Petrichor: the scent of rain on dry earth
"Tell me, Romano, have you ever listened to the rain?"
A slow, steady drizzle pelting against the soft, earthen vineyards of Southern Italy. Droplets cascading over leafy vines while a trickle trudges through the rain gutters.
Sensing the caramel of the earth, a deep scent that's raw and bare. Unadultered by the poisons of man.
Hearing the lullaby, soothing as drops fell on his head, slicking his hair down into a mat.
"Of course I have, what a stupid question, you idiot."
"Tell me, Romano, have you ever tasted wine?"
Slick tonic slipping down his throat, slaking his thirst and igniting his senses.
The taste of raw Italy splaying across his taste buds.
"Of course I have, what a stupid question, you idiot."
"Tell me, Romano, have you ever felt passion like this?"
Fire spreading through his body, igniting every cell in his body.
Toes curled, fists buried in hair and bed sheets, cries of ecstasy slipping past his lips.
Waves of pleasure washing over him when certain spots were grazed, certain areas stroked.
It was as familiar as breath.
"Of course I have, what a stupid question, you idiot."
"Tell me, Romano, have you ever experienced love like this?"
Heart beats fluttering as gentle fingers caress supple cheeks, thinned from the years of baby fat resting on them.
A warmth that's unfamiliar settles in his chest, flushing his cheeks, stirring something unfamiliar.
He was the petrichor, the sweet tonic, the passion at night, and the love stitching him together.
"…Of course I haven't, what a stupid question…you bastard."