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He's so pretty when he sleeps. And he does enjoy sleeping, so much that he won't even wake up now when I climb out of bed for my morning run. He just rolls over and snags my pillow and sprawls over my side of the bed. Bed hog, that's what I should call him. Instead I call him lover. Friend. Husband. And occasionally I call him Deacon. But this morning he's definitely a bed hog. And he's so damned sexy when he's sleeping, part of me just wants to slide back under those sheets and begin a completely different type of calisthenics. After all, it wouldn't be the first time I chose that type of exercise over my usual run and yoga regimen.
But no, I've already got my underwear on, and my shorts and sneakers are right here in the chair waiting for me. I look from the chair to the bed, back and forth. Well, maybe in this one case I can cut my run short by a couple miles and make it home before he's up and in the shower. Maybe we can shower together before we have to take the rental car to the airport. Separate flights, he goes to the Soviet Union and I'm off to Spain. He's going to work, and I'm going home for a little while - my home, now our home. I hope he can make it to Spain in a week or so. Just for a few days so that be can be together again before I have to fly off to Geneva for a consult with a client of mine. Part of me wants to fly with him, but no. He has his job, his career; even though he's no longer a night-dwelling, blood-sucking vampire god bent on world domination. Well, he's no longer a night-dwelling, blood-sucking vampire god. The jury is still out on the world domination part. I wouldn't put it past him.
Ok, clothes are on and I'm sneaking out the bedroom door in my socks. I'll put my sneakers on just before I head out on my route. In the mean time I'm walking around the hotel room in my socks, dragging my feet and slip-sliding across the kitchenette to fill my water bottle. I'm already starting to hum my first song, getting psyched up and ready to go. He laughs at me sometimes, but I can't help it - I love my 80's hair bands and my heavy metal. There's just a rhythm to running that I can't do on slow songs. Maybe, maybe I will switch it up to his techno, modern sounding music, maybe someday. That day is not today. Today I have Poison singing and wanting me to talk dirty to them, and that's what I'm about to do.
Last thing I do? I peek through the door at Deacon's still, sleeping form and I blow him a kiss. I hope I will be back before he wakes, the idea of waking him up is becoming more and more attractive. Not attractive enough to skip my morning run; but definitely attractive enough that it will make me run a lot faster, just to get back in time.
I sneak back in the door about 45 minutes later. I'm not tired - not quite. No, I'm happy, and aching and my mind is buzzing with new ideas, new formulas, new plans. I pull out the earbuds, and the faint sounds of ACDC can be heard saluting me because I'm about to rock. I kick off my sneakers as I set my MP3 player down on the table and then head back toward the bedroom.
I'm late, he's already awake, I know because I can hear the shower running. Damn and double damn. But then I hear his voice calling me from the bathroom, and it turns out that he's just barely woken up. So of course I have to go in the bathroom and make funny faces at him through the shower door. And then the doors open and he's pulling me inside, still in my clothes and I'm getting soaked and I'm laughing and he's soapy-wet and naked and warm and the water is splashing, it's getting on the floor and you know what? Fuck it. My clothes can get wet. My socks can get wet. His arms are around me, and my shirt is being pulled off over my head, the wet cloth slapping me in the face for a moment before it's shucked of and thrown out of the shower. My socks are on their way out too, I'm bending over and slipping and he's trying to steady me, his hands are at my waist but he's not steadying me so much as he's pantomiming anal sex with his hips rocking against mine as I'm bent over. And there is laughter, so much laughter as we both are struggling to get my shorts down, and my underwear down and not fall or lose our footing.
After that? Well, lets just say that Deacon and I get dirty, and clean at the same time. And once out of the shower, we stagger to the bed and get I get hot and sweaty all over again.
There isn't enough time for me to take another shower when we're finally done, not that I truly care. It makes me feel wicked in a way, knowing that he's inside of me, part of him up inside as I'm around other people. His sweat is still my body, his bite marks are on my breast and my thigh. Oh, he didn't draw blood like he used to, but he still likes to mark me. And you know, I like to let him. And this time there's barely enough time for us to dressed and get our bags down to the taxi for our flights out. We go quiet in the car, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Or maybe he is. I'm busy feeling his hand holding mine, and feeling the press of his body, his hips, his arm. It will only be two weeks that we'll be apart, but oh I love sleeping and having his body beside me, I love looking across the table and seeing his smile! Sometimes I argue with myself that I should tell him how much I will miss him, how much I want to go with him as he jets off in another direction across the continent. Sometimes its hard to let him go. And I haven't actually changed my plans or cancelled my ticket to go with him - but I've come close. Today is one of those times, today I want to say 'screw it' and cancel my flight just to book a ticket on his. I want to, but...
But I won't. Not yet.
And in my heart, never spoken out loud is the wish that this time, maybe this time he'd change his plans and book a flight with me.
