December 14th, 2002



It's the roughness that draws her.

Utter opposition to what she's loved before. No dewy, soft skin, just hard, male angles. Blunt, manicured fingernails, calluses along thumb and index finger that drag across her skin and catch in an accidental, incendiary touch.

Maybe it's the tone of his voice, all that oak and charcoal, coloring the cultured tones when he removes the leash of tweed-bound control that is his mask and their protection.

Found some!

I'm sure this is old news in some corner of the world, but I've found some Wiles fic that's very readable by

Lies To Children

She Is Pressed Down

Willow Weeps

Thanks to everyone who's helped me locate the goodness...

Edited to add: I emailed Gulessable with my profuse thanks, and she replied that this is the sum total for now, but that there's another in the works to be posted in a month or so. *big grins*