Drabbles

By spheeris1

Pairing: Multiple…

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[Ten]

one
day of sleeping, wrapped up in each other, hair mingling--purple, pink, purple, pink--against the sun...
two
minutes of your hands on my back, soothing muscles and working out knots, caressing the edges and making them melt...
three
times you pull at my face, dragging nails over my back and tugging at my bottom lip--you shudder, I shudder...
four
months of self-imposed exile, nary a person in sight, hidden from the eyes of the past and the voices of the future...
five
seconds of cold water before the hot kicks in, sliding over your skin like molten lava and coating my eager fingers...
six
hours in between night and day, avoiding slumber and finding new ways to travel your body, new ways to make you moan...
seven
places to touch you that make you smile, make you tighten your hold on the bedsheets, make you whisper my name like a prayer...
eight
candles lit around the house, petals on the floor, amber light leading me closer to your embrace--how could I ever think to leave you...
nine
kisses to my spine, cold fire racing along courtesy of your tongue--press me down, create me, never ever stop...
ten
promises of love and devotion, hushed into the darkness and etched into time, tattooed upon us in red red ink.

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[Cannonball]

I'll cut you down and rip you up and make you mine and make you beg and leave you hanging and walk away, laughing...
Oh yes, in my dreams, this is how we play.
And you are an ocean of my longings gone wrong--
--I will jack-knife into you--
Watch out below, for I have lost the need to hide.

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[I'll Never Be]

She didn't have time these days to worry or feel left-out or to run away sobbing at things that cannot be changed.
For today, she felt the world begin to spin anew--just for her now...just for her...
I loved you once, I saw the good in you...those traits that all the others could not comprehend...
She laughed during the day and dreamed her own dreams at night. No longer the images of pain or loneliness creeping about her brain, no longer the feelings hidden deep down--only to rush up and take over.
And you are so handsome, even now...even after everything, I can still see the elegance of your serious mouth...
She talked all through class and kissed her friends on each cheek. She ate her food in the sun, she played games with a girlish giggle, she breathed in glorious fresh air.
But now I understand that which I did not...that you and I would have never worked, for I am worth more than a footnote to your master plans and desires...I'll never be that type of girl, the type that settles for less than what she truly deserves. I'll never be your type of girl...and that is okay by me...
Wakaba burned the letter, not needing to really send it...merely wanting to write it, put the words down and then to let them go--like the smoke into the beautiful nighttime sky.

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[Self]

After his hands, I wash myself--not from feelings of shame, but to start over again.
Each morning, the hair is up.
Each day, the water in my golden can is fresh.
Each night, I drain off his pleasure in me, watching it swirl in my porcelain tub.
In the hours before dawn, while he chases elusive butterflies and while students dream of growing-up and Utena reinvents the past while curled up---I step outside.
If his eyes are watching me, I know and stay inside.
But now, he is gone and I am free, if only for a false second or two.
Lying in a field of my damn flowers, clothing long abandoned and skin being tickled and teased by the wilderness of velvet petals...moon shafts illuminating my fingers as they creep, not entirely out of a need to please myself, but to explore this body I do not understand and this body that I allow to be used...I sometimes touch my chest, wondering if the bright light of Dios will arise from my touch.
All I get is gooseflesh. All I get is the imprint of my palm, the heat seeping deep into me and bringing out emotions, feelings, desires that my dear Dios would blush at.

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[The Beautiful People]

He played piano all night at that useless bar down the street, then walked past cemeteries and sketched the tombstones in a nice white notebook.
She danced all night with strangers, but didn't invite them home...she had bigger plans, in her bathtub and with the steam rising.
He left his drink on the table and she pulled him forward.
He was glad that his mind felt quiet in this moment that had been building up since before he could remember...She touched her lips to his neck, like an angelic vampire...
Miki played jazz.
Kozue danced the tango.
And they buried the blender in the garden.

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[Pain Before Christopher]

Dear you who left me behind...
Utena got the first one days later, sitting upright in bed and the clock read two in the morning and she was sweating though it was December.
Snow was outside. Ice lined the windows.
And Utena felt her mattress become a bed of paper, of bleeding purple ink, of bloody tears.
Dear you who betrayed me...
Anthy got the fifth one a week later, running in the park--not for health, but from fear--breaking nails against trees, shoes sliding on mud as she skids to a halt and the sky is no longer patches of gray, but of ivory-pages filling up the atmosphere, vowels dropping down in shades of pink.
Come back to where you belong...
Destiny calls fifty. Love calls a hundred.
Eternity calls infinity--so eternity wins.
You know I love you like no other, my lost lover...
They stand at the railway station.
They carry no luggage and they don't have tickets.
They speak without talking, for the train to eternity
is long...and you'll need to save your topics for a
later date.
Hand in hand, they disappear behind the sliding metal doors.

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[Dragonfly]

Shiori would sometimes get up early, when dawn was just an idea in the nighttime sky, before the birds flew up and built nests, just moments after the moon was covered up by shifting clouds--
and she would watch Juri sleep.
Silver played over her face, normally hard and closed-off, now soft and beautiful, cuts and swatches of glittering light, like the wings of a dragonfly, covered Juri's neck and shoulders of milky-white.
Shiori did recall a time when they were not lovers.
Shiori did remember a place where they loved to hate each other and hated to love one another.
Now, in a world big enough to allow discovery and wide enough to hold this kind of twisted love, this love of knots and bruises and pain--but also of devotion, compassion and the sweetest of flowers--this love of many names can feel up a room in this world.
And Shiori must hold back from screaming, out of fear and out of joy.
Juri sleeps on, turning to the side and reaching out for a warmth not there. Shiori returns to her pillow, pulling Juri's arm about her and breathes out evenly, breathes out like someone finally settling in to home...after years of being homeless, after years of lacking a port to sail to.
Shiori smiles as the buzzing of nocturnal beasts lay to rest.

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END [for now…]