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Jack/Tony Drabble
Apr. 18th, 2005 02:08 amJust something that occured to me a few minutes ago. Nothing major, a quick Jack/Tony drabble. *shrug* It's raining here. Meh.
* * * * * * *
Sunday Afternoon
Rain fell softly outside. It drummed a steady rhythm against the windows and created a gentle melody that enveloped the bedroom in its music. Its pace was matched by the languid, unhurried movements of the lovers that locked together on the bed. Sheets tangled around legs and arms, created bonds, tied them and freed them as they shifted gently, fresh cotton over smooth skin, soft fabric over hard muscles.
This was what happened on Sunday afternoons now. It had somehow become a ritual, an unspoken agreement that they were careful not to ruin with words. Excuses were made around midday and by 12:30, a doorbell would ring and then time ceased to matter for a few hours. Until it was over.
Usually the sun was shining and they would lie together afterwards, sweat coating their bodies as their breathing slowly returned to normal, fingers idly roaming over flesh or entwining with the others. They would drink in the heat that swallowed them and weighed down on them and somehow brought them closer - until it became claustrophobic and one had to move into the shower to wash the nearness away.
They rarely talked. What would they say? And today it was raining, warm rain that somehow brought more heat that the sun ever did. The moisture in the air hung over them as they slid over each other, flesh pressed into flesh, soft tongues licking gently over salty skin, tasting the sweat and the fire and the need that spilled into the heat around their bodies.
The rain fell harder against the window. Breath came faster now and the stillness was punctuated by quiet moans and ragged gasps as the sheets fell away and let them go, their bodies moving together in a practised rhythm that gave them what they needed, freedom from everything that caused them pain and freedom from happiness too. Some people were more comfortable in hell.
They rested afterwards, as they always did. This time it was a blond head on a dark stomach, it could just as easily have been the other way around. Fingers tangled in the silky blond strands and the breath was hot on his skin as it eased over the fine hairs below his navel. They listened to the rain as it softened again, fell back to its gentle playing over the glass. And Tony knew that this time he had to speak because his body wouldn’t let him say goodbye.
‘I proposed to her last night.’
A quiet rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and a gust of wind blew hard droplets against the pane. But now the water was inside, a single drop that slid onto his hard stomach and rested there without moving. He ran his fingers through the soft hair once more and as he sighed, he wondered whether his words would be enough to stop him from being here next week.
* * * * * * *
Sunday Afternoon
Rain fell softly outside. It drummed a steady rhythm against the windows and created a gentle melody that enveloped the bedroom in its music. Its pace was matched by the languid, unhurried movements of the lovers that locked together on the bed. Sheets tangled around legs and arms, created bonds, tied them and freed them as they shifted gently, fresh cotton over smooth skin, soft fabric over hard muscles.
This was what happened on Sunday afternoons now. It had somehow become a ritual, an unspoken agreement that they were careful not to ruin with words. Excuses were made around midday and by 12:30, a doorbell would ring and then time ceased to matter for a few hours. Until it was over.
Usually the sun was shining and they would lie together afterwards, sweat coating their bodies as their breathing slowly returned to normal, fingers idly roaming over flesh or entwining with the others. They would drink in the heat that swallowed them and weighed down on them and somehow brought them closer - until it became claustrophobic and one had to move into the shower to wash the nearness away.
They rarely talked. What would they say? And today it was raining, warm rain that somehow brought more heat that the sun ever did. The moisture in the air hung over them as they slid over each other, flesh pressed into flesh, soft tongues licking gently over salty skin, tasting the sweat and the fire and the need that spilled into the heat around their bodies.
The rain fell harder against the window. Breath came faster now and the stillness was punctuated by quiet moans and ragged gasps as the sheets fell away and let them go, their bodies moving together in a practised rhythm that gave them what they needed, freedom from everything that caused them pain and freedom from happiness too. Some people were more comfortable in hell.
They rested afterwards, as they always did. This time it was a blond head on a dark stomach, it could just as easily have been the other way around. Fingers tangled in the silky blond strands and the breath was hot on his skin as it eased over the fine hairs below his navel. They listened to the rain as it softened again, fell back to its gentle playing over the glass. And Tony knew that this time he had to speak because his body wouldn’t let him say goodbye.
‘I proposed to her last night.’
A quiet rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and a gust of wind blew hard droplets against the pane. But now the water was inside, a single drop that slid onto his hard stomach and rested there without moving. He ran his fingers through the soft hair once more and as he sighed, he wondered whether his words would be enough to stop him from being here next week.
