[football] who says eating and writing aren't related?
another part of this.
Ricky plucks a peach from the fruit bowl kristen leaves on the kitchen island each morning, and absently tosses it back and forth between his hands as he walks through the house. andriy suppresses a frown. it’s an oddly intimate thing to do; he’s become accustomed to serving guests steaks and champagne in crystal flutes at ( Read more... )
Ricky plucks a peach from the fruit bowl kristen leaves on the kitchen island each morning, and absently tosses it back and forth between his hands as he walks through the house. andriy suppresses a frown. it’s an oddly intimate thing to do; he’s become accustomed to serving guests steaks and champagne in crystal flutes at ( Read more... )
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and LOL to the white expanse of xabi's thighs.
also,
andriy sinks his teeth into the curve of the peach, sun-drenched liquid dripping down his lips; the fruit is ripe to the point of spoiling, its sweetness just a touch away from rotting, bruised and addictive. he swallows. ricky’s fingers, the hard neat edges of his nails, brush just the slightest against his mouth.
= physically cutting.
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i shouldn´t read your stuff at work as it requires more concentration than my costumers allow but...
it’s delicious, he says, and offers him a bite - palm open upwards and curled around the heavy roundness of the fruit, fingers thin and pale and their tips wet with juice (відьма hands, andriy remembers thinking once, reminded of the women in his village who spent their lives drenched by the perfume of drying herbs, always chopping, bottling, mixing; strange, unnatural hands that belonged in folk tales).
this part is unfairly awesome, you know? and i love your lack of capital letters. down with them! i want to know more about andriy´s memories, really.
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I have not talked to you in a while! How are you doing? And is your summer going well?
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