Darkly Sensuous

Opening his front door a bit more heavily than was strictly necessary, Owen sloshed inside, his long, silky black hair in wet clumps, some of it plastered to his face, and his dark clothing completely stuck to his muscular form. Puddles formed on his floor with each squishing step, before he paused just inside his apartment (which he affectionately referred to as his "space"), closing the door and beginning to remove his soaked clothing. It hit the floor with a wet splat, leaving him naked yet still dripping from the sudden rain that had caught him off guard on his way home. Annoyed, he padded into the kitchen, grabbing a clean towel to dry off his long, luxurious tresses, hoping he didn't come down with a cold. He never handled colds very well, and usually ate little to nothing while he was sick, staying naked in his bed with several boxes of Kleenex to help his nose clean up after the copious sneezes.

Toweling off his drenched hair, Owen thought back to the last time he'd caught a cold. It had not been a pleasant week, what with the coughing, fever, sniffling, and constant sneezes that never failed to soak through his tissues. The memory brought a tickle to his elegant nose, and he set the towel on the counter top, bringing his slender hands to his face, preparing, but the sneeze never materialized. Grumbling, he sniffled and returned to the hallway, eyeing his wet clothes with obvious distaste. At twenty-three, he lived alone, in a small, one bedroom apartment, on the third floor of a dilapidated complex filled with a wide assortment of rabble. Climbing up the stairs every day, he tried to ignore the frequent sounds of sex that assaulted his ears, and the many drug deals that went down in broad daylight; besides, he couldn't afford any other place, and there was always Ms. Honey.

Ms. Honey. A lovely Polish woman who lived on the first floor, Ms. Honey was one of the only reasons that Owen left his space. The two had a uniquely special bond, and anyone who heard him speak of her could tell that he simply adored her. She was getting along in years, unable to see well or walk without great difficulty, and Owen had adopted her as his own, in a sense, visiting her frequently and sharing his life with her. Sometimes, she would call him, and he would slip down to her room, and carry her up the two flights of stairs to his space, resting her on the bed while he sat on the floor to listen to her many stories.

He thought of her, and smiled despite the sudden chill of being slightly damp and completely naked. Maybe he would go visit her later on in the evening, or perhaps tomorrow, depending on how he was feeling. This reminder of his present state made him grimace, a scary sight indeed, with his full, black lips and slightly streaked black eye makeup. Perhaps a bath was in order, he mused, taking a fresh towel in the bathroom and examining his reflection; he looked like a fright, with blackish-grey streaks down both cheeks and a determinedly sour expression. He rarely smiled. Experimenting with the concept, he bared his teeth in what was supposed to be a friendly expression, but it came across more like a menacing snarl.

Shaking his head, he began to run the bath water, testing the temperature with slender fingers that tapered off into black, well-kept nails. When he was satisfied with the water, he opened the cabinet over the tub and withdrew a few bath beads, adding them to the steaming liquid, letting them dissolve while he went to his bedroom, gathering a few candles and matches. Once Owen returned to the bathroom, he placed the candles around the edge of the tub, keeping them well away from the white curtain, then lit them almost ceremoniously, watching the flames rise proudly. He turned off the bathroom light, leaving himself in partial darkness, before climbing into the tub, sinking into the water with a long sigh of pleasure.

He rested peacefully in the steamy water for almost an hour, while it cooled around his long, lithe body; at six feet and two inches, he barely fit into the small space. When he began to shiver, and his fingertips seemed similar to raisins, he reluctantly extricated himself from the tub, draining the water, extinguishing the candles, turning on the light, and drying himself off in the chilled air. Owen took a moment to wash off his face with soap and water, cleansing it so he could reapply his dark makeup. Afterwards, he left the bathroom, sniffling softly, and dressed in a simple black cloth, a longer version of a kilt, which he called a man-skirt. Shirtless and barefoot, elegantly dark and delicious, he would have looked almost ominous, had his nose not chosen that exact moment to initiate a tickle. It grew too quickly for him to suppress it, and he was forced to close his beautiful green-blue eyes and bring his cupped hands to his face, covering his nose and mouth, before sneezing wetly into them.

