"I am not," Charlie says, eyes flashing, "one of your stupid models."
I raise an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Sir," he adds through clenched teeth.
I don't say anything. Yes, I, Lucifer Box, remaining quiet when I could answer with such dazzling repartie. Sometimes the best repartie lies in actions rather than words.
I walk up to him, eyebrow still raised but in a display of quite a different sort of appreciation. He doesn't flinch, but it's a struggle not to lose a bit of his nerve. I fist a hand in the hair at the back of his head and kiss him possessively, biting at his lips in just the way that makes his breath catch. When I pull back his lips remain parted, pink and entirely too kissable.
Nobody ought to look quite as delicious as Charlie Jackpot when he's flustered. Plush lips, wide blue eyes, a disarray of hair falling onto his forehead, the strong line of his jaw, everything about him a pleasure to the eye, foreshadowing a pleasure to all the other senses.
"Your aesthetics, my dear Charles, truly ought to be committed to posterity. It is not a request, I will paint your portrait." I lean in and suck at his earlobe, hear the sharp intake of his breath, feel his hands on my waist, the strength in them. I whisper a low promise. "Even if I have to fuck you unconscious to achieve my goal."
And what a glorious sight Charlie would make, abandoned in a haze of lust on my messed up sheets. Silk, and only the best.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-01-30 03:19 pm (UTC)"I am not," Charlie says, eyes flashing, "one of your stupid models."
I raise an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Sir," he adds through clenched teeth.
I don't say anything. Yes, I, Lucifer Box, remaining quiet when I could answer with such dazzling repartie. Sometimes the best repartie lies in actions rather than words.
I walk up to him, eyebrow still raised but in a display of quite a different sort of appreciation. He doesn't flinch, but it's a struggle not to lose a bit of his nerve. I fist a hand in the hair at the back of his head and kiss him possessively, biting at his lips in just the way that makes his breath catch. When I pull back his lips remain parted, pink and entirely too kissable.
Nobody ought to look quite as delicious as Charlie Jackpot when he's flustered. Plush lips, wide blue eyes, a disarray of hair falling onto his forehead, the strong line of his jaw, everything about him a pleasure to the eye, foreshadowing a pleasure to all the other senses.
"Your aesthetics, my dear Charles, truly ought to be committed to posterity. It is not a request, I will paint your portrait." I lean in and suck at his earlobe, hear the sharp intake of his breath, feel his hands on my waist, the strength in them. I whisper a low promise. "Even if I have to fuck you unconscious to achieve my goal."
And what a glorious sight Charlie would make, abandoned in a haze of lust on my messed up sheets. Silk, and only the best.
"In fact, I think I'll do just that either way."
And I do, in fact, do just that.