(no subject)

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

Minimalist attempt at entry.

Man. Suit. New York Times. Booth. J&B, rocks.

Humming.

(I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts
There they are all standing in a row
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head
Give them a twist a flick of the wrist
That’s what the showman said )

Comments

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

About three seconds worth of a that kiss, sucking on his lips until they are almost raw before his hands splay against Thom's chest, well-manicured and smooth. Giving him a hard shove backwards, and his voice is hoarse and barely recognizable to his own ears.

"Now, go away."

[giftedthom.livejournal.com]

*Graceless, he falls and doesn't rise.

Thom draws a finger along the line of his own bottom lip. Once. His eyes are wide and he says, softly*

Sure.

*and disappears*

[yuppie-trash.livejournal.com]

He shudders, finishes what's left of the whisky, and leaves. Quickly.