Post by (Jin) Somnus. on Sept 10, 2009 19:25:29 GMT -5
[I used metaphor and poetry than description and details, so it's not as written graphically, but more like a pretty painting. If it's still too graphic, I'll delete the thread. The song I used for this is OneRepublic - Prodigal.]
Sayomi had inspired a feeling of security and want. The feelings pressed in the back of his mind in the form of worrying, and he smiled a bit to her words to ‘reassure’ him. "Well, alright." His voice showed it, but he wouldn’t press. He knew she was strong, so he hoped. "I can send you a few pictures tomorrow, it’s a bit hard to take some at night - all you’d see would be the lights."
He glanced out the window, spotting a familiar landmark close to his home. The smile faded when the thoughts had rushed to him - how would his wife react? "I’ll talk to you later, Hato."
It was getting to twelve when the cab had pulled up to the front of his apartment complex. It’s engine was something of a soft murmur in the cascading sounds of the bustling city. One singular sound wouldn’t be noticed. It’d be like trying to hear one rain drop in an on-pouring storm. Not really possible. "Yeah, this is the place. Thanks." He’d give the cab driver his paid dues after getting out, tugging his duffel bag onto his shoulder and stepping towards the doors of the complex.
Mouths had mixed in the motion of kissing, tasting what was forbidden and what was evenly desired on both sides while dabbling in the intoxication of each other and the thrill of the deceit. The younger man had hovered over the detective’s wife, examining the gift that had been given; the most prized possessions of the world and universe. At least, at the moment, everything else disappeared. Mark had rubbed a hand along Cecilia’s side, adorning her skin with the sensation of his touch, specifically. He had been giving her such for the past two years. But every night they shared it seemed like they plucked fruit from the Tree of Eden.
Jin had stepped into the elevator that would agonizingly take him to his floor. He was eager to wake up his kids and to hug them, reassure that everything with Gantz . . . was just a dream. There was always that part that wished this, the father that wished that his family would remain as it was when he vanished, and that it’d be untouched when he’d return. But, what he saw wasn’t normal.
Her moaning was a song from God, a choir of angels with maws agape in sing. His right hand had gripped her side, bringing her into every sway and thrust of his own body above hers. His freehand fondled and ventured where they wanted, molding and rubbing mounds of succulent flesh in his palm. He was panting like a marathon runner and she was moaning as if in Opera. Mark had parted his mouth and moaned, feeling what he can simply say was Heaven on Earth. He corrupted what he wanted, with no consideration.
A leg was looped and lifted up, and he’d kiss the inner-side of her knee, staring down at her with hungry, and oh-so pleased, eyes. This was his well-deserved prize for waiting two years of courting and pursuing. Grinning gently, he parted his lips to draw his tongue along her skin before he would resume their mingling of body and desire.
He acquired the keys from his pocket, stepping off the elevator, and making his way to towards the door. His eyes spied the numbers, glancing to each as he passed. He had his bag over one arm, his keys dangling in the other, and his heart a whim of wanting to break because of how much he missed them. "Fifteen . . .sixteen," he hummed, getting closer to his own place. It was then he started to hear what he didn’t quite expect. It almost seemed as if someone was being mugged - a mixed scream, unable to really differ the emotion. Scuffling, but he couldn’t make it out. His heart sunk.
Cecilia had bitten her plush, lower lip. Her face contorted to one in pleasure, need, and growing intensity, feeling her warmth avid with their activity. Fingers dragged along the sweat-laced bodies, only to smooth against the aching, but well happy muscles. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, now hanging her head down, panting and moaning in sync with the man now below her. Body arching, the sudden explosion of liquid fire–her voice pierced the muffling silence and even the walls.
It was the duffel bag that first dropped, and the second was his heart at the sight of his wife atop the man he deemed his friend. The darkly haired man, huffing, his arms flat on the bed with his head tilted towards the door at the unexpected visitor. Both their faces were contorted of surprise and mild shock, while Jin’s in comparison looked grim, angry, and torn. He could feel the anger, a surge of avid renewal of hate and distrust, staring down the woman he had worshiped and praised, and the man whom had corrupted the precious Eden. "Get out," His voice was a death threat, but more of a knife in his wife’s direction, and a promise to his friend. "Get out of here."
Cecilia had gotten up, dragging the blanket around her and moving towards the bathroom. She never saw this rage in her life, the look in his eye nor the tone of voice. A heart of warmth had turned to a something black and cold, of something disgusted and erratic.
