fic?
Title: Some just laid around in bed.
POV: First Person
Pairing: No names are mentioned but it was written with Jon/Spencer in mind
Summary: Early, early, the sky still dark, we wake.
Author's Note: A very short piece, written as a bedtime story for a very dear friend, believe it or not. Cut text and title from the song Red Right Ankle by The Decemberists
Early, early, the sky still dark, we wake. Drifting out of the sandman’s hold, releasing dreams and prying our eyes open.
Stumbling to claim clothing and warm kisses, it’s easy, no words in the quiet.
Slipping out the door, we reach with fingers stiff from cold, clasping, pulling close. Only us two in this moment, with the sky still dark and the world still resting.
To the train with its rushing thunder. A transfer; over the bridge and up the stairs, hold tight, there are other travellers now. Sitting in our plastic chairs trying to guess the stories of our fellow quiet people. None are very happy, those grim faced men and women.
Flying past buildings and whooshing through tunnels we lose companions and gain new stories, whisper, whisper, we’ll keep it quiet. Last stop. Off the train and up the stairs, the sky is now grey. We find our place on the sand, side by side, huddled against the wind.
Just wait now be patient, slowly pink, then orange, reflecting off crashing waves, warming skin and coaxing smiles;
The world wakes up.
POV: First Person
Pairing: No names are mentioned but it was written with Jon/Spencer in mind
Summary: Early, early, the sky still dark, we wake.
Author's Note: A very short piece, written as a bedtime story for a very dear friend, believe it or not. Cut text and title from the song Red Right Ankle by The Decemberists
Early, early, the sky still dark, we wake. Drifting out of the sandman’s hold, releasing dreams and prying our eyes open.
Stumbling to claim clothing and warm kisses, it’s easy, no words in the quiet.
Slipping out the door, we reach with fingers stiff from cold, clasping, pulling close. Only us two in this moment, with the sky still dark and the world still resting.
To the train with its rushing thunder. A transfer; over the bridge and up the stairs, hold tight, there are other travellers now. Sitting in our plastic chairs trying to guess the stories of our fellow quiet people. None are very happy, those grim faced men and women.
Flying past buildings and whooshing through tunnels we lose companions and gain new stories, whisper, whisper, we’ll keep it quiet. Last stop. Off the train and up the stairs, the sky is now grey. We find our place on the sand, side by side, huddled against the wind.
Just wait now be patient, slowly pink, then orange, reflecting off crashing waves, warming skin and coaxing smiles;
The world wakes up.