FM September Prompt
Contents are pretty NSFW, sex and such!
Hands. What you remember best are definitely the hands.
They take on lives of their own, roaming and gliding and feeling. You remember nails tracing along the outlines of nipples, running down and up, and fingers, ghosting across lips in wonder, as if bringing to mind a long lost friend. Pad of digits, exploring and curious. They had life breathed into them. They had emotions. They knew exactly where to touch, just how satisfying that first exhale was when fingers finally wrapped themselves around sensitive, sensitive skin, reaching between thighs and, damn knowing exactly what to do.
Pale white skin complements that shade of mahogany, so creamy and rich, you were sure it was going to taste like caramel that first time. Fingers entwine, pupils dilate, arteries constrict and, God, do those first few seconds inside feel closer to heaven than anything else you can even fathom imagining. Those are the nights when you think of making love, of course, a kind of level of intimacy you can't even wrap your mind around.
And entirely different from the nights you dream about fucking.
Making love doesn't have that satisfying clack of teeth when mouths finally meet, tongues roaming and twining and sex is a damned battle. The tug of war of hands grabbing wrists, hard enough to bruise and turn that dark shade of skin a smattering of purple and blue, dark colors on a blank canvas. The give and take of bodies pressed up against each other, friction and heat and buttons popping right off the shirts, because who has time for that kind of patience when you're that hot, that fast?
It's messy. It's ugly. Yet there's that oh-so satisfying final moment when he's inside and your hands are gripping the desk so hard that it looks like your bones are jabbing out straight through your knuckles. The slippery slip-slide of sex, hands and lips and cocks and sparkles so bright you can't see for those panicked few seconds after you're peaking into the palm of his hand. Close, then. So close to him you just want to crawl around inside his skin and mull for a while.
And then the hard part.
You can't imagine getting over those final few seconds, when your eyes finally open. Sweat-slicked sheets and nails digging into pillows so hard you can't breathe, boxers messed as your fingers linger for a few seconds too long inside them. Those times are the worst. Those moments when you finally realize that none of it was real.
Prompt: Write about one of your sexual fantasies.
Muse: Gabriel "Sylar" Gray
Fandom: Heroes
Hands. What you remember best are definitely the hands.
They take on lives of their own, roaming and gliding and feeling. You remember nails tracing along the outlines of nipples, running down and up, and fingers, ghosting across lips in wonder, as if bringing to mind a long lost friend. Pad of digits, exploring and curious. They had life breathed into them. They had emotions. They knew exactly where to touch, just how satisfying that first exhale was when fingers finally wrapped themselves around sensitive, sensitive skin, reaching between thighs and, damn knowing exactly what to do.
Pale white skin complements that shade of mahogany, so creamy and rich, you were sure it was going to taste like caramel that first time. Fingers entwine, pupils dilate, arteries constrict and, God, do those first few seconds inside feel closer to heaven than anything else you can even fathom imagining. Those are the nights when you think of making love, of course, a kind of level of intimacy you can't even wrap your mind around.
And entirely different from the nights you dream about fucking.
Making love doesn't have that satisfying clack of teeth when mouths finally meet, tongues roaming and twining and sex is a damned battle. The tug of war of hands grabbing wrists, hard enough to bruise and turn that dark shade of skin a smattering of purple and blue, dark colors on a blank canvas. The give and take of bodies pressed up against each other, friction and heat and buttons popping right off the shirts, because who has time for that kind of patience when you're that hot, that fast?
It's messy. It's ugly. Yet there's that oh-so satisfying final moment when he's inside and your hands are gripping the desk so hard that it looks like your bones are jabbing out straight through your knuckles. The slippery slip-slide of sex, hands and lips and cocks and sparkles so bright you can't see for those panicked few seconds after you're peaking into the palm of his hand. Close, then. So close to him you just want to crawl around inside his skin and mull for a while.
And then the hard part.
You can't imagine getting over those final few seconds, when your eyes finally open. Sweat-slicked sheets and nails digging into pillows so hard you can't breathe, boxers messed as your fingers linger for a few seconds too long inside them. Those times are the worst. Those moments when you finally realize that none of it was real.
Prompt: Write about one of your sexual fantasies.
Muse: Gabriel "Sylar" Gray
Fandom: Heroes