March 20, 2003.03.20.03. - forethought [rune][noje]
(james)
there's a rhythm beating agaisnt the panes of glass
the light drizzle that's been pouring down all afternoon
like the sky mourned the setting of the sun
and now, finally, just on the horizon, that giant orb is settling down for the night
slowly and tentatively touching the horizon
as if testing the waters for that midnight swimthe Ahroun climbed (fell) out of bed a while ago
just fascinated by the colors prismed through the rivulets of water down windowpane
the way the rainbows glinted and bounced through the strangling bars of blinds
he moved (stumbled) to collapse in a cross-legged heap infront of the window
wrapping the sheet that followed him like a stray puppy around his waist
(one doth not remembereth how he got undressed....)
and he's been quietly sitting here ever since
just watching the fires lit on the underbelly of black clouds
just listening to the primal rhythm of the rainlong. live. the bluntling!
dreads hang in tangled disarray over bare shoulders
(the right held higher than the left)
long curve of slouched back crisscrossed by the ashed scars
(so deep, they nicked bone beneath)
then the sweeping folds and twists of the black silk that's wrapped sarong style
legs tucked in all nice and neat
the setting rays of the sun branding his chest
(something to accessorize eagle's glyph)
just those few that peek through the heavy cover of clouds
barely bright enough to cast the faint orange glow deep in umber eyes(rune)
She was still awake when he crawled back to bed, barely into her third beer, sprawled on her stomach on the floor, laptop open in front of her, legs bent at the knees, feet in the air, bathed in the blue-white glow of the screen. She was still awake when he crawled into the room (doubtless that's how he got his clothes off) and she was still awake hours later, back at the computer, her beer warm now, but still drinkable.Still drinkable. She finished the sixpack and played at the computer until the sky beyond grew pale with morning light. Only then did she give in to exhaustion, and the depthless sleep of their kind.
Evening now, and the sun is low on the horizon. The Glass Walker - sprawled across the bed - stirs and wakens. Eyelids flutter, lashes brushing heavily against the curve of her hand, flung there at some point to shade her eyes from the light. He has the silken sheets, wrapped around her body, and she has the weight of the comforter all to herself (as per usual: a daily battle to follow the nightly one. Covers! Mine!). The first faint movements of awakening stir the sleek weight of the down comforter, minute slick whispers of sound, before the sudden woooosh as she kicks it off, entirely.
It's a slow crawl to the edge of the bed, then, a sidewinder-slither of pale skin upon gleaming black, accompanied by the familiar quiet slosh of the mattress that rolls beneath her weight until she gains her objective and rests her chin on the bedframe, gazing over the side.
"...morning, sunshine." Morning-voice, slurred and thick with sleep, rough with the remnants of last night's cigarettes. One lazy arm curls down from the bed, and her fingers begin a slow crawl across the carpet toward him. "Back in the land of the living?"
(james)
whoosh!
the heavy (waaaarrrrm) down comforter is flung away
some big black manta ray sent on its journey to follow the diving sun
as it flutters and ripples to quiet docility, he words filter through the thickened atmosphere that surrounds him
(morning sunshine)
his chin starts to pull away from the scene unfolding before him
starting the process that will eventually take eyes from blazing sun to smouldering Glass Walker
though apparently....
that process is too complicated
for as her fingers begin the lazy crawl across plush carpet towards him
he's leaning backwards as if they were reeling him in (hook, line, and sinker)
weight flops, elbows digging into the carpet, lean body lengthening into longer stretch
his head misses cracking into the frame by mere centimeters - and it's questionable if he'd even feel it
dreads spill like creeper vines tickling thick pile to find some root in the expensive floor covering
one or two blinks and finally he's grinning and looking at her (focused!) at the same time"Absolutely not."
that grin is simply sereeeeeeeeene
one elbow nudges beneath him to act as a central support
shoulders easing back against the heavy frame of the water bed
arm now free to do its own bidding reaching up
curling round where he'd hug should she actually lean off the bed
but since she's not, he settles for allowing wandering fingers to play through bed-mussed strands of silken ink"Sleep okay?"
(rune)
"Mmmmph." The reply is little more than a sigh of sound, rumbling through her throat, thrumming through the curve of shoulders, spilling out into the waking world from between barely parted lips. Last night's eyeshadow and mascara are smudged and dark around her eyes, a familiar bruise against her pale skin, and the remnants of last night's lipstick still clings to her mouth, an imperfect cover for the curving lips beneath.She inhales, exhales, luxuriating in the first warm moments of awakening, feeling her body anew. Opens her mouth (with the way her chin rests on the frame, it looks like her jaw remains still while the rest of her head moves) and snaps (playfully) at the his fingers idling through the disarray of her fine dark hair. "..yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhh."
The semi-coherent word is accompnied by a rippling suggestion of a long, easy, toe-curling stretch that begins half-way across the bed and ripples up her body, stretching the long muscles of her legs, arching through her lumbar spine in a rising crescendo of movement that lifts her torso from the bed and expands her sprawl until she looks (briefly, comically) like a paratrooper in freefall. Both arms shooter out from the bed, twisting and turning and reaching and curving in the lengthening stretch. She scoots forward half-an-inch as at last her arms fall, and her hands find his flesh, one settling on the muscled shoulder, the other on his flank. Her fingers crawl over the lean definition of his musculature (inevitably lower) until they encounter the knotted sash of the sheets around his lean waist.
"What's this?" Lazy surprise alights in the depths of her dark eyes, some sparking interest delivered slyly, sidelong, from the veil of half-lowered lashes. Some sly, smug, mocking little smirk as her hand trails over the knot tied in the slippery fabric. "...modesty?"
