Sorcerer Hunters Fan Fiction ❯ 30_Kisses - Glacecest - 26 - If Only I Could Make You Mine ❯ Chapter 1

~30 Kisses~

~26: If Only I Could Make You Mine~

 

 

 

As my brother takes me, I seem to find myself embarrassed.

 

Are you not embarrassed, niisan?... Seemingly not. You seem far too concerned with... with other things... yet those concerns are so intrinsically mine also, and your desperate movements and flushed expression only seems to speak of pleasure taken from my body.

 

Does this please you, niisan?

 

Is this what you want?

 

What you want...

 

I never feel that I can know what it is that you want. I would give you anything if it gave you pleasure, gave you comfort, gave you security... anything I can offer you, here: it is yours. Here, for the moment, seems to be where I offer you my body... I offer and you take and oh, how you take... this isn't the you that I know, niisan. This isn't the you I see every day, yet this is a you that you would show only to me...

 

This is also a me that nobody else should see, a me that I would want to present secretly only to you... and yet even under that idea, I become embarrassed. It isn't as if I don't want you to see me, niisan - I want you to see me, to look at me, to come to some conclusion... but some part of me almost... doesn't dare to, I think. If this is what you want then I will give it to you, and if you can take it then I will allow you to, I allow you and wish for you to...

 

Yet if I were to look into those eyes and sense rejection... to see disgust, to see anger... I do not know if those emotions would be there, and that vague question of emotion is what prevents me. I will let you have anything that you ask of, niisan - anything you ask and anything you wish to have, but... until which time as I can be sure... there are some things I can't let you have, can't let you see. Not until I know that you could accept them, or at least... not until I could accept that you couldn't.

 

So watch me, niisan. Watch me, but please don't try to look at me... have anything you want of me, but for you to see me like this... this pose where I would offer you anything, this vulnerability that I would offer to you and only to you...

 

This is the me that I would show only to you... I would wish for this to be the you that only I would see... and so I presume...

 

This... is something special between us, isn't it...? I trust it to be so, but then I honestly don't know how far I can trust such reasoning... to give myself like this offers no guarantee. Just because you take me doesn't mean that you have to accept me... more than that, it doesn't mean that you will accept me. And yet I give you all that I can in the perhaps futile hope that you would consider me yours... much as my selfish mind would consider you mine...

 

Will this make you mine? Does it make you mine?

 

If this is only between us then surely this in itself is ours alone... but will this stay forever our own territory? Is this a faithful promise or is it only that which you feel that you want, some relief of frustration I can offer you only for the time being?

 

I suppose I am too scared to ask. If this is all that we can have, then let us put our all into it.

 

If there can be more...

 

Niisan...

 

Can there be more than this...?

 

****

 

The room is as dark as it needs to be. Night lends itself to secrecy, and even the sky outside seems to realise the importance of the cover of darkness. It hasn't been too many nights since the moon hung high and full in the sky, a bright and shining disc to reflect light back down upon the sleeping earth below it; it hasn't been too long and the weather has been pleasant recently, but tonight the sky is barren and bare and clouded. The stars that would shine a singular point of light are entirely obscured, and the moon is as covered as much to say the same; the clouds are heavy and closer, though every once in a while it is obvious that some form of light exists behind there somewhere. Some clouds are thinner than others and glow with a dull light, the moon trying to prove itself to that same sleeping earth it would shine upon. Perhaps its attempts are in vain - few would be awake at such an hour to notice such an effort in the first place, and who could say that those who were would take such a viewpoint to humanize the characteristics of a dead and distant lump of rock in the first place...?

 

Of course, to say who would be awake at that time depended on where you were situated on the Continent, where you were looking at, where you were considering... the population as a whole maybe isn't the kind to really notice such a thing, but given the position of the Continent on the earth that it sat upon, it's entirely possible that somebody in the far north will be sitting in darkness long before somebody in the far south would even see sunset. Perhaps. Maybe. It was never documented and rarely considered and honestly, it probably isn't important. The singular importance to anybody that was awake was that it was dark over the capital city of Facade; perhaps people across the Continent were awake. It was entirely possible that other people in Facade were awake - possibly even people in Eden, though as of that past moment considered, nobody actually was.

 

Nobody else was. Two people are, though.

