a Journal Entry.
Reveal 8 Secrets about yourself and Keep the Tag Going.

1. I'm afraid I'm fickle --;;.
2. I kind of really like someone who I can't have because he is one of my friend's alters--;; which is lame and frustrating.
3. I am afraid of tall people. Gigaphobia.
4. I am really, really lonely and want to be cuddled. *pout*
5. I kind of miss being angry.
6. I get so frustrated with being this fat that sometimes I want to take a knife and cut it out. And other times I get so bummed about it that I just want to kill myself before I get any fatter. --;; Which is really silly.
7. I really, really want to do some voice acting... sometime.
8. My mother is dying and it doesn't make me sad at all.

Tag: do it if you want to :P

Hellpainter

2008-05-08T07:24:23Z

A one-shot I've been working on, kind of as an exploration of an RP character. I got halfway through and was like, "WTF? This stuff is non-sequitarian like whoa." But here I go anyway.

He painted. Blues and greens and oranges. Brush strokes rough. Fast. If he painted loud enough, he couldn’t hear anything else. He concentrated solely on his painting, forcing his world to narrow to the one spot on the wall directly in front of him, because it was easier than existing.

But the sounds still came, no matter how rough or how yellow-orange he painted. He pushed into the wall with all his arm’s weight, even though the brush was dry and the bristles were crunching ominously against the wood. Maybe if he scratched through the wall with horsehair and liquid lead, he could make a hole big enough to escape the thing that wouldn’t let go.

The sounds wouldn’t stop—they never did, not until an hour or two later. When he first heard them, he was scared and concerned. He’d sought them out, wide-eyed and with trembling hands, prayers on his tongue.

He still didn’t know what it really was, even though he’d seen it a million times, even though he saw it every time he closed his eyes. But lurking in the playhouse, in the west side where August didn’t go anymore because it was too much like hell, there was a demon.

The demon didn’t look like a demon—in fact, he looked more like an angel, curly blond hair in a halo atop his head and brown eyes like melted chocolate. His smile was like razorwire, though, and hurt to see, perfect white but sharp, and it sucked him in. August got tangled in it and couldn’t look away, even as the demon leered closer, dragging a woman’s corpse behind him, holding her by her neck and hair as if she were just a little girl’s doll. He’d watched in horrified fascination as her legs dragged the floor, drawing paths like hieroglyphs in the dust.

But the worst part—the most terrifying part—was that the demon looked just like him. August had wondered the first time, gasping in terror, if perhaps it had ripped the flesh from his face and put it on, like a mask for a costume ball. Maybe it planned to dance the night away in his skin, and then shuck it off like a suit, and maybe August didn’t even exist anymore. Maybe he was just a guise to be donned, and maybe he’d spend the rest of his life at the bottom of some closet in the depths of hell. Even worse… maybe he wasn’t just skin, maybe that was him, blood coating his hands and mouth— maybe he was the demon and he just hadn’t been able to see it before—

But his groping hands—clawing at his face so hard his nails drew blood—had found nothing out of the ordinary, even as the demon cooed his name softly, hands outreached and eyes melting all down its face. The perfect lips curved into a sad smile and the demon pressed a cold, blood-covered hand into August’s shirt. The claw-tipped fingers drew a tiny heart over his chest and the boy could only watch in agonized fascination as the red symbol bled through his clothing.

He’d screamed and run away and now he didn’t go to the west side anymore, even though all his paint and clothes and money and memories were there. He consoled himself, as he rocked back and forth in the dark of an alleyway, with the thought that he didn’t need them. They’d never done him any good, after all. They’d only ever made him cry, so why did he even care? The yellowing pictures he’d drawn Mama, crumpled and shoved into the bottom of a trunk, old dusty playbills full of the names of songs Mama had never sung for him, old jars of perfume that smelled so much like Mama they made him gag and sob from just a breath. Demon could have all those things; he didn’t need them. He told himself.

So he’d dried his tears and steeled himself and managed to march back inside, but by then Demon was gone. He came back every once in awhile, but August did his best to ignore him. It was hard, though, and took more concentration and paint fumes than he would’ve liked.

The good thing about paint was that it kept him from thinking too deeply. A few breaths and he could fool his brain into not thinking, into not feeling. With eyes and ears and hands focused on the act of painting—hell, vandalizing—he didn’t have to see or hear or feel.

But… that wasn’t really what he wanted. He couldn’t really let go of everything because he really didn’t want to. He wanted to feel, to love, to touch, to paint pretty pictures instead of these harsh-lined messes of angry color. He wanted to kill Demon and drag Mama back to be with him and he wanted her to sing him lullabies and play with his hair and kiss him goodnight. He wanted… wanted, wanted, wanted. That was what had chased her away in the first place, because he’d always wanted, needed too much. She didn’t have the time or the energy or even the will to give him the love he needed—because he just needed so much—and so she’d left, gone for good, and now he was alone (but not alone enough) in his cold playhouse, trapped by memories and fear and pain. He couldn’t get away.

Every day he went out the front door, greeted the sunshine, and walked among the faceless crowds of the city, but there was nothing there and he ended up right back where he started. He went out when he could, but it was dangerous at night and somehow, even the threat of Demon didn’t seem as bad as being out on the streets alone. The Force didn’t take too kindly to people like him in general, but they were especially brutal after sunset. At the very least, Demon didn’t hurt him, not to say anything about the rank smell coming from the west side.

No, Demon didn’t do anything but terrify him. Didn’t harm him at all, just coexisted, somehow using his face. The idea of it horrified him and more than once, people on the street had accused him of being Demon. But he wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t! If August couldn’t convince himself, he didn’t know how he’d be able to convince the police when they eventually caught him for being out at night or disturbing the peace in the upper districts, and realized that he looked just like the serial rapist-murderer he unwillingly roomed with. He didn’t know how to prove he wasn’t the bad one—in fact, sometimes he didn’t even know himself. His presence had become a commanding one, and his neighbors all shuttered their windows and spoke in hushed voices when he walked by. He didn’t know that he really wanted things to be that way, but it was perhaps better than when they hadn’t noticed him at all.

For so long he’d been voiceless, faceless, just an anonymous child moving through the streets of the depressed little district he called home—once a place of art and music and bright lights, now a slum since Mama had gone away—but now he garnered attention, infamy, fear. They all wore sneers now instead of the nervous, pitying smiles they’d once given him. He didn’t know which was better—which was worse.

And somewhere along the way, Truth had found him.

He’d realized, bending over the sink basin, watching the water drip down his face, that Demon hadn’t stolen his face at all. That would’ve been impossible, because before Demon had come along, there’d been nothing to steal. He’d stolen Demon’s face, somehow, without realizing it, to make up for his own insufficiencies—and he’d taken Demon’s place in the people’s hearts and minds. To them, he’d become that thing he hated… and maybe he was slowly turning into Demon on the inside too.

After all, he hated Blue Eyes down the street, the boy prostitute with eyes like stars. He hated his eyes, his pretty smile, the bruises on his knees. Sometimes, when Blue Eyes giggled at him, teasing him despite the fact that August was poorer than him, he wanted to grab him by his soft hair and—and—he wasn’t sure. But he felt the need to break, to destroy, to tear down.

But Blue Eyes, sweet Blue Eyes, was the only one who didn’t think he’d become Demon. Blue Eyes cornered him as he left the playhouse, leaning in the doorframe prettily, his hair falling over bare shoulders, and stared at him with his big. blue. eyes.

“I don’t believe ‘em, myself,” the boy said sweetly, his eyes smiling. “You ain’t no killer, are you? I told ‘em, my Sunshine ain’t no killer. He’s a sweet one, wouldn’t hurt nuthin’. Ain’t got nuthin’ to hurt.”

But what did Blue Eyes know? Blue Eyes was older than August, and he used to be so smart, but he hadn’t been the same since Mister down the street hit him so hard his brain must’ve started pouring out, because it had obviously gone somewhere.

Looking around, August could find plenty of people whose lives were worse than his. After all, everyone had their sob story, and August knew his didn’t matter anyway. So many people deserved so much more than he did. He knew well enough that he wasn’t worthy, that he was too flawed to be worth love or time or kindness, and frankly, he was lucky to have fear. It was strange, how he seemed to only inspire fear in people even though he was only trying to find friendship, love, a kind touch. He’d terrified Mama.

He knew he didn’t deserve any better than he had—that he was lucky, that he didn’t even deserve to be alive, that there was nothing he could really ask for—so every night he went home to his dusty old playhouse, dipped brushes and fingers and toes in thick wetness, and then woke up the next morning covered in paint and with a lip-print in blood on his cheek. Demon loved him, curled his fingers into August’s hair while he slept, pressed kisses into his skin, drew hearts into his shirts. That was the love he got, more love than he deserved even, the kind of love he was terrified of, the kind that he barely knew he had, in the moments between wakefulness and stupor.

There was nothing more he could ask for, so he contented himself with stolen paint and stolen dreams, and every night he painted another circle of hell into the walls.

Blah. It is done, but I don't know how I feel about it... it's pretty weird and gross. Hmm. Anyway, tiredness of brain mandates bedtime. I'll explore the year of college that just ended sometime soon. ;P

Lullaby

2008-03-27T04:08:14Z

Lullaby
Another Scottie Socks oneshot, of course inspired by my childhood. ;P Because I've been emo lately and I don't like it at all.

Mama is lonely.

I remembered those times vividly, when Father left on business trips. Surprisingly, Mother never entertained customers then, although it would’ve been a great opportunity. Instead, she cooked a meal that we ate in silence and she’d hold me close and I’d fall asleep in her arms. On those nights, she felt almost like a mother.

