Willing

Not So Far Away

 -Kieren-

        I struggled to find a place for my paints and brushes and things. You wouldn't think the damned things could take up so much space. Surprising, really. I tried desperately to fit yet another box of brushes and oil paints on  the shelf above our mirror, on the far side of the room, directly across from the bed. It was a huge mirror, reaching from the  floor to the bottom of the shelf and nearly three feet across. I shook my head as I looked at myself straining to reach the shelf. Simon could probably do this without too much trouble. He wasn't too much taller than me, but his arms are very long. Long and muscular, his forearms covered in bloodless veins. I remember those arms trapped between us, those fingers on my jaw and the back of my neck as we-

        "I believe that's a bit out of your reach, Kieren," a husky voice sounded across the small room. I spun, one hand against the box that leaned precariously on the edge of the shelf. He leaned against the doorframe, his coat thrown over his shoulder, a sketchbook in his other hand. His eyes glowed at me as the sunlight shown across him through the window in the reading nook. The breath left me in a rush as everything about him was thrown into sharp detail. His dark, silky hair, it seemed a lighter brown at the edges, his skin sheet white, his eyebrows a shock against his skin. His jumper was a dark green, his jeans black and form-fitting, his boots shining. He coughed, drawing my gaze back to his face. He raised his eyebrows, a question on his face, heat in his eyes. I felt my eyes widen a bit as he strode over to me in that way he has, with his shoulders, the way a wolf shoulders through tall grass. Slow, steady. Everything about Simon seemed that way. Slow, steady. He paused right in front of me, his eye lids lowered, his lips parted, his breath cool. He was breathing hard. I couldn't necessarily feel it, but i knew I was smiling a very small smile.

        His hands were on my hips, and I could feel the pressure. He held my gaze as he started to circle around me. I started to turn with him, but his hands on my hips stopped me. I closed my eyes as I savored the feeling of his breath on the nape of my neck. "Stay where you are," he whispered against my ear. I shivered out of reflex and nearly dropped the the box i was still holding up. Simon's hands left my hips, sliding up, his fingers brushing my navel, traveling up slowly to my ribcage, squeezing, his fingers tapping on my chest. He runs one hand up my arm, setting me on fire. His other hand slides back down to fiddle with the waist band of my jeans, torturing me. I feel the weight of  the box dissapear as he stands on his tiptoes and presses his front against my back. He pauses to drop a kiss on top of my head. Simon slides slowly down my back. It's torture, he feels so good. As soon as i feel him drop, I spin around, just barely catching the jump of his eyebrows and the widening of his eyes before my lips capture his. Before Simon, kisses shared with anyone were few and far between. Rick and I- the thought was lost as Simon responded with an enthusiasm i hadn't seen coming. He was so adept. He knew exactly what to do. As with our first kiss, his fingertips brushed my jaw and met at the back of my neck. I never knew what to do with my hands, so they slid into my pockets. I was afraid of what would happen if I allowed my hands to touch him.

        Simon drew in air like someone who'd almost drowned as he pulled away, taking the comfort of his body with him. He was absolutely "Morgeous," I sighed as I opened my eyes to the sight of him. He raised his brows and snorted, his lips curling in pleasure. "C'mon, I've got quite a few more boxes to unpack," I said with a grin. I stepped away probably a bit too hastily, because Simon looked a bit crestfallen as I turned away to saunter out of the room. I trod down the two flights of stairs, and opened the door to the store that was below the flat we'd purchased in London, on a moderately busy street corner. It was in an old part of the city, practically on the outskirts. I'd wanted to go to Paris, and even knew a bit of the language, but it'd have been hard for Simon to adjust there, he still hadn't told me why. I wormed my way out from behind the counter and smiled a greeting at Molly, the lady who owned the store and had rent us the flat. She waved back at me, turning away from a customer for a split moment.