A/N: Heeey! 'Tis me, the author who doesn't come around a whole lot xD. Sorry for such a delay, I've been swamped with school. I've been dealing with quite a bit of stress, so I kind of had a latent period where I was dry in terms of ideas. To celebrate my return to my musings, I give you this lovely drabblet as an offering. More stories will be coming soon, so stay patient.

Enjoy, guys! ...and reviewwww. Review, because it's so awesome to get feedback and hear from my lovelies.~

Fingers – tiny and rather child-like in their nature and composition - brush against the canvas of flesh presented before him. In his mind's eye, he is making lyrical notes on the porcelain skin, humming a tune not yet known to the wide range of human sound.

Here, is the world presented to him. Everything he needs to become the next greatest hit on a chart, or in politics – maybe dominate literature, or conquer the next scientific theory…rests here, in the man who lets his lover's tanned digits explore with nothing more than idle bemusement.

Thinking of the intricate manner in which he plans for his song, Rigby shifts, moving his fingers to move up and around on narrow, lithe shoulders, over jutting collarbones and brush pleasantly past a pair of pert nubs.

How funny, he muses, resting his chin on the taller man's shoulder, that he had never noticed the striking juxtaposition between his darkened, sun-kissed flesh and that of his lover, whose complexion was as flush and light as China porcelain freshly crafted.

An interesting, sort of compelling idea stirs about in his languid mind. Letting his fingers brush down and over a taut abdomen, he attempts to visualize the strength underneath Mordecai's lanky frame – the amount of vitality and energy he withholds, swimming in his very arteries with generations of his lineage blessing him with such compelling [and attractive, mind you] features.

"Hmh…amused, dude?" His voice carries in a very soft murmur, neck shifting as he turns his head to rest his chin on Rigby's head.

"Mmhmm…" Is the lazy drawl that the mixed boy responds with, bringing his light, russet-tinted eyes to gaze up into heterochromic ones that come in cerulean and indigo.

"You're weird." Mordecai shakes his head a little, raising his arms to reach up to his shoulders and lace fingers with the brunette.

"Nu-uh, you are…"

Rigby lifts his head up slightly, pouting in good humor. To retaliate, the taller man merely clicks his tongue, leans in, and steals a quick kiss, hardly bothering to move more than an inch once their lips part company.

A moment for nothing – only to sit, enjoy, and breathe the other in as if this would be the last things their living bodies could do together. Eyes closed, they both smile, and the meaning of the world is defined solely by the moment that they exist together in an enveloping, skin-to-skin intimacy of racial opposites.

Everything outside the lines was just as beautiful.