#♤ queue

[leonsmain]

oh, she’s gorgeous

[leonsmain]

when i’m down, the queue goes up

[leonsmain]

we are simply not the same

[leonsmain]

get on my level

[leonsmain]

[leonsmain]

[pellecebrae]

Christmas Gift for Vodka @daturida  ♡~ ‘v ‘ Merry Christmas ♡~

     ❦ It could be minutes or days, maybe weeks or months that had passed, and still it would feel like no time quite at all. With how amusing it was to watch them: these little changes here and there, as fortune and fate had meant to be turned around, to offer up a future that should have never been there. It’s enthralling. Entertaining. With moments of wonderment in watching this or that movement. Flicks of the wrist, turning nothing into something and then into shreds and tears and torn bits and pieces of paper, scattered all over the ground. An unfinished letter. Deciding to discard it altogether, for the moment had been sure so fleeting, so undeniably tempting to finish what should have never been begun.

    ❦ Distant murmur they were, of recognising undesirable thoughts.These very words that he had meant to paint into reality? Had they not right here and right now, been settled down on paper worn. Dark and smudged. Coloured and embellished with tears and blood? 

    ❦ Settled down into a room unknown. Into the grandeur of a large library, warm and so inviting - when was the last time someone stepped upon the carpeted ground? How long exactly had they spend their time, going through memories of her family [ why were they offered? ], distant, unrelated, pictures of a long-gone time? Of relatives never seen before [ did not one of them, gazing upon one of the sepia-tinted moments of time, look like herself? her grandmother? recollection so distant, so faint and wisplike ].

    ❦ Her touch, when it comes, is of a softened request. Placed upon broad shoulder, the stiffening of tension once more then slowly [ oh so slowly ], flowing off and away from the then, otherwise, unexpectedly relaxed form. Of course, one would want to thank whatever caprice had possessed the leader of the organisation to grant admission to the pair’s whimsical inquiries. To allow them to explore the deep woods that envelop hide-out of a maze of dimly lit rooms. With the starry nights right above their heads, blazing just in unison with the fire consuming and devouring last pieces of whatever written word Furuta would be willing to bequeath.

    ❦ Hours ago. Now fingertips would begin their travel, seeking something hidden that was sure to be left untouched [ yet not unseen ], within these mental walls being raised quite so high. Who would have thought that her dearest father would permit the both of them to flee from any upcoming social event in the Lazarus’ house? Who would have thought such support would be given and be underlined by the mere wave of hand? By telling smile? By the offer of a family’s heirloom of a large estate, somewhere secluded off and far away from any sort of modernity?

    ❦ A pulchritude of creation and craft. Feeling like every breath they take, crystal clear and bound to sting in depths of lungs, was the very shape and form of the air right before a storm.

    ❦ Who would have thought, when those uncountable hours that had passed by could be reminisced upon, that they would end up here? In this self-made beauty of a peaceful heartbeat shared? Ah, should it not be enough for him dwell on words that would never come. Thoughts and letters, as withered as the roses left untouched and soon forgotten [ this very place? this manor-house of their own? it seemed like taken out of a daydream’s hum ], not long passed that she would move and drag him away, make him explore this treasure trove they could call their very own [ perhaps - perhaps, she should ask her father to let her keep it— ]. High balconies lined the whole structure. Mindless were they searching before picking out one to enjoy the upcoming chill of the morning [ had they really spent all the night going through pictures? through memories that were not their own? ].

    ❦ Blowing in the wind where the fine curtains of softest silk. Harsh and strong metal - on the other side? - biting and chilling against a palm’s touch - somehow? This very world they are caught inside, it seemed like a daydream’s wonder - of the old and the new alike. 

   ❦ Her thoughts were shattered just at the moment an arm does wind itself around slender waist, feeling and touching, asking with the near too gentle pursuit for the power held and kept in the depths within. Carefully leading her ever closer while his hold was a stark contrast to the harshness of darkened railing against slender fingertips. Mindful. Thoughtful. Each second cherished and taken in turning into something similar to these captured pieces of time, never forgotten again. Honouring the moment when she moves his head towards her own. How willing was Furuta to follow the little singer’s every whim. To relish when she traces and chases facets of his face drawn excruciatingly close [ what will these emotions express he does display? so open before her, and only her, do say? ].

