guiltyred (guiltyred) wrote in areyougame, @ 2008-10-10 20:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | *final fantasy vii: cc, author: guiltyred |
Jasmine, Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core (Genesis)
Title: Jasmine
Author: GuiltyRed
Rating: NC17
Warnings: NSFW
Word count: 561
Prompt: Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, Genesis: masturbation - when I think about you, I touch myself.
Summary: Even apart, they’re together.
I return, you’re sent away. If I were the suspicious sort I’d wonder if – but no, I don’t really think they’d care. Not now.
My gear smells like travel, wind and dust and rain. You’re out there somewhere tonight, in the thick of it, and I imagine the sight of you silhouetted against the sunset, as big as a mountain.
I breathe in the scent of leather and sweat, and smile at the taste of it. Some day I shall have to tell you of my fondness for that smell – though I suspect you’ll have already guessed by now.
There’s a small vial in my kit that has had a piece of my attention since I bought it. I don’t usually indulge in black market goods, but this looked promising. I take it out and gently unstopper it. The delicate scent of jasmine joins the smell of leather; anticipation begins to rise.
Laying back, still fully dressed, I unfasten my trousers and free my stiffening cock. The touch of leather on skin excites me further, and I indulge in a few light strokes. Before I can get carried away, I pour a few precious drops from the vial into my gloved palm, then carefully set the vial out of harm’s way; if this works, I will surely want the rest of it safe and sound.
I lower my hand to palm the head of my cock, and I gasp at the sensation. The mink oil is rich and warm between leather and skin; the jasmine scent of it reminds me of Wutai, and a too-small tent that we very nearly destroyed in our enthusiasm. Grinning at the memory, I reverse my grip and pretend that it’s your hand, stroking me as we breathe in the jasmine-kissed night air.
My eyes are shut tight so I can see you better, the muscles in your arm bunching and flexing as you stroke me, your lips just barely curved in a mischievous smile as you dare me to make a sound.
I gasp softly, arching up into that hand. Forcing myself to slow down, I reach over for the vial again and drizzle a few more drops along my shaft. My nerves thrill to the warm-cool trickle before that friction-hot glove returns to glide over slick flesh.
The muscles in my thighs begin to tremble.
I can feel your touch, strong and sure, tugging me onward into spirals of pleasure. Your hair hangs over your eyes, making you look younger, not so stern, and I smile up at you in sheer joy. You reward me by speeding up the strokes, urging me, taunting me by slipping your fingers across the tip – and again.
I’m panting now, straining up into that touch. My balls are tight, and I know that you’ll let me come, you won’t change directions this time – though I would love to feel you inside me, the solidness of you, the realness of you, this is what I need tonight, and you’ll give it to me with that serene joy that makes you my Angeal, my prize, my love.
Fingertips race across the tip, and again, and –