Dear Readers,

I was informed today that FF is removing all "M" rated fics and cancelling accounts with stories depicting sex or violence. For that reason to be safe, I have deleted the story "Time,in this series (which was not really though it explicit did contain the most overt sexual content). I will not be continuing this series, until later notice, as I do not wish to have my account terminated or lose all the lovely reviews you have sent me.

It is a little hard to write FF for a fic that has these element (well, not so much violence as sex) as its heart.

Please write support at FF and ask them to reinstate the MA rating so that authors can have the freedom to write what they want to. In the meantime, I will be looking for another place to post my stories. Until then I will miss you all.

Hopefully FF will reinstate the MA rating and if this happens, I will certainly repost the missing chapters.

In the meantime, If you'd like to PM me and let me know that you'd like to be informed when/where I find a new home for my fics, please do so. I have to say this turn of events has been very saddening to me as this fandom and FF have become a wonderful community, almost like a family for this three headed pup.




So, this was originally intended to be a series of one shots, each exactly 1000 words in length involving all couples. However, I am too wordy for my own damn good and so it has evolved a collection of one shots and short fics with each chapter hovering between 1000-2000 words: snapshots into a moment of the JR couples lives. The first two pieces are Romantica, so far thereafter the rest are Egoist. All my Terrorist pieces can be found in The Terrorists Handbook.

I would love to hear what you think, so please consider dropping me a review.



Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica or any of its characters.

Rating: The pieces in this series range from T to M or PG 13 - R.

Contains: Occasional harsh language and adult situations including nudity and reference to sexual situations.

A Thousand Words

One: Romantica One Shot

A Picture

A picture is worth a thousand words, is how the saying went and right now Akihiko was trying to locate each one of those to describe the breathtaking scene that lay before him.

The author leaned back; seated on one of his dining-room chairs. Unusual for him, he was wearing nothing more than a pair of grey slacks, his lean torso bare. His long fingers tip-tapped the keys of his laptop, a smoldering cigarette wisped smoke from the mouth of the panda ashtray beside the computer.

As his fingers moved skillfully across the keyboard, the man's pale lavender eyes alternated between the glowing screen of the computer and the glowing flesh of his lovely Misaki.

Akihiko had surprised the boy as he was bringing in the laundry from where it had been hanging out on the balcony, drying in the heat of the early summer sun. He had taken the teen (after some persistent persuasion of course) right there. They had collapsed on the floor, their limbs tangling atop the pile of fresh sheets that Misaki had been carrying. It had been, as every time was for Akihiko, glorious.

It had been almost a week since the two men had experienced that kind of union. The build up between the two lovers had been great and the power of their release, incredible. Akihiko had exhausted the boy with his attentions, to the point that the usually modest Misaki was sleeping, still completely naked, amidst the crisp linens on the floor.

The author had always thought that it was in Misaki's sleep that the pureness of his young lover's spirit was most clearly revealed: his countenance more ethereal than human.

Tousled chocolate locks curled around the boy's heart-shaped face. A few strands, still damp from their exertions, clung to Misaki's smooth brow. The author noted the fullness of the boy's kiss bruised mouth, the streaks on his still flushed cheeks left by the tears of their passion. One tear that had not fallen, remained behind in the corner of the boy's eye, snared in his long dark lashes.

The sliding glass doors that led to the apartment's balcony were behind the boy. The sultry afternoon sun pouring in through the panes gave a haloed edge to Misaki's outline.

The youth was lying on his side, one leg slightly bent. This posture gave a delicious twist to the teen's narrow hips. He had one arm stretched out before him; the fabric of the sheets remained balled in the grasp of his small fist. The other arm was bent, his fine-boned fingers curled like an infant's, tucked slightly under his chin.

A shadow caught beneath Misaki's jaw emphasized the delicate angularity of his face, the lovely length of his neck. Then a sudden shift in the light grazed the side of Misaki's smooth limbs in just such a way that for a moment, the soft fuzz on the boy's forearms was highlighted. Something in the adolescent innocence of this made Akihiko's heart begin to flutter madly.

The youth looked like a sleeping nymph. Caught in the crumpled folds of the wind starched sheets, lost amidst their white drapery, Misaki reminded Akihiko of a Grecian marble: of stone polished smooth by loving hands, of exquisite lines carefully carved by a master artist. Only the subtle motion of the boy's breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his deliciously concave belly indicated that this sculpture was indeed flesh.

The author could still see the residual trails made earlier by his tongue, licking up the teen's torso. His eyes followed these up, alighting on the pale petals of Misaki's nipples.

Then his gaze shifted, following the paths back down, traveling below the youth's waist.

A gentle peak of material obscured Akihiko's view of his lover's most intimate parts, the velvet bag of Misaki's sac, the length of his delightfully responsive member.

As though sensing the author's thoughts, Misaki's emerald eyes opened slowly. The older man felt the weight of the boy's stare upon him and lifted his eyes to meet his lover's verdant gaze.

Akihiko held his breath. It was like having a deer wander into your garden. The silver-haired man remained completely still. He did not want to frighten this wild and lovely creature into flight.

Surprisingly, rather than follow his normal pattern of response at waking (rising in a flurry of motion and retreating amidst exclamations of denial and disgust), Misaki continued to lie there, regarding the author from beneath heavy-lidded eyes: eyes that were still slightly glazed from drinking, so recently and so deeply, the intoxicating liquors of love and lust.

Akihiko was stunned to see the corners of Misaki's lovely mouth subtly curl up, as a satisfied sigh escaped from behind the youth's lips. His eyelids, drifted slowly down again and he turned his head slightly, nestling back in.

The author's hands stilled above his keyboard, as he studied Misaki a moment more, then in a single fluid motion, he highlighted all the text he had just typed.

He stood up and slipped out of his trousers, draping them over his chair, stubbed out his cigarette, and pressed the delete button.

The screen went blank.

Akihiko, moved over to his young lover. He lowered himself and lay down beside the boy, carefully arranging himself around his darling's lithe limbs. He draped one arm over Misaki's thin shoulder. He nestled his silver head over the top of the other's unruly brown one. He felt the warmth of the afternoon's lengthening rays on the cool skin of his back, the heat of Misaki's small body against his front as the boy pushed back, snuggling into him.

Akihiko closed his eyes, breathing in the sent of Misaki's skin: of sweat, and soap, and sun.

A thousand words was not enough… Akihiko realized suddenly that even if he used all the words of all the world's languages, they would still not be sufficient to express by the man, in this moment, this picture of his love.

The End

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