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rugbytackleTITLE: The Orange Grove (28/32): Storm
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
Sean was lying on his bed, wearing only his old sweatpants, unable to sleep. It wasn't the heat, so much -- he could see distant lightning illuminating the sky over the bay, and a cool breeze fanned across him from his open window -- as his brain, refusing to let go of the day.
He didn't regret telling Viggo about getting fucked. He hadn't thought about it in years, and now that he'd put the memory into words, more fragments of it kept surfacing -- the feeling of it, too, lying on the bed in the cheap hotel room, feeling so strangely open, elated and panicked all at once. He shifted a little now, remembering: he hadn't lied when he'd told Viggo it had been bad -- fuck, he hadn't even needed to bring himself off that time, he'd just wilted away -- but there had been good parts, too; and now his head felt clear enough that he could see what he'd refused to see for all those years: that it could be good.
He hadn't wanted for it to be, back then: he hadn't been sure he really wanted to know what that would've said about him. It was just... Most of his mates in the RSC had done that, or at least tried it once; and Mel always used to tell him he was way too curious for his own good.
He'd thought about her, lying on that unfamiliar bed with his arse in the air and a cock pushing in -- he'd grabbed the sheets tight and closed his eyes, and all the time he'd thought of Mel looking pale and sick in bed, carrying his baby. He'd felt the worst man on earth, and that had been when the pain had begun to feel almost good.
That had been when he'd panicked, and shrivelled away.
Now he could see that if he hadn't been so keen on not liking it, if he hadn't felt so guilty... He could remember not actually how it was, being full and stretched; but he remembered how he'd felt. Having someone inside. Giving that kind of control to someone else. That amazing jolt he'd felt when the man had angled his cock just the right way to...
He shifted some more, adjusting himself in the sweatpants, not really hard, but not completely uninterested, either: it was the memories, and the fact that he could still feel Viggo's touch all over him. He hadn't showered before bed, he could still smell Viggo on his own skin -- and what a brilliant feeling that was.
On the whole, the memory itself still mortified him, and his ears grew a little hot. It'd been difficult talking about it, even to Viggo; but he'd done it, and now he felt like he was finally free of it: it was behind, in the past. He could really forget.
What he couldn't forget was the images that talking about it had conjured in his mind. Now that, for the first time in years, he'd been willing to let himself think of it again, he found that he could let himself want to have it again. And not, like that time so many years ago, just to find out how it would be; but simply because he wanted it. Wanted to give it to Viggo. Wanted to have it. From Viggo. He wanted it. Wanted Viggo.
He wanted.
And so the images came... Of being here, in this same room, lying on his bed, Viggo's warm, familiar weight pinning him down, skin on skin, warm and slick all over... How would it feel, running his hands all over Viggo? Holding him close, gripping him hard enough to bruise, not having to worry, to hold back... Viggo, who knew how it felt wanting a man, to be open and taken like that... Viggo, pressing hard and hot against Sean, making him feel it -- making him want it...
Sean groaned softly, the sound lost in the distant rumble of thunder. The memory of the actual pain and discomfort had faded over the years, as though it was something that had happened to someone else, or something he'd read about; he knew enough to appreciate that it didn't have to be like that, not always. And he knew Viggo -- Viggo would make it good for him. He trusted Viggo.
He put his hand over his chest, where Viggo's hand had been just a few hours before.
Did he trust Viggo with everything?
He looked out at the dark sky, lightning illuminating the undersides of the clouds more frequently now, and laughed quietly at himself: this wasn't just about the sex, was it? He'd spent the last couple of days cuddling with his mate, for fuck's sake. As if he were a woman. As if... as if he were fourteen again, back with Deb in the schoolyard between classes, sneaking away just to hold hands and exchange shy kisses and caresses. But fuck -- he liked it. Liked being able to touch Viggo like that -- liked having Viggo touching him like that, wonderingly, familiarly... It was almost innocent, like discovering things for the first time again.
And he supposed that was just what it was.
He heard Viggo's bedroom door open just after he heard the first rumble of thunder; he tensed for a moment, wondering... but then a moment passed, and then another; more thunder rolled in the sky. Sean got up, and went downstairs.
