I hadn't even really noticed the storm. Between the music my headphones were force-feeding my eardrums and the amount of concentration I was putting into writing an essay for my World History class, I probably wouldn't have noticed it if an 18-wheeler crashed through the living room, as long as it didn't cut my modem line on its way by.

And then the power went out. There was a low, barely audible hum as everything shut down, and a quiet paff as the ever-so-vital words on my screen imploded into a tiny white dot and then winked out entirely.

All I could do was sit there in the dark, staring at the traitorous computer that I couldn't even really see.

Then a faint, flickering light cast shadows all around me, and his voice remarked from behind me, "We only have one candle."

I turned around in my chair to look at him for a minute. The way the golden light just licked at one side of his face, leaving the other side in darkness, was oddly fascinating. My voice came out surprisingly level as I suggested, "Well, we should probably just get to bed, then." Inside, my heart was beating so hard it almost hurt.

"Sounds like a plan." The dry humour in his voice told me right away that I wasn't fooling him for a second. Even in the dark he sees way too damn well.

So here I am now, lying next to him in our bed, slowly moving the candle down over his body. Each movement births different shadows, shows me a new side of him. I'm getting hot wax on my hands, and even on his skin, in places. He doesn't seem to mind.

Down one side, back up the other until I reach his face again. He's smiling, obviously amused by my odd little ritual.

Between one heartbeat and the next, something changes in his eyes, and now that smile isn't amused at all -- it's hungry, positively wicked, and all too knowing.