Fan Fiction ❯ Skin ❯ One-Shot

That hissing, indrawn breath, nearly soundless but always so loud. So many people make that noise, that admission of desire, and it seems that this random, redhaired boy is no exception. Spread, legs bent calves to thighs, heels trailing off my mattress while I pound into him, his own hands working frantically at his erection. Head thrown back and spine arching, he's completely silent except for that sound. It's a bit unnerving, that he's so quiet, that I'm so detached when he's hot and tight and doing everything right.

But detachment is the only thing I've ever sought from this, isn't it?

He'd looked young beneath the lights of the bar, this boy, perhaps a bit too young for what I intended to do with him. I might have left him be, if it wasn't for the faint curve of his mouth that told me otherwise. Later, during the drive home, I saw the hardness in the corners of his eyes and somehow I was relieved with the additional proof that I would not be an act of rebellion or a taker of illusions tonight. Not so rare to find one who doesn't expect more than this, but always welcome.

The first thing I noticed about him was his hair. That's probably the reason he dyed it red, to grab attention, and it worked, for tonight, at least. But that really wasn't the reason I chose him, though it was good that he wasn't blonde, not golden-haired. Rather, I liked his air of confidence, of knowledge without knowing. The wicked half-hidden glint in his eyes, just past the seeming youth, the false inexperience. What I wanted from this boy was his indifference, his lack of warmth. His charm, sharp and cutting, so different from the subtletly of the one I'm always running from.

He's moaning a bit now, straining up against his hands and my hips. I don't know if he's finally making noise to relieve the silence or if he's just lost control of his vocal chords. There are reasons I don't like to make a habit of bottoming, and that's one of them. I tend to let go when I'm underneath and I'm never quite sure of what I'm doing when I'm impaled and lustblind. I like to avoid compromising situations. Well, perhaps compromising isn't the right word. I compromise myself almost every night.

This is always the best way to disconnect myself, to search beyond myself for a feeling to replace the one that fills me, seething always beneath my skin. It never gives me what I really want but the distraction, the the momentary extraction of self in these moments are enough. There are even less healthy ways to do it and at least I am careful, with this. Perhaps there is a more efficient approach to forgeting smiling eyes, forgiving no matter what I do. Yet this is where I always end up, maybe because I know he will forgive me, for this.

But that is not where my mind should be, with such an attractive young man beneath me. By his breathing I can tell he's close, now, and I know I am too, or my body is. When we're finished I will offer him the shower and I will drive him back to the bar, after he has used it. He will walk away, too much a veteran to be perplexed, and he will not see me again. Neither of us will mind. I will return alone and ignore the outline of his pale body in my sheets and pretend that, in the moment that I lost myself, I had not wished he was someone else. But for now, I will focus on him, this redhaired boy, my temporary lover. I owe him that much.

I do not know his name.

END.

Notes: Urgh. Random Kigai snipt. I seem to spend most of my time trying to dig around in Seta's head, and I just finished a Shima vignette. So I figured a Kigai piece was due. Now, just for Satori. And, Inori. >_