Writing: Prompt 1/5 for my ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
origfic_bingo
Feb. 2nd, 2012 12:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jadedmusingsTitle: "Last Dance"
Fandom; Pairings: Original (Aria universe); Selene/Mykolas (M/F)
Prompt: Public display of affection (One of my Januaryorigfic_bingo prompts. The other four will be posted soon even though I'm late. :P)
Contents: Sexual situations, strong allusions to sex.
Rating: R
Word Count: 836
Summary: The is the first and last dance they'll share in public.
Notes: Banged this out this morning because of a niggling idea that would not leave. Apologies for glaring errors I may have missed in my impaired state (I have a head cold). One, I love to dabble in the present tense for short scenes like this. Two, I don't think I've ever employed song lyrics before, and it's not something I'll make a habit of, but this was just too intergral to the scene in my head that I wanted to include some. The song is "Slow, Love, Slow" by Nightwish from their 2011 album Imaginaerum, and it's not the sort of song you might expect to come from a Finnish symphonic metal band.
Nightwish - "Slow, Love, Slow" (Lyrics)
His timing is perfect. He waits until the precise moment when the last song is slowly fading into the next before I realize the music is taking on a slow, sensual beat. I feel the press of his body at my back, his left hand on my stomach to hold me tight against him. The familiarity with which he touches me sets me on edge until I recognize the scent of his cologne. I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear and hear his voice.
"You owe me a dance," he says, his right hand resting on my hip as he steps back and gently guides me to move with the music. Our hips dip low and rock in near perfect tempo to the song. My feet follow his; backward step, side step, forward step, the start of a tight circle. I relax my spine and drop my head back to his shoulder and reach up with my right hand to tangle my fingers into his chin-length hair.
Come and share this painting with me...
Angry murmurs roil through the crowd surrounding us on the dance floor questioning the change in music. They want something with a hard beat, they say. A few demand the DJ skip the song or else. The words barely register in my mind before they are forgotten the moment he presses his lips to my neck. My focus is on the music and how it seems to flow through me, through us.
This deep sigh coiled around my chest...
My hips sway with a rolling gait as our bodies come apart, my hand in his. He allows only enough space between us to turn me to face him, and then with only a slight tug of his hand, I am drawn back to him. Silence gradually fills the area around us. I'm vaguely aware the crowd is stepping back, giving up their space on the floor. Several dozen pairs of eyes are on us, but their gaze is periphery. It's his gaze that captures mine. Silver-gray eyes stare at me intently and somehow I know that were it not for our public location, he would toss aside the pretense of the dance in favor of a more direct demonstration of his desire for me.
I wonder; Do I love you or the thought of you?
We're close enough to remove all doubt of his arousal; I can feel the hard length of him pressing into my hip. Inwardly I both curse and praise the cloth blocking contact with his skin. Curse because I want to touch him, to have him fill my hand before he fills another part me. Praise because it keeps him from knowing the true effect he has on me, or at least it will until he has me alone and can touch me in more intimate places. His fingertips slip under my shirt to and brush against my lower back sending a shiver up my spine. He feels it and pulls me closer to press his cheek to mine, but not before I see a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Damn him, he knows anyway.
...Let-down-your-guards, I-love-yous...
"They know who you are," I warn as I incline my head toward the crowd. He shakes his head, his skin rubbing against mine. It's soft, lacking stubble.
"I don't care."
Puzzled by this uncharacteristic public display of affection, I arch an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" When he nods, I ask, "Even if I do this?" I turn my head and run my tongue up the back of his ear, rising up on the balls of my feet to reach all the way to the pointed tip.
His breath hitches and even over the music I can hear the rumble of a groan in his chest. "Yes," he replies. "I want them to see that you're as much mine as I am yours." His mouth covers mine in a deep kiss before I can utter another word.
Slow, love, slow; Only the weak are not lonely
I taste him for what will be the first of many times that night. I'm heady with the anticipation of passion, of sex, of hearing him heatedly whisper my name as pleasure overtakes him. Far from my thoughts are the questions I should be asking. Distantly, I'm aware something has changed; however, the dance and the kiss have distracted me to the point of uncaring. Tonight, I only care that I'll have him in my bed.
The song ends and the music returns to the club's standard fare. Save for a few lingering stares as we leave the dance floor, our impromptu show is forgotten and our audience begins pairing off to resume their earlier dancing.
What I don't know is that his actions have painted a target on his back. He's exposed the proverbial chink in his armor to the owner of one of those lingering stares. He'll be dead in less than a year and my life will forever be changed.
