Okay so basically my Final Major Project at Art college is based on the Seven Deadly sins so to get myself in the mood (and because Vince Noir commits most of the sins anyway) I decided to start this.
I will finish Rip my jeans etc don't worry, a chapter for it is half way through writing atm but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.
Basically 7 chapters for 7 sins. Not every sin will be written in the style I have for this one.
And I'm writing them in order (least to most deadly) but I think Lust is more a deadly sin and shouldn't be first but hey I didn't write the rules all them years ago.
Anyway, this contains reference of slash but it's not at all graphic (I find it uncomfortable writing graphic fiction)
Enjoy x
Lust
Unlawful sexual desire, such as desiring sex with a person outside marriage
It had all happened so fast, in a flash in fact but to him it had taken minutes, hours, months, years, a lifetime of lustful passion.
It may have been a drunken fumble under the sheets but to him it had never felt so good, he wakes first and props himself up on his elbows to watch the other man as he sleeps. He leans on his side bringing a hand up to his face to rest on and just watches for as long as he can before falling back asleep, his head hits the pillow crushing his arm threatening to numb his fingertips until morning.
Slap.
Palms hit a grimy brick wall.
Noses inches away from touching.
Breath swirling in clouds of mist with each pant.
Alcohol swirling around their bloodstream.
He wakes again and sighs glancing at the clock, it's too early to get up. He pulls his tired body upwards and leans his back against the headboard and sits in the darkness. He notices a book on the bedside table but doesn't dare turn on the light to read it incase he wakes the slumbering man beside him. He clasps his hands together and watches his thumbs swirl round and round in circular motions. A headache hums faintly in the back of his mind, silently he grumbles to himself at the thought of having a hangover then the thoughts mix and mingle with others re-creating the events that led to him sitting up in bed.
Home.
Hands fumble in the pockets of coats.
Keys jingle about and are thrust into the door.
Smothered in vicious passionate kisses.
Racing into the flat.
Slamming the door and locking it.
Tearing clothes from each other.
Tossing them to the floor like a breadcrumb trail.
Stumbling up the carpeted stairs.
Lips locked.
Hands gliding over skin and through hair.
His head turns to glance out through the open door and into the lounge, he spots his skinny jeans with the belt still lopped through and one of his socks lying next to them on the floor. His boxers lie in the doorway along with the other man's, he notices the room smells of alcohol making his stomach churn.
Crash.
Through the bedroom door.
Stripped both of underwear.
Thrown onto the bed.
Leapt on after.
Drunken fumbling, kisses, groping, squeezing.
Positioning.
Steadying.
Panting.
Grinning.
'Are you ready?' he hears the words echo in his head over and over, he stares at a certain spot on the bed, a certain spot where he that night had made passionate love with his flatmate. Drunken passionate love that his flatmate would most probably regret when he wakes up, but for now it was just him and his thoughts and he had not one single regret but only guilt.
Nodding.
Trying to be gentle.
Trying not to hurt him.
Kisses.
He strokes his hair to soothe and relax him.
It turns him on further.
Then...
He fiddles with a lock of hair while still gazing at the bed, his eyes glaze over as the memories flood back to him and he smiles but then stops.
He had missed the orgasms, the sex, the pleasure, the affection for a while and craved it, he was sexually frustrated up until last night when he finally fulfilled his need.
In.
Slowly but surely in.
Thrusting, kissing, squeezing, moaning.
Drunken moans.
Sexual pleasure.
Guilty secret.
He feels guilt ridden as he glances at the man, all he wanted was to feel fantastic inside, so fantastic that he felt he would explode.
Eruption.
Pleasure bursts and sprinkles throughout their bodies.
Flooding their limbs with warmth and exhaustion.
They slow.
To a stop.
Then remain there for a lifetime in each other's arms.
Cuddling.
Gasping.
Panting.
Wishing to go back in time and do it all again.
Trying not to vomit from the alcohol.
He drops his hand and stops messing with his hair and freezes when the man next to him shifts in his sleep and rolls over, he breathes a sigh of relief when he is still sleeping.
Sleep.
Under the covers.
Head on chest.
Arm around shoulder.
Stroking skin.
Kissing hair.
Sighing a goodnight.
Welcoming a hangover.
Saying hello to regret.
Saying hello to guilt.
He watches him sleep however soon enough he starts to stir, panicking he remains where he is and waits for the man to gather his bearings and remember whatever he can from the previous night's events. His eyes flutter open, he looks around and discovers he is in his own bed but with an intruder, he lifts his aching head wearily, looks his already awake flatmate in the eye and mutters one thing.
"What the hell happened last night, Vince?"
Hello regret.
Hello guilt.