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31_days2005-11-28 06:38 pm
still-ciircee.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-11-28 06:38 pm
[28-11-05] [Xxxholic] The Last Fall
Title: The Last Fall
Day/Theme: 28th November, 2005 / Visions of Damascus
Series: Xxxholic
Character/Pairing: Clow, Yuuko-->Clow/Yuuko
Rating: G? Pg?
Yuuko once asked him how he saw himself.
I? I see myself only as I am; a handsome, debonair, humble man of the world. And sexy as all get out.
A jest, of course and Yuuko had rolled her eyes and tossed her hair before lolling back on her chaise and extending one hand imperiously (such majesty to her, his girl) for the opium pipe. Afraid?
Perhaps he had been, but he’d answered her, as Damascus, then, as he’d slid the pipe into her fingers only after a long, slow caress down from her shoulder.
She hadn’t taken a hit from the pipe, merely drew the mouthpiece back and forth across her lower lip, her smirk more of a smile than anything else. Have I made you feel old?
He’d gone to her, buried his face against the silk of her stomach left bare by the silk of her exotic robes. Not old so much as very, very experienced, he’d said, nuzzling his way down.
Melancholy liar, she’d murmured affectionately, stretching underneath him with a feline sort of grace and stroking a hand through his hair, tangling it idly round her fingers.
You didn’t ask if I was telling the truth, he reminded her.
It had been the last time they’d made love. The vision of what he should do, of what would be, had come to him in the hazy afterglow and she had never opened her arms to him again.
Day/Theme: 28th November, 2005 / Visions of Damascus
Series: Xxxholic
Character/Pairing: Clow, Yuuko-->Clow/Yuuko
Rating: G? Pg?
Yuuko once asked him how he saw himself.
I? I see myself only as I am; a handsome, debonair, humble man of the world. And sexy as all get out.
A jest, of course and Yuuko had rolled her eyes and tossed her hair before lolling back on her chaise and extending one hand imperiously (such majesty to her, his girl) for the opium pipe. Afraid?
Perhaps he had been, but he’d answered her, as Damascus, then, as he’d slid the pipe into her fingers only after a long, slow caress down from her shoulder.
She hadn’t taken a hit from the pipe, merely drew the mouthpiece back and forth across her lower lip, her smirk more of a smile than anything else. Have I made you feel old?
He’d gone to her, buried his face against the silk of her stomach left bare by the silk of her exotic robes. Not old so much as very, very experienced, he’d said, nuzzling his way down.
Melancholy liar, she’d murmured affectionately, stretching underneath him with a feline sort of grace and stroking a hand through his hair, tangling it idly round her fingers.
You didn’t ask if I was telling the truth, he reminded her.
It had been the last time they’d made love. The vision of what he should do, of what would be, had come to him in the hazy afterglow and she had never opened her arms to him again.