yousei-san (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flair) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
metamorphosis2009-10-08 05:01 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2009-10-08 05:01 am
Entry tags:
7;
Some fresh meat this time; hot off the presses!
Title: A Sweeter Sonata
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: R
Fingers drum across his chest and it was to this that Antonio stirs; they felt and pressed and kneaded the most sensitive spots, as if playing some sonata he had not yet learned, but would (in time) learn to play as gracefully as he; his captor pressed his lips to his shoulder in a series of small and soft kisses, like a butterfly that flies but never fully lands upon a fingertip. It was as confusing as his own thoughts - why should this man do this to him, teach him how to practise such an unknown melody – as they swam through his head. What Arthur mutters into his collarbone goes in one ear and out the other, yet the feel of his capped lips brushing in the familiar patterns of words sets Antonio's mind into a frenzy.
“Pleasure of another man is a grave sin.”
Antonio manages to choke out and he laughs, husky and more like a throaty mutter, and seems to think - though, by no means, does he pause in his ministrations – before answering.
“Then you and I must repent; but with this I will have repented, for what better chapel is there for God than the body of thine enemy?”
Antonio had no time to answer that; he gasps as a tongue runs along his side, teeth roughly nipping along the dancer's curve of his hips, and he silently admits Arthur's better at this melody than he gave him credit for. He leans back – 'to admire me,' Antonio thinks, but he just wants to continue this sweet song – and makes a vexed sound (“Not close enough,” he says then, and pulls Antonio onto his lap so that he's no longer splayed upon the bed but sitting up, half-alert but fully and painfully awake) and starts his sonata again. His hands, make their way, slowly and teasingly, to the source of Antonio's throbbing pain and he melts into the soft touches and gestures of the surprisingly soft and warm hands, so unfit to the cold and rocky isle.
He apologizes softly – 'for what?' Antonio wonders then and still later, for the answer still escapes him and he dares not interrupt the smooth and gentle flow things seem to be heading in thus far – and continues, hands skilfully working the tan thighs and, as he's held up only by the pitifully pale legs of his compadre, to the unholy place between them. A hand clamped over his mouth so tightly, so forcefully, as a final shudder wracked Antonio's body-
And yet the bold moan went pealing through the room; but it was Arthur's masterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled Antonio's very core with the tender music of the immoral sodomy; and it was not till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could bring himself to utter the words “good-night” and to seek his much-needed pillow.
Title: A Sweeter Sonata
Characters: England, Spain
Rating: R
Fingers drum across his chest and it was to this that Antonio stirs; they felt and pressed and kneaded the most sensitive spots, as if playing some sonata he had not yet learned, but would (in time) learn to play as gracefully as he; his captor pressed his lips to his shoulder in a series of small and soft kisses, like a butterfly that flies but never fully lands upon a fingertip. It was as confusing as his own thoughts - why should this man do this to him, teach him how to practise such an unknown melody – as they swam through his head. What Arthur mutters into his collarbone goes in one ear and out the other, yet the feel of his capped lips brushing in the familiar patterns of words sets Antonio's mind into a frenzy.
“Pleasure of another man is a grave sin.”
Antonio manages to choke out and he laughs, husky and more like a throaty mutter, and seems to think - though, by no means, does he pause in his ministrations – before answering.
“Then you and I must repent; but with this I will have repented, for what better chapel is there for God than the body of thine enemy?”
Antonio had no time to answer that; he gasps as a tongue runs along his side, teeth roughly nipping along the dancer's curve of his hips, and he silently admits Arthur's better at this melody than he gave him credit for. He leans back – 'to admire me,' Antonio thinks, but he just wants to continue this sweet song – and makes a vexed sound (“Not close enough,” he says then, and pulls Antonio onto his lap so that he's no longer splayed upon the bed but sitting up, half-alert but fully and painfully awake) and starts his sonata again. His hands, make their way, slowly and teasingly, to the source of Antonio's throbbing pain and he melts into the soft touches and gestures of the surprisingly soft and warm hands, so unfit to the cold and rocky isle.
He apologizes softly – 'for what?' Antonio wonders then and still later, for the answer still escapes him and he dares not interrupt the smooth and gentle flow things seem to be heading in thus far – and continues, hands skilfully working the tan thighs and, as he's held up only by the pitifully pale legs of his compadre, to the unholy place between them. A hand clamped over his mouth so tightly, so forcefully, as a final shudder wracked Antonio's body-
And yet the bold moan went pealing through the room; but it was Arthur's masterly touch that roused the echoes, and thrilled Antonio's very core with the tender music of the immoral sodomy; and it was not till the last note had died away that the tired but happy traveler could bring himself to utter the words “good-night” and to seek his much-needed pillow.