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There's something. I'm not sure what, just - something. It's there, under his skin. It's like a positive that draws all the negative out of me. I can't help but feel open, clean, fuckin' high when I'm around him. It's nothing for him to put a hand on my arm, drape himself across my back, his breath ruffling the tiny hairs behind my ear and loosing a shiver down my spine.
I think that he must know. They all must. But then, I didn't know, myself, until just now. Or, I knew. Only, I didn't know.
No one's looking at me any differently, they must not know. I turn my head slightly, to see his face, to see if he knows what he's doing to me. I have to lean away from him as I do or we'll be too close. And there's no way they wouldn't know then.
But he's looking away, his head turned so I don't feel that warm/wet breath against my neck anymore. He's still a magnet all down my side, pulling this up from where I thought I'd never look at it. This - well, the only word that fits is want.
He turns back too quickly. Or too slowly, I can't tell. And he's looking - not at my eyes, meeting my stare. No. His gaze flits quickly over my face, lingering long enough on my lips that they start to itch, before his lashes dip - oh, so slowly. Just the tip of his tongue flicking a shiny, wet crescent on his bottom lip. And then he's too close, leaning in so I can't see anything but the prickly stubble on the side of his jaw. The wet/warm breath now painting across my ear, the words sliding meaninglessly into my brain. It's the hand gliding down my back, fingers slipping under the bottom of my shirt, that breaks the sound open and I hear:
"Like what you see? Hmmm?"
I blink. Blink, again. My mouth feels dry; when I try to respond, try to say *something*, all that comes out is a paper thin whisper with no intelligence behind it. The breath, stirring up those little hairs again, feels hotter, closer, like he's licking the words onto my skin, rather than *breathing* them at me.
"Sean? Did you want something?"
His other hand, slipping off my shoulder, comes up under my arm and just holds me from behind. There's nothing in this. No caress from the hand in front; just presence. The other hand still lightly touching butterfly brushes across my back.
"Yeah, yes. Orl..." I stop for a moment, wetting my tongue from the glass that was in front of me. "Are you offering something?"
I tilt my head, to look at him over my shoulder, out of the corner of my eye. He's just - he's glowing. Not like he's drunk, or high, or ethereal. No, it's just... From this angle, there's like this great glow of happy. Of good. Of - Yes. Sitting, as I am, within the boundaries of this glow, I feel light and perfect. And like I want to kiss him, to take some of that inside of me, in any way that he'll share. And it does seem that he's willing to share. His eyelids droop playfully as he leans in again, his face gliding along my cheek. Stubble, soft and barely there.
"Come with me. I'll show you what's on offer."