Oh, so that's puce. (mijmeraar) wrote in mash100th,
Oh, so that's puce.


for the prompt 'escape' and rated R.


One year, two months and fifty seven days.

It’s lyrical, rolls off the tongue like wasted, hackneyed phrases [carry on, carry over, Cary grant]. One year, two months and fifty seven days. It’s pretty and you say it once, once more; with your mouth at his ear and your bodies twisted wrong to fit, be one.

“One year, two months and fifty seven days,” you tell him, angry, and he groans, shifts, exhales.

“I know. I know, I know, I know.”

You fuck him into tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that.

You fuck him because time and space allows it.

cookie to BJ.

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