04-21-2020, 09:57 AM
He kicked his shoes off and squished on the bed. They weren’t built for two, but it hadn’t much mattered the last time either. Nox curled into him and for a moment all he could feel was the pounding in his chest. The breath was light against his neck, but he was supremely conscious of it; such a quiet and unassuming intimacy. He rested his cheek on Nox’s head, running his thumb across their entwined fingers.
It was the first time they had been properly alone all day. The heat of their stolen moments lingered, stronger than the memory of bullets and monsters, at least to Raffe. It shivered him with the longing of recapture, remembering the hunger and the need and the way Nox had looked at him at the hospital. All it would take was a stroke of the other man’s jaw, to tip his chin up. He imagined it a hundred times as he listened to Nox breathe. Until he realised he should probably stop. For his own sake.
In any case he didn’t want that first time to be marred by pain, nor the shadows of infection: the fear of control slipping, and the darkness pouring in. He was mindful of the injury too; sure that Nox needed rest, not distraction, even though he felt sure he would welcome it. Doubts circled like pariah; that maybe there wouldn’t be another time, that if Nox even came back at all he might come back more broken. But they were selfish desires, and Raffe was rarely selfish.
His eyes closed.
“You know it wasn’t a get well soon present, right? And it wasn’t entirely because of the show.” His voice was all scratchy by now, like needles punctured on the inside, but a whisper was manageable. “It was a welcome home present.” He was quiet a moment. The confession was something difficult, in a way; showing a side of loneliness that might not be pretty to see. Nox had warned him about getting hurt, but he might as well have warned the sun not to rise. Raffe couldn’t help that now Nox was in his life, he didn’t want him out of it again. The lotus wasn’t exactly a gift that could be taken on the road. Home was like a heartbeat; it meant a great deal to him.
“I keep them on my sill. Not lotuses in particular, just plants I mean. Any kind. I get them cheap from the market, the ones that are suffering, and I fix them up. Which is in no way a metaphor, in case you’re wondering. I’ve moved around a lot. It’s the one thing that’s constant.” The words were low, just filling in the silence. A distraction for himself, too. He’d carry on until he was sure Nox was asleep. “So what you know about monsters, I know about botany…”
It was the first time they had been properly alone all day. The heat of their stolen moments lingered, stronger than the memory of bullets and monsters, at least to Raffe. It shivered him with the longing of recapture, remembering the hunger and the need and the way Nox had looked at him at the hospital. All it would take was a stroke of the other man’s jaw, to tip his chin up. He imagined it a hundred times as he listened to Nox breathe. Until he realised he should probably stop. For his own sake.
In any case he didn’t want that first time to be marred by pain, nor the shadows of infection: the fear of control slipping, and the darkness pouring in. He was mindful of the injury too; sure that Nox needed rest, not distraction, even though he felt sure he would welcome it. Doubts circled like pariah; that maybe there wouldn’t be another time, that if Nox even came back at all he might come back more broken. But they were selfish desires, and Raffe was rarely selfish.
His eyes closed.
“You know it wasn’t a get well soon present, right? And it wasn’t entirely because of the show.” His voice was all scratchy by now, like needles punctured on the inside, but a whisper was manageable. “It was a welcome home present.” He was quiet a moment. The confession was something difficult, in a way; showing a side of loneliness that might not be pretty to see. Nox had warned him about getting hurt, but he might as well have warned the sun not to rise. Raffe couldn’t help that now Nox was in his life, he didn’t want him out of it again. The lotus wasn’t exactly a gift that could be taken on the road. Home was like a heartbeat; it meant a great deal to him.
“I keep them on my sill. Not lotuses in particular, just plants I mean. Any kind. I get them cheap from the market, the ones that are suffering, and I fix them up. Which is in no way a metaphor, in case you’re wondering. I’ve moved around a lot. It’s the one thing that’s constant.” The words were low, just filling in the silence. A distraction for himself, too. He’d carry on until he was sure Nox was asleep. “So what you know about monsters, I know about botany…”