I wrote a companion piece to Soon. You should probably read that one first if you haven't.

Title: Tomorrow
Timeline: Post 513
A/N: Thanks to Xie for the phrase 'perfect cocksucker lips', which I totally stole.
Feedback: Yes please



This sleeping alone shit is starting to really piss me off. It's late. I can't stop tossing and turning. I'm trying to remember when I loved sleeping alone. A time when I relished spreading out across the bed, able to sprawl uninterrupted.

I can't remember it. All I can remember is Justin. Justin who started sneaking into my bed at 17.

I think about why I let him.

Think about how he gave as good as he got. Think about how the harder I pushed, the harder he held on.

Think about fucking him so hard, trying to test his limits, until I realized he didn't have any. He almost wore me out. Think that no man has ever matched me in bed like Justin. Think about the best blowjobs I've ever had. His name's on every one of them. The way he knows exactly what I like. The way I taught him. The way he took everything I had to give, and never stopped wanting more. Think about how he gives himself to me when we fuck. How he always gives me everything, except for the time when he ... didn't.

Think about him looking lost, and knowing it, but ignoring it. Think about those fucked-up weeks when we both knew something had to give. Think about feeling betrayed when Mikey told me about the fiddler, but mostly, feeling angry at myself for letting it get that far. For not stopping it earlier.

Think about Jack and Joanie. Think about screaming, think about fists, think about silence. Think that love is bullshit.

Think about Justin coming back. Think that he looked a little older and wiser, think that he was happy to be back, but that he didn't look at me the way he used to. Before Hobbs.

Think about how he's the only person, the only one who always saw straight through my bullshit. Think about how he's the only one I want to see through my bullshit.

Think about him whispering to me at night, clutching my hand, when I was too fucking sick and too fucking tired to do anything but lie there.

I think about touching his hair. Playing with it. So fucking soft.

I think about his lips. His perfect cocksucker lips. Think about kissing him for hours.

I think about his skin. The world's softest skin I fucking swear it. Think about running my hand across his chest, against his cheek, down his back.

Think about him coming back from Hollywood. Looking so fucking sad. Defeated. Think about letting him down. Again. About how my principles were too important to bend for him. For Michael, for anyone.

Think about him being gone. Gone for good this time and thinking my principles weren't worth shit.

Think about being too proud to admit it. But knowing it at least.

Think about hearing about the bomb.

Think about how he was all I could think about.

Remember thinking, please, don't let anything happen to him.

Think about walking through Babylon, seeing bodies, seeing blood.

Seeing a silk scarf and bloody concrete.

Seeing him and feeling more relieved than ever in my life.

Think about holding him. Having him back in my arms. Think how close I'd come to never being able to do that. Think what a fucking idiot I was. Think about how much I love him.

Think that telling him that was the easiest thing I'd ever done in my life.

Think about him saying yes. Yes, I will marry you.

Think that now he'd never be able let me go again.

Think about feeling so free. So happy. Think about lying in bed with him, touching him, kissing him, fucking him, laughing with him, holding him, talking to him, smiling with him. Think about his head on my pillow. Think about falling asleep with my nose in his hair. How easy it is to fall asleep with him.

Think about the last time I visited him. Think about his work, his amazing, beautiful work.

Think about how he looks at me now.

Think that he looks at me the same way he did when he was 17. Finally. Think, he's back. He's mine again. And he really fucking loves me.

Tomorrow. I don't know what, but something is going to change. Tomorrow. Fuck sleeping alone.