Started: March 26, 2007 (11:52 PM)
Finished: March 27, 2007 (2:38 AM)
"Faked"
Sometimes he could almost forget that he was pretending.
The hands pinning his shoulders to the wall clenched with intense force, causing him to grit his teeth to hold back a quiet moan. The forearms flush again the sides of his chest were like columns of granite trapping his ribs, causing his slight frame to shake with each labored breath that left his lips. The hips that ground against his own also kept his thighs spread, and his spine complained about the lack of support with his legs wrapped around the other's waist.
"Why are you doing this?" He had managed the question as he had been disrobed—far too easily for his liking—and forced to stumble backwards into cold marble. A hiss echoed through the spacious study, causing his aggressor to smirk slightly.
"I remember lust."
Those had been the last words before a mouth as searing as desert heat descended upon his neck, drawing a choked sound not unlike a groan from him. Those same hands that now pinned his shoulders had ran over his body, prodding and stroking and pinching, until he squirmed uncomfortably. Clever, nimble fingers rested on his hips for a moment, testing taut skin to the point of pain.
"I want to feel."
It was a weak moment—if a Nobody could feel weak. Those words were spoken with some sense of pseudo-desperation, and for a moment he forgot himself and remembered a serious young man who still knew how to smile. He had shut his eyes as those hands anchored on his shoulders, trying to lose himself in a memory that begged to be relived.
A memory of feeling free. Whole. i Alive. /i
"… You aren't resisting." The whisper was like an arid breeze across his cheek, and it was only then that he realized his face was wet.
"Keep going."
He could not be sure if he bled the first time. But the closeness, the heat, the scent of another under his searching hands—they were real. The thick hair that his fingers tangled in and the pressure building in his body—they were real.
The release was real. The heaving chests pressed together were real. The slick skin under trembling hands was real.
But the words spoken were echoes of a past that had slipped away.
"How was it?"
He opened his eyes and wearily pushed a silver curtain of hair from his face.
"… I faked it."
Most of the time he could almost pretend that he was forgetting.