Miserable fucking bastard. Wasn't fair, wasn't even...

Stupid. He was so damned stupid...

And the pain wrapped sticky thorny fingers around his heart and squeezed.

Layers of cloth peeled away like paper from the last gift, slowly, something to be savored. They had all the time in the world, now, nothing could touch them...

A slow burn, these touches, not as hesitant as before. Lips tracing the miraculous swell of the heel of a hand, brushing against the point of the jaw just below the earlobe, finding another set as hungry as one's own... He didn't want to ever raise his hand to this one in anger, and he'd quite willingly expire before he ever did so and called it love.

There was something velvet about this boy's hands, and his mouth was all honey and almonds.

Smoke and cayenne, actually, but his hands are those of a man twice his age...

Awkward, all knees and elbows, intent on nothing but fulfilling the need to be skin-to-skin.

The lithe body tucked against his, curled under his arm and so utterly trusting...

"'Tis better to give than recieve."

He did his best to soothe it away, chasing it with hands and mouth and soft little words, moving slowly and lavishing attention on whatever might present itself to him.

So much pain.

So much wonder, so much delight at the discovery that simple actions could cause -this-...

Blackwater woke, feeling as if he might be violently ill. The nausea subsided only to be replaced with small shivers, and he turned over to discover that he'd kicked most of his blankets off. Shaking his head, he sighed softly and slipped out of bed, drawing the covers up and tucking them in around Neets. The trader stands there, cold and hot and sticky all at once, staring down at the slight form huddled on the mattress.

Neets... He -knew- the young man had been in his dreams, tonight. Everything he saw was so damned fuzzy and vague, except for how he felt... Wandering towards the bathroom and a shower, Beej gathers all these things and ponders them in his heart. Item one: whoever he'd been with was and wasn't Neetles. Perhaps it was James...? He'd seemed to be rather fond of him, from what he could tell. Neets himself had said something to that effect. Scrubbing at his face, Beej injudiciously flipped on the light. Ouch.

Despite the fact that he was now moving around with his eyes closed, he continues with his list. Secondly... Secondly, it bothered the hell out of him that he should be having such amorous dreams about someone he knew a long time ago, that he didn't have any contact with, and that wasn't even alive. The latter thought made him doubly unhapy with the situation. If James was dead, then... Was he pining for a ghost? Part Three: If he was indeed pining, why the hell would he be doing so _now_? Was there a section- no, there -was- a section missing.

The water drumming in the tub seemed unbearably loud, but a look that was half-feeling (and -that- was another interesting little factor, for another introspective evening) told him that his lover hadn't been too disturbed. The missing piece nudged at him again, and his still-sleepy countenance furrowed further, making him look inordinately grumpy. The question was, -if- he'd been missing James... Then how'd he gotten involved with Neets? Even though he knows the other man is deep into his own dreams, the tall man does his best to keep the thought private. The last thing he needed was for anyone to think he was suddenly uninterested in the skinny youth... The hot water stings a bit as he blunders into the spray, hissing slightly.

Something, or maybe someone, took his mind off of... Was that right? Maybe he'd just decided it was finally time to -quit- his useless yearning? That thought made him feel slightly better. The thought that Neets might have been the one to help him reach that decision helped even more. The unpleasant idea that he'd forgotten making that choice and subsequently took up with old habits bothered him almost as deeply as his earlier fears had been allayed. "Damnation!" The squeeze he gave the soap he'd absently picked up that accompanied this soft exclamation resulted in his dropping it, which made him swear again at the noise. Managing to at last corral the wayward bar, he straightens up and starts washing half-heartedly.