Page 33 of Sicken of the Calm
I nod, the very idea of going tosleep a soporific promise. I reach to turn off the bedside lamp lethargicallybefore shifting under the duvet in the darkness. I had half-expected the phoneconversation to get dirty, but now I realize how stupid the assumption hadbeen.
“Sleep now. We’ll see each othertomorrow.”
“Can you stay on the line, for alittle while?” I ask quietly. I don’t know why it’s so easy to be vulnerablewith Ezra when it feels like there’s so much on the line, but everything is sosoft and harmless in this place.
“Of course,” he says, soundingpleased, and I know him well enough now to guess it’s because I felt comfortableenough to ask.
In the soft cocoon of my bed andEzra’s voice, I drift to sleep.
**********
The twirling call of the EasternWhip-poor-will bird sounds almost eerie so deep into the night, when the airseems to have been spelled still, the flow of time slowing to a trickle. Itmixes with the October air and the streetlight puddles as I walk toward thelaundromat in the middle of the night.
Despite not living in the dorms,I’m still residing in the Fox Lake campus. It’s a truly beautiful location, astudent town cradled between the city and the expansive Mallowston Forest. Thestudent dorms, apartments, lecture buildings, shops and social clubs floatamidst a sea of green grass and dotted lakes. My apartment rests close to thecity, the laundromat I’m heading toward barely 5 minutes away. I always choosea night in the working week for the chore, when I know there will be barely asoul on the haunt.
As I walk toward it now, I letthe stillness of the chilly, dark air settle all around me. There’s somethingspecial about being awake at this hour. Unlike the waking day, splinteredbetween so many people that you barely get a taste of a single piece, thesequiet hours buried in the night are unfragmented, beautiful and complete. Eachmoment lasts two, going to the rhythm of thought instead of action. Within allthis space and peace, there is nothing pulling you forward but your ownmomentum.
I take a deep breath. The fresh,forest smell is as silent and still and complete as the air around me. From thatscent, a spirit of the earth, comes an image of Ezra. His hands, of course,always moving, the percussion to the string of his words. His eyes, Mazzowhiskey in colour and intoxication. And his voice. The depths and riches of it.The treasures it hides.
My chest is full of the scent ofthe night, of the image of him.
Very suddenly, a lightning boltin the silent night, I am made aware of the unreachable miles between us. Thathe is just an image. That even though there is nothing more solid than him whenwe’re together, that, too, is as ephemeral as the witching night. Everything istransient, but this isn’t even really mine to hold for an instant.
For a moment, I am filled with apiercing want that is the howl of the wind across the empty seas, filled withsalt and distance and a drowning fall. It’s an odd pain that my soul knows,even though my body does not recognize it. A primaeval feeling that is an echoin the universe from all the creatures that have felt it before.
I stop at the edge of the glow ofa streetlight. I close my eyes and just feel for a moment. I breathe. Empty mylungs and take another breath, this one less rich than the last, but just asfilling. I shake my head.
This, too, passes.
In a moment, I will reach mydestination, swallowed by the heat and the rumbling of turning machines. Thespell of the unfragmented air will break, and I will be released.
There is no point in feeling lossfor something I’ve never had.
**********
This time, it’s no surprise thatwe end up with my back flat on the bed. I had seen the intent in his eyes themoment he stepped into my apartment. True to his modus operandi, however, hehad ignored the pull between us to stretch it out.
We end up talking on the bed, butI’m not half as good at faking it as him. He’s telling me some anecdote abouthigh school, something I would normally be incredibly interested in but can’tfocus on for the life of me whilst his expressive hands move in front of himlike he’s casting a spell. I can’t stop thinking about the images I hadconjured when I had the toy inside me, of his fingers gripping at my hips,leaving marks that I would trace afterwards in the darkness of my room.
“Jesus, if you’re going to lookat me like that-” he says suddenly, cutting himself off. I jolt a little,looking up from his slim wrists, but he’s already fisting one of those hands inmy shirt, right in the middle of my chest, and pushing me back. I hit the bedwillingly, opening up my jean-clad legs, and he settles between them, his mouthon mine. The kiss isn’t brutal, but it’s forceful, a relentless taking of lipsand breath, tongues and teeth.
I thread my hands through hisbird-nest hair, trailing one down to the nape of his neck, down his back, uphis shirt, wanting to feel his skin and his body. I can feel the soft down atthe small of his back, the panther-jut of his shoulder blades as he leans overme, the warmth of him. It’s having him this close that is making me want,having him in my hands and against me, so that I can fool myself for a moment,just for a moment.
His mouth leaves mine, but itdoesn’t go far. Suddenly gentle, he kisses my cheek, my jaw, my neck.
“Take your shirt off,” he murmursand leans away whilst I do, dropping it beside us. His lips are back a momentlater, that same softness of touch, a brush against my skin. Instead ofrelaxing, it puts me on edge. The image of Scar playing with his food comes tomind. In that instance, the mouse escaped the lion’s paw, but I’m hoping not tobe so lucky.
“Ezra,” I say, barely more than abreath, but it’s all it takes. He bites down on my neck, more lips than teeth,but there’s a definite edge as he sucks, leaving a bruising mark that will nodoubt bloom darker as the day goes on.
I moan, one hand clutching at hisshirt, the other digging nails into his back. He releases me and is hot breathagainst my skin before he moves up again, his lips a little more savage as theyfind mine. He bites down on the fullness of my bottom lip before his tonguesweeps inside, pushing against mine. I’m writhing a little beneath him, justfrom this.
When he breaks the kiss, his lipsare red and shiny. He doesn’t pause to tease, focusing as his hands work on myjeans, opening and lowering them along with my underwear and socks. Once again,I’m naked and half-hard as he just watches, clothed and intent. One of hishands rubs at my knee tenderly before pushing it to the side so that I’msplayed open obscenely for him. I tremble as embarrassed arousal goes throughme.
“Jerk yourself off a little,baby. Go slow,” he says. I’m already harder just from him watching me, from hiswords, but I stroke myself slowly to full hardness. I enjoy the curlingpleasure until the first drop of precum drips down my dick, and he tells me tostop. I do it immediately, pressing my palm beside me on the bed, and it’s thebest kind of burning when I see the pleased look on his face.
“Good,” he says, slotting himselfbetween my legs to give me a wet, open-mouthed kiss before moving away again. Iwatch him curiously as he grabs one of my pillows and then takes the case off,grabbing it along with my previously discarded shirt. He looks back at me withdark eyes.
“Put your hands above your head.Wrists together,” he says. I’m a little surprised at the command, but I do ashe says, my stomach clenching. He looks at me carefully for a moment, and Iraise my eyebrows defiantly. He smiles, giving my lips a nip as he moves up thebed, kneeling beside me. He turns his attention to my wrists. I can’t see whathe’s doing, but I feel his fingers and the soft cloth of my shirt on my skin,and it doesn’t feel like he’s just tying my wrists together – he’s doingsomething a little more complicated. Despite my display of confidence, everytwist of the shirt makes my pulse jump until it’s racing. My mouth has goneoddly dry. I want to see Ezra’s eyes but don’t know how to phrase it.
