Title: Slight of Hand
Team: Death Eaters
Summary: They can talk… but she knows.
Length: 4 X 100
I am a writer, a submissive, a servant of my Muse. I love creativity, and want to inspire and encourage everyone around me to create, whether it be writing, art, music, crafts, cooking...Creating is our birthright.
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There is a space between pen and paper. For some, it is a chasm, in which the two only meet as storm fronts colliding, leaving wreckage and disaster in their wake.
For those touched by the Muse, it is a distance of an angel’s eyelash. The distance between the blank canvas and the pen is the moment before the magik happens.
The Muse never lies, the Muse never compromises. He takes your hand, and together you close the distance between the pen and the paper, between nothing and everything, and it is love manifested into art manifested back into love.
There are visions you have shown me for which I have no language,
Moments captured in the dark, sweet promises of remembrance;
There are mornings where your silken voice stirs my soul with gentle whispers,
Like incense moving through the air, like choir in evening vespers.
Inspire me, and I'll be the voice you sing with,
Whisper in my ear and I will shout it to the sky.
Give me music; write it on my skin with tongues of fire,
Push me, coax me, fuel me with your love...
He sits and watches and waits.
Waits for that perfect moment, that splinter of time when she is receptive to his words.
His mellifluous tone whispers truths in her ear; truths he dare not share with others.
He watches as she teases the threads, unraveling, twisting, unfurling the truth and the half-truths.
She twists the words together into a captivating spell revealing his true nature to those who have beloved and trusted in him.
With her his story is safe.
She sees the truth behind the lies.
There will be no salacious rumours slipping from her pen - she sees him.
Her submission is without limits, he likes her commitment, she listens to every whispered word skilfully spinning his wants, needs and desires into reality... she inspires him just as surely as he inspires her.
I think that 'smut' is, at its very heart, a deep sigh, an immense longing for wholeness expressed through the vehicle of human sexuality, which is physical poetry and mystical in nature; an unveiling of the vulnerable, loving, communal universal heart.
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