The Sleeping God
The room is dim; the moonlight that silently falls on the bed is the only source of light. The room is quiet, except for the faint sound of his breathing and I know if I creep closer, the sound of his heart. And so I do. I can't resist the pull that tugs me toward him.
Silently, I pick my way across the dark room, careful to avoid any semblance of noise. He's explained to me many times how important it is that he sleeps. But still I make my way forward, willing to risk any punishment from him to watch him sleep. I settle down on the floor near the bed, while I search for his face in the little illumination the moon provides. When I do I can't help the sharp intake of breath that escapes me. I never can.
Perfection. That's the only way to describe him. He's completely still as he drowses, I've never seen him move or even mumble while unconsciousness claims him. My eyes sweep across his languid form, admiring him. The bronzed skin, the wiry muscles, the caramel hair, and his lips…those perfect lips that are never pressed against mine enough. The only fault is that his honey eyes are closed.
I can only imagine how they would look opened, with the moonlight streaming across them. I suppress a smile when I think of the kanji that makes up his name. Moon Night God. If only he knew how appropriate it was at this late hour, in between dawn and twilight.
I hold my breath as my fingers, almost of their own accord reach out to him. My hands stop their journey on his chest, while I marvel at how small they look. Delicate. Not the hands of a killer, but of a goddess. His goddess. I almost purr at the thought.
My hands begin to move again, not halting until they reach their final destination. His face. His glorious face. I stroke his cheeks loving the softness of his skin, at how smooth his face his. Like that of a young boy, no stubble. He could be an angel with that face. Forever trapped in the beauty provided by youth.
I shift forward even closer, my whole body following the path my hands had provided, though I don't dare touch in fear he would wake. I stay suspended above his body, his breath mingling with mine. Then will deliberate slowness, I press my lips to his cheek.
Cautiously I retreat, slithering away from the person whom I wanted to be near the most. I'm back on the floor again; the carpet absorbs my harsh breathing, muffling the sound.
He doesn't understand how deep it goes. The Love. The Obsession. He doesn't understand that this was all I needed. A stolen kiss. He doesn't understand that my stubbornness and demands for his affections weren't what I needed. They were what I craved.
I asked for so much, because I knew he wouldn't give it all to me. It was better to lie and receive more than I had dreamed for, than I hoped for.
He doesn't understand why I was so docile, so exhausted in the morning. It was only to watch him at his most peaceful. To see the beauty of God. The vulnerability he carefully hid behind his power.
But then, Light didn't need to understand. Perhaps it was best to let sleeping gods lie.