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Jun. 23rd, 2006 03:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
featherxquillHello all!
I'm currently in London - at Starbucks, drinking some obscenely sweet coffee with bits of chocolate in it and catching up on some of the stuff I've missed.
Thanks to all of you for your well wishes after my crazy lost passport day - I got three hours sleep at a hotel near Heathrow and flew out in the morning. I went to bed with wet hair and have made myself sick - I need to go to a doctor to get rid of this cough, euw, or I think I might just die from it (*drama queen*).
Italy was fantastic - more on that later, when I've got more time, but for now, have a product of my mind.
This one is for Morgana's Delight, which is the underground porn magazine that my Rita publishes in the Merlin's Legacy RPG. Have a quick trip to the department of backstory:
Rita, who has been steadily seeing Severus, went and shagged Narcissa Malfoy while Lucius watched because she was far too proud to admit she actually cared about Snape enough to not want to do it. Lucius, of course, boasted about it to his old friend (Rita and Snape's relationship is sooper seekrit, of course) and the shit hit the fan. Snape gave Rita hardcore silent treatment, until now, when she breaks into his rooms to make him listen to her.
The feature story of the new issue of the magazine, then, is about Rita and Snape, only they'll be the only one's that know that. This, then, is a story ABOUT Snape and Rita, written BY Rita, in the hope that he might still glance at the magazine, read it, and realise that she does care. Or something. It's based on a 'fade to black' RP they actually had, so can be assumed that it's actually about sex they did have, if changed slightly/somewhat/not sure.
The magazine isn't compltely done yet (I'll be putting ot together now and whenever I have access in the near future) and for those of you who like to lurk on the RPG - if you'd rather read it in context of the whole magazine, don't click the cut.
So, unnamed Snape/Rita, BY Rita:
By the time they got through the door, they could hardly keep their hands off each other. He pressed her against the wall, hands on her hips, and claimed her lips with a rough, fierce kiss he’d been waiting all night to give her.
She moaned a little against him, twining a leg about his and pulling him closer with hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his collar as she ravished him with wanton kisses. He slipped his own down to her waist to cup her buttocks, pulling her against him and grinding into her purposefully.
“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered against his skin, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, slipping a hand down to tug it from his pants and slide a hand beneath fabric to caress his skin.
She was older than him – only by ten years or so, but he made it feel like generations with his passionate intensity at the same time as he reduced her to a quivering, eager schoolgirl. She didn’t know who to be in his presence.
He was lifting his hands, then, pressing her back and plucking at the buttons of her dress, lowering his head and kissing her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone before slipping the dress down over her shoulders. She shook her arms a little, letting the straps slip down over them. The dress clung to her waist for a moment before slithering to a limp pile of fabric on the floor. He seemed to take a moment to enjoy the sight of her clad only in bra, panties, stockings and heels, and then she lifted her leg and twined it about his knees again. The fire was burning them even hotter than before. She hurriedly divested him of his shirt while he touched her as though trying to map out the valleys and peaks of her body with his hands.
He slipped one under her thigh, cupping about it and lifting it higher and tighter around him as he moved against her, biting at her neck as her head fell back against the wall and she growled in pleasure, slipping her arm around him and letting her fingernails score lines across his back. This hadn’t been what she’d planned for the night, wasn’t how she wanted it to end, but he was just so delicious against her that surely a little longer wouldn’t hurt…
She felt him toy with the elastic at her waist, and then her mind was fighting the haze of desire that seemed to be gripping her so tightly. No… no… she had a plan tonight, and as delicious as it would be, him having her against the wall of her apartment just inside the door was not it.
She whispered his name, bringing his attention up from her throat to her face, and lowered her leg. “Come,” she whispered, “I’ve something to show you.” He raised a questioning brow, but said nothing as she slipped away from the wall and flicked a glance at him, walking a step ahead of him to let him admire the sight of her in the lingerie she’s spent several hours that evening selecting. If the was his hand slipped over her ass as she paused in the bedroom doorway was any indication, he seemed to appreciate it.
She led him inside, then turned to take in the view of him – lithe, pale body flushed with barely contained arousal. Stepping forward, she met his eyes with a smile as she unbuttoned his fly, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of trousers and underwear and slipped them down over hips, watching as he slipped out of them. Merlin, she liked to look at him. Laying a kiss on his shoulder, she let her hand trail down over his stomach to hover over his cock, close enough that he would feel the heat of her palm against his flesh, but not touching.
