Caramel

The moons were out, playing soft upon the exposed skin of Nicholas’ back. Vash supposed it could be very beautiful. If he were at all inclined to creating poetry out of the shadows that played over the dips and swells of sun-browned skin, he might’ve been able to describe it.

Sun-browned, was it..?

No, beneath his wandering fingertips the preacher’s skin was more like caramel. If Vash were inclined to making poetry, he would say Nicholas’ skin was the colour of caramel. And to his tongue, it would taste just as sweet; A wide expanse of flawless, caramel skin as far as the eye could see. Iles and iles that could only be traversed by the tread of Vash’s curious fingers. Skimming his index finger from the jut of a shoulder blade and down along Nicholas’ spine, Vash watched in fascination as the sleeping man sighed quietly; A name and a prayer all at once.

“Vash.”

If Vash were at all inclined to creating poetry, he would have been able to come up with the words to describe the sudden, cinching in his chest in spades. He would have been able to describe the weight in his throat and the burning itch behind his eyes with flowery prose. But he was not, and whatever words he’d been trying to jam together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces left him completely.