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Let me find you in the Light
I don't know where this came from or quite how to describe it, other than a picture of Jared is the inspiration. It's not going anywhere and doesn't mean anything. Late nights occasionally do this to me. I guess you'd call it an experiment, a short trip up the Nile when the world was a younger place. Sometimes sensuality is its own reward.
Let me find you in the Light
One curl falls along the flare of a perfect cheekbone. Your eyes, speckled with a thousand shades of gray and green and brown, look back at me from the pillowed bed. I see the tender swell of lips part on a prayer that’s never uttered. My name hovers behind the pearls of your teeth, lays flat on your tongue. Jensen. I hear it hanging heavy in the air between us.
Fold me in your mouth, I breathe into the porches of your ear. Let me fill all your empty spaces in liquid salt, my Jared.
You turn and spread yourself, an ancient surrender. The loose undulation of a shadow slinks across your collarbone and settles in the hollow there. My tongue longs to lick its secret sweetness from your skin.
Light filters through the wind-sharp air and comes to earth in a benediction, folding itself into the cleft of stone, the curve of sand hills outside our window. Blue haze rests at the base of the lowest dunes and around the slim line of your hips. I part my fingers across your throat, the flesh smooth and unlined. Drink the taste of ripeness, sweet as figs, from the cup of your mouth with eager sips.
The Egyptian sun lifts and day blooms around us, a day meant for marching across the desert, outlines of our shapes following beside us as we tread the undulating sand. I on my horse, you in your battered boots, your lips parched, dreaming of an oasis and a cool glimpse of dazzling blue among the wavering palms.
We move together in an age old dance. Below, the streets fill with a rising clamor, the city waking. I touch my fingertips to the line of your thigh, the lean angle of your hips. The muscles of your belly ripple as I dabble at the wellspring of your need. Your head, thrust back amongst the cushions, rolls from side to side. You bite your lips to blood red. A curtain of darkness falls across your eyes, hiding you from me. I slip closer, my manhood eager for you.
Captain, you whisper as I enter, your hands spreading you open, showing me the way through the ring of dusky muscle into blinding light. I shift onto my knees, hold you in the cage of my thighs. Find your deepest, most hidden place and beat off my passion within its heated grip. Beads of sweat fall from my forehead, run down the lines of my chest where your palms restlessly stroke me to torment.
My insides liquify, and the balls between my legs fill my shaft with spend. I am the throb of my release inside your muscled channel. The day, the hour focused to a point of velvet and fire and a pressure that robs my vision from me. I am the gush of you spilling in my guiding hand.
In passions aftermath, your lithe body folds itself around me, the length aromatic of the ocean’s fecundity. I wrap my fingers in your sweat damp hair and lick the fever from your mouth.
Goddamn Napoleon, you whisper in the shell my ear.
I roll lazily so I can see your face again, the melted heat within your eyes caressing my skin.
Every cat has its day. And so shall he, I answer. It is his purpose here, and we must follow where he leads us. But we will still manage to carve a slice of sweetness for ourselves, my Jared, in between the pages of history. Now I must put on my officer's britches, and you your cap and boots. Go forth to conquer Egypt vastness and wrest away her treasures with fire and sword. Can you doubt it?
The fierceness of your kiss is my reply, and master surrenders to the blandishments of slave. You feed me slices of dripping orange, tossing the peeled skin onto the floor, and suck the juices from the smiling curve of my lips.
I don't think I can comment sensibly on this. You've pretty much wasted me for the rest of the day... Sometimes when I read your stuf it just casts echoes of other writing through my brain like deju vu... And I don't mean like plagiarism, I mean the style, the quality. Instantly I got Hamlet "the porches of your ears" and the tone of the rest of the piece just reminded me of The Song of Solomon - a poem of pure sensuality to a lover. I love Egypt, and just the mention of the light there had me back, standing on the Cairo sands, looking at the Sphinx, her wasted face the result of target practice by Naploleon's soldiers. History, passion,uniforms... There isn't a kink of mine you didn't hit there, babe. *Stares at picture of Jared* I hope you get inspired more often! ;-)