Human Touch – Elijah’s pov
Pairing: Sean/Elijah
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
He’s been quiet all day, and I don’t really know why. Not a bad quiet, never that; he’s not one for sulking, my Sean; if he’s got something on his mind then he says what it is and we sort it out before it gets away from us. So no, it’s nothing bad.
I gave up trying to get him to talk to me somewhere in the middle of the afternoon. Every time I spoke to him, he would just smile at me and shake his head. "It’s nothing, my Elijah, I promise you."
I love that; ‘my Elijah.’ Speaks of possessiveness and love and all kinds of stuff like that – he is possessive, I think, but not in some horrible ‘you can’t go to the movies’ kind of way. He just looks out for me, takes care of me, and that’s not a bad thing. Sometimes I think I need a lot of taking care of. I once told him that I was hard work, not high maintenance, but I think I may have lied. The fact that he laughed like he’d lost his mind should have given it away. I like watching him laugh – he turns back into a Goonie, although I don’t think that’s the kind of thing I can actually tell him.
So I’m lying here watching as he moves around the room, switching lights off, straightening the drapes, flicking imaginary dust from the furniture. We’re in his room – we have separate rooms obviously since there’s no point in trying to attract publicity over our relationship. We’re both obsessive about privacy in that respect anyway, so this works.
He’s so damn beautiful, you know? He’s solid and dependable, and I only have to look at him to feel grounded and safe. Not that I spend my days bouncing off walls or anything, but if I felt like doing that, he would calm me down.
He starts to turn the lights off, and I open my mouth to ask him to leave one on, but he does that anyway, without me having to speak. He knows. Stupid old childhood fear of mine – I don’t like total darkness, it makes me feel – small, and I don’t like to feel small. I look too small, too vulnerable to enjoy being made to feel like that.
He doesn’t do that, you know? He never has. He makes me feel like I’m 1,000 feet tall just by looking at me, and I think that’s what love’s all about, in the end. It’s about confidence and security and the knowledge that as far as one other person in this world is concerned, you are It. That’s what he is. He’s my It.
Finally, when he’s got the room looking just how he wants to it, he climbs onto the bed with me, and I feel myself roll slightly towards him as the bed sags. I start to say something witty and fantastic, but he shakes his head at me, and I don’t speak. I just want to know what’s wrong with him, why he’s been so quiet all day, but he obviously isn’t in the mood for talking and so I lie there. Hey, it’s not a problem for me, just to lie next to him here on this bed with the cotton sheets cool underneath me, and his body warm next to me. He knows that he can do whatever he wants to me, because I know that he will never, ever hurt me, or do anything that goes against what I want.
He’s touching my face, running his fingers over my nose and cheeks, and he looks so intense, so full of concentration that I actually feel my stomach start to clench. I do this to him – me. I make him focus all his attention on one object and study it and – treasure it. It suddenly strikes me what he’s doing; he’s memorising me, learning me, and it’s so fucking wonderful, such a special thing to do that I want to do something to acknowledge it, but I don’t want to break this silence that’s growing so comfortable, so I touch his face, my hand cupping the warmth, feeling the stubble under my palm, rubbing with my thumb, trying to tell him, trying to communicate with him.
When his finger reaches my mouth, I can feel my breathing speed up and I wait, hoping for the kiss that would usually follow, but even though he dips down close enough for me to feel his breath against me, he doesn’t touch me, and he smiles slightly as he pulls away.
When he’s done with his memorising, he settles down with his head on my chest and we lie quietly for a while. I like it when he’s like this, lying on me, over me. Makes me remember why I fell for him, makes me remember the way I felt when I first saw him; like this was home, this was the path my life would take.
He’s got gorgeous hair; thick and springy and the colour of ripe wheat. Reminds me of the place I was born. But I can’t hold that against him. His face – what? How do I describe his face? He doesn’t think he’s anything to look at, and especially not with his Sam weight on, but he’s wrong. Oh, he may not be spectacularly handsome to other people, but to me – god, to me he’s just – he’s like the sun, you know? Goodness and warmth just shine out of him You only have to look into his eyes to know what kind of person he is.
And what eyes they are! I don’t even know what colour they are, and god knows I spend enough time staring into them. Hazel I suppose, but that doesn’t even begin to cover the way they change from green to brown and back again. He has beautiful eyes.
I bury my lips in his hair and as I pull away, he tilts his head up and crinkles at me. It’s not a smile, it’s really just an acknowledgement that I’m there, but the way he crinkles the corners of his eyes makes me feel embarrassingly warm and fuzzy.
"You done with me? Can I talk now?" I ask, my voice just above a whisper.
"I’ll never be done with you, my Elijah. But talk."
And I don’t know what to say. Can you believe it? I look into his eyes, and I’m completely lost for words. I feel soppy and silly and like somebody reached in and took my spine away. I want to stay here forever, never see anybody again, and I want it to be tomorrow so that I can show him off to the world.
"Never?" I whisper feebly, smiling as he shakes his head slightly before resting it on my chest again. His hand starts to stroke down my waist and hip, leaving a trail of warmth where he’s been. "Okay, well that’s cool."
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice smiling at me. "Cool."
"I love you," I blurt out, slightly louder than intended, and there’s silence for what seems like a long time.
"Well," he says finally, looking up and resting his chin on my chest. "That’s cool." He crinkles at me again and I laugh out loud, just because I can, and because I’m here, where I want to be, and with the only person who makes it work.
And it’s all good. Every little bit of it is good.
The End
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