Blind
They say that anger blinds you to everything around. That's not really true. I can sense, see everything just fine…especially now. Especially when you're here like this: under me, wanting me.
Even if I were blind I could turn to you like a compass turning north. There's more to it all than just sight alone. I'd know you in the dark, I'd know you in the endless vacuum of space, because it's touch-
"Ah!"
"Oh, did I scare ya?"
"No."
And that's it, isn't it? That's why it's you, and not them. Because you're the only one I could never really scare. You've got too much of that damned blind faith.
"Never. But, your hands…"
It won't stop there. I won't be done until I've recreated you with every damned sense I own, bringing you to life piece by piece until you're the water-cool vision I've had my whole life long. If I'm going to drag you down into the darkness of my world, you're going to burst into flames. Because it's scent -
But, mmn, it's not new. You always smell like patchouli and sassafras; Lotus, saffron, myrrh. Everything strange and out of place in our world of grease and oil, stagnant water and all. It's alien on your skin, but the smoke of it reminds me of mythology, of legends. You're something that just shouldn't exist here in the dark…in the dark with people like me. You're too fucking elsewhere , now.
"You're never -ah- this gentle. What's wrong, Raphael?"
What's wrong? What's wrong is that I'm sometimes scared to touch you. Your otherness is disturbing, if as familiar to me as the weight of my sais. I'm afraid that one day, you'll just cease to exist. One day I'll reach for that scent, that touch, and it won't be there. You'll go back to wherever it is that you really belong.
Damned if I'd tell you this. It's better just to lie.
"Nothing. Now shut up, will you?"
Because it's taste , tooIt's wet heat and muscle, salty and intoxicating. Smooth, yielding skin that I can glide over, leaving a trail behind to show where I've conquered, to show what I own. And you love it; you cry out and turn your head to the side, leaving open my favorite place to suck. It's a pressure point; I can feel your blood rushing under it, and I know that I own you. I know that you're mine. It's in the way you taste when you crush your mouth to mine. It's the goddamned stars I see when you do; 100 different spices I couldn't even name. But you don't smolder like I do – your heat is different. You taste is so cold it burns. Then I know that you're here, and I can always force you to stay.
There's more to it than sight. Oh, fuck, there's so much more to it than that.
You taste…
"…Mmmn-ah!…"
You taste…
"Raph!"
You taste…
"Foreign…"
Leonardo.