“I want you to lay on the bed,” she whispered, “On your stomach, or your side if that would be painful.” For a moment, he looked like he might protest, but he seemed to decide to trust her, and moved to the bed as she crossed the room to her dresser. She lifted her favourite writing quill from its surface, the pulled the drawer open to retrieve a small bottle of shimmering gold ink. Turning back with a smile, she twirled the quill in her hand. Her lover was watching her, lying on his side and peering at her questioningly. She crossed the room quickly, without a word, and slipped onto the bed behind him, kissing hid shoulder and trailing a stockinged knee over the back of his legs.
“I’ve mentioned to you before that thoughts of you rather distract me from my… daily activities.” She punctuated her words by trailing the feathered end of the quill over his back. “I thought, perhaps,” she unscrewed the lid of the ink and dipped the pen’s nib into it, “That writing all the sordid things I’d like to do to you against your skin might help me… focus myself.” Lifting the quill from the pot, she let a drop of the golden ink fall onto his shoulder and trail it’s way down over his chest. The ink was laced with a potent aphrodisiac potion; surely it would not take long to warm and tingle against his skin.
He opened his mouth as if to protest what she was doing as she dipped the quill into the inkpot again, but his expression changed abruptly and all the came out of his mouth was a hiss of pleasure. “Oh God,” he murmured.
“Is it as good as they say it is?” she asked in a whisper, slipping the nib out again. Lowering her elbow, she touched the tip to his skin and wrote a short sentence that began with “I want…” and ended in something sordid. She bent her head and underlined the words with a trail of her tongue, careful not to smudge the ink. “I confess I’ve not had ink like this before. What does it feel like?”
Her lover curled a smile over his shoulder, and then rolled delicately onto his stomach. The way he laid suggested the position was slightly uncomfortable in his present state, but he tried to pretend it wasn’t. “I don’t know what ‘they’ say about it,” he said, “But it’s nice, I suppose.” His body gave away the glaring understatement of his words.
“Just nice?” she chuckled, resting the pot of ink in the small of his back, kissing the spot between his shoulder blades and following it with a swirl from the feathered end of the quill. “The bottle claims rapture, potent desire…” She dipped the nib into it again and laid the metal against his skin, this time hard enough that pain would mingle deliciously with the warm pleasure of the potion.
“I want you against the wall, I want you in this bed, I want you to tie my hands behind my back, take me from behind and pull my hair with each ragged thrust. I want you to tease against me until I scream for you to make me come…” She trailed off as the ink ran out, leaving a shimmering surface on his skin, and feeling him quiver beneath her as her breasts brushed over him with a faint tickle of lace.
“If only you knew what I was writing,” she smiled.
“I want to go down on you in a crowded room, hidden under the dining table while you eat dinner, talk, and pretend that nothing is going on. I want you on your knees, in the shower; I want you to lick me while hot water pounds against our skin and turns it pink with heat.”
She trailed kisses and fingernails over his back, loving how much she wanted him and how much she liked to tease him, how much she could teach him with her extra years and experiences, and how much he seemed to like it.
He was reaching behind himself then, to retrieve the pot of ink from his back and lay it on the bedside table, then he shifted, and before she knew what was happening he’d grabbed her and kissing her even more hotly than before, taking her breath with everything unsaid and yet communicated. When he pulled away for a breath of his own, he let his fingers trace down her cheek.
“Just nice, indeed,” she whispered with a chuckle.
He smiled at her. “You’re far too dressed for my liking.”
“Well,” she moved back against the pillows and nudged his thigh with her heeled foot playfully, “Do feel free to rectify the situation.” She offered the foot to him for removal of the offending garments.
He did it slowly, purposefully, slipping the shoes from her feet then trailing his fingers up her calves, circling back down around her ankle and tickling the underside of her foot through the satiny stockings. When he shifted himself and started to pull at the lace of her panties, she laughed, and he looked up her. She was reaching behind herself to unclip her bra as she smiled at him, and he watched her with burning eyes as she slipped it off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. That done, she reached down to unclip her stockings from the suspender belt.