I can tell because she holds onto me so tightly, as if she’s afraid letting go will make me disappear. She is close and warm and I am snuggled into her side, as if this is a common occurrence, as if I spend every night curled up beside her instead of staring at a faraway ceiling all night long. She tells me her dreams, her hopes, her fears—as if she needs this, as if being able to confide in me makes something inside feel better—and I listen as best as I can, for her.

“Never be like me,” she says, her arms suffocatingly tight around me. “Please don’t turn out like me.”

“It’s okay, Mama,” I’d tell her, not knowing how much comfort my words could possibly have.

She’d stare at the ceiling for ages, so long I’d almost drift to sleep before she moved or spoke or even breathed loudly. And then, timorously, she’d say, “Sing me a song, baby.”

“W-what? Why, Mama?”

“ ‘Cause you always sound so sweet when you sing to me. It makes me forget so many things… sing to me so I can forget.”

The big brown eyes would stare at me, practically boring into my soul, and my voice would tremble and shake as I began to sing.

After we moved it didn’t happen so often, not that it had been a common occurrence back then. But there were nights when it did happen, and after the customers left she’d bang on my bedroom door until I responded, and she’d try to coax me to pretend we were a family.

“Don’t you want to sit by me?” she’d ask as she sat on the couch, crossing her bare legs.

I wanted to say no but couldn’t, so I acquiesced. She held me close and played with my hair and asked me how my day was, how I felt, if I hated her for what she’d done.

And I wanted to say, ‘Shitty; Shitty; Yes,’ but of course I lied. For being seen as such a respectable person, I lied quite a lot, mostly about my feelings, because honestly, my feelings tended to crowd out people’s happiness.

Nights like that I didn’t know what to make of her. I never knew what brought on the sudden motherly impulses; was she drunk or pregnant or what? Did she yearn for the warmth of another body so much that she’d resort to me? Did she, just for a few moments, realize what she’d done to me? …Maybe it was her own pathetic form of penance. But either way she talked to me until her breaths evened out and her pretty head would fall against my shoulder.

As soon as she drifted off I’d flee to my room, lock the door, and wonder why tears were coming to my eyes. As I leaned against my door, chest heaving and breaths puffing out of my mouth, I always wondered why she did it. In times like those, it seemed as if she’d finally realized what she’d done—and she was sorry, and she loved me, and things would be OK—but those moments passed. They crumbled to ash and the memories got scattered away on the wind until they meant less than nothing, because after all, nothing could repair the things she’d broken. It didn’t matter that she loved me or that she was sorry because she had still done those things, still broken me, still ruined everything, and I knew I’d never forgive her for that. I’d spent so many years being angry and I didn’t feel like stopping anytime soon, no matter how many times she patted my head and asked for a lullaby. Even though it hurt me more than her and most of the time she didn’t give a damn what I thought.

Even though I cried every night she didn’t. Even though tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes as her arms suffocated me and her fingers clawed at my hair and my voice trembled along the edge of her ears. Even though the creaking of the bedsprings that echoed from her room made me die inside.

Even though… I wanted nothing more than to forget all she’d done and make those moments last forever, burned into my skin like a hot poker.

So when she asked, I sang her the longest, saddest lullaby I knew and tried in vain to will the tears from my voice.

Short, but emo. Wooo.

Blah

2008-03-25T04:49:30Z

Well, ignoring my angry mood is good. So I do a meme! Woot.

quiz/meme thing

What is your current relationship status? soltera
+ What's your name? Jessica
+ Where do you live? GA, US
+ How old're you? What's your sign? Do you follow astrology? Eighteen. Leo. No ;P
+ How tall're you? 5'3"
+ How would you define your sexuality? I'm an asexual bisexual who thinks labels are silly
+ Do you label yourself, or don't you? (androgynous/butch/femme/soft butch/mtf/ftm/undefined) quizzes label me as undefined
+ Do you have a preference, or don't you? (androgynous/butch/femme/soft butch/mtf/ftm/unimportant) I don't care ;P
+ Do you have a size preference, tell us what types of girls you like? Well, boobies are nice, and most people are taller than me... --;; but I don't care either way
+ Are you out? Apparently I vomit rainbows and fart unicorns, so I guess so
+ What's something you just absolutely love in a relationship? I wouldn't know... friendship?
+ What's a pet peeve that you just can't put up with? Inconsiderateness
+ Do you smoke? Do smokers bother you? hate it!
+ Do you drink? Do drinkers bother you? no drinking
+ Do you drug? Do druggers bother you? Apparently I'm a fascist because I don't like druggies ;P
+ What type(s) of music do you like? things that I think are pretty, but I have a strange idea of what's pretty
+ Which authors do you read, if any? lots of stuff... ha ha, I read mostly yaoi though
+ Which television shows are a must-watch for you, if any? none
+ If you could live anywhere in this world, where would it be and why? blah
+ What do you like on your pizza? stuffed crust, mushroom and onions
+ Describe your perfect weekend: watch anime, hang out with friends, get good food, play video games, sleep
+ Tell us your favorite scent? blah
+ Anything else you'd like to add? your mom
+ And then just leave us your contact information: ;P sore wa himitsu desu?

therabidtoenail @ 2008-02-19T15:18:00

2008-02-19T20:23:44Z

FUCK YOU.
Ahem. That's all.

is "Judas" a mood?

2008-01-30T03:44:11Z

So I'm not in creative writing, but I still try to do the assignments... and I fail. ;P Anyway, here's what I wrote instead. It is short and made of fail.

The room was much too quiet and still and cold, full of sepulchral echoes and clotted with dust that rose chokingly up when disturbed. It was the loudest silence he’d ever heard, the type of silence that lingered no matter how raw he made his throat with calling out to someone—anyone—who was he calling for?

He could remember someone he’d been with, someone he’d probably loved—whatever that meant—but by now that someone was reduced to a fuzzy outline when he closed his eyes. It was just him, now, sitting among the pews, choked by the stench of blood so thick he could taste its coppery tang. It covered his hands and his clothes and his face, but there was no way to wash it off. There had been something that looked like an enormous tub behind the stage, but there was no water in it, just impossibly deep, stale redness.

Often he found himself staring longingly out the windows, pressing his hands and his face against the glass, smearing red onto the pretty pictures. He’d lived there once, outside, though he could barely remember it—it seemed like so long ago and so far away. He might try leaving, but the sun had stopped rising since that night he’d stumbled inside. He’d been a creature of the sun, basking in it his whole life, and of course now he was leery of the darkness that pooled outside the sanctuary doors. And no matter how many times he tried peering through the darkness, the stained glass images of a man on a cross remained dull in the pale moonlight.

So in the night unending he curled upon a frigid pew, letting his red-tinged shoes drop to the floor beside him, and achieved fitful sleep under the eerie glow of the man whose lips were puckered in a forlorn kiss.

Yep, dunno where the hell I was going with that. ;P Whatever. It was fun to write. ^^

Running

2008-01-27T06:25:14Z

"How am I supposed to feel about the things I've done?
I don't know if I should stay or turn around and run."

My brain is tired. How am I supposed to feel? I try not to think about it much, but it's like a really big crocodile under the surface of a lake. It's there and it has teeth.

Nearly every night I dream of ghosts, and fuck if I don't get the message. I don't need any more hints, subconscious. It's really annoying. And even when they're not ghosts, I've always got something to run from.

It kinda wears me down, when I'm alone with my thoughts. Like I am now ;P. I don't really know what to do with myself and the thoughts in my head. They're just this nebulous tangle of... things. Memories that I know I can't really trust and the ideas I've formed, based on those memories.

"Ask me whatever you like." What am I supposed to ask you? I don't really have anything to ask you, honestly. In fact, the thing I'm most curious about is whether or not stepdad cut his hand off when I was seven, because that's what I remember and it keeps cropping up in my writing. I really don't feel the need to ask you why you do the things you do.

And I guess my subconscious is telling me that I'm running away, but you're not chasing after me either. You always do this, you know-- chase me and back off. I guess that's how your life is. You throw yourself into one thing for a while, then choose another thing entirely, and I was once along for the ride. I really don't know what to do, because now that I've shown my face once I'll be expected to keep showing it, but I don't want to be a part of the world I've had a glimpse of. I guess I'd forgotten how it was, or maybe it's just easier to see and understand now that I'm older, but either way I want no part of it. I was happy until I came to see you, but now I'm sad again and fuck it all, I want my meds even though they don't do shit.

I want to cry but I can't squeeze out enough tears.

And I only use my LJ to whine, too... grr. Sorry about that, LJ. You deserve better. *pats* I'll try to think less in the future.

Ha ha. And Charlie said today, "She's like you, but not as happy." I fooled him, I suppose. Bleargh.

AxA!

2008-01-17T03:40:12Z

I wrote some pr0ns for AxA. This is for Rit-chan, but others can read if they like... they just might not understand. --;; Anyway.

Eight pages, 3337 words. --;; Why is my pr0ns so long when everything I write is so short? I don't think it's that great, but I've toiled long over it, so here it is. ;P

He’d stumbled into the room, worried about Ailill, his fledgling, his once-upon-a-time forever, but maybe he shouldn’t have been so concerned. Ailill was sitting up in bed, his black hair falling over his shoulders. He was staring at the hands he’d fisted into the sheets, but the golden eyes flicked up to greet him when he entered.

