ex stellis
Latin. "from the stars"

He can't ask for anymore than what he has right now. Although he cannot feel his toes inside his shoes, he couldn't feel warmer… And that alone says enough. Warmth is…it is something he has never experienced until now. Until her. She is close to him. Her body stays close to his, her hair laying across the grass. He loves it. He loves her hair. He swears it's as if he touches silk when he does, but then he stops… If her hair is silk, what does that make her skin?

He has never touched anything softer than her body. Smooth. Gentle. Almost addictive. He hates it. She's seductive without even trying. He wants her. She has no idea how badly he wants her. He's powerless when she comes into the picture. This girl, the one lying closely next to him—the one with the big, brown eyes gazing up at the stars, makes him…weak.

Weak in his knees, weak in his mind, weak in his heart. No, it has to be the air. The air keeps changing into a much more frosty and sharp wind; that is what makes his chest ache. It has to be the air that constricts his lungs. It's not her, no, not her in the slightest.

It's not her lips, how she bites her lower lip in excitement. It's not the eyelashes that compliment her face. Her face… It's definitely not her face. Not the face that he loses himself in repeatedly…certainly not.

She takes in a large huff of autumn air and then lets it out. Her breath goes up into the stars as a little disappearing cloud while his catches in his throat. He swears she belongs up there with the stars where she deserves to shine. Or, at least, let the world see how she really shines. He's mad how beautiful she is. He's mad about her.

He needs to know what this is. What this feeling is. He knows it not to be anger, although he burns up inside. He knows it mustn't be hate, because he cares for her skin and voice too much. Even though he knows these things, he doesn't know what this sensation could be. He doesn't know what she could be.

His grip on her cold hand tightens, and his gaze does not move from her figure. She turns her head to him and the corners of her mouth go up. He doesn't understand why she smiles at him the way she does. The way she smiles, although he has a grip on her hand, has a grip on his heart. It hurts. How much he wants to hold her close hurts. How he wants to constantly feel her skin, taste her lips, breathe her in; it all hurts.

She shifts closer to him, bringing her lips close to his ear. His ear is red and numb, and with her hot breath she says in it, "Silver, I'm yours."

And shivers go down his spine.

His hands move fast. He places one at the back of her neck and the other firmly on her warm waist. He hangs his head down to her own ear, and whispers, "You can't back out of it."

She smiles, placing her hand on his jawline. With a light tug, she pulls his mouth towards her own. After a small kiss, she moves away and responds, "I don't want to."

His grey eyes pierce straight into her brown eyes. His legs are cold, he can't feel his nose, but his chest feels warm. He feels warm looking into her eyes. He does realize, however, his left hand is still cold even though it's pressed against her side. He moves it lower, his fingers searching for the end of her sweater. They soon find their way underneath the fabric, and his cold rough hand caresses the soft, hot skin of her side. She gasps but draws him in closer.

Their cracked, dry lips come together. There's kissing, deeper than that. She makes him feel deeper than that. It's not just kissing, it's licking and sucking and laughing and smiling. He's thanking the stars tonight. He's thanking the autumn season right now. He can't ask for anymore than her.

a/n: for my nugget Stella, or silverbuttercups on Tumblr.