Clothes warming his already hot body like if he need to contain the burning passion he is made of somehow.
How his body doesn't burn for real is still a mystery he would gladly like to undercover someday.
He wonders if Fox knows the effect he has on this universe, how it collapses around him as soon as he puts one foot on his way and looks at him for the first time in the morning. Then his mind is occupied by his smile or how strong he looks, and the rest of the universe simply disappears quicker than smoke when it's windy. Eyes widen up, mind is absent. He wonders if he as the same effect on her when they lie in bed making out until three in the morning.
He wonders how it feels like. Lying down, being surrounded by his body.
Quick decisions, slow pace. Morning regret.
He would gladly give in.
Maybe just with him. Maybe with her too. Warm heart, good looks, so perfect she could be made out of marble like those delicate statues. Of course he fell for her as quickly as rain falls to the ground. Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't fall for him as well? Too kind for this world, too broken. Kind, so kind, maybe because he steals the good thoughts from everyone. Because everyone opens their hearts to him as soon as they meet him
Fox is poetry with legs, and his legs are poetry as well. The way he walks through the corridor and guides his hand to her hip leans his body towards her lips, closes his eyes to fuse with them.
Slow.
Caressing her lower lip with his. Hand on her cheek. Another caress.
Slowly.
He realizes he has stopped breathing as long as the kiss happened. He wishes it was him. Both of them. At the same time.
…
Falco breathes, taking back the air they stole from him. They will take it away every time they look at him, and even if he chocked he would still be thankful.
This beautiful poetry isn't static. It looks at him like he looks at it, and wonders if they recognize him as it too. If they look at his eyes and see the pigments of his irises betraying him, exposing his secret to them.
Telling them he's attracted to them as a moth is to fire. They kill him inside, rebuild him with their own existence. He says thank you every time.
Krystal's eyes are the first ones that look at him. She knows. He knows she knows. She can read hims mind like an open book, discover every little secret he holds.
Fox's eyes look at her, then at him. Beautiful green eyes piercing through his eyes to his skull and the space behind him as bullets would. They leave his mind empty, spacing out. He's in heaven. They are angels that will take his soul to the afterlife, he's sure
They killed him with their existence.
He said thank you.
His mind is dead.
Krystal's hand caresses Fox's arm so he looks at her. The gesture he does with her head is subtle, yet he understands. Is eyes go back at him, tip of his fingers rousing hers.
His mind panics out of a sudden.
Fox's smile and narrowed eyes make him realize he's out of oxygen, so he breaths sharply.
His hips balance softly with a mesmerizing cadence.
He takes his wing and his cheek barely misses his for millimeters, whispering almost inaudible.
"Follow us".
He's blind now. His legs and feet can't feel the ground, like he could fly. Like in a limbo that only breaks when they reach the room and he an hear his breathing as silent as their movements in the dark. Clothes fall down as the walls in his mind. They will talk in morning when they wake up like from a sweet dream. For now, the only thing the pleasure lets him do is moan.