all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

13- Brian May

"God, you're so beautiful," he nearly croaked, a dripping finger tracing the bump of my cheekbone, leaving a trace of dampness on my skin, "You really are something, aren't you?" he softly sighed, leaning forwards a little in our position.

As he did so, some water sloshed out of the steamy bathtub, dripping onto the tiles and causing us both to glance at the floor and shrug in synchronization.

Turning back to him, I inched forwards on his lap, the fumes of the burning incense on the counter mixing with the delicate aroma of the bath bomb, clouding my senses---but nothing clouded them more than the beautiful man I was wrapped in such an intimate embrace with.

It seemed a little odd to my eyes to see him with flattened curls, and I doubted that I ever would get used to the sight, but Brian's good looks still reigned superior as his earnest bambi eyes remained fixated on me, like I was a specimen he just couldn't figure out.

"I can't get over the way you love me like you do," I chuckled a little, letting my hand rest on his chest, rubbing the taut muscles as the infusion of roses lingered on his soft skin.

"Your faintest touch drives me crazy into an endless whirpool of love," he sweetly smiled at me, showing his perfectly aligned teeth, "I often wonder exactly how many songs of our discography have been written about you," I blushed as his clear-as-gems eyes shone.

"I wish I'd possessed more talents so I could cement you in history as the one and only man I'll ever see worthy of a painting," I cradled his face in my head, reveling in the sight of him closing his eyes and leaning into my touch.

"You're talented enough already," he splayed his long fingers out at the curve of my back, pressing me against him even more.

I snorted in possibly the most unladylike fashion, poking his statuesque nose, "I can't draw a measly stick figure, I am incapable of singing the flattest of notes, I most certainly can't shake my hips without looking demented, and I can't transform my thoughts into meticulous words as you can either."

"But you've captured my heart, haven't you? That's enough of a feat," he mumbled tenderly.

As he did so, he pressed those lips that spoke such otherworldly words against the corner of my mouth, pecking lightly. He slid further in the ceramic tub, pulling me down with him to lie against his warm chest, as we cherished the silence that spoke volumes louder than our words ever could; it spoke in love.

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