Like the Song Says

The girl 's too young for this, at least if you believe her ID. She's sixteen. Legs that are legs all the way up, hair down to her ass. She's wearing vintage velvet, her grandmother's heirloom mink, coloured beads laced through individual strands of hair.

She's a rocker, a fox. Sweet sixteen, icy hot or, as one boyfriend says, only fourteen but she knows how to draw.

High heels, onstage, amps at her back, dancing the night away. The musicians are ten years her senior, making all that noise, making all those passes.

Nothing makes her happier than playing with fire.

warning...porny!

Fire drabble

Her body is a drawn bow above him, taut and arched. Her mouth is open, lips flushing a deeper pink with each breath, and her lashes flutter though her eyes are closed. Hair clings to her cheek and neck. Tiny droplets of sweat form on her breasts, rolling slowly down her abdomen as she grips hot, red fingerprints into his chest. Her legs are folded tight against his waist like unfurled wings.

She is humming with blood and lust and desire; if you touched her skin, it would burn.

She rises out of him, a phoenix on fire, being reborn.

Hot damn.

drabble

To a fireman, Fire is a goddess, cruel and beautiful, supremely powerful, beckoning her acolytes into the battle that can never be won, only brought to a draw. She has a voice which can only be heard when you step into the living, burning heart that makes Hell a frail word. Those who have heard that voice and survived live only to search it out again.

She will ask your pain and your blood, force you to listen to the screams of your brothers and sisters as they fall before her. And when you heal--physically, for the mental scars are a lifetime's sacrifice to her--you pursue her again. For those who have faced the elemental heart of chaos, all other lives are dark.

Whoa. Powerful, all of them.

Very. I particularly like the imagery in Kristin's. I've semi-done connie's and would have written about it, but now it wouldn't work. Good thing I have all week to think about it.

Do you know an honest fireman, too, Sail?

Nope, don't know any firemen. But, I had to go through aircraft fire-fighting school to get my enlisted air warfare specialist wings. Spent a week playing fireman, puting out fires in rooms, mock hangar bays with burning aircraft, etc. I learned a lot about myself from the training.

Anybody else got the Springsteen earworm? I may end up writing "Romeo and Juliet/Samson and Delilah/"

For connie and the real firemen out there:

“Can I go last? Please, I can’t breathe. I can’t do it.”

Blind without my glasses, the instructor just a smudge through the OBA. How would I be able to navigate without my glasses?

My turn. I knew this path. The steps counted and turns memorized during the dry run. In the door, instantly blinded by the smoke. One, two, three…six more steps--ladder on the right. Something bumped into me. Another student. He was floundering, going the wrong way. I grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Up the stairs--right, twelve steps--door. We're out and I can breathe.