![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cutthroatpixieTitle: Of Sense
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Jeremy, Jeremy/Ben (mentions of Selene/Other)
Prompt: #24 Life
Rating: R
Sight
He can understand why all those men find her so attractive. Her sensuous grin, demure posture, the way her hair glistens in the florescent light of cheap motel rooms: it’s all very alluring, until they realize it is all just a show, of course. She is anything but demure; she’s absolutely carnal.
Those lips that once grinned at you draw back to reveal teeth familiar with breaking human flesh. The way her thin golden hair seems to glow is just a trick of the light. But she is pretty to look at, easy on the eyes. Her pale skin holds no flaws visible whilst fully clothed. Her form is slender, her breasts are full (not large, he adds, just full). By simply looking at her, they are lied to. Their eyes cause them to think her a simple, kind, pretty young girl.
But she’s not, he knows. She’s the most complicated piece of work he’s ever seen. She’s not kind to them at all as she denies them of anything even close to resembling a fulfilling relationship. She’s not pretty on the inside.
Their sense of sight lies to them, and she lets it. And he doesn’t stop it. Because they all see what they want to in her.
Sound
Benjamin, he thinks, has the best laugh he has ever heard. His voice itself is something he could listen to for hours (when it wasn’t yelling, or ranting, or crying, that is), but his laugh is simply beautiful. She, Selene, will tell a joke (never him, he’s not funny) and Ben will erupt into full, happy, content laughter and it fills his ears with the sweetest music. He can hear everything in that laugh: joy, contentment, happiness, love, friendship.
Bitterness, anger, hatred. Ben’s laugh can also be a cruel, harsh sound that makes him never hope (or want) to see the light ever again. Ben laughs when he tells him of how what they have will never be love. He laughs as he walks out of his life forever, and oh how he hates that sound.
He can still hear that laugh at times, and though he hopes more than anything for the one he used to (still does, in fact) love, his mind will never give him that sound he so desires.
Smell
Lying awake one night, he draws her closer to him, drawing in her scent. Tonight she smells of cloves, gin, and a bitterness that is stronger than usual.
She always smells of something different, he muses to himself. She’s smelled of vanilla, roses, perfumes, swear, cologne, incense, rain, grass, happiness, and sunshine, among other things, some pleasant, others not. Like everything else about her, her scent is never a constant.
He often wonders if once, just maybe, long ago, her scent would have had some love mixed in with all her other various aromas. If he thinks hard enough (deludes himself enough) he can smell a faint glimmer of that something that was at one time something she had.
Taste
Sex with her isn’t like sex with anyone else. She isn’t rough with him like she is with the others (he always wonders why), but slow, almost gentle. She stops as she passes over each inch of his body to graze her tongue over him the same way her teeth glide over all the others. She says he tastes good-- bitter, and salty, and sweaty but oh so good. She says the same of their blood, that she loves the taste, but she has never tasted his (he thinks she would like it if she ever did).
She tastes divine, of course. They all love to kiss and lick and nip at her, trying to identify that flavour on her skin. It is uniquely her, he knows, that tang does not exist on any other thing found in this world. It is ever changing, but always just as elusive as before. She’s bitter and sweet, salt and sugar, life and death, all rolled into one taste that so perfectly fits who she is.
Their tastes never mingle. She always tastes like Selene, he always tastes like Jeremy, and they both like it best that way.
Touch
He hates being touched. Hates it so much he wishes there were somehow a way to avoid it all together, even when having sex. He has sex, of course, he can’t just stop doing that, but he avoids the unnecessary touching. Kissing, cuddling, running his hands through soft hair: all avoided if possible. His lovers don’t always comply with his request of a lack of intimacy, and he finds those are the ones he isn’t with for very long. Others complain about it, but what does he care? He hates being touched and they should just accept that.
She’s always touching him, though. Little kisses, touches on his back, his shoulder, his chest. She’s allowed to, and only her, because Selene Martin is a touchy-feely kind of person and he has never been able to deny her anything. She was not, will never be, one of his girlfriends, but their level of intimacy and closeness goes beyond that. Her touch doesn’t bother him like all others do.
There had been another touch he craved (still craves, actually), but irony is cruel and the owner of said touch has deprived him of it.
He’s a very sensuous person, he thinks. Not like her, she is more sexual than anything. He appreciates and notices the senses he feels, the senses others feel, the senses he and others do not feel. He notices the aesthetics of the world; even if it is one he thinks to hold little beauty. Those small things he always seems to notice prove him wrong every time.
