Nightly thoughts.
‘Exhaustion still gets him fairly easy,’ was the first thing that came to mind when Trevor closed his eyes and his exhale was deep and turned into something subconscious. His already lax shoulders turned almost boneless.
Straight to deep sleep. Either he felt good about their activities or it had been some time. ‘Well fucked’ could not yet describe him, but the fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and faint smell of release did at least tell a tale of a few moments of having Trevor under his own spell.
Taking it slow was his own decision. And it did mean he could lay in this trusty old bed Trevor slept in every day and… look down on him. He looked comfortable. Relaxed. His eyebrows signaling no derision. Or doing impossible gymnastics. Made it look good, though.
With a lopsided smile, he pushed his fingertips through the slightly damp strands. No hair gel. Showers worked wonders like that. Thick hair… it did invite to pull, just not… no. He wouldn’t know if it was welcome. Maybe it was, as well as he reacted to the bites.
Being uncertain what he might like felt… odd. This time it was all muddled up with his own desires and he could absolutely not discern what was what. The intense desire to cover his lips, bury his fingers deep into his hair, scraping over his scalp and simply lick into his mouth to see who loses breath or patience first and pull him closer, bite into pale, freckled skin and-
That was his own, right? No vibes, that’s… what he wanted to do, himself. Let his hands move down and grab a handful of ass, squeezing and getting closer, getting rid of the damn fabric, all those damn layers, grab and lick and bite and swallow and finally sink into him in all ways that were available or possible.
His hand twitched just thinking about it and at the same time he could continue lazing in this position and hold this young body in his arms. Carefully dragging his nails over the skin, breathing in how he smells after almost-sex and a trace of his shower gel.
Opening his eyes again, he had to admit that it was ridiculous. He barely knew a thing about him. Except that his family alone is trouble. Eva Shuang? Really? Why did he have to meddle with that. Not to mention what his ‘family’ might even be. What was he? Demon? Angel?
Watching him sigh and frown in his sleep almost convinced him of the second option. Light pressure on his knitted brows relaxed him again. Except that he cuddled closer. Dave slung his whole arm around him. The sleeping maybe-angel had fine muscle definition, struggles might be intere-
No. Fact was, one had to train regularly to be on Dave’s level and that… was not Trevor. He fit into his arms – and what a nice feeling that was, being able to have him in his arms, burying his nose in his hair.
Maybe-angel. But more likely a demon, no? Not envy. He would have heard from one of Eva’s like this. Maybe pride. Amnael’s subordinate and she protected him for the boss? Pride would… fit. Very much. Even if it could just be… being a teenager. A little later than that, but… well.
He still had punkish tendencies. Purple eyeshadow and black nail polish and obviously gelled back hair. Again, it suited him. So much. He helplessly drew senseless figurines on his back. Maybe he would keep it that way his whole life. No complaints from him, there.
Sure, two things are missing – maybe some foundation as well – but there were still black painted nails. Contrasting the very, very pale skin.
So he really had no clue where he belonged. Originally. Just now he was… here. In London. Living over a pub he worked in. And Dave had no idea what to do with it.
Can’t tell him travel times weren’t an issue, can’t tell him how old he actually was. Thirty three, his ID said. He should remember. Properly remember. Only fifteen years time to do anything of… relevance.
And Trevor barely had five. Which makes the whole thing even weirder. And more important to take it slow.
Music and computers and -flare- bartending, of all things… none of these, he was remotely competent in. He could identify pieces and rhythms in classical music – thankfully it wasn’t the modern variant – and he could work with a PC, but mixing drinks – or food, something he could also do… no chance.
The urge to make him sigh and writhe was there, but… he had a human life and human responsibilities and… he should sleep, shouldn’t he? Rest. And damn, he could rest in his arms. No shoving away, no restlessness because of his presence. Another tick for demon, but… inconclusive. There had been some very, very content angels as well.
He might be able to tell him a few things about gardening. About nutrients and collembolas and their proper care. After all, London – and a roof – are not exactly conclusive to good plant growth. Maybe he was earth-aligned. Would explain how he made tomatoes grow in such an area. His golden – not golden according to him – eyes would support that, too. Not the red in his hair. Or the black. But maybe he dyed it. Entirely possible.
Every few minutes, he needed some willpower not to move up and against him. Maybe taste his skin, hear him gasp, see his eyes flutter open in any emotion and-
No. Rest. And they had no talked about… any of this. How could this have happened. No boundaries known, nothing. So he kept laying still, watched the soft, even breaths.
Trevor wasn’t impressed with money... or apparently status… or community… not proper manners or style. Neither success in the chosen field. Checkered sexual past notwithstanding – of all things, that might have impressed him the most.
He breathed out against Trevor’s hair. They didn’t know each other for long… yet. He supposed. Maybe they needed to have… nights to talk. Talk the whole night through nothing and everything and feel at home. Or be silent together.
It was still very ridiculous. He couldn’t even think about his body in this moment because it would most definitely disturb some peace in this bed. He wanted to be there when he woke up and he wished he could make breakfast, but… ordering was an option, was it not? He had the address memorized by now… but he didn’t even know how he took his coffee in the morning. Or, looking at him, probably his tea. Or eggs. Is there bacon? Can he eat chicken nuggets at all times of the day?
Ice cream was definitely out for the morning.
He didn’t even know that. And he already wanted to keep him that badly. Maybe it was his voice? It… did certainly something to him.
One last time, he let his fingers run over his back and pulled the blanket closer over both of them. It would be fine.
He didn’t need to sleep. But maybe something would calm down. The slightest bit. Before he would kiss him senseless in all places again. Maybe even his roof garden. When he was afraid of heights.
Well, admittedly, he wasn’t the biggest fan either. Only for having a nice overview.
Rest. Just a bit of rest.
Until the next day would be even more ridiculous.
