From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 10 Apr 2001 16:47:06 -0000
Subject: Afterglow III:  Light of Day (Slash, NC/17) by Alison
Source: direct

Reply To: xalison@hotmail.com


Afterglow III:  Light of Day by Alison

Feedback to:  xalison@hotmail.com
Category:  Langly/Byers slash
Disclaimer:  They're not mine etc
Archive:  Unusual Suspects, Basement, Ephemeral, Gossamer, 
anyone else just ask
Spoilers:  Nope
Summary:   After their first night, the boys wake up together for 
the 
first time.




7 am:  BYERS

It's never like this in the movies.

All the movies I've ever seen, all the videos where two people go 
to bed together for the first time and wake up together in the 
morning, it's never quite like this.  It's always glamorous and 
clean and perfect.  The reality is somewhat different.

The reality is the way your partner is taking up nearly all the bed 
and you're cold all down one side because he's pulled the blanket 
nearly off you . . . and on your other side you're numb all down 
your arm because he's lying on top of you and drooling on your 
shoulder.  They never talk about that, and  the stickiness, the damp 
patches and the stains on the sheets.  The way he's heavy against 
you so you can't move, even if you need to get up and take a leak.  

And they never mention the fact that you're probably so exhausted 
you couldn't move even if you wanted to.  Stiff and sore too, yes, 
more some places than others, but you can also still feel him inside 
you, still, hours later . . 

But I don't want to move anyway, even if I needed to.  I just want 
to lie here with him and try to get my head round the reality.  The 
sweaty messy wonderful reality of the fact that he's really here 
with me.  

Langly.  Ringo.  Here.

I've actually never done this with another guy before.  Spent the 
whole night with him I mean, and woken up with him in the morning.  
My other relationships were . . . different.  More superficial.  

But Ringo is here, now.  The reality is him lying here beside me, 
solid and warm and heavy, reminding me of what it felt like to have 
his weight on top of me last night, inside me, his cock inside me, 
his tongue in my mouth, his mouth *everywhere* on me, everything 
about him, everything he did, taking me to a place I'd never been 
before, driving me to such screaming shuddering exploding ecstasy 
that I never knew existed.  He wanted me, I knew that, and I thought 
I *wanted* him, but what he did, what we did . . . so far beyond 
anything I ever experienced before, I feel like a blind man who has 
just woken up able to see.

So what can I see . . . my bedroom, looking the same as always in 
the first light of dawn, except that I don't usually leave boxers 
and pajama pants lying crumpled in the middle of the floor.  And I 
can see that his head is on my arm, his face pressed into my 
shoulder, expression as innocent as a child's, peaceful in the 
aftermath of his complete release.
  
At least I could give him that, last night.

And now, the morning after, we're lying together in my bed, tangled 
together, his limbs overlapping mine, still locked in each other's 
arms.  Smell of sweat and sex and semen, dry mouthed and aching and 
hardly able to move.  And yes, he is drooling on my shoulder, but 
that doesn't matter because I can also feel every breath he exhales 
against my skin.  And he's got his nose almost in my armpit and we 
must both smell pretty rank, but that doesn't seem to bother him 
either.

Something is bothering me, though.  What happens next?

I've had time, over the last few days, to come to terms with the 
fact that he wanted me.  Had wanted me for a long time.  But now, in 
the cold light of day, what will he want now?

I've known him for ten, eleven years as a friend, colleague, room-
mate.  And for a long time I've been aware of his sexual 
preferences;  but always kind of at a distance.  He always kept that 
part of his life separate.  We never met any of his partners, not 
that there were many.  Or nothing that lasted.  

So, I don't know what to expect from him.  Am I just another one-
nighter?  He wanted me, yes, but now he's *had* me . . .  and it's 
the morning after.  Is he just going to shrug it off with a laugh?  
"Hey John, come on, you didn't think it was serious, didya?"  

And if he says that, what do I do?  In the course of one night my 
life has been totally turned around.  I didn't know it could be like 
this, feel like this.  I never knew I had it in me to respond like I 
did last night, totally forgetting all my usual reserve and 
inhibitions.  Lust, need like that . . . I never understood before.  
But now . . . he's only got to snap his fingers and I'll come to 
him, wherever, whenever. To whatever he wants to do.  I'm totally 
addicted to him.

I can only hope I was good enough for him.  That he still wants me.
Because it's not just sex. Because I know now that I've fallen in 
love with him.  Fell in love with him in the course of a night, from 
the minute I felt him inside me.  I need him, want him like I've 
never wanted anyone else, even Susanne. 
  
But the things we said to each other last night . . . in the heat of 
the moment, in the heat of desire and need or in the sleepy sated 
aftermath, you can say all sorts of things and mean them at the 
time, and then in the light of day reality imposes itself and you 
start to think about the practicalities.  In all the time I've known 
him he's never committed to anyone.  Why should he be any different 
with me?  

