Prophet And Tommy Quotes & Sayings

After my marriage she edited everything I wrote. And what is more, she not only edited my works, she edited me. — Mark Twain

Could you bite back your complaints? You're fucking with my run."
"Your run is fucking with my ability to complain," Tom called back. — S.E. Jakes

Tommy . . ." And then Tom murmured, "Lije," in his ear, his voice raspy and desperate, and Prophet shuddered, suddenly as desperate as Tom sounded. Of course, Tom noticed. And that's when he began fucking Prophet in earnest, saying his name like a cross between a chant and a prayer, and Prophet was damned sure no one had made it sound better. No one had ever shortened it like that, but back in New Orleans, Tom had taken it and made it his own, using it every time they fucked. Like he was proving he knew Prophet, reminding Prophet that he'd let Tom in and there was no backing out now. Prophet — S.E. Jakes

I'm never letting you do my laundry. Again."
"I didn't know the red towel was in there," Prophet protested.
"You did it on purpose to get out of doing laundry."
"Maybe. But it worked."
"Fucking impossible. — S.E. Jakes

Talk later." Prophet kissed the side of his neck.
"Fuck, then sleep, then fuck again, then pack."
"Good itinerary. — S.E. Jakes

Michael Jackson's charity efforts? Mmm. I'm sure they have nothing to do with his molestation charges. — Christian Finnegan

Prophet was still half buzzed, although he was waning when they got back to the apartment . . . but Tommy was quiet. At first, Prophet thought he might be tired, which would be understandable . . . but it was more than that. Tommy was restless. He put his hand on Tommy's knee, which had been bouncing a hundred miles an hour as he sat on the couch, like he was waiting for . . . something. "Sorry," Tommy said sheepishly. "That wound me up more than I realized." Prophet — S.E. Jakes

Prophet's neck corded with tension, and he never took his eyes from Tom's face, not even when he broke apart and came so hard it was like he was shattering. "Tommy . . ." A breath, a whisper even, as Tom came on the heels of Prophet's climax like a scream in the night, hot and fast like an electric jolt that stunned him senseless. Prophet's hand broke its hold, curled around Tom's neck, pulling him down so their faces were close, his body shuddering as Tom's hips jerked erratically. His last thought was that their hands were still clasped tight together. — S.E. Jakes

Tommy. Tommy, who rolled him again fast, pinning Prophet underneath him, grabbing Prophet's wrists and holding them the ground above his head. Tommy, who kissed him before he could curse or think, an all-consuming, punishing grind of a kiss that promised Prophet exactly the fuck he was in for. God, he liked those kinds of promises. Needed Tommy to hold him down and make things okay, because he would. But he didn't stop struggling though, because hell, he wasn't going to lose his touch, wouldn't make it easy on the fucker who'd decided to go Houdini and bypass all the security cams, just because. But — S.E. Jakes

The ladies like that?" a male agent asked Tommy. "Men like it more," Tom told him, which confirmed to Prophet that the physical yank he'd felt toward the man hadn't been his imagination. Fucking accent. — S.E. Jakes

I don't know whether to punch you or kiss you."
"A combination of both is usually the best," Prophet advised. — S.E. Jakes

Yeah, that was the goal - to fuck Prophet so hard and well that he slept like a baby. He moved so he was chest to back, thigh to thigh, the contact like a wrestling pose. He bit down on Prophet's neck where it met his shoulder, enough to leave a mark as he entered him. Prophet hissed at the intrusion, but Tom didn't stop. A slow, smooth push through the pain would make Prophet's body yield to him. "Relax, Proph," he said, more of a demand than a request, and the tension in Prophet's shoulders dissipated as Tom held his hips, rocked against him. "Fuck. Fuck," was all Prophet said when Tom didn't give him time to recover. He didn't need it, not the way Tom had opened him, was pressing him, holding him impaled with his cock. "Tommy . . ." That's the way the man should always sound when he says Tommy. Prophet — S.E. Jakes

