BREATH CATCHES HIM, the threshold of foreign land, it’s own sovereign entity through majesty, unpredictability; inescapable, addictive. dean was leaving his war, leaving his scars, leaving the guns & the soot & the blood, blood, blood. instead, dean enters the sanctity, the bubble of her home, sun highest in the sky just hours ago, glorious light resting in the delicate expanse of his skin. it would be just as bright if she pulled the curtains in; would shine if she boarded every damn window in this place up; glow like the light at the end of the tunnel if the sun never showed it’s face again. adely — adely is the light, the weathered sand, the divine streaks of blood red glory seeping into his pores like blessings he didn’t deserve, miracles he didn’t ask for ( god’s gonna tear you down, boy, take her in while she’s breathing, while she hasn’t had the chance to sink her nails deep enough to see that you bleed black, that you are an endless pit of self-hate and an eternal cycle of loneliness ).
he sees her and his knees send that resounding, muffled cry into his nerves to buckle, worship her like all the glass he’s stepped on, like all the sleepless nights, like all the dirt & blood that’s permanently caked to his thin layer of withering flesh leads to her, to her splendor, to her altar of a body. he’s tired of this job, he hasn’t had a day to rest. he’s got new cuts he can’t let her see, wants her to fill the crack in his chassis with the august comfort of her very presence. she speaks in a tongue he himself does not know. [ french, maybe? it sounds real’ delicate, so it’s french. all that nice, flowery shit is french. yeah, yeah, it’s french, it’s french. use some of your skills, now, dean — you almost graduated highschool. that’s enough, right? right? she’s probably got a doctorate in somethin’ and standing next to the world’s biggest idiot. dammit. shit, okay. petite anges. petite. easy! — small. anges. angles? angus? angels? small angels? good enough. ( she has such a pretty voice. maybe you should learn french just to have her talk in it all the time. wait — can she talk dirty in french? ) ] internal worries of self-labeled inadequacies nearly succeed in clouding his thoughts of her voice, of her soft, thrumming hum of the words like he knew every language in the world, like it wouldn’t take him an hour to decipher that single phrase. he wants her to sigh that same language into his mouth when she can’t control herself, beg him in every tongue known to man, teach him words to profess these harbored emotions more fluently.
her excitement rustles him from the confines of a place within himself he has yet to describe, lips bracing themselves for the smile threatening to overcome them and he doesn’t even notice she’s plucked the plants from the cradle of his arms, turned her back in search of a nook to house them ( she likes them. god, she likes them and that’ll be enough to get him past the hours of struggle and strife that to led to this very moment. she will be enough. she is enough — how has he not see that yet? ). her happiness renders itself as a new religion, the melody of her delight it’s ultimate prayer, the choir of her laughter it’s own intricate hymn. she is an epic, pages unexplored and left to gain dust at the unseen precipices of holy devotion; new-found glory with her at the forefront. and yet — they are as estranged as they are intimate. he sees her with eyes half-open, mouth open for the groans of saccharine pleasures ready to escape the confines of a dry throat. he cannot stand here and act as if he knows her, not as much as he wishes to; not as much he will. still, he follows her without thought, nearly dumbfounded as he witnesses the true grandeur of her love for nature, for the little breath of life in the heart of the city. shouldn’t be in too direct light. perhaps not the best when it come to organization, dean did not take unto the task immediately, not yet deemed imperative ‘til the jolt of his heart connected to his brain and he realized that she was important, making anything she desired that much more dire. ( what a fool you are; pretty woman and you are lost — knee-deep in all the beautiful things about her when you are surrounded by the thick coating of your own filth. you’ve made her important to give yourself another excuse to make yourself anything but. ) eyes touch ‘pon the array of books, plants, life before him and it seems as if the room is too full to fit more of her into it. hands move to — gingerly — make space at the edges of her wall of windows; not too direct a light, as she said.
❝ y’could fit one here, and if you move those purple ones to the side, you’d probably be able t’get ‘em side by side. ❞
drawn sweetly from the thoughtful lull of possible arrangements, amber gaze fixes to the man’s hands as he takes great care to designate a home for those he’d given her. she dazes ( briefly & intimately to herself ) all the ways he has touched her with such thoughtful grace. even despite the haste and rash, panting mouths of their first time, she would be long since damned before forgetting the way in which he’d paused upon ridding her of every layer. how callous palm familiarized the mound of her breasts, watching her bow as if in her own flesh-ridden plea, losing themselves to one another from there. how the tulips & cacti spoke of them. bulbs fading to red like open wounds; lips blushed like blood-lit prayers. cactus rigid as if in yearning; how she had roused him before his body had met the heat of her mouth. spun within her own world, she is, just there before him –– has he noticed how she wanders? loses herself to the thesis of his hands? diagram thorough and blooming associating colors within her mind, broken down: hands, touch, arching, flesh. scarlet. sinful maroon. how his jaw sets in determination: his eyes –– body –– above her own, release, stubborn & chaste growls to transcend you firsts. he is every bit as intricate with his planning as she is with what she is foreign to; he tries & he tries for her. do you feel that warmth settling in the root of your sternum, making home of you? that is him. have you let him inside?
heart flutter. & she is present once more, pink lips set calmly together, no longer studying the room in attempts to find where such gifts would fit. he has suggested and there is no other place, no other nook deemed to hold them as where he has set his sights. a little piece of him has become of her home. she should find terror at the thought, should gently decline & instead settle them elsewhere, shouldn’t let him become a reminder. and yet he is; he has. ( finds herself smoothing the miniature planes of her sheets in efforts to be a bit more selfish, to think less of how the two of them had moved in order to create such valleys & instead make it anew, as if no one had ever touched it. as if no one had ever touched her. ) own lithe digits shift the violets along the sill, making room to one by one arrange the pots beside each other. she revels a moment in their harmony with the rest, wonders how she hadn’t figured herself that they were missing. hum leaves her and it is nothing but light, nothing but appeasement dripping free with the sound. ❛ i love them, ❜ vision seeks his own, sincerity accustomed to such sunlit hours painted upon softly structured cheeks. ❛ ––– truly. ❜
carefully she takes books from his hands, makes room for herself to settle against them, laying purchase on an end table where she will later move to her bedside. for now, gratuity is in order, curls upon the corners of her lips only seeming to tug further as the distance between them becomes none. arms wind about his neck, relaxedly linking at it’s nape while nose nudges to each side against his own. ❛ thank you, dean. ❜ hand curves back to give a feather tuft to his hair, oculars drifting to the plush of his mouth, every bit an invitation as it was scripted in moonlight. & she kisses him, kisses him with a tenderness reserved for the delicacies of day, the pieces of one another they had yet to know. ( was it rash of her, desiring to take him in the harsher picture of the sun? to keep eyes wide & intent to how his lips would luster something tempting when he licks them, how every flit and pleasurable spasm of his figure would be exposed, as well as her own. she is filled so profoundly with want, a lust he has drawn from her since they had first met, and yet for once she is unsure how to bring it to his attention. unsure how their ink & velvet affairs would sound in the light, if demand held a rightful place here, when everything else was so hushed. ) it’s there she finds her fear, against his lips with the sun kissing her shoulders. and as her mouth parts from his own, just as gingerly as they had caressed in meeting, heart has become rampant within her chest.
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