Prompt: 100moods #98 Vulnerable
Rating: NC-17, but not actually very graphic.
Disclaimer: Because it isn't already fairly obvious that I don't own FMA
You bury me in roses, petals of gold and scarlet. It’s the sunlit fall of your hair that veils us from the world, bright and precious. It’s your coat wrapped around you, vivid even in the pale light of twilight. This is a broken symphony you sing to me, and the tune winds its way through every kiss, blossoms in your every caress, it’s fragile need wound tightly around your heart.
I wonder if you can feel my thoughts, faith and desire, that seep to my core with every brush of your fingers, every sweeping gesture of your hips. What do you see when you look at me like that? Your eyes are lust dazed, a hazy golden, heavy lidded and warm. Do you see the way I’ve snapped? Can you feel my will bowing to your own, every single time?
You rip through me like scraps of paper, and I might as well be eaten alive by the passion no one person ought to be able to contain. Your voice floods my ears with promises, and you paint me a picture of a timeless devotion and something worth living for. Your single minded faithfulness has been turned upon me and it’s beautiful and utterly exhausting. You give with no thought of what I could possibly hope to offer that could be equivalent to your fidelity.
Your love is something beautiful and flawed and perfect. It burns in your kisses, searing my own will from the light of day. You run me ragged, and have me aching for the moments you offer, the peace you grant. You drag me near tears when you leave, and your painting of all that is precious begins to wash away in the harsh light of reality.
I was never meant to love you, but I cannot help myself. You have me, though no one else will any longer, and you care not for the wreckage of my body, my soul, my conscience. You only urge me to begin again, to trust in you if no one else, to believe that things can change. After all, haven’t we proven that the years eat away at the truth of things? Suddenly, hostilities and ego are unimportant and all there is left is to love and to want and to be. You have gathered all my broken pieces and you have molded me into something altogether different.
I cannot repay you, cannot love you the way you so justly deserve. I do love you, with all that is left in my heart and soul, but it is not enough, I fear. You are brilliant, a radiance that bleeds through my very being, and all I can do is pray for the honor of loving you back.
All I can offer you is this and you drink in my sacrifices with something resembling greed. You are, in this, like you are in everything, full force and never easing back. You kiss me always as if it’s the first time, as if it will be the last time, and I could suffocate in the feel of your lips, the way you swallow me whole, breath and words and feeling. Only you could be a soothing balm and a newborn blaze in my heart, all at once and never contradicting yourself. Logic means nothing here, and I cannot care that my hair catches a little in steel joints, because your other hand pulls me closer, cupped around my jaw.
Your body is fluid against my own, and some other time I will wonder where you learned to be like this. For now, I am helpless beneath your hands, the way you shift and flow and I can only move with you, caught in the storm. The wind that blows through you is vicious and unrelenting. I am at your mercy and there is no hope, because you are merciless in this, dragging me to my knees in desperation without even trying.
I’m never so vulnerable as I am with you, and it’s terrifying and wonderful. I am knocked off my feet and cannot rise above my own desperation, and yet as your mouth maps the roads of my body, there is nothing but this soaring feeling. There is no hope for control now, and the scars you’ve tasted a thousand times fall victim to your tongue, muscles that have known no touch but your own ache to feel your fingers brush knowingly over them once more.
You give such wholehearted affection, as if your love alone could pull a melody from my core. Maybe it can, and I bite my lip uselessly against the onslaught of your lips and tongue raking over my body, settling into something approximating rhythm between my legs. Even in this your are beautiful and I am captive to your hands on my hips, your tongue rewriting the world on my skin, your eyes burning truth into our every contact.
I could lose myself in your gaze if you would let me. It seems I’ve looked to close, because your mouth moves with an intensity I’ve never known. I can only lie back and struggle beneath your palms, even the slip of satin sheets is too much against my skin.
It would end here, in a moment, if only you’d allow it. You drag me to the edge and pull me back again and again, and I know now that you know me too well. You treat my body like your own, and the upturned lips you grant me, slithering back up my chest and pulling me on top of you is wicked in the gray ambience of dusk.
Even now, I am your servant. I am victim to all that you would ask of me, though you request nothing at all. I give you all of myself and it feels all manner of inadequate. I watch your eyes widen in surprise, though we’ve danced this dance so many times. Always your lips part in quickened breath and soft murmurs of encouragement. Always your hips rock against my hands, fingers buried deep within you. Always you whisper my name, always you beg, only now allowing yourself to ask anything of me.
Even with my eyes closed, I can feel you watching me. A soft moan vibrates through your body, carrying through my own as I slip inside you. It all seems very unfair, that I am allowed this. Do you not worry that I will contaminate you with my sins? You claim to have your own, but before me you always feel untainted and innocent and new.
We move together like we were made that way, two pieces of a whole. Your head is thrown back against the pillow, yellow and sun kissed against the blue sheets. You bare your neck to me and I cannot resist, the way your skin tastes on my tongue, the way you whisper and moan in rapture.
I exist for the privilege of seeing you this way, teetering on the edge of orgasm, letting the waves crash over you, your body trembling, and knowing it is a condition I have wrought upon you. Even now, your gaze pierces through me, and perhaps I’m reading something that isn’t truly there. Perhaps you are lost in release, obvious in the rise and fall of your hips, the curling of your toes against my sides, your fingers in the sheets. You tighten all around me and I’m lost to your whims, the sun sets behind my eyes, brilliant in all its glory, just like you. I do not know if I say your name, but you smile that heartbreaking smile and I can only be yours, worshipping at your feet. I shatter to pieces, out of breath with you all around me. I could be dying and it would be the most glorious experience.