Streetlights, people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the night

[jaeresteade]

Sunday, February 7th, day 252
Wee hours of the morning
Whitechapel inn, upstairs

This is why I hate weekends. I’m told that people in other lines of work actually enjoy them, use them to go out and generally have the good time they can’t other nights, when they have to get up and work in the morning. The difficulty I have with this is that the places

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[jaeresteade]

It works, thank God. I feel him spill inside me, a rush of wet heat that stops my shaking for a moment. Please, I think, and maybe I’m saying it as well, please let me. His breath is as hot on my ear as his seed is inside me, and his hand even hotter on my cock. I let myself fall, finally, gratefully, pulsing in time to the movement of his hand stroking me.

He’s still moving in me, thrusting deep, everything in perfect rhythm. Christ, this man could take his brandy with him when he leaves, and I would still smile the next time I see him. I blink, but things keep exploding at the corners of my vision, and it’s damned hard to think when my blood is fizzing like it’s been put through a gasogene. Can’t think of anything to say, either. Maybe he’ll stay a bit, long enough for me to collect my wits. I certainly don’t expect him to get out now that he’s finished with me, but some men don’t like to stay any long than they have to.

With great effort, I reach over the side of the bed for the towel I dropped there earlier, a lifetime ago, and pass it back to him. I haven’t quite collapsed yet, but all my bones seem to have dissolved, and the exhaustion I’d pushed back is threatening to overwhelm me again. Trying to catch my breath isn’t quite working, and my hair is everywhere, but any dignity I had is long gone. Even if I’m not terribly attractive panting and shivering, maybe the man will be pleased to have had that effect on me.

[regularblack]

We manage to untangle ourselves, and I manage not to fall over. Though I would like to, just fall over and not move for a bit. I sit back on my heels and he hands me that towel so I can clean myself up a bit. Slowly my heart pounds back to normal. Hopefully that was what he wanted. I'm not sure I could go again, not without some rest.

I have myself up and take the two wobbly steps to where I set that brandy. A healthy drink seems warranted after that. Restorative, even. Definitely deserved. Under the burn it tastes faintly like summer to me. I pour a generous bit into the empty mug there and carry it back to bed so I can sit.

"You look like a man in need of a drink," I say, holding out the cup. A smile quirks at the edge of my mouth.

[jaeresteade]

Hurts when he pulls out, in more ways than one. He takes the towel from me, and I can hear him cleaning himself up. Hurts more when I hear him getting out of bed, but I’m not going to beg him to stay if he wants to be quit of me, however much I want it. Wish him joy on that long, cold ride home to his sister, too, I think blackly.

I take the towel from where he left it and mop up myself and the bed as best I can, trying to stop shivering and breath normally. My heart’s settling down, but the chill of the room is a lot clearer without twelve stone of farmer pressed up against me. Feel like I’ve been hit by a train, and not a train with my best interests at heart, either. Glad I don’t have to work tonight. Will have to do wash, though, state this bed is in. There’s a fun prospect in the dead of winter.

I’m trying to comb my hair into some kind of order with my fingers when he sticks the mug under my nose, and I realize he’s still here and opened the brandy for us. I swallow hard, nose full of the smell of fruit and alcohol and sex. I turn and look up at him, take the mug. Meet his eyes, say, “thank you.” Try to say it so he knows it’s for more than just the liquor.

I try to find a more comfortable position on the bed that makes room for him too, if he decides to come back. Take a good swallow of his brandy, appreciate it and the sight of the man who made it standing naked in the lamplight in front of me. Drinking after sex is bad combination for me. Turns my mouth on, makes me talk about things I really shouldn’t. But I’m tired enough now to have no qualms at all.

[regularblack]

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he minds me sitting back down. But that probably would sound ridiculous, given how forcefully we've just fucked on the bed. Too many manners, not enough sense, as my mother would say. I settle down next to him for warmth, pull one knee up to my chest. Now that I'm not moving I can feel the cold. I'm so damned tired of winter already.

He looks plowed, poor fellow. I wonder what's tumbling in his head. Probably just thinking he's tired as hell from working and fucking. Someone else talking seems to soothe him though, so I ramble a little.

"We make it out of pears, mostly. There's quince, a pair of apple trees, sometimes summer berries growing wild around the orchard. But pears are pretty reliable trees, as far as trees go. But you have to have something to sell after the fruit's gone and weather goes cold, so we make brandy."

[jaeresteade]

Arkady sits back down without being asked, thank God. I lean back against his shoulder and take another drink. The man’s as warm as his brandy, and I’m sorely in need of some warmth right now. I pull the blanket up around us with my free hand. I want to talk about the sex, but that’s never an easy thing to start, and it’s quick to become awkward. Don’t have enough brains left to fix a situation like that if I get myself into it.
He starts talking about the farm, about how they make the brandy. Sounds good, doesn’t sound easy. I wonder how he and his sister are getting by, if they’re scraping this winter. Don’t know him well enough to ask him that, for all he’s just had his cock in me. But I do know a bit about what he’s talking about, and saying so seems to the thing to do. “I grew up on a farm,” I tell him, as though this is the sort of thing I talk about every day. “M’family milked two hundred head of cattle and farmed twice that many acres. Lot of work on a dairy farm. S’probably why they had twelve of us. Is it just you and your sister out there?”

