-Men and minors DNI-
Tw: implied homophobia, secret relationship.
My hand reaches out for her, slow, like I'm waiting for her to pull away. She doesn't, instead she flips her hand palm up, sliding her hand underneath mine and slotting our fingers together. She does it naturally, knowing when I need her most.
Underneath the table no one can see it, the affection, the care. A barely contained want that is burrowed in our hearts, blooming and taking over our every being when near eachother.
I turn to look at her, make-up done to perfection, her lips painted a dark maroon, a color she let me pick out. She's beautiful as always, my eyes soften, expression shifting into something more gentle, overwhelming soft.
I want to lift my other hand to fix a curl I know she wouldn't want out of place, but I refrain, it's not safe to do that here. Even though it's clear where our affections lie. Out here we have to be careful, smart, pretend that there isn't a sea of emotions for each other that overwhelm our hearts.
I avert my gaze, not wanting to be caught staring. Behind the privacy of our home it's different, we show our softness for each other, skin to skin, mouth's hungry for the other.
My chest is warm, heart racing, hoping that soon we can go home and I can fall to my knees and show her how badly I had wanted to hold and kiss her while out.
My face pressed into her thighs, a flush up her neck as she tries to swat me away, tell me she needs to get out of her heels first. But I wouldn't be able to let her go, tell her to sit, "let me take the heels off for you." I want to see her melt at the sight of me looking up at her from my place kneeling on the floor.
"Okay, sweetheart, you can take off my heels." I can imagine her saying, backing up to sit on the couch, lifting her leg out for me to sit on my knee and begin pulling her heel off. Kissing her shin, and patting my knee for the other heel.
I would kiss her other shin, and then kiss up her leg, looking up at her through my lashes, keeping eye contact as she burns red, flustered and unable to look away.
Red is my favorite color, but it's the red of her blush, of heat blooming into a pretty pink on her chest that drives me wild. I can't help myself, making her squirm, watching her try and pretend like this, us, doesn't make her feel alive.
My heart aches, it beats so steady, but the waves of softness within myself is too great, they spill out when I speak, voice impassioned, eyes so full of an emotion I can only describe as admiration, of deep longing for something I can never have.
So we hide, and our softness hides with us, just for the two of us to witness. Even when all I want is to grab her hand and show everyone that she's mine, that she is what makes it so much easier to breathe.