So, over my vacation I wrote some drabbles, here they are!
This one's about Deidara.
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Pressed against the wall, nowhere to go. Tongues welded to his skin. The faint smell of strawberries and lace. And yet, not a single feeling of remorse, of sympathy, of aggression. If it were to go on, he would not stop it. If it were to stop, he would not feel regret for not having put in his fair share. He was just a mannequin, pressed and rolled against a wall. His body was numb, blood rushed up and down through his every nerve, but he didn't feel it. No, he didn't feel anything. Not anymore. So he was pressed against a wall, tongues traveling his pale moonlit length, gripping a head full of hair as soft as the finest silk. His back met with the cracks in the wall, molding and sympathizing with them, tracing their curves. For some strange reason he felt a slight warmth coursing through his body. It was a new sensation to him. The feeling of warmth from anything other than a lighter peeling off layers of his skin.
"Don't" he managed to utter before the tongues attacked his mouth.
Pressed against a wall, nowhere to go.