First half courtesy Punk.
Smash Cut to Smut
because
Punk called the other one "cute."
It's
dark in Sam's apartment, like a dream he once had. Josh doesn't
remember
the dream, doesn't even really remember why he has a key to
Sam's apartment,
but he's there now, creeping past the couch and a
number of expensive tables
that he knows are there but can't see in the
dark. He runs his fingers along
the wall, because Sam has expensive
tables, but nothing hanging on his walls,
no photographs or posters or
Renoir knock-offs.
His
fingers catch on a doorframe and he flows into the room. Three
beers make
him feel like god, though he still can't see in the dark and
he trips over
a pair of Sam's shoes.
It's
three in the morning in Georgetown and Sam's bedroom is empty.
He's not still
working, because Josh saw him leave, heard him say he
was going home, heard
him say he was tired and going home to bed.
He
wonders where Sam is, and he wonders why he's here. Because he
has a key,
but that's not an explanation. And he had a couple beers, but
that's
probably an excuse.
He
kicks the shoes under the bed, the unslept-in bed. Sam can just drop
to his
hands and knees and look for them in the morning.
&&
"I've,
I've been waiting," he says, and he doesn't care that he's
whining. Sam bends
down to pick up the keys, which are next to the
shoes, and Josh comes up
from behind. He puts one hand on the wooden
headboard post for balance because
he's still a little dizzy.
Sam's
hair in the back is messy and for about twelve hundredths of a
second he's
utterly insane with jealousy, with wild terrible thoughts of
who messed up
Sam's hair. And it's probably just the headrest in the
Jeep but still he's
angry and hard and so what if it's all just an
excuse.
Before
Sam's even really stood up Josh is pulling his waist and trying
to unzip
Sam's fly, get his hand inside Sam's boxers.
Sam
drops the keys and Josh is licking down his vertebrae through the
starchy
shirt, whatever they use for dry cleaning burning at the corners
of his mouth.
He's slid down, holding on to Sam's thighs now so he doesn't
keel over and
when he slides a hand up under the cuff of the pants he can
feel this light
tremble in Sam's calf.
He's
crouched down there on the floor with his forehead resting against
Sam's
ass, one hand under the pantleg, and he wants to laugh at how far
he's fallen,
how little it took to get from annoyed to desperate. He
wants to laugh, but
mostly he wants to stand up without feeling silly or
light-headed and fuck
until he forgets it's almost four and Sam just got
home. Sam's legs are quivering
and he wants to believe it's because of
what Josh has done, and not what
Sam hasn't yet said.
END.