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right: i'll play ff8 once for plot and once for points, then... ugh, why am i so useless at computer games? it isn't fair... you know, i'm not sure if i junction squall to shiva (*that* way round, definitely) because i'm supposed to (that compatibility thing which i've forgotten) or because that's the way it is in fics... all i know is they /belong/ together. somehow. ice sculptures His skin is surprisingly hot. The ice cube melts on contact, square edges blurring and rounding and letting thin trickles of cold water flow along the streambeds of his stomach. Each stream dries up from liquid flow to thin sheen to tiny gem-like beadlets, and then they too evaporate away from his burning body and hang above him, the air humid and humming with lazy ease. But within an inch of him it's still fire, the hot blaze of purity and perfection, and he lies shuddering under the kiss of ice, his eyes sliding closed and then raised to my face. And I can barely continue when I catch that look, his flawless gaze that trusts in me absolutely even though my hands are shaking and I'm not worth it and he... is. Still, they always said I had to control my emotions and here am I, still tracing that fistful of ice which I keep expecting to sizzle on contact with him, and now where his body isn't fire it's so cold it burns anyway, and i'm finding it harder to keep track of the slippery ice that tumbles out of the pack and clusters beneath his thighs. My hands fumble to pick them up, and I know he's amused despite the water drenching his clothes, as I bring the first pieces of ice I find up to my face in the vague hope that they'll cool my blush down. i have no idea where *that* came from.
*eyes heteronyms suspiciously* was that h/c? and why are you writing fic when you don't even have muses yet? and which one of you finds extreme cold a turn-on? and you call that *good*?
geez, you just can't get the staff these days...
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metempsychosis's journal