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This blog is for writing, cosplay and the verbs and nouns that make up all the other odd bits and ends of my life as a sentence in a much larger story.
MICROCASSETTE 2:
Title: Let's Pretend that hearts work like clocksFandom: Watchmen
Pairing: WalterxLaurie
Rating: R-for Sex
_He's a charming wreck
but he's not a handsome wreck
He’s that kind of wolf_
“ Hello Silk Spectre”
“Its Laurie”
And so it was but it was as if the letters where acid, too bitter for his tongue because he refused to speak it, Refused to see me as a real person, to him it was all about justice and super heroes, as if real life has taken a back seat in his filthy head.
I hated this, this noise, this filth and denial that was prison. I made a noise that sounded something close to what a mother does to every child, a tsk noise that starts deep in your throat and ends far louder and more pinched then it started as.
“why do you bother?”
Good question, there Walter, how I wish I only knew. Of course I shrugged, said nothing. This was all pointless, we both knew it. I came, he called me by something I didn’t want and then we stood in silence till I left with a simple goodbye and the clicking of heels.
We both stood still, broken clocks while the world around us was stuck on fast forward. He was 20 years my senior, eyes this acid stamp blue, hair some ginger mangles mess, check bones to high and sharp and rough stubble that raced across the two thin face. He wasn’t handsome, but somewhere in all that mismatched features I saw something I wanted. After chasseing the answer around for weeks like some wayward dog off it’s lease I fell over it, feeling stupid and hoping no one had noticed.
“its you” whispers.
He raised an untamed brow and snorted, shaking his head, getting a whiff of something, what I didn’t know.
“You got to be kidding me” he growled moving from his corner of the cell I thought he had rotted to. He grabbed the bars, muscles bulging against the thin skin of his arms, pressing his face to them.
“you smell!” he snapped.
I blinked, taken aback, struck really. What did that even mean?! I smelled…
I squeaked, really that’s pretty close to the noise I made as he grabbed my wrist, pulling into the human cage and almost slamming my face into the cool steel bars. His lips where dry but they caught mine no different. He smelled like cheap after shave and animal, caged and wild. I surfaced, my face red, my breathing ragged. He looked wild, untamed and unsure what to do next though there was dark lust clouding his eyes, even I could see it coming like storm clouds in a perfect summer sky.
I wanted to run. I wanted to forget this ever happened. To go home take a long hot shower and go to bed but this was the answer I had been looking for. I couldn’t run now. I couldn’t forget. I wanted him, dammit!
He hiked my skirt over my hips, baring silk red panties. He growled, like the animal he was, deep and throaty and primal. He grabbed at my hips, half dragging me to the bars, half ripping the panties aside, half ripping at his pants. He dug his nails into my tender flesh and then he was deep inside me. I screamed, and the cells around us went quite, straining to see the fuss. He drove into me, gripping at my hips, thrusting hard and frantic as if he couldn’t get in side me fast enough, as if he needed this or else he would stop breathing. I felt weak, and I cried out as I stumbled to my hands and knees, cum running down my thighs. my panties soaked in my own juices and his. He watched me with
“Same time next week?” he zipped himself up.
I nodded, barley able to make it to my feet.
“goodbye…Walter”
He was disappearing into the dark of the corner again, almost a dream.
“goodbye…Laurie”
Labels: writing
On Tuesday, August 18, 2009 at 11:59 AM
About me
Oh, hello. It’s nice to see you again. How’s the weather in your parts? Lets re-introduce ourselves since we seem to be stuck here for the time being and it‘s been to long good friend.
My name is Almy. I’m currently Nineteen, I attend Penn State, I’m a lesbian with a tendency to ogle older men, I’m completely obsessed with Fashion, Metal Gear Solid, Transformers and Puppets. I write because it’s the closest form to the need to breathe I can recreate. I worry too much, I eat too little and although I love my curves I stress to much over my weight.
And in the end ,If I refuse to be ordinary; If I reject beautiful; if I decline sensibility then I just wish to be Extraordinary but if all else fails I am at best ME.
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