Take My Hand
"Take my hand."
His palm enclosed hers, his dark fingers locking with her pale as they became one, neither knowing where the other began. He was her King, a crown of coils atop his head, and she, his Queen. It had been said, that two best friends of differing genders cold not help but to fall in love, one day or another. He had waited for so, oh, so long, but now, finally, she was his and he was hers, and all that mattered in the universe was them, together.
They were running.
Lighter than birds and faster still, her peals of laughter chiming in his ear as the city lights streaked past, saffron, indigo, scarlet. Cars screeched their horns as they dodged the traffic, and she had never looked so alive. She was so beautiful. Her emerald eyes were gleaming with ecstasy, her skin glowing as her hair was swept past her shoulders in curls of perfect gold. Her frame was petite and willowy, spindly body cloaked in bohemian brilliance and she lit up the sky like a firework, a personality to match. She was like a drug; he could have her all day and night but, somehow, it was never enough.
He loved her more than love could stretch and further, she was his everything and beyond. The alley was cool and dark, illuminated violet by the neon signs, their breathing husky and ragged. She was leaning on his shoulder, steadying herself through the waves of laughter as he closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly, counting his lives. Their sounds ceased and all there could be was the echoing music, the nightclubs beating out noises that thumped the brick walls, vibrating into their systems and hearts. They were silent, their eyes locked until he was against her, she was against him, and nothing could ever be so important as her lips, crushed on his; hands everywhere.
They were still.
They were closer than they had ever been before, between the sheets of the ivory bed, the sun sliding into view through the curtains. He could never stop looking at her, never stop yearning for more. He wanted to drink her in and just hold her in his arms, forever. They didn't even have to move; they could do nothing and he would be happy, as long as they were like this, together.
Forever.
The amber rays lit up her skin, chest moving so rhythmically beneath the cotton. Rising and falling. Rising and falling. His finger caressed her side, the tip running along her curves and dips as she stirred, sweetly. He could feel her heart beating against his and they were one again, just breathing and touching and being. Until she brushed his palm, her slender fingers twining with his as though they had never, could never, be apart,
"Take my hand."