Author: McKenzie
Pairing: Selene/Jeremy, Jeremy/Ben (mentions of Selene/Other)
Prompt: #24 Life
Rating: R
Sight
He can understand why all those men find her so attractive. Her sensuous grin, demure posture, the way her hair glistens in the florescent light of cheap motel rooms: it’s all very alluring, until they realize it is all just a show, of course. She is anything but demure; she’s absolutely carnal.
Those lips that once grinned at you draw back to reveal teeth familiar with breaking human flesh. The way her thin golden hair seems to glow is just a trick of the light. But she is pretty to look at, easy on the eyes. Her pale skin holds no flaws visible whilst fully clothed. Her form is slender, her breasts are full (not large, he adds, just full). By simply looking at her, they are lied to. Their eyes cause them to think her a simple, kind, pretty young girl.
But she’s not, he knows. She’s the most complicated piece of work he’s ever seen. She’s not kind to them at all as she denies them of anything even close to resembling a fulfilling relationship. She’s not pretty on the inside.
Their sense of sight lies to them, and she lets it. And he doesn’t stop it. Because they all see what they want to in her.
Sound
Benjamin, he thinks, has the best laugh he has ever heard. His voice itself is something he could listen to for hours (when it wasn’t yelling, or ranting, or crying, that is), but his laugh is simply beautiful. She, Selene, will tell a joke (never him, he’s not funny) and Ben will erupt into full, happy, content laughter and it fills his ears with the sweetest music. He can hear everything in that laugh: joy, contentment, happiness, love, friendship.
Bitterness, anger, hatred. Ben’s laugh can also be a cruel, harsh sound that makes him never hope (or want) to see the light ever again. Ben laughs when he tells him of how what they have will never be love. He laughs as he walks out of his life forever, and oh how he hates that sound.
He can still hear that laugh at times, and though he hopes more than anything for the one he used to (still does, in fact) love, his mind will never give him that sound he so desires.
Smell
Lying awake one night, he draws her closer to him, drawing in her scent. Tonight she smells of cloves, gin, and a bitterness that is stronger than usual.
She always smells of something different, he muses to himself. She’s smelled of vanilla, roses, perfumes, swear, cologne, incense, rain, grass, happiness, and sunshine, among other things, some pleasant, others not. Like everything else about her, her scent is never a constant.
He often wonders if once, just maybe, long ago, her scent would have had some love mixed in with all her other various aromas. If he thinks hard enough (deludes himself enough) he can smell a faint glimmer of that something that was at one time something she had.
Taste
Sex with her isn’t like sex with anyone else. She isn’t rough with him like she is with the others (he always wonders why), but slow, almost gentle. She stops as she passes over each inch of his body to graze her tongue over him the same way her teeth glide over all the others. She says he tastes good-- bitter, and salty, and sweaty but oh so good. She says the same of their blood, that she loves the taste, but she has never tasted his (he thinks she would like it if she ever did).
She tastes divine, of course. They all love to kiss and lick and nip at her, trying to identify that flavour on her skin. It is uniquely her, he knows, that tang does not exist on any other thing found in this world. It is ever changing, but always just as elusive as before. She’s bitter and sweet, salt and sugar, life and death, all rolled into one taste that so perfectly fits who she is.
Their tastes never mingle. She always tastes like Selene, he always tastes like Jeremy, and they both like it best that way.
Touch
He hates being touched. Hates it so much he wishes there were somehow a way to avoid it all together, even when having sex. He has sex, of course, he can’t just stop doing that, but he avoids the unnecessary touching. Kissing, cuddling, running his hands through soft hair: all avoided if possible. His lovers don’t always comply with his request of a lack of intimacy, and he finds those are the ones he isn’t with for very long. Others complain about it, but what does he care? He hates being touched and they should just accept that.
She’s always touching him, though. Little kisses, touches on his back, his shoulder, his chest. She’s allowed to, and only her, because Selene Martin is a touchy-feely kind of person and he has never been able to deny her anything. She was not, will never be, one of his girlfriends, but their level of intimacy and closeness goes beyond that. Her touch doesn’t bother him like all others do.
There had been another touch he craved (still craves, actually), but irony is cruel and the owner of said touch has deprived him of it.
He’s a very sensuous person, he thinks. Not like her, she is more sexual than anything. He appreciates and notices the senses he feels, the senses others feel, the senses he and others do not feel. He notices the aesthetics of the world; even if it is one he thinks to hold little beauty. Those small things he always seems to notice prove him wrong every time.