 

The day that this night followed had been one of routine exertion. Sorcerers, magic, magic seals, demons, battles... the individual events that all seemed to merge into some kind of blur of past events. Big Mama maintained her secret order of Sorcerer Hunters in order to cleanse the lands of errant Sorcerers, but those serving under her might have wondered just how well this was in fact working; there never seemed to be any end to the stream of oppressive rulers, perverse maniacs, psychotic killers, all using Parsoners for their own ends... however, this was something that couldn't really be argued. There was a natural order of things, was there not? Killing Sorcerers brought in money and put food on the table (not that the Sorcerer Hunters regularly gathered around a table to eat, but in theory), and as far as that went, it couldn't be argued.

 

Sorcerers would still injure, though. Injuries brought pain, brought feeling, brought healing, brought comfort. In Marron's case, he was generally capable of looking after himself, but Tira liked to make herself useful with her Gaia magic if she could. The wound hadn't been as serious as it could have been, but it had been deeper than some might have liked, and it was all too likely that the skin could scar. Carrot had cursed those damned summon demons for daring to make such a swipe at Marron in the first place, but once they were dead it was hard to do anything other than rail in annoyance. And worry about Marron. Indeed, if he hadn't managed to move away so quickly he might have come away from the battle with far more to worry about than the possibility of a scar - the wound ran from just below Marron's chest across and down to just above his hip; it had bled rather nastily, but quick attention from Tira had cured the worst of it. Once the blood had dried it all looked nastier than it actually was, but rest and relaxation was severely prescribed to the young mage, and Carrot had been handed the bandages to care for Marron through the night. A cured wound would still bleed, and bandages would staunch the flow.

 

The matter of pain and injury is all but forgotten, however. The room is dark and Marron is still bandaged firmly across his torso, but... this is practically ignored.

 

The moon and stars outside have been covered, this is known. That darkness might have been enough, but obviously for Carrot's purposes it isn't - despite the unbroken darkness sweeping across the Continent and only illustrated by the panels of glass leading to the muted world outside, the bedroom curtains are drawn too.

 

This effort seems to be primarily to prevent the outside world from entering the room rather than to risk anything from the inside escaping; to look outside shows nothing and the curtains only emphasize this, but an oil lamp still burns on one of the bedside cabinets of the room. It's sat on Marron's bedside cabinet, next to Marron's bed, that bed currently occupied by both Glacé brothers. Such beds were never designed to hold more than one person but neither brother particularly appears to care. Given their action and purpose, this is perhaps understandable.

 

The curtains being drawn in that fashion lends a wonderful claustrophobic sense of containment to those in the bedroom. A gap of about an inch between the two lengths of fabric shows the darkness outside, and from the outside that inch would show the dull glow of the oil lamp, but being on the second floor and more than halfway higher than the Great Hall downstairs in the first place, it's not as if anybody would find it possible to take an idle peek. This privacy is treasured.

 

Marron's bed, as with Carrot's bed, and indeed most of the beds across Eden if not Facade also, is rather simple. Crisp white sheets are draped over the plain-coloured mattress, and the bed is punctuated at either end by a high headboard and then a lower-cut piece of wood. The only decoration this bed could have been said to feature was that of the four bedposts on each cornered piece of wood; those on the headboard are the tallest, naturally. The headboard itself is probably about a foot and a half high from where it is tucked behind the mattress to where it rises against the bedroom wall, but the posts rise probably another half-foot above this again; they aren't elaborate, the polished wood tapering to a simple orb that, in the case of the headboard, has been sanded down against its back edge to press comfortably against the same wall the headboard presses against. The bedposts themselves could perhaps hold some kind of appreciation for the artistically minded in some minimalist sort of sense, but as for the actual occupants of the bed, the practicality of these bedposts is the most important thing, as far as that is considered.

 

Wrapped bandages against the bedposts make an effective setup, really. Certainly an inventive use for something that has a much more sensible practical use, but given the circumstance and the feeling, it could be said that it was almost inevitable. As it is, Marron is tied up to the bedposts, against the headboard. His arms are spread out along the top edge of the wooden board, his arms tied just before his wrists; his hands hang down to either side of him, but keep clenching against the fabric binds with a regularity that seems only connected to Carrot's movement; Marron's head and shoulders press against the headboard, most of the rest of his body pressing (or pressed) against the firm mattress. His hips are the exception to this and his legs can only follow on, as it is, his legs are spread open and his ankles are leaning over Carrot's shoulders. It'd be too much to risk to dare try to pull him forward, but Carrot is leant back just a little too much for Marron's knees to hook him closer... it's not really important. Neither Glacé brother would be too concerned over such a placement compared to things happening closer between them.

