A Thousand Words

Picture


A picture is worth a thousand words, this is how the saying went and right now Akihiko was trying to locate each one of those to describe the breathtaking scene that lay before him.

He leaned back, seated in one of his dining-room chairs. Unusual for him, he wore nothing more than a pair of grey slacks, his lean torso bare. He tip-tapped the keys of his laptop while a smoldering cigarette wisped smoke from the mouth of the panda ashtray beside the computer.

As his fingers moved skillfully across the keyboard, Akihiko's eyes alternated between the glowing screen of the computer and the glowing flesh of his lovely Misaki.

He had surprised Misaki as he was bringing in the laundry from where it had been hanging out on the balcony, drying in the heat of the early summer sun. Akihiko had taken his young lover, after some persuasion of course, right there. They'd collapsed on the floor, limbs tangling atop the fresh sheets that Misaki had been carrying. It had been, as every time was for Akihiko, Glorious.

Almost a week had passed between them since they had experienced that kind of union. The build up they shared had been great and the power of their release, profound. Akihiko had exhausted Misaki with his attentions, to the point that his unusually modest boy was sleeping, even now, still completely naked amidst the crumpled linens on the floor.

Akihiko had always thought that it was in Misaki's sleep that the pureness of his lover's spirit was most clearly revealed: his countenance more ethereal than human.

Tousled dark locks curled around a heart-shaped face. A few strands, still damp from their exertions, clung to Misaki's smooth brow. Akihiko noted the fullness of his boy's kiss bruised mouth, the streaks on still-flushed cheeks left by the tears of their passion. One tear had not fallen and remained behind in the corner of one of Misaki's closed eyes, snared in thick lashes.

The sliding glass doors that led to the apartment's balcony were behind Misaki and the afternoon sun pouring in through the panes gave a haloed edge to his outline.

Lying on his side, one leg slightly bent, this posture gave a delicious twist to Misaki's narrow hips. He had one arm stretched out before him; a bit of the sheets balled in the grasp of his fist. The other arm was bent, fine-boned fingers curled like an infant's, tucked slightly under his chin.

A shadow caught beneath Misaki's jaw emphasized the delicate angularity of his face, the lovely length of his neck. Then a sudden shift in the light grazed the side of his limbs in just such a way that for a moment, the soft fuzz on his forearms was highlighted.

Something in the adolescent innocence of this made Akihiko's heart begin to flutter madly.

Caught in the folds of the wind starched sheets, lost amidst their white drapery, Misaki looked like a sleeping nymph. His beauty reminding Akihiko of Grecian marble: stone polished smooth by loving hands, exquisite lines carefully carved by a master. Only the subtle motion of Misaki's breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his deliciously concave belly, indicated that this sculpture was indeed flesh.

The residual trails made earlier by an eager tongue licking up Misaki's glorious torso were still visible. Akihiko's eyes followed these up, alighting on the pale petals of Misaki's nipples.

Gaze shifting, Akihiko followed the paths back down, traveling below Misaki's waist. A gentle peak of material obscured his view of his lover's most intimate parts, the velvet bag of Misaki's sac, the post passion flaccidity of his delightfully responsive member.

As though sensing Akihiko's heating thoughts, Misaki's emerald eyes opened slowly. The author felt the weight of his boy's stare upon him and lifted his eyes to meet this verdant gaze.

Akihiko held his breath: it was like having a deer wander into one's garden. He remained completely still, not wanting to frighten his wild, lovely creature into flight.

Surprisingly, rather than follow his normal pattern on waking, rising in a flurry of motion and retreating amidst exclamations of denial and disgust, Misaki continued to lie there, regarding him from beneath heavy-lids. His eyes were still slightly glazed from drinking, so recently and so deeply, the intoxicating liquors of love and lust.

The corners of Misaki's mouth subtly curled up and Akihiko was stunned to hear a satisfied sigh escape from behind tender lips.

Then Misaki's eyelids, drifted slowly down again and he turned his head slightly, nestling back in.

Hands stilled above his keyboard, Akihiko studied Misaki a moment , in a single fluid motion, he highlighted all the text he had just typed. Standing up, he slipped out of his trousers, draping them over his chair. He stubbed out his cigarette, and pressed the delete button.

The screen went blank.

Moving over to Misaki. Akihiko lowered himself and lay down beside him, carefully arranging himself around his darling's lithe limbs. Draping one arm over Misaki's shoulders, he nestled his silver head over the top of the unruly brown one.

Akihiko found himself blissfully enveloped. The afternoon's lengthening rays stroked the cool skin of his back. Against his front, he was warmed too as his boy pushed back, snuggling into him.

Closing his eyes, Akhiko breathed in the scent of Misaki's skin: of sweat, and soap, and sun.

A thousand words is not enough…

Akihiko suddenly realized, in this moment, that even if he used all the words of all the world's languages, they would still not be sufficient to express this picture of his love.

The End


Thank you for reading.