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Water and Dust: 12
May. 23rd, 2012 05:00 pmWe are now heading into NSFW territory. Text under the cut. 
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
Marc remained very still as Brendan took a step backwards, and scooped his hands into the water. Brendan cupped the water, raised it like an offering, and let it spill over Marc’s shoulder. His hand followed, a soft and soothing touch on the scratches on Brendan’s arm. He did the same for other. An anointment, a blessing. Marc’s whole body swelled with humble gratitude, and quiet arousal.
The moonlight caught the parts of Brendan Marc would rarely have noticed; the glean of his fingernails, the brilliant whites of his eyes. And the water, drops like diamonds on his collarbone, and across his shoulders. Marc would have touched each drop, tried to capture each one in his hand, if Brendan would have let him. He wouldn’t, of course. You might tame someone, but that means you let them have their way, at least sometime.
It caused Marc little pain to do so.
Brendan reached around to Marc’s back. Once more, he cupped the water, and for a long moment, let his hands hover at the point where Marc’s neck began. He met Marc’s eyes, gazing up at him with such power, that Marc almost swayed in the water. He could have caught Brendan to him right then, but he would not.
When Brendan released the water, it cascaded down Marc’s back, between his shoulder blades, and crashing back into the pool, rejoining the particles it was once part of. Brendan swept his hands down Marc’s back, and, finding his hips, pulled Marc to him for a kiss.
Photo by Kr.B found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
Marc’s hand stiffened, knowing if he flexed he’d gripped Brendan’s face too tightly. As he let the sharp yet delicate sensation spread across his hand and down his arm, Marc evened his breathing, making himself gentler, softer, before he allowed his fingers to fall back so his nails glided down Brendan’s cheek. His thumb was still captive in Brendan’s mouth, and Brendan’s eyes were on him, bright and full of promise.
Marc breathed, “Love,” and took a step closer, but Brendan released him, backing away, and holding on hand to Marc’s forearm.
“Wait,” he said, and Marc’s chest filled with thwarted desire, Brendan so close, yet stopping him and just such a distance.
It was always this game between them. If in life Brendan was bolder than Marc, when their touches went beyond tender affection, he turned between wild and seductive, to cautious with his back up like a haunched cat backed into a corner.
But Brendan smiled, fingers brushing away the water on Marc’s arms. “Let me look after you.”
TBC
Photo by Tom Bech found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
The water Brendan shook around him was quiet compared to his words, deafening for all their softness. Marc sighed, and entered the water. The coolness encased him, silky, soft, like a glove, or a balm, soothing the scratches on his shoulder.
The water enveloped his cock. It rose and fell easily between his legs as he stepped over the smooth pebbles, heading to Brendan who now hovered with his nose at the water line, peering at Marc with glimmering eyes. Marc reached him, and stroke his hand over Brendan’s curls.
“Hey.”
Brendan rose, his head lilting into Marc’s palm, like a panther allowing itself to be tamed. Marc never wanted Brendan tamed, yet somehow, he’d done just that.
“I try to forget,” Brendan said, a confession, and a scolding aimed not at Marc but at himself.
All Marc did was nod. He swept his hand around Brendan’s cheek and jaw, thumb finding Brendan’s lower lip. Brendan’s eyes fluttered, and he sunk his teeth into the pad of Marc’s thumb.
Photo by Brian Smithson found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
(Because L asked me to continue it. Thanks love. 
I’ll pick up where I left off.)
—
Marc chuckled, but his face burned as he peeled off the jeans, his cock shyly slipping out and hanging loose once he’d unbuttoned. No one was around, and yet his nakedness felt all the more stark outdoors, no walls to protect him.
As he kicked his jeans away, Marc said, “Remember the water hole near Broken Hill?”
Brendan stopped moving, and the lapping of the water stilled, the silence compressing the night air.
Marc frowned; he could see the glint in Brendan’s eyes, a darkness concealled by their apparent shine. “Brendan?”
Brendan sank under the water, and suddenly emerged, shaking the water from his hair.
“There’s a lot to remember about Broken Hill.”
