Sea of Sin
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Short-stories : Bridgycat - You know...

Bridgycat - You know...

Bridgycat  2011.07.26. 20:26

NC-17, angst, dark, slash


Bridgycat
You know..

.

You wake up one morning with some girl you can't remember fucking in your bed and it's raining outside, the small, small bulbs of water briefly being crushed against the see-through surface of your window before trickling down to make mud float in the streets and the sky is in that mode somewhere between light and darkness and it just fucks up your day right there because you can't read it or anything. Blink a few times, pulling your fingers through your hair for a bit as you glance over at her by your side. The white, white sheet's slid off of her upper body, her bare chest heaving silently, rhythmically with the calm breaths out of her opened mouth and you remember her lipstick staining your skin the night before and you wonder if the marks are still there. Red. Of course they're still there.
It's not that she's ugly or anything, the long, dark hair framing her young, young features and her really quite magnificent tits in the strange light of today significantly contribute to the fact that she's sexy as hell, it's just that you don't wanna look at her anymore so you don't, turning your head back to the window and finding that depressing enough too so you draw your eyelids together and let reailty fade into the darkness of your own God damn mind. Move your hand from your side to underneath the soft sheet, your body warm as you slide your fingers down your abdomen, your skin goosebumping for some reason at the first touch of the day and since you've got nothing better to do or probably have but just don't wanna think about any of it right now because the weather's fucked it all up you half-heartedly trail into the most vivid things you've got going in your brain altogetherly. You're allowed to think about him when it's just to come because that's all it ever was with him, it was just fucking, nothing more, and yet you have to keep telling yourself that as if you don't even believe it even though you're the one who made it up in the first place because you're such a God damn coward but you don't wanna think about that so you don't, just concentrate on his pretty little mouth but the moment's gone, you can't fucking focus on anything anymore so you just get up and start walking around the house like a God damn twitch that won't go away and you end up with a cigarette on the bathroom floor. You don't know why you're in there, maybe for the lack of windows so you'll die of the fumes because sooner or later you'll run out of air or something equally poetically tragic, you can feel your skull so hard against the white, white tials covering the walls and you haven't even bothered with any lights. It's just you and that God damn cigarette.
You've somehow managed to put a pair of jeans on and it just annoys you that you did, it gets too warm, why is there so much God damn warmth everywhere, you want cold and so you reach up and turn the shower spray on, holding out your hand underneath it and feeling the sharp drips smash against your fingertips. They do nothing, they do absolutely nothing to you.
He was always fucking cold. Is, whatever. You're sure his boyfriends appreciate the hell out of it. Boyfriends, like he'd have a boyfriend, where the fuck did that come from and why are you thinking about that at all? It's just stupid. You can't fucking stand stupid things like that, remember?
Pull your hand back but don't turn the shower off, the water drowning the God damn silence all around you and that cigarette slowly burning closer to your fingers' grip as you quickly lick your lips and stare at your eyelids shielding your vision from the world. Imagine his hands for one reason or another, trailing over your skin, scratching it with his little black nails as he tastes your breaths in the air right before you and he moves his lips down your chest, your neck, biting your nipple before tenderly sucking it, tweaking the other one with his other little childish hand as you pull your fingers through his hair, grasp his curls for a bit along the way with your inhales, exhales, the hairs rising on the back of your neck as he unbuttons the jeans you have no idea why you even put on in the first place and you barely even notice you're just imagining things 'til you draw your fingers to your lips, licking them and ignoring reality as you move them back down to your hard, warm cock and pretend it's him instead of you and you fall right into the fantasies again. His wet, soft lips around you, tongue sweaping across your skin, sucking, taking, his pretty little moan vibrating through you, the air, everything as you thrust your hips back and forth in syncronized rhythm with him and you can't believe how quickly you feel yourself coming closer to coming but it's there and you don't really care but you do because you want that image to stay the way it is so badly and it keeps starting over in your mind, the pressing warmth of his wet mouth encompassing you so tightly as you jerk faster and faster and quick flashes of memories mingle with the neverending reality that starts to come back more frequently in the middle of his lips around your aching cock and you don't even notice your cigarette still exists until you finally feel something burn your thin fingers clutching it on the floor and the stinging, sharp pain turns into exactly what pushes you over the limit as you breathlessly exclaim something over the sudden heating sensation, twitchingly tossing it the fuck away from you as you picture his teeth digging into your skin and you come right then and there on the God damn bathroom floor.
You think the cigarette hits the water or something, at least it doesn't seem to set the house on fire or anything so you don't really give a shit as you sit there panting with your back pressing against the cold, white wall, drips of just as white cum on your hand as you just stay put for a while for a reason you can't really detect, your heavy breaths infecting the air with your mere existence as he fades from your mind to the possibly imaginary beats of your pulse and you don't even know how long you're in that bathroom but once you rise, pulling your jeans back up and briefly washing your hands in the still completely unlit room to step right out into the light again it feels like an eternity's just passed.
The girl's gone and so is the rain, you think you're close to touring again.


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