MiraculousPart 4I needed to play it cool - not to rush or crowd him. I didn't ask to see him every night - I already saw him most days, after all - and I could feast my eyes as much as I liked, then...absorb him into my skin like cream. Fuck, he was...is...beautiful. No man has a right to eyes - or eyelashes - like those. And that mouth should be issued with a government health warning - "Dangerous to Dicks - may cause severe Swelling and Discomfort". The way his tongue flickered over his lower lip when he was talking should be censored. Shit! I had it bad! Billy was concerned. "Dom, for fuck's sake, tell him, will you? How hard is it to say "I love you?", man? You never know, after all!" "Can't do it, Bills. Not yet. He just thinks of me as a fuck-buddy...without the fucking. A blow-buddy, if you like. Can't bring love into that, can I? Not when he tells me my best efforts at loving him are "Very Nice!". I swallowed some of my coffee too fast, and choked. Bill patted my back. "Well, try something else, man. Ask Viggo - perhaps he'll write a poem for you to just casually leave around so's he'll ...he's coming!" We started talking about the weather, as Lighe crossed the canteen, and sat down by my side. "Hi, dude!", he said to Bill across the table. He just smiled a greeting at me. The sun came out in the depths of his eyes. "What's new?" He put his coffee down, and started stirring it, the spoon making lazy circles in the liquid. I started remembering his tongue making lazy circles on my skin, and ...god! I started to feel hot! Everything about him was sensual. Fuck it all! We spent fifteen minutes talking about the amended scripts we'd got that morning. I must have talked a load of shite - I can't remember. Billy suddenly excused himself, and that left the wunderkind and me staring at each other hungrily. Fuck! He was doing it too! Wasn't he? He licked his lip. Oh, god! "Sblom, are you...can we...tonight, I mean?" He had such an earnest look on his face. " 'Course, Lighe! Where?" YES! "My place?" "Okay - see ya!" Wey-hey! Sod's law, isn't it? I got the shits and couldn't go. "Never mind, dude!", he said, consolingly, down the phone, as I sat on the bog with my jeans round my ankles, and a knife grinding away in my gut. Fuck, it hurt! "There's always tomorrow!" "Yeah! 'Night, Lighe!" " 'Night, Dom!" Fuck! Next night, he fucking had them. We blamed the canteen food. Three nights later, he turned up on my doorstep with a cd for me, and a bottle of red. We watched a film. We drank the wine. We kissed each other. He snuggled into my neck, with his hand in my lap (shitshitshitshit!).... and fell asleep. He spent the night on the sofa, covered with my best blanket. I spent the night in the loo tossing off to images of his face. Some romance this was! I turned to Viggo the Wise. "I need something, mate! Something he will...notice." I twirled my glass around my fingers in an abstract manner, trying not to look too fucking desperate. I was fucking desperate. I wanted him, and in ten bloody days, I'd had two close encounters of the sexual kind. They involved our mouths, our hands and our dicks. I needed...more. I needed fucking! "Try writing a poem. I'll help you!", offered the King, putting down his paintbrush to sip his wine. Great. I went home on cloud nine, convinced I could do it - it was easy enough, wasn't it? Here are the efforts of the first night spent wrestling with the fucking muse. Wrestling with her? I'd put her in a Vulcan death grip if it was up to me! I love you, man with big blue eyes. Shining, glorious, miraculous. I want you in my arms, tonight, Your lily-white neck to bite. I threw that in the bin. Next - Come to my arms, and let me love you, small and tender one. (Fuck, he sounds like a roast chicken!) Come and let me rejoice in you... Feel the warmth of your tender skin against my own. Come to me, love. Come, let me hold your... (can't put that in, you plonker!)... hand. I showed this to Bills. He said "Hmmm! Too many "come's" - and you're right about the chicken. And, the last line...The Beatles, Dom! Won't do! Just won't fucking do!" Well, I didn't think it was that bad. I tore the fucking thing up. "What you want is something...lyrical", pronounced Viggo, when I'd stuck it back with Sellotape, and showed it to him. He winced. "Something...fucking fantastic, moving, erotic, sensitive, you know!" I did know. Elizabeth Barrett Browning in drag - that's what. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." Fuck! Me? Never! * "Wanna come, Sblom? There's enough for two." Lighe was loading a picnic basket into the back seat of his car. This looked promising! "Where, Lighe?" I tried to seem unconcerned. My heart was beating like a drum. "Oh, just down the road, y'know. I want to be under the trees." "Unter den baumen", I echoed. "What?" "Under the trees!" "Oh! Coming?" You bet! |