Brian Moser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
all_he_saw) wrote2008-11-11 12:52 pm
all_he_saw) wrote2008-11-11 12:52 pm
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justprompts - Pretty When You Cry
[Notes: it's an old prompt but this is my #1 Deb/'Rudy' song, ahaha, and I was bored. Less violence than usual, more sex, but still pretty PG~]
i didn't want to hurt you baby
i didn't want to hurt you
i didn't want to hurt you
but you're pretty when you cry
Her body inspired a curious passion in him; more artful than lust, more aesthetic than love. Akin, perhaps, to the pride one feels in a treasured possession; fondness motivated by avarice, placing less importance on the object than the reaction it garnered. He didn't love her. It went without saying. Her body was an object to him; a work of art, and he had to admit he enjoyed their time together, knowing how it would come to an end.
i didn't want to fuck you baby
i didn't want to fuck you
i didn't want to fuck you
but you're pretty
when you're mine
Her face twisted in pleasure so acute she seemed to ache, and he barely kept from laughing. Everything was a game; sex most of all. A challenge; creating the illusion of intimacy, of emotional attachment, even as he foresaw their fine final moment. He longed for it, burned with need, with the desire to pierce her, to watch her look of betrayal fade into the glassy dullness of death. Pressed against him, she gasped-- a desperate sound she tried to hide, and couldn't. It sent a sick thrill down his spine. He ran his hand down her side and watched her shiver.
i didn't really love you baby
i didn't really love you
i didn't really love you
but I'm pretty when i lie
She curled around him in exhilarated exhaustion, clinging to his shoulders and to his words. So desperate for love. It was almost too easy to sway her, to guide her quietly with his words. I love you. I love your body; and he did, each perfect inch of flesh that curved beneath his searching fingers. And soon-- oh, not soon enough-- it would be still and cool, and he'd love her all the more.
i didn't want to hurt you
i didn't want to hurt you
but you're pretty when you cry
Her body inspired a curious passion in him; more artful than lust, more aesthetic than love. Akin, perhaps, to the pride one feels in a treasured possession; fondness motivated by avarice, placing less importance on the object than the reaction it garnered. He didn't love her. It went without saying. Her body was an object to him; a work of art, and he had to admit he enjoyed their time together, knowing how it would come to an end.
i didn't want to fuck you
i didn't want to fuck you
but you're pretty
when you're mine
Her face twisted in pleasure so acute she seemed to ache, and he barely kept from laughing. Everything was a game; sex most of all. A challenge; creating the illusion of intimacy, of emotional attachment, even as he foresaw their fine final moment. He longed for it, burned with need, with the desire to pierce her, to watch her look of betrayal fade into the glassy dullness of death. Pressed against him, she gasped-- a desperate sound she tried to hide, and couldn't. It sent a sick thrill down his spine. He ran his hand down her side and watched her shiver.
i didn't really love you
i didn't really love you
but I'm pretty when i lie
She curled around him in exhilarated exhaustion, clinging to his shoulders and to his words. So desperate for love. It was almost too easy to sway her, to guide her quietly with his words. I love you. I love your body; and he did, each perfect inch of flesh that curved beneath his searching fingers. And soon-- oh, not soon enough-- it would be still and cool, and he'd love her all the more.