"Huh... Hut-Chooo! Heh... Shhissst!" Sniffling almost liquidly, he reached for a box of tissues that rested on the nightstand, withdrawing one to dab at his nose and hands. "I am not getting sick," he hissed in the general direction of the bedside candles, though they gave him no reply. A sudden sneeze caught him by surprise, solidly refuting his statement. "Huht-SHOO!" Owen did not have time to catch this one, and when he opened his eyes again after its passing, he could still see a bit of spray drifting through the air. He sighed in disgust, realizing that no matter what he might tell himself, he was, indeed, sick, and there was little to nothing he could do about it.

"I could go see Ms. Honey, to take my mind off of it," he mused aloud, looking completely adorable with the strange mixture of his pierced nipples and reddened nose, a contrast between control and vulnerability that was completely lost on him at the moment. Preparing to go downstairs, he paused, deciding maybe he should call first, and make sure that Ms. Honey would still want his company, even though he was ill. A short phone call later, he grabbed a box of tissues and headed out the door, privately relieved that she was not bothered by his cold; he desperately needed something to distract himself from having a pity party.

***

Ms. Honey opened the door with a smile, and Owen dropped down to his knees to hug the frail woman who could not have stood taller than five feet, at best. Ushering him inside and closing the door, Ms. Honey began to fuss over him a bit, concerned about his burgeoning cold, though she didn't hassle him too much. Besides, she had some interesting news.

"There's a new girl who just moved in next door," Ms. Honey told him with a smile, the neckline of her brightly coloured dress slipping over her shoulder. Owen reached out and helped adjust the cloth, waiting for her to continue. "She's a pretty young thing, about your age, rather plump and soft-spoken. Strong though; I watched her carry box after box into that apartment. She said hello to me, and stopped to talk for awhile. It seemed like she actually listened to me when I spoke, like you do. I liked her right off." Her beautiful green eyes sparkled as she smiled, her lips thin yet pretty. "I told her that I'd have to send you by sometime," she commented, running a pale, blue-veined hand through the soft, pouf of white hair that rested atop her head like a dollop of whipped cream.

Owen raised a thin, defined brow and sniffled a bit, running the back of his hand across his nose, as if worried that it might be running. "Maybe," he replied doubtfully, unenthused with the thought of dropping by, unannounced, to some stranger's house, especially when he didn't feel his best. But he would at least consider it, for Ms. Honey. The topic changed, and the visit drew to a close with another warm hug between the two close friends. As he stepped out the doorway, he came face to face with a young brunette, with a round, full body and startling brown eyes, framed by wire-rimmed glasses.

"Oh, excuse me," she apologized, her cheeks turning a pleasant shade of pink, "I didn't know that you were about to come out. I was just headed to talk to Ms. Honey." Her gorgeous eyes met his with ease, as she was only two inches shorter than he, a surprising fact considering his substantial height. His dark, seductive appearance immediately caught her interest, and she spent a moment or two just gazing at him, drinking in his lustrous ebony locks, the sparkle of gold around the inside of his blue-green irises, and his full, soft lips, painted black. Eventually, she caught herself, and flushed even more, before extending a somewhat slender hand with long fingernails, offering it to him in greeting. "I'm Auria," she explained as he reached his hand to meet her own, taking it in a firm handshake, "and I just moved in next door to Ms. Honey."

He nodded slightly, and gave her something that might have resembled a smile as he withdrew his hand from her own and pushed a few strands of his silky black hair from his striking face. "I'm Owen," he replied, studying her surreptitiously as he spoke, "and I live on the third floor, but I come down here often, to spend time with Ms. Honey. It's nice to meet you." Truly meaning the words, not only because of her disarming smile and friendly disposition, but also because of his desire to know her better, Owen turned a bit pink himself, but tried to hide it. He needn't have worried, however, because his nose chose that particular moment to distract both of them as it launched a series of impossible tickles that ran from the bridge all the way to his nostrils. "If you'll excuse me... mee... I... I need to sne... sneee... Hup-Tschoo! Heh... Heh-ESHHooo! Huh... Hup-TCHOO!" Turning to the side, he brought his arm up to catch the sneezes, spraying their wetness against his bare skin, realizing that he had left his box of tissues at Ms. Honey's.

