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samcdermott65, who's resolution was Lose 20 lbs. Curb the wine consumption or eliminate it all together. Eat healthier.
*****
Mark stretched out, languorous and heavy-limbed, coming so gradually awake that he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. They'd collapsed together in the recovery coma of le petite mort, so the gas lights were still casting their gilded glow over the scene: Mark's dark wooden floors strewn with discarded garments, his own leg, thrown over the side of the mahogany framed day-bed, the muscle-shaded back of the beautiful young man who was sprawling across Mark's lap.
Oh yes, the New Year was off to a sterling start!
The memories gentle nudged at him, the way the young man's mouth had opened under Mark's in the back of the carriage, the flush that coloured his cheeks, the electricity in his fingers, when the barriers of clothing were finally removed. Dancing, Miss Harper's back stiff-laced and smooth satin under his gloved fingers, and over her shoulder Stephan – oh yes – Stephan! The young man has a name. An artist. A sculptor. Russian. Snapping dark eyes and porcelain skin under wild black hair...
Mark's fingers drifted over Stephan's broad shoulder, and the sleeping man sighed, sank more deeply into the cushions, breathing against Mark's hip.
Beautiful and wild and strong, and if he put into his sculptures half as much passion as he'd put into their love making, Stephan must be a phenomenal artist as well. Terribly young, of course, but he'd been willing enough to tumble into Marks carriage last night, to enjoy the fruits of Mark's experience. Peering down the length of their bodies, the comparison between Stephan's lean musculature and his own softer body was undeniable.
Mark might actually have to work to keep this one. Gamble less, write more …
A memory rose of Stephan pushing the wine glass away from his lips, when Mark had tried to raise a toast to the coming dawn. For this one, Mark could abandon wine, if he was to drink Stephan's lips instead. Reduce his consumption, anyway. For Stephan, Mark could be resolved. Less dissipation, more work, less wine, healthful exercise… So long as a good proportion of his exertions were in the pursuit of pleasure with this magnificent man, Mark was sure he could endure the rest.
samcdermott65, who's resolution was Lose 20 lbs. Curb the wine consumption or eliminate it all together. Eat healthier.*****
Mark stretched out, languorous and heavy-limbed, coming so gradually awake that he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. They'd collapsed together in the recovery coma of le petite mort, so the gas lights were still casting their gilded glow over the scene: Mark's dark wooden floors strewn with discarded garments, his own leg, thrown over the side of the mahogany framed day-bed, the muscle-shaded back of the beautiful young man who was sprawling across Mark's lap.
Oh yes, the New Year was off to a sterling start!
The memories gentle nudged at him, the way the young man's mouth had opened under Mark's in the back of the carriage, the flush that coloured his cheeks, the electricity in his fingers, when the barriers of clothing were finally removed. Dancing, Miss Harper's back stiff-laced and smooth satin under his gloved fingers, and over her shoulder Stephan – oh yes – Stephan! The young man has a name. An artist. A sculptor. Russian. Snapping dark eyes and porcelain skin under wild black hair...
Mark's fingers drifted over Stephan's broad shoulder, and the sleeping man sighed, sank more deeply into the cushions, breathing against Mark's hip.
Beautiful and wild and strong, and if he put into his sculptures half as much passion as he'd put into their love making, Stephan must be a phenomenal artist as well. Terribly young, of course, but he'd been willing enough to tumble into Marks carriage last night, to enjoy the fruits of Mark's experience. Peering down the length of their bodies, the comparison between Stephan's lean musculature and his own softer body was undeniable.
Mark might actually have to work to keep this one. Gamble less, write more …
A memory rose of Stephan pushing the wine glass away from his lips, when Mark had tried to raise a toast to the coming dawn. For this one, Mark could abandon wine, if he was to drink Stephan's lips instead. Reduce his consumption, anyway. For Stephan, Mark could be resolved. Less dissipation, more work, less wine, healthful exercise… So long as a good proportion of his exertions were in the pursuit of pleasure with this magnificent man, Mark was sure he could endure the rest.