the sun looks good on you - solangelo

19- paint me a picture

will comes over again for the night. it seems that he spends more time here than he does at his own dorm. his roommate is unbearable and he loves an excuse to see me. the days and nights are growing warmer as summer approaches. will is getting nervous about finals.

he murmurs on about finals as we lay beside each other in my bed. his voice is low. he knows how i like it when he talks quietly like that.

"do you like me?" he asks very suddenly. he was only talking about studying a second ago. i felt like the question was like a splash of water to the face.

"i actually can't fucking stand you," i joke. he smiles at this. "you know i do," i say softer. his face affirms that he does in fact know.

"it's nice to hear sometimes." he says. he looks at me. his smile makes me feel wide awake. "do you think i'm attractive?" this question sounds more shy. i like that he's shy, since i'm usually the shy one. i bite my cheek.

"i do," i say. i try to sound very clear and sure in my answer. i don't want him to ever doubt these things.

"do you?" he asks. i know he's fishing for something, but i let him. his eyes are shining even in the darkness of my room.

"i like your hair. it looks like strands of gold in the sun." i reach out and my fingers twirl his hair for a few seconds and he can't stop smiling. he's biting his lip. his eyes ask for me to go on.

"i adore your freckles and your dimples. they dance when you smile," i swipe my thumb across his warm cheeks. they're red in color. my fingers continue to trail downwards his neck.

"i like this," my fingers lightly graze his collarbones and he shivers against my touch. i trace them lightly. they are shaped like a "v"- stretching out like wings. "do you want me to stop?"

"no, please-" he says in that low and quiet voice i adore. "go on," you can hear the smile in his vowels. i don't even have to look at him to know he's grinning. but i do anyway because i love those dimples so much.

my fingers trail down his torso. he shivers some more. "i love the warmth of your skin. i like how you respond to my touch," i say. i can feel heat rising off of him as he turns redder. i sweep across his stomach. i stop there.

i like this. usually i am the one turning red at his touch. i like the change in roles.

"do you want to-" i ask, raising my eyebrows.

"do you?"

"if you want it, i want it. i asked you. do you want to?"

"christ- more than anything," he says. i almost laugh. his voice sounds so quiet and breathless. embarrassed.

i turn so that i am on top of him and he is facing up at me. his eyes are looking up at me and it's intoxicating.

"that's all you had to say," i murmur, bringing my face close to his.

i kiss him softly at first, but he's not having it. he turns his neck at an angle, trying to get more. i smile against his lips and kiss even softer. it doesn't last long though. i just wanted to drive him a bit crazier. i let us fall into it. the kiss, i mean. it happens quickly and blurrily and before i know it, we must stop to breathe again. and again. and again.

i feel his warm hands creep up my shirt so i take it off and his comes off too. his warm skin touches mine and we both shiver a little bit, but in a good way. my lips trail down his jaw and find his neck.

he whimpers a little bit and i soak it up.

i totally get why he likes making me red with his little comments and his soft touches. it's this. the warmth of his skin where i touch it. the trail of red marks i'm leaving on his freckled skin. we're each other's canvases and we're painting each other pink. it's nice to know that a piece of you took physical effect on someone. i just know that he's burning up inside.

he's breathing very hard now and i sit up straight to get a good look at him and see what type of painting i've created. his chest rises and falls heavily. the trail of pink marks sit prettily against the lightness of his skin. and his face is almost magenta, it's so red and hot. his eyes fluttered open and he looks up at me as if he had just been woken from a fever dream. he stares at me in a peculiar way and smiles a little. he's giving me that peculiar look again. the back of my neck prickles.

"why are you looking at me like that?" i ask.

"you're... you're smiling," he says in awe between breaths. he places his hand with his palm against my cheek. it slowly makes its way back until his fingers are tangled in my hair.

i touch my lips lightly with my fingertips. so i was. i was grinning. that's why he was looking at me like that. i don't grin like that often.

"it's nothing," he says even though it's obviously much more than nothing to him. "you just look very... very pretty like that,"

it was my turn for my cheeks to turn warm and pink.

"shut up," i mutter, still smiling. "i think you look pretty like this," i kiss him again, not trying to drive him crazy this time or anything like that. i kiss him relentlessly, my lips crashing into his like waves against a rocky cliff. over and over, without rest or hesitation. so he can look like he had woken up from a fever dream again. and again. and again.

"fuck," he mutters breathily, his voice sounding dreamy and far away. "nico," he says my name simply and as though the name itself was his gasp of air. i feel giddy.

his hands make his way to my zipper fly. my head makes its way into the clouds.