'love?' when you live as long I have, 'love' is a surprisingly rare occurrence, something that many would have given up on. Yet, as I look into the eyes of the man in front of me - his innocent blue eyes filled with hope of what life holds and fear...
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It wasn't about you.
Motel
Damon
The steam from the shower lingered in the air, casting a hazy veil over the room as I emerged, clad in nothing but a pant. My shirt lay casually draped over the nearby chair, a silent invitation for my return.
Elena reclined on the bed, her eyes shut in feigned slumber, though I could sense her awareness of my presence. Even with her eyes closed, I could feel the intensity of her gaze, like a palpable force that followed my every movement. There was a tension between us, unspoken but undeniable, as if the air itself crackled with the unspoken words hanging between us.
The bourbon bottle stood like a silent sentinel, its amber contents whispering promises of temporary relief from the tension that enveloped the room. With a steady hand, I poured myself a glass, the liquid catching the soft, muted light of the room, casting a warm glow that danced across the walls.
As I brought the glass to my lips, the familiar scent of bourbon filled my senses, its rich aroma mingling with the steam still lingering from the shower. The first sip was a balm to my frayed nerves, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction from the weight of Elena's silent scrutiny.
For a fleeting moment, the world outside faded away, replaced by the comforting embrace of the bourbon and the gentle hum of the room. But even as I savored the taste, I could feel Elena's gaze lingering on me, a silent reminder of the unspoken tension that hung between us.
With each deliberate movement, I slid into my shirt, the fabric a cool caress against my skin yet yielding to the contours of my frame with a familiar embrace. I could feel Elena's eyes upon me, her gaze tracing the subtle contours and shadows cast by the fabric as it draped over my form. But I made no indication of acknowledging her presence, choosing instead to immerse myself in the tactile sensation of the cloth against my skin and the lingering taste of bourbon upon my tongue.
As I fastened the buttons with practiced ease, I savored the sensation of the fabric conforming to my body, its gentle pressure a comforting reminder of the solidity of the world around me. With each movement, the tension in the room seemed to ebb away, replaced by a sense of quietude and calm.
Though Elena's gaze remained fixed upon me, I maintained my composure, refusing to let her silent scrutiny unsettle me. Instead, I focused on the simple act of dressing, allowing the rhythmic repetition of the task to ground me in the present moment.
As I finally smoothed down the fabric and turned to face her, I met Elena's gaze with a steady resolve, silently acknowledging the unspoken tension that lingered between us. But for now, I chose to remain silent, allowing the weight of our shared gaze to speak volumes in the quiet of the room.
Turning to face her, I couldn't help but feel a smirk tug at the corner of my lips, a mirrored reflection of the desire flickering in Elena's eyes. With a subtle gesture, I set the glass aside, its contents momentarily forgotten as I closed the distance between us with deliberate steps. It was a silent dance we had become accustomed to, each movement charged with unspoken tension and anticipation.