“Now,” she purred, “Now you can get my knickers off.”
“You women and your fortresses of clothing,” he growled, but slipped his fingers underneath the stocking nonetheless, peeling it down over her leg and off the end of her toes, and following that movement again with the other, finally hooking his fingers into the suspender belt and panties and pulling them down over her hips. “Now,” he murmured, taking in the sight of her naked form before him, “That is much better.”
He kissed her again and shifted atop her, pushed her down onto the duvet. She wrapped her legs around him and welcomed him against her, slipping a hand over his chest to flick a thumb across his nipple and hear him gasp in her ear. She could feel his hardness pressing into her thigh as he nibbled at her throat and let his hand cup her breast.
Smirking, she twisted, urging him onto his back, swinging a leg over him and hovering above him, raking her fingernails over his chest and tossing her hair about her shoulders. Their eyes met, and they were burning, warring, locked in some fierce battle. She reached beneath herself and wrapped a hand around his cock, and his eyelids fluttered as he fought to hold her gaze.
“Now,” he whispered, voice hoarse with desire.
With a flash of thought, she smiled wickedly, and purred: “I have a better idea.” Slipping down off his lap, she took his hand, tugged him down toward the end of the bed. “Here,” she said. “On the edge, there.” His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, his gaze smouldering, but he did as she asked. She slithered lithely into his lap; back against his chest, and let her head fall back against his shoulder. “Look,” she whispered, nodding across the room and feeling rather than seeing his face turn, until their eyes met.
She’d positioned them before the mirror, her pale body against his, her hands atop his against the covers and her toes pressed against a ridge on the bed end. He groaned, bringing a hand around to trail up over her stomach and pinch one nipple. It rewarded him by flushing red as she gasped. She shifted her hips, lifted herself, and sunk slowly down onto his cock, watching, seeing him watch her and feeling his delicious hardness filling her up.
“Oh, Gods,” she whispered, lifting and lowering herself on him and feeling him respond, arching into her from below. She clenched herself around him and saw it, watched him kiss her shoulder then toss his head back and lift his hips into her. Their eyes met in the mirror and they were both burning and dying.
She moved faster; his hand fisted in the duvet as he matched her pace, and the other snaked around her once again and she watched his fingers slide down over her belly to find her clit, flicking it and sending a bolt of electricity through her that brought a scream from her lips. He followed that with a slow, maddening stroke, smirking at her in the glass as he watched her cheeks grow pink and her back arch even as she rode him.
Everything was spinning, then, twirling in stars. They’d been close before they started, burning up all night, and he was losing himself quickly, stroking her lightly so she moved faster and harder against him to increase the pressure, then circling with fast, furious strokes as she moaned and arched her head against his shoulder. She was grinding down on him, lifting herself and falling again, all the while watching him, hot and slick and glistening as he slid in and out of her, his fingers moving quickly against her nub. Their eyes met again, her panted and shuddered and his face contorted, and then she was drowning in those eyes as the world coalesced into nothing but that dark gaze, crying out as she came, feeling his other hand slide around he at the last moment to twist her nipple, holding fast to her as he shook and grunted and bucked his hips underneath her.
They collapsed back against the quilts, and she lay for a time, back against his chest, before slipping down onto the bed beside him, leaving one leg lazily entwined with his. Her fingers traced soft patterns on his chest. She propped her head up on one hand, kissed his shoulder, then turned his face to hers and kissed that as well.
“That was… you constantly surprise me,” he breathed, returning her kisses. She chuckled, but felt him under her hands trembling with some nameless emotion or need that she couldn’t read in his unfathomable eyes.
She moved back against the pillow and reached out for him, drawing him to her and cradling his head against her chest, wrapping her naked legs about him and holding him tight, kissing him and touching him in a way that was at once sensual and almost motherly. He said nothing, and he didn’t need to. It seemed to her, in that moment, that he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to just hold him, to not question or judge his need, but just be there. She wasn’t sure if she should be that one, if she could be, but at that moment it didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to be there, to enjoy him, to protect him from the world; even if just for a moment; to make him forget anything else existed.
They stayed that way – naked, warm and entwined – for a very long time.
I'm currently in London - at Starbucks, drinking some obscenely sweet coffee with bits of chocolate in it and catching up on some of the stuff I've missed.
