| Azn Fan |
I was on the phone when he knocked on the door. He looked so brilliantly young, so innocent, and so very delicious. He offered this smile that was somewhere between shy and evil, altogether dark and tempting, at least for me. I waved him closer and pressed myself against him in a welcoming embrace, half remembering the feel of his body from our secret little indiscretion a few days earlier, and half listening to my girlfriend drone on and on. Needless to say, I quickly said my goodbyes and ended the call.
He had sat himself down on the couch, shoulder length black bob brushing his thin shoulders. A tight red T-shirt stretched over his chest barely meeting the extra baggy jeans bunched by a belt at his tiny waist. I couldn’t help but smile like a big game cat, the Leo that I am, at this beautiful, androgynous and willing prey who smiled and blushed back. The words ‘You are stunning’ came from my mouth, and I meant them. He was. I have brilliant taste in men. No, I have brilliant taste in boys.
He smiled and complimented my form in the black martial arts pants. He enjoyed the fact that I wore only that, nothing beneath; my arms and chest bare. Knowing what we both wanted from this rendezvous and unwilling to wait further, as neither of us really cared to, I offered out my hand and lead him to my room.
She sheets on my bed were crisp white. A good contrast to the burgundy pillows and black iron four poster frame. The white sheets made me think of innocence. The black frame, its captor’s cell. This thought often went through my head over the course of the night, although, who was innocent and who was the captor changed over and over.
There was low light from a candle burning on the cherry-wood dresser, but I could see his every movement as I lower my mouth to his chest. He was so soft, skin so delicate. I brushed my lips over his breast, a nipple against my mouth, within my lips. I know my soft purr gave me away but I was very excited, wanting to taste every part of this lovely boy. I knew to pace myself even though I hungrily trailed kisses down his stomach, teased him, nipping below his navel. He placed his hands on my shoulders. I smoothed his shirt back over his chest and leaned into him, wanting his mouth. He was warm, very warm. Deliberately soft tongues met. Controlled hunger this time. The last my lips touched his, we were frenzied, overwhelmed with the touch of someone new, the nervousness of secrecy, and the surprise of mutual lust and understanding. So it is sometimes with Leos. Bring two Leos together who spark, and both must not miss the opportunity of Fire Sign passion and lust, even if it is only the one chance, the one meeting.
~ by cnJosephyne
ok, so maybe reading too much Harry Potter and Velvet Goldmine slash fics on the web have twisted my mind today... Ha! I even spent part of the day reading Placebo slash! I have to take a quick PG13 stab at it myself....
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| Rashella |
She stole away in the darkness careful not to wake the arrogant brat. A smile came to her face as she glanced over her shoulder still buttoning and buckling herself back into her garments. Shaking her head she laughed silently. He slept like a log, no real need to put her 'stealth and cunning' into play. Damn him for being so lovely. She swore never to have him back as a lover after the last time. It was much too easy for him to break her heart. Here she was this strong, feared and intimidating woman and yet this mere boy had such a way of smiling and getting past her defenses.
"Never again, Mikal."
Her smile somewhat faded. She knew if she stayed curled against his warm skin that he would have her heart at his disposal once again. So in the late night shadows she lowered her eyes from the lightly lit face that so many times spoke to her of love, and left without a second thought.
The drive was much more pleasing than she would have imagined. The car hummed along as the radio played music she remembered from a decade prior. She laughed at how it dated her, gave away her age, she knowing every word to every song that was played by the 'old wave' station.
"When did new wave become old wave, and The Clash, classic rock?" She thought to herself with a chuckle. At 33, she didn't feel, act, or look her age. She passed easily for a girl in her mid-twenties and she counted her blessings daily for her youthful appearance. A yawn caught her by surprise while the sun beaming through the windshield strengthened the sleep trying desperately to take her.
Her thoughts skipped to Mikal. She wondered what his reaction might be when he woke to find her long gone from his apartment.
"Naw, don't even think about that." She told herself and focused instead on what kind of breakfast she might find at the filling station just up the road.
The store inside this middle-of-nowhere gas station was surprisingly ample. Seems the locals made a quick buck by selling a variety of spicy meats wrapped in tasty tortillas. Josie grabbed two burritos, the largest coffee available and filled the car tank with petrol. She leaned against the driver side door wondering in what direction to go in next. The hot wind that blew eastward seemed to give her the answer. Go East.
Josie finished the first burrito before getting into the car and continuing her drive. Strange that she hadn't received the call for her next assignment. It always unnerved her when the call came late. You never knew when a disgruntled client or worse, a greedy client would try to cover their tracks by cleaning house. Some past clients had tried and never got past Chris Silver, her guardian angel. How he knew who and where left her suspicious of who exactly he might be working for; but Mr. Silver had his own millions, his own vices that kept him happy. He swore he did it only as an aspect of their special friendship. Gods he could make her feel special, and although it wasn?t love between them, their mutual admiration and respect had often lead to a lustful rendezvous.
It wasn't until early the next evening while driving through massive construction on the 10 freeway in Houston did the yellow cell phone sitting on the seat beside her ring.
"Its about time!"
"Josie, just listen..." his voice was sweet, if not firm in its request. Always alluring.
"New Orleans. The Marriott on St. Charles. Room 212."
"Chris..."?
"Just do it. And watch it, you've had someone following you since your stop in El Paso."
"How the fuck do you know..." the line went dead.
