One-shots

He had that unnatural, addictive vibe.

His movements were swift, his looks tender; he had lips made of chocolate and eyes swirling with only the deepest of desires.

He was a warning, a breaker; the filth at the back of your mind that you don't want your mother to find out about.

His hands, so cold, crude, demanding; his hands made me want to scream and moan and surrender all the same. I found a strange comfort in the way dirty talk left his mouth- in a whisper, colored pink, coating the shitty fluorescent lighting that made his skin look like it caught fire. His entire existence made me feel like a beat; a thudding rhythm whose melody was only to be heard when synchronized with the pattern of his breathing.

The air was painted acid green when my back hit the wall of a room upstairs; it felt like betrayal but I didn't care about anything at that moment. I couldn't speak since I was too caught up with the flex of his muscles when he grabbed me by the hips, but I knew my body was screaming 'touch me' louder than I probably ever could. His fingertips were rough, gliding across my thighs and I found it ironic how my head linked him with glitter and party drugs while his touches felt more as if someone was carving the word 'sin' right across my right collarbone.

He was solid rebelry, raw and undeniable, his jaw clenching whenever I'd try and feel his pulse with a smile against my lips. The way he held me felt like possession and even though I knew I'd never be truly devoured, it seemed as if it weren't important at all- that night, I was his.

I sensed his power charge because it shot directly into my spine; through his lips, his skin flushed and drenched against mine as if he were the hurricane and I'd just found myself consumed. It made me feel alive, spent, worth it- like the sky suddenly switched from gray to cobalt blue and all it took was to get away from the rich part of town.

The dawn captured me before I was prepared, and even though he'd just spent an hour with his fingers running down my spine, he was still the first one to get dressed.

His tank top was purple and it fucked with my brain because it matched the decorations on his neck- I guess I didn't need a brush to paint some flowers after all. His hair looked like it was glowing in the morning sun and I suddenly felt some weird itchy fear to kiss him again.

"You know, sugar, " he said, "you should look for me some other time when you're in the neighborhood."

I felt a dash of red bubble around the skin of my cheekbones, but I smiled anyway. "I'm slightly surprised you want to see me again, but I'll take you up on that one."

I knew I'd spawn bruises on my hipbones from the way he smashed me to the grimy building wall then, but the realization faded away just as his lips made me enjoy the pain. "See ya 'round, prep."

His cigarette hung from his mouth, slightly sideways, catching a ray of sunshine and making my knees go even weaker than they'd felt a moment before. "Yeah, you too, punk."

All he did before he turned the corner was wink and blow me a kiss, a cloud of smoke following as if it were the signature sign of the boy who sent it.

And even though I didn't catch it then, I caught the graffiti freshly sprayed onto the wall of an abandoned building beside my school a few days later.
It was electric purple, just like his entire aura, and it made me smile even though the wind shooting through my hair told me it shouldn't.

"I fucked the mayor's son. xofrnk"

Notes

I've been having trouble falling asleep lately, so this is a product of the four AM insomnia that washed over me last night.

I don't exactly know what it is [when I write, I kind of zone out and everything just becomes a blur, even the words and I cannot exactly control it], but I'd like to classify it as an attempt at 'fancy smut'. I hope it satisfied the ones who were already vomiting of all the 'fluff in depth' I usually write.

See ya soon.

xomls