Grey Games

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I asked him softly, the words brushing my red lips. I knew the answer, but I needed him to voice it for me.

Instead of obliging, he kept smirking. I watched as his grey charcoal eyes, burning on my lips, travelled slowly around my face and down my whole being. And as he knew I was watching, he filled his chest with air and exhaled slowly, knowing exactly what he was doing to me.

The air around us was filled with electricity, and the world seemed too quiet. My mind and body were at war, but I could not, would not, move. For I knew that if I moved even one inch, the explosion would be too brutal, and there was no going back to pretending. And what’s more, I knew my mind was one more liar among us, for we were not alone here, as I could feel the shadow of Hades dancing through the flames of the chimney next to us.

But I could not pretend I did not feel every nerve in my body enthralled by the velvet feel of his gaze. His slate eyes made their way back to mine. I opened my mouth slightly, gasping for air at the sight. I was losing my mind, running wild in a field of grey amaryllis, and from his eyes, I knew he was too. The storm within us both was barely perceptible at first, but the signs were present, screaming.

He suddenly, with a palpable urge, reached for my hand on the wooden bar. The heat from his touch propelled my body into a fight with a most innate desire I did not comprehend at first. He intertwined his fingers with mine, caressing my palm with his thumb, and my breath quickened. He kept his eyes on my lips at first, acknowledging his power over my reactions, and then looked at our hands.

“I wish the world would stop turning right now,” he said softly but loud enough for me to hear. There is a way to make it stop turning, I thought while feeling my hands tangling from the urge to touch his face.

As we were seated side by side, our bodies slightly towards each other and at the same time resting on the side of the bar, I felt a pressing desire to get closer. The world around us was still quiet, the lights deep, leaving both our faces nestled in the comforting darkness. My body felt weightless against the bar. Our drinks, which we barely touched, were now non-existent, leaving us the lone inhabitants of this world, lulled by the darkness of this bar, lost in the streets of Paris. I want to feel you, I thought. I, therefore, let myself be led by my most primal desire and scooted towards him, slowly, making sure my thighs were pressing up against his. He smirked while watching me get closer. And I let him. He pressed his thumb against my palm, strong enough to send shivers down my spine. So, I let my fingers slide under the sleeve of his sweater, giving him the freedom to get closer. And so he did. I knew it. I watched as our thighs were now near enough for both our minds to wander to the uncharted land, where he and I would finally give in to the burning heat of our touch.

His eyes, like portals to an ancient realm of untamed yearning, craved the blood pulsing in my lips once again. He slightly parted his mouth, pulling me closer with his hand, then suddenly stopped. He left my hand on his thigh and rested his on mine. I felt the heat of his breath against my skin, as his breath was as quick and demanding as mine. We were both thinking the same thing, and softly, as though his words were suspended in time, he said, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”. But we can’t, I thought. If our lips were to touch, I would never forgive myself. It would be like swallowing the storm ahead, knowing that it would not stop the rain from falling but only invite the flood.

We stayed still for what felt like an eternity, our lips close enough for us to breathe each other, but far enough for us not to give in. It was not going to happen, at least not today.

When he opened his mouth to say it, my hand rushed to stop him. I left my fingers to do what my lips were not allowed to, rest on his lips, and I whispered, resigned, “Don’t say it, not yet”. Because once you do, everything will be real, and real is paved with no pretending, no more turning back.

This short story will be part of my short stories and poetry collection. still a work in progress.

With love, Always, B.