Fic :: Luke/Reid "make it look like a part of the act"
Title: make it look like a part of the act
Pairing: Luke Snyder/Dr. Reid Oliver
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Frustrated and unable to write Luke goes for a walk to clear his mind. Oakdale is a small town, but Reid points out bumping into him twice in one day is stalking. (Written in the near future and without yesterday as canon, though if you squint it could kind of work out. Running canon is hard, yo. Not that I'm complaining. ;))
Author's Notes: Written for the wild card for hc_bingo. My own prompt? Writer's block. Why yes, that is kind of meta. I'm glad you noticed. openice held my hand and then threatened to kick me (WITH LOVE) and I have to thank her for that. I love her to bits and pieces. ♥
With each sentence Luke finished he ended up rewriting it three times before he was even slightly satisfied. He was so entirely frustrated with writing that he wanted to burn his manuscript, melt his computer into a heap of metal and plastic, and possibly move somewhere technology wasn’t readily available. Possibly a cabin in the middle of Wyoming.
Maybe he’d get lucky and find some recklessly rugged cowboy with a heart of gold just looking to settle down with a nice young man. Naturally that would break his muse wide open and he’d write a screenplay to wow the band. Then, happily ever after.
Or maybe he needed to stop reading the Harlequin novels that Faith was obsessed with.
He figured he should give himself a break; it’d been ages since he last sat down and attempted to write something. He wasn’t even sure why that was; his writing had always served as an escape from the world and if ever he needed one it would have been the last few months. As it was, the last few months had been Noah, family, Noah, work, Damien, Noah… well. It was a pattern. No time to just clear his head.
Finally he had the time, with a computer in front of him and time on his hands and he was completely uninspired. He felt restless and anxious and utterly blank. The lighting in the room was entirely wrong and none of the music that usually helped was of any use. Half of it reminded him of Noah and the other half reminded him of Reid. He slammed his computer shut, slightly satisfied by the click that came from the top meeting bottom.
He stood up and paced his room. What he really lacked was inspiration. ‘Lonely girl’ was written as a love letter for Noah, not that he had admitted that at the time. But it had worked, which was a miracle in itself. With Reid though, it didn’t seem to matter what Luke wrote. Even if he did care, it was abundantly clear just how little he wanted to do with Luke right then.
He’d heard somewhere that the best way to get over someone was to write about them. He couldn’t help but think that it was a sign that he didn’t want to get over Reid because he couldn’t write about him. Couldn’t make him into a bad guy, clueless dope or even a hero. He was so fleshed out in Luke’s head that sometimes he felt like he knew the man just as well as he knew himself. He knew that Reid was right about some things and knew that he was wrong about them too.
Every time he tried to get something out on paper, whether prose of poetry or even just a journal entry nothing seemed to come out in the right order. Everything jumbled up together in a ball of emotions too big to unravel.
Annoyed with himself he grabbed his jacket, a notebook and his iPod. Maybe a change of location would be the nudge in the right direction, after all his house had memories that weren’t going to help sort anything out.
*
Java was a minefield he just didn’t want to walk into, the hospital not that much safer and he could forget about the farm. It was these types of moments that were probably the worst things about living in a small town; there was literally nowhere for him to escape to. He was just bound to run into someone and he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
He tried for the bookstore, figuring it was the safest bet when it came to the people he was purposely trying to avoid. Plus there was something comforting about walking into a store filled with other people’s words. The store was cramped but in an oddly endearing way and had small tables in the back meant for reading groups or the occasional student to study. The tabled area, thankfully, was entirely empty and Luke sat down at one of them with a sigh of relief.
The book he’d grabbed was an old one, not that he kept track of which one he used for what ideas. In his scribbled handwriting he found jumbled up half ideas, ones that he couldn’t remember even having and some that had eventually morphed into pieces of serious work.
On one page written in messy crayon (he must’ve been watching Ethan when he wrote it) were just the words, “Metal keys + right person= home.”
It was like a time machine and a time bomb all at the same time.
He could remember being the guy who just got his first apartment with a boyfriend, could remember how the keys in his pocket felt like they were more valuable then anything else he owned. He just wasn’t him anymore.
He stood up and walked through to the front where there was a row filled to the brim with blank notebooks. What he needed was a fresh start. He chewed on his lower lip and stared at the choices. Ninety five percent of them were cheesy and overly feminine, four percent were over the top pretentious.
He debated over the black leather and the sturdy brown one.
“You keep a diary?” Reid’s voice came from behind him and was verging on amused.
