December 16, 2002.12.16.02. - duo felis [harlequin sinclair][club cymaa]
(nakhti)
there is something that slithers serpentous in the music falling from well-hidden speakers as languid rain, were it to strike the sand surely each droplet would befalls the adder's coils and sink away, deeply, as if burying itself in hopes to seep back to the banks of the very Nile that would thunder in lazy flow through the club itselfhe has spawled here, silently, for countless number of songs, curve of cheek and brow tilted upwards to be washed by the raining music, to feel the very treble and bass comb through shadowed locks which frame dusk-flushed skin, shoes have been removed to tuck feet comfortably on the sculpted chase lounge pillows,one arm draped over the long sweep of spine, the other hooked by but an elbow, half-finished drink dangling between slim fingers
perhaps it is the break of sound that gives enough suggestion for the man to move, liquid muscle drawn to bring the glass to lips in this everlasting quest for quench, long draught swallowed before tongue peeks out to draw the leftover liquor tears from upper lip, hazel eyes opening, slowly, some strange dawn lifting night-sky lashes to gaze at the painted ceiling above
(harlequin sinclair)
*some like the grand enterance others to slip in unobserved he well it depends on the day. the coat he had warn to protect him from the cold is lost quickly at the door checked in the small ticket tucked gracefully into the midnight blue sash he wears as a belt. he looks as if he has stepped directly from one of sharizades thousand tales a prince stepped directly from the pages of alladin the only thing to distroy the perfect picture a small golden ankh hangs from his neck.smooth skin and lithe muscle move in a flow of liquid grace as he glides through the club weaving through the dense croud at the bar to claim first a drink and then a stool. . finally eyes so dark to be black scan the room from between those raven locks, where best to sit or who to dance with. *
(nakhti)
this is where he reclines, this is where the slender man who is barely older than a boy has claimed his place amongst the fashionable crowd, and they seem to pass him by, the small thing forsaken for the greater mysteries hidden in trampled dancefloor sand - but it seems to matter not, that he would rather fade back into the shadows and observe this natural wonder of human bodies and interaction, he would rather be forgotten than noticedbut notice does he
the glint of blue silk captures a strobe from above, the attention quick in its flicker towards the bar, lifting from waist to crawl over chest towards the glinting ankh - but as it is, the boyman says nothing, only looks, only peeks, and his attention strays again
(harlequin)
*he moves with an almost predatory grace unatural liquid and flowing poetry in motion his every geasture seems in time to the music as he sandled feet move lightly over the sand covered floor. his smile almost exstatic as he breathes in the mixture of sent and sound, the touch the feel of the music flowing into him and through him. his partners chosen from both sexes it does not seem to matter and when none can be found he but continues to dance alone. *(nakhti)
and now the man moves, some sway of desert breeze seeming to displace the recline into attentive sit, legs crossing to place ankles beneath thighs, flowing black pants whispering lost in the heavy belt of bass falling from above, it's the blue that has his attention oncemore, the rapt predator, the glitter of gold as it flashes in serpentine movements falling from a singular bodyonce more, the glass raises to his lips
as if to battle that continuous thirstbut still, he only watches, he only studies, he only absorbs this sinuous creature that has cast itself in beautiful writhe upon the burning sands
(harlequin)
he had seen him noticed smiled ever so slightly thinking it was but a passing glance. yet again when he is looking that way he finds the youth watching him. his smile grows even wider he leaves the dance floor to return to the bar grabbing a drink he makes his way slowly around the club finally to hang over the back of the couch upon which nakhti sits. wine the colour of fresh blood swirling delicalty within the glass before he places it to his lips sipping the ruby liquid chocolate eyes watch him study him from but a few centimetres away.*(nakhti)
as he is studied - he studies in return, not at all unnerved by the sudden closeness, not at all dissuaded by the approach and lean, his own body twists, slowly, the supple lengthening of muscle and torso in liquid stretch, murky green/brown swirl of hazel eyes meets the chocolate gaze, and a smile ghosts on softly angular featuresleft hand, slender, reaches, fingers brushing the dangling gold ankh, silken sleeve falling back to reveal the blackened whorls of ink patterning his skin
(harlequin)
*his eyes flicker ever so slightly over the designs etched into the living canvas before he returns to his study of the youth in general his gaze slides over the body as if to memorise every curve every, every plane and angle. a mental carress that is followed by the softest of purrs as he brings his eyes finally back up to look upon his face.his cup is raised again to lips to take another sip his smile growing from behind raised glass. its what the cat looked like when he caught the canery *
(nakhti)
