Reid Garwin (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
letsdropin) wrote2009-09-22 07:39 pm
letsdropin) wrote2009-09-22 07:39 pm
Entry tags:
sunday_reveries: One serious question
4. "There is only one serious question. And that is:
Who knows how to make love stay?"
-Tom Robbins
A/N: Pogue here islieutenantwitch. M/M shenanigans implied.
The pencil whispered quietly over the white sheet, tracing lines, first. And then there would be shading; but shaping first. Reid bit into his lip a little, trying to capture what his eyes were drinking. The body of a god. Sprawled carelessly over a rumpled bed, sheets draping under and over him to frame and cover and reveal.
The afternoon sun brightened the cream-colored dorm room, caressing the sculpted relief of Pogue's back, perfectly toned muscles mellowed in repose. One hand hidden under the pillow; even breaths stirring one of the long blond strands over the curve of his cheek as the older blond slept. Unaware of the attention like this; but also confident in all that he had, awake or not. And that included his boys.
Slowly, gradually, the blank paper turned into a still capture of a living moment. A shadow-and-light memory of beauty, unarranged, unassuming, unfeigned.
And then Reid put away the pencils, hid the sketching pad in its usual drawer, where it could lay inconspicuous (he thought) even when Tyler was rummaging the room, looking for something.
And he crawled back in bed, closer to the warm body of Pogue, who stirred just enough to move from draping against bedding and pillow to draping over Reid. Who didn't mind.
But he did wonder if he would ever be able to capture the faint aura radiating around his friend. Just because.
Who knows how to make love stay?"
-Tom Robbins
A/N: Pogue here is
lieutenantwitch. M/M shenanigans implied.The pencil whispered quietly over the white sheet, tracing lines, first. And then there would be shading; but shaping first. Reid bit into his lip a little, trying to capture what his eyes were drinking. The body of a god. Sprawled carelessly over a rumpled bed, sheets draping under and over him to frame and cover and reveal.
The afternoon sun brightened the cream-colored dorm room, caressing the sculpted relief of Pogue's back, perfectly toned muscles mellowed in repose. One hand hidden under the pillow; even breaths stirring one of the long blond strands over the curve of his cheek as the older blond slept. Unaware of the attention like this; but also confident in all that he had, awake or not. And that included his boys.
Slowly, gradually, the blank paper turned into a still capture of a living moment. A shadow-and-light memory of beauty, unarranged, unassuming, unfeigned.
And then Reid put away the pencils, hid the sketching pad in its usual drawer, where it could lay inconspicuous (he thought) even when Tyler was rummaging the room, looking for something.
And he crawled back in bed, closer to the warm body of Pogue, who stirred just enough to move from draping against bedding and pillow to draping over Reid. Who didn't mind.
But he did wonder if he would ever be able to capture the faint aura radiating around his friend. Just because.