The hair on the back of Luke’s neck prickled and he turned to face him. Of course it would take a barb to get Reid Oliver to talk to him again. “Not a diary. A writer’s journal.”
“Writer’s journal?”
“Where I keep my thoughts, you know? Ideas for stories and dialogue that hits me even when I don’t have a plot yet.”
Reid quirked his eyebrow at him, “Voices in your head, Mr. Snyder? Can’t help you, I’m not that kind of doctor.”
“At least somebody’s willing to talk to me.” Which meant to come out biting but fell short and landed in pathetic territory. At least it shut Reid up for a minute.
Within the empty air between them the words they should be saying seemed to grow. Luke bit back a laugh at the irony of words failing him in multiple forms on the same day. He shifted from foot to foot.
“What are you doing here?” Luke asked.
Reid lifted up his right hand, holding what looked like a medical journal and a book that Luke recognized without having to see the front. “I was going to buy groceries but it seems like this place only offers books.”
“You like Tom Robbins?” he asked, ignoring the rest of it.
Reid stared down at the book. “Well, one of my patient’s husband was reading it. Figured I needed to do something now that baseball season was over. Have you read it?”
“One of my favorites,” Luke said, still staring at the back cover rather than Reid. “It’s a love story of sorts.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Reid mused and Luke looked up in time to catch the smile it registered. “I think I’ll still get it.”
He felt the sudden pressing need to get the hell out of dodge, grabbed blindly at a journal and debated just turning tail and running. For once, though, he decided to take the high road by at least saying goodbye. “Hope you enjoy it. I should… um. Go.”
It wasn’t eloquent, but it was succinct. His feet moved on their own free will and he made it to the clerk with a hand already in his wallet to pay. He wondered if there was ever going to be a time in this town where he didn’t run into someone who he didn’t want to see or who didn’t want to see him. (Which of those Reid was seemed to vary by the moment.)
He took his change from the clerk and turned around, where Reid was standing right behind him. For one crazy second he thought maybe he was following him but then he looked down at the books in Reid’s hands and remembered that no, it had nothing to do with him. He had to pay for his books, too. They shifted awkwardly to pass each other in the cramped space and Luke inhaled at just the right time to catch the weird cologne Reid wore (the one that Luke swore somehow was a bottled essence of Reid as a person, strong but enticing and it only worked on Reid himself. Again, he should probably put down Faith’s Harlequins).
“Sorry,” he put both hands up automatically as he got around him.
Reid gave him the strangest look, which considering the source was actually saying something. Luke didn’t know what else to do so he nodded and just barely made it out of the place before doing something entirely stupid like turning around and saying something else. (Or worse, asking what the look meant.)
*
Luke wandered for a while, trying to decide what he wanted to do and second guessing himself at least a half a dozen times before he figured he’d seen one of his (albeit quasi) ex and survived, he could make it through a trip to Java. He longed for some jolt of caffeine and if he sat in the chair by the window he would only have to have brief contact with Noah.
Who wasn’t behind the counter, thank everything.
He stutter stepped a minute later when he found that one of the low slung seats in the corner was already taken up by a familiar face.
“So this is stalking now,” Reid informed him deadpan, taking a sip from his coffee and not meeting his eyes.
Luke sat down in the chair across from him and shrugged. “This town is too small.”
“That’s my line.”
“Well, I stole it,” he looked over at the book face down on the table. “You liking it so far?”
Reid frowned. “You mean in the half hour since I bought it? It has yet to make an impression either way.”
“You don’t have an immediate opinion on something?” Luke tried not to smile. “Well color me shocked.”
The simple tug at the corner of Reid’s mouth felt like a victory more than any of his business interactions in months. He ducked his head forward and stared at the edge of the plate in between them.
There were things they should talk about: their falling out, his stepping down from the hospital, Noah, an entire month of everything that could happen. But nothing seemed that important. Not with the way it felt in the moment. When they were just together and themselves everything felt different.
Maybe that had been their downfall all along. Other people, other things, stupid things, things that never turned out to be important.
Luke caught sight of Reid fidgeting with a straw wrapper out of the corner of his eye and a thought struck him. He licked his lips and forced the voice of reason (that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s) to the back of his mind.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked, suddenly aware of sets of interested eyes staring him down from around the shop. He shifted his hand on top of the table so that it landed on Reid’s, forcing it to still, and then slid his hand into Reid’s upturned palm.
