Throw Your Colors at the Dark {Vic Fuentes}

8 - Yeah Boy and Doll Face

    “You know how much I love you right?” his voice echoed, eyes highlighted by the setting of the sun as the wind picked up the strands of dark hair that hung around his face.  He was grinning, caramel skin set golden by the conflagration the sun had created in the atmosphere.  It was hard to discern whether or not he was real, but as his hand touched my skin, I felt flames open up on my skin and red blood rush to meet the sensation of his fingertips.  I nuzzled into the warmth, anticipating the moment when his arms wrapped around my tiny body and pulled me close to his heart.  My ear pressed to his chest, listening to the pulsating rhythm beating in his rib cage.  The sound made me grin, bright with incandescence.

    “How much do you love me then?” I questioned and was gratified by the sound of his hearty chuckle.  He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, finger trailing down the line of my jaw and pausing at my chin.  The finger asked me to lift my face, thumb running lengthwise along my lips as they pulled into a sincere smile. 

    “More than I can say, but you know you’re never allowed to leave this bed again,“ he whispered and I rolled my eyes.

    “What is the American reply to this?  You’re full of cheese?” I replied and he chuckled, squeezing me tighter and causing a rush of butterflies to infiltrate my system.  He shook his head, kissing the tip of my nose.

    “So?” he murmured, “I’d rather be filled with romantic cheese and not bullshit or stinky cheese.”  I giggled and closed my eyes for a moment, feeling as his lips brushed delicately against mine.

    We were wrestling against one another it seemed, gripping, touching, kissing, connected only by our mouths as our tongues and lips danced, tangled and meshed.  It was slow at first, breath coming in short gasps in only a few moments later as he suddenly pinned me down against the soft sheets.  His hands reached down to grasp the jean covered flesh of my thigh, pulling it up to hook around his hip which I obliged to.  My hands held the back of his head, begging for more of him, for all of him.  I wanted to live in this instant forever, feel as his hand roughly teased the skin of my body, the sensitive and private along with the normal and exposed pieces.  I wanted him and only him.  How could I want anyone else?  His kiss was more like heroin, it was not an ordinary lip lock.  I was addicted to the way he moved, to the way he touched me and no one else could ever measure up to the heat and resplendence that he created.  He caused colors to shine on the backs of my eyelids and even with my eyes shut I could see the hues of his soul.  We painted pictures unconsciously, showing imagery that no one else could ever witness.  Our colors were the ritualistic occurrences of bearing the soul to the one person who would see you for who you really were and not for anything else. 

    When we pulled away, I watched him for a minute, grinning like a fool as he held me tightly down into the fabric of the bed.  His hands began to stroke my face and his eyes grew wide with horror and panic.  I raised a brow, watching the odd contrast with slight concern.

    “I’ll never leave this bed,” I uttered and he shook his head, fingers tapping lightly on my cheeks.

    It was then that things started to come back into focus.

    My eyes were staring off into space and I was having a difficult time telling them that they needed to blink.  My hands wouldn’t move when I went to reach up to touch Vic and ask him to calm down.  My legs wouldn’t stir as I tried to sit up.  Nothing was reacting to my thoughts and yet I could look around just fine.  Vic was panicking and it was blatantly obvious.  I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t moving though, why my body had suddenly gone on hiatus.  Nothing was hurting or otherwise seemingly damaged but there was a numbness throughout it.