was passionate about death...
Michael: was a passionate writer...


6. six



His hands were like summer breezes, caressing my hip bones.

"Are you ready?" his whisper lingering around my ear.

"These sheets smell like you, my hair has traces from your hands, these marks on my neck and trails on my body are left by your passion." "I've wanted you since I felt your lips against mine, from the time you told me you loved me, to the time we laid here"....."We may not have much time here, but for now lets be each others only meaning of time." I pleaded into his chest.

 "Luna you can't give up, I've given up on myself, I know that, but I haven't given up on you".

"Michael it's not about giving up, you know I've decided".

"Please, I've waited too long for you.."


Her hands trembled slightly, searching for the sheets to grip in her small fists. Grinding gently against her, I was rewarded by an escaped moan from her lips. I wasn't going to ask for permission- she wanted this- I knew I wanted it more- debating whether or not to peel her panties off first or her knee socks were really my only issue..

Sliding her ridiculous  socks and letting them fall to the floor. Her legs were so beautiful when they were bare. Tracing her thighs with my thumbs lowering myself closer her things, pressing  them apart, letting my lips suck harshly at her exposed skin just below her hip bone. 

"Please, please, please". she moaned, as she moved her hips up to my awaiting lips.

 And like falling from the highest peak I indulged in each trace of her skin, like her bones were the rocks on jagged cliffs; dangerous and thrillingly enticing, her hands were like the tangled ferns that grew against the rocks, swaying and grasping me. providing me with something to hold. Her eyes were the broken waves, that licked tiredly at the waves and drowned the twisted ferns, but her lips... her lips were the depth of the ocean, and with each kiss i knew i was sinking, deeper and deeper and there was no way in hell I would ever go up for air.

Pushing her hair gently from her face, lowering myself slowly into her love and  pure warmth. She winced slightly, though, she pulled me down closer  against her bare breasts. As if to protest against the pain. She smiled slowly then all at once, her hands were like waves ripping through my hair. Though she was the riptide, she promised death but made you think you would survive.

And i couldn't help but think I was killing her, like every thrust was a rose on her young grave. But she was beautiful and I was dead, why would she want that?

Her lustful moans interrupted my self conscious thoughts, sucking harshly against her neck, as she arched her back pressing her bare chest close to my face. She puffed in pure lust and exhaustion as I buried my face into her rising and falling chest. Alex Turner hummed as if he too enjoyed the moment,the music slowing as she fought for each breath.

She was the sound of death and she was the light in life, but she was nothing to herself or anyone else but she was and would always be everything to me.

She is my shelter.



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