    ❦ And such, the ticking of the clocks falls into perfect sync with her slowly beating heart. A taste desired and felt through his lips upon her shoulder. Trailing over every curve of all he was able to reach. Relishing in faint flavour and delirious smell [ something sweet? something floral? ] all of it would provide him with. Held. Tighter, tighter - she might just vanish from your grasp - keep her ever closer. While ungloved hands [ for there are no secrets before one another ] make to follow and explore each ridge of spine beneath a material that quite so fine—

    ❦ —Furuta does find his reward in a softened gasp released. 

   ❦ Slowly and surely would slender arms wrap around broad shoulders, touch him once again. Permission granted to allow her partner deeper in. Into the sweet, masked innocence that truly would never be one again [ but would they not like and want to be the very people pretending for it to exist only for a few moments more? ]. A kiss. A touch against the fine slope of neck. A grace of lips flowing pliantly into shoulder, using his free hand to trail whatever had been left behind [ nothing? everything? a piece of soul, so carefully crushed in her palm ]. It sets to a fire igniting right beneath pale sheen underneath the dark blue of a suddenly greeting storm in the sky.

  ❦ No, not yet. [ not anymore ]. Cycling through thoughts, being caught like raindrops in touching lips. Being kept like they hold themselves in the beauty of a shared solitude. Thoughts mean so little - when all they need is one another.

 ❦ So they douse their ideas. Their wants. Their needs. Into the nothingness of a shattering downpour. 

[pellecebrae]

Birthday Present for Vodka ♡~~

@fletschte​ | @daturida [ gotta tag Furuta too, so you see it~ ] ♡

♤          Such a gloomy expression. Surely unexpected. With eyes downcast and brooding, having his partner being quite so averse to finding comfort in company. Shown so easily with hiding in personal office, away from him for sure. It’s nothing he had surely questioned in the time that had passed by. It’s nothing Jura had tried to approach, wordlessly ushered to remain patient, and leave him to think. Alas, a few hours by now { such a long time } had passed to have the scientist deem himself tired of watching and waiting. To stir himself to stand. To knock near carefully against wooden door, realizing soon enough that it was not even closed.

♤           He’s silent enough to not be disturbing. Loud enough to be heard and sent off and away if need be. Not happening, so he’s sauntering closer, humming a softened tune while attending to the hunched over figure, the one to soothe a headache that was brewing beneath grieving whirlwind of thoughts. Careful just, when slender arms move to wind around shoulders, hook upon one another around neck with the well-known { all loved } softened purr to be released right beside his partner’s ear. It’s enough to make broad figure twitch, to draw him out of undesirable thoughts, to lift one hand and carefully trace along the exposed skin of arm.

♤           He’s displeased, unhappy with happenings, and finds himself so truly incapable of voicing opinions, sorrows, fears. And still unneeded to find any voice for it at all. How delirious { perchance } that this was and had grown to be a commonly shared normalcy - and is just crumbling to dust by this or that frightening endeavour, so truly settling like a heavy veil upon beating heart. He's careful enough to move. Shift clothing spun tightly over chest, against the arched and pulled fabric of his lover's back.

♤           Fine noise dispersing into thin air and trailing out into absolute nothingness. Like brushing away any worries in softened breaths drawling over top of head. Perching chin upon it staring into the blankness ahead. He could have - of course - read whatever letter unfolded placed upon table, with fidgety hand with pen slight trembling over it, would tell of a story that was clouding minds.

♤           He could have---

♤           ---decided so easily not to at all.

♤           Tumbling thoughts, racing ideas. Trying to find an offer for help, an explanation for everything else - before finding surely nothing at all. He could have said something in that low and droning voice of his, said something to usher the man in his grasp to finally announce of what troubles him so. And does nothing at all about it. "I will prepare a bath." Easily untangling himself from tightening hold, only a second, an instance, a breath as soon gone as his own faint smile would ghost over visage.

♤           It's gentle with hands how he maps out each and every tense piece of form so surely covet, and gentle enough how he bends and bows to dust but the softest kiss along Matsuri's neck.

♤           And by the time this all happened, he was already gone again. The perceptible footsteps to echo around the room, as quiet as they truly had meant to be, as much does the young man not desire to leave noise at all. To ground in the here and now, who so surely might get lost upon him the tantalizing disarray of wants and wants - and the needs that, for the leader { above all else }, had been surely destined to happen.