 

Their fucking is rather vicious. It is, really, the kind of strenuous activity that would have been recommended for Marron to avoid, but just as the bandages are wrapped around his wrists, so too are they still around his lower body. Possibly the continual movement would irritate the wound, prevent it from healing... but people rarely die from such wounds, and resting can wait until the moment passes. Listening to Marron, it's hard to determine which of his gasps are from the emotion of the actions and which are from pain, but both things considered, he manages to remain rather quiet. A movement can bring a gasp or a cry, but any sound seems quick and sudden from his lips. Perhaps the pain only heightens the pleasure. Perhaps the reverse. Perhaps the pain is forgotten.

 

In this position, Marron is more or less sat directly on Carrot's lap. His legs extending over Carrot's body at least give Carrot something to hold on to - indeed, it would either be that or his hips. For the most part, Carrot's cock is as deep inside Marron as is reasonably possible to be, not that this detracts from his violent enthusiasm any. His movement seems to be less the in-out movement that would be expected of such an act and more a determination to somehow go in further, faster, deeper... one could have suggested this physical impossibility to Carrot, but it's unlikely that he would have listened or comprehended. As it is, he holds Marron tightly by the upper leg, seeming determined for his fingers to leave bruises come the morning. Such things could be passed off as further remnants from that battle, couldn't they? Bruises sometimes took a while to appear, Tira wouldn't have noticed anything during her earlier healing. Not that anybody else would really have any chance to see Marron's legs anyway; he wasn't really the kind to show such things off.

 

Carrot's movement is steady enough; he holds Marron by the legs and bucks his hips continuously back and forth to meet his brother's tight flesh. To hold still would probably have been to stir Marron into his own kind of movement; his muscles clench rather involuntarily as it is, but to move is to assert some kind of power, and as much as the dull light of the closed-off room feels claustrophobic, it could have been argued that nothing was more so than how the very particular movements of Carrot's hips drew possessive action even from a comparatively unresponsive area of Marron's anatomy. Not that Carrot would pull out until he was spent and ready to pull out, but this didn't seem to stop Marron's body wishing to keep Carrot close for as long as was possible.

 

Marron's body and Marron's facial expression seem to tell two conflicting stories. The physical is of course something more primal and less easy to control than the subtle modes of expression that humans are capable of - a backward thrust holds a slight sense of feeling fractionally empty, as little as Carrot actually moves. A forward thrust is to feel fuller, and for just a momentary half-second is the feeling of Carrot pressing harder, pressing further, touching areas deep inside that none have ever tried to touch... areas that Marron wouldn't let anybody else touch. Somewhere between the constrictive opening, the smooth inner passage and the claiming muscles that seem to exist only to pull Carrot's seed from his body was also a particular gland that the invading shaft would every-so-often push against, rub across. Each prodding then retractile movement sent a muted beat in an irregular rhythm through Marron's body, a silent accompaniment to his heartbeat which seems, at least to Marron himself, louder than anything. That movement causes a shudder that perhaps Marron can't help, causes a broken kind of groan to murmur past his lips, already occupied as they are with that suddenly somewhat difficult activity of breathing. Even Marron's breath is halting and unsure, each inward breath held for as long as possible, each outward breath tainted by the hint of voice and the sweet gasped pain of harried copulation.

 

There still seems to be something dulled about his eyes, though. Perhaps it is just that the light from that oil lamp isn't shining directly to light them, perhaps it is through lethargy that his eyes seem heavy and tired, his eyelids seeming to droop every once in a while... sometimes his eyes do close, but then they seem to clench and tighten and he opens them again, sometimes a movement from Carrot spurring his brief expressions of wide-eyed surprise. Surprise at what, it is hard to say. Perhaps one never gets used to such repetitive actions, or perhaps it is the realization that it is Carrot performing these actions that Marron can't get used to. Whatever this surprise is for, it is his private surprise alone.

 

Most of the rest of the time though, Marron's expression seems as empty as his eyes. His chin presses against his shoulder and he seems to gaze across the room at... well, it's hard to see in the darkness. Across to that direction is a wardrobe, but it's unlikely that it would be that which captivates Marron's attention so wholeheartedly. A blush tints Marron's face with dark embarrassment, perhaps some hint of shame? For the most part, he can't bring himself to look at Carrot. He does so occasionally, but as much as his expression is hard to read, the gaze is not met. Carrot doesn't seem to be looking at Marron at this minute, preoccupied as he is with the more basic instincts. When Marron's head is turned away, that's when Carrot looks at him. Stares at his vacant expression that won't even look at him, such a thing causing his thrusts become more cruel as he stabs into Marron with savage regularity. An enemy would stab to draw blood and induce the loss of life... Carrot's stabs are more to draw emotion and induce feeling, and perhaps this works, momentarily. The frustration of Marron's lack of reaction steels an angry resolve which in turn causes reaction, but only briefly - the feeling of victory at hearing the title of 'niisan' cried in an unsure wavering tone is replaced only by annoyance at that expression falling empty once more.

