leaonardo da vinci

Remember when i wrote the thing?

For skies to fall (i need this to be real)

“You have to go,“ he says between two kisses and presses closer, so close, Riario‘s warmth heating up his own skin, “No more time, you have to go,“ but his hands don‘t leave him, tug Riario even closer, inhaling deep. Riario always smells like lemon and saltwater, just a little, just barely on the surface mixed up with some expensive aftershave and shower gel, but always lemon and saltwater. He asks himself if his sheets would smell like saltwater after, would smell like him and he aches for it, wraps his arms tight around Riario‘s neck when his teeth bite down hard.