This is really more of a drabble on steroids - 400 words - but I couldn't do it in just 100, I apologize. I also didn't want to carry it out to 1,000. This is the (NSFW) picture that inspired it. This isn't the happiest piece I've ever written, but I still hope you enjoy.
She'd been gone for months. Two months, five days, nine hours, to be exact. Weeks of loneliness, months of missing her.
I'd never given her the words she deserved, never told her how deeply I loved her. Instead, she died perhaps not knowing just how fucking much I loved and needed her. How much her smile made my heart swell. How hearing her soft ooh as she came made me harder than I'd ever been.
Maybe I didn't even realize it until she was gone. What a fucking fool I was. I should have carried her away, flown her to foreign cities, skipped days of sleep to pleasure her.
Now, I saw her everywhere. Her face, her hair, her scent. I almost thought I could feel her at times. How did she permeate everything? Appear everywhere, but nowhere?
The sweater I kept in my bedroom closet clung to her scent. I would wear it, sniff it, feel wrapped in her still. Wrapped in her body, her hands, her legs, her love. It made the ache throb, made my whole body throb with need for her, but somehow eased the pain at the same time.
However, I missed her the most at my piano.
What had once been a place of torture for me as a child, turned into a source of income for me as a young adult, and then, when she showed up in my life, it became a place of debauchery for us together.
We'd fucked with her laying back on it, me standing between her legs, breasts bouncing for me. I'd buried my face between her thighs while she sat upright, toes tapping keys without her conscious permission. Her breasts had pressed against the cold wood as I carefully pushed into her from behind, my hands framing her soft hips.
I played carefully and slowly, then carelessly and wildly, letting my fingers bang the keys in ways I'd been warned not to. The music we'd created together, the songs I'd spent hours writing for her she'd never gotten a chance to hear, and the melancholy pieces I'd written once she left me.
Sitting on the bench now was cold and lonely, but I would close my eyes and imagine her there. Imagine her above me, comforting me, like an angel. She'd become my own personal angel and demon, weightless and haunting. Comforting and torturing. Giving and taking.
She watched it swirl, trickling down the drain. Reds and pinks blended in lost dreams and hopes emptying from her body.
Sliding down the cold wall, she finally hit the floor. Finally hit the bottom, emotions emptying through her eyes.
How long had they been trying? How long had she held onto hope that evaporated every month?
She hated her body for a week each month. Pure, raw hate. She wanted to mark it, bruise it, beat it into submission.
Instead, she watched the water swirl and wished it could be all of her, slipping peacefully, quietly down the drain.
Today on Twitter, Squally asked me to funny shower drabble. Well, it's not funny, but I still hope she likes it. She provided this NSFW picture as inspiration. Here you go, Squallygirl. Thank you for inspiring me with your pictures and kindness.
The water hits my skin softly. It's the only thing gentle about this experience, and as he pounds into me from behind, I'm thankful.
My hands are curled around the “accessibility bar” we had installed. I can only pray it doesn't rip right out of the wall; how would we explain that? It was tough enough explaining why two seemingly healthy adults needed it.
My head is pressed against the tile, my breathing deep and fast like him, and god, I just need his fingers to move. Just slightly. But he's greedy, teasing me, denying me.
Fuck, I love him.
Then, cosmogirl jumped in and offered up this tasty NSFW nugget of picspiration. I couldn't just leave that alone, right (twss)? As such, the drabble went on.
The soap is everywhere, and I can't help but think someone's going to fall and break something. He decides this means I'm safest on my knees, he tells me with a wink. I laugh, but comply.
We've had plenty of playtime together already, but he's the only one that's come. Once I'm kneeling, I get to play with one of my favorite parts of him.
Both of my hands wrap around him, thick and long. He's still smiling down at me, but his whole body is tense. His hands reach and touch, fingers teasing, gliding against my skin.
So, the next fundraiser piece I need to work on is for the Fandom Fealty Compilation. Here's where you come in -- what would YOU like to see me write for it? Are you sick of E/B? Do you want something deliciously canon and vampy? Hit me with your best shot, be it words, pictures, a song...
Thank you in advance for any great ideas/prompts you decide to share! :)
I've finished my piece for the Fandoms Fight the Floods compilation, so I thought I'd post a little teaser. There will be one here, and a different one at The Fictionators for Teaser Monday, so be sure to check there this upcoming Monday.
Keep in mind, this piece was written exclusively for FFF, and I will not be posting it anywhere else, ever.
I appreciate your support of this fundraising effort!
Bella hummed as she moved around to the front of me and, using my tie as a pulley, brought my lips to hers. I was already hard, already wanting, and so was she, apparently. My lips yielded to hers, just as they always did in that position, and I waited for her to extract her next demands from my body. When she was satisfied, she pushed slightly, causing me to almost stumble back. Almost.-
"Shirt, but leave the tie on."
If you'd like to see the NSFW NSFW NSFW photo that inspired the brainstorming for this piece, click here. That's where I post an exclusive picture every Tuesday, hopefully to inspire words. Yes, I'm whoring that out in this post, too.