Thanks to all of you for your well wishes after my crazy lost passport day - I got three hours sleep at a hotel near Heathrow and flew out in the morning. I went to bed with wet hair and have made myself sick - I need to go to a doctor to get rid of this cough, euw, or I think I might just die from it (*drama queen*).
Italy was fantastic - more on that later, when I've got more time, but for now, have a product of my mind.
This one is for Morgana's Delight, which is the underground porn magazine that my Rita publishes in the Merlin's Legacy RPG. Have a quick trip to the department of backstory:
Rita, who has been steadily seeing Severus, went and shagged Narcissa Malfoy while Lucius watched because she was far too proud to admit she actually cared about Snape enough to not want to do it. Lucius, of course, boasted about it to his old friend (Rita and Snape's relationship is sooper seekrit, of course) and the shit hit the fan. Snape gave Rita hardcore silent treatment, until now, when she breaks into his rooms to make him listen to her.
The feature story of the new issue of the magazine, then, is about Rita and Snape, only they'll be the only one's that know that. This, then, is a story ABOUT Snape and Rita, written BY Rita, in the hope that he might still glance at the magazine, read it, and realise that she does care. Or something. It's based on a 'fade to black' RP they actually had, so can be assumed that it's actually about sex they did have, if changed slightly/somewhat/not sure.
The magazine isn't compltely done yet (I'll be putting ot together now and whenever I have access in the near future) and for those of you who like to lurk on the RPG - if you'd rather read it in context of the whole magazine, don't click the cut.
So, unnamed Snape/Rita, BY Rita:
By the time they got through the door, they could hardly keep their hands off each other. He pressed her against the wall, hands on her hips, and claimed her lips with a rough, fierce kiss he’d been waiting all night to give her.
She moaned a little against him, twining a leg about his and pulling him closer with hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Her fingers tugged at the buttons of his collar as she ravished him with wanton kisses. He slipped his own down to her waist to cup her buttocks, pulling her against him and grinding into her purposefully.
“Oh, Merlin,” she whispered against his skin, fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, slipping a hand down to tug it from his pants and slide a hand beneath fabric to caress his skin.
She was older than him – only by ten years or so, but he made it feel like generations with his passionate intensity at the same time as he reduced her to a quivering, eager schoolgirl. She didn’t know who to be in his presence.
He was lifting his hands, then, pressing her back and plucking at the buttons of her dress, lowering his head and kissing her throat, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone before slipping the dress down over her shoulders. She shook her arms a little, letting the straps slip down over them. The dress clung to her waist for a moment before slithering to a limp pile of fabric on the floor. He seemed to take a moment to enjoy the sight of her clad only in bra, panties, stockings and heels, and then she lifted her leg and twined it about his knees again. The fire was burning them even hotter than before. She hurriedly divested him of his shirt while he touched her as though trying to map out the valleys and peaks of her body with his hands.
He slipped one under her thigh, cupping about it and lifting it higher and tighter around him as he moved against her, biting at her neck as her head fell back against the wall and she growled in pleasure, slipping her arm around him and letting her fingernails score lines across his back. This hadn’t been what she’d planned for the night, wasn’t how she wanted it to end, but he was just so delicious against her that surely a little longer wouldn’t hurt…
She felt him toy with the elastic at her waist, and then her mind was fighting the haze of desire that seemed to be gripping her so tightly. No… no… she had a plan tonight, and as delicious as it would be, him having her against the wall of her apartment just inside the door was not it.
She whispered his name, bringing his attention up from her throat to her face, and lowered her leg. “Come,” she whispered, “I’ve something to show you.” He raised a questioning brow, but said nothing as she slipped away from the wall and flicked a glance at him, walking a step ahead of him to let him admire the sight of her in the lingerie she’s spent several hours that evening selecting. If the was his hand slipped over her ass as she paused in the bedroom doorway was any indication, he seemed to appreciate it.
She led him inside, then turned to take in the view of him – lithe, pale body flushed with barely contained arousal. Stepping forward, she met his eyes with a smile as she unbuttoned his fly, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of trousers and underwear and slipped them down over hips, watching as he slipped out of them. Merlin, she liked to look at him. Laying a kiss on his shoulder, she let her hand trail down over his stomach to hover over his cock, close enough that he would feel the heat of her palm against his flesh, but not touching.
