#lyo

Warmth, not the scorching red miasma of chaos, but the smooth, simmering heat of silken passion entangling the both of you. Angel presses himself as far into you as he can, nevermind that the thin, starchy hotel sheet has long-since been kicked to the floor, his legs are tangled enough with yours without it. You twist in his arms, coming to face him like the sun greeting a brand new day, Angel's eyes already open and gazing into yours once you've settled. You could stay like this forever. Admiring everything about your Angelito until the world ceases to turn. Made to be admired in perpetuity, your muse. You adored the map of creases that crossed Angel's proud forehead, an indicator of a lifetime of emotion pressed there. You adored the way his brow furrows in the early light of the morning, awake but not-quite.  You adored the peaking bridge of his nose, and the way it draws your eyes to the fullness of his lips. Mostly, you adored his eyes. The windows to the soul of a man who wouldn't bare it to just anyone. The tilt of Angel's head, the lighting overhead, all causing the color of his eyes to swirl and change, a kaleidoscope of feeling. In some light, the dark of night, Angel's eyes were oil -- slick and mirthless. In the apex of the evening's golden hour, his eyes were coffee -- warm, comforting and smooth. In the soft, cottony orange of morning, Angel's eyes were honey -- sparkling, crystalline, saccharine gold.  You allowed a soft sigh to escape your lips as you took in the sight of Angel in the morning light, raising your hand to softly trace a finger over the curve of his lips.  "Could you see it?" You looked up at Angel through your lashes, chin resting on his shoulder, and pressing your lips along with your intentions into his neck. "A future together?" Angel made a warm, humming noise in his throat, blinking slowly in contemplation as he felt your wan, starry gaze on him.  Of course he could, he thought. No question. Instead, he followed your question with one of his own: "Could you?" He spoke softly, cautiously. The feelings of infectious affectation that had permeated the evening of arduous celebration was hard to ignore. Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when you both weren't so inundated with amor. You smiled at Angel, sparkling teeth and comforting, cinnamon warmth.  "Smooth, Angelito," you teased gently, before emitting a soft exhale. "I don't know what the future holds. I don't pretend to. But what I do know is that if my future holds you, then I'm happy with it. Whatever it may be."