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rugbytackleSo finally the next part. Hope you didn't forget this strange little story. Like I said: I'm ill and at home all day, just some trips to the pharmacy and to grocery-shopping, so I have lots of time...
TITLE: NO TOMORROW PART 4
SERIES: NO TOMORROW
PAIRING: VM/ SB
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: AU, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Your mother opens her mouth to say something, but her mobile phone distracts her. She pulls it out, flashes you a smile and leaves the room.
Relieved you sink back into your chair and roll your eyes with an unnerved gesture, that makes Viggo chuckle. But suddenly he freezes and curses: "Shit! I should have called my mum."
INTRODUCTION: The setting is a school in England. Viggo is the "New One" from Denmark. He and Sean are 17 years old. I have no clue about schools in England, so I took my experiences of my school as a basis.
NOTES: I'm sorry for the delay, but I've been ill for some weeks and still am... Please read the other parts or this will make no sense.
Your mother opens her mouth to say something, but her mobile phone distracts her. She pulls it out, flashes you a smile and leaves the room.
Relieved you sink back into your chair and roll your eyes with an unnerved gesture, that makes Viggo chuckle. But suddenly he freezes and curses: "Shit! I should have called my mum."
Leaning back you reach for the headset on the counter and hand it to him.
He quickly punches a number in, squirming a little.
"Hej!", is everything he can utter before gets verbally attacked by a female voice screeching loud enough, that even you are able to hear every word: "Where are you?! What have you been thinking? Have you been thinking at all?"
Viggo winces and tries to explain: "Undskyld! Det gør mig ondt.* I'm at Sean's place..."
"Who is Sean?", his mother still rages.
"He's a friend...", Viggo says.
"I don't know him", she points out, finally calming down.
Grinning evilly he suggests: "You can talk to him."
You make the defensive gesture to ban demons and bad ghosts, but finally pick the headset from his hand like an apple from a tree with a tortured sigh.
"Good evening, Mrs ...", you begin and look at him helplessly. "Mortensen", he whispers, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"...Mrs Mortensen", you continue, sending him a death-glare. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault.
I invited Viggo over to have dinner with me and we made pizza, talked and talked and kinda lost track on time...", you try to soothe her and you are successful. Just a : "Vi ses! **" from Viggo and there's peace in your kitchen again.
"My saviour!", he exclaims dramatically and bats his eyelashes at you. You can't help but laugh. He's hardly a maiden to be saved from the claws of a dragon.
"Coward, girly little coward!", you tease him and he curses you colourfully in Danish, until you end up in a non-too-serious wrestling match on the kitchen-floor, giggling and squealing.
It's so wrong to laugh with him, so false, when everything you can think about is how his beautiful eyes would cloud over in lust and pleasure, how he would fall, fall like an angel, when you destroy his pureness, impaling him on your hard centre of sin, his legs spread like wings, carrying both of you into darker heavens, swallowing his light in an obscene display of forbidden passion.
"You are miles away, Sean", he whispers and you recognise, that he lies still under you, limp and moveless and probably even for some minutes.
Shaking your head you try to clear those images from your mind: "I'm sorry..."
"I've got to go now", Viggo remarks, but doesn't move, hesitating, his eyes never leaving yours and then he says: " When I was little, I was a lonely child. I didn't have friends, was just this weird kid hiding behind this cam."
You tremble, look down at him wide-eyed and you want to tell him something very important, but he lifts his cam and the flash blinds all those words away, that lay bravely and ready on your tongue.
With a soft push against your shoulder he squirms out from under your body, rising and heading to the door, before you find your speech again.
But he turns around, smiling and says: "See you tomorrow" before he closes the door behind him.
He is gone, leaving a lingering trace of his presence, you reach out for the emptiness he leaves behind, breathe the last swirls of his scent.
Heavy and bittersweet as white Magnolias, you keep the image of his face as he lay under you, his serene features framed by a halo of dirty-blond hair as you wash the dishes and finally absentmindedly stumble into the bathroom.
You find yourself in front of the mirror, staring at your own face, trying to take in the image, he photographed and wonder, what he sees in you.
You shed your clothes quickly and lock the door before you step into the shower-stall like in trance, closing your eyes as warm water pours down on you like rain.
You can smell it, smell rain, fresh and light, image it mingling with Viggo's bittersweet scent.
Like a forbidden bloom, petals untouched by anything else than dew, innocent and white, spreading trustingly and unafraid and then you can picture it:
Him standing naked in the rain, mother nature's child as pale as Magnolia blooms and as heavy-scented, grass crushed under his feet, perfectly at ease.
Blindly you grab for your mothers shower gel. "For my pleasure" by Esprit, white magnolias and peonies, how fitting.
You squeeze some of it on your palm and begin to stroke yourself, imagining Viggo's tight virgin heat, as the odour of magnolias makes your head spin.
What would he be like? Quiet but responsive, eyes open, mirroring the stormy sky and letting the rain fall into them like a backward motion of crying?
You come and you can almost see your own reflection in his eyes, falling into the dilated darkness of his pupils.
*Excuse me. I'm sorry.
** See you!
TITLE: NO TOMORROW PART 4
SERIES: NO TOMORROW
PAIRING: VM/ SB
RATING: NC-17
WARNING: AU, masturbation
DISCLAIMER: It's fiction.