[regularblack]

"Damn, that's a lot of animals to keep after." It surprises me. I can't picture him as a farm boy. Not that he doesn't look capable as hell. Something about him and the way he carries himself. Clearly the life didn't suit because he's here and not keeping after all those cattle. I feel a pang of envy, but I push it away.

"Ah, yes. Just me and Vilena and a couple chickens, since our parents passed a couple years back. But we're not big and it is mostly fruit trees to keep after. We do alright. People like to drink and that keeps us going." Alright, but not great. But there's no reason to moan about our troubles with that damned farm.

[jaeresteade]

So it is just the two of them. “Sounds…quiet.” I’m partial to quiet, myself, but it can be boring. “You know how loud it gets, fourteen people in a farmhouse, with whatever animals get in? Used to go out and lie in the corn and just listen to the wind when it got really bad. Was always worth the hiding I got when I went back in.” Well, most of the time.

A man can have too much of quiet, though, and I wonder if he has, the way he talks about it. A man can certainly have too much of farming. God knows I did. “Left when I was sixteen, haven’t touched a cow since.” I wonder what he finds to get up to besides tending trees and distilling and getting very good at fucking men. “You see yourself doing that ‘til you’re gray, or not so much?” I’d never ask a man sitting at my bar that, but sitting in bed together, naked and spent, is different. More things you can’t say, maybe some that you can.

[regularblack]

Cows and corn. What a strange world. I can see how growing up so crowded might make a person long for the quiet of a little family plot taken up with an orchard instead of cows. I don't tell him how damned spooky it is to look at the ruined little houses we haven't torn down, the times when the wind dies and you're standing there in the lines of the trees half expecting something is going to step right out of the next world into yours, or the feeling sometimes that we're haunted by all the bones in the ground.

"I think sometimes I'd leave, but for Vilena..." I sigh. I do feel bad then, for not coming home. She might be sitting up, wondering if I have finally taken off like I threaten. "She can't bring herself to leave and I won't leave her to shift for herself out there. No one should stay out there alone."

[jaeresteade]

The man looks lonelier than I am, for all he has someone to come home to. Although, might be easier if he didn’t, from what he’s saying. Could go where he wanted. Not my place to give this man advice about his life, though. Not sure I have any to give, anyway. Uncomfortable thought, that, a bartender without advice. Not the only thing that’s uncomfortable. I shift position again, trying to find a easier way to sit. Christ, I’m going to be sore in the morning. Guess it is morning, though. Might explain why I’m so sore. But why’m I so tired, then? No windows in the room, so it’s hard to tell the time.

I take another drink, and hold the mug out to offer him the last of it. Keep the brandy in my mouth for a minute, concentrate on the burn while I think about how to say what I want to offer him. Don’t want to sound sloppy, don’t want him to mistake me, either. “If you’re in town late again, you can come up here, if you like. Save you the ride home. I might not be in until late, but you can come. Not asking anything from you outside of this room, don’t want anything else of you, either.” Well, not quite. It’d be a lie to say I haven’t been eying his belt where it’s sitting on the floor with his clothes. But that’s a request to make another time, when I’ve got more courage and energy.

[regularblack]

"That's generous of you. Might not get to take you up on it as often as I would like, but thank you." I take the mug and finish it off, feeling warm and tired. Good tired. His offer is a little unexpected. I wonder what it is he's looking for, because I get the feeling the hunger is different for him.

"We never spent much time in town, growing up. Our parents were... well. They had some ideas and they kept us close to home. I think they were a little afraid of the world." I set the mug down from the bed and look at Jarmyn. I wonder if he left home by choice. "You don't miss it? Your family, not the cows."

[jaeresteade]

Do I miss them? Have to think about that one for all the space of two seconds. “My family was a lot like yours, sounds like. My parents believed in separating from the world, too. That and hard work, lots of praying, and don’t spare the rod. I got out as quick as I could and headed for the city.” Not that everything was peaches once I got there, but it was still better than staying at home.

“Not many kinds of work that seem hard, after work on a farm. You know that. And all of them pay better.” I look sideways at him and think about that a minute. Hope I didn’t offend him by it. “Not to put down your line of work. Owning land and making something out of it is respectable. No one to fire you or cut your wages. But I’d never make a farmer.” Still feel like I spoke out of turn. I’d make it up to him if he wants to go another round. But I’ll let him make the first move. He’s looking as tired as I feel. “Don’t mind going to bed with one, though.”

[regularblack]

I nod along. Strange thing to have in common, but maybe not. Doesn't sound like he ever looked back, from the things he isn't saying.

"Nothing pays worse, surely," I agree with a short laugh. "Can't argue with that." I'm not offended. I'm not really, when I think about it, though I've always felt a little bit self conscious about our strange family and staying at something I wouldn't choose. He obviously knows what it is like though, so I don't feel as judged as I do by men who didn't grow up waking before dawn to trudge and carry.