"Bless you," she murmured, barely trusting herself to speak. His sneezes sent a wave of warmth all through her body, deepening her flush and making it difficult for her to breathe. Trying to control herself, she forced a pair of deep breaths and concentrated on draining the blood from her cheeks, hoping her reaction wasn't as noticeable as it felt. On his part, he had been so consumed with the sneezes themselves that he had failed to notice her strange behavior at all. "Are you okay? It seems like you're coming down with something," she commented innocently, unable to keep herself from imagining him gripped in the throes of a messy cold.

Nodding, he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, as if trying to force the tickles to subside, though he knew it would do no good at all. "I'm okay. I got caught in the rain earlier today, on the way back from a walk, and by the time I got home, I was completely drenched. I think I've managed to catch a cold," he surmised with a scowl, an expression that made him look completely irresistible. Tugging at the corner of his plain shirt, he lifted it to his nose to rub a bit more, feeling self-conscious, but needing something to halt the flow of liquid, the aftermath of his sneezes. Auria caught a glimpse of a flat, toned stomach, and then something shiny... a piercing! She bit her lip, trying not to stare, almost relieved when his shirt dropped back into place, both disappointed that she could not see it anymore, yet knowing he would have caught her staring.

"Do you have anyone to look after you?" she asked, almost impulsively, realizing that it was a rather improper question, but needing to know the answer. Her heart skipped a beat as he shook his head, though she tried not to allow her happiness to invade her expression. Instead, she placed a gentle hand on his arm, just above where he had sneezed, and smiled softly. "I know you don't really know me, and I just moved in, but I make very good chicken soup. My mom always told me that it's the best thing for colds. Chicken soup... and hugs. If you don't mind, I could make you some, and bring it up to you in a bit? Ms. Honey told me where you live." The hopefulness eased its way into her voice, despite her efforts to hold it back.

Surprised that anyone would actually want to look after him, he raised a brow, then managed a small nod, and a genuine smile that softened his intimidating appearance and gave him a gentle, sweet look. "Actually... I'd like that. I don't spend time with many people, except for Ms. Honey, and I love making new friends. It's very kind of you to think of me," he replied, sniffling softly, persistently, as if attempting to hold back another onslaught of sneezes. This thought made Auria almost giddy.

"Then it's settled," she stated with a grin, squeezing his arm before letting go. "I'll go get the chicken soup started, and you go get some rest. It will really help you feel better." Knowing she sounded like a mother, she bit her lip lightly, hoping he would not be offended. His comment about her kindness made her feel slightly bad, as she also had ulterior motives for wanting to take care of him: his sneezes. But that wasn't the entire reason, and she could not resist his adorable vulnerability. A sudden image of him in bed, sneezing time after time, needing her to hand him a tissue, made her knees go weak and her breath quicken. Get a grip! she told herself.

Nodding, he rubbed at his nose once more, almost afraid to speak, lest it trigger the sneezes. When he was relatively sure that he had them under control, he smiled once more and chanced a reply. "Thank you, really. I'll go get a nap, and see you in a bit." As they exchanged their goodbyes, he headed up the stairs wearily, feeling more and more tired by the minute as the cold lay claim on his strong, sensuous body. Auria paused, leaning against her doorway, and watched him leave, a look of heady desire on her soft features. Just as she turned to close the door, a single sneeze echoed in the stairwell, and she bit back a moan, slipping inside with a smile.

***

Curled up on his couch, a fresh box of tissues on the beside table, Owen passed the time quickly, drifting in and out of consciousness, tending to his nose from time to time as he waited for Auria to arrive. Sometime later, in the midst of a bad sneezing fit, he heard a knock on the door, and scrambled to answer it whilst catching sneeze after sneeze in his strong hands. "Hut... Hut-CHOOO! Heh... Hup-TCHOO! I'm co... Uhh.. Ut-Shhooo! ...coming." One hand gripped a few tissues as he hurriedly wiped at his nose; the other reached for the knob, opening the door to reveal Auria, who not only carried a thermos of what he assumed was chicken soup, but also stood balancing a plate of cookies.