Fandom; Pairings: Original (Aria universe); Selene/Mykolas (M/F)
Prompt: Public display of affection (One of my January
origfic_bingo prompts. The other four will be posted soon even though I'm late. :P)Contents: Sexual situations, strong allusions to sex.
Rating: R
Word Count: 836
Summary: The is the first and last dance they'll share in public.
Notes: Banged this out this morning because of a niggling idea that would not leave. Apologies for glaring errors I may have missed in my impaired state (I have a head cold). One, I love to dabble in the present tense for short scenes like this. Two, I don't think I've ever employed song lyrics before, and it's not something I'll make a habit of, but this was just too intergral to the scene in my head that I wanted to include some. The song is "Slow, Love, Slow" by Nightwish from their 2011 album Imaginaerum, and it's not the sort of song you might expect to come from a Finnish symphonic metal band.
Nightwish - "Slow, Love, Slow" (Lyrics)
His timing is perfect. He waits until the precise moment when the last song is slowly fading into the next before I realize the music is taking on a slow, sensual beat. I feel the press of his body at my back, his left hand on my stomach to hold me tight against him. The familiarity with which he touches me sets me on edge until I recognize the scent of his cologne. I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear and hear his voice.
"You owe me a dance," he says, his right hand resting on my hip as he steps back and gently guides me to move with the music. Our hips dip low and rock in near perfect tempo to the song. My feet follow his; backward step, side step, forward step, the start of a tight circle. I relax my spine and drop my head back to his shoulder and reach up with my right hand to tangle my fingers into his chin-length hair.
Come and share this painting with me...
Angry murmurs roil through the crowd surrounding us on the dance floor questioning the change in music. They want something with a hard beat, they say. A few demand the DJ skip the song or else. The words barely register in my mind before they are forgotten the moment he presses his lips to my neck. My focus is on the music and how it seems to flow through me, through us.
This deep sigh coiled around my chest...
My hips sway with a rolling gait as our bodies come apart, my hand in his. He allows only enough space between us to turn me to face him, and then with only a slight tug of his hand, I am drawn back to him. Silence gradually fills the area around us. I'm vaguely aware the crowd is stepping back, giving up their space on the floor. Several dozen pairs of eyes are on us, but their gaze is periphery. It's his gaze that captures mine. Silver-gray eyes stare at me intently and somehow I know that were it not for our public location, he would toss aside the pretense of the dance in favor of a more direct demonstration of his desire for me.
I wonder; Do I love you or the thought of you?
We're close enough to remove all doubt of his arousal; I can feel the hard length of him pressing into my hip. Inwardly I both curse and praise the cloth blocking contact with his skin. Curse because I want to touch him, to have him fill my hand before he fills another part me. Praise because it keeps him from knowing the true effect he has on me, or at least it will until he has me alone and can touch me in more intimate places. His fingertips slip under my shirt to and brush against my lower back sending a shiver up my spine. He feels it and pulls me closer to press his cheek to mine, but not before I see a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Damn him, he knows anyway.
...Let-down-your-guards, I-love-yous...
"They know who you are," I warn as I incline my head toward the crowd. He shakes his head, his skin rubbing against mine. It's soft, lacking stubble.
"I don't care."
Puzzled by this uncharacteristic public display of affection, I arch an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" When he nods, I ask, "Even if I do this?" I turn my head and run my tongue up the back of his ear, rising up on the balls of my feet to reach all the way to the pointed tip.
His breath hitches and even over the music I can hear the rumble of a groan in his chest. "Yes," he replies. "I want them to see that you're as much mine as I am yours." His mouth covers mine in a deep kiss before I can utter another word.
Slow, love, slow; Only the weak are not lonely
I taste him for what will be the first of many times that night. I'm heady with the anticipation of passion, of sex, of hearing him heatedly whisper my name as pleasure overtakes him. Far from my thoughts are the questions I should be asking. Distantly, I'm aware something has changed; however, the dance and the kiss have distracted me to the point of uncaring. Tonight, I only care that I'll have him in my bed.
The song ends and the music returns to the club's standard fare. Save for a few lingering stares as we leave the dance floor, our impromptu show is forgotten and our audience begins pairing off to resume their earlier dancing.
What I don't know is that his actions have painted a target on his back. He's exposed the proverbial chink in his armor to the owner of one of those lingering stares. He'll be dead in less than a year and my life will forever be changed.
