A little Herc-slash drabble that is
more sweet than sexy. Some mornings are like that even for Herc
and Iolaus. Rated PG-13.
HOLD THAT THOUGHT
I have often been chided for my love
of sleeping late. He questions my desire for a few more minutes
on the hard ground saying that they produce nothing but MORE
stiffness. He is an early riser with a regimen of exercises and
an inexplicable desire to run nowhere on a day when we will travel
miles on foot. I guess that is his god-side; my human side
usually opts for more stiffness.
So this morning when I awake first,
in the first traces of dawn or the last vestiges of night, I am
surprised to see that he is still asleep. Other than the strand
of his long hair that has fallen in his mouth, he looks totally at
peace with the world oblivious to the fact that he is sleeping on his
back with only his carry sack as a pillow. I scratch a new insect
bite on my exposed stomach and wonder why these pests never bother
him. I watch his long lashes flutter and his head turn toward me.
I am very sensitive to his motions,
learning to read them as a child learns to read the basics of our
written language and then memorizing and evaluating them with the
expertise of an academic. Usually I like what they say,
especially on mornings like this. He slowly, not overtly, raises
his left arm from his body to create a space between the arm and his
body. That space is for me. I know it and feel a shudder of
delight that is impossible to explain. I scoot across the space
between us, thankful that it is grass and not stones, to position
myself in this void.
Still without opening his eyes, he
shrugs his right shoulder. Almost involuntarily, my right hand
goes there. I am curled against him, my groin against his hip,
separated by layers of leather. In this position, I can feel
rather than see the messages his body is sending me. The usual
next step is to curl my left leg up and over his body where we often
fall back to sleep intertwined. It is most desirable in the cold
winter months, less so in the summer when our bodies generate their own
heat to blend with that of the day.
I lift my leg to begin the swing, my
mind contemplating if I should continue the motion and plant a soft
good morning kiss on his lips, when it happens. The sound carries
in the silence of the morning. We seem to over-slept the cicadas and
woken before the birds. A toot, a honk . . . somebody step on a
duck? His eyes pop open and he stares at me with unmoving eyes.
"Thanks, Iolaus."
"Sorry, Herc. It's just my body
in the . . ."
"Does that mean you have to go to the
bushes?"
"Nah, I can wait . . ."
My left hand has moved lower from the
shoulder, moving across the soft chamois of his vest to the hard woven
leather of his pants. What I find there cannot be taken as a
total shock. It is often an innocence by-product of dreams or a
need to pee. I always delight in its presence and curse the fact
that pants made by one's mother are not only difficult to open but fail
to accentuate its presence. My fingers trace its outline and I
see his face relax.
I am not a clairvoyant and his mind
is probably the most difficult to understand. My hand stops and
rests on the hardness in the front of his trousers. I have
often fallen back to sleep in this position only to awaken sleeping on
my stomach, lips open in the dust, while he has taken off to face his
morning. It is not a pretty sight, but there is no one to see it
but him.
"You sure?" I feel the hand
that has been wrapped around me inching lower down my back, toward the
end of my vest and the tight leather that incases my cheeks. Hot
damn!
A quick trip to the bushes, ones with
good leaves and perhaps a stream, probably would be in order. A
few agonizing minutes while I attempt to rid the product of my last
night's drinking through an outlet which has totally different ideas of
its function. I should have realized when decided to use the pack
for a pillow. That is where he keeps his bottle of oil.
There are some days when you don't
mind getting up early. Some days when regardless of what thugs,
monsters and problems come along you are willing to face them
bravado. You are the chosen of a super-hero and some mornings he
makes it all worthwhile.
I give his log a quick squeeze and
look up at his light blue eyes. "Hold that thought, Herc. I
will be right back."
McJude
July 27, 2003
HOME
|
HERCULES
FOREVER
|
Free Counters
