open hands, closed eyes

Tonight when I left, Pants said, "Thanks for coming over. Ride safe." But he sounded sincere. I think he cares. He told me a lot of things tonight. Things I didn't ask to know. I watched him stare at the ceiling as he talked, laying on his back in the bed. I curled beside him with my toes on his leg, my eyes tracing his profile.
When we went into the kitchen, he said he doesn't hate people. He doesn't let them in. He won't get close to them. "I understand." I mean, I do. "For some reason, I trust you." I had told him about dru. I've told other people about dru. But with Pants, I don't know. I want to open up my ribcage and let him inside.
That's not what he wants, though. I can feel something else about him. He wants me. I don't know why he talks to me after we fuck. I don't know why we have these moments. I don't know where this is going. I thought I was done with him.
But no one fits inside me the way that he does.
No one lets me dominate like he does; no one can equally dominate me. He lets me feel strong. He is wild. He is open. He is animalistic in a way that I've desired but had not met. I don't know what to do with this.
Oh.
I didn't mention his eyes. They frighten yet entrance me. His pupils are always huge. They once flashed red when we were wrestling and it was terrifying. The iris is blue, but not blue-grey like my eyes. Not pale blue or dark blue. More like the blue of a sapphire. Pure, translucent, deep. They are so beautiful. Simultaneously, I am scared to look too closely. He doesn't guard himself as well when we have sex. I don't know what I'll see then.
I like to catch him watching me.
"I don't like to think about things."
Well. I do.