Categories > Celebrities > Marilyn Manson > Dear Diary
Prologue
0 ReviewsHe seemed so peaceful, so innocent, and I would never have needed convincing otherwise.
I haven't been writing for a while, sorry! Been back at college so busy busy busy! Anyway I was writing a My Chemical Romance fic, I still am but I want to concentrate on Marilyn atm, does anyone read about Marilyn? Eh well I guess I'll find out, R&R would be lovely :) it's pretty short, it doesn't make sense and I don't really know where I'm going with it, well I do, but I don't know if I'll make it into a full story, depends if anyone likes it so let me know, if not might just make it a one shot or a series of drabbles.
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Prologue
Through glazed shy eyes I watched him and I found myself pondering upon my shyness. I had never been a timid girl so why did the entirety of my frame tremble under his very glance. There was something about him that clung to me but I had never met the young man in my life. I didn't know him, I only knew his face. I only knew what the world had told me about him, or what he wanted the world to think of him.
I wasn't scared. There wasn't a way on earth I could be. I often wondered how something so perfect like himself could be seen as so corruptive, so repulsive.
His perfection gleamed even more so in my moonlit bedroom. The porcelain of his skin glittered in the dim light as our limbs tangled, his long dark hair curtained my face as he moved over me so gracefully. He drew his tongue across my neck until it met my ear and then he told me to call him by his real name, yet still I was shy. He was firm with me but gentle all at once. Gentle wasn't a word one would associate with this man, but I knew he was tender from the moment I saw him. I read into his hazel eyes like a book and I understood, something not many people could bring themselves to do, not that he would want them to.
I wanted to raise my quivering fingertips and trace them over his bare chest but I felt too nervous to touch, like a young child with clumsy hands ready to smear the virgin snow of his flesh. However he was forceful and he wanted me to feel. My sweaty palms were pressed to his body and I choked back gasps of pleasure. He was nothing but skin, bone and ink but I liked that. When he smashed his lips against mine the cold metal of his lip ring pushed against my warm mouth and I liked that too. I liked the way he planted kisses light enough to be butterflies across my face, across my half closed eyelids. I liked the way he had no battle in owning control over our dance but showed no protest when I wanted to lead. I liked the way he moaned softly when I found the soft area of his neck, the way he gripped my hair with stick like fingers to tell me when I collided with the right spots and the way he ground his hips against my own until I called out in ecstasy.
What I liked most was the way he looked the next morning under my yellowing sheets. The blanket of raven hair had been tucked behind his small ears revealing the raw beauty of his sleeping face as he hugged the pillow with slender arms. He seemed so peaceful, so innocent, and I would never have needed convincing otherwise.
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Prologue
Through glazed shy eyes I watched him and I found myself pondering upon my shyness. I had never been a timid girl so why did the entirety of my frame tremble under his very glance. There was something about him that clung to me but I had never met the young man in my life. I didn't know him, I only knew his face. I only knew what the world had told me about him, or what he wanted the world to think of him.
I wasn't scared. There wasn't a way on earth I could be. I often wondered how something so perfect like himself could be seen as so corruptive, so repulsive.
His perfection gleamed even more so in my moonlit bedroom. The porcelain of his skin glittered in the dim light as our limbs tangled, his long dark hair curtained my face as he moved over me so gracefully. He drew his tongue across my neck until it met my ear and then he told me to call him by his real name, yet still I was shy. He was firm with me but gentle all at once. Gentle wasn't a word one would associate with this man, but I knew he was tender from the moment I saw him. I read into his hazel eyes like a book and I understood, something not many people could bring themselves to do, not that he would want them to.
I wanted to raise my quivering fingertips and trace them over his bare chest but I felt too nervous to touch, like a young child with clumsy hands ready to smear the virgin snow of his flesh. However he was forceful and he wanted me to feel. My sweaty palms were pressed to his body and I choked back gasps of pleasure. He was nothing but skin, bone and ink but I liked that. When he smashed his lips against mine the cold metal of his lip ring pushed against my warm mouth and I liked that too. I liked the way he planted kisses light enough to be butterflies across my face, across my half closed eyelids. I liked the way he had no battle in owning control over our dance but showed no protest when I wanted to lead. I liked the way he moaned softly when I found the soft area of his neck, the way he gripped my hair with stick like fingers to tell me when I collided with the right spots and the way he ground his hips against my own until I called out in ecstasy.
What I liked most was the way he looked the next morning under my yellowing sheets. The blanket of raven hair had been tucked behind his small ears revealing the raw beauty of his sleeping face as he hugged the pillow with slender arms. He seemed so peaceful, so innocent, and I would never have needed convincing otherwise.
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