Post by Galileo Figaro on Sept 30, 2009 14:43:52 GMT -5
A/N: Are we heading into "Rated R" territory by any chance xD
"Yeah? How would ye' nae? Galileo watches as Meat's tongue poked out, smudging the vibrant lipstick. Galileo swallowed: Scaramouche's never did that...
Meat's accusation stung. Okay, so it wasn't a complete accusation, more of a demanding question. How was Galileo going to explain this one? Scaramouche had had her suspicions over the subject for a while and had engaged him in a screaming match about it once. He had told her everything then; the pain and the way he had tried to end his own life as he found comfort in a razor blade. But as it was he had chickened out at the last possible minute, only grazing the skin but not deep enough to cause any serious damage.
"Personal experience," Galileo mumbled sheepishly as he looked away briefly from the Scot. "Nothing major but... there was a time when I just couldn't handle the tanuts from the Gaga Kids..."
The Dreamer looked back over at Meat, taking in her dejected form and her tear-stained cheeks which where lined with remanents of black make-up. She went willingly into his arms and he relaxed, letting the gentle rocking rhythm consume them both. He felt Meat calm down a little bfore she spoke again. "No... Yer the only one..."
Galileo pulled back slightly, the softness of her voice taking him by surprise. This woman was definately full of them. He met her gaze full on, mindful of her trembling hand stroking his cheek. He felt the magnetic pull as Meat closed the distance between them, her lips closing over his and her other hand tangled in the dark hair at the back of his neck. He felt goosebumps rise at the feel of her soft skin over his.
He was pleasantly surprised at the feel of her lips over his. They alternated between rough and soft; gentle and hard; possessive and then caressing. It was completely different to Scaramouche's strong approach. It both thrilled and terrified him at the same time. His hand slid up her small frame of its own accord to tangle in the blonde mane that seemed to tease him. Again, it was different to Scaramouche's. It was much softer and seemed lighter and more textured.
What was he thinking? This was Meat, Scaramouche's friend. He couldn't carry on with this but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to stop.