FEEL

47. Gobo

Gobo ~ the delirium of having spent all day in an aesthetic frame of mind

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

He has this way about him that makes him feel almost so unreal. Like he is this ethereal being, untouched by grotesqueness, unhindered by inconvenience. There's a serenity about the way he maintains composure, like peace yearns for him more than he yearns for it. The way he is calm in the face of turmoil, rigid in that of chaos.

I stand at the end of the hallway, watching his napping body on the couch. Initially, I came to apologize for my words earlier. I tried this afternoon on the ride back home, but couldn't. We were both just too tense, and I didn't want to deal with it at the moment. Later he went to the gym, and I had used those two hours to muster up the courage to talk to him. I must have taken too long. The sight before me confirms that.

He had fallen asleep while reading, it seems so from the book resting on his chest. The setting sun hits his creamy skin, making it appear golden, almost mystical. There's a relaxed nature about the entire visual, his half kept hair with little strands falling to his closed eyes, his reading glasses poised recklessly at the slope of his nose, the gray cotton pants, appearing comfy around his long widened legs, the equally comfortable long sleeve T-shirt that has a kind of hold around his upper body that I could only dream of having on him.

Gracie is right next to him, curled up in a white furry ball. I'd have cursed myself for life if I didn't go to grab my camera before he rises to capture the image. I have yet to figure out what I'm going to do with all of these clips of him, but I know that the idea will get to me when the time comes.

After I get the wide shot, I move closer to capture more detail. His slightly parted rose lips, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the vague lines of his muscles through the T-shirt...

I lower my camera to review him with a naked eye. Set it down on the coffee table and dare another step towards him. My pulse spikes. Even when he's asleep, our proximity gets me excited. My body gets all hot, like it does when he has his hands on me, and I feel as if I'm too far from the hands of bliss, yet too close.

My hand lifts on its own behest, settling my fingers along his chiseled jaw, tracing down to his chin, up to his rosy lips.

Gracie gets up at that very moment, pushing his knee as she jumps off the couch and saunters away. Cameron's eyes draw open, tired and wary, before looking up to me. For some reason, I'm not afraid, or stunned at getting caught. I don't move away or attempt to run. I remain there. I watch his eyes roam my body with the daze of a man just risen, but ferocity of one gripped by the fires of something visceral.

Without a single thought, I lean in and take his lips. He returns my kiss with an eager mouth, one hand cupping the back of my neck and pulling me closer while the other takes hold of my waist, drawing me in until I have no choice but to settle onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Smoothly, we adapt a passionate rhythm. Our bodies light ablaze, stunting our breaths. My arms wrap around his neck, a hand sinking into his hair from the back. His chest puffs against mine and I feel his heartbeat thundering rapidly against my chest. We're trapped in a timeless wave, lips unsevering, bodies close, skin as hot as each kiss exchanged.

Cameron then takes hold of my jaw, gentle enough to convey affection, firm enough to assume dominance. His tongue slides into my mouth, grasp tightens on my waist, pulls me closer, as if we weren't already close enough, and then feasts on my mouth like it's his last meal. I let out a fervent moan, a burst of sensations hitting my entire body, making my fingers curl and grab his hair - he huffs against my lips, making my body press closer into his - a grunt presses out of his throat.