thirst at night

it felt really good, that position: shoulders pushed up against each other. lovecraft in one pair of hands, sark in the other two hands.

“can you get me a glass of juice?”

an innocent, boring question, and a whiny sigh answered it, but this was their life, and every moment beautiful. every glass of juice, every book read together, every pair of pajamas or panties left unwashed and smelling sour, yet warm and comforting.

“do i have to?”

every protest.

“pleeease. i’m tired. and thirsty. i drove around all day today.”

every long, annoyed and secretly sexy whimper.


every yes.

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