From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Wed, 30 Aug 2000 10:39:35 -0500
Subject: Morning Moves by Alison
Source: direct

Reply To: xalison@hotmail.com


MORNING MOVES by Alison

Feedback to: xalison@hotmail.com
Category:    Langly/Byers slash, Byers POV
Disclaimer:  Not mine, etc
Archive:   Unusual Suspects, Basement, Ephemeral, Gossamer:  
anyone else just ask

Note:  Sort of a companion piece to Surreal's Midnight Musings.



I've been awake for half an hour now, just watching him 
sleeping.

I love to watch him sleep.  He sleeps like a cat, so completely 
relaxed and yet still so completely himself.  The aura of 
contained energy, sheathed tension which envelops him when he is 
awake is still there, still apparent in the way he sleeps, as if 
his whole purpose is bound up in simply being asleep.

As usual he has fallen asleep more or less on top of me, 
sprawled on his stomach over three-quarters of the bed, pinning 
me down possessively.

But I like it.  I like to feel him so close to me, feeling his 
breath against my skin, the weight of his body, his pulse, his 
heartbeat.  The warmth of him, seeping into me.  It makes me 
feel as if I belong to him, as I know I do.  I love to feel him. 
 On top of me, inside me, his cock inside me, driving me to 
screaming point and then way beyond.  My hands in his hair, 
feeling it all around me, his breath on my throat, the way he 
bites me as he comes.

If anyone had told me, a couple of years ago, that I would be 
sleeping with Ringo Langly, I'd have told them they were insane. 
 But now it seems so right, so inevitable, I look back in 
amazement that it took us so long to get to this point.  Regret, 
too, for all the wasted years.  But the closeness, the trust 
between us is something that has grown over years.  And perhaps 
it had to be like that, for the friendship and the security 
between us to strengthen to such a point that we could become 
lovers.  All I know is that he has become as necessary to me as 
food or drink.

And we have amazing sex.  

That in itself was a major revelation.  Of course, I'd had the 
usual tentative experiments guys have, at high school or college 
with your best friend, just to see what it was all about, but 
that never amounted to anything much.  I guess I thought it was 
something I'd grown out of.  And then, living with Langly for 
years and years as just a friend, until one night alone 
together, both a little drunk, laughing, and it just happened, 
turning from laughter to passion in the blink of an eye - and 
waking up the next morning to find the pattern of our entire 
lives had changed, like the patterns in that toy kaleidoscope I 
used to have as a kid.  

It's something I still have difficulty believing sometimes, that 
I am the lover of another man.  And then mornings like today, 
waking up next to him, knowing I want to go on waking up next to 
him for the rest of our lives together.

I have a reason, this particular early morning, for being awake 
like this.  I've been waiting for a chance like this for a while 
now, and I've spent the last half hour gradually inching myself 
out from under him, infinitely slowly, carefully.  I have 
something to do, something I must do while he sleeps.  

The items I need have been hidden in the bedside drawer for an 
opportunity like this.  I carefully lift myself away from him 
and feel in the drawer for what I need.  Prop myself on one 
elbow, looking down on him. 

I feel self-conscious about doing this.  He'll find out, of 
course, but it'll be too late by then.  Perhaps I should just 
ask him, and yet - we haven't been together for that long.  I'm 
not sure - not quite sure yet - how he would react.  It's not 
that he'd laugh, I know he wouldn't but yet . . . it would open 
up areas we haven't touched yet, areas of emotion and the depth 
of our feelings for each other.  I guess I'm still a little shy 
about going there.

His face is turned away from me, his hair fanning out over the 
pillow, hopelessly tangled.   His broad shoulders and lean arms, 
relaxed now across the pillow, marked with faint bruises which I 
left there last night.  

Well of course, I have a few of them myself. I usually have, and 
I like that too.  I like to feel them, evidence of his desire, 
reminders of our mutual passion, during the day.  Sometimes I 
touch myself, pressing on them through my clothes, reminding 
myself of what they mean.  It feels good.

So, now - cautiously up on my knees beside him, leaning forward 
to make sure that he is really asleep.  Reach over to the drawer 
to get what I need.  

And then I lean forward again and, carefully, so carefully, cut 
a lock of my lover's hair.



END

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