 

Marron does look at Carrot, though very infrequently. Perhaps once this night, and he doesn't dare to do so again. Marron's whole body seems resigned to shudder with any kind of movement, and just once, he raises his head to prop it against the headboard, shift against the positioned pillow, to really look at Carrot... he looks, and Carrot has been looking all this time, so naturally their eyes would meet. What quite is expressed in this shared expression is difficult to say and one has to wonder if even the Glacé brothers themselves know quite what is in that glance; Carrot's expression seems strained somewhat, perhaps through emotion, perhaps through the physical exertion taking its toll on him... Marron seems wholly taken by the emotion, and for a moment his eyes are misty rather than hazy. He looks away quickly, his eyes blinking that trace of feeling away. Again, it is hard to say what spurs this, though the moisture eventually forms into a tear that can't be wiped away by hands that are tied. Whether Marron is moved through the sheer emotion of the situation, some unmentioned pain of his recent wound or just the building frustration of oncoming orgasm, Carrot isn't sure. Perhaps Marron doesn't even know; whatever it is, Marron won't say. This, as much as anything else, is enough to cause Carrot's emotive annoyance.

 

Indeed, the movements are repetitive enough to cause some kind of building frustration; both are familiar enough with their own body to know what conditions are possible for orgasm. Sometimes taking it slowly, moving in slow strokes can induce a sweeter state of mind... but the feral rush of bestial movements brings on emotions just as potent, and a violent climax is an intense mark of victory just as much as anything else is. For the slow and careful would be to hear Marron's voice catch and moan that title in such an irresistible way, but as Carrot continues with his movements, he doesn't want that. Less something like that and more something frantic and unstoppable, fervent physical feeling turning into hectic spoken emotion... Marron's movements still only tell of a passive lack of movement, whatever his desperate clenching muscles say... he's closed his eyes again. Carrot rears back and delivers a singular thrust subtly different to his previous movements - he rears back and moves forth in one singular violent movement and then holds still for as long as he can manage, the sudden lack of movement causing a desperate blank pause in Marron's mind. He opens his eyes and looks somewhere in the direction of Carrot's neck, unable to tip his head further to really look at Carrot and his vision too internally blurred to particularly care; a sound perhaps intended as some kind of moan escapes haltingly from Marron's lips - less a moan and more a strained rush of air, but the hint of a sound is there in any case. Carrot doesn't move. Won't move. Why not? Marron doesn't seem to know and this causes frustration as much as anything else - he manages to make another kind of sound, a two-beat keening sort of groan that, in another situation, would probably have come out quite perfectly as 'niisan'. At this moment in time though, speech seems to have been long-forgotten by Marron's tongue.

 

The emotion is there even if the words are not, and Carrot shifts back for another one of these slow yet sudden thrusts. And another. Another. Slower than his violent constant movement of before, but more pronounced somehow; he seems to be moving further, too. Perhaps taking an introspective moment to really think about how his cock feels to slowly slide out of Marron like that before quickly thrusting forth once more... he pulls back enough to be nearly completely free of Marron's hold, but this doesn't remain so for long. Neither does the speed. To tease Marron for some purpose is perhaps an attractive thought at one moment, but Carrot's body isn't really working alongside his mind for what would be teasing and what would be effective. More than that is the desire to pound Marron into the bed as he was doing previously, and the desire for the two kinds of movements turns into another kind of its own. Still Carrot pulls back far enough to tease that keening moan from Marron's lips each time, still slams forth to try to work that reaction from him, but each movement is replaced by the other as fast as Carrot can manage. Each movement does cause a cry and perhaps as far as this is, there is some kind of victory... but Carrot is as vulnerable to the failings of the human body as far as anybody else is, and soon enough he's as deep as he can manage to be once more, fingertips pressing to Marron's legs hard enough as to leave sharp marks, his shoulders leant forward and his body hunching with a bestial desperation for his climax to be triggered.