Reid blinked at him before he took his hand back. For a single second Luke thought he’d misread the entire situation and panicked, trying to get an exit strategy that required the path of least resistance, but then Reid stood up and grabbed for his wallet. He tossed a few bills on the table, obviously too much tip for the cup of coffee and croissant but Luke appreciated the random kindness that most wouldn’t believe of the Big Bad Dr. Oliver.
“You coming?” Reid asked, a jerk of his head and a smirk played across his lips.
Luke jumped to his feet, happy to oblige.
*
Reid had walked to Old Town, so they took Luke’s car. It was an awkward drive, starting with the discussion over where to go (Luke made a note that he needed to get his own place) followed by the hum of his radio and no talk at all.
He hesitated not to reach out and hold Reid’s hand, somehow unsure of the precedent it set. As a compromise he put his arm on the armrest and didn’t comment when Reid’s arm joined a moment later.
They made it all the way to the doorway before Reid broke and put a hand on the back of Luke’s neck to pull him in. They kissed against the door and Luke half wondered if Katie was there. (He didn’t care, but was curious.) Reid seemed to think about that a moment later and with his hand still resting on Luke’s neck he was all but lead to the bedroom Luke hadn’t seen before.
In some ways it was just like his first time. They pushed and pulled and pressed together like they weren’t sure what they were going to do next. All Luke was sure of was that he needed it, that he wanted more of everything. Their shirts were gone before they made it to the room and he hoped he remembered to pick them up before Katie woke up.
By the time they made it to the bed his pants were at his ankles and Reid’s were abandoned a foot away. He kicked his shoes off and shook his jeans off with as much grace as the situation afforded. Thankfully Reid was too busy with his mouth on Luke’s neck and a moment later Luke could care less at his lack of grace.
*
It had been a while, way way too long and Luke was still getting his bearings afterwards, staring idly at the ceiling. He figured Reid would be the type to just fall asleep right after, his bedside manner didn’t lend itself to a cuddler or a talker (after all, he hated small talk), so he was shocked to hear Reid sigh and roll towards him.
“You’re going to hurt my dignity if you keep that look on your face.”
Luke’s head snapped to look at him and immediately started an apology before he saw a smile on Reid’s face. Figured. Can’t bruise that ego. (And his hype was definitely deserved so Luke couldn’t even fault him.)
The truth was he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. Had been letting the rest of his life creep back into his mind after the hour or so reprieve. He looked back up and let out a long breath.
“What if the only thing I do with my life is work at a job given to me by my last name?”
Luke hadn’t thought he was going to say that until he did. He didn’t even really know he felt that way but once he said it all he could think was how truly frightening the thought was. He liked the Foundation, could deal with Grimaldi Shipping because it gave him access to the money to help the Foundation… he just. He couldn’t stomach the thought of only being that kind of guy.
Reid’s hand landed on the bed beside Luke’s head just a moment before his face loomed over Luke in the darkness. Luke’s chest was tight and he couldn’t tell if the warmth was from how hot his blood was running or the heat coming off of Reid.
“You’re last name is Snyder not Grimaldi,” Reid said, quiet but serious. “And you are not a farmer or a mobster for that matter, you are more than your name.”
Luke looked away. “Who am I?”
“A work in progress?”
He actually smiled, yanked back to Dallas and everything that came with it. “Now who sounds like a pop psychologist?”
“I’ve been reading Katie’s magazines.” Reid kissed the corner of Luke’s Cheshire cat smile. “Laugh it up, it’s all your fault anyways.”
“How’s that?”
“Having trouble sleeping lately.”
Luke cocked his head. “Because of me?”
Reid’s teeth glinted in the moonlight when he smiled. “Let it never be said you aren’t quick on the uptake.”
Luke pushed up and Reid pressed down and once skin met skin he couldn’t quite remember the frustration from earlier. His fingers traced their way down Reid’s arms then his hips and rested them on the small of Reid’s back. He wanted more. Just more of everything.
Then he’d let Reid sleep.
*
He watched Reid’s face go lax; eyes closed, the lines of worry gone and a smile unlike Luke had seen from him before. He was tired enough to sleep, the satiated feeling of sex mixed with the feeling that things with Reid were a lot less tangled (nowhere near where it needed to be but light years from where it was).
But once he knew for certain that Reid was sleeping he gently got out of bed and went over to a chair in the corner of the room with just enough light. He opened the bag from earlier and grabbed the thick leather book, took out a pen and began to write.
There is a similarity between juggling and composing on the typewriter. The trick is, when you spill something, make it look like a part of the act.
