[ Alice always cautioned himself to take care with his heart. He can't, in any sort of recollection, say that he has been in Love. He has encountered girls who have demanded the words from him after several dates, and he, uncomfortable, had shrugged them off. He has felt stirrings of something like warmth, wanting, something like desperation for a place with someone. He has loved people, boundlessly, compassionately, with friendly affection.
But none of that was ever Love, capital-L. Not the person who was his First, which was supposed to be important somehow, but only felt briefly enjoyable and then cold. Not the boyfriend.
He doesn't think the word 'love' when he looks at Treavor because he spent so long not thinking the word 'love' when looking at others.
What he thinks is how he's glad he went to the harbor that night. He's glad he didn't ignore his phone, or worse, follow through on that Grindr plan. He's glad he told Treavor he'd be a pufferfish, because that poff noise made him smile.
What he thinks is Treavor's eyes are depthless, and he wants to know everything in the mind behind them, and that's going to take time, so he also wants time. All the hours to know all the thoughts and hopes and yes, even the terrible things, too. He'll take all the bad with the good.
What he thinks is that being kissed the way he was just now, by the most perfect mouth, was a blessing, and he never wants this moment to end.
What he thinks is that Otis Redding just came on his phone, and it's important to turn it up, and he does with a grin - Found your song again. - and hums along, his hand graceful and light trailing Treavor's cheek, throat, his shoulder, his back, and reversing course. And it's like the universe gave its blessing.
And he doesn't think the word 'love', but where are his thoughts every waking moment, and most non-waking ones?
Alice holds him this way, peaceful, stroking, settling into the promise of warmth (and occasionally brushing up against the idea of bathing with Treavor like an electrified fence, shivering a little, and putting it away and away and away, for the most part calm and content.)
Eventually, careful not to jostle (his Bunny) Treavor, he reaches back for the not-wholly-forgotten (not to be wasted, it wasn't cheap, the guy's been growing the same rarified strain since the sixties) joint, considers asking if Treavor minds in particular -
It seems like a question that would have been answered when Treavor stuck his beautiful head out the door. So, he re-lights, inhales, exhales the smoke away from the man at his side. (Held like a cigarette, between index and middle finger - he never could figure out the why of the thumb-index pinch thing, really.) All of this with care. Even when settling back and drawing close once more, he remains mindful to hold it away and down.
But after a beat of thought, after watching (admiring) Treavor through heavy-lidded eyes, he lifts his hand in silent offer. ]
no subject
But none of that was ever Love, capital-L. Not the person who was his First, which was supposed to be important somehow, but only felt briefly enjoyable and then cold. Not the boyfriend.
He doesn't think the word 'love' when he looks at Treavor because he spent so long not thinking the word 'love' when looking at others.
What he thinks is how he's glad he went to the harbor that night. He's glad he didn't ignore his phone, or worse, follow through on that Grindr plan. He's glad he told Treavor he'd be a pufferfish, because that poff noise made him smile.
What he thinks is Treavor's eyes are depthless, and he wants to know everything in the mind behind them, and that's going to take time, so he also wants time. All the hours to know all the thoughts and hopes and yes, even the terrible things, too. He'll take all the bad with the good.
What he thinks is that being kissed the way he was just now, by the most perfect mouth, was a blessing, and he never wants this moment to end.
What he thinks is that Otis Redding just came on his phone, and it's important to turn it up, and he does with a grin - Found your song again. - and hums along, his hand graceful and light trailing Treavor's cheek, throat, his shoulder, his back, and reversing course. And it's like the universe gave its blessing.
And he doesn't think the word 'love', but where are his thoughts every waking moment, and most non-waking ones?
Alice holds him this way, peaceful, stroking, settling into the promise of warmth (and occasionally brushing up against the idea of bathing with Treavor like an electrified fence, shivering a little, and putting it away and away and away, for the most part calm and content.)
Eventually, careful not to jostle (his Bunny) Treavor, he reaches back for the not-wholly-forgotten (not to be wasted, it wasn't cheap, the guy's been growing the same rarified strain since the sixties) joint, considers asking if Treavor minds in particular -
It seems like a question that would have been answered when Treavor stuck his beautiful head out the door. So, he re-lights, inhales, exhales the smoke away from the man at his side. (Held like a cigarette, between index and middle finger - he never could figure out the why of the thumb-index pinch thing, really.) All of this with care. Even when settling back and drawing close once more, he remains mindful to hold it away and down.
But after a beat of thought, after watching (admiring) Treavor through heavy-lidded eyes, he lifts his hand in silent offer. ]