Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-02-08 01:40 am
azurelunatic) wrote2002-02-08 01:40 am
cuter than ever
So sue me, but I've just noticed the man's nose.
Darkside's hair is getting longer from its unfortunate haircut, and his facial hair is growing out as well. It's not scruffy any longer; it's actually starting to look like a nice and tidy intellectual short beard, and not just a goatee. All in all, with the glasses and the very blue eyes and the slightly wavy dark blond/light brown hair and the beard (slightly reddish-brownish, rather than blond...) and the way he's so brilliant and then his body... ooh. His body.
I have this thing for skinny, wiry martial artists. When Darkside wears a short-sleeved shirt, you can see that he's got definite arm muscles, the sort that mean that he may not work out every day, but damn, he's not one to mess with either unless you are the sort who works out every day, and even then, not if he's pissed at you for something. He's only about 5'7", my height, give or take shoes and posture. He dances wonderfully, our hands clasped, fingers laced through each other, standing in the middle of the DeVry courtyard, attempting to hurt each other, in something that winds up looking more like tango or waltz than potentially painful conflict.
I love his eyes, so sober blue and serious when he looks at me sometimes, crinkling at the corners other times when he gets the half-smirk. The precise blue of his eyes is the dark grey/blue of the storm clouds blowing in for a windy downpour in Alaska on one of those summer days when the alder leaves are green, the wild roses are a shade lighter than that intense emerald, the scattering petals in all shades of sun-bleached palest pink through the newest intense fuchsia of the just-opened buds. I love that color, the color of the storm. I'm Air, and at some moments his eyes challenge me to summon up the wildest winds of my soul to face him.
We've never carried through on his challenges, yet. One of us always breaks the moment.
I love his mouth, lips redder and more delicate than you'd expect a man's to be, given to odd wry grimaces. He loves to make me smile, teases and jokes at me until I smile some days. Sometimes he has to wallop me over the head with a book to make me smile, but he always succeeds. When he does, he gets a smile bigger than mine. His usual smile's only with one side of his face, sarcasm and irony personified. To coax him to coax a smile out of me, and see those true smiles of his, so rare... that's worth a morning.
I don't think Darkside realizes that the days he wears shirts without collars, or open collars, that he's tempting me past the point where a woman who's still a quarter Malkavian in her head should really be tempted. I'm sure I'm not the only woman who finds the exposed neck of certain males almost irresistible. It's not even the stereotypical pale white flesh that two drops of blood would look classically vampire-chic upon; it's slightly sunburned from that hot Arizona light, but so soft, and so warm; he's got to have a body temperature some significant few degrees above mine, at least 98.6, perhaps 99.6 or so. He almost scorches to the touch. He puts the Vulcan neck pinch on me, the nerve pinch on the shoulder that severely hurts and makes you want to scream and pinch right back. My face would fit so well in that corner between shoulder and neck, just under his ear. I saw the expression on his face when someone kissed him there in the past, and that face... I want to be the one to make him wear that expression again. It wasn't meant for me to read him so clearly, but read I did. If I could bring that heartstopping gasp to your lips half so well... I know, intimately, how his body would react. I've felt it under my fingers before. My body knows his as I know his knows mine. It would be coming home again for the first time, to actually touch and be touched with mutually recognized romantic intent.
I barely noticed his nose before, the thing that held his glasses on his face, so lost I was in stormy depth of eye, gentle and ironic quirk of mouth, fascinated with the way his slim waist hid under tight undershirt, disappearing into loose uniform pants, uniform shirt unbuttoned overtop, exposing a few dark hairs from the upper half of his chest, all computer-nerd smooth and pale... I've just noticed his nose. I don't know why I never noticed it before. It's not one of your classically beautiful noses. It's rather large and pointy and sharp. But it fits his face perfectly. I think I could adore that nose.
Oh man. I'm so gone over this one.
Darkside's hair is getting longer from its unfortunate haircut, and his facial hair is growing out as well. It's not scruffy any longer; it's actually starting to look like a nice and tidy intellectual short beard, and not just a goatee. All in all, with the glasses and the very blue eyes and the slightly wavy dark blond/light brown hair and the beard (slightly reddish-brownish, rather than blond...) and the way he's so brilliant and then his body... ooh. His body.
I have this thing for skinny, wiry martial artists. When Darkside wears a short-sleeved shirt, you can see that he's got definite arm muscles, the sort that mean that he may not work out every day, but damn, he's not one to mess with either unless you are the sort who works out every day, and even then, not if he's pissed at you for something. He's only about 5'7", my height, give or take shoes and posture. He dances wonderfully, our hands clasped, fingers laced through each other, standing in the middle of the DeVry courtyard, attempting to hurt each other, in something that winds up looking more like tango or waltz than potentially painful conflict.
I love his eyes, so sober blue and serious when he looks at me sometimes, crinkling at the corners other times when he gets the half-smirk. The precise blue of his eyes is the dark grey/blue of the storm clouds blowing in for a windy downpour in Alaska on one of those summer days when the alder leaves are green, the wild roses are a shade lighter than that intense emerald, the scattering petals in all shades of sun-bleached palest pink through the newest intense fuchsia of the just-opened buds. I love that color, the color of the storm. I'm Air, and at some moments his eyes challenge me to summon up the wildest winds of my soul to face him.
We've never carried through on his challenges, yet. One of us always breaks the moment.
I love his mouth, lips redder and more delicate than you'd expect a man's to be, given to odd wry grimaces. He loves to make me smile, teases and jokes at me until I smile some days. Sometimes he has to wallop me over the head with a book to make me smile, but he always succeeds. When he does, he gets a smile bigger than mine. His usual smile's only with one side of his face, sarcasm and irony personified. To coax him to coax a smile out of me, and see those true smiles of his, so rare... that's worth a morning.
I don't think Darkside realizes that the days he wears shirts without collars, or open collars, that he's tempting me past the point where a woman who's still a quarter Malkavian in her head should really be tempted. I'm sure I'm not the only woman who finds the exposed neck of certain males almost irresistible. It's not even the stereotypical pale white flesh that two drops of blood would look classically vampire-chic upon; it's slightly sunburned from that hot Arizona light, but so soft, and so warm; he's got to have a body temperature some significant few degrees above mine, at least 98.6, perhaps 99.6 or so. He almost scorches to the touch. He puts the Vulcan neck pinch on me, the nerve pinch on the shoulder that severely hurts and makes you want to scream and pinch right back. My face would fit so well in that corner between shoulder and neck, just under his ear. I saw the expression on his face when someone kissed him there in the past, and that face... I want to be the one to make him wear that expression again. It wasn't meant for me to read him so clearly, but read I did. If I could bring that heartstopping gasp to your lips half so well... I know, intimately, how his body would react. I've felt it under my fingers before. My body knows his as I know his knows mine. It would be coming home again for the first time, to actually touch and be touched with mutually recognized romantic intent.
I barely noticed his nose before, the thing that held his glasses on his face, so lost I was in stormy depth of eye, gentle and ironic quirk of mouth, fascinated with the way his slim waist hid under tight undershirt, disappearing into loose uniform pants, uniform shirt unbuttoned overtop, exposing a few dark hairs from the upper half of his chest, all computer-nerd smooth and pale... I've just noticed his nose. I don't know why I never noticed it before. It's not one of your classically beautiful noses. It's rather large and pointy and sharp. But it fits his face perfectly. I think I could adore that nose.
Oh man. I'm so gone over this one.