The One-Shots

Russell rolled over carefully, trying no to disturb his bedmate. Thom was laying on his back dozing. The sunlight falling through the window\'s scrolling latticework made short-lived tattoos on the skin of Thom\'s belly. Russ pushed the sheet off and left the bed, hoping to find all his clothes before Thom woke. The last thing Russ wanted to do was hash this out with his ex again. They were just bad for each other, there was no other way to put it, and Russ was done with it, done with getting pulled back into the drama of them, done with Thom. Really, he was.

It\'s not like anyone would blame him- all their friends, even Thom\'s friends thought Russ was smart to leave. Why didn\'t that make it easier to say no when Russ was drunk and it was late and Thom was so friggin\' beautiful and Russ was drunk? Not that Thom wasn\'t beautiful when Russ was sober- he was perfect and shiny all the time, it\'s just that, when Russ was sober, he could remember to stay on the other side of the room from Thom, other side of the city from Thom, other side of the country from Thom. When he got a fifth of whiskey in him, he tended to trade in his frequent flyer miles for a ticket from Reno to South Beach and head right to him.

That was exactly what he\'d done last night, or was that the night before? The trip was so damn long, he had to keep drinking steadily to keep from coming to his senses before he got to sleep with Thom, sink into him and let go, drown his sorrows in the sins of Thom\'s glorious flesh. The fact that his sorrows all stemmed from Thom and his unfaithfulness never worked into the equation until the morning after, when Russ found himself sneaking out of Thom\'s bedroom yet again.

That was it- he really was done with it. He meant it this time. He took one last look at Thom, lying in the bed, looking golden, and left, knowing he\'d never be back, hoping he\'d never be back, knowing he\'d be back soon.