(no subject)
Life sucks. Let's spoon!
The Spoon Vigniette. 381 words. Rated nothing. Established relationship. SB/R.
Mark can hear Sick Boy’s watch ticking on the floor beside the bed. The sound is strangely loud in the grey surrounding the bed. It occurs to Mark that Sick Boy is not wearing his watch. The thought doesn’t make much sense. Mark is very tired, and stuck in the warm, nice place before his skag-want and hangover will kick in. Aside from the ticking clock, Mark can’t hear anything, not even Sick Boy breathing.
He cracks open an eye and looks around blearily. He’s on the edge of the bed, and rolling over reveals Sick Boy’s back. The orange t-shirt Simon is wearing has ridden up, revealing a hand span of smooth flesh and the small ridge of his spine. Mark smiles and is a little touched by the inherent vulnerability presented to him. His hand does perfectly fill the gap, if he tucks his thumb under the t-shirt fabric. Sick Boy doesn’t even move.
There’s a sleepy hum Mark can feel through Simon’s skin, low and warm, drawing him in. Mark would swear on its existence. He can feel the seep of it from Sick Boy’s naked back and into his palm and fingertips. Resistance is futile. Mark has to get closer.
He spoons up against Sick Boy in the dark, pulling the blanket up higher over both of them. Putting one arm over Sick Boy Mark lets his hand slide down, his fingers slipping under Sick Boy’s hip to pull their bodies close together.
The animal that lives inside of Mark, usually only satisfied with drink and heroin is purring inside of his ribcage. It’s getting used to having Sick Boy around. Mark likes having someone around for when he wakes up during the night, which is often, to remind him that he’s not as pathetic as society thinks he is.
Sick Boy, in a completely uncharacteristic show of trust, or more likely, a completely characteristic total drunken pass-out, hasn’t woken up at Mark’s first touch. He is limp but breathing, and he moans and rolls his shoulders back into Mark’s chest when Mark nudges the back of his neck with his nose.
Satisfied with this response, Mark curls into the warm body in front of him, drifting in between wakefulness and sleep, listening to the rumbling hum.
I still am totally grateful for the existence of this comm. Trainfic sleeps on top of my brain and makes working hard.
The Spoon Vigniette. 381 words. Rated nothing. Established relationship. SB/R.
Mark can hear Sick Boy’s watch ticking on the floor beside the bed. The sound is strangely loud in the grey surrounding the bed. It occurs to Mark that Sick Boy is not wearing his watch. The thought doesn’t make much sense. Mark is very tired, and stuck in the warm, nice place before his skag-want and hangover will kick in. Aside from the ticking clock, Mark can’t hear anything, not even Sick Boy breathing.
He cracks open an eye and looks around blearily. He’s on the edge of the bed, and rolling over reveals Sick Boy’s back. The orange t-shirt Simon is wearing has ridden up, revealing a hand span of smooth flesh and the small ridge of his spine. Mark smiles and is a little touched by the inherent vulnerability presented to him. His hand does perfectly fill the gap, if he tucks his thumb under the t-shirt fabric. Sick Boy doesn’t even move.
There’s a sleepy hum Mark can feel through Simon’s skin, low and warm, drawing him in. Mark would swear on its existence. He can feel the seep of it from Sick Boy’s naked back and into his palm and fingertips. Resistance is futile. Mark has to get closer.
He spoons up against Sick Boy in the dark, pulling the blanket up higher over both of them. Putting one arm over Sick Boy Mark lets his hand slide down, his fingers slipping under Sick Boy’s hip to pull their bodies close together.
The animal that lives inside of Mark, usually only satisfied with drink and heroin is purring inside of his ribcage. It’s getting used to having Sick Boy around. Mark likes having someone around for when he wakes up during the night, which is often, to remind him that he’s not as pathetic as society thinks he is.
Sick Boy, in a completely uncharacteristic show of trust, or more likely, a completely characteristic total drunken pass-out, hasn’t woken up at Mark’s first touch. He is limp but breathing, and he moans and rolls his shoulders back into Mark’s chest when Mark nudges the back of his neck with his nose.
Satisfied with this response, Mark curls into the warm body in front of him, drifting in between wakefulness and sleep, listening to the rumbling hum.
I still am totally grateful for the existence of this comm. Trainfic sleeps on top of my brain and makes working hard.