Twilight Lemon2
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,474
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,474
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Twilight Lemon2
Twilight Lemon2
By Nix
NA: It\'s the 27th, and I\'m gonna try to get this lemon done today. This is the first part, the rest will be in third/past tense, so anyway… feedback greatly appreciated!
He sits there, on this little hill. The rising sunlight lightening his hair, spreading over him. It touches down on blond curls, not caring about disorder in their curves. No, sunlight glides over those curls like they were a fine sports car, down to the shadow where his head is tilted towards his shoulder. Sunlight\'s persistent though, and starts again at the top of one black wing. The feathers are black, jet black, like a raven or a crow, but in the sunlight there\'s the illusion of gold, of a light within each little feathery part of those wings. It makes him touchable. Makes a person want to stand behind him and let fingers lightly skim the path of light. Angels are supposed to be pure, and maybe that’s part of his attraction, sitting there in tie dye and sunlight, blond and raven both. If he\'s pure, it\'s a kind of purity that goes beyond good and evil, a natural purity that organic shampoo would kill for.
Some great painter should have seen this. Taylish Galen Fey, angel, wraith, lover, photojournalist, all around pain in just about everyone\'s ass, and yet, he draws me. My writing usually comes out in third person, separate, distant. It\'s only when I sit down to write about him that I feel first person calling to me. Greed, maybe, wanting to stake a claim to him, that\'s why I want to write first person when I write about him?
It isn\'t hard to believe he was angelic, even before the eighth of At, tt, the day the world\'s scientific mind fucked itself. God, he had the most beautiful eyes, green, shades of green like there was a whole temperate rain forest hidden in his soul. The way his hair moves, no, it\'s the way he looks at me. I know what I am, what I have always been. The point is what I become when he looks at me. I\'m a demon, fire and vengeance always just waiting under my skin, even before the eighth of August. I\'m a lost one, vile and dangerous. And he looks at me, those lips lifting in a smile, pen in his fingers like on of those fucking cigarettes he doesn\'t smoke anymore, and I\'m just a man.
By Nix
NA: It\'s the 27th, and I\'m gonna try to get this lemon done today. This is the first part, the rest will be in third/past tense, so anyway… feedback greatly appreciated!
He sits there, on this little hill. The rising sunlight lightening his hair, spreading over him. It touches down on blond curls, not caring about disorder in their curves. No, sunlight glides over those curls like they were a fine sports car, down to the shadow where his head is tilted towards his shoulder. Sunlight\'s persistent though, and starts again at the top of one black wing. The feathers are black, jet black, like a raven or a crow, but in the sunlight there\'s the illusion of gold, of a light within each little feathery part of those wings. It makes him touchable. Makes a person want to stand behind him and let fingers lightly skim the path of light. Angels are supposed to be pure, and maybe that’s part of his attraction, sitting there in tie dye and sunlight, blond and raven both. If he\'s pure, it\'s a kind of purity that goes beyond good and evil, a natural purity that organic shampoo would kill for.
Some great painter should have seen this. Taylish Galen Fey, angel, wraith, lover, photojournalist, all around pain in just about everyone\'s ass, and yet, he draws me. My writing usually comes out in third person, separate, distant. It\'s only when I sit down to write about him that I feel first person calling to me. Greed, maybe, wanting to stake a claim to him, that\'s why I want to write first person when I write about him?
It isn\'t hard to believe he was angelic, even before the eighth of At, tt, the day the world\'s scientific mind fucked itself. God, he had the most beautiful eyes, green, shades of green like there was a whole temperate rain forest hidden in his soul. The way his hair moves, no, it\'s the way he looks at me. I know what I am, what I have always been. The point is what I become when he looks at me. I\'m a demon, fire and vengeance always just waiting under my skin, even before the eighth of August. I\'m a lost one, vile and dangerous. And he looks at me, those lips lifting in a smile, pen in his fingers like on of those fucking cigarettes he doesn\'t smoke anymore, and I\'m just a man.