Viggo had opened the French doors leading out onto the terrace; a gust of wind blew his hair from his face as Sean approached him. Viggo turned, and smiled at him. "Can't sleep," he said. "Too much electricity." As if proving his point, a new flash turned the room silver-white for a moment.
Sean nodded, and they stepped outside, where the air was cooler. Sean walked over to the low wall, looking down into the orange grove, where the trees were dark shadows turning into ghostlike shapes with every new stroke of lightning. It was easy for him to remember that other night when both he and Viggo had been sleepless. He wondered if Viggo remembered, too; if he still dreamed about Boromir. Sean could easily make out the tree under which they'd sat that night.
"It's different," he said aloud, not turning to see where Viggo was. "Different from New Zealand. From... who we were then."
He hadn't wanted Viggo, then. He was pretty sure of it: having him as a friend had been enough, he couldn't have asked for more. He would've never -- not seriously -- thought about 'more'. It was different now, and yet, it must have started in New Zealand.
Meeting Viggo, getting to know him. The jokes. The talks. The kissing. Wanting to go back there when he was in London, because he missed the set, the guys, everything. Because the first person he'd always looked for, when he got back, was Viggo.
It was, he thought, a seed that had been planted then. It had needed time to grow. To ripen. And now he wondered: was this the time? The right time. Was it? Or was it still too soon, and there'd be only bitterness to be had, if they tried to pluck the fruit now?
He thought about that. Thought about Viggo, and then about the boy Viggo had been seeing, and who he wasn't seeing any more, now. Why? What was Viggo doing?
"Is it different?" Viggo's voice came from very close to him, but this time, when Viggo tried to draw him close, Sean tensed up -- he wasn't sure why. He was just thinking about Orlando -- he was thinking...
Viggo let him go at once, and the loss of contact made Sean shiver a little. He didn't speak, though, until he heard Viggo say, hesitantly, "I'm sorry."
Sean looked up at that, startled. "What for?"
Viggo looked back at him for a moment, then he looked away, passing a hand through his hair a couple of times. The thunder cracked above them, and Sean could tell the rain was close. He could smell it in the air, just like he could hear the angry 'whoosh' of the wind, of the sea.
A whole civilisation had ended in nights like this, Sean thought, fleetingly, the dark bulk of the mountains looming black behind the villa. It was a frightening thought, a frightening night -- or it should've been.
"I'm trying," Viggo said, and he looked back at Sean again. "I'm trying not to push, Sean. I know -- I know this is new for you... hell, for me, too -- but sometimes I feel like I forget. And I want... God," Viggo said, cutting himself off, and made as though he wanted to touch Sean again. He stopped mid-motion, though, turned around, and walked past Sean down the steps, out into the grove.
Sean hurried after him, catching up under the first trees. "Vig," he said, unsure about what was really happening, unsure if he could touch him or not. "Viggo, what are you -- look, I didn't mean to push you away, I was just..."
Viggo didn't say anything. He looked frustrated, miserable. Sean could tell he was close to snapping at Sean, to getting angry with him. He knew the feeling: he got like that himself, when he couldn't seem to find the words he was looking for.
When he grew angry at himself because he wanted something so bad -- something that he knew he couldn't have.
The earth felt soft and gritty under Sean's bare feet; the scent of the orange trees was overwhelming, all around. They were, a part of him noticed, just under that tree. And what was happening... He wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't a dream. And it was no joke.
"Daft git," Sean said, and the hell with it -- he stepped close, and took Viggo in his arms, holding him tight.
It wasn't easy: Viggo struggled at first, saying something that was lost in another crack of thunder. The rain suddenly started to fall, a heavy, warm rain that soaked them both in mere seconds.
"What do you want?" Sean said, struggling himself, not letting go. "Viggo, tell me. Tell me."
Viggo just shook his head, and they were almost grappling. Viggo's skin grew wet and hot under Sean's hands; his breathing hitched. Sean could feel the rain run down Viggo's shoulders, his arms; could feel Viggo's muscles tensing and twisting. "Tell me," he repeated, over and over, and held on tighter, determined to see this through, to not let Viggo go, or panic, or whatever he was trying to do. Because if he let go now, it'd be too easy to follow on the same path.
