Should I be allowed to hold him?
I love the way everything around him shines. The cool gleam of ocean blue, it's his soul, pouring forth, and gracing each with its tranquility.
Passion.
They may not see it, but I do. Everything he does is filled with his reason for being. The way his fingers glide and caress those smooth yet tainted notes from his violin is the most vivid expression of his zeal for life.
The command his love can produce. I can picture it perfectly. When his back arches as I run my fingers along the sensitized skin of his sides. The small shiver when I kiss his chest. The absolute power he has over me.
"Trowa?"
Even now his voice is angelic, yet I know. I know what moves him, with the simple form of my name on his lips, I know what he wants.
I smile and nod. Standing to pull him into my arms, the clump of sheets wrapped securely around his waste, taunting me, as I silently curse them away. The soft yellow down of his hair brushes eloquently against my ear and it makes me smile longingly.
"Trowa?" He asks once more, but this time his question is filled with poise.
I smile, and notice his grip around my waist tightens slightly.
"Come to bed," he orders, the long chapel of fabric following him obediently, hips swaying coquettishly.
I love it when he does that.
I pause, taking in the moment, watching as he turns back, and gives me a small, innocent smile.
And I am his.
I know as soon as he lays on the bed, that I am completely and utterly his.
A few steps closer and I am there, laying next to him.
He slowly encircles me with the covers, our bodies hidden from all the judgmental stares.
And for one moment, we are as one.
The strong beat of his heart against mine, the way he whispers my name over and over again. The heat of his breath, moistening my skin.
This is absolute.
All coherent thoughts leave and we are entwined, I inside of him, our problems outside of us. He's stopped calling my name, and has begun to simply moan and thrash beneath each of my thrusts.
Finally.
Passion. He reaches his climax, his cheeks alive and lovely with the sweet flush of completion. His eyes are closed and his mouth spaced open in a silent gasp.
"Quatre," his name is off my lips as my own climax is reached and I fold onto him, my head resting on his slender shoulder.
I can feel his hand in my hair as we try to calm ourselves. My energy spent, I lay down next to him and wrap an arm around his waste.
"I am yours, completely yours," I murmur against the soft pink shell of his ear. "I love you, Quatre," I finish before sleep takes over and I realize that not all is perfect. But this; we, we are.
I love the way everything around him shines. The cool gleam of ocean blue, it's his soul, pouring forth, and gracing each with its tranquility.
Passion.
They may not see it, but I do. Everything he does is filled with his reason for being. The way his fingers glide and caress those smooth yet tainted notes from his violin is the most vivid expression of his zeal for life.
The command his love can produce. I can picture it perfectly. When his back arches as I run my fingers along the sensitized skin of his sides. The small shiver when I kiss his chest. The absolute power he has over me.
"Trowa?"
Even now his voice is angelic, yet I know. I know what moves him, with the simple form of my name on his lips, I know what he wants.
I smile and nod. Standing to pull him into my arms, the clump of sheets wrapped securely around his waste, taunting me, as I silently curse them away. The soft yellow down of his hair brushes eloquently against my ear and it makes me smile longingly.
"Trowa?" He asks once more, but this time his question is filled with poise.
I smile, and notice his grip around my waist tightens slightly.
"Come to bed," he orders, the long chapel of fabric following him obediently, hips swaying coquettishly.
I love it when he does that.
I pause, taking in the moment, watching as he turns back, and gives me a small, innocent smile.
And I am his.
I know as soon as he lays on the bed, that I am completely and utterly his.
A few steps closer and I am there, laying next to him.
He slowly encircles me with the covers, our bodies hidden from all the judgmental stares.
And for one moment, we are as one.
The strong beat of his heart against mine, the way he whispers my name over and over again. The heat of his breath, moistening my skin.
This is absolute.
All coherent thoughts leave and we are entwined, I inside of him, our problems outside of us. He's stopped calling my name, and has begun to simply moan and thrash beneath each of my thrusts.
Finally.
Passion. He reaches his climax, his cheeks alive and lovely with the sweet flush of completion. His eyes are closed and his mouth spaced open in a silent gasp.
"Quatre," his name is off my lips as my own climax is reached and I fold onto him, my head resting on his slender shoulder.
I can feel his hand in my hair as we try to calm ourselves. My energy spent, I lay down next to him and wrap an arm around his waste.
"I am yours, completely yours," I murmur against the soft pink shell of his ear. "I love you, Quatre," I finish before sleep takes over and I realize that not all is perfect. But this; we, we are.