| Myth of the Roses of the Jardin des Tuileries By: Tiger on Vaseline Disclaimer: I still don't know Darren or Daniel�I've never met them, and I have never been to France, either. Acknowledgments: To D.H. Lawrence�who must be rolling in his grave-so sorry!!! The paragraph marked thus: * has a line inspired from a scene in "Women in Love". Dedications: I just couldn't say no to Cammie-chan...this Valentine's Day fic is written for you, because I love you. ^_~ ** Darren woke up that morning alone; lying spread-eagled, face down, and completely nude over the rumpled, stained hotel bed, his blond Apollo nowhere in sight. Blinking his eyes open, he struggles to pull himself into a sitting position, only to find himself unable to, held back by some unknown force. Fully awake now he realizes this is so because he is being tied back, by constraints around his wrists that are connected to the bedposts. We-elllll...he thinks,�there could be only one person behind this�but where could he be? His voice is reminiscent of a lost child's when he whispers his lover's name, eyes straining in vain in quest for him. But then, as if you divine intervention (or a really funny coincidence), he hears the door swish open, and in floats his Cupid. Ah-ha! -He exclaims. I see you're *finally* awake! I was afraid I bonked you so hard last night that you fell unconscious or something...and we can't have that, can we? Today being our favorite holiday, in the best city, and all. And also, I would never get a chance to tell you about the most amazing place I went to this morning! Darren cocks an eyebrow, turning his head to see Daniel take a seat beside him on the bed. Well, you see, he continues, I was taking a stroll through the Tuileries early this morning�you know, whilst you were dead to the world, and all...and I was surrounded by the most *beautiful* red, red roses. Supposedly, as I am told, they are enchanted by magical, enchanted fairies who sleep among them. Obviously, the first thing I thought of was you... At that moment, Darren notices for the first time his companions on the bed. Surrounding him, covering the stained white sheets and cascading onto the floor were thousands of red roses and petals. There were so many, he was virtually swimming in them on the bed. Several roses, still attached to their stems, were even strategically placed around and inserted into a certain part of his anatomy. Eyes tearing with surprise and euphoria, he gazes up into the rapt face of his lover. Daniel... Happy Valentine's Day...he coos, undoing the restraints and carefully extracting the stemmed rose from Darren. Turning around, Darren watches Daniel climb onto the rose-strewn bed over him and twirl the rose between his fingers. I made sure�that they didn't have thorns�he grins, before covering Darren's mouth with his own. His mouth even tasted like nectar-thought Darren as Daniel left his mouth and trailed wet kisses and kneaded into Darren's flesh with deft fingers. Ohh�Daniel!�he moans, tearing his clothes off and clawing at him when Daniel takes a rose and brushes the petals lightly against the sensitive skin of his erection, jutting out like a tree from the rosy bush covering his groin. Crawling back up to his face now, Daniel pins Darren's shoulders to the bed with his hands, and in one quick movement, twirls him around again. Kissing and licking up the drops of sweat on Darren's back, the two men entangle themselves tighter and tighter into an incomprehensible octopus-ball, sweat mixing with saliva and blood, gluing the petals to their skins as Daniel drove his stamen into Darren's pistil. Together, rapturous, intent and mindless at last, the two figures intertwine; reaching closer towards heaven with each scream, each thrust, converging into one and ceasing to be separate entities. * At length, upon pollinating Darren with his sweet, sticky love, Daniel collapses onto the bed besides Darren and lays inert; save for his great, ragged panting. Darren was much more exhausted, almost hyperventilating, and yet scarcely able to breathe. Daniel grins, a wide, evil grin, like a Cheshire Cat, full of hidden meaning and double-entendres. Don't tell me you're tired already-he pants-we still haven't even gotten to the Valentine's chocolate yet! The End |