Aidan almost felt himself melting into the warmth that was there. Ailill’s eyes were soft but also burning, like a tiny fire blazing just for him. They said, “I missed you” and “I love you” and “I need you” all at once. The blond forced himself to look away, focusing on Ailill’s chin instead. “Hello,” it said softly.

“Are you doing all right? I was worried, with you being a fledgling and all.” Aidan came closer, perching gingerly on the bed. “You’re not… hungry or anything? Sore?”

Ailill shook his head. “I’m fine… just a little tired.” He smiled his gentle smile and it was like the sun slowly moving through clouds. Aidan wished he’d stop smiling like that because it made his heart ache. “How’re you?”

Aidan bent forward, letting his hair cover his face. “I’m fine. Just f-” Ailill had stopped to brush Aidan’s hair behind his ear and it made him choke.

“Ailill… why? Why do this now, after you’ve already wrecked everything between us? Why do this to me?” Aidan gasped out, clenching his fists. He didn’t move away from Ailill’s touch, though, because he couldn’t, because he’d missed it so much and all he really wanted to do was melt into it and let Ailill play with his hair like he used to, so many years ago.

Ailill wasn’t smiling anymore, and even though he’d wished for it to stop, it made Aidan’s heart clench. The man seemed so weak and forlorn, with his eyes downcast and that big white bandage on his neck, where Aidan himself had bitten him.

“I’m sorry. I… won’t ask you to forgive me, but at least know that I’m sorry. I only wanted to keep you safe.”

Tears were welling up in Aidan’s eyes despite his best efforts. “Safe? Ha! How safe was I when I killed myself because you refused to even look at me? Because you wouldn’t let me be with you?”

“Aidan… you don’t know. You have no idea how much that hurt me. With you dead I wanted to die too, you know, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have the luxury of killing myself because I didn’t have a choice.” Ailill was shaking, and Aidan knew that he shouldn’t have said the things he did. “So don’t try to throw it in my face. I know I hurt you. I know that. Do you think it didn’t hurt me? I tore my own heart in half because I knew that being away from me would keep you safe. I didn’t want anything more than to be with you forever, but I didn’t want to see you get killed by my father—or worse, by my father controlling my hands. So don’t. Just don’t.”

Aidan fidgeted as he watched tears run slowly down Ailill’s face. Timidly, he stretched out a hand and laid it on the man’s shoulder. “You know what? Let’s not talk about this. We… we both know how and why and everything else. And it’s over now. It’s over. You’re here.” He leaned into Ailill, resting against him to see if he would be pushed away. He wasn’t, and an arm wound around his back to bring him closer.

Ailill still shook a little, but he had begun to smile again. “I love you, Aidan.” A choked noise fought its way through his throat. “I love you!” he cried, burying his face in Aidan’s neck and holding the blond so tight he nearly crushed him.

“I love you too. I always have,” Aidan murmured. But he had a fiancée, and he loved her, he really did… but he loved Ailill too. Ailill, his first love, his first heartbreak… and Cassandra, his sunshine, the one who’d saved him from his depression…

Cassandra had known all along what would happen when he brought Ailill back to the castle with him. Ailill was a vampire now; he couldn’t return to his own mage castle. She’d known what that would mean for their relationship. She’d tried to give the ring back to Aidan; she didn’t want to stand in the way of his happiness, but he’d seen the tears in her eyes and the attempt at resolve in her trembling lip. He’d refused to take it back, had kissed her hand and held her close. And she’d cursed him, but had kissed him back.

Aidan knew he was horrid for doing it, for playing with both their hearts, and he honestly didn’t mean to—he loved them both, but right now, he was here with Ailill and—

And at that moment he could feel no frustration, no anger at the one he loved eating through his stomach. Ailill held him close, unwilling—unable—to let go, and there was nothing better than that warmth, than feeling the muscles and bones and heat nearly swallowing him up.

Kisses came naturally between breaths, and Ailill’s confession meshed with quick brushes, words of love spoken in the space between their mouths.

“Love—”

A soft but all too insistent touch, fast as a heartbeat.

“You—”

Ba-bump.

“—Always.”

Aidan felt himself drowning, fingers sliding through his hair and Ailill’s other hand barely keeping him up. He was dizzy, but it was a pleasant kind of dizziness, the kind that made his chest feel horribly tight, his heart trying its hardest to burst through his skin.

Ailill was everywhere, his voice was everywhere. After so long of not having those things, it was heady to have them back again. It was like rediscovering an addiction he’d kicked but never really been able to forget about. Aidan clung to Ailill’s shoulders, slipping into the melted gold of his eyes and not minding at all.

But soon the heartbeats slowed, the desperation faded a little when Ailill realized that Aidan wasn’t about to push him away, and he sagged, resting wearily against the blond. His shoulders shook.

He needed to say something, to say anything, but the ‘I love you’ that threatened to escape wasn’t appropriate and got muddled and stuck in his throat. He loved Aidan, but it was so much more than love. It was obsession, it was addiction, it was the need for sustenance, it was vampirism—even though Aidan was more the vampire, because Ailill knew he couldn’t live without Aidan’s love, knew he hadn’t lived in years and this was like waking from a coma. It seemed as if the world had suddenly exploded, Technicolor, and the first hue he saw was the blue of Aidan’s eyes, like a bird to its mother. That blue was where he belonged, he remembered. He needed that blue, those galaxies of cornflower and October wind and lapis, needed them to sustain life.

Aidan touched his cheek, tilting his face upward and kissing gently. Ailill found himself breathless anyway, even from the chaste kiss, because Aidan was touching him. He wanted Aidan, needed Aidan, more than he ever had before, and wondered how close he had to get before the man could read his heart and truly feel what was going on in there. There was no way Ailill would ever be able to explain it, to put that heart-choking feeling into words. He hoped he could translate it all into kisses and touches and tears, but doubted himself; it was a flood, The Flood as far as he was concerned, sweeping him helplessly onto his back and suffocating him with its intensity. His feelings were a raging beast inside him, something that had lived and hurt and nursed its wounds for far too long, and the beast had surpassed him long ago.

His love for Aidan would live, surely, even if Ailill crumbled to dust.

He surged forward, touching the scars on Aidan’s face lightly. Most of them were tiny, barely there, like the one on his chin and the other cross-shaped pinkness on his cheek, but the mark trailing from his bottom eyelid to nearly his lips was, as always, an angry pink, deep and long. Ailill kissed it as he’d always wanted to, as if that could make it go away, as if his touch could erase it and the memories associated with it—if Aidan even remembered it yet.

Aidan was gasping, tears in his eyes, and perhaps he did remember, but Ailill patted them dry with his kisses and moved on to the underside of his jaw, the pale neck, trailing along it. Aidan shuddered and trembled from something that wasn’t quite fear and Ailill kissed his forehead gently. “It’s all right.” He coaxed Aidan into lying down, letting his back sink into the bed’s softness before following him.

Ailill kissed everything he could find, but slowly, freckles and fingers and eyelashes disappearing under his mouth. Barriers and walls fell under the path of his lips and Aidan gradually stilled as he found himself able to relax, his eyes barely open as he watched Ailill. He only trembled a little, and gasped more often than that, as the man moved above him. Every touch was chaste, ghosting, and that perhaps made it worse, the teasing feather-soft press of lips and fingers against him. He felt Ailill’s hair slide across his face as the man moved downward, his fingers finding the buttons on Aidan’s shirt.

“Can I?” Ailill asked, his eyes certainly burning now, and Aidan had no thoughts of resistance. He made a sound of agreement and turned his head to the side, blushing.

For all he’d done when they were together, for how much he’d tried to seduce Ailill when they were younger, he really hadn’t been all that ready for it. But he’d wanted to belong to Ailill, to please Ailill, to share a bond with Ailill that no one else could or would. He’d wanted to be closer, closer, closer to Ailill, no matter what it took, but Ailill had always refused… because he always wanted what was best for Aidan, even when the blond didn’t. Aidan had always wanted to touch Ailill and to be touched by him, even though the thought had made him gulp and his stomach do flip-flops. He hadn’t cared. He’d wanted all of Ailill, he’d wanted to be all Ailill needed, but he’d never been able to…

But now it seemed that he could be, though it had been so long… it had been so long since he’d been touched so softly, so lovingly. Aidan gave a little sigh, feeling more comfort than he had in ages, and sank beneath the sea of touch.

Encouraged by Aidan’s ease, Ailill pressed in harder, kisses turning to playful licks and tiny bites that turned Aidan’s pale skin pink. His fingers, meanwhile, began undoing the buttons of the blond’s shirt. When it had come off and he pushed the blue fabric from Aidan’s shoulder’s, tossing it carelessly to the floor, he took another moment to glance at his lover.

“You’re beautiful. Beautiful and I love you,” Ailill murmured almost nonsensically, leaning his head against Aidan’s chest. “I can hear your heart, I can feel your heart. It’s pounding… pounding just like mine. Touching you is exhilarating, Aidan. All those years, I wanted to so badly… and I know it upset you that I wouldn’t allow it… I’m always keeping you from what you want, I guess.”

Aidan brought his hands up, touching Ailill’s hair. “No. It doesn’t matter. This is what I want.” He trailed his fingers through the soft blackness, tracing over a nose and closed eyes. “I want you. Everything you can give me.”

Ailill smiled. “I can give you everything I have, Aidan.”

“Good.”

And Ailill lifted his head, kissing the still fluttering pulse, before moving to brush across tight pink nipples. The hands in his hair tensed and pulled, but he didn’t mind because he could hear Aidan gasp and moan at his touch. He tongued one and tweaked the other. Further down, he knew that Aidan’s toes were curling. Smirking, he moved lower. Stomach muscles jumped as he touched them, tracing patterns with his fingers and paths with his tongue. He swirled around a small navel and stopped in for a short visit before a gasping and perturbed Aidan poked his shoulder.