Tom Robbins (Still Life of a Woodpecker)
Pairing: Luke Snyder/Dr. Reid Oliver
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Frustrated and unable to write Luke goes for a walk to clear his mind. Oakdale is a small town, but Reid points out bumping into him twice in one day is stalking. (Written in the near future and without yesterday as canon, though if you squint it could kind of work out. Running canon is hard, yo. Not that I'm complaining. ;))
Author's Notes: Written for the wild card for hc_bingo. My own prompt? Writer's block. Why yes, that is kind of meta. I'm glad you noticed. openice held my hand and then threatened to kick me (WITH LOVE) and I have to thank her for that. I love her to bits and pieces. ♥
With each sentence Luke finished he ended up rewriting it three times before he was even slightly satisfied. He was so entirely frustrated with writing that he wanted to burn his manuscript, melt his computer into a heap of metal and plastic, and possibly move somewhere technology wasn’t readily available. Possibly a cabin in the middle of Wyoming.
Maybe he’d get lucky and find some recklessly rugged cowboy with a heart of gold just looking to settle down with a nice young man. Naturally that would break his muse wide open and he’d write a screenplay to wow the band. Then, happily ever after.
Or maybe he needed to stop reading the Harlequin novels that Faith was obsessed with.
He figured he should give himself a break; it’d been ages since he last sat down and attempted to write something. He wasn’t even sure why that was; his writing had always served as an escape from the world and if ever he needed one it would have been the last few months. As it was, the last few months had been Noah, family, Noah, work, Damien, Noah… well. It was a pattern. No time to just clear his head.
Finally he had the time, with a computer in front of him and time on his hands and he was completely uninspired. He felt restless and anxious and utterly blank. The lighting in the room was entirely wrong and none of the music that usually helped was of any use. Half of it reminded him of Noah and the other half reminded him of Reid. He slammed his computer shut, slightly satisfied by the click that came from the top meeting bottom.
He stood up and paced his room. What he really lacked was inspiration. ‘Lonely girl’ was written as a love letter for Noah, not that he had admitted that at the time. But it had worked, which was a miracle in itself. With Reid though, it didn’t seem to matter what Luke wrote. Even if he did care, it was abundantly clear just how little he wanted to do with Luke right then.
He’d heard somewhere that the best way to get over someone was to write about them. He couldn’t help but think that it was a sign that he didn’t want to get over Reid because he couldn’t write about him. Couldn’t make him into a bad guy, clueless dope or even a hero. He was so fleshed out in Luke’s head that sometimes he felt like he knew the man just as well as he knew himself. He knew that Reid was right about some things and knew that he was wrong about them too.
Every time he tried to get something out on paper, whether prose of poetry or even just a journal entry nothing seemed to come out in the right order. Everything jumbled up together in a ball of emotions too big to unravel.
Annoyed with himself he grabbed his jacket, a notebook and his iPod. Maybe a change of location would be the nudge in the right direction, after all his house had memories that weren’t going to help sort anything out.
*
Java was a minefield he just didn’t want to walk into, the hospital not that much safer and he could forget about the farm. It was these types of moments that were probably the worst things about living in a small town; there was literally nowhere for him to escape to. He was just bound to run into someone and he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
He tried for the bookstore, figuring it was the safest bet when it came to the people he was purposely trying to avoid. Plus there was something comforting about walking into a store filled with other people’s words. The store was cramped but in an oddly endearing way and had small tables in the back meant for reading groups or the occasional student to study. The tabled area, thankfully, was entirely empty and Luke sat down at one of them with a sigh of relief.
The book he’d grabbed was an old one, not that he kept track of which one he used for what ideas. In his scribbled handwriting he found jumbled up half ideas, ones that he couldn’t remember even having and some that had eventually morphed into pieces of serious work.
On one page written in messy crayon (he must’ve been watching Ethan when he wrote it) were just the words, “Metal keys + right person= home.”
It was like a time machine and a time bomb all at the same time.
He could remember being the guy who just got his first apartment with a boyfriend, could remember how the keys in his pocket felt like they were more valuable then anything else he owned. He just wasn’t him anymore.
He stood up and walked through to the front where there was a row filled to the brim with blank notebooks. What he needed was a fresh start. He chewed on his lower lip and stared at the choices. Ninety five percent of them were cheesy and overly feminine, four percent were over the top pretentious.
He debated over the black leather and the sturdy brown one.
“You keep a diary?” Reid’s voice came from behind him and was verging on amused.
