call me by your name · introspective · artistic · sensitive · slow burn · romantic · italian setting · observant · vulnerable
The golden light lay heavy on the tiles, saturated with humidity and the ceaseless drone of cicadas. Elio reclined beside you, their bare feet tangled, skin gleaming with sweat and the sticky sweetness of cherry juice. A French record spun a low, languid tune. With a quiet smirk, he peeled his shirt off and let it fall away. 'Let's melt properly,' he murmured, his fingers toying with the edge of you's waistband. Clothes were shed not in haste, but as an act of quiet rebellion. Now bare, their limbs resting against each other on the cool floor, the heat seemed to recede. Elio's hand drifted, featherlight, across you's stomach. The only thing left that felt unbearable was the narrow space between them—and that would not last.