Feel
swinglifeawayxx
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give it a chance, guys. please.
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His dark eyes search through the hazy world of smoke and secrets, cries and wicked laughter falling upon his deaf ears. His hands clench in the pockets of his leather jacket.
[who's trying to be the bad boy now?]
His blunt nails dig into his palms. His curls fall into his dangerous gaze, intent upon the dark shadows in front of him. There's an ache in his chest, sweat runs down his back. His mouth is a dry cavern. His tongue runs over his thin lips. Couples, hot and sweaty, writhe in the corners surrounding him, pressing in from all sides. His hands shake as he squints through the haze. A bottle – empty, of course – rolls across the concrete before him. It comes to a dead stop with the aid of his torn converse.
He reaches down, feels the cool, cracked glass against his fingers, and brings the bottle up with him. His eyes shift to the rim - lipstick stains the dark glass. He licks his lips, staring at the bloody red stain. It reminds him of her.
He will find Her here; of that much he is certain.
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She crushes her lips to the stranger's in front of her, feeling his hand sliding down the front of her jeans. He brushes against her and she pretends to lurch forward, to gasp as he explores a place he thinks is special. Too bad he doesn't know that so many have seen it before. Too bad she's pretending to feel him - she hasn't felt anything for a long while now.
The combination of the blunt from half an hour before, the vodka, the six inch heels crashes into her; she stumbles. Her skin-tight top digs into her prominent ribs. She grinds against him, pulling him into her, exploring his mouth, then pushing him away once again. Pulling back, she sees her bloody lipstick staining his sinful mouth. Laughing bitterly to herself, she closes her eyes as his lips attack her neck, his hands traveling up to her throat now. She wants to feel him, but she knows she won't. She never does.
Her eyes open as a fake moan slips through her lips, her throat vibrating against his tongue.
The sound dies in her throat as her eyes follow that gaze right into those dark eyes.
He is the last person she ever expected to find her here.
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He hears her laughter. That is what compels his head to fly left, his body spinning a second behind it's sharp motion. His breath catches in his throat as he spots her - just her thin profile, but still her. She is wearing sinfully tight black jeans, a tempting lacy shirt (oh so tempting), and skyscraper stilettos. Her long hair is straight and falling tantalizingly into her dark eyes. She is not alone.
He watches as she pulls the stranger into her, pressing tight against him as he ravages the pale white skin of her throat. He remembers quite clearly just how smooth and warm that throat is. His nails dig into his palms further as he sees her eyes slide shut, her jaw going slack. He watches, mesmerized, as her blood red mouth opens to let a moan (or at least that's what he guesses it is) escape, and her eyes snap open.
Suddenly, they are staring into one another's souls yet again, but this time, he cannot read her like an open book.
She's not the same as she was; of that much he is certain.
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"Baby? Girl, you have anything with you?"
The stranger's questions pass over her ears as she stares into his eyes. He blinks and she lurches forward, only to fall into the waiting hands of the stranger. He gropes at her, moaning, as her knee unintentionally presses into his groin. His hands fall to her zipper, tugging desperately, as she stares into his eyes over the stranger's shoulder. She gulps as his hand lifts in a strange salute. She bites her lip and watches as he licks those lips. Oh, those lips.
She shoves the stranger from her, her thin, bony fingers digging into his shoulders. She stumbles as his support leaves her skeletal frame.
"Girl, what the hell is wrong with you?"
She ignores the stranger, stumbling blindly toward him.
"Get back here!"
She stumbles to a stop in front of him, falling forward slightly. His hands grip her tiny waist, fingers digging into the spaces between her bones. She sways as a hand reaches up into her line of sight, pulling her chin upwards. She stares into his dusky orbs as he studies her thin, angular face. He brushes the hair from her eyes with familiar, gentle motions. Her eyes slide closed; she can hear the stranger coming closer to them, can hear the music pounding loudly into the shaking floor, can hear her shaky breathing.
"Hello Mitchie."
His voice sends her limbs shaking. It is deep and dark and angry, and wanting, and she can't believe that they've gone this long without seei -
Her eyes snap open.
"Goodbye Shane."
She turns and trips drunkenly back to the delirious stranger, hearing her name this time called by a familiar voice.
A pang of longing resonates in her empty chest, shaking hr frail frame.
She is feeling again.
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i know it's different, but please, let me know what you're thinking.
give it a chance.