"I'm sorry it took so long, but I figured that I'd bake some cookies and bring them with me. It's almost Christmas, and I've always enjoyed the holidays, especially when it comes to baking sugar cookies. This is a slightly different recipe, though," she explained, looking down at the cookies, which appeared to be some type of shortbread with coloured sugar on top. Suddenly feeling like she was rambling in his doorway, she flushed and looked up at him, noticing his teary eyes and reddened nose. "Oh, have you been sneezing again? Here, let's get this soup in a bowl for you."

Rubbing at the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, Owen stepped aside to allow the pretty young woman access to his rather modest space, feeling a bit awkward, yet hopeful. No one had ever wanted to take care of him before. Auria woke him from his reverie, asking which way the kitchen was. "Here, I'll show you," he offered, slipping in front of her and walking down the hall, guiding her to the small, yet functioning kitchen with its rows of cupboards and wooden counters, painted black by Owen himself. Making herself at home, Auria set the plate of cookies on the worn surface of the table, then began to search through the various shelves, pleased when she found a bowl and a spoon. She brought her discoveries (along with the thermos of soup) back to the hallway, Owen tagging along, feeling almost as though the situation were surreal. A strange, beautiful woman stood inside his space, offering to care for him and stay with him while he was sick. He rubbed his eyes.

"Do you have... um... a living room?" she asked a little hesitantly, unsure if she was overstepping her boundaries at all by practically invading his home.

"Yes," he answered, his voice sounding a bit congested from all of the sniffling and sneezing, "it's just this way." He walked the entire length of the hall, then slipped through a doorway, with Auria close on his heels, gesturing to a plain but cozy room that served as his main living space. "The space is pretty small. I have no need for big spaces," he explained. On the left, upon entering the room, three huge windows spanned the entire wall, looking out across a scenic square that contained a few unused dumpsters, and a tan building, backed by trees. A large oak tree almost brushed the glass, its vibrant trunk and branches a sharp contrast to the old and rotting wood of the windowsills, the paint chipped and peeling, though partially hidden by long white curtains that were currently pushed to either side. To the right of the entrance, close to the doorway, stood a unassuming wooden desk, holding a computer and a little old lamp, paired with an empty chair on wheels and a small trash can, currently overflowing with used tissues. In the corner of the wall opposite the door, adjacent to the beautiful windows and their scenic view, rested a quaint queen-sized bed draped in white satin and covered with three goose feather pillows. A little end table flanked the bed, holding a tissue box, silver trays with white candles, and a random book, though Auria could not catch the title from so far away.

Beneath the wide windows, he had placed a bench for setting and gazing out over the small but homey square, and a beautiful red flower bloomed in a pot in the rightmost corner of the window, its face turned not outwards towards the sun, but rather inwards, to Owen, expressing love and adoration. Various art supplies lay scattered about, a touch of disorganization that brought a smile to Auria's full lips as she pictured his hands while sketching, the fingers splayed or close together, gripping a pencil or stick of charcoal. She could not help but shiver slightly. On the other side of the computer desk, across the doorway, Auria noticed a brown wooden dresser, topped with an unknown picture and more of the silver trays holding white, waxy candles. Beside the candles, a tiny jewelry box tugged at Auria's curiosity, the lid closed, hiding its contents. Another white curtain covered a small area that she could only assume served as a closet, as she had seen nothing else in his room to hold any clothes, aside from the dresser. Both fans in the room (one by the bed and one at the computer) were going full blast, giving the room a soft breeze to combat the stifling heat that still plagued the region even during the winter months. In the middle of the room stretched a stunning Celtic rug, designed in white, black, silver, and shades of grey, a focal point that spoke of his interests.

He watched her carefully as she seemed to take in his humble space, wondering if she would make any derisive comments, or if she would criticize him for anything. Instead, Auria beamed widely, completely taken with the cozy atmosphere and touches of such a personal nature. As there was no couch, and no chairs, except for the one in front of the computer, Auria looked around for a bit, unsure exactly where she should sit, or if she should sit at all. As if sensing her confusion, Owen motioned to the bed with something slightly resembling a smile, although he was wracked with nervousness. They seated themselves, Auria closer to the beside where she rested the thermos, bowl, and spoon, and then looked at each other, as if silently asking, "What next?"