A/N: Me and my short little random vignettes. Eh, well, whaddayagonnado? I dunno...it's weird and I like it. There you have it, folks ^.^
Disclaimer: Saiyuki isna mine! *snaps fingers* of all the rotten luck...
Hakkai PoV musing on Gojyo. Rather obvious shounen-ai, not really yaoi but, well, you'll see. It's very pattern-oriented, but that's just a tic of mine. Enjoy...
***
Sometimes he makes a deep satisfied sound somewhere between a purr and a roar and rolls over, nuzzling into my shoulder with hot, exhausted lips and just breathing.
Sometimes he screams my name, hoarse and violent, and collapses limbless with no regard to either of our abilities to survive under his weight.
Sometimes he makes no noise at all. It comes hard to him and he watches me, takes my body into his hands and drowns himself out with what he wrests from me.
Sometimes he screams incoherently, more like a whimper and less like a bellow, and falls backward so my hands are ripped from him and the bond immediately breaks.
Sometimes he catches my mouth in his and we cry into each other. On days with rain coming we are unable to let go, to break apart, to isolate ourselves.
If he is sated, I am writing half-uncomfortable, almost used but utterly desirable and befitting of the posture I am unable to release, legs spread for the world to see.
If he is violent, I am exhausted, clutching at strands of his hair as I gather scattered wits that fled in the face of sudden, gorgeous, inescapable blindness.
If he is silent, I buzz with the energies he has poured into me, nesting and knotting the sheets beneath me as I struggle to remain and yet desperately wish to get away.
If he pulls away, I shiver at the sudden cold, at the sudden emptiness not so mockingly wanton but endlessly desolate. It provokes waves of nostalgia in metaphors I don't care to frame.
If he moans into me, I cry raindrops for him. Weather permitting, we are allowed to taste trust in each other's mouths, to escape the real pain in favor of our private invention.
Sometimes he uses me, and I can understand that. I need the release.
Sometimes he exalts me, and I lose my sense. I need the exhaustion.
Sometimes he manipulates me, and I am at his mercy. I need the attention.
Sometimes he leaves me, and I can finally breathe. I need the space.
But on days with rain coming, favors are exchanged. I need this play on trust.
There is no love here. Only the nuances of misleading physicality.
Disclaimer: Saiyuki isna mine! *snaps fingers* of all the rotten luck...
Hakkai PoV musing on Gojyo. Rather obvious shounen-ai, not really yaoi but, well, you'll see. It's very pattern-oriented, but that's just a tic of mine. Enjoy...
***
Sometimes he makes a deep satisfied sound somewhere between a purr and a roar and rolls over, nuzzling into my shoulder with hot, exhausted lips and just breathing.
Sometimes he screams my name, hoarse and violent, and collapses limbless with no regard to either of our abilities to survive under his weight.
Sometimes he makes no noise at all. It comes hard to him and he watches me, takes my body into his hands and drowns himself out with what he wrests from me.
Sometimes he screams incoherently, more like a whimper and less like a bellow, and falls backward so my hands are ripped from him and the bond immediately breaks.
Sometimes he catches my mouth in his and we cry into each other. On days with rain coming we are unable to let go, to break apart, to isolate ourselves.
If he is sated, I am writing half-uncomfortable, almost used but utterly desirable and befitting of the posture I am unable to release, legs spread for the world to see.
If he is violent, I am exhausted, clutching at strands of his hair as I gather scattered wits that fled in the face of sudden, gorgeous, inescapable blindness.
If he is silent, I buzz with the energies he has poured into me, nesting and knotting the sheets beneath me as I struggle to remain and yet desperately wish to get away.
If he pulls away, I shiver at the sudden cold, at the sudden emptiness not so mockingly wanton but endlessly desolate. It provokes waves of nostalgia in metaphors I don't care to frame.
If he moans into me, I cry raindrops for him. Weather permitting, we are allowed to taste trust in each other's mouths, to escape the real pain in favor of our private invention.
Sometimes he uses me, and I can understand that. I need the release.
Sometimes he exalts me, and I lose my sense. I need the exhaustion.
Sometimes he manipulates me, and I am at his mercy. I need the attention.
Sometimes he leaves me, and I can finally breathe. I need the space.
But on days with rain coming, favors are exchanged. I need this play on trust.
There is no love here. Only the nuances of misleading physicality.