The blond had crossed his arms. “You are entirely too clothed, Ailill!” he whined, and Ailill could almost believe that the past five or so years had never happened, and Aidan was still seventeen and they were together and they were more in love than anyone would ever understand and Aidan was happy.

“We’ll just have to fix that, then, hmm?” Ailill murmured, and allowed Aidan to tug the too-big shirt over his head. “I don’t much like these clothes anyway; I feel like I’m in the hospital or something.”

“Well, you kinda are. You’re in the ward.” Aidan took his hand and threaded their fingers together, leaning in for a kiss.

“Feeling comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Aidan answered, but his face was still quite flushed. Then again, that was the way Ailill liked him. He kissed Aidan’s hair and Aidan grasped him, twining his arms around his neck. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against Ailill’s ear. “Are you gonna… finish what you started?” he whispered, his voice taking on a breathy tone. His sharp teeth grazed an earlobe.

“Mm-hmm. Just… aaah.” Ailill groaned and sat up, pushing Aidan underneath him. “Your pants are looking a bit tight, don’t you think?” Ailill asked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Aidan’s hip before fumbling with the button of his pants. After some trouble it came undone and he dragged the zipper down, pulling the light blue denim down to Aidan’s ankles and tossing them away to the floor.

Aidan had grown up since Ailill had last seen him like this, but he was still rather slender and… spindly, like vampires tended to be. Even though he wasn’t very tall, his legs were rather long and thin. He had bony wrists and feet, and his hipbones stuck out, but Ailill still thought him beautiful. Aidan stared at him with cloud-soft blue eyes, his hair spilling on the bed around him. He was breathing hard and sweating and… well, he was obviously quite excited.

Ailill smirked, allowing his hands to drift downward as he claimed trembling lips in a kiss. Aidan gasped into him, his eyes squinching shut.

“Is it all right if I—?”

“Y-yes,” Aidan managed between the sounds that rose from his throat. “Just… don’t forget… yours too.”

Ailill smiled as he watched Aidan pant. “Will do, darling,” he murmured, and paused to slide the rest of his clothing off. “Is this better?”

Aidan glanced up at him, but he didn’t really need to. He could feel the difference, the sensation of skin brushing sweaty skin. His hands reached up to grasp Ailill’s bare hips. “Your skin is so soft…”

“Aaah…” came the surprisingly high-pitched sound from Ailill’s throat as he lost his cool and sank down onto Aidan, burying his face into his lover’s shoulder.

“You sound like a little boy,” Aidan remarked, and Ailill could hear the smile in his voice.

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“You’re an adorable little virgin, that’s what you are.”

“Don’t patronize the guy who’s on top of you, Aidan,” Ailill murmured, but even though this was quite a new situation, it felt like old times. Just… with a little more heat and nudity.

“Aww, but you’re just so—aaaagh, some warning next time! Frisky, aren’t you?”

“Well, I have gone twenty-eight years without any sex, and that can do a right number on a guy,” Ailill murmured with a gratified smirk as Aidan moved against him, trying to encourage more contact between them.

Aidan growled something about twenty-eight year-old virgins as his hips gave a jerk. Ailill had taken to kissing the bare skin underneath his bellybutton and then licking and—

“Well, what have we here?” Ailill asked, finally coming upon the hem of Aidan’s underwear. “These are in the way, don’t you think?” he mumbled to himself, tugging them off.

Ailill’s mouth found Aidan’s as he summoned slick warmth to his fingertips. His fingers worked their way behind Aidan’s legs, finding the warmth that was there. He worked it in a joint at a time, while his mouth and his other hand worked to distract the blond from the strange sensation. He moved slowly, terrified that he might hurt Aidan, making sure that his preparation was thorough. A second joined the first, working in sync to stretch the opening.

Aidan was so warm, even around his fingers, and it took his breath away to think of how it would really be… but Ailill wondered, how could it possibly work? His fingers were a far cry from certain other parts, so how could he hope to…? But upon the insertion of the third finger Aidan was growing restless and wet and Ailill figured that he should give it a try. He didn’t think he’d last much longer anyway, with the way Aidan was writhing and moaning against him, so it was then or not at all.

Removing his fingers, he took a moment to position himself. He gently opened Aidan’s legs further as he moved between them. He raised them and slipped them over his shoulders, taking a deep breath.

He grasped Aidan’s hand tight, their two pairs of eyes boring into each other as Ailill slowly pushed in.

At that moment, Ailill’s mind was taken over, images flashing bright across his mind—the first time they met, when he first realized he loved Aidan, their first kiss, and now…

Aidan was crying, squeezing his hand as tightly as he could, but Ailill didn’t know if it was really from pain. He was crying himself, after all—but from joy. He was inside of Aidan, and it was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt. His heart seemed like it had swollen to quadruple its size. He was gasping, and neither of them was even moving.

Aidan opened his eyes slowly. “Please,” he whispered, and Ailill had never heard anything so beautiful.

He’d never done anything like this before, but his body seemed to know what to do. It went through the motions while his heart cried with joy, his hips moving back and forth. Aidan moaned beneath him, his head tossed back.

“Love you,” Ailill gasped out as he thrust in, feeling the warmth surround him. “So much.”

Ailill lost himself quickly, soon finding himself teetering on the edge. But he didn’t really mind falling; he never had.

The two of them gasped endearments and obscenities all in one breath as the world exploded to white.

By the time the world had righted itself Ailill had pulled out and collapsed into the bed. He could already feel his eyelids fluttering shut, but he fought valiantly. He wanted to be awake.

Aidan curled up against him, wet and searing in his warmth. Fingers brushed through Ailill’s hair, over his sweat-soaked brow. “It’s okay. Sleep if you’re tired.”

“But I don’t want to—” Ailill began, not knowing why it would be so bad if he fell asleep, but adamant in his decision.

“You don’t have to worry,” the blond murmured, giving him a slow kiss that left him as breathless as he’d ever been. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

With tears in his eyes, Ailill put his arms around his softly smiling lover and allowed himself to drift off.

Aidan slid the burning gold ring from his finger, listening as it toppled off the bed and hit the ground. His eyes slid shut and he did his best to put it from his mind, snuggling into Ailill.

If anybody sees any glaring (or even cheerfully smiling) mistakes, feel free to point them out. I am tired and I can't be bothered with proofreading eight pages of... stuff at the moment. :X

Pondering...

2008-01-10T05:35:11Z

I've spent most of my break playing video games and thinking. The past seems so clear now, but I also feel removed from it... I guess that's why I feel sad instead of angry? I'm hoping to explore my past through writing, which is what I usually do. ;P

But anyway...

Hmm, I'm not sure that I feel like typing this out... it's only been in my head so far.

Well, I'm not saying this to whine or to be an emo kid... I'm just puzzling it out. I'm not angry or horribly depressed. So let's take a look at my life.

I spent eight years with her. "And we shared a bed in which I could not sleep at all." I was closer to her than I've ever been to anyone, I guess because she was my mom and most of the time it was just us. We slept together (not in a sexual way, that's dumb) except when she had a boyfriend, and then I got the room down the hall or the couch. At night she held me close and we talked about random stuff and I sang her to sleep. She was either all over me or completely gone. When she was off in rehab or wherever she'd go, she'd just dump me off on someone else and I would be alone.

After I left her, I pushed everyone away. I guess because she had been so close to me, I didn't want to risk being hurt again. And since I used to tell her everything, all my thoughts and fears, I don't like anyone to know how I feel now...? It would also explain why I reject physical contact when all I want most of the time is to be held. It's why I'm so stupid... why I push everyone away, and then cry because I'm alone. Heh.

"And at night the sun in the trees
Made the skyline look like crooked teeth in the mouth of a man who was devouring
Us both."

2007

2007-12-31T08:54:20Z

2007 has proven itself to be the longest year of my life. It has been the most painful, the one that hurt me most, but it has also given birth to some of my happiest memories-- the memories that you don't really remember, the ones that are just a blurry haze of sunshine when you try to think of them.

It started off really bad, with me slogging through the worst depression I've ever had. I spent so much time wanting to die, wishing I would cease to exist before I had to live the things I was so afraid of. Terrified of college and change and clinging to the idea of childhood (and thus kinda thinking obsessively about the past and that mother o' mine,) my world was brought to a grinding halt. I finally gave in and started taking meds for depression-- so it must've been bad. I'd always thought I was stronger, and I guess my disdain for the thing that could pull me from my ten-year depression (ten years is a friggin' long time, especially to an eighteen-year old --;; ) stemmed from my mother's use of pills... and lots of other shit, but that's other stuff over there. Either way I got my meds, 20-mg Prozacs, and tried to get on with my life. In the end, though, I knew that all I really wanted was to be held and that would never happen as long as I pushed everyone away. Not that I've stopped? I don't know.

Then came along the college interviews. Agnes Scott went OK, then at Oxford I got horribly sick and had to leave at about four in the morning. I'm quite intimately acquainted with the Branham-East bathrooms. But overall, I was happier. The pills were helping.

Oh, and I went to New York with my chorus. Jeez, long year. That was April? I switched to generic Prozac and it stopped working.

