"island," tom/jon, pg
I don't know why I'm completely in capable of writing anything over like, 500 words, but whatever. I'll work with what my mother gave me, HA.
"inspired" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' version of Bjork's song "Hyperballad", found here
Island
Tom sits at the edge of the bed, teeth tearing at his already too-short nails. It's almost five (almost time to start heading towards the airport) and the skyline is a soft sort of blue-black. It looks exactly like it had the previous evening when they'd been sitting on the rough carpet passing a bottle of wine back and forth but not really drinking much. He's almost shivering, feet still tucked up under the blanket as he watches Jon breathe in, out. His chest rises (up, down), pushing the arm Jon has crossed over it the same motion (up, down). His eyes appear still but Tom imagines they must be moving under the lids.
When Jon is awake, he seems all too human, something Tom has always taken comfort in. His laugh like sandpaper, hands like paws, and Tom thinks of all this. He thinks of all this considers the body in front of him, the pinpoint of touch at his ankle, at Jon's shin. This version of Jon seems alarmingly quiet in the way that old furniture is quiet - blending so perfectly with the dust in the air, with the scuffs on the floor that you almost miss it when you walk in the room. Tom doesn't want to miss Jon, though he already does. A chill breathes in through the window and Tom climbs back under the covers beside him, lifting Jon's other arm so that he can wrap it around his own chest.
"inspired" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' version of Bjork's song "Hyperballad", found here
Island
Tom sits at the edge of the bed, teeth tearing at his already too-short nails. It's almost five (almost time to start heading towards the airport) and the skyline is a soft sort of blue-black. It looks exactly like it had the previous evening when they'd been sitting on the rough carpet passing a bottle of wine back and forth but not really drinking much. He's almost shivering, feet still tucked up under the blanket as he watches Jon breathe in, out. His chest rises (up, down), pushing the arm Jon has crossed over it the same motion (up, down). His eyes appear still but Tom imagines they must be moving under the lids.
When Jon is awake, he seems all too human, something Tom has always taken comfort in. His laugh like sandpaper, hands like paws, and Tom thinks of all this. He thinks of all this considers the body in front of him, the pinpoint of touch at his ankle, at Jon's shin. This version of Jon seems alarmingly quiet in the way that old furniture is quiet - blending so perfectly with the dust in the air, with the scuffs on the floor that you almost miss it when you walk in the room. Tom doesn't want to miss Jon, though he already does. A chill breathes in through the window and Tom climbs back under the covers beside him, lifting Jon's other arm so that he can wrap it around his own chest.