The hair on the back of Luke’s neck prickled and he turned to face him. Of course it would take a barb to get Reid Oliver to talk to him again. “Not a diary. A writer’s journal.”
“Writer’s journal?”
“Where I keep my thoughts, you know? Ideas for stories and dialogue that hits me even when I don’t have a plot yet.”
Reid quirked his eyebrow at him, “Voices in your head, Mr. Snyder? Can’t help you, I’m not that kind of doctor.”
“At least somebody’s willing to talk to me.” Which meant to come out biting but fell short and landed in pathetic territory. At least it shut Reid up for a minute.
Within the empty air between them the words they should be saying seemed to grow. Luke bit back a laugh at the irony of words failing him in multiple forms on the same day. He shifted from foot to foot.
“What are you doing here?” Luke asked.
Reid lifted up his right hand, holding what looked like a medical journal and a book that Luke recognized without having to see the front. “I was going to buy groceries but it seems like this place only offers books.”
“You like Tom Robbins?” he asked, ignoring the rest of it.
Reid stared down at the book. “Well, one of my patient’s husband was reading it. Figured I needed to do something now that baseball season was over. Have you read it?”
“One of my favorites,” Luke said, still staring at the back cover rather than Reid. “It’s a love story of sorts.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Reid mused and Luke looked up in time to catch the smile it registered. “I think I’ll still get it.”
He felt the sudden pressing need to get the hell out of dodge, grabbed blindly at a journal and debated just turning tail and running. For once, though, he decided to take the high road by at least saying goodbye. “Hope you enjoy it. I should… um. Go.”
It wasn’t eloquent, but it was succinct. His feet moved on their own free will and he made it to the clerk with a hand already in his wallet to pay. He wondered if there was ever going to be a time in this town where he didn’t run into someone who he didn’t want to see or who didn’t want to see him. (Which of those Reid was seemed to vary by the moment.)
He took his change from the clerk and turned around, where Reid was standing right behind him. For one crazy second he thought maybe he was following him but then he looked down at the books in Reid’s hands and remembered that no, it had nothing to do with him. He had to pay for his books, too. They shifted awkwardly to pass each other in the cramped space and Luke inhaled at just the right time to catch the weird cologne Reid wore (the one that Luke swore somehow was a bottled essence of Reid as a person, strong but enticing and it only worked on Reid himself. Again, he should probably put down Faith’s Harlequins).
“Sorry,” he put both hands up automatically as he got around him.
Reid gave him the strangest look, which considering the source was actually saying something. Luke didn’t know what else to do so he nodded and just barely made it out of the place before doing something entirely stupid like turning around and saying something else. (Or worse, asking what the look meant.)
*
Luke wandered for a while, trying to decide what he wanted to do and second guessing himself at least a half a dozen times before he figured he’d seen one of his (albeit quasi) ex and survived, he could make it through a trip to Java. He longed for some jolt of caffeine and if he sat in the chair by the window he would only have to have brief contact with Noah.
Who wasn’t behind the counter, thank everything.
He stutter stepped a minute later when he found that one of the low slung seats in the corner was already taken up by a familiar face.
“So this is stalking now,” Reid informed him deadpan, taking a sip from his coffee and not meeting his eyes.
Luke sat down in the chair across from him and shrugged. “This town is too small.”
“That’s my line.”
“Well, I stole it,” he looked over at the book face down on the table. “You liking it so far?”
Reid frowned. “You mean in the half hour since I bought it? It has yet to make an impression either way.”
“You don’t have an immediate opinion on something?” Luke tried not to smile. “Well color me shocked.”
The simple tug at the corner of Reid’s mouth felt like a victory more than any of his business interactions in months. He ducked his head forward and stared at the edge of the plate in between them.
There were things they should talk about: their falling out, his stepping down from the hospital, Noah, an entire month of everything that could happen. But nothing seemed that important. Not with the way it felt in the moment. When they were just together and themselves everything felt different.
Maybe that had been their downfall all along. Other people, other things, stupid things, things that never turned out to be important.
Luke caught sight of Reid fidgeting with a straw wrapper out of the corner of his eye and a thought struck him. He licked his lips and forced the voice of reason (that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s) to the back of his mind.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked, suddenly aware of sets of interested eyes staring him down from around the shop. He shifted his hand on top of the table so that it landed on Reid’s, forcing it to still, and then slid his hand into Reid’s upturned palm.
