"What?" I ask, the voice coming out slurred with the exhaustion that had quickly taken over after our... prior activities.
Iceland stares. His hands stay held in a poised position above his chest, almost defensive. I swear, the kid's too bright-eyed and innocent for me. Every time, and I always forget. "... Oh," it comes out almost as a chuckle, but it's not. "I forgot how you get after we have sex."
And his cheeks flush with a beautiful, flowery pink, still far too pale against my tanned skin. I feel like... I feel like it was a lie. Of course I don't forget. How could I ever forget the clear, lavender infatuation that always sees right through my every move, my every word, in silence. It's less that I forget, and more that my subconscious pushes these cherished moments to the back of my mind, for me to think about another time.
He's falling in love with me, and I know it.
"I'll hold you..." I murmur, as I ponder why. Why my arms wrap around his frail, ravished body. Why he tenses slightly as I touch him, but then relaxes into me so fully, as if I were the peaceful death himself. His eyes don't leave me, though, they never do. I know it as I meet them, his pale features only brightening the crystals of purple ice in his eyes. I see it. I see the tiny quiver of his lips, the firm set stance in which his brow sits, and in these moments I can hear his heart beat like never before, as if it takes my very own. And he doesn't say a thing.
How can one convey his feelings so very much, and not even say a word?
The tears of adoration are practically swimming, now. His hands finally leave that rigid, frightened position, only to rest against my chest, feeling the warmth beneath their fingertips. I know, despite my flurry of thoughts, to push him away. Why don't I? Instead of doing as their told, my arms never cease to pull him closer, until the smooth, translucent skin of his stomach touches my soiled brown chest. Why is it that I can't refuse him? Just like that, there is a hand, and it caresses my face, and I can't do anything but do as it says. I could never hope to do otherwise. I lean into the touch, despite every anxious nerve in my heart telling me I should pull away, for for once in my long, endless span of life, I am scared.
Because it's him, and I know it is. I may act as if I am in control, but as he looks down at me, with nothing but love, and joy, and gratefullness in his expression I know I could never stray from those eyes anymore. They hold me in their gaze, and convey to me the feelings of such the strange one in my arms. It's as if they bend my soul, until I cannot do anything but feel the same. I feel this beating love resonating in my heart and I wonder to myself. I wonder how it happened without my knowledge, though I know it stopped mattering long ago.
He had me before I ever knew he wanted me.
And perhaps that isn't such a bad thing.