The dark-blue comforter is the perfect back-drop for all that incredibly lovely tan/rosy skin.
My heart is beating in my throat...my ears filled with the sound of blood roaring through my veins...all headed south, apparently, since my brain just stopped working.
Marco is lying there, propped up on one elbow.
The only thing that breaks up the loveliness of his stretched-out body is the slightly paler-blue of my bathrobe...just the edge of it really, draped over his middle.
I don't know if he'd done it on purpose or not...but I can't think enough to care!
Just below the end of the sweet curve of his waist...just above the end of where that deliciously-rounded butt becomes thigh..
He has part of one sleeve pressed to his nose; chest swelling as he breathes deeply...staring into my eyes.
If the alarm had gone off then, it wouldn't have surprised me at all...yeah a dream, that would make sense.
The long, now thicker mass of midnight-black curls frames a face...so like Marco's teen-aged face...
But this body...so truly a man's body now, but still having that same...almost..feminine-curving...the soo delicate balancing of shapes that has always called to me like no other body ever could.
I don't remember coming into the room...closing the door.
I'm just ...there, beside the bed, staring down at him: dizzy from the way his face looks....so like his face when we first met.
The look in his eyes, so like the slightly-suspicious, almost...shocked... delight, that was often in his eyes when I'd come into a room, search for and then walk up to him, back then...
That look that says as clearly as if he'd spoken it:'Can he really want me?'
We both felt that way, a lot back then; each thinking the other couldn't really be serious, just kinda waiting for the 'punch-line'.
He actually thought I was ...like this really 'hot-jock', anyone's dream-date!
I couldn't believe this smart, funny, creative, gentle, kind, wonderful, unbelievably beautiful boy...really liked ME!...wanted to hang-out, and seemed to really enjoy being... with Me!
Marco has never liked movies about zombies,(and the reasons for that are a story all by itself) but he went to one with me...
He told me they frightened him, a lot, but of course I didn't really believe it, or even care that much...not then, Yeah I was just as much 'dumb-jock' as Ellie thought I was back then.
When Marco reached for my hand (during one of the first of the bloody parts of the movie) but then drew back, looking so embarrassed and afraid and.....
I can say, now, that my heart couldn't stand that look...not on his face...couldn't deal with even the idea of him feeling that way.
I leaned over and whispered to him that it was o.k.
After looking at me for a second, seeing that I meant it, he took my hand; gently sliding his fingers between mine.
I can't even tell you how great it felt....that he wanted to.
Marco was serious about how much those movies scare him; and he had a stronger grip than you'd expect.
Yeah, my circulation was gone for most of the rest of the movie, at least during the really bloody-parts, but the feel of his hand in mine was ....like loosing a hand, and getting it back, like....it's hard to explain...
Like this was HOME, where my hand had always belonged..and I'd just...somehow ...forgot/got lost....
And now I was back again.
Yeah, nuts, I know, but thats how it felt.
I could never have said all that then, I would've been sure I'd shrivel-up and die!
Yeah, we've both grown a lot since then, sometimes, when Marco's mad at me, he says ' Great, so now you're a full-grown jerk!', but whatever I am, as long as I'm still his.....I'm good.
I finally remember to breathe, try to say something, but nothing comes out...
Some tension seems to flow out of him as his lips twitch into a slow smile....the dark, super-thick, even longer lashes lower a little and he looks at me through them, and my breathing stutters.
"Dylan..." He says my name like I;ve been gone a long time and we're greeting each other somewhere....public or something.
My heart is pounding so hard, I can barely hear his soft warm voice.
Marco takes my hand, holding on as he gets up onto his knees, his eyes never leaving mine, the bathrobe falls away, and I am kissing those soo soft lips, my hands moving over him; this skin that is just as mind-blowingly smooth as it looks.
My fingers trail down over his cheeks, relearning the shape of his neck...the feel of this new thicker, fuller, somehow....(though I know it's not true) stronger, or tougher or....something, body of his just....I don't have the words to explain what it does to me..
I moan into his mouth, feeling his lips move into a smile against my own.
Marco pulls back, stares into m eyes while his own suddenly fill with tears, and he hides his face against my neck.
I lift him into my arms, siting on the bed, holding him in my lap, so I can lift his chin, gently wipe the tears away with my fingertips.
"Shh, baby don't cry, just tell me." I whisper, my lips brushing his forehead.
"I'm sorry!" he chokes out, arms wrapped round me so tight, and he is shaking too.
"It's o.k., I love you, o.k.?" I rub his back soothingly, and the panicky tightness of his grip on me eases a little.
"It's just that I thought, thought you told 'them' because I grossed you out too much for you to talk to 'me' about it!" he mumbled into my shoulder.
'Marco! What...How...!?!" a glance from those red, still leaking eyes, and a finger touching my lips lightly stops me, and he says "I...I've seen you looking at me, lately...but you don't say....I didn't understand, o.k.?"
Inhaling a long stuttering breath, he blinks at the last of the tears, shakes his head as if to clear it, "It's just so hard to think sometimes, now!" he says exasperatedly.
Smiling at little at the look of concerned baffelment on my face, he just looks at me with this..... half-shame-faced expression that says 'You know!'.....and in a minute, I do.
My mouth drops open as understanding dawns.
Marco ducks his head against my chest; the ticlke of those long soft curls calling to my ever-eager fingers.
Then it's my turn to lapse into silence.
I get it now, but can't imagine how to explain it all to him, so I stall a little, asking a question; a good one, but one that was only to get HIM talking while I thought of how to answer all this.....completely and well, and in a way that wouldn't get me into trouble all over again!
And to give time to get a grip.
I know it was a cop-out.
But I have my arms full of naked MARCO!
Thinking isn't what I feel like doing, what I feel/want....is......we need to go home for!
Reaching back for the bathrobe, feeling all kinds of other things(that I also can't say) because he did something like that....brought it with him...even though he was mad at me at the time....puts enough of a lump in my throat to slow my hormones down....a little.
I put it round his shoulders, and he pulls some of it over his lap, resting his head on my shoulder, the look on his face says that he has no idea of how deeply his little 'attention-getter' has effected me; thats what it was about you see: proving to himself that I can still be knocked-out over the sight of him.
Now he knows.
He's fine now.
I'm still......more than a little...lost in fantasy land.
I wrap my arms round him, bury my nose in his hair, inhaling deeply as I get myself more under control, and ask; "So who got me off death-row?"
He chuckles, kissing my neck, which starts to wreck my calming down efforts, but what he says next makes everything look better.
Looking into my eyes with a sudden, knowing smile; and this close I just stare helplessly back into his, he says; "Lets talk about it in our bedroom. Take me home babe, please?"
He put a little extra something into the 'please', like I might consider saying no to his request.