BPOV
The forest around us quivers tentatively with each step he takes towards me. His childhood gawkiness still lingers, but his liquid muscles lithely stretch and retract, rippling beneath his tight sepia skin, and I am captivated. Just as I wish for his advancement to slow so that I might ingest and store away every detail of his godly, molasses-like movement, life seems to speed up. Behind me, beneath me, enveloping me, I feel strong vines intertwine, emerald leaves unfurl, vivid blossoms pop, and a bold bird song erupts into a symphony of trilling, the beautiful ballet of natural growth and pure wilderness.
Grinning boyishly, one magnificent hand sheepishly tucks a section of his deep, messy strands behind his ear; in the shadows, his hair looks black. But as he strides forward, a rare shaft of sunlight escapes from in between the precariously towering hemlocks and teases the surface of his jet black tresses, sending an intense cinnamon hue to dance among the lowlights.
His long, powerful arm now stretches towards me; not forcefully, but calmly asking my permission; his fingers wiggle and a throaty chuckle twirls energetically through his youthful smile.
And I accept, of course, and laugh with him, taking his large, burning hand in my small, cool one. And now, I extend my right arm towards his beaming face, and my hand rests on his warm chin. I stroke his unshaved visage, running lightly over the black stubble and the gray-green bags that haunt his gorgeous eyes. As his head turns fractionally, they gleam a foaming green, and then a hazel, a brown, and a black. They close together, an irresistible invitation to my fingers. I run the tips over the velvet golden skin of his eyelids, and then his soft, soft black eyelashes, and time begins to slow once more. His lips fall limp from their smile and part, twitching at the edges contentedly, and a primal moan replaces his laughter.
"My Jake."
