Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (prodigalwatcher) wrote in prodigals,
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce
prodigalwatcher
prodigals

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Incindiary Music

Kissing Faith is not like kissing any other woman.

Yes, every woman is unique-- a melody unrepeated by another individual, certainly, but as my own, somewhat limited experience told, all of them sounded as if composed by the same hand, for the same instrument. Virginia had been a clear, crisp scherzo tune, quick and sweet, but brief. Fred's single kiss had been stringendo-- beginning simply, but falling into a surprising intensity. Lilah's kisses were infuriatingly rubato, some lingering, some hurried, some sharp, some soft, but every one of them at least half a lie.

But there was only one sound as Faith's mouth attacked mine, as her hands pulled tightly against my body and slid through my hair-- the raging, pounding beat of my own heartbeat, and the rush of the blood surging with the almost instantaneous explosion of heat. It was a music loud and dissonant, and it at these moments, when I could taste the alcohol and the cigarettes and the raw, grasping lust, it was a sound entirely in time with mine.

Faith's legs were suddenly scissored around my waist, so tight I could scarcely breathe between the hungry, intense kisses. I pushed off of the couch and carried her to the bedroom, absolutely no question left in what would happen now.

And wasn't that what she'd wanted? For me to say, and for her to do? Wasn't that what I wanted, too?

I didn't think, couldn't think about that now. All I wanted was Faith.

I all but threw her down onto the bed.

"Take your clothes off," I rasped, my breath heavy and ragged already as I found enough presence of mind to delve into one of our bags and extract a pack of foil squares, which I threw onto the mattress beside the rapidly disrobing Faith. I joined in the rush, nearly losing buttons as I undid my shirt and cast it aside before sliding off jeans and undershorts and socks together.

I stood above Faith for a moment, beside the bed, staring down at her. Dark eyes gone even darker with a desirous heat, Faith's expression begged me, beckoned me to her, even as her hands danced over her intoxicating naked form. Fingers pinched at her nipples and slid across slickened flesh between her legs. Those dark eyes were fixed on mine, but kept dropping to the almost burstingly swollen shaft I held in my own hand.

Taking a deep breath, I fought for control of myself as the cacophanous beating in my ears nearly drowned out Faith's near-pleading words.

Reaching down between her thighs, I replaced her hand with mine, forcing my fingers inside her heat. I knelt beside her head.

"Suck it," I began to say, but ended in a gasp as she did just that.

((Open to Faith))
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