The Being I Can Love [complete]
folder
Final Fantasy VII › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
702
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy VII › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
702
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Being I Can Love
I do not own Final Fantasy or any of its characters.
The Being I Can Love
Gently, carefully, my fingers grace pallid skin.
This flesh is smooth and cool, and so very soft that my breathing slows as I look over the motionless face beneath me, at the limp body in my arms. This flesh, and the pleasure received through the simple touch of these tender cheeks, letting the tips of my fingers whisper along the crease between fine eyebrows, across parted lips—I am, for this moment, at peace. This flesh is perfection—to simply feel him against me, to take in the cold musk that perfumes his skin… this is my sanctuary, my workshop, my pallet.
These hands of creamy tissue and icy precious metals, mismatched and beautiful in their horror, these hands crossed over his chest call to me, beg me to lace my own fingers through them. These hands veiled secretively behind locks of deepest ebon, unkempt and shimmering in the low light, cascading in a flow of liquid onyx from his white brow. These hands are deadened and still, waiting to be caressed, waiting for the brush of silken jet tresses as he’s lifted from his resting place.
This throat, borne freely, ready for the press of my heated lips… this throat, the source of his subtle voice, the birthplace of all the silence he’s yet to impart. This throat, deathbed to screams that would never fall upon listening ears. This throat, grave for so many things he’ll never say, lashed with the pastel wounds from too long ago—scars painted across his body in frightening magnitude. This throat, his throat, is claimed beneath gentle breaths rushing from me, and single embalming kisses.
This mouth of pale plush lips, open, waiting to be filled with the heat I can give him, waiting to be explored. This mouth, yearning for another to know it, to taste the intense spice of the tongue lying in wait—this mouth of secrets and sorrows, sighs and the sounds of mourning... This mouth kept twisted in agony even at rest, but now stirring as pinpoint pupils embedded in bloodstained irises wake to the world.
This monster hidden in cloak and leather—swathed in the wrath of others and bound in his own guilt—laying in my arms, unable to move. This monster composed of such an astounding entanglement of ghastly and gorgeous, cast out from the realm of humanity. This monster, drowned in his own sorrows, ensnared by nothing less than his soul… this monster, gone to the world, unjustly banished to darkness.
This man, arranged carefully in my arms, his breaths shorter with each gasp, his lashes fluttering, his gaze darting across my face—struggling to understand how this has come to pass. This man, whose precious flesh is being decorated with fresh lines of crimson… this man’s mismatched hands shifting ever so slightly in the last instant of existence. This man, reaching out to touch my cheek, opens his mouth again, and from between his lips new trails of rose red slide down, over his slender throat. This man, this monster, giving up the last seconds of life and entering perfection for me, becoming the being I can love.
End
Read and review if you’d like. I’m sure you can guess who the recently deceased is… now tell me the killer’s name.
The Being I Can Love
Gently, carefully, my fingers grace pallid skin.
This flesh is smooth and cool, and so very soft that my breathing slows as I look over the motionless face beneath me, at the limp body in my arms. This flesh, and the pleasure received through the simple touch of these tender cheeks, letting the tips of my fingers whisper along the crease between fine eyebrows, across parted lips—I am, for this moment, at peace. This flesh is perfection—to simply feel him against me, to take in the cold musk that perfumes his skin… this is my sanctuary, my workshop, my pallet.
These hands of creamy tissue and icy precious metals, mismatched and beautiful in their horror, these hands crossed over his chest call to me, beg me to lace my own fingers through them. These hands veiled secretively behind locks of deepest ebon, unkempt and shimmering in the low light, cascading in a flow of liquid onyx from his white brow. These hands are deadened and still, waiting to be caressed, waiting for the brush of silken jet tresses as he’s lifted from his resting place.
This throat, borne freely, ready for the press of my heated lips… this throat, the source of his subtle voice, the birthplace of all the silence he’s yet to impart. This throat, deathbed to screams that would never fall upon listening ears. This throat, grave for so many things he’ll never say, lashed with the pastel wounds from too long ago—scars painted across his body in frightening magnitude. This throat, his throat, is claimed beneath gentle breaths rushing from me, and single embalming kisses.
This mouth of pale plush lips, open, waiting to be filled with the heat I can give him, waiting to be explored. This mouth, yearning for another to know it, to taste the intense spice of the tongue lying in wait—this mouth of secrets and sorrows, sighs and the sounds of mourning... This mouth kept twisted in agony even at rest, but now stirring as pinpoint pupils embedded in bloodstained irises wake to the world.
This monster hidden in cloak and leather—swathed in the wrath of others and bound in his own guilt—laying in my arms, unable to move. This monster composed of such an astounding entanglement of ghastly and gorgeous, cast out from the realm of humanity. This monster, drowned in his own sorrows, ensnared by nothing less than his soul… this monster, gone to the world, unjustly banished to darkness.
This man, arranged carefully in my arms, his breaths shorter with each gasp, his lashes fluttering, his gaze darting across my face—struggling to understand how this has come to pass. This man, whose precious flesh is being decorated with fresh lines of crimson… this man’s mismatched hands shifting ever so slightly in the last instant of existence. This man, reaching out to touch my cheek, opens his mouth again, and from between his lips new trails of rose red slide down, over his slender throat. This man, this monster, giving up the last seconds of life and entering perfection for me, becoming the being I can love.
End
Read and review if you’d like. I’m sure you can guess who the recently deceased is… now tell me the killer’s name.