I finally decided on Oxford as a college; I graduated; I went on a family vacation. I went job hunting, but apparently high school grads with 4.083s can only get hired at McDonald's, and then only through recommendations by friends. It was the worst experience of my life and no one even understands why it hurt so much and why I refuse to go back. I don't think anyone ever will, but I spent most of the month working and wanting to kill myself. Work was spent alternately never doing my low-paying job well enough and listening to groups of teenage guys hitting on me as a joke. It wasn't like I didn't realize that I was fat and ugly-- I didn't need them sneering at me to point it out. Every day there, I counted down the minutes until I could leave.

I also got my first confession of like at McDonald's. I must say, I seem to attract lamers-- only this guy from McD's and a trucker who goes to used book sales with his mom seem to have any interest in me, although that's probably best. I was closing up one night, exhausted and ready to go home. I don't even remember his name, if I ever knew it. He was helping me and we were joking around, I was complaining about the horrible customers and mopping the floor until--

"They always make fun of me because they think I'm ugly."

"I think you're really beautiful."

*die*

When I blush, it is not a cute flush of the cheeks, but a disgusting full-face flush that makes me all lobstery.

"I really do think you're beautiful. I'd really like it if we could... blah blah blah." *massage shoulders* "You're really tense."

*diedie*

*attempt to kiss*

"Aaaaaaaaak! No! Nonononono..." *hide* "I, uhh, umm, yeah." *shaking, nearly sobbing*

"All right. Just... we'll talk before you get off."

*runs away*

I had a breakdown as I was driving home. I sobbed and shook and wanted even more to die.

Then I came to college and put all the shit behind me, or at least blocked a lot of it out. I got sucked in to the Oxford bubble and I at least felt really grown up. It's funny how happy times seem to happen in fast-forward when compared to sad ones. I was really hyper and bouncy for a long time, but I think I've settled down a little from then. Maybe because when I was happy people saw me as a brainless object, a female thing but not a person. But I stopped talking to those people and I got a little better inside.

Friends had a lot of drama, but I stayed pretty mellow through it all. People still think I'm quiet even though I'm talking more than I ever have in my life. Maybe I had problems, but I guess I haven't changed in that I still try to ignore them and hope they'll go away. Avoidant doormat still, le sigh. But I was really happy.

I realized how much my family loves me, and that it's so much that it terrifies me. They love me so much that I can never comprehend it. All of them, even my mom, and I honestly don't want to be loved that much. I started talking to her again, after years of trying to ignore that she existed. Something about college sucked out all the anger I felt for her, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. College is happiness, but it's almost an empty happiness. Having the anger gone hurts sometimes because now there's nothing there. I thought I'd forgotten how to cry.

I visited her (and my brother w/ his wife and two sons, cuuuute!.) I won't talk about the biggest thing that happened there because it still hurts too much and it's just aargh. I managed to break the dam that I thought had built up-- I managed to cry like I used to, replaced that emptiness I felt with pain and broodiness and guilt and self-condemnation and asphyxiation. But during that thing that happened my brother said:

"She's got Hep C, you know? She's got less than ten years left. And the suicide rate for Hep C positives is really high-- sixty percent."

So my mom is dying, but... I can't really feel much. Ten years?, I think-- that's a hell of a long time! The whole time I was there I couldn't even think of her as my mom, really. Things hadn't changed since when I last lived with her, at eleven years old. She's always either suffocating me with her love or she's gone. She gave me another huge box of gifts. I really hate them. They're always filled with all the things she's bought me since she's seen me last, and in four years it had really piled up. The box was really too much to face and it made me feel sick and choked. The whole trip did. Those boxes always feel like she's trying to buy my love, but she's shopping at the dollar tree. It's thoughtful, but it's only for her benefit, not for mine. It only hurts.

So I'll stop there. I don't want to say anymore.

And a happy New Year.

So I've been a ponderabilitatious meatloaf...

2007-12-03T20:54:35Z

Umm, what? Anyway, I had an essay due today... blah. The week looks not-good, with special guests:

Poetry Essay on Thursday!
Spanish Conversation on Friday!
Aaaaaaaaand Stats test on Friday!

Same bat time, same bat channel.

But anyway. So I've been thinking, relationships are silly and we should all be friends. And I've been thinking, anyone I'd date would have to realllllly love me to put up with my inability to... uhh... interact with people who see me in a romantic light? Not that there are many of those around, but still. ;P Been thinking about my fear of romantic touch vs. my love of platonic touch, and ding ding ding! we have a winner. I need to be friends with someone and then date them, if ever it comes to that. And I'm OK with the fact that there's very little chance of me ever finding someone to put up with me, I think. At least right now I am. ;P And hecks to the something, maybe I don't even want a relationship. Right now I'm an asexual bisexual lol... anyway. So that's my thought for the week, I guess.

Ooh, and SS drabble because Racheldammit, I have to write! Something! Glarphkkkkkkkg.

Sleep

Sleep is sometimes hard to find, especially after being awoken in a manner that both had become rather accustomed to—panting and wide-eyed and shaking with terror that wakes the other too. Bad dreams plagued them, which was only to be expected, really; nightmares were a byproduct of all the stress and mental torture they’d lived through, but that didn’t make it any easier. Understanding something is vastly different from being able to conquer it, after all.

Siren wakes like this, terrified even though he knows it’s only a dream, that Adrian is still right beside him and not in tiny red pieces like construction paper confetti and that the lamp on their bedside table, which his lover has kindly flicked on, is normal and brown with a plain white lampshade and that he broke the other one long ago. Tears collect in the corners of his eyes and he breathes heavily and leans his forehead against Adrian. The warmth of the other’s touch is sanctuary, the witch-light he follows when all around him is suffocating and dark.

Adrian kisses his tears away where they linger in his eyelashes and roll down his cheeks and curve along his chin, speaking the kindest words he can but knowing that Siren can hardly hear him anyway. His presence is enough to calm Siren, but maybe he just likes saying those things—for his own benefit.

Sleep is hard to find, but not impossible to locate. Adrian learned long ago how to coax his lover to sleep after even the worst of nightmares, and he runs his fingers through Siren’s hair tenderly. Siren stares at him, eyes wobbling and he looks so tired and worn, ancient and damaged, but the rhythmic motions lull him into a childish sleep and his eyes close and he’s just a boy again, sleeping peacefully and innocently.

Adrian can’t fall asleep again until he puts his arms around Siren and pulls him close.

Yep, so that's that stuff. Anyway, I need to study and do my essay for the poetry, blaaaaaaagh. So I'll do that. Or... make icons. Anyway. --;;

GLARBH!!!

2007-11-28T15:21:19Z

My fingers won't move in the morning. I about went crazy (OMG COLLOQUIALISM!?) this morning because I couldn't turn my alarm off. It's my cell phone, so all I have to do is arrow down and press send and it will stop, but I couldn't! Rawr. My fingers wouldn't do it and the beeps were waking my roommates, so I had to get up and run to the hall until my fingers started working. Damn you, fingers. Obviously they work now ;P but that was annoying. I mean, I can throw myself out of bed but I can't move my fingers. Arr.

Mou. I have four essays due before the end of the semester... in fact, one of them is due next Monday. I just started writing it today. ;___; I'm so bad. And I only studied half the material for my Spanish test today (which I already took and did badly on, eww.) And it's not even like I was working on something... I was goofing off. Pah. ;P

And NaNo was a NaNo. I quit after the first week, ha ha. I got about 2000 words. I am so lame. ;P

So one of my essays is to write a poem and then analyze it. o___O I wrote a sestina for Scottie Socks. <<lamer

But anyway, it'd be cool if someone would tell me how bad it is and whether I should scrap and start completely over. And I wish the professor would reply to me about whether I need meter... and uhh, I turned 'blood red' into one word. ;P Ha ha.

The sad dark house does not forget

even as the leaves dying bloodred

lose hope and faith and fall.

The windows, the doors, the foundation is cracked

like a skull with the crooked

teeth of a boy struck dumb.

Father always called him dumb

but the child could not forget

anything because his father was crooked

with teeth and face and fingers bloodred

from where the gunpowder had cracked

open hearts and made them fall.

The house swallowed him up and the ghosts of trees turned the world to fall

even though the rest were spring, dumb

in their innocence— soon to be cracked

by of the one who could never forget

the nightmare, the hell, of the walls bloodred,

recalling the horror of the smile so crooked.

And the boy was stretched into a crooked

shape like his father, by his father, and made them fall

and painted them beautiful bloodred

Like the roses used to be. The roses that were dumb

to their own deaths because you forget—they forget—we forget.

And on her way down the window cracked.

And he loved, but he cracked

every mirror with his crooked

smile that no one would be allowed to forget.

In the entryway his love did fall,

weary and sad and mouth sewed up dumb

with cheeks cold-bitten, bloodred.

Staring with eyes bloodred,

he took in the pieces of his life, shattered and cracked

by the terror that had made him dumb

and muddled, his soul and mind crooked.

He took gasoline and matches and made that house fall,

he watched it burn to ashes but could not destroy the list of things he could never forget.

His hands were stained bloodred as he walked chained, walked crooked

to meet the end of his cracked life, to experience the fall

into eternal darkness that beckoned— into the dumb silence waiting beyond— and stole him away from even those things he thought he’d never forget.

Anyway, that's how life's going right about now. Classes end December 11 and exams are December 14-19. Scary.

therabidtoenail @ 2007-11-01T00:10:00

2007-11-01T04:15:39Z

I am very hungry and cold.

I was an emo for Halloween.

Nanowrimo has officially started.

I feel dead inside. I wish I hadn't lost the ability to cry.

