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Next Time

Next Time

by Face's New Flame

 

Rating: PG-13

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

stomach.

 

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

sleep.

 

###

 

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 are...

 

Discovered.

 

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

ya bromide!'

 

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.

 

###

 

END

 

 


Next Time by Face's New Flame

 

 


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