sekramage (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} sekramage) wrote,@ 2007-08-11 17:45:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Current mood: |  hungry |
| Current music: | Road - Gackt |
Death [fic]
Author: </a></strong></a>sekramage
Title: Death
Series: Gundam Wing
Pairings: Heero/Duo
Rating: PG-13
I’d seen the boy before, about a year ago. Right after the blonde had died. He’d had black wings then, though. I remember our conversation….
* * *
“Isn’t it a little early for Halloween?”
“Huh?” he looked around, trying to find the source of my question.
“The wings,” I decided to help him out. “Are you going to a costume party?”
“You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am Shinigami.” he said as he disappeared.
* * *
Shinigami, the god of death. In appearance, a boy of about sixteen. Chestnut-brown hair long enough to be pulled back into a braid, the end of which, hung just below his waist. His eyes were violet, shining with a vibrant light. And I had become obsessed with him.
Now, in this dance club, he was dancing out on the floor and he looked so….alive. Lithe body swaying to the music, hands ghosting down his torso, braid swinging along with his movements; dancing about his hips as though it were a living entity all it’s own. And who knows, that could very well be the case.
As I stand here watching, his braid caresses his hips like a lover, my mind begins to wander and blood starts to flow. I picture him lying beneath me, legs unashamedly spread wide, allowing me to thrust inside his tight heat while he whimpers in pleasure. The next fantasy, even more delightful; I’m on my hands and knees, ass high, face down, cheek pressed against the floor while he pounds into me. Suddenly he bends forward, bare chest molding against my back in a perfect line. He shoots his white-hot semen into my body, whispering my name as though it were the name of a god.
Emboldened by the surge of blood and hormones, I make my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and as he gasps, pressing my front to his back. Never breaking rhythm, we began to dance together.
“I take it I shouldn’t be able to touch you either?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Shinigami, when was the last time you danced with someone and then woke up in their bed?” I whispered into the shell of his ear.
“To dance with me is to dance with death.” he warned.
“I know that.” I said, pressing my lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, laving the skin with my tongue before responding. “You taste like fire and ocean, ashes and salt. The Ruin of Nations. Burn the cities, salt the Earth. You are before, after; never during. Antithesis of civilization. And I am obsessed with you.”
* * *
“Isn’t it a little early for Halloween?”
“Huh?” he looked around, trying to find the source of my question.
“The wings,” I decided to help him out. “Are you going to a costume party?”
“You shouldn’t be able to see me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am Shinigami.” he said as he disappeared.
* * *
Shinigami, the god of death. In appearance, a boy of about sixteen. Chestnut-brown hair long enough to be pulled back into a braid, the end of which, hung just below his waist. His eyes were violet, shining with a vibrant light. And I had become obsessed with him.
Now, in this dance club, he was dancing out on the floor and he looked so….alive. Lithe body swaying to the music, hands ghosting down his torso, braid swinging along with his movements; dancing about his hips as though it were a living entity all it’s own. And who knows, that could very well be the case.
As I stand here watching, his braid caresses his hips like a lover, my mind begins to wander and blood starts to flow. I picture him lying beneath me, legs unashamedly spread wide, allowing me to thrust inside his tight heat while he whimpers in pleasure. The next fantasy, even more delightful; I’m on my hands and knees, ass high, face down, cheek pressed against the floor while he pounds into me. Suddenly he bends forward, bare chest molding against my back in a perfect line. He shoots his white-hot semen into my body, whispering my name as though it were the name of a god.
Emboldened by the surge of blood and hormones, I make my way over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and as he gasps, pressing my front to his back. Never breaking rhythm, we began to dance together.
“I take it I shouldn’t be able to touch you either?”
“No.”
“Tell me, Shinigami, when was the last time you danced with someone and then woke up in their bed?” I whispered into the shell of his ear.
“To dance with me is to dance with death.” he warned.
“I know that.” I said, pressing my lips to the junction of his neck and shoulder, laving the skin with my tongue before responding. “You taste like fire and ocean, ashes and salt. The Ruin of Nations. Burn the cities, salt the Earth. You are before, after; never during. Antithesis of civilization. And I am obsessed with you.”