Jeez, I'm so emo. XP

omg lemon

2007-10-28T05:12:17Z

Yeah, so... this was the first pr0nz I ever wrote... finally brave enough to put it up. :O

Warnings: M/M LEMON ZOMG! Also some nonconnonsex and... disturbingness. NOT FOR SMALL BABIES OMG. Or people under 18... heh heh.

Yeah, so... this was the first pr0nz I ever wrote... finally brave enough to put it up, although I'm not putting it on FP where it belongs (and would make sense, since it's part of a series with much stuffs) because it is scary.

Oh, and it actually has stuff besides prons. It's a 12-page story ZOMG, and only 4 of those are porn. Yes, darn. --;;

Warnings: M/M LEMON ZOMG! Also some nonconnonsex and... disturbingness.

Making Love

(is a cheesy title zomg)

“Have you been watching the news lately?” John asked, wiping his mouth distractedly on his napkin as he eagerly leaned forward across the table. He was a strong, well-muscled man with short blond hair that he kept combed across his scalp. It wasn’t very becoming, but of course no one was impolite enough to tell him.

“No,” Adrian mumbled cautiously, his eyes going to stare at the swirling red liquid in his glass as he sipped his wine.

“Oh, how can you not have?” John’s wife Melissa intoned, worry creasing her brow but excitement shining in her eyes. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties, with long curly hair and bright eyes.

“We’ve been a little busy lately, is all,” Siren murmured, looking down at his salad. “Not much time for TV.”

John blanched, staring at the brunet. Siren glanced up, flushing. “Oh, no—not that… or anything similar. We’ve had a project, is all—we’ve been painting the sunroom.”

“Yeah. You should see how many pairs of pants Siren has ruined with paint,” Adrian said, smirking over at the brunet.

“We can’t all be talented, Adrian,” Siren muttered. “Anyway, what’s been going on?”

“Ah. Well, there’s a murderer in town.”

Adrian’s hand clenched around his glass. “And?”

“Well, a body was found just a few days ago—a pretty young girl, Kelsey Brown? I suppose she was one of your students, but since it’s the summer you wouldn’t have heard… I was at the scene; it was brutal. Kidnapped, assaulted, hacked into pieces. We only barely identified the body.”

Siren winced, shutting his eyes. “She was a good kid.”

The black-haired man relaxed. “Oh,” Adrian mumbled. “That’s big news in this town, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Unfortunately for us, he didn’t leave much evidence behind… and we think he’s going to strike again.”

“Oh. That’s bad…” Siren remarked dully.

“You two are awfully calm about this. Most people completely lost their heads when they found out.”

“Well… there was a lot of murder in the city,” Adrian said, a faraway look in his eyes. It was obvious that he was remembering the past, a past he shared with Siren which no one else could know… even Siren couldn’t know all of it. “Desensitization, I guess.”

“Ah. That’s a shame, then,” John said, glancing down at his watch. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but it’s late and I have work in the morning. It’s been fun,” he said, standing from the table.

Adrian and Siren walked the man and his wife to the door, exchanging their goodbyes. As soon as the door was closed and locked behind them, Siren turned to Adrian. “You’re going to help, right?” he asked, putting his hands on Adrian’s shoulders imploringly.

“H-how could I possibly help? I don’t know anything about catching criminals…” Adrian mumbled, looking away.

“But surely you can sniff out your own kind, right?” Siren asked, more harshly than he’d meant to. His eyes bored into Adrian’s, half-accusing and half-hurt.

Adrian’s eyes flew wide open in shock, trembling ice-blue, and his jaw dropped, mouth slack and wide open. “Y-you…”

“Of course I know, Adrian…” Siren mumbled tiredly, leaning heavily against the man. “I’m not dense.”

The black-haired man was trembling, his voice shaking, “Th-then why are you… why are you with me? Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Siren looked up at him, Belgian chocolate eyes shining. “I know you didn’t want to, I know your father made you crazy… and besides, I fell in love with you before I realized…”

Adrian’s hands cupped his cheeks. “You love me even though… oh, Siren…” Adrian murmured, tears shining in his eyes. He leaned forward, sealing the brunet’s lips with his. The kiss was leisurely and slow, full of emotions that had been suppressed for far too long. As Siren breathed in, Adrian whispered, “I didn’t tell you because I was so afraid you’d leave me… but you knew all along…” He laughed, soft and musical and thick with tears.

Siren took his hand, stroking it gently. “It’s all right.” He pressed a kiss to Adrian’s fluttering pulse. “I know, and I’m still here.”

For once, sleep came easily, huddled together and fingers intertwined.

When Siren finally awoke, the sun was shining bright through the window. Adrian had already left for work, smiling at Siren when his morning kiss didn’t wake him up like it usually did and heading out the door. Siren eventually crawled out of bed, took a shower, and took his usual walk before he left for work. They lived near a park, so Siren walked there nearly every morning and the couple could often be found there in the evenings. There was a lovely lake there, and Siren found himself walking around the perimeter, smiling at the ducks, the trees, the poo that quickly attached itself to his shoe. He was smiling without a real reason, but he felt so much better, like a giant weight was gone, and he was sure Adrian felt the same. They’d both kept their secrets for the other’s sake, but now there were no secrets. Siren gave a happy sigh.

He walked blissfully, hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was no one around, but Siren didn’t mind—he was used to being alone, and the atmosphere felt incredibly tranquil. The ducks quacked lightly, the water splashed musically in the lake, the footsteps behind him…

Wait, what?

Siren glanced backward, trying to avoid turning his head. It was someone he recognized but didn’t really know, a dark-haired man who lived a few blocks away. Deciding to ignore him, Siren continued on, beginning to whistle happily until…

A hand wrapped around his neck, and he was jerked backward, his back hitting a hard chest. He heard something fall from his pocket and hit the wet grass. Another hand covered his mouth before he could react, but he bit down on it as hard as he could, a half-yell escaping his throat before the other hand closed around his windpipe, preventing speech. “Shut up,” the man said gruffly. “If you try to scream, I’ll kill you right here.”

Siren knew he couldn’t afford to die—Adrian would probably go crazy and start killing people again—so he decided to keep quiet and look for a way out along the way. Even if he got dragged off somewhere, he knew from experience that he could freeze even the bravest, most hot-headed men in their tracks with one look. After all, it had worked on Flavian before.

In the end Siren found himself tied to a chair, arms pinned at his sides, the rope biting harshly into his skin. He glowered at the man who had abducted him, trying to remain calm. He’d been in worse situations, but… but then, he’d always had someone to protect him…

He shook his head. That didn’t matter—he’d get out of here, no matter what. When he glanced up, the man was right beside him, thick fingers running through his hair and tracing the line of his jaw, moving down his neck and slipping beneath his shirt and Siren could barely move an inch to get away, so he bit his lip and tried to ignore it.

His eyes flew wide open, mouth going slack as the man settled into the small chair with him, legs around his waist. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he asked silkily, running a finger along the brunet’s bottom lip, pushing one inside of Siren’s mouth to trail across his wet tongue at the same time as a gun pressed into Siren’s temple. “If you bite me, I’ll blow your head off. I don’t want you to be getting any ideas, now.” The fingers stroked inside of Siren’s mouth, forcing his lips wide open. “Let me do to you as I will, and maybe I’ll let you live… after all, you want to get back to your lover, right?” Wet fingers left his mouth, trailing down his chin.

Siren couldn’t worry that people knew about his and Adrian’s relationship, not when there were bigger things at hand. He felt the need to vomit as fingers explored the softness of his mouth and he wondered why.

Siren’s eyes widened with fright. “Please, just let me go, sir… Adrian will be angry when he finds out what you’re doing to me, he’ll kill you so brutally…”

“Worried about me, angel?” the man asked, eyes twinkling evilly.

Siren growled at the abuse of the term, Phoenix had called him that just before he’d died and… “No, I just don’t want him getting in trouble because of bastard-scum like you!” Siren spat, letting his anger take over him. He was pissed and feeling belligerent, even tied up, but that feeling was slapped away from him when the gun he’d forgotten was forced into his mouth, barely fitting and causing him to choke and gag, but the man continued pressing it into the caverns of his mouth.

“Obey me, bitch, and I’ll make sure your Adrian isn’t hurt by this. Let me do what I want, you slut—I know you will, you must do things like this every night.”

Siren’s eyes widened and he glared fiercely at the man, but couldn’t retort with the metal in his mouth, and he couldn’t protest either when the man started unbuttoning his shirt. He felt like crying, and as the man’s ugly fingers found the spots Adrian had never gotten around to caressing because they took things slowly –too slowly, he thought now— he felt tears trickling from his eyes. The man enjoyed even more the sight of his tears, leaning up to lick them from his cheeks every so often, and Siren tried to move his head away but couldn’t, and he could feel the gun being thrusted into his mouth, deeper and deeper until he gagged uncontrollably, the tears turning into broken sobs. Siren didn’t cry all that much, especially considering the things he’d lived through, but… but this broke him. This was torture, pure and simple.

The man’s ministrations were long and drawn-out, seeming to last for hours (and probably doing so), and Siren’s tears slowly stopped flowing down his cheeks, his mouth growing dry as he lost the ability to cry any longer and he simply lay heavily against the chair, exhausted and unable to resist. So far the man had contented himself with Siren’s chest, but he knew that it would only last for so long… he knew that soon, soon…

So this is what John had meant by “assaulted”. It was simply a vague term for rape. It made Siren sick to his stomach, he’d wanted to only be with Adrian, he didn’t want to be forced by this man—no, he was hardly a man at all, barely human, and Siren wondered darkly if he’d used the gun before because he didn’t have anything to speak of, and thought that perhaps he’d use it again later.

