(Untitled)

[m_pinocchio]

He's washed his hands again, more carefully this time. Just in case. Except not really, because he's pretty sure he knows how this is going to go. He's seen that look in Tom's eyes enough times, and in Neil it isn't all that different. Just a matter of time

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[little_moons]

I finish the swing. Scrub the dirt off of it, get the rope from the compound, find a sturdy limb and it's done. I feel like an asshole, but maybe I'm actually a little proud of the fucking thing.

I take a shower. I walk the fucking dog. Feed him. I stall for a little bit, even, just to prove I can wait.

When I make it back, it's almost dark outside, streaks of gold and pink lighting the sky, the air warm and heavy when I duck inside Mike's hut without a knock. One day I'll learn that's probably not the smartest thing in the world to do, but not today.

When I sit down on the edge of his bed and tug the book gently out of his hands without a word, part of me is testing to see if this still works when it's just the two of us.

[m_pinocchio]

"Took you long enough," he says, releasing the book easily but otherwise not moving at all. He's not uncomfortable, not awkward, but the dynamic is different now and he's feeling it out. There's no rush. He smiles slightly.

"Guess you really were tired of me, huh."

[little_moons]

"I was busy," I murmur, reaching out and letting my knuckles graze the sharp rise of his collarbone, bumping over the thin ball-chain around his neck, dogtags shifting against his skin. Everything seems muted, underwater, down to the dull rush of blood in my ears.

I could make another move, but maybe its his turn, or maybe I'm just waiting 'til one of us breaks.

[m_pinocchio]

"Busy," he echoes softly, reaching up and trailing his fingers down the back of Neil's hand to his wrist. He lets it rest there for a few seconds and then lifts Neil's hand to his mouth, pressing a slow kiss to each knuckle. His eyes are locked on Neil's face, distantly fascinated.

"I guess I don't mind waiting."