Photo by tourist_on_earth, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
—
Brendan slipped in the water. It rippled, a distorted mirror, fracturing and wavering the trees in the reflection. Marc lowered what he carried to the ground. Once, the sight of Brendan naked and wet, his skin reflecting the moonlight, would have sent blood rushing straight to his cock. Now, as he watched Brendan glide through the water to the centre of the pool, his body filled with the warm hum that comfortable and familiar bring when they surprise you with an image of stark beauty.
Brendan glanced back, face serious. “Are you coming?”
Marc started to take tentative steps over the rocks to the water, when Brendan laughed.
“Jeans off, you fool!”
TBC
Photo by mira66, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
*
They weren’t long back in the trees when Marc realised their destination, and he smiled.
The pool lay like a bright shield, silver in the moonlight, quiet and undisturbed. So bright that they almost didn’t need the lanterns. The trees, long black fingers, stood like silhouettes against the shimmering light.
When they came to the water’s edge, Brendan put down both the lantern and the rifle. The yellow light behind the glass seemed to vanish with the brightness of the moonlit water. Brendan yanked off his boots and tossed his bathrobe aside, Marc catching his breath as the light made Brendan’s pale skin glow.
—
TBC
Photo by tourist-on-earth, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
Forget what (little) happened before? Read here. If you’re just coming into this, it’s a short m/m piece, each part approximately six sentences long. Aiming to be more romantic and a little sensual rather than overly smutty. 😉
*
Marc started. The usual excuses came to his mind: it’s late; we should sleep early; the lights and the radio are on. He didn’t need to voice them, though, for in his mind he heard Brendan flick each one of them off with a solid, reasonable rejection. This land was theirs. They didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission, or wait on expectation. They’d built the fence to protect their sanctuary. Now they could enjoy it, and live their own rules.
Shaking off the old ways of thinking though was, for Marc, like trying to step out of his own skin. While Brendan walked with an assurance, whistling as his lantern swung, Marc couldn’t rid the tension from his chest.
*
TBC
Photo by PinkMoose, found on flickr and used under the Creative Commons License.
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
More from ‘Water and Dust’.
Marc looked back at Brendan, whose eyes were still on the sky.
“What?”
Brendan indicated back onto their land with his head. “This way.”
As the dogs settled back to their post, Marc followed Brendan into the trees, he said, “We should be getting back.”
Without turning, Brendan said, “For who?”
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
Been a full on week, and mostly dancing related; Tuesday teaching kicked off again, as did the Wednesday night class I go to, followed by a meeting on Thursday and a very late night dem-ing and helping run a ceilidh at a local barracks on Friday.
So today have done little that is productive. Met up with a friend for coffee, and watch Red Road in the morning on LoveFilm instant. Initially had it on my list because Tony Curran is in it (oh man, he’s lovely to look at, and on a fraction less shallow scale, impressed me as Vincent van Gough in Doctor Who and King Stephen in Pillars of the Earth), but came away exceedingly impressed with Kate Dickie’s (who I knew I’d seen before but it took a net search to realise she is Lysa Arryn in Game of Thrones performance, and curious about director Andrea Arnold’s other films. Atmospheric, beautifully made and gripping (and just to show what a one-track mind I have, it also featured a very compelling sex scene, which I suspect one wasn’t meant to find hot, but, well…Tony Curran as I said.)
(Tangentially, I wonder what Arnold was trying to say with the many inclusions of random and not so random shots of dogs – I have my thoughts but that would give away the ending a bit much and it works better not knowing where it’s all going. Update: Interesting review (with spoilers) here that theorises not only on the dogs but the use of other animals in the film.)
But, now for some more sentences.
Brendan reached out to Marc’s shoulder, brushing over his skin, frowning as his fingers found the scratches. “You’re hurt.”
Marc’s eyes fell to Brendan’s fingers on his shoulder. Holding the rifle and the lantern, Marc couldn’t touch him back. He shrugged. “Just scratches.”
“Still…”
Brendan’s gaze shifted up to the night sky. Marc followed it. In their hurry, they hadn’t noticed the moon, not quite full, hanging in a cloudless sky.
Brendan grinned. “Now there’s a thought.”
Mirrored from jacquelinebrocker.esquinx.net.