the pattern begins at his middle knuckle, and is spreads, flaring in homeland patterns to either side of his wrist, and there is a band that wraps around, inviting further curiosities below the still clinging sleeve - but that is a mystery he will not yet revealhis chin lifts, dark eyes slitting, stretching into that invisable caress as if fingers combed through deep black pelt, a movement in his throat, a quiver of larynx below skin, but there is nothing in reply, nothing above the sound of the pouring music, just the notion of what could be, his touch has not left the gold that was warmed by contact with chest's skin, letting it dance across fingerpads with each swell of breath in the stranger's chest that lifts him against the chaise's sweeping back
(harlequin)
*he circles slowy never really rising almost like his upper body spins in place never breaking contact that near touch so reminicant of bodies sliding one over the other. yet finally he must draw away ever so slightly as he slides onto the couch next to you such a languid moment he seems to fall much like if one cut the strings that supported him, yet graceful a fall of silk in the lightest of breezes.*"harlequin sinclair" *his voice spills from barley parted lips filling the silence between songs with that husky tone his is a voice to inspire, an erotic blend of soft sophistication and dark passion. *
(nakhti)
a hand lifts, fingers splaying to let the chain weave itself between long digits and the ankh to slide into his palm, and as the stranger sits the boy leans closer, lips parting, breath drawn, as if to taste this creature and the scents that roll between them, eyes never breaking their contact, and beneath the inky hair, the head slightly tilts, lips moving without sound (harlequin) until ending into a pleased ghostly smile, as if the word itself where inspiring, as if he were imitating the darkly passioned voicehis own glass tilts back, heady liquor drowning silent throat and the empty tumbler set behind him on the couch as a magician's flair possesses right hand, to create a gesture in the air, a combination of letters and fingers, woven in this invisable fabric
(harlequin)
*he smells of cloves and cinnamon with the musk of fur hidden just beneath the skin. his is the taste of youth mixed with wine. the geasture so familiar his head tilting to the side studying the stranger.. it pleases him the tantalising way he pleases all his senses. eyes follow the movemntes of his hand all but mesmorised by them yet not able to understand. this seems to pain him. guilt with how the silent comunication was shattered with his words and his lack of understanding.*
(nakhti)
there's the scents and tastes of the exotic bazaar that dances along his senses, a pleasure arising from the subtle exploration of the other, and fingers rise up the slender chain, until skimming over the line of jaw, the gentlest of pressures guiding harlequin to look to the sidehazel eyes study the offered profile
then his own body folds, reaching single digit to scribe in the sandnakhti
amose(harlequin)
*he allows himelf to be guided face turning ever so slightly. only to look back as his companion writes upon the sand. leaning over his shoulder to watch he whispers* nakhti Amose.*his warm breath spiced with the sent of the red wine a carress on the back of nakhti's neck as he whispers the name slowly, a caress to be shared between lovers as they lay between sheets drawing it out in that rumbling purrrr of a voice tracing the edges of the script with his own fingers before trailing them delicatly through the name removing traces of the delicate hand. one should never leave trace of where there been afterall.*(nakhti)
beneath the warm breath that showers over skin, gooseflesh rises in rippling quiver, the smile hidden by bite of lower lip,the scripting hand seems to draw up Harlequin's extended arm, as if sculpting the play of muscles beneath skin as the letters are wiped away, and the touch climbs, inching slowly upwards, until finally finding the pulse before long smooth line of jaw, turning companion to face him once againthere is soft smile, hearing the purr (oh yeeesss) and perhaps a question writ sandstone within the hazel depths of eyes (and what is it you wish) held so very close
(harlequin)
*to touch to taste so tempting watching the gooseflesh rise over his skin the way his breath stirs the small hairs at the back of ones neck. to fill oneself with the sent of him of his hair his skin. and then he he relaxes under the carress of nakhti's touch as it raises slowly along his arm to rest upon his quickening pulse. he rolls his neck ever so slightly slidding his chin lightly along the inner curve of his arm marking him as if the scent glands where there. rubbing up against his flesh in a slide like that of a cat. his eyes hold questions of his own and promises of passion. his smile grows wide.*(nakhti)
fingers splay spider's legs to flex tendon and muscle beneath skin, to coax the mixtures of their scents and oils as display pushes sleeve further up slender arm, then digits wrap to comb through hair, sliding from scalp to feathered tip in proverbial groom ending in slow languid stretch - it brings him closer, slow inhalation rising in his chest, so close that eyes would almost cross, and then the exhaledripping from between parted lips, washing liquor tainted breath across Harlequin's wide smile
promise accepted, and the boyman unfolds, bare feet sinking into the sand, a tempting, taunting glance cast over his shoulder as he walks towards the door (coming?)
