Insomnia’s
Icy grip
NC17 for carnal desires and their descriptions.
Usual disclaimers apply….no infringements – just bawdy fun for me and
hopefully you too.
Insomnia's Icy Grip
NC17 for carnal desires and their descriptions.
Usual disclaimers apply….no infringements – just bawdy fun for me and hopefully you too.
Purple prose? Well if the nighty fits...I'll wear it.
Something akin to a metronome swung languidly.
In
the distance a faucet released an indolent drop of water pregnant in
its stout shape. Vincent caught the fragrance of what was infiltrating
the water supply and he shook his head, if he dwelt on that he'd
certainly go mad, madder than he was tonight.
His nature required
less sleep than his fellow Tunnel mates and so often Vincent was awake
in the glory of the wee hours. At this time he was held by the grip of
insomnia, something he thought had been caused by his recent "fixation".
You, you, you did this to me…Catherine….
He
was left wanting, wishing only to grasp at the straws of their
connection, yearning to forge through the pagan, angry waters of carnal
desire, craving the burning of an erotic pinnacle. Was he a restless
insomniac because of her or did the cloak of insomnia heave open his
mind to admit these crippling emotions?
Vincent, feeling like a
former child of God, previously led by 10 Commandments wanted some
unseen pagan Goddess from a chariot of clouds in the night sky to point
her mace downward to him, granting him pardon and mostly permission.
"You, you, you, resolutely woman, resolutely leaving me hot and hard" his words rolled within his head before he uttered them.
"You, you, you, divinely human, a young woman I cower to take to her bed" speaking those words forced him to face these feelings.
Vincent
needed permission to wrap his arms around her shoulders and plunder her
mouth with starved kisses. He wanted consent to peel away her clothing,
holding her not under the spell of a blatant seduction but of the
communion of a pair in love.
Day after day he conspired, plunging
him deeper into this insomnia. In a slow circle he'd twist and spin,
realizing the heat she'd bring to his hard cold existence, realizing the
victory he'd find buried deep within her loving sensual hold. He sought
their connection, deep within her flushed, hungry flesh while all those
years of his "aloneness" powered his sex's steely length.
Vincent
sought her truth, desiring her truth mirrored his…that they would find a
peace within each other that would swab away the filth of their meeting
and gift them a future. He wanted her like a child wanted ice cream,
like a traveler sought a peaceful hostel, like a criminal sought
forgiveness.
Take her, his mind flashed and squelch the thundering
voices inside, trade them for her rapturous cries, their urgent panting
and cries of ecstasy.
Vincent drew out of his unpromising bed and
briskly rubbed away the chill, he'd gladly trade his chamber's chill
for the hospitality of her rumpled bed linens. He'd seek her out, he'd
bring her flowers, a book of poetry and then he'd beg her to warm him
with her sweat born of their love's dance. He'd beg her to invite him
into her and he'd willingly submit to her human touch. He prayed that
she'd crush him with her sweet thighs while she rode his deep thrusts,
over and over and over.
He danced on the promise of an awe-struck
night within her arms, in her bed, behind those louvered doors. Would
she weigh the evidence of his desire and grasp him gently or would she
clench him heartily as her gentle palm cupped below? Could he wish to
have her gentle lips laving stroke after stroke over his rippled, hard
veined length? He'd only be too happy to return the tongue bath; his
mind whirled in his imaginings as he suckled her swollen lips milking
her sobbing demands.
Before the insomnia he had kept in step,
towed the line of his monastic existence. His eyes could avert
themselves only so many times before this daily insomnia caused to shift
his beliefs. This restlessness had brought him off his knees where he
worshiped a woman, now he rose to kiss, to lap and finally if his nerve
rose to the occasion, to bite the object of his desire.
When the sinews were cut, the muscles would drop.
Was
Vincent brave enough to give Catherine what she wanted? Did she know
she wanted his brand of seduction? He weighed if she did though she
spoke as she did. In his heart he sensed from his profane and demonic
self she would turn them into something holy and divine.
Crossing
the distance was easy, the choices were many… Roses ripe and red bundled
into a generous bouquet, perhaps a bottle of wine ready for riding
their lips. Vincent was caught up imagining her expression as he stood
at her door, his frantic heart could have beat out his chest. Each step
brought him closer to her as he measured verses. His mind whirled clever
words as he weighed which ones to use. So self-absorbed he stood
outside her door, his fist hanging expectantly above the panes of her
French doors.
Rap, Rap of his knuckles then the sweeping sound of
her feet on the floor, the creak of the hinge, "Vincent!" her excitement
rang true, her smile bathed him and baptized his coarse heart.
"I
just wanted to check in….." Vincent's throat dried as Catherine widened
the door's opening. Behind on the sofa sat Joe in flannel suit, a
coffee mug at his lips as he re-read a portfolio. Then Vincent went wide
eyed as he realized Catherine stood there in her work cloths, sleeves
pushed back, bleary eyed.
"I'm sorry I didn't realize the hour" he
stepped back out of the light's path and thrust the bouquet and the
wine into her hands as he shook his head. The air hung heavy with the
scent of plodding lackluster brainstorming.
"I couldn't sleep" those words sounded stupid the second they left his lips, it was 12:30 at night.
Catherine's
smile grew exponentially as she caught his offerings. She stepped
toward him, reading the bottle as she inhaled the spice of the
over-sized bouquet. Her aura abruptly sparkled with anticipation as she
looked back toward Joe. He had been surprised by the odd arrival, before
Catherine ran to the door but hadn't seen Vincent's face.
"I
didn't realize you had guests." Vincent whispered as he stood nodding;
suddenly having to scratch an itch on his collar. Catherine imagined he
looked oh, about 16 and awkward.
"It's a wretched case, Joe and I
shared a cab and we thought we'd bang this mess out" Catherine
volunteered as she shrugged and closed door behind her. "I'll be home
tomorrow night, Friday night" she whispered heatedly, "We have to talk"
her eyebrows danced at those last four words. Catherine gently placed
her gifts on the small table and turned to him.
"Talk? Talk,
certainly" Vincent nodded, his lips twitching as he stepped backward
into the cleansing night air. Her hands flattened on his heaving chest,
her smile registered she was breathlessly taking in his scent. Their
Bond shimmered between them. The shroud of his emotions hung hefty over
his heart, worn like a uniform from some dysfunctional brotherhood.
"Tomorrow, just past sunset?" Vincent caught her hands gently and pressed a single kiss to her gathered fingertips.
Catherine's eyes burned with answering desire, "Yes".
In the swoosh of his smoky cloak Vincent was gone.
The insomnia, like a wire, had cut away his resolve.
Yes, he was back to his insomnia….
Rusty / RedNightBird
tabphb@msn.com
