[for Gene]
He can't sleep. It isn't anything new, though the place in which he hasn't slept has changed. Log cabins, fireplaces, the sound of snow and ice creaking on the roof. Turned to the wall, he can just make out the school of fish swimming by the bed, as high above it as Hera is tall, pale crayon marks against dark wood in the dull light of Winter. His stump is a steady ache just below the hip, and he rolls off it, from the familiar fish to the familiar edges of Gene's body. He wishes it didn't hurt, but more than that, he wishes he could get over it, ignore the discomfort, go to sleep. Bill's in the clinic a short walk away, bleeding and in the thick of it all, and what is some lost sleep in the face of that? What's an ache, felt in a warm bed, next to a warm body?
He layers himself against Gene like another quilt; the bed has a rich smell now, a complex blend of pine, snow, sex, and skin. Hair smells, breath smells, between-the-leg smells. He breathes deep but isn't quite soothed, and picks up Gene's tags in one hand, running his thumb over the punched symbols like brail: 38265653. The metal is warm from their skin and he tucks the edge into his teeth, bites down to test it, bored, sleepless, and in love; he can't feel out the numbers at all, isn't sure when he learned them by heart. Another restless night, probably. He clicks the tag lightly between his teeth and tastes the metal, feels it dampen under his breath, calmed like a dog with a bone, before he takes it back between his fingers, running the tip back and forth over the ridges of information, trying to hypnotize himself into sleep.
He layers himself against Gene like another quilt; the bed has a rich smell now, a complex blend of pine, snow, sex, and skin. Hair smells, breath smells, between-the-leg smells. He breathes deep but isn't quite soothed, and picks up Gene's tags in one hand, running his thumb over the punched symbols like brail: 38265653. The metal is warm from their skin and he tucks the edge into his teeth, bites down to test it, bored, sleepless, and in love; he can't feel out the numbers at all, isn't sure when he learned them by heart. Another restless night, probably. He clicks the tag lightly between his teeth and tastes the metal, feels it dampen under his breath, calmed like a dog with a bone, before he takes it back between his fingers, running the tip back and forth over the ridges of information, trying to hypnotize himself into sleep.