He moves a little, restlessly, breathing deeper, sighing drowsily, 
his hand sliding across my stomach and he moves his head, his lips 
brushing across my chest, finding my nipple and closing over it.  
Warm and wet and lazy, his tongue circles it, lips suckling briefly, 
and immediately my heart is racing and I start to shiver all over.  
But he's still more than half asleep and soon slips back into 
unconsciousness again, head on my chest.

It's getting lighter.  He sleeps late, usually, and god knows he 
should sleep long.  So, before he wakes, I've got to get things 
straight in my head.  Face facts, John, he probably won't want you, 
not for keeps.  He's not the type.   So you've got to be prepared 
for that.

Make the most of it then, John, cause this may be the only time.  
The only time you'll ever be able to lie like this with him, sated 
and peaceful and knowing complete happiness, even for a short while.

But, for now, I can just lie here and savour each moment until he 
wakes.  

Until he wakes.


8 am:  LANGLY

So I'm just standing, leaning in the doorway and looking, looking at 
him.   Fast asleep, sprawled naked on his back on the bed, that 
beautiful slim body open and vulnerable, he's never looked so hot 
and I'm getting hard again just from looking at him, and I don't 
know how long I've been just standing here, just looking.

I still can't believe this isn't a dream. Waking up this morning in 
the early light, realising I'm not in my own room, that I'm in *his* 
room, in his bed.  I had my head on his shoulder, his warm flesh 
under my cheek, my face against his chest.  We were wound round each 
other like a couple of puppies, so close I couldn't tell where I 
ended and he began. 

He didn't wake, and I just lay there looking at him, loving him, 
still not really believing.  Seeing his face, sleeping, so close for 
the first time in the light of day, I could see every separate hair 
on his face, every line at the corner of his eyes, every eyelash.  
Just looking at him, and thanking whatever gods may be that they let 
this happen.  

I always sucked at relationships, even before we began the life we 
lead. Nothing ever lasted.  I always managed to screw up.  I know 
why, well enough.  I never trusted anyone, least of all myself.  
Never let myself trust.  Rejection was only ever one step away, so I 
made sure I never got close enough to be rejected. 

But John;  we were friends for so long, best friends, even before I 
knew I loved him, we had a friendship that was built on trust over 
so many years of shared difficulties and dangers and setbacks.  We 
knew each other so well, we'd been there for each other, watching 
each other's backs in all kinds of dangers, seen each other 
exhausted, angry, depressed and discouraged, smashed and stoned or 
just scared shitless.  Best friends, for sure.  But I thought that 
was all it would ever be.  Until last night.  Until he turned to me.
Showed me the real John, the one I always dreamed might be there. 

He's always had this guard up, this armour, this barrier between him 
and the rest of the world.  Even to me and Mel, his best friends.  I 
used to wonder if I would ever get past it, if anyone ever would.  
But last night; I was inside that barrier, closer than a friend.  
Seeing the real John Byers for perhaps the first time.  His lover, 
at last.  But in all the years of aching and wanting him, I never 
imagined he was capable of the passion he showed me last night.

I guess I always thought I would be the one to take the lead.  But  
. . my god, he blew me away.  Gave himself to me completely, time 
and time again, holding nothing back.  Giving everything he had.  
And demanding . . . demanding everything I had too.   The outer John 
is the one the outside world sees, the reserved guy in the stiff 
suits, composed and calm and controlled, while all the time below 
the surface - nobody knows about the wild sensuality, the passion, 
the complete abandon, the tenderness and generosity that he's hidden 
all these years under that tight-assed suitboy exterior.  No-one but 
me.  We made love half the night, devouring each other, falling 
asleep at last spent in each other's arms.   And now he belongs to 
me;   we belong to each other.

I cross the room and stand by the bed, just looking down at him.  
Mine, and so beautiful . . . I told him so last night, and he just 
smiled like he didn't believe it.  He's so shy, he doesn't believe 
anyone would think he was beautiful.  It only makes me want him 
more.  But he is beautiful to me.  He takes my breath away just to 
look at him. 

I kneel down by the bed.  Reach out and gently brush his hair back 
from his forehead, trace a fingertip along his eyebrow, then down 
the line of beard on his jaw to his chin.  Lean forward and kiss him 
gently, a feather-light kiss on the lips.  Then up, to touch my lips 
to that little mole on his cheek that drove me nuts, I've so often 
longed to kiss it.  Back to his mouth again, that full lower lip 
that's supposed to be the sign of a passionate nature.  Well that's 
right enough.  

He barely stirs, exhausted I guess after last night.  I can't help a 
little smug grin.  He's got every right to be exhausted, and me too.
It's been a while for me too, but we sure made up for it last night.