Siren could feel the bile rising in his throat, flowing out of his mouth as best as it could around the metal in his mouth, no doubt getting stuck inside of the gun along the way. With almost no place to go, the horrid taste stayed in his mouth and he felt like throwing up again but he hadn’t eaten breakfast so all he could manage were dry heaves, which his kidnapper didn’t pay attention to anyway, but his body was twitching beneath the ropes that bound it, straining to get away and failing.

Siren cringed, wishing he could die as the man’s fingers fumbled for the button on his pants. Please, please, anything but this.

And then the door across the room burst open and standing in the doorway, framed by the bright light from outside, was Adrian. His ice-blue eyes blazed as he stared at Siren, the helpless chocolate eyes meeting his as Siren’s abductor smirked at Adrian.

“If you come any closer, I’ll shoot him… Siren, is that his name? He’s a pretty little thing, isn’t he? He’s got a big mouth, too, I’ve had this gun inside the whole time… I’m sure you enjoy it, don’t you? I’m sure you take advantage of it every night, don’t you?”

Adrian was positively furious, locking eyes with the man who had dared to hurt Siren… his Siren, Siren belonged to him. In his eyes was such intense hate that the man gulped, his resolve seeming to waver.

“How dare you touch him? How dare you!?” Adrian asked, stepping slowly toward him, his expression full of horrible menacing. “You’ve got no right to even look at him, he’s not yours to do with as you please! And… to hurt someone like him… so kind and gentle… you deserve only the most painful death.” Adrian’s hand darted to his pocket, a knife emerging in his clenched fist as he came upon the man, and Siren pushed back against the man as hard as he could, his chair falling to the floor with a clatter.

“Don’t kill him, Adrian! They’ll catch you for sure; just let the police handle him! Restrain him, tie him to a chair, but don’t kill him!”

Adrian glared, more at the man than Siren, and pulled Siren’s tormentor into a viciously strong headlock. “Fine, Siren. If that’s what you want, then I’ll do it…” He glanced at the brunet. “But only because I love you,” he said, his lips splitting into a smile that was much too gentle for a serial murderer to wear.

As soon as the man was sufficiently restrained and he’d called the police, Adrian walked over to where Siren lay on the up-ended chair. He untied the brunet, pressing a gentle kiss to each red welt on his skin and pulling him to his feet. Siren half-collapsed, leaning heavily against Adrian. “How’d you find me?” he asked weakly as he buttoned his shirt.

“When you didn’t show up for work, they called me. You weren’t at home, so I went to the park to look for you. I found your keys on the ground, and there were disturbances in the grass near them… I followed it here.”

“Really?”

“Eh, or I just ‘sniffed him out’,” Adrian muttered, shrugging.

“I’m sorry, really,” Siren whispered, hanging his head. “I… I just said it without thinking, and…”

“I like it when you speak without thinking, Siren. I always have,” Adrian said with a small smile, putting an arm around Siren’s shoulders. “Are you going to be all right?”

Siren nodded. “Yeah, I guess… I just… I just wished no one would ever touch me but you, and…” his voice broke.

“Well, if I’m assuming correctly, I still have a chance at being your first, don’t I?”

Siren blushed as Adrian helped him walk outside, and they sat on the front steps as they waited for the police. Siren really hadn’t paid attention to the house when the man had dragged him inside, but it was only a short way from the park, hidden from the general public by a sparse growth of trees. It was isolated, quiet, serene. The brunet leaned his head against Adrian’s shoulder tiredly, sighing, “Yes…”

Adrian kissed the top of his head. “I’m… really angry, though. That bastard hurt you, and…”

Siren put his hand over Adrian’s. “It’s all right. It’s over now.”

The black-haired man leaned in for a kiss, but Siren turned away. Hurt blue eyes stared at him. “Are you frightened of me now?”

Chocolate eyes blinked in confusion. “Oh, no… it’s just… I threw up earlier. You wouldn’t want to kiss that.”

“Looking out for me, are you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to kiss puke myself, so I just thought you’d be the same.”

“I’m so very touched, Siren, how much you care about me.”

“Sure,” Siren murmured, closing his eyes, and somehow as the police cars skidded through underbrush with sirens going and lights flashing, somehow, with Siren’s head on Adrian’s shoulder, he knew that everything would be all right. He hadn’t killed anyone, no one would find out what he’d done before, and he could be with Siren for… he’d like to say forever, but he knew better than to push his luck.

Angels and devils, no matter how close in life, were always separated in death.

Siren’s testimony, filled with teary brown eyes and small, trembling shoulders and hiccups of frightened emotion, swayed the jury like nothing else could. He was well-liked in the community, everyone knew him and talked about what a sweet and polite man he was; he’d accidentally stolen the heart of many a woman in town. Adrian supposed it wouldn’t have mattered what Siren said to them; they’d have supported him all the way. The man was locked away forever, or not really forever, but long enough that he’d be a stooped old man if he ever made it out. As Adrian watched Siren from the back of the courtroom, he thought…

He’d done much worse than this man. He’d killed almost a dozen people, and if he ever got caught, he’d be executed for sure… but it wasn’t really death that he was afraid of. What he feared… more than anything else… was losing Siren.

He remembered the nights—there were so many—where he’d confessed his crimes to Siren, speaking lowly in his ear, but he’d only ever had the courage to do it while the other was sleeping. Those nights, Siren had only shivered and moved closer to Adrian, and the black-haired man’s throat had stopped working.

It was a relief that Siren knew, had known all along, and had a big enough heart to still love him. Was that called ‘unconditional love’? Like what was supposed to be between parents and children (but often wasn’t) or soulmates (there weren’t many of those left in the world). Maybe, though, they were soulmates. Maybe it would all work out, because…

“After all, even the devil needs an angel,” Flavian had said, a long time ago. That was before Adrian had killed him. Maybe it was true.

Everyone was dismissed and Siren slowly made his way over to Adrian, stopped along the way by plenty of the townspeople giving him their sympathies. He kept his head down, eyes trained on the floor, giving his thanks to the people who tried to help him in a soft, gentle voice. Adrian watched as John patted his back and Melissa gave him a comforting hug.

“It’s a hard thing to live through, but you survived. You made it, you’re all right now.”

“I know,” Siren murmured. “Thank you.”

“If you ever need anything—”

Siren turned to the two with a faltering smile. “I’m fine,” he said, and finally reached Adrian. He smiled at the man, taking his hand. “Let’s go home.”

“All right,” Adrian murmured, turning to leave. “That was a nice act you gave up there.”

Siren shrugged. “It wasn’t an act.”

“Ah. Well, you wouldn’t let me kill him, so there’s not much more I can do. If it’s any consolation to you, I tied him up very tight. I’m sure it was painful.”

The brunet laughed, light and soft, as they walked down the street. “I’m sure you did,” he answered, a knowing smile on his face.

Walking down the street hand-in-hand as people stared, the wind buffeting them this way and that, dry leaves blowing against their shoes, Siren leaning in close with windburned cheeks to escape the cold… that was love.

It was what they’d both been waiting for, their fingers intertwining like their hearts and suddenly the things that had stopped them before seemed tiny compared to their heartbeats.

Siren knew it was time, knew that Adrian wanted so badly to erase the other man’s touches and that Siren himself needed him to. They’d avoided it in the time between the incident and the trial because there wasn’t a place for it, but now it fit in perfectly. After all, they had almost waited too long.

They made love for the first time that night.

It started slowly, chaste tight-lipped kissed in the entryway, soul-deep looks, soft touches to Siren’s face, but grew naturally into much more.

They kissed again, Adrian’s mouth opening, tongue sweeping out to greet Siren’s pink lips, the petals parting accommodatingly and allowing the tongue entrance. Siren was against the wall, Adrian’s knee sliding in between his legs, thin hips crushing him to the wallpaper roses. The kiss was deep, penetrating, passionate, and Siren moaned louder than he ever had before. As they paused for breath, lips only a half-centimeter apart, their eyes met like fire.

“Adrian…” Siren groaned softly, brushing his lips against the other’s neck.

Neither knew exactly how it happened, how they ended up in their bedroom with Adrian’s soft, fluttering kisses dancing up and down Siren’s neck and Siren’s fingernails digging into Adrian’s back. In any case, the silence of the room was soon punctuated by moans and the rustling of bedsheets, low nonsensical murmurs in Siren’s ear, short gasps when one of them did something unexpected.

Siren’s toes curled as Adrian’s tongue moved, wet and searing, in his mouth, fisting his hands in the sheets, his tongue responding of its own volition. The last vestiges of soreness from the altercation seemed to vanish with Adrian’s soft touch, aching only in its gentleness. He moaned deep in his throat, heat pooling all in his body as Adrian left his mouth, nipping at his jaw. His fingers soon reached up, finding Adrian’s hair and grasping the black strands.

“Siren,” Adrian breathed wetly against the sharp bone. “Siren, I love you.”

The brunet gave a small cry as Adrian’s teeth raked across his neck, his sensitive skin relishing the hot, wet touch. Adrian kissed the faint marks there, obsessed with reversing every touch Siren had been forced to endure at the hands of another. But even that wasn’t enough, as Adrian decided to move onto new territory, Siren moaning as he continued his journey.