“I want you to lay on the bed,” she whispered, “On your stomach, or your side if that would be painful.” For a moment, he looked like he might protest, but he seemed to decide to trust her, and moved to the bed as she crossed the room to her dresser. She lifted her favourite writing quill from its surface, the pulled the drawer open to retrieve a small bottle of shimmering gold ink. Turning back with a smile, she twirled the quill in her hand. Her lover was watching her, lying on his side and peering at her questioningly. She crossed the room quickly, without a word, and slipped onto the bed behind him, kissing hid shoulder and trailing a stockinged knee over the back of his legs.
“I’ve mentioned to you before that thoughts of you rather distract me from my… daily activities.” She punctuated her words by trailing the feathered end of the quill over his back. “I thought, perhaps,” she unscrewed the lid of the ink and dipped the pen’s nib into it, “That writing all the sordid things I’d like to do to you against your skin might help me… focus myself.” Lifting the quill from the pot, she let a drop of the golden ink fall onto his shoulder and trail it’s way down over his chest. The ink was laced with a potent aphrodisiac potion; surely it would not take long to warm and tingle against his skin.
He opened his mouth as if to protest what she was doing as she dipped the quill into the inkpot again, but his expression changed abruptly and all the came out of his mouth was a hiss of pleasure. “Oh God,” he murmured.
“Is it as good as they say it is?” she asked in a whisper, slipping the nib out again. Lowering her elbow, she touched the tip to his skin and wrote a short sentence that began with “I want…” and ended in something sordid. She bent her head and underlined the words with a trail of her tongue, careful not to smudge the ink. “I confess I’ve not had ink like this before. What does it feel like?”
Her lover curled a smile over his shoulder, and then rolled delicately onto his stomach. The way he laid suggested the position was slightly uncomfortable in his present state, but he tried to pretend it wasn’t. “I don’t know what ‘they’ say about it,” he said, “But it’s nice, I suppose.” His body gave away the glaring understatement of his words.
“Just nice?” she chuckled, resting the pot of ink in the small of his back, kissing the spot between his shoulder blades and following it with a swirl from the feathered end of the quill. “The bottle claims rapture, potent desire…” She dipped the nib into it again and laid the metal against his skin, this time hard enough that pain would mingle deliciously with the warm pleasure of the potion.
“I want you against the wall, I want you in this bed, I want you to tie my hands behind my back, take me from behind and pull my hair with each ragged thrust. I want you to tease against me until I scream for you to make me come…” She trailed off as the ink ran out, leaving a shimmering surface on his skin, and feeling him quiver beneath her as her breasts brushed over him with a faint tickle of lace.
“If only you knew what I was writing,” she smiled.
“I want to go down on you in a crowded room, hidden under the dining table while you eat dinner, talk, and pretend that nothing is going on. I want you on your knees, in the shower; I want you to lick me while hot water pounds against our skin and turns it pink with heat.”
She trailed kisses and fingernails over his back, loving how much she wanted him and how much she liked to tease him, how much she could teach him with her extra years and experiences, and how much he seemed to like it.
He was reaching behind himself then, to retrieve the pot of ink from his back and lay it on the bedside table, then he shifted, and before she knew what was happening he’d grabbed her and kissing her even more hotly than before, taking her breath with everything unsaid and yet communicated. When he pulled away for a breath of his own, he let his fingers trace down her cheek.
“Just nice, indeed,” she whispered with a chuckle.
He smiled at her. “You’re far too dressed for my liking.”
“Well,” she moved back against the pillows and nudged his thigh with her heeled foot playfully, “Do feel free to rectify the situation.” She offered the foot to him for removal of the offending garments.
He did it slowly, purposefully, slipping the shoes from her feet then trailing his fingers up her calves, circling back down around her ankle and tickling the underside of her foot through the satiny stockings. When he shifted himself and started to pull at the lace of her panties, she laughed, and he looked up her. She was reaching behind herself to unclip her bra as she smiled at him, and he watched her with burning eyes as she slipped it off her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. That done, she reached down to unclip her stockings from the suspender belt.
“Now,” she purred, “Now you can get my knickers off.”
