Title: Sheer White Curtains
Rating: PG-13; some selective visual scenes, Disney kids wouldn't want to see.
Distribution: Hey, lemme know, you can post it ANYWHERE
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it were. Wish Marshall lived in my closet, but neither of which are going to happen...
Author's Note: Didn't really feel like studying for midterms, and I've been thinking about righting this for a couple of days, and was booted off the computer. Figured, 'Might as well write'. My goal with this was to write something descriptive. I have problems with righting stories with description, and so this is my 'Alias Fan Fic' midterm. Let me know if I passed. If you liked it, great! Bookmark it, it's a random jig. You didn't like it? That's cool, too. I'm sure I'll live, but let me know why you didn't like it. I can't get better if you don't let me know what's wrong.
Also, The HTML tags are what they mean. Nice and easy
Sheer White Curtains
The yellow contrasted perfectly with dark blue. Walls that is. Inside the large room with three lightly yellow walls, and one midnight blue one with a large window, and dead center lay a bed. The floors were a lightly colored hardwood, and the large window had amazing sheer white curtains that flowed all the way to the floor, or reached out beyond the small night stand when the wind gently blew. The doors, directly on the other side of the room was also a midnight blue, a couplet of colors that looks so eloquent together. On the side closest to the door, a large walk in closet could be seen, not so much the items inside, but they didn't matter much. To the right of that, was a beautiful small bathroom, that impossibly had a window in the far corner across from the sink, and all that was to be seen out through it was blue. Ocean blue, and waves heard crashing against god knows what below. That didn't matter either. The bathroom was clean; almost as if it were brand new, but it wasn't known.
If you didn't know better, you would have thought it was a suite in a luxurious Bed and Breakfast. For all you know, it could be. It didn't seem to matter. In the center of the room, a large four-poster bed could be seen, flowing with white; with mahogany posts that held up nothing but desire. In the bed were two forms. Tangled, but in such a way, it could almost make a person feel for them. And on the left side, was Sydney.
She laid there, content, a small smile on her face. Tangled in the sheets, but so artistically that it was tasteful, and beautiful at the same time. It was poetic. The Only thing to be heard were the breathing patterns of the occupants of the bed. Soothing, if anything. As a small beam of light entered from the large window, it teasingly made its' way up to her face, growing larger and larger in the process. Hitting her left eye, she twitched slightly, before breathing deep and slightly changing her position, so her head was turned to the right. As the beams of light became more frequent and larger, slowly Sydney was awaken from her slumber, and without opening her eyes, she could tell something was different. Her right foot, back, left hand, left side of her hip, and right knee were all burning. Not literally burning, but tingling. Still, eyes closed, she tried to figure out where the sensation was coming from without using sight
I Gives me a Challenge,/I She thought.
Upon further inspection, she still couldn't pinpoint it. Head still facing the right wall and closet, she slowly opened her eyes.
I Where am I?/I
Doesn't matter.
I How did I get here?/I
Don't care.
I What happened?/I
Don't even have to guess.
I Who am I with?/I
You already know.
And she did. She knew it all. And that voice was right, none of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.
So she flicked her head over to the left. Not because she wanted to see who it was; she just wanted to see how he slept at night. And with the flick of the head, she found out the answers to many of the questions she had wanted answers to. The sensations? He was touching her body. Her right foot connected to his left. Her back on top of his left arm. Her waist grazed against his left wrist. Her left hand delicately held in his left. Her right knee with his right shin. And it still wasn't enough. She looked at his face, the wrinkles gone, the frown along with it. The only thing left was his messy hair. And even that was different.
When people are sleeping, you can see the real them. It is a form of lie detector; one that doesn't need to be asked questions. The hair? Way messier than usual, and god did that make him sexier than ever. Even with the eyes closed, she could see his green eyes illuminating from under the lids.
i How does he sleep with eyes like those?/i
He forehead was clear, all except his right pinky, ring, and middle fingers which were sporadically spread across the top portion of it. His lips curved into a smile; one that indicated happy thoughts or dreams. And dimples. They appeared also, and boy did they appear. Sydney's heart visibly flipped over when she saw the dimples, and all she could do was smile her smile.
Selfish for more, she sighed deeply and gingerly moved herself closer to the sleepy man, making sure not to wake him. Instead, she could feel his body heat inviting her even closer, calling to her. She moved even closer, still careful to wake him, and even with a few inches between them, she could still see it was a perfect fit. She noted where her head fit between his shoulder and neck, where her arms fit perfectly around his neck or around his stomach. She saw how her hip could be placed just above his, and how she wished for her feet to be directly between his.
Knowing getting closer was impossible, not only to keep from waking him up, but the constraint from the sheets prevented it. She settled for exactly where she was, more than enough pleased at it. The temperature in the room was perfect; warm. She liked warm. She hoped he did, too. And she sat there, forever, studying him, and feeling, and seeing, and hearing, and smelling everything there was around them that could be studied, felt, seen, heard, or smelled. A whimper left her lips as she realized this is what heaven was.
Although not loud, the whimper was enough to drive the sleeping man to a more social form. Squeezing every area he could that held her, he said something that she would never forget, not now, not ever, into her ear.
'Good morning, Sydney'
And with that, she said something that she had wanted to for what seemed like an endless amount of time, hoping to god that it would come out without being followed by any cries or sobs.
'Good morning, Michael.'
