The breeze kissed my face, and though the light of day had long passed us by, I carried a light of my own. I turned to him, watching, admiring, as he rambled about what he called nonsense, though I always found meaning in his every word. I smiled, letting soft laughter escape as he debunked scientific theories with the passion of a man mid-monologue, his hands flailing dramatically like that somehow made his points more valid.
At one point, I felt Rocket crawl into the front pocket of my hoodie, snapping me out of the love-drenched trance I'd slipped into. The walk was drawing to a close, but that didn't mean the joy had to follow. I tugged on his hand, our fingers already laced, and pulled him gently closer.
"I loved this," I said, letting the affection pour out of me without restraint.
"I'm glad you did, darling. I did too."
The word darling melted me where I stood. Something about the way he said it, like I was fragile, but only in the most precious sense, always made my heart stumble. I leaned in, placing a soft, yearning kiss on his lips. One turned into two. Then three. Then I lost count.
A hand against his chest stopped me from disappearing into him completely. We both smiled.
A loud cry from the pouch of my hoodie brought us back to reality.
"The little guy wants to go home," I translated with a laugh, shaking my head before letting Rocket know we were on our way back.
I let out a breath of relief as the door to our home clicked shut behind us. Being outside, seeing all the world had to offer, stirred something in me, an urge to paint.
I turned to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"I feel like painting."
Resting my chin on his shoulder, I let the idea hang in the air.
"Then go paint," he said with a soft shrug. "But you know I want you to show me when you're done, love."
I melted into his chest as he pulled me in by the waist. His touch was as soft as feathers, but it warmed me more than any flame ever could.
"How about you come watch?" I offered, peeking into his eyes, searching for even the smallest spark of interest. I didn't have to search long.
"I'd love to."
That was all I needed. I laced my fingers through his and led him downstairs, a swirl of excitement fluttering in my chest. I wanted him to see the process, the way the mess becomes something beautiful.
The mat on the basement floor welcomed me like an old friend, speckled with stories from past sessions of trial and error. Around me sat the usual setup: a decently sized canvas, a handful of brushes, paints lined like soldiers, a cup of cloudy water, and soft music humming in the background. Nothing too fancy. But it always did the job.
I stared into the blank canvas, letting my mind wander through the silence. Then, without warning, the image came to me. I dipped my brush into the paint and let the feeling guide me.
It started slow, each brushstroke placed with care, each line a piece of a bigger picture. Literally.
He sat quietly beside me, patient and still, occasionally tilting his head as if trying to decipher the story my brush was telling. I continued flicking and dragging color across the canvas, delicate lines forming the shape of his silhouette.
I hadn't told him he was my inspiration, well, not just him. We were. This piece was a reflection of us.
Two silhouettes drifting through a galaxy, surrounded by the hush of stars. His shadowed figure held my hand, his lips pressed gently to my fingers, while my own silhouette gazed at him in awe, utterly taken.
Just then, as if the painting reached through to the present, I felt his hand gently grasp mine. A warm kiss met my skin. I turned to him, gently cradling his face before pulling him into a kiss, soft, deep, filled with a thousand unspoken 'I love you's' and quiet promises I still didn't have enough words for.
"It's beautiful," he said finally, his voice slow and full of meaning. His words nestled themselves into the corners of my mind and heart.
"I take it that's-"
"Us," I finished for him with a small smile.
He leaned closer, eyes slowly dancing across the canvas. I watched him take it in, and in his expression I saw something quiet and sacred.
"We hanging this one up too?" he asked, gesturing toward an open spot on the wall nestled between my other pieces.
"Definitely."
I turned to face him, met with eyes that undressed me on a level deeper than hands ever could. A warmth stirred in me, one I couldn't resist. I gave in to the feeling, letting my body drift atop his as he leaned back beneath me. Our lips met in kisses full of yearning, each one pulling us closer, deeper.
I trailed soft kisses along his jaw, then down his neck, each one coaxing out quiet sounds from his lips, sounds I would never grow tired of. His pleasure was a symphony, and I was the only one allowed to conduct it.
His body shuddered gently beneath me, and his hands gripped my waist with more intensity, like he needed to hold on to something real, something grounding.
But then, as if reality snapped gently back into place, I pulled back from his neck, and his grip softened.
I leaned back, only to be met again by those same eyes, vast, infinite, and brimming with adoration.
I turned to face the painting, and he soon followed. It looked alive, like it could take a breath at any moment, as if the colors beneath the surface were pulsing with a quiet heartbeat.
I felt his hands graze my back, hesitant but warm. His touch slid along my skin, gentle and comforting, sensual without turning to something else. I leaned into it slightly, welcoming the connection.
"Plan on selling one of these again?" he asked, his eyes still fixed on the canvas.
"Eh, depends on the reception," I replied, "I haven't posted one in a while."
I'd sold a few in the past. It always hurt to see them go, but the money didn't hurt.
I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. I felt safe with him, anchored. With every day that passes, my love for him grows deeper than I ever thought it could.
I just hope he feels the same.