There's a glimmer of that provocative look in his eyes, but so help me I'm too weary to take him up on it now. He'll be lucky if I wake up in the morning to get out of his way at this rate.

[jaeresteade]

“I’ll offer your brandy to anyone who comes in looking like they can swallow it,” I promise him, and have to cover a yawn in the middle of it. “You’ll have to plant twice as many pear trees to keep up with the demand. Doesn’t that sound fun?” God, my mouth is running tonight. Need to shut up, get to back to fucking or go to sleep, one of the two. Really hope he’s in the mood for sleeping. I look at him out of the corner of my eye again and hope he won’t be offended by my not offering to go again. Probably be more offended if I fell asleep in the middle of it, though.

I yawn again, and then sit up and try to pull myself together and collect my wits. Something that needs doing now, because I don’t know if I’ll see him before he leaves in the morning. Not sure if he’s the kind of man to sneak out while I’m still asleep or not. Probably has work to do and wants to get home to his sister, anyway.

“Would you-“ Christ, why is it so hard to ask for something after everything we’ve done tonight? “Would you mind doing something for me?” I tip my head to the right and push my hair out of the way. Look him in the eye and lay two fingers on the muscle right where my left shoulder meets my neck. “Sink your teeth in hard right there, leave a mark. I-I like marks.” I sound about nineteen. Anyone seeing my back could tell I like marks. Do like to have something from a lover, though, at the end of the night, where only I can see it and feel it. It’s not that I’m not sore enough to remember him for a good long while. It’s just…nice, I guess. God, I’m getting soppy. I sort of shrug, like it doesn’t matter to me if he doesn’t want to.

[regularblack]

"Stars above, no more trees," I groan in mock horror. I cover my own yawn with the back of my hand as he sits himself up. When he starts to ask I wonder what it might be. But any idea I had is tossed right out when he does get around to it. I probably look a little surprised. Not for the first time do I wonder where he's been between a dairy farm and Excolo, what he's seen. A man with a taste for marks. But not my business to judge. Sitting up, I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Suppose that's a better way to remember me by than hay in your clothes," I say. I kiss him on the mouth, more gentle than the first time. I kiss his shoulder then, run my tongue over his skin before I bite down. He tastes faintly mineral, like salt and iron. There's a tickle of desire in me, but I can't take advantage of it. We're both dead tired. I pull back, wondering if that's going to leave a bruise or if it was enough.

[jaeresteade]

He looks surprised when I ask, but not shocked. There are questions in his eyes, but he has the good sense not to ask them. They change so easily, those eyes, and I find I like them looking at me very much. He puts one of those big, hard hands on my shoulder, makes a joke, and then he kisses me. My first thought is to protest that that’s not what I asked for, but I push that aside quickly as patent stupidity. This is a gift, and a sweet one. I return the kiss, but it lasts only a moment before he moves his lips down to my shoulder. I close my eyes and brace myself for the pain, but it doesn’t come right away. He kisses the spot I showed him, graces it with his lips and then his tongue. And then he sinks his teeth in exactly as I asked him to. I’m moaning, can’t help it. Without the warmth of arousal to dull it, the pain is sharp and deep. I need a moment to take it in, accept it. Memorize it.

I open my eyes when he pulls back. He’s looking at me like he wants me again, and I would go on my knees for him in a minute if he said the word, but he doesn’t. Just looks at me. I swallow hard, and have to think of something to say to ease whatever it is in the air between us. “You’re being nice again,” I grumble, and reach up to rub the mark, smile to let him know I’m joking. “It’ll do, I suppose.”

I lie back and put one arm under my head to raise it enough that I can see him well. Used up a fortune in oil leaving the lamp burning all while we’ve been at this, but it’s worth it for the view I have now. Don’t know what I did to deserve this man in my bed, but I’m sure as hell going to enjoy the sight of him while he’s here. The work he does has stripped his body down to planes of even muscle, and the lamplight burnishes it they way it deserves. He’s so still now, but if he chose to move, it would be easy and smooth, and just as powerful. Can’t help smiling. Have to say “thank you,” again, looking in those eyes. Also have to make my exhausted brain think of something to say that means something. “It’s been a long time, and I can’t remember when it was as good as it has been tonight. Feel like you’ve done all the work, and I owe you. Have to make it up to you another time, though.” Hope there is another time.

[regularblack]

When I pull away his eyes are closed, like a man praying. Maybe he is. It takes him a moment to focus himself again.

"Hardly nice," I protest with a laugh. "I bit my sister once when we were little and she didn't call me nice. I think it was more 'Arkady you rotten bastard." He leans back down, looking as pleased as can be and it makes me glad. I fall backward onto the pillow and turn my head to meet his gaze.

"Was a lot better work than farming, and a pleasure too." I grin at him. "Next time I'll let you work a little harder for it." I hadn't though ahead to what that might be, and I hope it won't be awkward the next time he sees me. I like this easy sort of way, though I don't know if that's how he manages. There's a lot of mystery to him like boxes wrapped inside boxes.