"We exist in a world of pure communication, where looks don't matter and only the best writers get laid." They looked at each other and laughed after a moment of serious silence.
They sat several feet apart, he in a corner of the room and she nearly in the middle. Their love hung around them like a heavy scent in the air. Neither wanted to stop breathing it in.
He lay along a sofa, comfortably propped up by cushions. Behind him was a long window that brushed him with midday light. The view was breathtaking, but that was of no consequence to them now. When together they barely saw past the others' eyes.
She was curled in a large old chair by the unlit fire, white wine gripped between her hands. She was not a beauty, though seen in pieces she may have been. Her lips were finely shaped and naturally tinged a pretty pink. Her hair fell darkly and thickly over her head; her eyes were a soft cloud-blue. Together, though, her face could neither be considered perfection nor flawed.
His face was of the same nature. His straight black hair collapsed unstyled into his green eyes. His jaw was well shaped and his lips kissable enough. She saw nothing in him but god-like wonder, but to others he was merely a face in the crowd.
He blinked, but his eyes did not leave her face. Every moment he looked away from her was another moment we would not see her face. Though he lived through the imaginings of his mind he loved real life too much to let even the smallest moment go readily. He had been afraid that over time she would lose some of the power he felt present in her, but that had not yet happened. He watched as her eyes drifted momentarily to a book by his side. He picked it up at her wordless command and regretfully turned his eyes down to the pages before him.
He knew what phrase of previous thought she wanted but his eyes alighted on a different section before he reached it.
"I don't remember this." He paused and studied his own handwriting. Then he smiled secretively. "Oh, yes, this." She lent towards him, slightly uncurling from her place in her need to hear his voice as clearly as it could be heard.
It was for his words and his voice that she fell in love with him. She could listen to him all day, all night, and never tire of hearing even his most mundane thought. She watched him carefully now as his eyes ran along the page to the exact thoughts he craved.
She wanted to get up and lie beside him, to stroke his face and kiss him and hold him and never let go. She also wanted to, when she looked at him. She had often wondered how anyone could not desire to do so. Thinking of his face was enough to give rise to the most powerful of emotions, and the sound of his voice was a more potent spell on her. She remembered herself just as her toes uncurled to rise and be with him.
He was about to speak.
"'The sunlight lingered delicately in the air much longer than it was allowed to. The dusk of a spring night was coming, but the world was too lost in the now to remember the necessity of the balance of night and day.'"
His voice became the sun and the gentle wind and the river. She could feel the grass beneath her and it seemed as though his words created the whole from start to end. He built up the imagined kingdom where he lived his written life; she had seen this river bank many times before in his thoughts. Time stopped. He told her of the couple who lay together under a towering tree. Suddenly the world was forgotten. There was nothing, only these two people, in love.
"'His fingers traced the line along her throat and shoulder. He barely touched her, running his fingers along so barely it was as though the wind had merely blown over her skin.'"
It was not an imagining, not in its entirety, and she gasped with remembered pleasure of that day. She had sat on the chair he rested on now, her head against his chest. He had teased her with the vaguest of touches. She could feel it now, again, the tingling of her skin, longing desperately for a more real contact, but not wanting the erotic dream-like whisper to stop.
"'She breathed in sharply as his palm touched her cheek accidentally. She forgot everything, only his touch mattered.'"
His voice slowed and his tongue touched his lips softly with the remembrance of the moment.
"'Her hair brushed against his cheek and his arm lay across her stomach. Every breath she took felt to him like his own heart beat. He could barely resist taking her and kissing her and loving her. He smiled as she shivered against him. He forced himself to slow his hand, teasing her a little longer.'"
She touched his shoulder and he started. He hadn't seen her get up but he raised his arm from his side and let her join him. He put the book down and pulled her closer. The electricity he felt every time he touched her skin blasted through him and he kissed her roughly, impulsively. She tilted her head up to him and opened her mouth and with one arm reached up and grasped his head roughly and pulled him down to her.
She was crushing her other arm, but everything was forgotten. He tasted her lips and ran his tongue along them, slowly. She gasped and pulled him closer, pressing her body against his and trying to find a way to get closer to him. He shuddered with pleasure. She kissed him, again and again.
Sometimes words aren't enough.