sleepy tongues & wicked lips
Posted: Thu Aug 28, 2003 7:15 pm
the glorious intent of the man stepping over fallen branches, humming a twisty, spiralling melody that makes his lips quiver. in blacks & boots, stealthy in the dark-eyed way, playful smiles curling like invisible mustaches by the corners of his mouth. he feigns a move, then, darts behind a bulbous oak trunk, cleft in two. mists swirl around his feet like casual kittens, passing by in their ephemeral states, tails up in either warning or effrontery. "dreamland, dreamland," he croons in baritone, swinging 'round a thinner trunk, ".. lay me, lay me .. "
he seems as restless as a kicked pile of autumn leaves, forever in motion, in perpetuum - eyes boldly searching the tall grasses and the fallen leaves for his intent: there, a movement - no, a shadowy nightbreather out to seize up some hapless squirrel by the neck and make for dinner. a precious slip of a girl, in all white, darting from the tavern's front door - he can barely make it out from here, but the white smudge in his vision darts about a corner, swinging into the arms of a dark-skinned man. "ooh, ooh - " his breath hisses through his teeth, snakeish. "naughty girl catching him with his .. tail .. between his legs!" an honest bark of laughter, as he continues - ah, the meeting-spot! here, he leans against the tree and crosses his arms, waiting. in afterthought, bellowing across the night-tongued darkness, "WHORES USE ROUGE! LADIES PINCH!"
her heart was about to burst - or her lungs - or perhaps both, spontaneously. At this point, however, the girl wasn't in the mind to care. she had been running for - oh, god, how long now? leaves murmured amidst the straw of her flaxen locks, and rhinestoned threads of tumbling moonlight struck the pale glow of her fair skin - flesh that had never been blessed by the warm breath, nor kiss, of any sun's touch. knees were ruddy and raw from the tumble from the height of her window, and the hems of skirts were smudged by the curling, soiled fingers of raw earth. she thread her slim figure betwixt a tunnel of trees, then promptly paused to expell the pant of a breath. fingers drove to seek lean upon the rough, splintered trunk of another tree, and after a moment, the sallow-fleshed girl allowed a glance to level over her shoulder - out past the direction from which she'd raced from. no, no one had followed her tonight.
dim shadows raced through the thought-flooded tunnel of his mind. he grins, surreptitiously, expecting her to fly right into his arms. he would have her in his ruddy-skinned self, near to him, pressing so tightly as to combine them into one magnificient being - and yet, at the same time, trouble slips cloudlike before his mind; he doesn't speak it, no tongue flickers out the raced syllables of a fevered imagination this tempestuous .. no, the grin slides back, like the undertow of a beach, and he waits continually, muscles & tendons tensed to receive that which he feels is his weekly due .. the knuckles on one hand crack as he flexes them. he winces. a lengthwise cicatrix of scar runs like a diagonal river up the back of that same hand, somewhat raw & new -
drifting digits of spiders legs crushed toward her chest. it bled between her knuckles and caused her to push her fingers closer, as if searching for the very pulse of her heart. her cheeks were flushed by exertion, by the staining chill of the evening, and by the blood that flamed up from the quickened pace of her heart - at the very thought of the tavern looming out past the thin curtain of those stick trees. she whooped, then - the sound thin and whistling, past the gap of ghost teeth - once her bruised lungs were fit enough to allow such. and then a bolt, and the snag-limbed girl darted forward once more.
"my dear, my dear, where are you running from .. " he laughs to himself, a ghostly pale of breath sliding from his mouth - "my dear, my dear, who are you running to - " all snatched from some ballad, the man not being a musician on his own, in any way, but a thief and a raggard of those who do .. "my dear, my dear, you're late toni-i-ight .. " maybe. the moon ticks on, ever forward in the trapping azimuth, just past the midnight. it is a sullen crescent, yellowing horn jabbed into the voluptuous flesh of the black sky - a poison, to be sure, a spreading and malignant light through the forest in which he now stands.. at the meetingplace. waiting.