We've gotten through a lot of shit already, Tommy. A lot. Maybe more than we're supposed to. Maybe we've reached our limit."
"Still trying to protect me."
"Always."
"I'm going to chance it. Figure the universe already put us through hell.I think we're meant to come out the other side together."
Prophet rolled his eyes. "Romantic fucking voodoo Cajun shit. — S.E. Jakes

If nothing else, Prophet prided himself on his ability to be irrational. Everyone was always raving about how being cool, calm, and collected was the best way to be. Prophet found the exact opposite worked most of the time. Tommy — S.E. Jakes

I want to stay here with you and Tom."
Prophet glanced at him. He was so steadfast in his insistence, but then, just for the second, something akin to fear skittered across Remy's face.
"What's wrong?"
"It's just ... is that going to ruin your plans to kill yourself?" he asked seriously, and Prophet saw the fear in the young man's face again, and realized it was more for Prophet than for himself.
"No. That dick already did that." He pointed in Tommy direction - still on the phone, his expression tight with anger. — S.E. Jakes

Tommy!" He didn't know why he hadn't wanted Prophet to call him that. Now, he didn't want Prophet to call him anything else. — S.E. Jakes

He wanted to remember all of this, the scent of Prophet's skin, the weight of his cock in his hand. More than that, he wanted Prophet to remember this, wanted to embed it into his brain and onto his body. Prophet's cock was long and thick and begging for Tom's mouth. Prophet hissed when Tommy sucked on him before taking him halfway. "Tommy." That was it. That one word, but the tone of voice nearly had Tom coming on the bed. He took Prophet's cock deep into his throat, and Prophet arched up into him, fucking his mouth with several strong thrusts of his hips. Tom let him for a few moments and then stopped him with a firm grasp on both his hips, pinning him. "More," Prophet bit out as Tom sucked him, handled his balls. Tom ran his tongue directly up the vein on the underside of his cock, pressing firmly for good measure. His — S.E. Jakes

When you stop caring about something, then other people have to decide whether or not they genuinely care about you, or not. — Hayley Williams

I realize you're planning on fighting all the dragons single-handedly-"
"I'm going to protect you from John, dammit. Show him that he can't fucking mess with you. This is about territory."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to piss a circle around me too?"
"If that's what it takes. — S.E. Jakes

When one has finished building one's house, one suddenly realizes that in the process one has learned something that one really needed to know in the worst way - before one began. — Friedrich Nietzsche

You're right - piercings are good." Prophet was the one who was high now. Tom managed to wrest back control by bucking at an angle that made Prophet stiffen and give a near whimper. "Yeah, Tommy, like that." One of his hands was on Prophet's shoulder as he rocked his hips back and forth, the other on Prophet's leaking cock. Prophet was matching him stroke for stroke, his head against the headboard, which in turn slammed the wall, the bed threatening to break apart. Tom's entire body was reduced to a heartbeat. "Tommy!" He didn't know why he hadn't wanted Prophet to call him that. Now, he didn't want Prophet to call him anything else. Tom sped up, his breath coming in halting gasps. — S.E. Jakes

Part of me hates that you know me so well."
"And the other part?"
Prophet gave a faint grin, then said quietly, "Loves it," like if he said it too loudly, fate might swoop in and snatch this moment, the word, out from under them.
Tom stilled. He didn't need the words, never really had. Like Prophet, he valued actions, but to actually hear that one word out of Prophet's mouth ... it was all Tom needed. — S.E. Jakes

He walked back around and faced Prophet for a long moment, before putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing down. "On your knees." His voice sounded husky to his own ears. Rough too, and his throat was thick - with lust, with a million other emotions that only intensified when Prophet sank down as ordered and tugged at Tom's zipper with his teeth. Tom threaded his hand in Prophet's hair and pulled him back. Pulled his own zipper down with his free hand, slowly, exposing his piercings one by one as he freed his cock. "That what you're looking for?" "Yeah, Tommy," Prophet murmured. "Fucking let me." Tom — S.E. Jakes

