Readers: Please leave the authors some love! Authors: Please do not identify yourself nor reply to comments on your own drabbles.
24. by LJ's sfscarlet
I never thought the little square box would ever rest inside my pocket. Holding two rings inscribed with lesbianic sentiments, I feel happy that the box is there. At first, I would only admit they were for him, my prince. But he is smarter than me, knowing that I wanted them as much as he did, perhaps more. He wanted a spring outdoor ceremony. As I walk toward my prince, oblivious of the audience of friends that have gathered to witness this event, I feel calm and centered. Taking the ring from its box, I slip it on his finger.
25. by LJ's lastglances
It isn't so much an inadequacy as a…Brian doesn't know what it is. He drives with no sense of direction, taking stock in what's at home and what he can get elsewhere. He needs a drink and a shower and perhaps a piece of ass. Or he could do it solo, he's got a whole bedside drawer full of…"Kinky," he mutters, trying to lift his sour mood. He doesn't want kinky, he wants this fixed. Whatever it is, it needs to be as it was. He pulls up to his building and kills the engine. What he wants is Justin.
"What the fuck is happening?!" Justin sighed to the intrusion to his siesta.
"Michael, it's called me taking over your vineyard."
"But… You can't! It's ours! My great grandfather bought it fair and square from your family!"
"Whatever. It's mine now."
"…Why are you doing this?"
Justin smirked, "Because I can."
Michael's expressive face showed confusion, anger, then sadness and desperation. Without another word he left the exquisite garden.
The smirk disappeared. He'd hurt the one man Brian ever really cared about, but it's worth it. Justin knew Brian still wanted him, and he's going to make Brian accept that.
Long, slow lick down my back, between my ass cheeks, flickering over my hole. Wet and pointed, thrusting inside me, electricity shooting… everywhere.
I humped my palm, pushing against his tongue, everything building up, making me moan, say his name, beg him not to stop. He kept pressing inside me, licking, nibbling, and I exploded, rush of come onto my fingers and the bed.
I woke up, sticky and breathing hard. I reached out in the darkness for Brian next to me in the bed, but there was no one there to touch.
Justin walked out of his apartment building and looked around.
The streets were radiating heat through the soles of his shoes. The air shimmered in waves over the asphalt. Within half a minute of leaving his air-conditioned apartment he was sweating.
He started walking towards the subway, trying to think about Brian's visit to New York next weekend instead of the fifty sweaty people he'd be sharing his ride to his studio with.
He turned the corner and stopped. Huddled against the base of a building in a rapidly dwindling sliver of shade was a skinny, dirty, panting brown dog.