she was clumsy-limbed - energy fighting to throw her faster than her feet can manage. once he is spotted, a sudden smile finds itself burrowing across the curl of thin lips, twisting flesh of pale rose-moonlight. "you have not been waiting long, have you!" it was a question. it was a statement. it was neither. she did, of course, do as the boy had anticipated of her - arms snaked forward - so drenched in the silvered gleam of obscured moonlight - to catch about the neck of the figure before her. to collapse and send him falling beneath her, or to crumple the two of them into the trunk of a tree behind them.
and so willingly he will crumple with her, suddenly snaking his lips along with hers, like a pair of worms copulating in the earth below them - the kiss is pre-moistened, pressed, and waggled with the hint of a scalawag tongue. "oh my dear, dear, darling," his voice chuffs out - "not long, not long at all - and tell me, has your father the magistrate seen you climbing from out your window tonight?" the archaic form of phrasing tumbling out of him like ruins toppling, doric & ionic columns smugly to their dust-swathed demise. but with his tongue and lips, still intermittently pressed to her mouth, neck, rockpool of collarbone, swell of breast -
her wet lips fell forward to greet his in an awkward, certain fashion. fingers, tipped by chewed nails, dipped toward the beginning of his spine at the small of Darago's neck and then, in the next breath, as her kisses find themselves pursed unto his throat, a thumb cuffs the line of his jaw. "i was late, i was late. how did you know i snuck out of my window again?" she drew back, then, to press teeth against the salty expanse of her lower lip. elbows unbent. "night is the only time i'm awake, and they won't let me show my face to the moon." a small grin, however, sneaks beneath the twitch of her features.
he leans closer, eyes darting down into the canyon beneath her thin shift - "they are afraid the moon will debauch you, my sweet - " the wicked grin turning into more tearing kisses, each one wilder than the last, suddenly stilled, like an old woman's heartbeat: and - "your window is the only egress your watchful father leaves unguarded." the kisses renew. the moon shifts, the trees are irascible, and something in the near underbrush snuffles by. his head arches as she bestows the same to him, down the unshaven curve of his neck and wiry shoulders - "but they're too late - i am the moon they've feared for so long, am i not, my petite?" darago's wicked smile curves, mimicking the ersatz moon.
she had the sudden urge to throw those fingers, presently sinking against the concave of his chest, out toward the profile of his face. the sweet curl of a shy giggle splashed past thin lips, however, and instead she bumped bent knuckles gently beneath the lid of his chin. to direct his sharp glances upon the milken sculpt of her pale features, before the messy traverse of lips begins anew. chewed fingernails found themselves raking past rough locks, shuffling them over the arch of ears, as lashes murmured the veils of lids down upon the dark pool of her eyes, and lower lip bumped with chin. "i'm still his little toddler," she replied quietly, head a cant, and a toss, of flaxen tresses. "And he would rather i see the sun - i know naught why they fear the beauty of the moon." her lips purse. how much of the girl's words were in play with his, and how much was truth?
his eyes shift as demanded by her little fist, roving greedily over her features, as if the first person on the moon, the pale hillock of her cheekbone, the sweeping crevasse of lip, the sward of forehead and the plateau of eyebrow .. all delicate, fine-tuned. "ah," he breathes. the way she blinks! untrammeled, consequence free - inquisitive. for a split second he wonders what life wold be like as a woman, all petticoat & prim .. his thumb brushed up, artist-like, to her cheek, examining. no flush of makeup, powder, rubs off, and he smiles benignly, widely - murmuring - "you remembered."
her face shifted a touch, beneath the pressure of thumb, to cradle said digit toward the soft flush of her lips. moist, used, warm from his lips. "i'd never forget." a loft of an amber brow, before she pulled his fingertips from the touch of her features, to thread with her knuckles, as mouth pressed forward for the application of another kiss. tongue a tease, and she's dancing back a step - upon the pads of slippers, to disturb an earth fresh with the breath of dark, bruised skies. she claimed another heavy, inward gust of air unto her still-sore lungs, and grinned quietly toward him.
the night wore on, then, with tedious yawns & purled winds - his face grew longer as they slept, curled in the ancestral and rooting embrace of the oak tree. her eyelashes closed, and his big, scarred hand fell lightly, an abnormally heavy leaf, to the side of her head, smoothing out the hair there as if it were a sheet, and he were the maid making the bed. her breathing was deep, and even, pooled here and there with the snarl of a dream's ripple - and the impatient shift of her body against his own. a smile peruses his lips' cracks for a moment before sliding free like a ghost & entering the sky above. what passion there is to be found in duplicity! his lie unspoken, he folds his arms over her slim body, the smile fading like an untended fire, and lets himself egress from the house of the world into sleep.
