Tom wants to capture this moment, not with his camera, but with his whole being. He wants to remember the smell of the hibiscus flowers and the ocean mingling with the scent of soap and sweat on Edward’s skin, the feel of Ed’s hand directing his, drawing pictures in the sky. He teeters on the precipice of something dangerous.
“I’m just a photographer, Ed. You’re the one with the imagination.”
Ed’s hand tightens around his fingers. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t,” he says. It’s absent-minded, and slips out like an accident.
“Why? What do you think about?”
Ed brings their intertwined hands down to rest on his chest. Tom can feel his heart beat through his shirt.
“I didn’t mean to say—“
“I know you didn’t. I still want to know.”
Edward shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you—“
Ed cuts himself off. Tom chases the words, turning on his side to lean in closer.
Edward’s breath catches in his throat, but his words do not. “I imagine what it would be like to kiss you,” he whispers.
From the colour of wet sand by @bluebacchus for @theterrorbigbang
Go read the story here!
