Title: The Divine and the Sweet
Author:
_dragoonqueenPairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: faketyfakefake. to my great displeasure.
Summary: With eyes full of wonderful earthly browns he lures you in. His skin is tantalisingly flawless; tempting you to touch it, see if it all cracks and he turns to dust.
The white dusted countryside whirls by as the train carves through the icy mist. The hilltops in the distance are capped with snow and the setting sun casts a golden light upon them. It’s almost divine; the peaks high enough you think they could well be the gates to heaven.
There is a man sat directly in front of you, staring out at the same scene. You cannot recall ever laying eyes on anyone as beautiful as he. The same golden hue seems to emanate from every fibre of his being. Perhaps he is part of the sun itself, you silently wonder, for at this very moment he is at the centre of your thoughts, everything else swiftly becoming insignificant.
You are already infatuated with this otherworldly man.
Angel?
The word ‘angel’ conjures up the image of golden hair with piercing blue eyes but this man has the most lavish ebony hair, cropped, but not too short to stop your long fingers carding through it. With eyes full of wonderful earthly browns he lures you in. His skin is tantalisingly flawless; tempting you to touch it, see if it all cracks and he turns to dust. You refrain from reaching out, partly because you do not want to mar him, and partly down to you worrying he may find it inappropriate.
Your paint stained hands twitch from restraint. The movement catches his eye and he casts a glance in your direction. Your heart tries its best to leap out of your throat when his eyes lock with your own.
Swallow, force it back down, say something!
However, your heart seems to have taken up so much room you can barely get a word past its wild and frantic beating. All that manages to escape past your lips is a small uttering of a sound as you rake through the hundreds of thoughts in your mind trying to find something charming to say.
Your face must be betraying something of all this inward struggle for the very cause of it is now asking if you’re feeling alright. The poor man probably has no idea that he’s just made things a little bit worse by sounding his voice. It sounds like caramel pouring from a spoon, constantly folding over on itself when it reaches whatever luxurious dessert waiting below.
Your desire to press your lips to his increases tenfold; see if he tastes like he sounds.
When you regain your voice and recollect your endlessly wandering thoughts, you reassure him that you’re fine, just a little nervous. You feel like you may pass out but you hold back that information, you’ve embarrassed yourself enough. He’s still talking though, so you don’t have to say anything, just stare at your knees.
He hopes he isn’t the cause, you finally hear. But it’s only a tiny whisper, a breath of words that would have faded and gone unheard had you been sitting a little further away. You look up to find him staring at his fidgeting hands, occasionally picking at an imaginary ragged nail. It is now you see he isn’t quite as flawless as you believed before. He is but a man, just like yourself, though this does not make him any less desirable, perhaps even more so. You’re not sure what he meant by his statement, but your heart is ready to throw itself back into your throat.
Except this time it’s with hope and no more panic.
He has resorted to drumming his calloused fingers upon his thighs while determinedly looking out the window. Without thought you place your hands over his, ceasing all movements and sounds. His head swings round so that due to your newly forwarded position, you are face to face. His eyes are so close now you can see yourself reflected in them, a thought which gets your heart racing. The blazing sun casts such a fiery glow upon the side of his face that it seems to brand the idea that he is a part of it onto his skin.
You whisper that yes, he was making you nervous but…but…
…and now you’re so distracted because every time he breathes you can feel it against your lips, and when you try to speak it feels like he’s pulling the breath out of you and into him.
It is with this last thought that you close the gap between the both of you, and you find out that he does not taste the way he sounds; he tastes twice as sweet.