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(brigits_flame) tortuous methods
Feb. 7th, 2010 02:03 pmbirds of a feather
brigits_flame entry
The slick sweat of his skin does nothing at all to detract from the dark lines of the tattooed wings curling across his back. Scott finds his fingers trailing across pale skin and whipcord tight muscles down the black lines framing his spine. Jordan shudders and lazily turns his head to gaze from half-lidded eyes over his shoulder.
“You already have me where you want me. No need to tease.”
Scott lets a corner of his mouth tip up in a smile before thrusting forward, prompting a low groan from Jordan. “Who’s teasing?” he asks with a strained chuckle. He presses forward again, so slow he can feel it sapping his strength. “You never told me about your tattoos.”
Jordan reaches back, hand clutching at Scott’s hip to speed his strokes or stop the questions; he’s not sure which. “I thought you knew about them. Thought you’d seen them at the club.” He’s panting, reaching for something he isn’t sure Scott’s going to give him. “Please!”
Scott takes pity on him, briefly, giving in to what they both want so much—the thing that works so well between them without a single word. It’s long enough afterward that Jordan thinks they’ll never have to talk about it. At least, he’s sure until he feels Scott’s finger trace along the curved tip of a wing and then onward to 4 little letters inked into a shell near his hip.
He sighs. “Which one?”
Scott’s palm covers the word at his hip, hot as a brand and comforting. “This one.”
“I never fit in anywhere. I needed to find a home somewhere. Needed to make myself feel at home in my skin.”
Scott’s palm moves back to cup one shoulder blade, skin slick feathers under his hand. “Wings because you needed to escape?” Jordan drops his head a moment before turning to give an awkward kiss over his shoulder.
“I’ve never needed to tell you. You always knew.”
brigits_flame entry
The slick sweat of his skin does nothing at all to detract from the dark lines of the tattooed wings curling across his back. Scott finds his fingers trailing across pale skin and whipcord tight muscles down the black lines framing his spine. Jordan shudders and lazily turns his head to gaze from half-lidded eyes over his shoulder.
“You already have me where you want me. No need to tease.”
Scott lets a corner of his mouth tip up in a smile before thrusting forward, prompting a low groan from Jordan. “Who’s teasing?” he asks with a strained chuckle. He presses forward again, so slow he can feel it sapping his strength. “You never told me about your tattoos.”
Jordan reaches back, hand clutching at Scott’s hip to speed his strokes or stop the questions; he’s not sure which. “I thought you knew about them. Thought you’d seen them at the club.” He’s panting, reaching for something he isn’t sure Scott’s going to give him. “Please!”
Scott takes pity on him, briefly, giving in to what they both want so much—the thing that works so well between them without a single word. It’s long enough afterward that Jordan thinks they’ll never have to talk about it. At least, he’s sure until he feels Scott’s finger trace along the curved tip of a wing and then onward to 4 little letters inked into a shell near his hip.
He sighs. “Which one?”
Scott’s palm covers the word at his hip, hot as a brand and comforting. “This one.”
“I never fit in anywhere. I needed to find a home somewhere. Needed to make myself feel at home in my skin.”
Scott’s palm moves back to cup one shoulder blade, skin slick feathers under his hand. “Wings because you needed to escape?” Jordan drops his head a moment before turning to give an awkward kiss over his shoulder.
“I’ve never needed to tell you. You always knew.”