he seems as restless as a kicked pile of autumn leaves, forever in motion, in perpetuum - eyes boldly searching the tall grasses and the fallen leaves for his intent: there, a movement - no, a shadowy nightbreather out to seize up some hapless squirrel by the neck and make for dinner. a precious slip of a girl, in all white, darting from the tavern's front door - he can barely make it out from here, but the white smudge in his vision darts about a corner, swinging into the arms of a dark-skinned man. "ooh, ooh - " his breath hisses through his teeth, snakeish. "naughty girl catching him with his .. tail .. between his legs!" an honest bark of laughter, as he continues - ah, the meeting-spot! here, he leans against the tree and crosses his arms, waiting. in afterthought, bellowing across the night-tongued darkness, "WHORES USE ROUGE! LADIES PINCH!"
her heart was about to burst - or her lungs - or perhaps both, spontaneously. At this point, however, the girl wasn't in the mind to care. she had been running for - oh, god, how long now? leaves murmured amidst the straw of her flaxen locks, and rhinestoned threads of tumbling moonlight struck the pale glow of her fair skin - flesh that had never been blessed by the warm breath, nor kiss, of any sun's touch. knees were ruddy and raw from the tumble from the height of her window, and the hems of skirts were smudged by the curling, soiled fingers of raw earth. she thread her slim figure betwixt a tunnel of trees, then promptly paused to expell the pant of a breath. fingers drove to seek lean upon the rough, splintered trunk of another tree, and after a moment, the sallow-fleshed girl allowed a glance to level over her shoulder - out past the direction from which she'd raced from. no, no one had followed her tonight.
dim shadows raced through the thought-flooded tunnel of his mind. he grins, surreptitiously, expecting her to fly right into his arms. he would have her in his ruddy-skinned self, near to him, pressing so tightly as to combine them into one magnificient being - and yet, at the same time, trouble slips cloudlike before his mind; he doesn't speak it, no tongue flickers out the raced syllables of a fevered imagination this tempestuous .. no, the grin slides back, like the undertow of a beach, and he waits continually, muscles & tendons tensed to receive that which he feels is his weekly due .. the knuckles on one hand crack as he flexes them. he winces. a lengthwise cicatrix of scar runs like a diagonal river up the back of that same hand, somewhat raw & new -
drifting digits of spiders legs crushed toward her chest. it bled between her knuckles and caused her to push her fingers closer, as if searching for the very pulse of her heart. her cheeks were flushed by exertion, by the staining chill of the evening, and by the blood that flamed up from the quickened pace of her heart - at the very thought of the tavern looming out past the thin curtain of those stick trees. she whooped, then - the sound thin and whistling, past the gap of ghost teeth - once her bruised lungs were fit enough to allow such. and then a bolt, and the snag-limbed girl darted forward once more.
"my dear, my dear, where are you running from .. " he laughs to himself, a ghostly pale of breath sliding from his mouth - "my dear, my dear, who are you running to - " all snatched from some ballad, the man not being a musician on his own, in any way, but a thief and a raggard of those who do .. "my dear, my dear, you're late toni-i-ight .. " maybe. the moon ticks on, ever forward in the trapping azimuth, just past the midnight. it is a sullen crescent, yellowing horn jabbed into the voluptuous flesh of the black sky - a poison, to be sure, a spreading and malignant light through the forest in which he now stands.. at the meetingplace. waiting.
she was clumsy-limbed - energy fighting to throw her faster than her feet can manage. once he is spotted, a sudden smile finds itself burrowing across the curl of thin lips, twisting flesh of pale rose-moonlight. "you have not been waiting long, have you!" it was a question. it was a statement. it was neither. she did, of course, do as the boy had anticipated of her - arms snaked forward - so drenched in the silvered gleam of obscured moonlight - to catch about the neck of the figure before her. to collapse and send him falling beneath her, or to crumple the two of them into the trunk of a tree behind them.