(harlequin)
*he breathes in that hedonistic mix as if he could draw onself in on the exhaled breath. crawling slowly along the couch finally raising to his feet he sets feet silently to the sandy floor. slipping up behind his companion arm snaking lightly around his waist whispering lightly in his ear.* "lead the way"(nakhti)
as the arm winds about his waist, his own closes over the hand at his flank, fingers soft in their warm touch on skin, twining their grips against his waist, a strange strength in slender hand, and there's only a look, a sly, inviting lookonce outside, past the line waiting at the door, the other arm raises, hailing down a cab - coat forgotten, he is heedless of the cold, when the door opens he moves far enough away only to climb inside, twined grip stretching arms until the fold of muscle pulls Harlequin in with him and so. very. close.
paper is unfolded from a pocket of flowering shirt, address written on it handed to the cabbie, but his attention is elsewhere, not on the cabbie, not on the smooth pull of sedan from curb, focused solely on the man next to him, the one that hand draws even closer, drawing up until they were as close as within the club, that barest breath between their lips
(harlequin)
to Nakhti Amose: *it was a reluctant glance he throws back as he passes the coat room yet no desire to give up his prey, or would that be predator and he is the prey?he lets himself be led out into the cold, his skin quickly cooling as exposed flesh and sweat react to th freezing weather gooseflesh appearing along his arms his chest tightening his muscles drawn in upon themselves as he has a chance to start shivering before being drawn seductivly into the relative warmth of the cab
. again he all but crawls across the seats that predatory grace in flowing motion body stretching out contouring himself to the line of the one next to him not quite touching by less than a hairs breath.
guided by the man who occupies the cab allows himself to be drawn in to feel the heat radiating from the body he is all but pressed up against warm his chiled skin. thier breath mingles the sweet mixture drawn back into his lungs with a passion as finally he leans in to claim a kiss a taste barest brushing of lips up against his.*
(nakhti)
their coats will be there tomorrow, it is that promised dark passion that is the now - smile spreads against the tender touch of lips, the shy young man boldly deepening the tentative touch, the barest brush turned into decisive joining of soft flesh, an invitation of the predator that crawled the seat to be beside him like some leopard stalking him within the treesthere's a tremble, in his touch, the way fingers curl along their cup of jaw, the scrape of short nails against smooth skin as the miles roll past unheeded, and it is not until the cabbie politely coughs that the world comes back into his conscience, to find that they have stopped infront of an old brick building
one hand draws away from luscious skin, sliding torturously flat between them to dig in a pocket, he knows the fare home, for a bill is handed blindly to the front seat - and that is when the soft kiss turns to slow clench of teeth, trapping Harlequin's lower lip between flat enamel, the hand between them reaching to pop the door behind him open, and the seductive boy slinks back into the cold, something burning in it's glitter in hazel eyes
as he was drug from the club, he is drug into the building and up a flight of stairs, and never once does that sly smile leave Nakhti's lips, perhaps it grows as the key slides home into the door, lock thrown, slender hand wrapping in the soft folds of shirt to drag him, still, into the small apartment
[the rest is up to your imagination, heh]
Posted by nakhti at December 16, 2002 12:00 AM
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