The Artist and his Muse

[ocea]

OOC: Closed thread for me and Exosus.



Where is he? The clock, quite clearly, is beeping at me five past two. So technically, he's five minutes late... that's five minutes too late.
I stop, look out the window at the dreary english street, wet and sodden and about as dismally lifeless as the errant scrap of newspaper caught in the gutter.
I suppose, glancing briefly at the sky, that the sudden unstoppable downpour of hideously heavy, British rain could be some explanation as to why he, my awful, insensitive boyfriend, is a full five minutes late for what is going to be the biggest trip of our lives. Even if our relationship doesn't last the memory of this trip and the accompany photographic mementos will be sitting around as eternal kipple.
I turn back to my small bed in my small room with the hideous green and gret wallpaper circa 1970. The bag is packed, strapped around with masking tape just to hold it all in, and the list of cities we'll visit over the next few days is lovingly smoothed out on top. I am completely and irritatingly ready to go, so where the hell is the bastard???
Surely he knows, and yes the clock is beeping at me, it's seven past two.

 

[Exosus]

I looked at my watch and swore. "Shit! Ten Past. Erin will kill me." I sighed as I thought of her, my gorgeous, if slightly controlling, girlfriend.

I grabbed my bag, with my camera and a few clothes in it and rushed out into the rain, swearing as I went.


5 minutes later I arrived outside her house, panting and puffing, soaked to the bone as I pressed the doorbell

 

[ocea]

The doorbell, finally. Bloody, bloody James. These past few weeks he's been watching me jump up and down excitiedly every time he mentions Paris or Rome. He saw me almost wet my pants when he described the crumbling ruins along the Irish coast.
But when I open the door all my irritation dissolves away because though James is a bastard (el Supremo deluxe bastard served with a hefty side order of selfishness) he is gorgeous and even more so when the heavy rain has dreaded his dyed red hair into rats tails.
"Come in," I say with a roll of my eyes, tugging on his damp hand so that he can drip on the wafer thin poo brown carpet in the hallway. "If only you were butt ugly with a bad sense of humour I'd leave you waiting on the street for another half an hour."
He grins sheepishly.
"Would you really do that, Erin?" He asks, his voice husky, his smile made even more endearing because his lips are wet.
Bloody James.
I smile, letting him wonder, and circle my arms around his neck to press my warm airconditioned dry lips between his moist ones. His mouth parts, the tip of his tongue fleetingly dances across mine before our heads instinctively angle and his tongue is in my mouth, his belt buckle pressing its familiar weight into my abdomen. He nudges me backward so that my butt hits the doorhandle and as I giggle he nips at my neck.
I glance at the wall clock. Twelve past Two.
Bugger it.

 

[Exosus]

OOC: Sorry for the shortness, I just have so many posts to write, and so little time
IC

As we entered the house, our lips locked in a divine kiss, I closed the door with my foot, before pinning my gorgeous Erin against the wall, gently nipping her neck.

"We'll be late" I whispered as my hands began to unbutton her jeans.

 

[ocea]

There is something sublimely wonderful about boys, its unique to the male sex, to the huge responsibility of having a penis. It's that scent just below their ear where their rough boy hair scratches on your nose as you breathe in. Divine.
Or maybe its the way they try and undo your clothes without breaking the intensity of the moment but inevitably their fumbling with your zipper..
"Maybe I should do that,"
or with your bra makes you smile and feel all warm inside.
James pushes me back onto the bed, but my elbow hits the suitcase, my gooddamn funny bone, so while I rub the sore point he starts undoing his pants and pulling out his the solid length of his erection (ah youth!) My elbow is still tingly as he starts nudging inside me. And as I lay back on the gold and orange bedspread with the tacky fringe some old woman probably sewed on, I gladly relinquish foreplay for the easy thrust inside me, the familiar fit of his penis between the folds of my sex.