Title: Ternion(the sum of one and one and one)
Characters: Spike/Angel/Buffy
Notes: Originally posted 15th March, 2006. Part 2.
So yes I am tired and therefore no selfcritique. So I post. (and overuse the word ’so’) Feel free to mock or enjoy. femmenerd wanted porny poetry .. which I can’t really do. What I can do I’ve named poetrythings in my memories and it has more emphasis on things rather than poetry. Stream of consciousness perhaps? It’s too choppy to be drabbles. Still, I like to write it, whatever you wanna call it. Here’s ‘the mix of words that I do but don’t know what to call’.
.
Ternion(the sum of one and one and one)
He likes it best on his knees,
to follow, give in and serve.
Pretty as you please, a postcard in submission,
knees spread, back straight,
eyes down.
He likes to watch him take it,
up close and inside,
cock, fingers and fangs.
He likes even more
to watch her make him.
Voyeur in the dark,
this is where he belongs.
Where they all live.
Desire,
dark and deep like a flood,
like the regrets they all have too many of.
Here guilt is forgotten,
the regrets are drowned,
in whispers and sighs,
in screams and grunts,
flesh upon flesh.
Neckties,
made into worlds of contrast.
Balls and cock,
wrapped and bound,
red, black, striped and lilac.
Colours in silk and satin,
soft in surface,
rough in use.
He watches her,
the pulse beating in her throat.
She smells of want,
of skin heated by sun.
Slides the silken strap off her neck,
cool air against heated flesh,
open shirt and collarbone glistening with sweat.
Stretches it tight between her fists,
the snapping sound of a command
that needs not be voiced.
Flash in his eyes as he strips,
as he crawls closer,
as he makes his flesh available for her,
for you.
He and he,
you are shades of the same coin,
different sides, same blood.
Origin in a line,
from blond to dark to blond again.
You always did like blonds the best.
Or was it the innocence?
Now the innocence is gone,
burned away in both of them,
him and her,
by your tainted hands.
But the shadows of past
(and present) regrets
vanishes at the sight of her,
lifting her skirt.
Watching him curl between her legs,
mouth wet and open,
tongue curling, twisting, stabbing.
Her red lips open in an O of pleasure,
white (cold) hands locked around trembling knees.
Drawing out pleasure, tracing every soft crook and curve.
Thumb, fingers,
tasting, coating, slicking.
Sliding, curling, twisting.
Face buried in curls,
hand buried inside,
her nails digging red stripes.
Blood on white skin,
the black tie a leash.
Her release a sweet sound,
(like the taste of her blood),
he drinks it deep.
Waits for his turn.
Recent Comments