If Marc Emery is the Prince of Pot, I'm the King! (upinsmoke) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-01-09 21:12:00 |
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Current music: | one hit (to the body) - rolling stones |
Who: Marijuana and Heroin.
What: Video camera funtiems.
Where: Highway apartment, bedroom.
When: Early Friday evening, a few hours after this.
Warnings: Language, sexuality.
The pillows had all either fallen or been shoved impatiently down to the floor. The blankets were mussed, either coiled like sinuously soft snakes around lazy feet or draped brazely over flushed forms. Clothes were forgotten on the floor and the green light of the video camera, set on a tripod near the foot of the bed, had never stopped glowing, capturing every slide of skin against skin, catching every gasp, moan, plea for more, and whispered confession of love, recording every arch of their backs and crane of their necks and every instant of tension that finally snapped like a rubber band and release came with an all-encompassing onslaught of pleasure that sapped them of their ability to do much more than cling to each other and swear fervently that they would dedicate the rest of their existences to making each other feel that good - using far less words, of course. Marijuana had almost forgotten that the video camera was on, watching them, recording them, he was so lost in Heroin's arms, in Heroin's lips, in the heat of Heroin clenched tight around him, drawing forth pleasure that couldn't ever compare to anything that had been drawn from him by any other lover.
His arms, fingers curled tight into the blankets on either side of Heroin's chest, buckled under the pressure of holding himself up mere instants after he'd spilled himself into his waiting husband. Collapsing, he let his full weight rest, spread over Heroin like a blanket, still connected, still buried in warmth, still wrapped up in bliss and ecstasy as his breath came in pants and he pressed a sloppy, loving, needy kiss to his husband's cheek. With a reluctant groan, he withdrew from his lover's body and, although his arms were still shaking, gathered enough strength to collapse on his side, still pressed up against Heroin, eyes still fixed on Heroin. And, oh, what a sight. Golden hair mussed all to hell, slowly purpling bruises and bitemarks, sticky-white spread on his lean stomach- and at that sight, Marijuana let his fingers drag over Heroin's hipbone, raising his hand to his mouth to taste his lover and sigh happily. "Love you." He murmured quietly, voice still rough and breath still coming hard against Heroin's cheek. "Can't even begin to tell you how much I-" He ducked his head, resting it on Heroin's shoulder, overwhelmed with emotion, almost choking on the wealth of love and passion welling up within him. He flushed, shook his head, and reached out to grasp Heroin's hip lightly, tugging his husband up on his side to press their naked bodies against each other and lean in to kiss Heroin, the gesture filled with want and need.
There wasn't any need for more words but as Marijuana rolled onto his back, taking Heroin with him and squirming lightly under the warmth of his husband's body, he couldn't help but repeat himself. "I love you."