I carefully slide back into bed with him and settle against him, 
pulling him into my arms and the curve of my body.  Mustn't sleep, 
don't want to sleep . . .

I surface a little while later, to find John propped on his elbow 
over me in much the same position I was in earlier.  He's looking 
down at me with that quizzical expression I know so well, and 
suddenly I don't know what to say.  He beats me to it.

"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"

So that's how he wants to handle it.  Light, casual.  Okay.

"I can remind you, if you've forgotten"  and I reach out and run my 
finger down his cheek.  He smiles, catches my hand in his and holds 
my fingers against his face.  "Didya sleep?"

"Yeah, some.  What about you?"

"Sure . . . and he draws back a little to look at me carefully.  
He's got that slightly worried look where his forehead wrinkles and 
his eyebrows go up in the middle.  It's always made me want to kiss 
it away.  "Ringo, about last night . . ."

Oh fuck, here it comes.  I knew I should never have given in.  He 
thinks it was a mistake.  Look buddy, it was great and all, but it's 
not a good idea  . .

I look away, feel myself tensing, withdrawing.  It's starting again, 
just like it always has.  And this time it's John, and it's the end 
of everything. Just let me get outta here . . .

His hand on my arm, warm, reassuring . . . don't be so fucking 
*nice* about it John, just come right out with it okay, quick and 
clean, that's the best way . . 

His hand on my arm.  Hesitant, a light touch.  God, think what *he* 
must be feeling.  Think about someone else for a change, Ringo.  
Make it easy for him.  

"Yeah, look, John, about last night . . . if you don't wanna . . ." 
and my throat closes up.  I can't say any more.  Can't look at him.  
Can't face the kindness, the understanding in his eyes.  

"Ringo, I just wanted to say . . . last night . . . "

I knew it.  He doesn't want me.  I screwed up again.  I don't want 
to listen to any more.

 ". . . but I meant it, Ringo. It was serious for me.   But . . . 
God  . . . I mean, if you don't want to take this any further, 
that's okay.  I can understand that.  I mean, I guess I'm trying to 
say that this wasn't just a casual thing for me Ringo, and if don't 
feel the same way, well that's okay, I can live with that and . . ."

I don't let him get any further because that's when what he's saying 
starts to register and it's like an explosion inside my chest, and 
my reflex action is just to lunge for him, grab him by the shoulders 
and pin him down to the bed and silence his mouth with my own.  I 
kiss him with desperate intensity, feeling him moan and quiver 
against me, and it's a long time before I let him go.  Finally 
releasing him I gasp, my mouth only millimetres from his.  "You talk 
too much, ya know?"

He grins.  That wicked, exultant grin that is the trademark of the 
other John, the secret John that only I know.  "Make me stop." he 
murmurs reaching his hands up into my hair and pulling me down for 
another long lingering kiss.  My god, who'da thought he could kiss 
like this, I never want to stop kissing him, scratchy feel of his 
beard against my lips and the heat of his mouth, our tongues 
caressing, dissolving together, our whole bodies melting into each 
other as it goes on and on.

Some time later, I lay my head down on his chest and exhale a long 
shaky breath.

"I thought you were gonna say you'd changed your mind."
 
Just a little shake of his head, he breathes "Never", and we smile 
into each other's eyes.  We don't need words any more; eye contact 
seems to communicate all we need.  We occasionally reach out and 
touch each other, stroking, as if to reassure ourselves that the 
other is really there. 

I press myself down, skin to skin with him, trying to get as much 
contact between our bodies as possible.  I already want him again, 
so much it hurts.  Arms tight around each other, we roll over till 
we're face to face on our sides, still kissing deeply.  Hands 
stroking down each other's bodies, exploring, possessing each other, 
staking our claim on each other. 
  
I draw back a little so I can run my hand down his chest, down to 
his cock, grasping and stroking his early morning erection;  he's as 
ready as I am and he does the same for me with growing confidence.  
His hand on me there  . . . jeez, I shudder and nearly come right 
there and then but he slides his fingers down to the base, tightly 
clasping till I subside, groaning . . . god, John , you're so good . 
. . then our hands are caressing, stroking each other again into 
full hardness, pumping each others cocks, hips moving in a slow 
dance.  His eyes never leave mine as we learn each other's 
responses.  A slow squeeze here, gentle stroke *there* . . . do you 
like *this* . . .  breath coming fast now, gasping into each other's 
faces as our arousal grows and grows and grows . . .

We come almost together, crying out with relief and joy as we come 
together to the brink and explode together in orgasm, bathing our 
bodies in semen, his and mine mingling together on our bodies.  We 
clutch each other, hearts pounding, holding tight in relief and 
exultation.

I feel him gradually relax against me and realise he's sleeping 
again.  That's okay;  and I settle down again beside him so that I 
can watch his face.

I want to be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.


END