I dunno where this came from.
Dec. 7th, 2005 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixI was reading something in present tense, and thinking I've never written present tense before. At least I don't think so. So I started scribbling, and here it is.
A Shallow Grave ficlet, untitled, unbetaed. NC-17 for rough het sex and references to slashy noncon.
It is Juliet's first time in the loft. David can tell, the way she gropes her way forward in the gloom, the tentative crawling across the mattress, her bottom up in the air, enticing.
He takes her quickly. Pushes her to the mattress, yanks up her skirt, and rips her knickers off in one swift, violent motion. He fucks her from behind, grasping her wrists and shoving her face deep into the pillow so that her soft cries are quieted. He thrusts two fingers inside her, inexpertly bringing her to what sounds like painful orgasm. She might be faking; he doesn't care.
It's something the old David would never have done, not the chartered accountant who likes two flat spoons of sugar in his tea and who has his shoes polished every Thursday afternoon at two-fifteen. Not David of the starched shirts and fussy habits, not David of the rigid timetable and the orderly mind.
His mind isn't quite so orderly these days, though. Ordinary things seem distorted, elongated. He can smell blood all the time, and feel its slippery, sticky texture on his hands. He can hear the grind and snap of bones beneath sharp metal teeth. It's a little funny, he thinks in his more lucid moments, that Juliet the Great Healer lost her nerve, that she couldn't do what David, in the end, could. The more time passes, the more his revulsion is diffused, bearable.
Juliet is sleeping now, her face turned away. Just as well. David fumbles for his torch and snaps it on. Beside the mattress lies a small pile of possessions, strangely random things that seemed important to collect a few days ago. He grasps something flat and smooth and square, then holds it up, shining the torchlight on it.
Alex. Ridiculous clothing, an impossibly wide grin. Laughing at something -- a joke, his own juvenile wit, outrageous fortune. Alex, untouched by guilt or fear, cocky even after a brutal assault that would have left lesser folk quivering in terror. Alex, who should be where Juliet is now.
David stares at the photo. He's not strong enough to force Alex, to punish his insouciance. He'd never dare attempt to do what he's done to Juliet, though the thought tempts -- Alex's legs spread apart, his muscles straining, moans smothered by a pillow.
David lowers the torch and lets his hand drift to his cock. He can hear the grinding noise in his head. Alex grins at him.
There's a first time for everything, isn't there?
A Shallow Grave ficlet, untitled, unbetaed. NC-17 for rough het sex and references to slashy noncon.
It is Juliet's first time in the loft. David can tell, the way she gropes her way forward in the gloom, the tentative crawling across the mattress, her bottom up in the air, enticing.
He takes her quickly. Pushes her to the mattress, yanks up her skirt, and rips her knickers off in one swift, violent motion. He fucks her from behind, grasping her wrists and shoving her face deep into the pillow so that her soft cries are quieted. He thrusts two fingers inside her, inexpertly bringing her to what sounds like painful orgasm. She might be faking; he doesn't care.
It's something the old David would never have done, not the chartered accountant who likes two flat spoons of sugar in his tea and who has his shoes polished every Thursday afternoon at two-fifteen. Not David of the starched shirts and fussy habits, not David of the rigid timetable and the orderly mind.
His mind isn't quite so orderly these days, though. Ordinary things seem distorted, elongated. He can smell blood all the time, and feel its slippery, sticky texture on his hands. He can hear the grind and snap of bones beneath sharp metal teeth. It's a little funny, he thinks in his more lucid moments, that Juliet the Great Healer lost her nerve, that she couldn't do what David, in the end, could. The more time passes, the more his revulsion is diffused, bearable.
Juliet is sleeping now, her face turned away. Just as well. David fumbles for his torch and snaps it on. Beside the mattress lies a small pile of possessions, strangely random things that seemed important to collect a few days ago. He grasps something flat and smooth and square, then holds it up, shining the torchlight on it.
Alex. Ridiculous clothing, an impossibly wide grin. Laughing at something -- a joke, his own juvenile wit, outrageous fortune. Alex, untouched by guilt or fear, cocky even after a brutal assault that would have left lesser folk quivering in terror. Alex, who should be where Juliet is now.
David stares at the photo. He's not strong enough to force Alex, to punish his insouciance. He'd never dare attempt to do what he's done to Juliet, though the thought tempts -- Alex's legs spread apart, his muscles straining, moans smothered by a pillow.
David lowers the torch and lets his hand drift to his cock. He can hear the grinding noise in his head. Alex grins at him.
There's a first time for everything, isn't there?
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Date: 2005-12-08 04:49 am (UTC)