Explanation: over at url www (dot) livejournal (dot) com / community / silent_union / 19888 (dot) html, there's an ongoing Pein and Konan drabble meme started by my friend, paperninja (Winter Weatherman on FFN). I encourage any prospective PK writers to come drabble with us. It is a meme centered on adult sexual relations between Pein and Konan, but drabbles don't have to be sexual; in fact, they can be G-rated, if you prefer. The focus on sexuality comes because we've made the observation that Pein and Konan are often portrayed as extremely chaste and asexual in 'fics, and while non-sexual fics are fine and everything (I myself often write gen), there's no reason PK can't be in a consenting adult sexual relationship. So over the next few days, I will be posting my drabbles from this meme. Enjoy!
disclaimer: Don't own Naruto. Make no profit from ficcing. Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.
drabble # 1 -- rating: (M for sexuality)
this, our world;
It's like a grind.
Between heavenly beings; heavenly bodies.
And she comes apart at the seams.
A grind -- not fast, not violent. The slowness makes her ache, throb inside with need like an unscratched itch, gasp around the wet words.
No, Konan thinks. Not apart at the seams. She comes together, because her heart races and her body tightens – tightens, tightens.
There is no violence here, in the clean white room with the clean white sheets.
A grind: God's violence restrained – and the pace has this slowness, a lull that is not a crescendo – with their locked hips, motions in and out, steadysteadysteady while the pressure builds.
Builds, and --
"Oh," Konan says, suddenly. A sound – not a word, not a thought; then his mouth over hers, drinks out all her sounds, the gasps and the pleas; her lungs swallow them down while the pressure builds; fills in the emptiness, her legs around Pain's waist, crying out into his mouth, and his tongue in hers, filling up all her emptiness.
Sweat-slick, rocking to that pace like a boat in opposite winds; back, forth, back, all those muscles dragging over the soft places on her belly; little metal piercings prickling her breasts with red spots. Her skin is sensitive, arousal-flushed with a pink glow, new.
Her fist finds his hair, digs in, legs tightening, pulling deeper; slides, slips, and when their mouths part for air he sighs against her. Ahh, like the whisper of his rain, God's blessing. Wordless.
The half-light of evening shades twilit blue.
And he is in her is in him.
Grinding her under his weight and his scent and his feelings; pestle to mortar.
Pestle to mortar to God to angel to he who is in her is in him, then her arms around his shoulders; breath on her neck, where he pants against the vein; she squeezes skin, digs nails in. Faster, she thinks. Like a wave to the shore.
She breaks – clamps down and keeps clamping down. Squeezes him and chokes on mouthfuls of unformed thought.
Impossible to tell where one orgasm ends, where another begins.
His hand on her cheek, her eyes upturned, half-lidded. And he stares down.
He can see everything.
In this moment, she knows, he can only see her.
Pulsing, looking into the rippling eyes, where his lashes drip wet with sweat beads and his mouth opens, twists at the sensations.
She coaxes, caresses, whispers, and he settles in deep.
Shudders into her.
And this, she thinks, in the fuzzy aftermath, still gripping him tightly when he does not collapse, is correct. Together. One in the other. Grinding each other to ecstasy until all the nerves give way, unravel or scorch a slow burn, cut one another to beautiful paper ribbons, where pain blooms to pleasure.
Konan stares at the ceiling, holds his hot body, and thinks:
Soon, the everything he sees will be his.
And the world, opened – their world – forever.