It was slow and methodical, Siren’s shirt disappearing to the floor as a tongue traced his collarbone (surprised gasp), detouring around a nipple (Siren cried out), trailing down to his bellybutton (fingers on his back clenching harder), dipping inside and swirling around (low moan), tickling the sensitive skin underneath so that Siren’s hips jerked upward suddenly. Adrian pulled back, taking a moment to breathe and admire the man beneath him. Siren’s brown hair was mussed, fanned out around his head, chocolate eyes half-opened, cheeks flushed beautifully, mouth open and panting, torso bared and shining in the moonlight from the window.

Adrian’s pants felt tight and all too restricting as Siren reached up, fingers deftly undoing his shirt buttons and flinging the offending piece of clothing to the side, and pressed his hot mouth against Adrian’s shoulder, open and wet and… Adrian pressed himself closer to Siren, feeling the unsuspected friction as they…

Siren moaned, gasping out, “Adrian…” He stared up at him pleadingly, eyes barely lucid, fogged with pleasure, fingers clenching on Adrian’s shoulders as he sat up, forcing Adrian to lie under him. Adrian didn’t protest, because even though he could’ve, he wouldn’t want to. He was anxious to see what Siren would do.

The brunet sat on his stomach, thin legs on either side of Adrian’s body. He stared down at the black-haired man, a strangely alluring look in his eyes. His lips shone wetly, appetizingly, and Adrian leaned upward, pulling Siren down upon his mouth. Siren followed him, their hips grinding together as their lips met like thunder, a great discharge of emotions that had been contained for far too long. Siren’s small fingers trailed along Adrian’s torso, ghosting and barely tickling his smooth skin, as his tongue twined with the other’s, their mouths open to each other, and Adrian pushed against Siren hard with his hips.

Siren gasped inside Adrian’s mouth and he broke from the kiss, moving down Adrian’s body to play with the hem of his pants. He considered Adrian playfully, his fingers dipping below the line before scurrying out again, teasing.

“Do it,” Adrian grunted, his ice-blue eyes shining as he leaned upward, unbuttoning Siren’s black slacks and sliding the zipper down. Siren squeaked, half-nervous and half-aroused, his shaking fingers repeating Adrian’s gesture.

“A-Adrian, I don’t know what to do…” he mumbled, biting his lips in an unwittingly alluring manner. His skin was flushed, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against Adrian, and…

Adrian sat up fully, pulling Siren closer. The brunet was sitting in his lap, legs still straddling his stomach. “It’s all right…” he murmured, hand coming to rest on the top hem of Siren’s pants. “Did you… want to stop?”

Siren shook his head. “I’m just… a little scared, is all. I’ve never done something like this before, and…” the man’s voice trailed off, a hot blush covering his cheeks as he looked away in embarrassment.

Adrian smiled softly at the sight, nudging Siren’s chin toward him with a hand. “Me neither, but I’m glad it’s you,” Adrian whispered and silenced him with a kiss, sliding Siren’s pants off of his hips with only a small amount of difficulty. “If you want to stop, say so… all right? I don’t want to frighten you or push you farther than you’re comfortable with.”

“I know. I’m fine right now,” Siren answered, leaning up and biting Adrian’s shoulder. The other man gave a shiver, a small boyish noise slipping past his lips, blue eyes widening.

“All right. I’ll do my best, then.” He grasped the pale legs all around him, sliding his fingers up and down Siren’s inner thighs, coming close but never touching the bulge in the other’s boxers. Siren hissed as the gentle fingers tickled up and down his legs, clenching his thighs around Adrian’s waist and pressing closer to him. Siren clung to him, arms around his neck, trying not to writhe desperately against him but failing wonderfully.

“Well, if you don’t want to stop, then my pants have to come off too, you know,” Adrian said pointedly after a few delicious moments of tension.

“O-Oh… sorry…” Siren mumbled, scooting off of his lap and grasping the waistband of his pants, trying not to look away as he pulled them down (he knew Adrian would be upset if he were embarrassed). When the nice black slacks had joined the growing pile on the floor, Adrian pushed Siren into the bed, hovering over him.

Adrian brushed Siren’s hair from his eyes gently, his eyes full to bursting with love and concern. “So you… you don’t mind, right? I mean…”

Siren smiled up at him beautifully, and Adrian lost the ability to breathe. “What would you do if I said I wanted to quit? I mean, we’re both too far gone to stop, don’t you think?” he asked, pressing his hand into his abdomen as if to direct Adrian’s eyes downward.

The black-haired man stared hungrily. “If you’re sure,” he mumbled, voice thick with lust, and descended. He made no pretense of starting up top, but dived straight into Siren’s bellybutton, revisiting it with his tongue while his fingers tugged down the band of Siren’s boxers to expose a thin hipbone. Adrian kissed the protrusion, Siren gasping as his warm breaths blew against the unaccustomed patch of skin. Adrian’s mouth and fingers worked simultaneously, tongue tracing Siren’s hips and his pelvic bone as his fingers pulled down Siren’s underwear an aching centimeter at a time. Siren was writhing, thrusting helplessly against Adrian’s shoulder, but the black-haired man was taking his sweet time, turning pleasure into torture and back to pleasure again.

Finally, finally Siren’s boxers were sliding down to his knees (Adrian kissed his way down Siren’s thighs, pointedly ignoring the brunet’s biggest problem), then to his ankles (a hot tongue against his shins, sticky saliva tickling the little hairs on his legs) and finally past his feet. Adrian couldn’t help but stare in awe at what he’d managed to reduce Siren to (not that he, himself was much better) : all sweaty, panting, flushed perfection, aroused beyond belief and writhing in search of relief, and Siren nearly yanked Adrian’s boxers off his hips, only kissing his hard hipbone as an afterthought.

Adrian quickly stuck his fingers into Siren’s mouth, and the other man, although confused, accepted them eagerly, sucking on them for a few moments before they were withdrawn, chocolate eyes asking why and blue eyes replying that he would soon find out.

And thus, with their clothes in a confused pile on the floor, the sheets tangled hopelessly around them, Adrian pulled Siren into his lap again, the brown-eyed man’s legs opened wide in invitation, his fingers reached for Siren’s back, trailing lower and searching for…

Siren’s eyes were wide as saucers as he gasped, “What?”, voice thick with confused passion and pain. Adrian leaned forward to kiss him, whispering into his mouth, “Shh, it’s all right…”

“Is that… what you’re supposed to do? There?”

“Well, where else is there?” Adrian asked, smiling. “It’s fine, darling… I’ll do my best. You’ll be fine.”

And it was true—the finger moving around inside hit upon something and Siren hissed with pleasure, as pain blurred into ecstasy, his legs closing in around his black-haired lover’s waist. Adrian found himself moaning, too, as Siren pressed insistently against him. The friction between them became nearly unbearable and he knew he had to hurry, so he allowed another finger to join the first. Siren’s cry was drowned out by the tongue that was already in his mouth, the fingers (three of them now) moving from side to side inside of him.

Siren whimpered as the fingers left and his unexpected pleasure faded, but Adrian kissed his sweaty forehead, leaning back slightly and pulling Siren further into his lap, adjusting until he found…

“Adr—!” Siren began, the sound ending in a gurgle in his throat. There was something inside him, larger than Adrian’s fingers could ever aspire to be, and he was in such pain even though the foreign object was sliding inside slowly, allowing him to accustom himself to its size, until…

Siren tipped his head back, moaning as it touched that spot.

Adrian grunted, sliding away before thrusting in again, and slowly but surely he built up a falling-apart rhythm, starting slowly but going slightly faster with every hot, desperate thrust, the pace increasing with each cry that escaped either throat, and then there was a hand between their two close bodies, moving in time with each thrust, stroking Siren’s inner thighs and then between his legs…

Soon the world exploded, white-hot and sticky and Siren collapsed weakly against Adrian’s chest, moaning his name louder than he thought his lungs could and hearing a similar voice echoing his name against his hair. Adrian slid out of him and the two tumbled back against the bed, Siren pressed into Adrian as the black-haired man pulled the covers around them, putting his arm around Siren’s shoulders as he stared down at his chocolate-eyed lover.

The silence was shattered by Siren’s soft, breathless giggle, “I love you, Adrian…” He looked incredibly tired, but also very happy, a soft smile across his face.

Adrian leaned over, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

“So… that was sex…” Siren mumbled, curling around Adrian so that their limbs became hopelessly tangled, resting his head against Adrian’s gently rising and falling chest. Their fingers became intertwined somewhere along the way, their coupled hands resting against the sheets.

“I’d call it making love,” Adrian whispered, leaning his chin on top of Siren’s head.

Siren’s lips parted to show him a happy, if not a little dazed, smile. “All right. I guess I’ll call it making love, too.”

Adrian beamed back at Siren, pulling the brunet closer to him and wishing he never had to let go.

LOL pr0nz. So, what does anyone think? --;; I'm wondering what all I'd have to edit out to put it on FP.com... omg oral gunfuck. Gross.

Yay for LJ-cut.

Honeymoon's over

2007-10-27T05:31:37Z

Out of the honeymoon phase with this college thing.

So we have a Karen, political arguments, and black balloons. W00t.

It's cold.

Not as happy-bouncy as before, and probably going to start the meds again. Yay for chem imbalance fixers.

Although, you know... not being able to cry makes me feel just as broken.

therabidtoenail @ 2007-10-20T12:09:00

2007-10-20T16:28:39Z

So it's parents' weekend... I want some lunch, but I don't wanna get caught up in the sea of parents... ;P Planning on going home sometime this afternoon. But right now I'm RoyEding, yay! Funfun.

Oh, and we're doing an RPG here at school... OMG, weird. I don't understand how to write when I don't control the world. ;P It seems I'm something of a control freak. Ha ha.

At least it's not a LARP. Mya ha ha.