and so willingly he will crumple with her, suddenly snaking his lips along with hers, like a pair of worms copulating in the earth below them - the kiss is pre-moistened, pressed, and waggled with the hint of a scalawag tongue. "oh my dear, dear, darling," his voice chuffs out - "not long, not long at all - and tell me, has your father the magistrate seen you climbing from out your window tonight?" the archaic form of phrasing tumbling out of him like ruins toppling, doric & ionic columns smugly to their dust-swathed demise. but with his tongue and lips, still intermittently pressed to her mouth, neck, rockpool of collarbone, swell of breast -
her wet lips fell forward to greet his in an awkward, certain fashion. fingers, tipped by chewed nails, dipped toward the beginning of his spine at the small of Darago's neck and then, in the next breath, as her kisses find themselves pursed unto his throat, a thumb cuffs the line of his jaw. "i was late, i was late. how did you know i snuck out of my window again?" she drew back, then, to press teeth against the salty expanse of her lower lip. elbows unbent. "night is the only time i'm awake, and they won't let me show my face to the moon." a small grin, however, sneaks beneath the twitch of her features.
he leans closer, eyes darting down into the canyon beneath her thin shift - "they are afraid the moon will debauch you, my sweet - " the wicked grin turning into more tearing kisses, each one wilder than the last, suddenly stilled, like an old woman's heartbeat: and - "your window is the only egress your watchful father leaves unguarded." the kisses renew. the moon shifts, the trees are irascible, and something in the near underbrush snuffles by. his head arches as she bestows the same to him, down the unshaven curve of his neck and wiry shoulders - "but they're too late - i am the moon they've feared for so long, am i not, my petite?" darago's wicked smile curves, mimicking the ersatz moon.
she had the sudden urge to throw those fingers, presently sinking against the concave of his chest, out toward the profile of his face. the sweet curl of a shy giggle splashed past thin lips, however, and instead she bumped bent knuckles gently beneath the lid of his chin. to direct his sharp glances upon the milken sculpt of her pale features, before the messy traverse of lips begins anew. chewed fingernails found themselves raking past rough locks, shuffling them over the arch of ears, as lashes murmured the veils of lids down upon the dark pool of her eyes, and lower lip bumped with chin. "i'm still his little toddler," she replied quietly, head a cant, and a toss, of flaxen tresses. "And he would rather i see the sun - i know naught why they fear the beauty of the moon." her lips purse. how much of the girl's words were in play with his, and how much was truth?
his eyes shift as demanded by her little fist, roving greedily over her features, as if the first person on the moon, the pale hillock of her cheekbone, the sweeping crevasse of lip, the sward of forehead and the plateau of eyebrow .. all delicate, fine-tuned. "ah," he breathes. the way she blinks! untrammeled, consequence free - inquisitive. for a split second he wonders what life wold be like as a woman, all petticoat & prim .. his thumb brushed up, artist-like, to her cheek, examining. no flush of makeup, powder, rubs off, and he smiles benignly, widely - murmuring - "you remembered."
her face shifted a touch, beneath the pressure of thumb, to cradle said digit toward the soft flush of her lips. moist, used, warm from his lips. "i'd never forget." a loft of an amber brow, before she pulled his fingertips from the touch of her features, to thread with her knuckles, as mouth pressed forward for the application of another kiss. tongue a tease, and she's dancing back a step - upon the pads of slippers, to disturb an earth fresh with the breath of dark, bruised skies. she claimed another heavy, inward gust of air unto her still-sore lungs, and grinned quietly toward him.
the night wore on, then, with tedious yawns & purled winds - his face grew longer as they slept, curled in the ancestral and rooting embrace of the oak tree. her eyelashes closed, and his big, scarred hand fell lightly, an abnormally heavy leaf, to the side of her head, smoothing out the hair there as if it were a sheet, and he were the maid making the bed. her breathing was deep, and even, pooled here and there with the snarl of a dream's ripple - and the impatient shift of her body against his own. a smile peruses his lips' cracks for a moment before sliding free like a ghost & entering the sky above. what passion there is to be found in duplicity! his lie unspoken, he folds his arms over her slim body, the smile fading like an untended fire, and lets himself egress from the house of the world into sleep.