Reid blinked at him before he took his hand back. For a single second Luke thought he’d misread the entire situation and panicked, trying to get an exit strategy that required the path of least resistance, but then Reid stood up and grabbed for his wallet. He tossed a few bills on the table, obviously too much tip for the cup of coffee and croissant but Luke appreciated the random kindness that most wouldn’t believe of the Big Bad Dr. Oliver.
“You coming?” Reid asked, a jerk of his head and a smirk played across his lips.
Luke jumped to his feet, happy to oblige.
*
Reid had walked to Old Town, so they took Luke’s car. It was an awkward drive, starting with the discussion over where to go (Luke made a note that he needed to get his own place) followed by the hum of his radio and no talk at all.
He hesitated not to reach out and hold Reid’s hand, somehow unsure of the precedent it set. As a compromise he put his arm on the armrest and didn’t comment when Reid’s arm joined a moment later.
They made it all the way to the doorway before Reid broke and put a hand on the back of Luke’s neck to pull him in. They kissed against the door and Luke half wondered if Katie was there. (He didn’t care, but was curious.) Reid seemed to think about that a moment later and with his hand still resting on Luke’s neck he was all but lead to the bedroom Luke hadn’t seen before.
In some ways it was just like his first time. They pushed and pulled and pressed together like they weren’t sure what they were going to do next. All Luke was sure of was that he needed it, that he wanted more of everything. Their shirts were gone before they made it to the room and he hoped he remembered to pick them up before Katie woke up.
By the time they made it to the bed his pants were at his ankles and Reid’s were abandoned a foot away. He kicked his shoes off and shook his jeans off with as much grace as the situation afforded. Thankfully Reid was too busy with his mouth on Luke’s neck and a moment later Luke could care less at his lack of grace.
*
It had been a while, way way too long and Luke was still getting his bearings afterwards, staring idly at the ceiling. He figured Reid would be the type to just fall asleep right after, his bedside manner didn’t lend itself to a cuddler or a talker (after all, he hated small talk), so he was shocked to hear Reid sigh and roll towards him.
“You’re going to hurt my dignity if you keep that look on your face.”
Luke’s head snapped to look at him and immediately started an apology before he saw a smile on Reid’s face. Figured. Can’t bruise that ego. (And his hype was definitely deserved so Luke couldn’t even fault him.)
The truth was he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. Had been letting the rest of his life creep back into his mind after the hour or so reprieve. He looked back up and let out a long breath.
“What if the only thing I do with my life is work at a job given to me by my last name?”
Luke hadn’t thought he was going to say that until he did. He didn’t even really know he felt that way but once he said it all he could think was how truly frightening the thought was. He liked the Foundation, could deal with Grimaldi Shipping because it gave him access to the money to help the Foundation… he just. He couldn’t stomach the thought of only being that kind of guy.
Reid’s hand landed on the bed beside Luke’s head just a moment before his face loomed over Luke in the darkness. Luke’s chest was tight and he couldn’t tell if the warmth was from how hot his blood was running or the heat coming off of Reid.
“You’re last name is Snyder not Grimaldi,” Reid said, quiet but serious. “And you are not a farmer or a mobster for that matter, you are more than your name.”
Luke looked away. “Who am I?”
“A work in progress?”
He actually smiled, yanked back to Dallas and everything that came with it. “Now who sounds like a pop psychologist?”
“I’ve been reading Katie’s magazines.” Reid kissed the corner of Luke’s Cheshire cat smile. “Laugh it up, it’s all your fault anyways.”
“How’s that?”
“Having trouble sleeping lately.”
Luke cocked his head. “Because of me?”
Reid’s teeth glinted in the moonlight when he smiled. “Let it never be said you aren’t quick on the uptake.”
Luke pushed up and Reid pressed down and once skin met skin he couldn’t quite remember the frustration from earlier. His fingers traced their way down Reid’s arms then his hips and rested them on the small of Reid’s back. He wanted more. Just more of everything.
Then he’d let Reid sleep.
*
He watched Reid’s face go lax; eyes closed, the lines of worry gone and a smile unlike Luke had seen from him before. He was tired enough to sleep, the satiated feeling of sex mixed with the feeling that things with Reid were a lot less tangled (nowhere near where it needed to be but light years from where it was).
But once he knew for certain that Reid was sleeping he gently got out of bed and went over to a chair in the corner of the room with just enough light. He opened the bag from earlier and grabbed the thick leather book, took out a pen and began to write.
There is a similarity between juggling and composing on the typewriter. The trick is, when you spill something, make it look like a part of the act.
Tom Robbins (Still Life of a Woodpecker)