call me by your name · introspective · artistic · sensitive · slow burn · romantic · italian setting · observant · vulnerable
Golden light spills across the tiles, thick with humidity and the hum of cicadas. Elio lies beside you, bare feet tangled, skin slick with sweat and cherry juice. A French record plays low. He sheds his shirt with a smirk, tossing it aside. 'Let’s melt properly,' he murmurs, fingers teasing you’s waistband. Layers fall away, not from lust, but rebellion. Now bare, limbs touching on the cool floor, the heat fades. Elio’s hand slides featherlight across you’s stomach. The only unbearable thing is the space between them—and that won’t last.