And at last, Viggo relaxed, or gave in; his hands stopped trying to push Sean away, and curled instead around Sean's arms, sliding over his naked back. Sean could feel him, hard and hot, pressing against him tentatively. Sean was hard as well, had been already in his room, and the closeness and the feeling of Viggo, half-naked and struggling in his arms... He shifted against Viggo, making sure Viggo could feel it, too -- and when that happened, Viggo seemed to relax even more, to almost melt in Sean's arms, pressing up against him with a soft little noise that Sean had never heard from him before, and that made him almost lose it.
"Tell me," he whispered once again, his voice as rough and breathless as if he'd been saying it for hours.
Viggo turned his mouth against Sean's neck, wet and slick in the rain -- how Sean had missed the rain -- and breathed into Sean's ear, "You." He lifted his head then, looked right into Sean's eyes, wet and glistening and flushed. "Want--" he tightened his grip on Sean "--you."
Sean looked into Viggo's eyes, dark and hot in the rain, in the shadows under the tree. Viggo felt brilliant in his arms, warm and hard and there. Safe, Sean thought. And then he thought, trust. You have it, or you don't. And looking at Viggo now, feeling him in his arms, Sean trusted him -- like he had in New Zealand, when Viggo first kissed him, planting the seed. When he first kissed Viggo back, opening to him instinctively.
Maybe Sean wasn't ready to trust himself, not yet, not with this -- but God. God. He trusted Viggo.
He leaned in then, and kissed Viggo's open lips, hard and fast -- and then he did it again, Viggo's lips opening more under his, their bodies pressing together, hard, hungry. He did trust Viggo, God, he did.
With everything.
And at last Viggo gasped and said, so close he was speaking the words right into Sean's mouth, sounding wondering, and awed...
"...you taste like oranges."
AUTHOR: Cinzia and Gloria
Full headers here
Sean was lying on his bed, wearing only his old sweatpants, unable to sleep. It wasn't the heat, so much -- he could see distant lightning illuminating the sky over the bay, and a cool breeze fanned across him from his open window -- as his brain, refusing to let go of the day.
He didn't regret telling Viggo about getting fucked. He hadn't thought about it in years, and now that he'd put the memory into words, more fragments of it kept surfacing -- the feeling of it, too, lying on the bed in the cheap hotel room, feeling so strangely open, elated and panicked all at once. He shifted a little now, remembering: he hadn't lied when he'd told Viggo it had been bad -- fuck, he hadn't even needed to bring himself off that time, he'd just wilted away -- but there had been good parts, too; and now his head felt clear enough that he could see what he'd refused to see for all those years: that it could be good.
He hadn't wanted for it to be, back then: he hadn't been sure he really wanted to know what that would've said about him. It was just... Most of his mates in the RSC had done that, or at least tried it once; and Mel always used to tell him he was way too curious for his own good.
He'd thought about her, lying on that unfamiliar bed with his arse in the air and a cock pushing in -- he'd grabbed the sheets tight and closed his eyes, and all the time he'd thought of Mel looking pale and sick in bed, carrying his baby. He'd felt the worst man on earth, and that had been when the pain had begun to feel almost good.
That had been when he'd panicked, and shrivelled away.
Now he could see that if he hadn't been so keen on not liking it, if he hadn't felt so guilty... He could remember not actually how it was, being full and stretched; but he remembered how he'd felt. Having someone inside. Giving that kind of control to someone else. That amazing jolt he'd felt when the man had angled his cock just the right way to...
He shifted some more, adjusting himself in the sweatpants, not really hard, but not completely uninterested, either: it was the memories, and the fact that he could still feel Viggo's touch all over him. He hadn't showered before bed, he could still smell Viggo on his own skin -- and what a brilliant feeling that was.
On the whole, the memory itself still mortified him, and his ears grew a little hot. It'd been difficult talking about it, even to Viggo; but he'd done it, and now he felt like he was finally free of it: it was behind, in the past. He could really forget.