♤           Flowing, rushing water, the only noise of a soughing purity. Fog of heat clouding vision, while vision is as clear as it had never been before. In watching said picture perfect arrangement of slender physique and well-rehearsed, elegant motions. The low echoing hum of a song unknown { something to be found rooted deeply in customs and forgotten vices }, filling the air and cutting clean through all and each of every other twitch and turn. He's knowing - and furthermore unknowing to the fact of being watched by that man standing in doorway, arms crossed, expectantly waiting for whatever the doctor would like to fulfil.

♤           And fulfilment is only to be found a few fleeting seconds later, when he rises from crouched position, stands tall and high and wanders absentmindedly to and fro. As if searching something. Searching for an explanation that would never come - and looked all the more peaceful in this design of gathering a multitude of little items. Trinkets. Oils and salts. And lotions to be found here and there.

♤           Thorough in his preparations, all to be done for just one figure in need to find that needed bit of salvation for the night.

♤           He knows eyes are trained on his form. He knows that each sleek cut of muscle shifting beneath slightly dampening clean cotton of shirt, was like a dream and aching touch need to settle it into stark reality. That soft tune wandering past any sounds rushing through the grandness of this room. Black ground and walls, the low bathtub in shining white, flush-mounted into the ground. It all allows a stage when the scientist moves. Bends and turns and twist. He smiles subconsciously at the knowledge, that all mindful thinking and all troubles soon to be dispersed, would be quietened and calmed just by these few movements alone.

♤           And it’s just a blink in time before Jura’s hand ushers his partner to come that littlest bit closer. Long fingers to trickle and guide, with that everlasting glint deeply settled in his eyes. The heavy red tint shining strongly in his gaze, meaning nothing, appearing like nothing, and meaning everything altogether for them both. Reaches out towards the approaching form with hands to entangle in the softness of shirt. He hears it just, the way breath exhales with the smallest knowledge of tranquillity to finally settle in expecting mind. Slowly traversing along strong form, tingling, alighting nerves tenderly whenever desire flutters along each and every ridge of muscle he was permitted to feel.

♤           That slow and purring noise, intensely chiming, set and embed in the depths of his throat with that low and soothing cadence coming to life.

♤           Words were so sure, so truly unneeded { a chore to have, what sounds and feelings could all convey }. Pulling apart button by button, to reveal more of perfect skin, of sculptured forms his hands were just so eager to touch. He feels it just when eyes would travel over dips and curves, feels the softness of lips brush along his forehead, teasing along the line of hair, further and further with the silent exhale of a sigh. He wonders just, what so truly had been a catalyst for a man as grand as the one being so surely pliant beneath prying hands, to fall into silence of shattering verdict of mind.

♤           He could have asked { and wouldn't, surely wouldn't - ' just be with me ' } and regardless just, sings out with a subtle laugh into the night.

♤           Their back and forth, could be so sure, deceivingly soft. While softness in that shifting air around them would exclaim and scream and cry of so much danger around { never for them }.

♤           It's soon enough that he would be able to free from garment who was so sure immovable before him. With a twitch to said figure given when coils of air would hit exposed planes of skin. As if waiting for that electrifying pulse, and given when arms limber and lift, move to wrap around that slender form, to pull close within eager and guiding grasp. Strong. He's so surely strong and quite so gentle in holding him near. Showing just that this slender ghost so surely coveting in his own grasp, was nought the like and could be held for eternity, with a curl of lips attached that speak of reverence and the need to never let him go.

♤           So Jura’s laughing again, before placing hands against his lover’s chest, pushing himself away and bringing only marginal space between them, enough just, as if rehearsed and perfectly learned, so that he went to take off what clung so tightly to perfectly sculpted form. Peeling it off, letting it flow towards the ground in soundless distraction and diversion for clouded eyes.

♤           Soundless as much as all else does flutter to the ground within a few well-placed tugs and pulls, before both men were bare before one another, and mean nothing at all, but silent comfort within these walls of sacred privacy. Only for them, and only for the man that seemed so lost in what he was meant to do, and all that he does was taking those steps guided a bit closer and those few noise-filled trails, shifting and turning and chasing the water away from them that was meant to envelop and cherish them whole.

♤           So within these discardable moments - still kept in mind for all eternity: in breaths and turns and embraces filled with silent kisses. To forget the world. To forget hardships weighting { frightening, far too grand for just a few hours of well-deserved weakness } on mind, and find each other, cherished and anew.