I woke up, naked, under just-washed purple sheets. I was facing the wall, comfortably resting my head on my favorite pillow. It was silent. There was no rain, no wind outside. But there was sunshine pouring in through my window, immediately brightening not only my room, but my day. I turned, stretched, and smiled sleepily at the man beside me. He was on his back, eyes closed, breathing just as quiet as I was. He was at peace in his sleep.
The curls of hair on his chest were irresistible. I lightly put my hand on them and toyed with them as softly as I could. I scooted closer to him, chilled by the cold of winter and my broken heater, depending on his body heat to keep me warm. My nose rubbed against his jaw line as I curled up against him. I figure he woke up, because his arm swept underneath me and pulled me practically on top of him. He turned so he was facing me, and I burried my face in his chest, happily inhaling his scent of him. Just him. I can't say that it's all I needed or all I wanted, but the feeling of him against me like that was stimulating. That alone could probably produce the same feeling in my veins as heroin. I embraced it. I embraced him. My arms slid around him. His nose ended up in my hair, nuzzling me with delightful affection that made my smile widen and created a happy squeak in my throat that I released into his chest hair.
He laughed - that intoxicating sound that always tenses my body with glee - and tightened his grip for a small moment, just to loosen it more than what it was before. I looked up at him with adoring wonder. He smiled back down at me with that look in his eyes - his deep brown eyes that seemed to be the only thing that kept me awake then - that told me how he felt. He felt marvelous with me in his arms, beyond pleased to have me in his life, ecstatic to be seeing me like he was seeing his better half. His hand caressed my cheek and went back to gently hold my head as he leaned down and kissed me lightly on the lips. Just one kiss was all it took to send the shivers all over me, to give me the upbeat reaction of rapturous altruism.
We smiled at each other for another couple of seconds before I asked, "Would you like some breakfast, my love?"
"Sure," he replied.
I was up in a heartbeat, leaping over him and dressing myself in a long shirt and sweatpants. But as I was about to leave the room, there was a tug on my shirt. I turned and smiled at my sweetheart, and he pulled me closer to give me another kiss. This time he continued to kiss me, a little heavier than the endearing peck on the lips not two minutes earlier. I laughed as he kissed me, amused by his strange hormonal mood swings.
"What about breakfast?" I said in between his persistent kisses.
He hardly responded with more than a small sound of nonchalance. This made me giggle again. Perhaps it was the sound of my chuckling, but something seemed to consume him as he lifted himself and wrapped his arms possessively around me. He jerked me downward, flipping us both around so that he was on top of me. He moved his pelvis against mine, and I could easily feel his erection rubbing against the inside of my legs. His lips and teeth crawled around my shoulder, up to my ear, down again to the incline between my jaw and my neck. The beating of my heart beated faster every second his dominating touch was wrapping itself around me. He nuzzled his nose in my hair again while he lifted his hands into my shirt, fondling and exploring their way to an exquisite feeling I felt only with him.
It was magic. Or, rather, he was magic. He created a sensual awareness within me as he undressed me. He took me in the one way I'd only ever be allowed to be taken, the only time I become submissive, the only time I am weak-kneed and obedient. He took his time, pleasing both himself and me with his building intensity. It was still odd to see and hear him the way he was in times like this. It was so different from how I had come to know and see him in the world outside.
This bewitching man was quiet on most occassions, unless I, other friends, or family was around. But when he did speak, his words were enticingly glamorous. I could hardly ever not listen to him when he began to talk. He was wise and very in control of himself, the way his words would wrap themselves around him in a brand new aura of responsibility. It was something different, between when he spoke and when he watched the people around him. I could see the irritability in his eyes at certain people, the indifference to others, the caring and brotherly love he had for others.
But here, he was surely no brother. He was more than a friend. Yet he was my family, and we devised a plan to drown every doubtful spark that flew our way in from icky weather of bad cities where people were raised to hurt another, because they thought that was the only way to survive. But he and I, we had imagination that could whip up any blueprint to life. There was no secret ingredient, no working things out in algebraic complications. It was simply was it was in the first place: life. We embraced it in every moment we could. We found ways to avoid evil symptoms that would lead us toward damnation. We lived, together, and as one in a moment like that when he seized me as his own, and I allowed him his intriguing ways.
His ways of no longer being quiet - the sounds escaping through his mouth and on to mine birthed my own little moans of passion - or the look in his eyes that told me love - they now showed me more than undying faitfulness, more than the intense devotion anyone else would guess it to be. He was a new being when we did this. We made something new to the world every time, something that erupted veneration for each other. It was awe in both of our reactions, our surprised and relieved gasps, because each time was a new time of both incredible vehemence and enamored worship.
I did worship him. Not as a god or even an angel. He was not holy, and he did not provide the same kind of sanctity as my spirituality did. But I could see him as the blinding white fragment of hope I saw in our petty race of silly creatures, where among us were beings ranging from this eerily captivating man on top of me to the high-pitched whining of over-sized children. I saw him as inviting, tempting in all kinds of ways, influential, desirable.
Our spirit and sentiment collided like the fire and ice you'd see in movies about wizardry - it exploded around us, inside of us, loud enough for only our charmed ears to take in. The sound was all of the eroticism that could fit in a tiny space, a tiny space compared to the amount that took place in the part of both of us that no one else could see or hear or feel. We looked at each other, mesmerized by the things we created. I was spellbound and unable to move, but I did not want to anyway. I no longer wanted to rise and make breakfast for either of us. I meerely wanted to remain in this spot, looking in his magnetic, puppy-like eyes that now stared at me again like he was the one that was completely enchanted. His eyes were big in times like this, and the sight of them remained as I closed my own to rest at his side some more.