Cuddling 1/1
Cuddling
Pairing: Jared/Jensen or Sam/Dean... or whatever slash pairing you have playing in your head.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 750
Warnings: angst, the scary side of cuddling, insomnia, established relationship, schmoopy-esk elements
Disclaimer: not mine, not real...
for hc_bingo prompt “cuddling”
Summary: At night - in bed - sometimes the most normal things can choke him.
The room is completely dark with the blinds down shutting out the soft stream of light cast by the street lamp outside and leaving nothing behind but pitch black. He lies with his eyes open, but only when he blinks does he even notice that he they aren't closed, that he is, in fact, awake. So blind as he is in the darkness, he relies on his other senses.
He can smell the fabric softener on the sheets, a heavy clean smell that is just flowery enough to not be mistaken with anything else; the smell of shampoo and showering gel coming from the other body in the bed that also adds something else in there, something masculine that he knows he could recognize everywhere as long as he closed his eyes.
He can hear their breathing coming in synchronized gushes of air and he realizes how he must have fallen into beat with the sleeping man behind him automatically. Warm air is tickling the hairs on the back of his neck with every breath. He can feel it.
Feeling is the problem. It's the thing robbing him his sleep. He feels... choked. It's ridiculous, but he has never been comfortable with sleeping in someone's arm. But once asleep, his partner is a nothing if not a cuddler. It shouldn't bother him. He can deal with an arm around his shoulder at the cinema, he really doesn't mind being handled during sex... but to be embraced in his sleep makes the him get goose flesh all over. It just feels as though the weight of the limbs around him is pressing down, getting heavier and squeezing the air out of him. There is a human vice crushing him and he can feel his breath get heavier even though he doesn't really need more air.
Sometimes, at night, he feels like he is loosing his mind. Then all he can do is wiggle himself out of those arms and get out of bed... most of the time he slips back in on the other end so he can have at least an odd hour's time before the arms find him again.
The biggest issue is that he can not explain it. There is no logical explanation, no real reason. It's not like he's had any traumatic experiences in that kind of way. It's just... he can't say.
Yes, he can't say anything, ever. How could that conversation ever end well when he tells his cuddle-monster of a boyfriend that cuddling freaks him the fuck out? It couldn't. He ran it through his head a million times. So whenever he is being asked about his insomnia he doesn't lie... but he doesn't tell the truth either.
Fact is, he loves that man and if it costs him a few hours of sleep in the early morning hours when he usually wakes up to find himself engulfed in limbs, he is going to take it...
But he can not take that pressure on his chest another second.
He has experience wriggling put of strong arms unnoticed and gets out of bed. For a moment he considers slipping back in on the other side, but it seems futile. His mind is running circles inside his head and he pulls on a shirt and a pair of soft sweat pants he has to find fumbling around the floor in the dark before slipping from the room.
It's very early, but he decides to get some research done while he is awake. The coffee is bitter and strong but any drop of milk might ruin the cleansing effect the beverage has on his sleep-deprived mind, so he chugs it down black.
He's half an hour into his reading when he hears footsteps silently padding out of the bedroom.
“Morning. Do you want a coffee?”
The eyes that look at him are tiny from sleep and a yawn makes them squeeze shut for a moment. “It's five in the morning... the pure thought of coffee is a madness.”
“Then go back to bed. I'll be quiet.”
“Can't... that bed is too large for just myself.”
The couch dips as a body sinks down next to him and he lifts his book off his lap as a head pushes it away and rest itself on his thighs. He puts one elbow onto his boyfriends shoulder where he is curled up on the couch next to him and shifts his book onto the armrest listening to the breathing evening out in his lap.
In this relationship, he's not the only one with sleeping issues.
*
Pairing: Jared/Jensen or Sam/Dean... or whatever slash pairing you have playing in your head.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 750
Warnings: angst, the scary side of cuddling, insomnia, established relationship, schmoopy-esk elements
Disclaimer: not mine, not real...
for hc_bingo prompt “cuddling”
Summary: At night - in bed - sometimes the most normal things can choke him.
The room is completely dark with the blinds down shutting out the soft stream of light cast by the street lamp outside and leaving nothing behind but pitch black. He lies with his eyes open, but only when he blinks does he even notice that he they aren't closed, that he is, in fact, awake. So blind as he is in the darkness, he relies on his other senses.
He can smell the fabric softener on the sheets, a heavy clean smell that is just flowery enough to not be mistaken with anything else; the smell of shampoo and showering gel coming from the other body in the bed that also adds something else in there, something masculine that he knows he could recognize everywhere as long as he closed his eyes.
He can hear their breathing coming in synchronized gushes of air and he realizes how he must have fallen into beat with the sleeping man behind him automatically. Warm air is tickling the hairs on the back of his neck with every breath. He can feel it.
Feeling is the problem. It's the thing robbing him his sleep. He feels... choked. It's ridiculous, but he has never been comfortable with sleeping in someone's arm. But once asleep, his partner is a nothing if not a cuddler. It shouldn't bother him. He can deal with an arm around his shoulder at the cinema, he really doesn't mind being handled during sex... but to be embraced in his sleep makes the him get goose flesh all over. It just feels as though the weight of the limbs around him is pressing down, getting heavier and squeezing the air out of him. There is a human vice crushing him and he can feel his breath get heavier even though he doesn't really need more air.
Sometimes, at night, he feels like he is loosing his mind. Then all he can do is wiggle himself out of those arms and get out of bed... most of the time he slips back in on the other end so he can have at least an odd hour's time before the arms find him again.
The biggest issue is that he can not explain it. There is no logical explanation, no real reason. It's not like he's had any traumatic experiences in that kind of way. It's just... he can't say.
Yes, he can't say anything, ever. How could that conversation ever end well when he tells his cuddle-monster of a boyfriend that cuddling freaks him the fuck out? It couldn't. He ran it through his head a million times. So whenever he is being asked about his insomnia he doesn't lie... but he doesn't tell the truth either.
Fact is, he loves that man and if it costs him a few hours of sleep in the early morning hours when he usually wakes up to find himself engulfed in limbs, he is going to take it...
But he can not take that pressure on his chest another second.
He has experience wriggling put of strong arms unnoticed and gets out of bed. For a moment he considers slipping back in on the other side, but it seems futile. His mind is running circles inside his head and he pulls on a shirt and a pair of soft sweat pants he has to find fumbling around the floor in the dark before slipping from the room.
It's very early, but he decides to get some research done while he is awake. The coffee is bitter and strong but any drop of milk might ruin the cleansing effect the beverage has on his sleep-deprived mind, so he chugs it down black.
He's half an hour into his reading when he hears footsteps silently padding out of the bedroom.
“Morning. Do you want a coffee?”
The eyes that look at him are tiny from sleep and a yawn makes them squeeze shut for a moment. “It's five in the morning... the pure thought of coffee is a madness.”
“Then go back to bed. I'll be quiet.”
“Can't... that bed is too large for just myself.”
The couch dips as a body sinks down next to him and he lifts his book off his lap as a head pushes it away and rest itself on his thighs. He puts one elbow onto his boyfriends shoulder where he is curled up on the couch next to him and shifts his book onto the armrest listening to the breathing evening out in his lap.
In this relationship, he's not the only one with sleeping issues.
*