#mineapple

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you walk a fine line between thrilling openness and self-destruction

Malcolm’s breath caught in his throat. His room was dark, save for the light above his bed. There, on the sheets, skin golden even under the harsh white light, lay his lover. Already, Malcolm could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and blood running south. He licked his lips, and when he spoke his voice was rough, needy. 

“You’re already here...?” It trailed off into more of a question, as he stumbled towards the bed and his lover. No response, but there was that look in their eyes, the look that said ‘Take me Malcolm, take me now’. Yanking the zipper of his uniform down, Malcolm quickly stripped off, before climbing into bed beside his delectable partner. He ran a hand over rough skin, allowing his mind to wander and imagine the sweet juices held within.  

(I also have questions about why he's so attached to that pineapple, but my crew like cooked carrots in jello so no judgment here.)