It's 2am, and

the night is dark and

the silence is as

deep as the thoughts we

breathe.

While I am the messy hair

and the tear streaked face,

he is the kiss on my bare shoulder

and the whispered

it will be alright.

I think I love you, he tells me.

You don't know me, I tell him. You shouldn't.

But I want to, he says. I want to love you.

And he kisses me,

his lips oh so very

tender

against mine;

like a question, like a promise.

And I

love

his

promises.

May I? He asks, like

a gentleman asking for one last dance and

his fingertips are playing against my spine,

gently,

like I am fragile;

like I am

a masterpiece.

You may, I reply.

Because if I said anything but,

It wouldn't

feel

right.

He replies by

pressing his lips

to mine

again,

this time

rougher

harder

hungrier;

and I know that he is

trying,

trying so hard

to be gentle,

to take it slow.

He breathes my name

between kisses,

and it is the most

beautiful thing

I have

ever

heard.

You are so beautiful, he says,

like he can read

my thoughts.

and I tell him

to go take a long, hard look

in the mirror.

His kisses trail

down my neck and

across my collarbone,

soft and

warm and

leaving us

out of breath.

I want to see you, he whispers against my neck. I want to see all of you.

We can't, I say. What about Hiro and Aunt Cass?

I'll tell them I spent the night at Wasabi's, he says, and when his teeth graze skin, I gasp. Tell them I had something I needed his help with.

You never need Wasabi's help, I tease.

I know, he says, lifting his head, hovering his lips over mine. But they don't have to know that.

I taste his tongue on mine,

and I run my fingers through his hair;

aching

wanting

needing.

His hands are slipping under my sweater now,

burning and

branding

his touch into my skin;

and I am pulling at the hem of his

goddamned t-shirt because

all I need is

to feel his skin

against my own.

Take it off, I say into his ear, voice rough.

Gladly, he replies.

He breaks away from me,

and I

fumble

as I pull his shirt off and

oh my god,

he is

so

very

beautiful.

And with my hands I

trail across every inch,

like his skin is the map that

shows me the way

home.

He is blushing now,

cheeks red

like strawberries,

and he tells me, it's your turn now.

I don't argue;

and once I am

exposed

and trembling

with want

for him;

he looks at me

like I am a

lost word

that's been waiting to be spoken,

like I am the dream that

he has been

recklessly

chasing;

and his eyes

set me

ablaze.

Stop staring, I tell him.

Don't count on it, he says.

And this time,

I am the treasure map,

I am the

constellation of kisses

and the wildfire inside

his chest.

And

everything

he

does

amazes me,

rids me of air,

and makes me crave

him,

and only him.

I still want more, I tell him, breathing hard.

I know, he whispers. I'll try.

And it's only with my back

settling on the bed

and his body

braced over mine

that I realize

that this moment is

real,

as real and

alive

as the heartbeat I feel

pounding against my palm

and the inside of my chest.

What do you want? He asks me, out of breath.

I pull his face to mine. You, I say.

And he gives it to me,

gives it his all when

he leaves those possessive,

little marks

across my skin,

and his hands are everywhere and his mouth feels like heaven and

dear God, please just let him fuck me already-

and when every layer that separates us has

disappeared like

a magician's finale,

when shivers dance

across our skin as our

flesh

goes unadorned,

he does

exactly

that,

the two of us

entwined in

a sinful embrace

as his hands

bruise

my waist

and

my thighs

wrap around

his.

I would tell him

not to stop,

but he is painting my mind

white

with divine bliss,

and my mouth is too

busy

painting the

crook of his neck

into a vibrant canvas

of violet.

I love you, he tells me, saying it

again and again with

every move of his hips

like a prayer,

like a last

lifeline;

and his name spills from my mouth

more than once,

his back raw and

red like

a testament,

a tribute to

this cardinal hunger

that's eating away at us,

burning us

alive.

And when I'm so close to

screaming his name and

his lungs are heaving with

heavy,

ragged breaths and

all I can think is

faster, faster, oh God, yes-

the both of us

come

undone,

shudders and tremors

shaking us,

releasing us,

renewing us.

Heavy breaths fill

the quiet room we're in,

and I am speechless,

because what we have just done

there are no words-

not even one,

to describe.

Can I stay the night? He asks, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and pulling me close.

Yes, I answer. Yes please.

And when the sheets are wrapped tightly around

our bare frames

and I am

safe in his arms, his heart

beat beat beating against my own-

I shut my eyes,

wanting nothing but

to see his face

and only his

for as long as

until the

darkness

comes.