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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[regularblack]

Ever so faintly, I can see the steam off the top of the mugs. Whatever it is smells like something out of the pastry shop. I pick up the second mug and hold it between both hands as I watch the bartender strip down in a flash. It's almost a challenge, the way he does it and it has me thinking that I'm behind in the race. I'll undress while he's gone then. Thank my lucky stars I washed up this morning, in the freezing cold water at the farm since the heater doesn't work terribly well

[regularblack]

"Almost, almost," I repeat a little breathlessly. "Wait for me." I feel that heat run all the way through me, up to the top of my head. Maybe it is the drink, the late hour or something else, something about the man beneath me clutching the bed clothes like he might slip right away. Maybe just the long wait for this chance. Whatever it is, it makes for a glorious feeling.

I brush a hand teasingly against his cock, something that might be cruel but wrings an appreciative sound from the man.

[jaeresteade]

I can’t find it in myself to hate him for pushing me to wait, or even for teasing me like that. I can’t. I am about to collapse under him, though, and I hope he won’t mind terribly much. I’m the one who wanted slow, and more, and he has done nothing but what I asked. God, this is too much, though. The pressure building behind my stomach is getting harder to push back, and if I opened my eyes, I’m not sure I would see anything but stars, although it must be past dawn.

He’s still moving inside me, with more urgency now, it feels like. I’ll wait for him, but I haven’t promised not try to quicken his own climax. Certainly haven’t promised not to roll my hips and tighten on his cock at the same time. And no mention was made that I was not allowed to moan as I did it, either, and let him hear all my frustration and need.

[regularblack]

This is my limit, I find. Eyes closed, breathing hard with my head tilted back, pushing hard on the man beneath me. I spend myself with a wordless little cry.

"Come on then." Apparently I'm only good for short words now, but I trust my hand stroking his cock makes the meaning clear. I am still moving, less frantic now. I lean forward some, pushing the last of me deep inside.

[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

[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

[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

[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

[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.