bloodyrockgod | Stargazing

"That's not so bad . . . that's on the way to being a man. I was imagining a tiny child." He hums a moment: lully lullay, thou little tiny child, by by lully lullay . . . "But then the flood happened and they all died. Is that right?"

"Yeah. Jer was... twenty-seven, I think." He closes his eyes for a second.

"It wasn't necessary. She didn't have to wipe out all of our children, and She didn't have to wipe out all of Her children. She was angry."

"For an angel you question God's will a lot." He kisses Bartleby's hand. "I thought that was for us monkeys to do."

"Thousands of years of unquestioning devotion to make up for. Removed blinkers, you know?" He twitches the blanket a little so that it's even snugger.

Charlie traces the inside of Bartleby's wrist. Curiosity about Bart's life before is battling with the need to hold and touch him--it's difficult to reconcile the two.

"Look! Shooting star!" Bartleby's face is enraptured as he watches the flash.

"It's beautiful," Charlie murmurs and laces his fingers between Bartleby's again. "Make a wish?"

He nods, and silentlty closes his eyes. I wish for Charlie to be able to go home.

He opens them again. "You too."

[ooc: charlie can't hear him, btw.]

"It's hard to choose," Charlie answers and turns his head back for another kiss.

More time. Just give me more time.

Bartlebyt nibbles at his lower lip, and then pulls back to smile at him. "So. Your life history?"

Charlie chuckles. "You mean there are things you don't know?"

"Of course. You're an endless well of surprises." Bartleby smiles widely.

"Let me think if there's anything important I haven't told you . . . you know about the band and my brother and my issues with temptation . . what else is there?"

"Childhood, family, dreams, loves..."

[ooc: so sorry. conked out. am ill.]

Charlie makes a dry not-laughing sound and says, "Family was me, Liam, my mum, my dad, and my mum's parents who moved to Manchester when I was a baby. Childhood was . . . had its ups and downs. My dad had a temper. Dreams--I have a reoccuring one about being on a bus and everything smells like bacon. Loves . . ." He falls silent and strokes Bartelby's hands again.

[ooc: no problem. *pets* Work is going to be busy later so there will be delays.]

Bartleby kisses Charie's hand, and holds it. "He hit you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough." He kisses the top of Charlie's head. "Bacon, huh? Deep subconscious meaning there?"

"Well, I really like bacon." He turns and gets onto his knees, and kisses Bartleby, holding his face in his hands.

Bartleby puts his hands on Charlie's hips and tilts his head up, just enough to get the right angle and Charlie.

This is much better than talking--especially about things he doesn't want to talk about. Speaking like this there's no misunderstandings--just lip to lip and tongue to tongue, perfection.

Bartleby sighs contently and sucks Charlie's tongue into his mouth. The blanket slides offone of his shoulders.

Charlie pulls the blanket back up and whispers, "Loves . . . His name was Rupert. He was like you. Exquisite. Perfect. More like a man than a boy. The sun rose for him--birds sang, traffic stopped.

"And he loved me back."

"What went wrong?" He kisses Charlie's jaw.

"His mum caught us kissing and freaked out. He was sent off. Didn't see him again for--oh, three or four years, and when I did he treated me like someone he'd barely known."

He sighs. "But by then I was very cynical and experimental. No love for Charlie--just everything else. Groupies--they can be a lot of fun, if that's what you want."

He kisses Bartleby's mouth again.

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