“You women and your fortresses of clothing,” he growled, but slipped his fingers underneath the stocking nonetheless, peeling it down over her leg and off the end of her toes, and following that movement again with the other, finally hooking his fingers into the suspender belt and panties and pulling them down over her hips. “Now,” he murmured, taking in the sight of her naked form before him, “That is much better.”
He kissed her again and shifted atop her, pushed her down onto the duvet. She wrapped her legs around him and welcomed him against her, slipping a hand over his chest to flick a thumb across his nipple and hear him gasp in her ear. She could feel his hardness pressing into her thigh as he nibbled at her throat and let his hand cup her breast.
Smirking, she twisted, urging him onto his back, swinging a leg over him and hovering above him, raking her fingernails over his chest and tossing her hair about her shoulders. Their eyes met, and they were burning, warring, locked in some fierce battle. She reached beneath herself and wrapped a hand around his cock, and his eyelids fluttered as he fought to hold her gaze.
“Now,” he whispered, voice hoarse with desire.
With a flash of thought, she smiled wickedly, and purred: “I have a better idea.” Slipping down off his lap, she took his hand, tugged him down toward the end of the bed. “Here,” she said. “On the edge, there.” His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, his gaze smouldering, but he did as she asked. She slithered lithely into his lap; back against his chest, and let her head fall back against his shoulder. “Look,” she whispered, nodding across the room and feeling rather than seeing his face turn, until their eyes met.
She’d positioned them before the mirror, her pale body against his, her hands atop his against the covers and her toes pressed against a ridge on the bed end. He groaned, bringing a hand around to trail up over her stomach and pinch one nipple. It rewarded him by flushing red as she gasped. She shifted her hips, lifted herself, and sunk slowly down onto his cock, watching, seeing him watch her and feeling his delicious hardness filling her up.
“Oh, Gods,” she whispered, lifting and lowering herself on him and feeling him respond, arching into her from below. She clenched herself around him and saw it, watched him kiss her shoulder then toss his head back and lift his hips into her. Their eyes met in the mirror and they were both burning and dying.
She moved faster; his hand fisted in the duvet as he matched her pace, and the other snaked around her once again and she watched his fingers slide down over her belly to find her clit, flicking it and sending a bolt of electricity through her that brought a scream from her lips. He followed that with a slow, maddening stroke, smirking at her in the glass as he watched her cheeks grow pink and her back arch even as she rode him.
Everything was spinning, then, twirling in stars. They’d been close before they started, burning up all night, and he was losing himself quickly, stroking her lightly so she moved faster and harder against him to increase the pressure, then circling with fast, furious strokes as she moaned and arched her head against his shoulder. She was grinding down on him, lifting herself and falling again, all the while watching him, hot and slick and glistening as he slid in and out of her, his fingers moving quickly against her nub. Their eyes met again, her panted and shuddered and his face contorted, and then she was drowning in those eyes as the world coalesced into nothing but that dark gaze, crying out as she came, feeling his other hand slide around he at the last moment to twist her nipple, holding fast to her as he shook and grunted and bucked his hips underneath her.
They collapsed back against the quilts, and she lay for a time, back against his chest, before slipping down onto the bed beside him, leaving one leg lazily entwined with his. Her fingers traced soft patterns on his chest. She propped her head up on one hand, kissed his shoulder, then turned his face to hers and kissed that as well.
“That was… you constantly surprise me,” he breathed, returning her kisses. She chuckled, but felt him under her hands trembling with some nameless emotion or need that she couldn’t read in his unfathomable eyes.
She moved back against the pillow and reached out for him, drawing him to her and cradling his head against her chest, wrapping her naked legs about him and holding him tight, kissing him and touching him in a way that was at once sensual and almost motherly. He said nothing, and he didn’t need to. It seemed to her, in that moment, that he’d been waiting his whole life for someone to just hold him, to not question or judge his need, but just be there. She wasn’t sure if she should be that one, if she could be, but at that moment it didn’t seem to matter. She wanted to be there, to enjoy him, to protect him from the world; even if just for a moment; to make him forget anything else existed.
They stayed that way – naked, warm and entwined – for a very long time.
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Date: 2006-06-23 06:23 pm (UTC)Sorry to hear that you are not feeling well. Go get some of those wonder drugs that the doctors keep to them selves. They always work wonders.
Hope that you enjoyed Italy and that you feel better soon.