The typical sigh of frustration left her lips. Talking with Chris always left her in amazement. How the hell does he know these things? She asks every time they meet or speak and every time he avoids the answer. Even in the most intimate of moments, her question would only be answered with a smile no matter how much her hands or lips teased his body. The most he would say is 'one day'. So until then, his smile and vague answer would have to be enough. A quick glance at the time on the cell phone display told her it would be late morning before she pulled into New Orleans. It wasn't usual to get her instruction from Chris but she learned long ago to listen and do what he asked. He was never wrong and would never send her into danger without a warning. Yes the warning, someone was on her tail. It had to be Mikal.
"He's such a follower." She snickered. "Well, whatever the payoff is for this job, he isn't squirming his way into a cut."
Taking a glance into the rearview, she shifted into fourth gear, cranked the radio, and sped south.
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| Deo Rashel |
“Have we killed them all?” the guard in crimson, white and silver yelled to the others circling the caravan upon their mounts. One of the men rode up, a smug look upon his face even though his cheeks flushed pink with the message he brought.
“All but one have been disposed of and all of the gold has been retrieved. The last thief has been taken by Captain Voelker for … interrogation.” The young guard added a tone of sarcasm to his final word, his face flushing a deeper red.
“He wanted to know if you wanted a turn at … interrogating the prisoner.”
Major Kalthuizan sat on his mount and gave the young guard a look of annoyance and slight disgust. “Tell the Captain to hurry his activities and dispose of the thief as told. I want the caravan and all men-at-arms prepared to continue by midday, no later.” He answered the scarcely grown lad with a narrow-eyed glare. “Tell him he has wasted enough time on that filth. Go!”
The major watched the guard ride off, annoyance creeping under his skin and across his face.
“Damn foolish man. Had the Lady not graced him with brilliant strategy, I would flog him myself for wasting my time.” He grunted in displeasure at the less than honorable acts his captain had promised this particular thief, and kicked his horse into motion. He rode toward the front of the caravan spreading the midday travel time knowing his captain would be done with his game and prepared to leave soon enough.
*******
The sun rose on the cool, fall day. The breeze waking her gently with arousing caresses and soft, whispering winds. Come. Wake. The wave of sunlight brought her forth from the darkness clouding her mind, pulling her spirit from wanting to let go. Come worship me. It whispered once again and brushed her matted hair from her face. She could barely manage the shaking of her head refusing its lure.
She lay tattered and torn, bleeding and mangled, her body aching and pain struck. She slowly started to remember all and hoped her tormentor would end her life swiftly. As the present once again filtered into her aching head, she awakened to the horrid sun. The torment its divine brightness delivered caused her to weep and reluctantly struggle to the cool, dark shadows beneath a leaf-laden oak. The kick that came suddenly to her mid-section caused her wake completely.
“No fight left in you, Deo?” The beautifully cruel voice sang down to her. Its tone a mixture of victory and anger followed by a smug laugh. “I gambled it would have taken at least a dozen more men to break you.”
Gasping and curling in upon herself she recognized the voice of the wind to be only his voice. He was now her tormentor, no longer her lover. She could only whimper, her own voice had long since left her though she had never screamed. It would have only enticed his cruel game further. Her hands grabbed at the grass and she struggled to pull herself further away from him. She felt the dirt sticking to her wounds, mixing with the blood in her hair and on her torn flesh. With the last of her strength, she dared lift her head, and through swollen blurred eyes, face him.
Even without glancing at him, she could picture the expression that he worn on his face. Surprisingly, it was not one of anger or evil. Not yet. It held pity, a sorrow at losing something once treasured. She felt his hand touch her face, surprisingly gentle.
“Rashel.” he said in the sweet, soft, trusting voice. The voice she remembered from last eve. “Rashel, why did you just not agree to be mine? Was being my pet so unappealing that instead you choose my indifference and death?”
She found strength from somewhere deep within, and struck her fist at him, her dagger long since taken and used upon her own flesh. Her fist barely caused him to flinch. And at meeting his face, she wept. Even in striking him, her mind flared with the memory of gentler moments between them, the way he felt as she held him in a lover’s embrace. The scent of his long bronze-tipped dark hair as she held him so, her face tucked against his neck. Her mind barely believed today’s betrayal. The last she remembered was his angry voice as his own fist returned the favor.
*****
“Captain!” the young guard yelled to Sarjiv Voelker as he rode up, the captain smoothing his hair back and adjusting his cloak. “Major Kalthuizan wishes to get the caravan moving by midday.” The guard spoke glancing over the captain’s shoulder at the mess of blood and flesh that lay barely breathing; a dagger buried deep at its shoulder.
“And her, Sir?”
“Leave her.” he said. His face turned away from both guard and victim, voice coming flat and tinged with regret. “She is dead.”
“But Sir, she still breathes -“ The captains glare curtailed the remainder of the young guards sentence.
Sarjiv followed the guards glance with his own. He truly did regret his knowledge and skill of humiliation and pain, moreover, showing her how talented he was at manipulating blade upon flesh. He also regretted her trust in him, and his fondness for her. Under his breath, he whispered, and if any heard him, none ever spoke of it. “Had you just come with me Rashel, none would have distinguished master from slave, for you would ruled me as much I would have ruled you.”
Turning to the guard, his face once again stern and frightfully full of malice and mourning, he barked orders to the guard sheathing his sword and mounting his stallion.
“Forget you saw any life in her or I will swiftly take yours. Understood?”
The young guard merely nodded daring not to speak further and rode off behind the captain to ready the caravan.
~Deo Rashel is one of my reoccuring characters... she haunts my creative mind. Shes this part of me that can overcome the worst of the worst. She is also cold and distant, untrusting and almost... sad. Not many get through to the kind person underneath all the scars protecting her heart.. her soul...
| More when my mind is burning... |
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