Beautiful (1/3)
By: Sicil
Rating: R . . . wow, it's not descriptive enough to rate an NC-17, for once.
Pairing: TC
Comments: Happy belated Valentines Day, though I've never been much of a sentimentalist. ^^; Please comment here or send to bronzejarith@hotmail.com.
The TC Fanfiction Page has relocated to http://taschi.cjb.net, since Geocities has, very loyally, gone all crappy on me.
Without further ado, onto the story. Two parts, obviously, so to be continued. Edit: Three parts, actually.
*****
Oh yes. He was just so, so beautiful.
Look how his silken locks caught the light, glistening wildfire, curled into the touch like a kitten waiting to be stroked. You admire the curve of his neck as he turns away. How the slender band of gold in his ear provided startling contrast against his darkly toned skin. How his movements were graceful; never strained, flowing from one into another.
How tightly the two of you fit together.
But that last thought was fond remembrance, enough to heat the flesh, yet left only an unsatisfied desire when the moment had passed you by. You've always been vaguely surprised at how intangible the feeling became once you lay sated, breathing heavily, sweat-laden. But then, it was then that your lover murmured into your ear for you to turn over, if you'd please, and then the whole experience started over again.
Though it wasn't sex all the time, at least that's what you'd like to think. You wouldn't see it on the surface, but he's got a very quick mind, and can argue his way out of practically anything, if he tries. So your evenings are usually used for debate, where you naturally disagree with every one of his opinions. Usually, the time for talk ends when he throws up his hands and storms off to sulk, but only after you've taken a few blistering hits, as well. Life can't be too easy, after all.
You're usually the one to make peace, as you've never been one to like the feel of tension in the room. Besides, he's absolutely horrible in apologies; as most of his begin and end with profanities. Add that to a stubborn streak, even when he's thrice-wrong and knows it, and you've got your hands quite full. Yet you're always quick to smooth things over, as that is when the trivialities can cease and the pleasure may begin.
You love him in bed. The sight of him, the touch, the feel-- and then you're halfway there already. It's remarkable how aroused you can be with a single glance of him sprawled out on your bed. Unclothed, naturally. Pouting that sexy, devilish pout he has, inviting and challenging you at the same time. How you soar with that look. To you, it's greater than any declaration of love ever to leave his lips.
He hates it when you tease him. He loves the sensation, but hates the wait, however more mind-blowing the experience will become. For him, it's simply you, him, and damn the rest of the world. He wants your relief even more than he wants his; that is why he detests the wait. But you tease him anyway, until he's straining in your grasp for just a little more-- only a little more-- for his release, a respite in this pleasure and torment all the same.
"Touch me," you whisper. But he can't-- he's too far gone already. That's not a problem; the sight of his shivering, arching body is more than adequate for you.
You look into his half-closed, misted-over eyes, even as your hand moves its way down his back and lower. A hand stops you there, and his eyes open to meet yours. "That's enough, 'Chiri."
You nod. You're satisfied, yet you're never sure if he is or not. Your thoughts must've skimmed across your face, for he says, more gently, "I love you."
And that is all you needed to hear. "I love you, Tasuki," you say, and curl up beside him. He is so warm.
You're happy when he's happy; that's how matched the two of you are. It doesn't matter that you almost never have actual intercourse anymore-- you love his presence beside you more than anything.
You fall asleep with a smile upon your face.