SUMMARY: Your mother opens her mouth to say something, but her mobile phone distracts her. She pulls it out, flashes you a smile and leaves the room.
Relieved you sink back into your chair and roll your eyes with an unnerved gesture, that makes Viggo chuckle. But suddenly he freezes and curses: "Shit! I should have called my mum."
INTRODUCTION: The setting is a school in England. Viggo is the "New One" from Denmark. He and Sean are 17 years old. I have no clue about schools in England, so I took my experiences of my school as a basis.
NOTES: I'm sorry for the delay, but I've been ill for some weeks and still am... Please read the other parts or this will make no sense.
Your mother opens her mouth to say something, but her mobile phone distracts her. She pulls it out, flashes you a smile and leaves the room.
Relieved you sink back into your chair and roll your eyes with an unnerved gesture, that makes Viggo chuckle. But suddenly he freezes and curses: "Shit! I should have called my mum."
Leaning back you reach for the headset on the counter and hand it to him.
He quickly punches a number in, squirming a little.
"Hej!", is everything he can utter before gets verbally attacked by a female voice screeching loud enough, that even you are able to hear every word: "Where are you?! What have you been thinking? Have you been thinking at all?"
Viggo winces and tries to explain: "Undskyld! Det gør mig ondt.* I'm at Sean's place..."
"Who is Sean?", his mother still rages.
"He's a friend...", Viggo says.
"I don't know him", she points out, finally calming down.
Grinning evilly he suggests: "You can talk to him."
You make the defensive gesture to ban demons and bad ghosts, but finally pick the headset from his hand like an apple from a tree with a tortured sigh.
"Good evening, Mrs ...", you begin and look at him helplessly. "Mortensen", he whispers, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"...Mrs Mortensen", you continue, sending him a death-glare. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault.
I invited Viggo over to have dinner with me and we made pizza, talked and talked and kinda lost track on time...", you try to soothe her and you are successful. Just a : "Vi ses! **" from Viggo and there's peace in your kitchen again.
"My saviour!", he exclaims dramatically and bats his eyelashes at you. You can't help but laugh. He's hardly a maiden to be saved from the claws of a dragon.
"Coward, girly little coward!", you tease him and he curses you colourfully in Danish, until you end up in a non-too-serious wrestling match on the kitchen-floor, giggling and squealing.
It's so wrong to laugh with him, so false, when everything you can think about is how his beautiful eyes would cloud over in lust and pleasure, how he would fall, fall like an angel, when you destroy his pureness, impaling him on your hard centre of sin, his legs spread like wings, carrying both of you into darker heavens, swallowing his light in an obscene display of forbidden passion.
"You are miles away, Sean", he whispers and you recognise, that he lies still under you, limp and moveless and probably even for some minutes.
Shaking your head you try to clear those images from your mind: "I'm sorry..."
"I've got to go now", Viggo remarks, but doesn't move, hesitating, his eyes never leaving yours and then he says: " When I was little, I was a lonely child. I didn't have friends, was just this weird kid hiding behind this cam."
You tremble, look down at him wide-eyed and you want to tell him something very important, but he lifts his cam and the flash blinds all those words away, that lay bravely and ready on your tongue.
With a soft push against your shoulder he squirms out from under your body, rising and heading to the door, before you find your speech again.
But he turns around, smiling and says: "See you tomorrow" before he closes the door behind him.
He is gone, leaving a lingering trace of his presence, you reach out for the emptiness he leaves behind, breathe the last swirls of his scent.
Heavy and bittersweet as white Magnolias, you keep the image of his face as he lay under you, his serene features framed by a halo of dirty-blond hair as you wash the dishes and finally absentmindedly stumble into the bathroom.
You find yourself in front of the mirror, staring at your own face, trying to take in the image, he photographed and wonder, what he sees in you.
You shed your clothes quickly and lock the door before you step into the shower-stall like in trance, closing your eyes as warm water pours down on you like rain.
You can smell it, smell rain, fresh and light, image it mingling with Viggo's bittersweet scent.
Like a forbidden bloom, petals untouched by anything else than dew, innocent and white, spreading trustingly and unafraid and then you can picture it:
Him standing naked in the rain, mother nature's child as pale as Magnolia blooms and as heavy-scented, grass crushed under his feet, perfectly at ease.
Blindly you grab for your mothers shower gel. "For my pleasure" by Esprit, white magnolias and peonies, how fitting.
You squeeze some of it on your palm and begin to stroke yourself, imagining Viggo's tight virgin heat, as the odour of magnolias makes your head spin.
What would he be like? Quiet but responsive, eyes open, mirroring the stormy sky and letting the rain fall into them like a backward motion of crying?
You come and you can almost see your own reflection in his eyes, falling into the dilated darkness of his pupils.
*Excuse me. I'm sorry.
** See you!
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 05:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 11:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 09:15 am (UTC)Og han snakker dansk! :D
no subject
Date: 2004-11-23 11:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 08:02 pm (UTC)*rugbytackles you*
Date: 2004-12-10 01:32 pm (UTC)I have to admit, that i'm more comfortable with writing poetry.