Sweet Desolation

By BlackRose

You're so fucking beautiful like this. All pale white skin and trembling muscle, spread out beneath me like a feast for the taking. Do you have any fucking idea how gorgeous you are?

It's been too long. I've missed this. Have you missed me, baby? Shh, don't talk. Just move for me, let your body talk for you. The beads of sweat across your skin tell stories and the shiver I can feel, shuddering against my thighs... that could write whole volumes. You're aching for it, pet, straining, but this is my game, my dance. I want this to last. I want this to *last*.

I'm starving, angel, and the feel of you under me is a draught in the goddamn fucking desert.

You taste of sweat and blood and a sour, sharp tang... oh baby, your body could write fucking novels and I know how to read every word. I can read it in the taste of you, in the throb of your pulse and the gasp of your breath. Your eyes are closed, shut away from me, but I can press my thumbs to the velvet soft skin beneath your lashes and you'll open them; black gray wells, bottomless and dialated. Can you see me, baby? Can you *see*?

The hot rush of breath over your lips is tainted in the taste of metal and leather and the salty taste of blood. I can press my mouth there, inhale your breath and slip my own back into your lungs. I can slide my tongue beneath your lip and feel your pulse, where it runs fast and hot in tiny veins beneath fragile, saliva slick membranes. I can trace the trails of metallic taste that wind in fresh wet rivulets across your lip and cheek where the hard edge of leather has bitten into your skin.

Can you taste it, pet?

There's a map laid out across your body that I can read with my fingertips; welts and weals and the fragile softness of blisters, raw skin, wet skin, sweat and blood woven like crimson lace. I can chart the tiny dimples that string silent trails of heat flushed bruises along the curve of your inner arm; every place they've slipped their needles, fucked you with a surgeon's prick, strapped down and spread open for those sharp steel cocks to thrust into your veins and spew their cold, pharmaceutical come into the heat of your blood. Slut.

Move for me, baby. Sing. Like a symphony choked down behind the bit that lays hard and heavy across your tongue... suck the chrome, baby with a whore's greedy red slicked mouth. Every breath, every gasp, every tiny moan is music to my ears, drawn forth at the pluck of my fingertips over the strings of your nerves. Move for me, beautiful. Let me feel it in your hips, in the arch of your back and the shudder of muscle... tell me how much you want this.

Fucking gorgeous.

I can drag my hands across your body and feel you shiver. I can lick you from my fingertips, blood, sweat and heat. Who's are you, baby? Do you remember?

How good does this feel?

Cool metal nodes pressed to your skin, touch of a switch... you arch under me, into me, muscles rippling, throat stretched back in one long curve of fragile skin that begs to be touched, devoured. I can feel it with you where flesh touches flesh, buried deep in your heat and the tight, hungry grasp of your body. Feel it, whore? Feel how it stings? Touch of spice, of electric charge, tiny zinging jolts that set your pulse racing and your breath caught in gasps. See? It doesn't have to hurt.

Give me your breath, baby. Give me your taste. Give me the shiver of your body, the feel of you under me, around me... give me this moment, strung out infinately in taste and feel and simple heat.

She'll take it later. Take it away, like she's taken all the rest. Scrape it from my head, leave me raw and bleeding, mind fucked harder and deeper than any junction with her grasping fist thrust deep in my memories and her whisper threaded like electric currents through my thoughts... but now, right now, it's just us. Just you. Just *me*. Just my cock and your ass and the feel of me in you, the press of you under me, the sweet sweet taste of you and the slick hot feel of you and the moments... all of the moments... one... after... the... other...

Come for me, baby. Let me feel that last shudder, let me hear all the sounds you can't bite back past the bit and the metal and the musky leather taste that stains your skin. Give me that one last memory because there's only this moment, only right now... and nothing after.

Lie to me, Squall. Beg me. Twist beneath me, truth and falsehoods draped across your skin like sweet drops of liquid life. Give me what you know I want, our old dance, the familiar game.

Sing for me, baby. Dance for me.

Come for me.

Remember for me, Squall. No one else will.

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