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That mouth of his, he could easily twist and turn it into an angelic grin or a wicked sneer, even managing to appear, however improbable, devilish and beatific simultaneously. I'd witnessed it transform from a tight, impatient slash to an impish smirk or a wide-open, guileless smile within milliseconds.
I was mesmerized by that mouth of his, whether face to face or in photos. Sometimes it was a soft pink, other times a deep magenta. It could look as pouty as a small child's, as determined as a prize fighter's, as triumphant as an Olympian's or as cocky as a rock star's.
He could use that mouth of his as a means to almost any end. I'd seen or personally experienced him employ it to disarm, to persuade, to charm, to repent, to enthrall, to comfort, to arouse and it inevitably succeeded in his intended purpose.
When he kissed me with that mouth of his and I am only referring to a quick buss, not open mouthed tongue-thrusting passion, nor kisses to more intimate parts of the body, both of which are glorious stories for another time, but simply a delicate smooch, his lips wrapped around mine in incongruous, seemingly physically impossible directions that maximized contact and delicious pressure all over my eager mouth.
I don't know how he did it. It seemed like that mouth of his had more than two lips capturing my mouth entirely in a tender vise-like trap from which my own lips never wanted to be freed. And when he executed that same move slowly and repeatedly accompanied by flashes of brilliant blue between the lashes of downcast eyes, I felt my legs would no longer support my weight and I feared I may temporarily lose my sense of sight.
He was dangerous with that mouth of his. He could take what looked like a chaste peck and turn it into an erotic encounter, a sumptuous meal, a symphony written for four lips.
He could perform amazing feats of strength and agility with that mouth of his, but also brush against my lips so lightly, so softly, with just a gentle whisper of a touch. It made no difference which in his vast arsenal he bestowed on me; my insides would quiver every time I was the recipient of one of those deceptively innocent kisses. And the sensation of briefly sharing his sultry breath would linger, invariably causing me to hunger for more.
Did I only feel this way because I was in love with him? Perhaps, but occasionally I caught peeks of the faces of others post-kiss from that mouth of his and they often had that dazed expression that I experienced after even the briefest tap of his warm lips.
Adam appeared to be best able to maintain his composure after withstanding a kiss from that mouth of his. Of course the encounter would always put an upside down grin on his face whether onstage or off, but he didn't seem to lose the ability of cogent thought the way I did after any mouth to mouth interaction with him.
He was certainly talented. There was no denying the numerous skills that mouth of his possessed or the beautiful sounds it produced. And a brief glance at it or even merely the thought of it would entice me to do absolutely anything to feel it pressed against mine once again.