The sinful whisper of skin on skin, secret language of the night, is sometimes the only way we communicate anymore. You've lost the passion, brother, the fire, and I watch you drift away. My words mean nothing to you, our dreams, our purpose. We've been the same through eons, too many languages to count were shared between us. Now this is all we ( Read more... )

Not Want. Need ( Read more... )

A random Kronos/Oz fic.

Five questions from kronos_endtime:

( Here )

A bit on the silly side, but decided to share anyway:

Link,
and then,
Link,
and this,
Link,
and then a bit of this,
Link.

In the middle there were also a million icons of Duncan Macleod in a very very short kilt, and very smutty aim logs I might end up posting some day.

I'd push you down on our bed - your bed, his bed - running hands and mouth over every inch of your body, hours of pleasure turned torture - this new method of insanity I've learned. Are you enjoying it? Is it better or worse than previous tortures I've inflicted on you?
( Teasing... )

**Ancient Beauty** 100 words ( Read more... )

For some of the special people in my life...

Religion.

He didn't have any, didn't want any, and didn't quite understand the question. It was pointless, tasteless, meaningless - oh right, it was aimed at mortals too. Nearly forgot that. He could understand that; mortals needed religion to get them through the cold nights, to get them through their pathetically short little lives. They had to ( Read more... )

Three Ficlets:

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( Kronos reads. )