 

It is a good thing that it is so late into the night by now - as fevered as their movements have become, neither Marron nor Carrot are being particularly quiet. As much as Marron's cries and Carrot's throaty grunts is the harsh slapping sound of flesh against flesh - lubrication from a time forgotten still remains and creates its own obscene sort of sound, such things seeming loud and terribly noticeable. Such a thing could be considered embarrassing by those who wished to be embarrassed by it, and Marron seems to manage a minute twitch every so often that quite seems to correspond to the offending sound. However, even his own breathing is as much a culprit as anything else - his whole body can't help but shake at the force of Carrot's thrusts, his breathing halting and punctuated by every single move inflicted upon him. Surely anybody who heard that would be suspicious...? That can't really be helped. Carrot doesn't need to grunt like that, surely... as much as Marron's breathing reflects their movements, so does Carrot's voice. Each inflection of tone seems to cause a subtle change in Marron's expression, not that Carrot is in any state of mind to notice this anymore. It could almost be possible to be entirely lost in the act, and to a degree, the two of them are - but each sound is Carrot's voice, much more feral than his human voice is normally heard... each sound is a reminder that this is Carrot, and that thought is just as embarrassing as that impacting fleshy sort of sound that just won't stop.

 

Of course, this can't go on forever. Indeed, the nature of such an act was never one that was supposed to continue on indefinitely... it isn't really that Carrot's movements change so much as how his body changes; his arms are quite wrapped around Marron's legs now, his fingers clenched and his nails digging in far too deep to be comfortable, not that Marron seems to have an opinion on this. Carrot is leant forward as far as is possible for him to be so - Marron still seems annoyingly far away, but he can't reach both ends of Marron's body at once, it isn't physically possible. Still he leans forward though, Marron's legs wavering to attempt to draw him further... his grunts are louder now, he is louder and he sounds... rather exhausted, really. This isn't surprising. Both bodies are now quite slick through sweat, the crease of thigh against hip seeming particularly affected in Marron's mind. It seems that he's sensed the slight change in his brother's body as much as Carrot himself has, and Marron can only gear himself mentally for the incoming climax - his brother's climax as much as his own. After so long such a thing is only inevitable, and as far as that is inevitable so too is it so incredibly difficult to witness and feel Carrot's orgasm without feeling some kind of similar internal movement... Carrot moves Marron in too many ways from day to day life for this kind of situation to be any different to that. As much as Marron twitched in his embarrassment before, so too does he now, though through physical methods less controllable; almost as if his nerves don't know quite what to do with themselves, his fingers twitch against the edge of the headboard and his feet twitch in their suspension behind Carrot's back. He tries to speak but still finds this impossible, though it's not as if his plea would have had much effect on Carrot anyway. Plea for what? Who can say.

 

And so eventually Carrot reaches his climax, his movements so driven through lack of any conscious thought that Marron can't help but shudder through wake of his own feelings; the constant familiar of Carrot's hard internal heat gives way to something softer and warm, Carrot's body entirely still but for the guided jerks of his hips; his seed is deep within Marron, and this knowledge seems to bring some distant kind of bliss to Marron's own expression, those constant moans becoming a gasp issued with more clarity. Carrot's body shivers through rush of feeling and Marron's body does so similarly, though one may ask if Carrot was at all aware of this.

 

A singular moment of silence follows this. Carrot frozen in position, still leant forth and held against Marron's legs, but the strength to grip so harshly long gone from his fingers... his toes press against the bed, still anchored there from where they'd helped him drive so deeply into his brother not so long ago; these are the first to give way, his toes curling and his feet shifting back. Marron lies exhausted in his bonds, his legs held up by Carrot's shoulders, his arms held up by the bandages attached to the headboard, this is all he can manage. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his heartbeat thundering in his chest... his head is pressed against one upper arm, his eyes blank and unseeing.

 

There was something there, but now it is gone.

 

Carrot pulls away and out of Marron with one movement, the lack of his lap to lean against causing Marron to fall the few centimetres down back against the bed, this causing his legs to open and fall around Carrot's body. Carrot falls also, keeling over against Marron, also utterly exhausted. His fall is a little sudden, it causes Marron to make some kind of surprised noise. This causes, in turn, Carrot to look up at him.

 

Really look up at him.

