flashfic: Incarnadine
Title: Incarnadine
Rating: PG-13: Denim blue and nude.
Wordcount: 150
Notes: Oh how I will miss Punk's Porn-A-Day, alas for February. We love Punk, yes we do. We love Punk, and so should you.
and i don't care what you say, this fic has been posted on April 2.
Here, the sunlight is burnt sienna. It colors the sky in a watercolor wash, crisp and golden-brown. John remembers it from his mother's paintings, the color of sand and melted candles and sunflowers. The grass, immaculate jungle green, spits at his ankles, and the people approach him with cautious smiles.
Here, the people are accomodating, providing separate stone hutches for the males and females of the Atlanteans.
Here, Rodney's skin is zinc-oxide+gentian-blue in moonlight. At night, however, there is only the absence of color in the dark of their hutch. Here, there is only the colors that can be felt with fingertips and lips and hands.
The warm cerise blush of Rodney's skin beneath John's hands, the Prussian-blue of Rodney's eyes...
In the morning, the bright champagne-and-rose morning, they are goldenrod and buff, flesh and pigment and oil and canvas.
They are a masterpiece.
Rating: PG-13: Denim blue and nude.
Wordcount: 150
Notes: Oh how I will miss Punk's Porn-A-Day, alas for February. We love Punk, yes we do. We love Punk, and so should you.
and i don't care what you say, this fic has been posted on April 2.
Here, the sunlight is burnt sienna. It colors the sky in a watercolor wash, crisp and golden-brown. John remembers it from his mother's paintings, the color of sand and melted candles and sunflowers. The grass, immaculate jungle green, spits at his ankles, and the people approach him with cautious smiles.
Here, the people are accomodating, providing separate stone hutches for the males and females of the Atlanteans.
Here, Rodney's skin is zinc-oxide+gentian-blue in moonlight. At night, however, there is only the absence of color in the dark of their hutch. Here, there is only the colors that can be felt with fingertips and lips and hands.
The warm cerise blush of Rodney's skin beneath John's hands, the Prussian-blue of Rodney's eyes...
In the morning, the bright champagne-and-rose morning, they are goldenrod and buff, flesh and pigment and oil and canvas.
They are a masterpiece.