What he couldn't forget was the images that talking about it had conjured in his mind. Now that, for the first time in years, he'd been willing to let himself think of it again, he found that he could let himself want to have it again. And not, like that time so many years ago, just to find out how it would be; but simply because he wanted it. Wanted to give it to Viggo. Wanted to have it. From Viggo. He wanted it. Wanted Viggo.
He wanted.
And so the images came... Of being here, in this same room, lying on his bed, Viggo's warm, familiar weight pinning him down, skin on skin, warm and slick all over... How would it feel, running his hands all over Viggo? Holding him close, gripping him hard enough to bruise, not having to worry, to hold back... Viggo, who knew how it felt wanting a man, to be open and taken like that... Viggo, pressing hard and hot against Sean, making him feel it -- making him want it...
Sean groaned softly, the sound lost in the distant rumble of thunder. The memory of the actual pain and discomfort had faded over the years, as though it was something that had happened to someone else, or something he'd read about; he knew enough to appreciate that it didn't have to be like that, not always. And he knew Viggo -- Viggo would make it good for him. He trusted Viggo.
He put his hand over his chest, where Viggo's hand had been just a few hours before.
Did he trust Viggo with everything?
He looked out at the dark sky, lightning illuminating the undersides of the clouds more frequently now, and laughed quietly at himself: this wasn't just about the sex, was it? He'd spent the last couple of days cuddling with his mate, for fuck's sake. As if he were a woman. As if... as if he were fourteen again, back with Deb in the schoolyard between classes, sneaking away just to hold hands and exchange shy kisses and caresses. But fuck -- he liked it. Liked being able to touch Viggo like that -- liked having Viggo touching him like that, wonderingly, familiarly... It was almost innocent, like discovering things for the first time again.
And he supposed that was just what it was.
He heard Viggo's bedroom door open just after he heard the first rumble of thunder; he tensed for a moment, wondering... but then a moment passed, and then another; more thunder rolled in the sky. Sean got up, and went downstairs.
Viggo had opened the French doors leading out onto the terrace; a gust of wind blew his hair from his face as Sean approached him. Viggo turned, and smiled at him. "Can't sleep," he said. "Too much electricity." As if proving his point, a new flash turned the room silver-white for a moment.
Sean nodded, and they stepped outside, where the air was cooler. Sean walked over to the low wall, looking down into the orange grove, where the trees were dark shadows turning into ghostlike shapes with every new stroke of lightning. It was easy for him to remember that other night when both he and Viggo had been sleepless. He wondered if Viggo remembered, too; if he still dreamed about Boromir. Sean could easily make out the tree under which they'd sat that night.
"It's different," he said aloud, not turning to see where Viggo was. "Different from New Zealand. From... who we were then."
He hadn't wanted Viggo, then. He was pretty sure of it: having him as a friend had been enough, he couldn't have asked for more. He would've never -- not seriously -- thought about 'more'. It was different now, and yet, it must have started in New Zealand.
Meeting Viggo, getting to know him. The jokes. The talks. The kissing. Wanting to go back there when he was in London, because he missed the set, the guys, everything. Because the first person he'd always looked for, when he got back, was Viggo.
It was, he thought, a seed that had been planted then. It had needed time to grow. To ripen. And now he wondered: was this the time? The right time. Was it? Or was it still too soon, and there'd be only bitterness to be had, if they tried to pluck the fruit now?
He thought about that. Thought about Viggo, and then about the boy Viggo had been seeing, and who he wasn't seeing any more, now. Why? What was Viggo doing?
"Is it different?" Viggo's voice came from very close to him, but this time, when Viggo tried to draw him close, Sean tensed up -- he wasn't sure why. He was just thinking about Orlando -- he was thinking...
Viggo let him go at once, and the loss of contact made Sean shiver a little. He didn't speak, though, until he heard Viggo say, hesitantly, "I'm sorry."
Sean looked up at that, startled. "What for?"
Viggo looked back at him for a moment, then he looked away, passing a hand through his hair a couple of times. The thunder cracked above them, and Sean could tell the rain was close. He could smell it in the air, just like he could hear the angry 'whoosh' of the wind, of the sea.