 

For once, the Glacé brothers look at each other, and this is more with the hazy mind of a shared afterglow than the urgent movements of a sudden sexual union. Do those eyes understand each other? Carrot looks apologetic, almost. Maybe even he isn't sure what it is he'd apologize for, but in that confusion, can anything be forgiven...? Maybe Marron would reach to hold him if he had the energy, if his hands were not still bound. Maybe Carrot would untie him if he had the energy, but that might have to wait; as it is, they're close enough for a little movement, just not anything that would involve concentration. Carrot leans forward to kiss his brother, the kiss is indeed accepted, but... there seems something rather chaste about this kiss, which seems in direct contrast to the activities preceding it. There's something strange about that, and both brothers seem to know it. Still, what can be done about it? It doesn't seem as if there's anything to be said about it at least, and Carrot seems to retreat a little as he rests his head against Marron's chest. Exhaustion is too potent; the practicalities can be worried about come the morning, and if the bandages have marked Marron too strongly... well, his robes always make a good job of hiding his body. Carrot often seems to find himself using this to his advantage.

 

****

 

Even afterward, I don't really get it.

 

I don't really get just what it is I don't really get, either. I mean, maybe it's that I don't really get how he can do stuff like this - and that is one of the things I don't get, but... same as how I don't get how he manages to do it, I don't really get how I do, either.

 

I don't get why he's always so distant. Not just here and now, I mean like always... he always seems distant in some way or another. Never telling us anything. Never telling me anything. Then he nearly dies and it's like, dude, fuck, why the hell can't I tell you anything...?

 

It'd probably be a better thing to say something like 'I love you' or 'I'm glad you didn't die today' or something like that rather than tying him to the bed and fucking him 'til he can't say anything at all, but... I dunno... I guess it's just that, really. I dunno.

 

He never looks at me, either. Day to day life, I'm sure I can feel his eyes on me, but then when I turn to look at him back, he's looking off at the middle distance or staring at the ground or whatever, he always manages to dodge it.

 

He never argues to this but he still doesn't look at me. Always seems all blushy and embarrassed... though I guess that's understandable 'cause it's not like I'm not embarrassed, more that I just can't help it, really... it's embarrassing, but then there are things more powerful than just being embarrassed, and... it's more than just that. But he doesn't seem to think so... always looking away, closing his eyes, looking nearly worried... normally I'd probably want to ask him what was so scary or whatever, but I can't really help it when I'm like that, it's like I want some kind of explanation before I even ask for it...

 

But, him looking all embarrassed and... half the time he looks all guilty and shamed and crap...

 

He would say no, wouldn't he? If he didn't want this.

 

Thinking about that just makes me feel all guilty and shamed. He's my little brother. My little brother. You're not supposed to fuck your blood relatives, no matter how sexy and pretty and devoted and shit they are.

 

It's probably something wrong with me. Finding him sexy. Wanting him. It is wrong, isn't it? So it's not like I could ever just ask or anything... and I guess being forceful at any point is wrong, even if he never says no and always makes like he does want it, though always still seeming so distant...

 

He's so devoted and we both know it... but, like this... isn't this just using him? Using that devotion? But I think of that and it's like... maybe it'd be like that if it was just for the sex, just for the relief... but if it was just that then I wouldn't need him, would I? I've got two perfectly working hands for stuff like that.

 

Need him...

 

Need him...

 

I do need him, I think. Things like today just make me feel worse about it, and scare the hell out of me... I mean, what would I do if he ever died or went away or something? I dunno if I could handle that, so... so I guess I try to do this to keep him with me? I don't know if that's just a crappy excuse or not, but... maybe, if it works, it can keep him... make him mine...

 

I don't want to lose him and I don't want anybody else to have him.

 

I can feel his breathing against me and his heartbeat is right next to my ear. Is this mine? Can it ever be mine? The warmth of this body, the person contained in this body... can I ever have anything like that? I've had you but I don't know if I really have you, and the only thing that seems to stay the same is that I always want you...

 

I'm pretty fucked up, huh.

 

Still, the sex was good. Don't you think? I don't really dare ask you. You were pretty pained from that cut you got earlier... maybe this wasn't such a good idea... I mean, I can definitely feel that kinda sticky where you came, but I'm really hoping none of that against my skin is blood, you know? I guess we're both so sweaty and sticky it's hard to tell. Maybe I should replace your bandages or something? Dunno if any sweat'd get in there, if that'd be bad, but... it looks like you're asleep. Maybe it can keep for the morning? You can blame me if it gets infected. I sure will.

 

You can sleep so easily after that...?

 

Wish I could.

 

Then again, you always do stuff I don't understand, don't you?

 

Again... I wish I could... I wish I could understand you...

 

Wish I could understand me...

 

Still, as long as this keeps you until I can. As long as I can keep you...

 

That thought, at least, isn't difficult to understand.

 

 

 

~fin~

13th July 2005