Drabbles
Just posting a couple of drabbles I had made a little while ago....
I need to feel warm skin against mine, the slick sensation of skin sliding against skin, the feel of warm lips, stubble scraping sensitive skin, hot breath coming in in short pants, increasing the rhythm steadily, sliding wetly against each other, small needy sounds breaking the silence, hands caressing, grabbing, groping, wanting to climb into each others skin, nails scratching slippery hard backs.
Tempo increasing more and more, rhythm becoming erratic, sounds coming out of wanton careless mouths only caring for sinful sensations, love, want, lust, sex, it doesn't matter.
Cries rise into the night reaching a simultaneous climax, satisfied smiles join in a wet kiss, tongues and lips moving slowly, hands caressing hot sated bodies, slowly darkening into contented sleep, safe, joined, loved.
Nights granted some release to the painful awareness of daylight, the sweet oblivion that sleep granted, there you could be happy and smile in your dreams.
Cold satin sheets, one could get used to the cold, the forgiving numbness. Cold never hurt you, you could function rationally and keep going. Not like the warmth or rather when you loose it. The soul tearing hurt the warmth of love could create, how much despair and longing you feel in your heart and body. It is better in the cold, nothing to loose. Cold is constant, safe.
In the night in the cold, tears would be spilled and in the morning not remembered, you could pretend easily so no one would notice your pain, the emptiness in your smile, how it doesn't reach your eyes. They don't notice, no one does, no one cares.
Cold provides a better tool to do what you have to.
To keep going. To function.
To live a half a life, because you are not the most important thing, and you need to swallow the hurt and ache and keep going. Alone.
I need to feel warm skin against mine, the slick sensation of skin sliding against skin, the feel of warm lips, stubble scraping sensitive skin, hot breath coming in in short pants, increasing the rhythm steadily, sliding wetly against each other, small needy sounds breaking the silence, hands caressing, grabbing, groping, wanting to climb into each others skin, nails scratching slippery hard backs.
Tempo increasing more and more, rhythm becoming erratic, sounds coming out of wanton careless mouths only caring for sinful sensations, love, want, lust, sex, it doesn't matter.
Cries rise into the night reaching a simultaneous climax, satisfied smiles join in a wet kiss, tongues and lips moving slowly, hands caressing hot sated bodies, slowly darkening into contented sleep, safe, joined, loved.
Nights granted some release to the painful awareness of daylight, the sweet oblivion that sleep granted, there you could be happy and smile in your dreams.
Cold satin sheets, one could get used to the cold, the forgiving numbness. Cold never hurt you, you could function rationally and keep going. Not like the warmth or rather when you loose it. The soul tearing hurt the warmth of love could create, how much despair and longing you feel in your heart and body. It is better in the cold, nothing to loose. Cold is constant, safe.
In the night in the cold, tears would be spilled and in the morning not remembered, you could pretend easily so no one would notice your pain, the emptiness in your smile, how it doesn't reach your eyes. They don't notice, no one does, no one cares.
Cold provides a better tool to do what you have to.
To keep going. To function.
To live a half a life, because you are not the most important thing, and you need to swallow the hurt and ache and keep going. Alone.