Because I'm dancing erratically from stone to stone, trying to stretch the ideas so they're formed enough to mesh together, I'm losing sight of a few things. And I'm halfway through the month with 70% left of my script to finish but feeling little excitement for their dilemmas. Instead, I'm going to write some random. Why not? I want to play with this muse before he escapes me!
Forward: this his NOTHING to do with any of my stories or any movies/books/songs/media of any kind. Do I have a plan for this to be a story? No. I have ideas but this is just a blurp. So, take it what you will. BTW, I say this is complete crap but I want to at least get the basis of my scene out. Sorry for the lame description.
It was peaceful to watch him sleep. The slow rise and fall of his bare, slim chest as it was inches away from hers. Instinctively, she felt pangs of sadness at their distance. He was too far away on the old mattress they both inhabited. Her body cold from his lack of intimacy that she longed. Oh, she longed to have his arms wrapped around her, his chest flesh with her back, his chin on her shoulder as slept in the most heavenly of ways.
But he was different now. They both had matured and grown up, hardened by the world around them and only able to fully relax in their sleep from time to time. Nothing was ever simple anymore, it seemed. Work demanded every usable hour only to come home, exhausted and drained, ready for food and sleep, a mere hour or two of daylight or enjoyable comfort. Life had been more comfortable back then despite the drama and demands they had put upon themselves.
He was too tempting not to touch. A small finger just grazing across his face was all she needed to do. A small touch so insignificant, just to be sure he was real and her own. But one small touch could wake him.
Risking his peaceful slumber and ensuring her own, she delicately placed a finger to his face, trailing is slowly up the bridge of his nose, along his boyish forehead and along his hairline. She wanted to run her fingers through his dark, slicked back hair but any more and she would stir him.
Too late. His watery brown eyes fluttered open, his body instinctively pulling back ever so slightly before a small whisper of a smile crept across his face. She melted when his cheeks creased dimple lines. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice intoxicated with sleep.
"Sorry," she blinked, mesmerized by him.
"Couldn't sleep?" he readjusted his head on the pillow, meanwhile clearing a couple inches closer to her.
"I tried," she said. "I was just cold."
His smirk grew as he lifted his hand, holding up the blanket, inviting her into his arms.
Without a second thought, she burrowed herself close, chest to chest and nestled her face into the crook of his neck. This was perfection, she thought to herself. This was the only place she wanted to be.
"Better?" his voice reverberated in his throat next to her ear.
"Much," she kissed the skin closest to her. She closed her eyes, this was all she ever wanted.
However, the mood was snuffed out by the occupants outside the bedroom door. Suddenly, her eyes flashed open with a start. Her parents were home and despite the fact that they were not kids in high school anymore, this perfect moment would not seem so perfect to them. "That can't be good," he said, noticing her tense.
"Not at all," she brought her head up and looked over his shoulder, praying the bedroom door was locked.
- Mood:
tired
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