Between empty times
Hello LJ, I've been a bad user. And a bad, uh, writer in general. Real life hasn't been very busy, yet I keep finding myself getting caught up in one thing or another, one thought or another. Anyway.
Here goes a plotless gay porn.
--
Title: Before Midnight Show
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
A/N: Uh... NC-17 and little to no plot.
Before Midnight Show
a D.Gray-Man drabble
--
He wasn’t sure of when he took up smoking himself but it had stuck with him since. He’d been reprimanded so many times he’d lost count, fire hazard being the most often justification against him, never once about health. Their bunch had long since came into a silent agreement that health is overrated.
He took a long drag and freed smoke from his confines. Or was it himself that was freed from the smoke?
A friction in the air caused the white shadow to flicker about. A beautifully molded mass (mess?) came claiming a portion of hollow air. He would have turned around for a greeting. He would have grinned over a stupid something his brain and mouth were capable of forming. He would have, only there were no audiences to entertain this time round.
The intruder moved to rest his form on the railing, pouring shadow upon his features. Another drag and that was the end of his cancer stick. The start to something else.
“Lonely aren’t we?”
Pretty bold a start.
--
He used to dislike the sensation of tobacco in his mouth but that was something he’d grown used to. It’s just something he could not stop from happening.
He wouldn’t stop even if he asked anyway, not that he’d ask.
He was getting what he came for; human heat on his not-so-human skin. He might even have his hands up his neck were he more of a romanticist. For now, he’d rather have them grabbing the collar of the black fabric separating him and the other’s bare chest. No matter how used he was to this, his mouth, he decided, was still not in very good terms with tobacco.
The mouth that was on his left, though lips still dropping ephemeral touches along his jawline, down his neck; tongue painting a wet trail along his throat. His grip loosened, one hand moved to touch one of two arms trapping him in place. Mister talented mouth moved away from his neck and blue met green. Something burned their everything until what was left was a need so intense one could practically touch it.
The green grew darker as fingers found their way under black fabric, tracing a path up his prey’s spine. The hitched breath gave way to something too predatory a grin just as those fingers arrived at his nape, teasing, lips moist and slightly parted, as if inviting his own to touchlickbite, to devour and draw blood.
“Look at yourself, Yuu.” Black locks freed from red strings.
“Look at me.”
--
It practically took his all not to sound the least bit desperate. Upon hearing his own words though, he used his all to blame the misty moon on a dark hallway for playing tricks on his mind. On their minds. On them.
--
“At times like this-” Breathe out. “I don’t know if I- Fuck …I’m grateful to your healing abilities or not.”
“I thought you guys- Haa… Like it tight…” said a pile of mess on a lonely hallway. Having the honour to be an audience to tonight’s show was a dead cigarette butt.
“Aww, say something a little more romantic-” Push. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Says you-” Pant. “Bastard.”
He wanted to throw in some satirical reply, he really did. The thing was, seeing a pretty face all flushed and messed up like that intensified the sensations down his lower region. He wasn’t sure if he liked his photographic memory at times like those.
“Hng- Fuck, La-”
He captured his mouth and bit down on his tongue. Red liquid looked pretty on those lips, on that contorted face, like fuel to his burning body.
He just didn’t want to hear his name which would be his no more, one day.
--
They didn’t do afterglow nonsense, that’s the worst part of sex, they both agreed. The scar on his tongue was disappearing at the speed of smoke dancing up the atmosphere. He left as silently as how he had come. Words were too much of a deadweight.
“Pleasure doing business with you. Come again, sexy.”
A deadweight of lies they bore from time to time.
One step and two. “…I hate that smell.” He heard a chuckle that dripped of either mockery or self pity. In the end he thought it was both.
aQx
[07152010 - 2259]
Here goes a plotless gay porn.
--
Title: Before Midnight Show
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
A/N: Uh... NC-17 and little to no plot.
Before Midnight Show
a D.Gray-Man drabble
--
He wasn’t sure of when he took up smoking himself but it had stuck with him since. He’d been reprimanded so many times he’d lost count, fire hazard being the most often justification against him, never once about health. Their bunch had long since came into a silent agreement that health is overrated.
He took a long drag and freed smoke from his confines. Or was it himself that was freed from the smoke?
A friction in the air caused the white shadow to flicker about. A beautifully molded mass (mess?) came claiming a portion of hollow air. He would have turned around for a greeting. He would have grinned over a stupid something his brain and mouth were capable of forming. He would have, only there were no audiences to entertain this time round.
The intruder moved to rest his form on the railing, pouring shadow upon his features. Another drag and that was the end of his cancer stick. The start to something else.
“Lonely aren’t we?”
Pretty bold a start.
--
He used to dislike the sensation of tobacco in his mouth but that was something he’d grown used to. It’s just something he could not stop from happening.
He wouldn’t stop even if he asked anyway, not that he’d ask.
He was getting what he came for; human heat on his not-so-human skin. He might even have his hands up his neck were he more of a romanticist. For now, he’d rather have them grabbing the collar of the black fabric separating him and the other’s bare chest. No matter how used he was to this, his mouth, he decided, was still not in very good terms with tobacco.
The mouth that was on his left, though lips still dropping ephemeral touches along his jawline, down his neck; tongue painting a wet trail along his throat. His grip loosened, one hand moved to touch one of two arms trapping him in place. Mister talented mouth moved away from his neck and blue met green. Something burned their everything until what was left was a need so intense one could practically touch it.
The green grew darker as fingers found their way under black fabric, tracing a path up his prey’s spine. The hitched breath gave way to something too predatory a grin just as those fingers arrived at his nape, teasing, lips moist and slightly parted, as if inviting his own to touchlickbite, to devour and draw blood.
“Look at yourself, Yuu.” Black locks freed from red strings.
“Look at me.”
--
It practically took his all not to sound the least bit desperate. Upon hearing his own words though, he used his all to blame the misty moon on a dark hallway for playing tricks on his mind. On their minds. On them.
--
“At times like this-” Breathe out. “I don’t know if I- Fuck …I’m grateful to your healing abilities or not.”
“I thought you guys- Haa… Like it tight…” said a pile of mess on a lonely hallway. Having the honour to be an audience to tonight’s show was a dead cigarette butt.
“Aww, say something a little more romantic-” Push. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Says you-” Pant. “Bastard.”
He wanted to throw in some satirical reply, he really did. The thing was, seeing a pretty face all flushed and messed up like that intensified the sensations down his lower region. He wasn’t sure if he liked his photographic memory at times like those.
“Hng- Fuck, La-”
He captured his mouth and bit down on his tongue. Red liquid looked pretty on those lips, on that contorted face, like fuel to his burning body.
He just didn’t want to hear his name which would be his no more, one day.
--
They didn’t do afterglow nonsense, that’s the worst part of sex, they both agreed. The scar on his tongue was disappearing at the speed of smoke dancing up the atmosphere. He left as silently as how he had come. Words were too much of a deadweight.
“Pleasure doing business with you. Come again, sexy.”
A deadweight of lies they bore from time to time.
One step and two. “…I hate that smell.” He heard a chuckle that dripped of either mockery or self pity. In the end he thought it was both.
aQx
[07152010 - 2259]