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This page last viewed: 2017-06-19 and has been viewed 1583 times
by Face's New Flame
Warnings: Very slushy
Summary: It depends on who's in your head when you read it, so I can't, really
Author's note: For Roady - you said to surprise you. I don't know if this will,
but it's not my usual style.
It's a small bed, but that doesn't matter. It's not like you'd use any more
of a larger bed. You're contended. Your muscles ache with that comforting
exhaustion, and somewhere inside your chest a major organ is smiling. The
kisses you exchange with the brown eyed man wrapped around you are of
affection rather than passion. The passion has spent itself, for tonight.
Now you can sleep.
You push in closer, trying to push your flesh to the joining point, trying
to make two bodies one, hoping that somehow the barrier of skin will break
down and every part of you will be joined. The man beside you purrs, strokes
your hair, suddenly entirely feline, but you resist the urge to scratch his
Here, surrounded by his clutter, videos, and small toys that come free with
hamburgers, and strange items of clothing or costume, and model aeroplanes,
in this room invaded by the outside world, you are safe from the outside
world, this small bed with its crisp, clean sheets an oasis. Here, you
He awakes you in the night. You love how you sleep, actually sleep,
together, so easily. To you, the ability to be two bodies at rest is a
greater test of compatibility than anything else you have known. With other
people, not that, at this moment, it feels like there has ever been anyone
else, you have found yourself sleeping on the floor by this point, to escape
the heat, to escape the twisting and turning of an overactive body.
You and he, however, are in tune.
For now, though, you do not mind being awake. He has woken you with a clear
intention. Now awake, you share it.
You sleep through the morning call. In your dreams you are imagining the
morning. Caressing, gradual coming to. Deep, intense kisses. Can he kiss so
intensely, with the entirety of his being, because of his ability to lose
reality so easily? Reality is over rated. Here, in his bed, is not real. It
doesn't feel real. There is no pain, no anger, no confusion. One common
goal, and needing and giving in equal part.
You are roused by...
You are roused...
You should not be here. People shouting at you, you should not be here. He,
holding you tightly. He won't let them take you.
'I'm insane,' he yells, sounding it, 'not dead! At least in prison they give
He's right. He's a physically healthy adult male. Of course he has needs. Of
course he does. That's why you're here, because you share them.
He kisses the top of your head even as he holds you safe from them, letting
you know he's only angry with them, not you.
'Give me a moment with him, please?' you ask. 'Then I'll go.'
They look at him, and although you cannot see his face, you know there is a
wild and furious look in his eyes. They leave, waiting outside the door. You
turn to look at him.
'I'm sorry,' you say. 'I should have gone home.' But you know you couldn't
have. He would have had to throw you out. 'What happens now?'
'Never happened to me before,' he says, and for some reason that has blood
surging within you in what might be pride. 'Isolation, I guess.'
Panic. You can't visit him in isolation. Perhaps this is more like prison
than you thought. 'How long for?' So unfair. He's a man, flesh and blood. He
just wants to care for you, be cared for. They treat him like a child.
You look again at the little plastic figurines lining the shelves, the comic
books scattered over the desk.
'I don't know. Maybe a month?'
'See you in a month, then?'
He squeezes you, and brushes his lips over your forehead. 'It's a date.'
You pull on your jeans, jersey and shoes, and walk out of his room. You
don't look back.
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