Carpe Diem

A/N: I told you I was still working on it. Actually, the last bit of this chapter just struck me a little while ago. So be sure to thank my muse profusely. Also, this story is probably about done, maybe another chapter or two. Because I'm starting to get tired of this one and Indiscretion will need all of my attention for the foreseeable future. Also, thanks to Young Sage for the review, here and in Indiscretion. And don't worry about not getting the dream sequence, it's a dream. It's not supposed to make complete sense.

A Morning of Considerably Less Awkwardness

He felt better, he decided. What with Patrick running his fingers through his hair and all. He wasn't entirely sure how long they had been like that. He remembered waking up with the odd sensation of something in his hair, of warm flesh against his cheek. He was, as it turned out, splayed across his lover. And his lover was playing with his hair. Warmth radiated from the body beneath him, though almost uncomfortable. But he could deal with that. It was nice, actually. This doing nothing. Over the past day or so—he wasn't sure precisely due to his newly irregular sleeping habits—his mind had acquired the ability to not think. To rest. Much better than the alternative. The being bogged down in never-ending thoughts stained with darkness ever present in the shadows of his mind like restless demons just waiting for the right moment to strike, to kill. But not while Patrick was here. The hand stopped its playing and rested against Jim's head. He heard a sigh escape Patrick's lips. And he knew this was coming. The talk.

“You're looking much better today,” he said.

“I feel much better,” Jim replied, “But still a little sore.” He made a distinct effort not to look at Patrick. Eye contact was a bad idea.

“Is there any reason in particular why you're avoiding eye contact?”

“Not really, no,” he lied.

“Then why don't you look at me when I'm speaking with you?” There was no malice in his words, though perhaps a slight annoyance, if it could even be called as such.

Words failed to form themselves in Jim's mouth; no response of any sort of intelligibility was forthcoming.

“Is that your response, then? Silence?”

Jim did not particularly care for where the conversation veered. He tried to think of some sort of response—an apology, perhaps? But for what? And, after said apology, what then? Patrick would most assuredly demand something in the form of an answer. An explanation. And, really, what did Patrick expect him to say?

“Look. What you went through was traumatic and you don't want to talk about it. I get that. But that doesn't change the fact that you need to. Do you trust me?”

And yet, that really wasn't the issue at hand. At least, not to Jim. He could handle the rape well enough, though repression and denial were probably not the healthiest coping mechanisms. At least they were better than cutting himself or drinking. But, again, that was not the point.

“Just say something, anything. Anything at all.” An edge of desperation tinged his intonation as his plea progressed.

Timidly, without any hint of confidence, Jim rested his gaze on his lover's face. Looked him in the eyes. And with that single action, a minor shift of his attention, a torrent of emotions threatened to overwhelm his senses. He lost control of his actions.

Patrick was reasonably shocked, though not to say displeased, at least, not entirely, by Jim's actions. Of all the possible reactions, a kiss was not even on his list. It was sensuous, this kiss. A deliberate slowness, a meaningful delicateness hung about it. Whereas before their lovemaking might have been characterized by a more animalistic hunger, this was more. . . loving? Was this, then, Jim's answer? That, though, only served to beg the question of why the deed and not the words? Was Jim unable to bring himself to say those three words? Only, this was certainly not the time for any sort of philosophical debate, or thinking, for that matter, judging by where Jim's hands were moving. And. . . were they shaking? Jim was nervous, then. Understandable. Perfectly understandable. But was this really the appropriate time? He moved his hand in an attempt to forestall Jim's intentions. Used his other to remove Jim's mouth from his own.

“Are you sure about this?”

Jim only nodded in response.

“Okay then.”

Jim was allowed to resume. He took control in a way he hadn't before. It surprised him how much he enjoyed this newfound power. The ability to make Patrick squirm and writhe beneath him. Jim moved downwards and began to taste his lover, his boyfriend, his whatever the hell Patrick was to him. At that moment, he didn't exactly care. He merely reveled in his affections. His hands seemed to know instinctively where to move, how to move, when to move to illicit the best reactions from Patrick. He made mental notes of the most sensitive spots for later. He moved lower and lower until he could go no further without missing.

It had been a while since the last time, and the feeling of Patrick in his mouth was slightly odd at first. But that feeling went away as he built up his rhythm, his gently moving up and down and up and down. He could feel it throbbing and pulsing against his tongue and, just when he knew Patrick was about done, he stopped. Patrick audibly protested, but Jim paid no attention. Instead he reached over to the drawer and pulled out the necessary items for the next step. After some rather minor preparations, Jim positioned himself and entered. Constricting heat surrounded him as he pushed himself further inside. Slowly and gently and delicately and lovingly and any other way he might describe it as being anything other than animalistic and desire-driven. This was love, not lust. Though lust did play a part, however small. He thrust with a steady, metronomic quality. There were moans; moans of pleasure and love and feeling. A veritable symphony of love. Jim leaned forward, placed his head on Patrick's. They were closer, more intimate than ever before. Their bodies became as one: one unified soul, a pool of common and shared emotions connecting them at the deepest level. The world around them disappeared into nothingness until all that was left were the two of them. Alone in a world all to themselves where they might spend as much time as they desired with each other without interruption. Alone in the sea of their love. And then it ended in one slow, drawn out motion.

They did not collapse so much as fall into an embrace. Exhaution overcame them. Together in each other's arms they lay still for a moment.

“I love you,” Jim said slowly and hesitantly into Patrick's shoulder, “I think.”

“I think?”

Which question caused Jim to blush profusely.

“Probably,” he managed at last.