There's design, and there's art. Good design is total harmony. There's no better designer than nature - if you look at a branch or a leaf, it's perfect. It's all function. Art is different. It's about emotion. It's about suffering and beauty - but mostly suffering! — Diane Von Furstenberg

Words of wisdom: Drop that zero and get with the hero. — Vanilla Ice

After she married the Duke of York, she immediately transformed his life, bringing him love, understanding, sympathy and support for which he had always craved. She inspired him, she calmed him and she enabled him for the first time in his life to believe in himself. Her sense of humor awoke his own, her natural gaiety lightened him. Their marriage was a rare union in which each complemented and enhanced the other. — William Shawcross

It's just you now."
"Just you." Tom closed his eyes for just a second, soothed by the warm rub of Prophet's palm, then opened them. "I love you. Who the fuck else could compete?"
Prophet pulled back for a second. Repeated, "Who the fuck else could compete?" with his hand on Tom's heart. — S.E. Jakes

Prophet finally breathed when the forceps came off - how long he'd been holding it, he had no idea, but fuck, everything was reduced to the feeling of the piercing, the burning throb in his nipple, and that made it hard to focus on anything else. A long moment later, the ring was locked firmly in place, and Tommy was sinking to his knees in front of him, unzipping his pants and taking his hard cock down his throat. Prophet shot immediately - and Tom had to know that would happen. Prophet knew he'd no doubt have come as he was being pierced . . . if he'd had Tom sucking him while Ray did the piercing. But that was interesting as a fantasy only. Because this wasn't about sharing. Or payback. This was Tom showing him that he understood. That, no matter what, no matter how pissed they got, how much they fucked up . . . Prophet was his. Which was Tom's way of assuring that he wasn't going anywhere. — S.E. Jakes

I think that people get experiences, and out of those experiences come meaning and ideas. It's like watching a rose bush grow. — Rachel Naomi Remen

Have you noticed, now, the way people talk so loudly in snackbars and cinemas, how the shelved back gardens shudder with prodigies of talentlessness, drummers, penny-whistlers, vying transistors, the way you see and hear the curses and sign-language of high sexual drama at the bus-stops under ghosts of clouds, how life has come out of doors? And in the soaked pubs the old-timers wince and weather the canned rock. We talk louder to make ourselves heard. We will all be screamers soon. — Martin Amis

Let's get rid of those fucking ghosts once and for all, Proph. We tried burying them, but that never works. So how about we just set them free?"
"And let them go into the light, Carol Anne?"
"And just like that, you're a goddamned bastard again." But Tom was smiling as he said it. — S.E. Jakes

Ah, Proph." Tom paused. "You did have a nightmare last night."
"And here I thought maybe I dreamed it," Prophet muttered sarcastically. — S.E. Jakes

Why exactly are we so frightened of death that we avoid looking at it altogether? Somewhere, deep down, we know we cannot avoid facing death forever. We know, in Milarepa's words: "This thing called 'corpse' we dread so much is living with us here and now." — Sogyal Rinpoche

tucked an arm around the back of Prophet's neck and Prophet buried his face in Doc's shoulder as Doc said, "It's not fair. I know it's not. But before you do anything else, you have to tell Tom." "How do you know I haven't?" "How do I know the sun rises in the morning?" "Fucker," Prophet muttered against Doc's shoulder. "Disability-hater." Doc rubbed the back of his neck but didn't make a move to let him go. And Prophet was okay with that. "Do you want me to tell him?" Doc asked finally. "Yeah. But you can't." God, it was safe right here, with Doc. And Prophet wanted it to be this safe with Tommy . . . and it was, except for this issue. Which he hadn't given Tommy the chance to deal with. "I can be there with you. I'll answer the questions he'll have, so you don't have to." Prophet lifted his head. "Yeah, I get you're trying to make it easier on me, but fuck, it's not going to be at all. I can't pretend anything will help." "Not pretending is the first step. — S.E. Jakes