A whole civilisation had ended in nights like this, Sean thought, fleetingly, the dark bulk of the mountains looming black behind the villa. It was a frightening thought, a frightening night -- or it should've been.
"I'm trying," Viggo said, and he looked back at Sean again. "I'm trying not to push, Sean. I know -- I know this is new for you... hell, for me, too -- but sometimes I feel like I forget. And I want... God," Viggo said, cutting himself off, and made as though he wanted to touch Sean again. He stopped mid-motion, though, turned around, and walked past Sean down the steps, out into the grove.
Sean hurried after him, catching up under the first trees. "Vig," he said, unsure about what was really happening, unsure if he could touch him or not. "Viggo, what are you -- look, I didn't mean to push you away, I was just..."
Viggo didn't say anything. He looked frustrated, miserable. Sean could tell he was close to snapping at Sean, to getting angry with him. He knew the feeling: he got like that himself, when he couldn't seem to find the words he was looking for.
When he grew angry at himself because he wanted something so bad -- something that he knew he couldn't have.
The earth felt soft and gritty under Sean's bare feet; the scent of the orange trees was overwhelming, all around. They were, a part of him noticed, just under that tree. And what was happening... He wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't a dream. And it was no joke.
"Daft git," Sean said, and the hell with it -- he stepped close, and took Viggo in his arms, holding him tight.
It wasn't easy: Viggo struggled at first, saying something that was lost in another crack of thunder. The rain suddenly started to fall, a heavy, warm rain that soaked them both in mere seconds.
"What do you want?" Sean said, struggling himself, not letting go. "Viggo, tell me. Tell me."
Viggo just shook his head, and they were almost grappling. Viggo's skin grew wet and hot under Sean's hands; his breathing hitched. Sean could feel the rain run down Viggo's shoulders, his arms; could feel Viggo's muscles tensing and twisting. "Tell me," he repeated, over and over, and held on tighter, determined to see this through, to not let Viggo go, or panic, or whatever he was trying to do. Because if he let go now, it'd be too easy to follow on the same path.
And at last, Viggo relaxed, or gave in; his hands stopped trying to push Sean away, and curled instead around Sean's arms, sliding over his naked back. Sean could feel him, hard and hot, pressing against him tentatively. Sean was hard as well, had been already in his room, and the closeness and the feeling of Viggo, half-naked and struggling in his arms... He shifted against Viggo, making sure Viggo could feel it, too -- and when that happened, Viggo seemed to relax even more, to almost melt in Sean's arms, pressing up against him with a soft little noise that Sean had never heard from him before, and that made him almost lose it.
"Tell me," he whispered once again, his voice as rough and breathless as if he'd been saying it for hours.
Viggo turned his mouth against Sean's neck, wet and slick in the rain -- how Sean had missed the rain -- and breathed into Sean's ear, "You." He lifted his head then, looked right into Sean's eyes, wet and glistening and flushed. "Want--" he tightened his grip on Sean "--you."
Sean looked into Viggo's eyes, dark and hot in the rain, in the shadows under the tree. Viggo felt brilliant in his arms, warm and hard and there. Safe, Sean thought. And then he thought, trust. You have it, or you don't. And looking at Viggo now, feeling him in his arms, Sean trusted him -- like he had in New Zealand, when Viggo first kissed him, planting the seed. When he first kissed Viggo back, opening to him instinctively.
Maybe Sean wasn't ready to trust himself, not yet, not with this -- but God. God. He trusted Viggo.
He leaned in then, and kissed Viggo's open lips, hard and fast -- and then he did it again, Viggo's lips opening more under his, their bodies pressing together, hard, hungry. He did trust Viggo, God, he did.
With everything.
And at last Viggo gasped and said, so close he was speaking the words right into Sean's mouth, sounding wondering, and awed...
"...you taste like oranges."
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 11:16 am (UTC)This is so good, ladies.
Wonderful juxtaposition of the storm outside and Sean's internal debate. Can't wait for the next chapter - as usual.