(james)
suffice to say, whatever he was going to say in response to that 'yeeeeaaaaaaaah' or playful snap is totally lost in her stretch
it's easy to see on the theater of expression that plays across his face the slow degeneration of singular, linear thought
all those delicious words and loving responses.... fwp!.... right out the window
(or ear, as it may be, tumbling to get lost in the deep pile of the carpet like Dr. Livingston in the jungles around Lake Victoria)
brows lift a little
pupils dilate a little
jaw drops a littlespend a handful of days away from your lover and damn the things that impress you when you're back
her hands fall and find flesh
warm from where it baked reptilian in the setting sun
emberous heat seeping from the blood that thumps full-moon driven through his veins
and probably a great deal more since that little electric current of touch has been completed
her question inspires a little chuckle from the chest beneath her palms
vibrating up through tendon and bone and skin"Modesty? Naaaaah...."
his hands fall to cover hers
trailing over the knot in the slippery fabric
which really isn't a knot at all, just some deft twist of sheet to hold it in place
because easily as that he's pulling the sheet free
running it between both hands like some overly long scarf
the theater of expression now segueing to the talented flair of one raised in the theater of the street"It's forethought."
or something just as smooth pulled from first thought that came to mind
he's looped the sheet up and over her head
satin pulled tight across shoulderblades embedded in the musculature of her back
under those long stretching wandering teasing limbs of hers
and puuuuuulllling her off the bed and into his lap
.... mostly..... coordinatedly(rune)
...mostly... coordinatedly, he pulls her off the bed; and ...mostly... coordinatedly, she falls into his lap, some long, sinuous twist of lean-muscled limbs, skin a pale glowing furnace of warmth from furious sleep coiling richly into the langorous fury of awakening.Her mouth, her teeth find his skin, the smooth flesh interrupted here and there only by the brief tangle of sheets which provide the barest of modesties, conducting body heat while somehow cooling skin from the slippery smoothness of the shining weave.
Movement is little more than a slow blind crawl at first, sweet and lazy, heralded by the moist heat of her breath on flesh, the sudden tangle of her hands in his hair, the light, suggestive trail of sharp nails across the nap of his neck. He has been gone for days, and now is a quiet moment to rediscover him, some vast unknown country. She cups his elbow beneath his hand, curves her cheek against his chest, coils her thighs around his waist, twists and turns in his grasp like a fucking eel as she finds a new nook, a new cranny, a new furrow of scar tissue, ashen against brown skin, and discovers him anew.
The long slow sweep of her attention changes focus, midway. The sweet, lazy dreaminess of her shifting touch gains strength and fervor as her left hand crawls up the hard cut of triceps and over the knotted muscles of his shoulder, settles there, thumb grazing his collarbone, fingers splayed downward on his back. Her weight is a sudden pressure as she uses that point of contact for leverage, uncurling her legs and twisting around until she is no longer a mere tangle of slippery, sleep-warm limbs but a coherent whole, body moving in easy concert as her thighs wrap around his waist and her right hand tightens viciously in his spilling dreadlocks, pulling his head sharply back so that she can kiss him once, so that she can devour his mouth again.
Beyond the dim room, the sun has fallen at last beneath the horizon. The moon is rising, only a sliver gone from its full face. The moon is rising, and it calls to their warrior's blood. Behind the clouds, a pregnant presence, bright with reflected light. Beyond the room, the city moves. Long ropes of traffic wind home as the day winds down, headlights cutting bright paths across the gathering gloom.
Whatever she was going to say (welcome home. i missed you. do you want a beer? i need a shower. oh - good show.) is lost. She has found the heat of his mouth, some smoldering fire burns within, conversation is no longer an option.
(james)
hello.
my name is James.
I am putty in your hands.the wolf that hides a venomous serpent beneath her flesh
the woman that suddenly coils and and twists and turns as if each part of her body had its own agenda and suddenly the movement stopped at some perfect pristine harmony of body and motion and flat out fitting together like the long lost pieces of the holy covenant's puzzle
the world outside wanders along at its own egoist pace
the world inside has just found some perfect pauseit's that quiet moment of rediscovery
just as thoroughly as she redefines him
he's just as thoroughly (desperately) reacquainting his hands with her planes and curves and swells and tensions and warmths and wets
he doesn't say a word
nothing that's coherant or well formed
the shuddering groan of a breath too-long held
the offhand gasp of yet another little surprise triggered by touch
the easy exchange of breath through the vicious lock of their kiss
strangely, the tones and soundless vibrations form a language (litany) all their own(I am so glad to be home, you have no idea how much I missed you, I'm so sorry that I took off like that, I promise to tell you everything you want to know and more, just not now, not yet, because all I want to do is be devoured by you, I don't want to think about anything else existing, I don't want to know about anything else that's going on outside this room, all I want is right here and right now - because I've realized, again, all that I want is you..... need is you.... and all I ask is this moment of your time to remind me you want me too....)
beyond the room, the city moves
Posted by james at March 20, 2003 12:00 AM
the moon rises wrathful in the sky
She ignites the primal fires buried so intrinsically in their souls
She watches over her Children as they are suddenly consumed in this flame
they know not the urban sprawl of the scab's gleaming high rises
they're lost in some ancient jungle somewhere
riding the swelling tides of primitive need
following some animal ritual that's built an altar sacrificing all else
navigating the midnight pathways tangling twin beast souls lit only by the Full Moon ever watchful high above
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