#sweet nothings

With some distance between us, my voice is authoritative, strong, low. Commanding, you might venture, depending on the context. It’s a thing to be listened to, each clipped, pronounced word. The power in it is obvious, something that can be clearly heard.

But when I’m up close, lips against your neck, breath rushing down your spine, sweet… well, they’re not nothings, really, are they? They’re words, and they’ve got their own power. An intimate sort of power, the kind that is there regardless of what the words themselves actually are. When I’m right there, I’ve got a direct line to your subconscious. Do not pass the frontal cortex, do not pay any attention to what I’m saying. Just know that I’m saying it. 

Little pieces might be picked up, I’ll admit. The odd slut orcumrag might filter through into your mind when you can wrestle your attention away from the feeling of my hot breath against your neck. If you’ve got a powerful will, you might even be able to pick up the odd fragment of a sentence, the occasional I’m going to ruin… or…pin down that petulant little behind and… but the entire thing? That’s not for you. Not the you that drives you. They’re going to find a nice little home in the back of your mind. 

Because proximity is a powerful thing. And never more so than when you’re already addled with desire.