~Steph
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:42 pm (UTC)More tomorrow... ;)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 11:26 am (UTC)Oh, INDEED! *thud*
Love the unfolding of all this... and eagerly awaiting Friday's installment! :-)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 03:51 am (UTC)Thanks Mara! :-)
Sharpe day!
Date: 2003-11-21 03:07 am (UTC)Re: Sharpe day!
Date: 2003-11-21 04:38 am (UTC)Try The Sharpetorium (http://members.ozemail.com.au/~jriddler/dick.html)'s picture galleries -- there's tons of Sharpe to ogle over there.
Re: Sharpe day!
Date: 2003-11-21 01:03 pm (UTC)100x100 pixels just isn't enough for Sharpe. SB in a tight blue uniform. sigh
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:45 pm (UTC)And Friday is close...
Thank you! :D
*squishy hugs, teabag-like*
So lovely
Date: 2003-11-19 11:45 am (UTC)[Offers self cake and goes in search of more caffiene...]
Re: So lovely
Date: 2003-11-20 01:47 pm (UTC)What are we going to do when y'all finish this? Waaaahhhhhh!
*offers tissues* I was asking myself the same thing... What am I going to do?? ;)
So happy you're still liking! :)
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 12:09 pm (UTC)This is wordlessly good.
The emotional intensity almost overwhelming the hotness of skin and taste and -
*deep breath*
I need a shower now.
*loves*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:49 pm (UTC)Thank you so much! *loves back a lot* :)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 03:23 pm (UTC)And at the end of every section, it's always AAAUUUGGHHHH!!! No, more! Must read more!! Why isn't there more?!?! I can't wait!!! Make with the smoochies :)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:53 pm (UTC)We're so happy you're enjoying the series. Thank you, thank you for the great, enthusiastic feedback! Whee! *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 03:12 am (UTC)Well, hurry up already? What time is it over there in Italy, anyway? :)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:55 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:57 pm (UTC)Thank you! :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 05:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 01:59 pm (UTC)*hugs* Thank you so much for the lovely comment! :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 06:37 pm (UTC)oh. oranges. You guys are killing me. This is sooooo beautiful, the way this keeps building. The storm, and Sean's memories, his war with himself. And he and Viggo, who keep trying to get on the same page...*hugs them desperately*
Viggo seemed to relax even more, to almost melt in Sean's arms, pressing up against him with a soft little noise that Sean had never heard from him before, and that made him almost lose it.
oh, I think *I* lost it here...*meep* Vig's lil noises...*squee*
They are so beautiful together. And I love how Sean puts his trust in Viggo, and we believe it--as readers you've made us see that it's the right choice--it's not just words on the page, we feel it, too. Trust Viggo.
*loves on you*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 02:02 pm (UTC)They are so beautiful together. And I love how Sean puts his trust in Viggo, and we believe it--as readers you've made us see that it's the right choice--it's not just words on the page, we feel it, too. Trust Viggo.
That's, like, the best thing you could've ever told us. Just. Wow. I'm speechless and happy and. Speechless. Thank you!!! :D
*loves more*
*hugs!*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-19 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 02:04 pm (UTC)*hugs you tight*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 03:59 am (UTC)was this the time? The right time. Was it? Or was it still too soon, and there'd be only bitterness to be had, if they tried to pluck the fruit now?
to
"...you taste like oranges."
Brilliant. Utterly brilliant. *dies*
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 02:09 pm (UTC)*hugs lots* (And thank you!) :D
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:04 am (UTC)Far too little. Only 4 chapters. (Don't suppose you could both be bribed into an epilogue or three?)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 02:11 pm (UTC)Can it be longer? Please?
Erm...
Maybe we can put together a companion piece or twoI'm afraid notfor nowSorry! ;) *hides*no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 09:53 am (UTC)Beautiful, as usual.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-20 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:00 am (UTC)That was.... that was very of the... with the.
I love the trust. I don't know why, but that really speaks to me. So yeah, needs to be longer.
*smoochies*
ally
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 06:04 pm (UTC)(And there's still a little more to go... ;)
*smooches back* *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2004-03-17 03:26 am (UTC)