"I knew it."
Sayomi had inspired a feeling of security and want. The feelings pressed in the back of his mind in the form of worrying, and he smiled a bit to her words to ‘reassure’ him. "Well, alright." His voice showed it, but he wouldn’t press. He knew she was strong, so he hoped. "I can send you a few pictures tomorrow, it’s a bit hard to take some at night - all you’d see would be the lights."
He glanced out the window, spotting a familiar landmark close to his home. The smile faded when the thoughts had rushed to him - how would his wife react? "I’ll talk to you later, Hato."
And I take everything from you
But you'll take anything
Won't you?
But you'll take anything
Won't you?
It was getting to twelve when the cab had pulled up to the front of his apartment complex. It’s engine was something of a soft murmur in the cascading sounds of the bustling city. One singular sound wouldn’t be noticed. It’d be like trying to hear one rain drop in an on-pouring storm. Not really possible. "Yeah, this is the place. Thanks." He’d give the cab driver his paid dues after getting out, tugging his duffel bag onto his shoulder and stepping towards the doors of the complex.
Mouths had mixed in the motion of kissing, tasting what was forbidden and what was evenly desired on both sides while dabbling in the intoxication of each other and the thrill of the deceit. The younger man had hovered over the detective’s wife, examining the gift that had been given; the most prized possessions of the world and universe. At least, at the moment, everything else disappeared. Mark had rubbed a hand along Cecilia’s side, adorning her skin with the sensation of his touch, specifically. He had been giving her such for the past two years. But every night they shared it seemed like they plucked fruit from the Tree of Eden.
Jin had stepped into the elevator that would agonizingly take him to his floor. He was eager to wake up his kids and to hug them, reassure that everything with Gantz . . . was just a dream. There was always that part that wished this, the father that wished that his family would remain as it was when he vanished, and that it’d be untouched when he’d return. But, what he saw wasn’t normal.
Her moaning was a song from God, a choir of angels with maws agape in sing. His right hand had gripped her side, bringing her into every sway and thrust of his own body above hers. His freehand fondled and ventured where they wanted, molding and rubbing mounds of succulent flesh in his palm. He was panting like a marathon runner and she was moaning as if in Opera. Mark had parted his mouth and moaned, feeling what he can simply say was Heaven on Earth. He corrupted what he wanted, with no consideration.
A leg was looped and lifted up, and he’d kiss the inner-side of her knee, staring down at her with hungry, and oh-so pleased, eyes. This was his well-deserved prize for waiting two years of courting and pursuing. Grinning gently, he parted his lips to draw his tongue along her skin before he would resume their mingling of body and desire.
He acquired the keys from his pocket, stepping off the elevator, and making his way to towards the door. His eyes spied the numbers, glancing to each as he passed. He had his bag over one arm, his keys dangling in the other, and his heart a whim of wanting to break because of how much he missed them. "Fifteen . . .sixteen," he hummed, getting closer to his own place. It was then he started to hear what he didn’t quite expect. It almost seemed as if someone was being mugged - a mixed scream, unable to really differ the emotion. Scuffling, but he couldn’t make it out. His heart sunk.
Cecilia had bitten her plush, lower lip. Her face contorted to one in pleasure, need, and growing intensity, feeling her warmth avid with their activity. Fingers dragged along the sweat-laced bodies, only to smooth against the aching, but well happy muscles. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders, now hanging her head down, panting and moaning in sync with the man now below her. Body arching, the sudden explosion of liquid fire–her voice pierced the muffling silence and even the walls.
It was the duffel bag that first dropped, and the second was his heart at the sight of his wife atop the man he deemed his friend. The darkly haired man, huffing, his arms flat on the bed with his head tilted towards the door at the unexpected visitor. Both their faces were contorted of surprise and mild shock, while Jin’s in comparison looked grim, angry, and torn. He could feel the anger, a surge of avid renewal of hate and distrust, staring down the woman he had worshiped and praised, and the man whom had corrupted the precious Eden. "Get out," His voice was a death threat, but more of a knife in his wife’s direction, and a promise to his friend. "Get out of here."
Cecilia had gotten up, dragging the blanket around her and moving towards the bathroom. She never saw this rage in her life, the look in his eye nor the tone of voice. A heart of warmth had turned to a something black and cold, of something disgusted and erratic.
"I knew it."