Rating: PG-13; some selective visual scenes, Disney kids wouldn't want to see.
Distribution: Hey, lemme know, you can post it ANYWHERE
Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it were. Wish Marshall lived in my closet, but neither of which are going to happen...
Author's Note: Didn't really feel like studying for midterms, and I've been thinking about righting this for a couple of days, and was booted off the computer. Figured, 'Might as well write'. My goal with this was to write something descriptive. I have problems with righting stories with description, and so this is my 'Alias Fan Fic' midterm. Let me know if I passed. If you liked it, great! Bookmark it, it's a random jig. You didn't like it? That's cool, too. I'm sure I'll live, but let me know why you didn't like it. I can't get better if you don't let me know what's wrong.
Also, The HTML tags are what they mean. Nice and easy
Sheer White Curtains
The yellow contrasted perfectly with dark blue. Walls that is. Inside the large room with three lightly yellow walls, and one midnight blue one with a large window, and dead center lay a bed. The floors were a lightly colored hardwood, and the large window had amazing sheer white curtains that flowed all the way to the floor, or reached out beyond the small night stand when the wind gently blew. The doors, directly on the other side of the room was also a midnight blue, a couplet of colors that looks so eloquent together. On the side closest to the door, a large walk in closet could be seen, not so much the items inside, but they didn't matter much. To the right of that, was a beautiful small bathroom, that impossibly had a window in the far corner across from the sink, and all that was to be seen out through it was blue. Ocean blue, and waves heard crashing against god knows what below. That didn't matter either. The bathroom was clean; almost as if it were brand new, but it wasn't known.
If you didn't know better, you would have thought it was a suite in a luxurious Bed and Breakfast. For all you know, it could be. It didn't seem to matter. In the center of the room, a large four-poster bed could be seen, flowing with white; with mahogany posts that held up nothing but desire. In the bed were two forms. Tangled, but in such a way, it could almost make a person feel for them. And on the left side, was Sydney.
She laid there, content, a small smile on her face. Tangled in the sheets, but so artistically that it was tasteful, and beautiful at the same time. It was poetic. The Only thing to be heard were the breathing patterns of the occupants of the bed. Soothing, if anything. As a small beam of light entered from the large window, it teasingly made its' way up to her face, growing larger and larger in the process. Hitting her left eye, she twitched slightly, before breathing deep and slightly changing her position, so her head was turned to the right. As the beams of light became more frequent and larger, slowly Sydney was awaken from her slumber, and without opening her eyes, she could tell something was different. Her right foot, back, left hand, left side of her hip, and right knee were all burning. Not literally burning, but tingling. Still, eyes closed, she tried to figure out where the sensation was coming from without using sight
I Gives me a Challenge,/I She thought.
Upon further inspection, she still couldn't pinpoint it. Head still facing the right wall and closet, she slowly opened her eyes.
I Where am I?/I
Doesn't matter.
I How did I get here?/I
Don't care.
I What happened?/I
Don't even have to guess.
I Who am I with?/I
You already know.
And she did. She knew it all. And that voice was right, none of it mattered. None of it ever mattered.
So she flicked her head over to the left. Not because she wanted to see who it was; she just wanted to see how he slept at night. And with the flick of the head, she found out the answers to many of the questions she had wanted answers to. The sensations? He was touching her body. Her right foot connected to his left. Her back on top of his left arm. Her waist grazed against his left wrist. Her left hand delicately held in his left. Her right knee with his right shin. And it still wasn't enough. She looked at his face, the wrinkles gone, the frown along with it. The only thing left was his messy hair. And even that was different.
When people are sleeping, you can see the real them. It is a form of lie detector; one that doesn't need to be asked questions. The hair? Way messier than usual, and god did that make him sexier than ever. Even with the eyes closed, she could see his green eyes illuminating from under the lids.
i How does he sleep with eyes like those?/i
He forehead was clear, all except his right pinky, ring, and middle fingers which were sporadically spread across the top portion of it. His lips curved into a smile; one that indicated happy thoughts or dreams. And dimples. They appeared also, and boy did they appear. Sydney's heart visibly flipped over when she saw the dimples, and all she could do was smile her smile.
Selfish for more, she sighed deeply and gingerly moved herself closer to the sleepy man, making sure not to wake him. Instead, she could feel his body heat inviting her even closer, calling to her. She moved even closer, still careful to wake him, and even with a few inches between them, she could still see it was a perfect fit. She noted where her head fit between his shoulder and neck, where her arms fit perfectly around his neck or around his stomach. She saw how her hip could be placed just above his, and how she wished for her feet to be directly between his.
Knowing getting closer was impossible, not only to keep from waking him up, but the constraint from the sheets prevented it. She settled for exactly where she was, more than enough pleased at it. The temperature in the room was perfect; warm. She liked warm. She hoped he did, too. And she sat there, forever, studying him, and feeling, and seeing, and hearing, and smelling everything there was around them that could be studied, felt, seen, heard, or smelled. A whimper left her lips as she realized this is what heaven was.
Although not loud, the whimper was enough to drive the sleeping man to a more social form. Squeezing every area he could that held her, he said something that she would never forget, not now, not ever, into her ear.
'Good morning, Sydney'
And with that, she said something that she had wanted to for what seemed like an endless amount of time, hoping to god that it would come out without being followed by any cries or sobs.
'Good morning, Michael.'