|And the sun should always set this way
||[Mar. 29th, 2004|09:18 pm]
not yet day
They hold each other in near silence for several minutes, close but not closenough out of habitual reluctance. They'll have to talk about This, about the unvoiced sentiment that compelled Viggo to travel thousands of miles on a seeming whim, just for This. But not yet. Not even soon. |
They've said enough for now.
Viggo presses his nose behind Orlando's ear. The soft skin there still smells strongly sweet, a kind of burnt sugar scent that Viggo remembers achingly well. It used to make him toss at night whenever Orlando was near. He'd dream of cold mornings in New York, of bakeries and street vendors that sold candied nuts starting at dawn, of something rich and just a little unexpected that early in the day. It's a good smell, and on Orlando it always makes him crazy to fuck.
"You," Orlando mouths into the crook of Viggo's neck, and the almost admission makes Viggo all the crazier. He smiles madly into Orlando's hair.
Yeah, you is all Viggo can think, tired and sweaty and hard against an unfamiliar door frame in a small Spanish town, thank you for closed eyes with long lashes that tickle his chin, for thin hips that press so tightly against his own, for full body acceptance and answering lust, thank you thank you for you you you.