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]

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.

[jaeresteade]

“Never did anything like that to my sisters,” I tell him. “They were mostly younger than I was.” How have I gotten to talking about my family again? Must be the brandy kicking in.

I roll over on my side so I’m facing him, trying to look at his face and not the rest of him. Really trying not to think about next time and how he might made me work for it. My shoulder twinges as I turn, and it occurs to me that he might want something from me to remember the night, too. “Should ask, because my eyes aren’t staying open much longer, nice as the view is: anything you’d like done right now? Or questions answered? Can’t promise to tell you everything, but I won’t lie to you.”

[regularblack]

There are probably a hundred things I could think to ask. whether any of them are the right thing or the the important thing to ask, I don't know. Why he came here of all places, or whose name that is on his chest. Maybe just why he decided to invite me here.

"How long did it take, the mark on your back?" I ask finally.

it's a huguenot cross

[jaeresteade]

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he asked about my cross. He’s seen enough of it today. Sometimes I forget it’s there, other days it’s all I can think about. Been busy lately. I’m glad he asked about something I’m honestly proud of. “How long? About five years.” Guess I’d better explain that.

“Started out as my birthday present to myself, year I turned twenty-one. Had enough saved to get the outline done. Went back the next year to have more of the details put it. It’s turned into a tradition. Takes the better part of a day, each time. Hurts like hell. It needs a dove here, hanging down.” I roll over, show him the place on my spine. “That’ll be the next part for this year.” If I have enough saved to get it done. Excolo seems like a good place to spend money. Need to start thinking of more ways to make it, too.

He didn’t ask what it means, so he either knows already or doesn’t want to. That’s fine. Don’t mind him being interested in it. “Are you thinking of having something done?” I give in to the temptation to run my hand down his side. “Some ink would look good on you.” Can’t think of anything that wouldn’t look good on this man, though. Nothing at all on him looks damn fine to me.

Re: it's a huguenot cross

[regularblack]

"I've seen that before," I say. I don't remember what it exactly it was for, but I do remember seeing a very elaborate cross like this one in the back of a book. With the bird, though the one in the book was colorful. Probably still sitting there, that pile of books we haven't touched, collecting dust and secrets.

"Not for me. There's nothing I want so bad as to keep with me all the time." That's the truth too. There's little I would keep with me.

[jaeresteade]

“Nothing at all?” I wonder out loud, and keep my hand on his hip, rubbing in slow circles. Most people can think of something they might have done, a word or a picture that means something to them, or just something they thing is pretty or tough. But not this man. I’ll figure out what that says about him when more of my brain is working.

Talking of keeping things, though. Something else that needs saying, since he seems in a good frame of mind and unlikely to go anywhere. I pitch my voice quietly, but dead serious, too, and look in his eyes. “Glad you stayed in town tonight,” I tell him, and mean it. “And I hope I’ve showed my appreciation properly here.” If he disagrees, I suppose I could manage to show some more. “I’d be proud to call you a friend, hope you come in the bar again. Hope you come up here again, too. But I’m not looking for-“ I stop to think of the words carefully, because finding the right ones is important. I finally decide on using his own back to him. “For someone to keep with me all the time.” Hope he can accept this, that he knew this was the kind of arrangement he was getting himself into. It’d be a hell of a time for him to take issue with it, because I’m not moving on this, but I also don’t want to get out of bed.

[regularblack]

I give a little shake of my head. He goes from light to serious, so fast.

"No cause to worry," I reassure him. "I don't expect you to tie yourself up, or to make promises. It's not what I'm after." I hope that I'm saying things right, because I've not ever really had this conversation before.

[jaeresteade]

“Thank you,” I say, for the third time tonight. Haven’t had cause to thank anyone this much in quite a while. “I didn’t think it was. Just wanted to be sure.” I climb out of bed, shivering when the cold air hits my skin, and go over to turn the lamp off. We can keep talking in the dark if he wants to, or go to sleep. I’m not going to be able to stay awake much longer, anyway, and he’d probably like to get back to his sister at a decent hour today.

I find my way back to bed and lie down with my back to him. God, this man is like a furnace. If he wants to put an arm over me and spoon up around me, he won’t hear any complaints. Yet another reason to hope he visits regularly. “I’ll be here a year, maybe, and then I’m gone. Get bored, staying too long in one place, no matter how good it is. Need to see somewhere new.” I listen to myself say this, feeling warm and sleepy and still a bit sluggish from the sex. It sounds ridiculous, but I know it won’t feel that way in a year’s time. Don’t want to think that far ahead now, though. Just want to enjoy being here and feeling like this, save up the memory for when the bed’s cold or when there’s no bed at all.

[regularblack]

It seems chillier in the darkness and without thinking too hard about it I roll next to him. Far more pleasant to sleep next to a warm body than without. I tug the blanket around us and warm the tip of my nose on his shoulder blade.

"Hah," I yawn. "Better stick to that plan. Otherwise you'll suddenly decide Excolo has need of fine cheese and start buying cows one day. Town does that to people." It does and that's probably why I'm still here. The dark weighs on my eyes and I feel bone tired like I do in the middle of summer.