I kiss him goodbye as he's about to board the plane, my breath smelling like the coffee that I just set aside to hold him close. Sometimes it's his turn to watch me fly away, this time its my turn to watch him. I know which seat on the plane he's sitting and when I close my eyes I can see it, that exact seat and I can see him sitting back in it. First class, nothing but the best for my Deacon. I've done this enough, it's almost routine now but still I linger and wait to see his plane take off into the sky. Now that he's gone I can allow myself to show how much I'm going to miss him. I take another sip of coffee and raise my hand to wave as the jet is beginning to pull away. It rolls down the runway and waits at the end, waiting it's turn to soar up into the clouds.
I look down at my half-empty coffee cup and suddenly there is a bright flash of light and sound, the ground rumbles and I fall to the floor spilling my drink all down my shirt. What the hell? And I'm looking around and people are screaming and pointing at something outside, something out on the tarmac. I look and there is nothing but a rolling ball of thick black smoke and flames, and I can't make up my mind at first - I just can't tell what it is. Too much smoke, too much confusion. but it's at the end of the runway where Deacon was... where Deacon was...
Screaming. Someone is screaming and banging on the glass of the observation deck. Someone is shrieking, it's so loud why don't they shut up? Deacon, where is Deacon and why won't that person... that woman... someone shut her up? I can't see, there are too many people in front of me, and there are emergency cars and fire trucks out on the runway and I wonder what happened. Something horrible, I know. Someone... someone's plane... Oh god, oh god please shut that woman up she can't - won't stop, she won't stop screaming! Shut up lady shut up someone shut her the fuck up she's pounding on the glass, trying to break the glass she's going to hurt herself, she's hurting herself and there's blood on the glass, blood on the glass and a plane is on fire and someone shut her up shUT UP SHUT UP SOMEONE SHUT HER UP JUST FUCKING PLEASE SHUT THAT BITCH SHUT HER SHUTHERUPFUCKINGSHUTHERUPSHUTMEUP!
But no, I've already got my underwear on, and my shorts and sneakers are right here in the chair waiting for me. I look from the chair to the bed, back and forth. Well, maybe in this one case I can cut my run short by a couple miles and make it home before he's up and in the shower. Maybe we can shower together before we have to take the rental car to the airport. Separate flights, he goes to the Soviet Union and I'm off to Spain. He's going to work, and I'm going home for a little while - my home, now our home. I hope he can make it to Spain in a week or so. Just for a few days so that be can be together again before I have to fly off to Geneva for a consult with a client of mine. Part of me wants to fly with him, but no. He has his job, his career; even though he's no longer a night-dwelling, blood-sucking vampire god bent on world domination. Well, he's no longer a night-dwelling, blood-sucking vampire god. The jury is still out on the world domination part. I wouldn't put it past him.
Ok, clothes are on and I'm sneaking out the bedroom door in my socks. I'll put my sneakers on just before I head out on my route. In the mean time I'm walking around the hotel room in my socks, dragging my feet and slip-sliding across the kitchenette to fill my water bottle. I'm already starting to hum my first song, getting psyched up and ready to go. He laughs at me sometimes, but I can't help it - I love my 80's hair bands and my heavy metal. There's just a rhythm to running that I can't do on slow songs. Maybe, maybe I will switch it up to his techno, modern sounding music, maybe someday. That day is not today. Today I have Poison singing and wanting me to talk dirty to them, and that's what I'm about to do.
Last thing I do? I peek through the door at Deacon's still, sleeping form and I blow him a kiss. I hope I will be back before he wakes, the idea of waking him up is becoming more and more attractive. Not attractive enough to skip my morning run; but definitely attractive enough that it will make me run a lot faster, just to get back in time.
I sneak back in the door about 45 minutes later. I'm not tired - not quite. No, I'm happy, and aching and my mind is buzzing with new ideas, new formulas, new plans. I pull out the earbuds, and the faint sounds of ACDC can be heard saluting me because I'm about to rock. I kick off my sneakers as I set my MP3 player down on the table and then head back toward the bedroom.
I'm late, he's already awake, I know because I can hear the shower running. Damn and double damn. But then I hear his voice calling me from the bathroom, and it turns out that he's just barely woken up. So of course I have to go in the bathroom and make funny faces at him through the shower door. And then the doors open and he's pulling me inside, still in my clothes and I'm getting soaked and I'm laughing and he's soapy-wet and naked and warm and the water is splashing, it's getting on the floor and you know what? Fuck it. My clothes can get wet. My socks can get wet. His arms are around me, and my shirt is being pulled off over my head, the wet cloth slapping me in the face for a moment before it's shucked of and thrown out of the shower. My socks are on their way out too, I'm bending over and slipping and he's trying to steady me, his hands are at my waist but he's not steadying me so much as he's pantomiming anal sex with his hips rocking against mine as I'm bent over. And there is laughter, so much laughter as we both are struggling to get my shorts down, and my underwear down and not fall or lose our footing.
After that? Well, lets just say that Deacon and I get dirty, and clean at the same time. And once out of the shower, we stagger to the bed and get I get hot and sweaty all over again.
There isn't enough time for me to take another shower when we're finally done, not that I truly care. It makes me feel wicked in a way, knowing that he's inside of me, part of him up inside as I'm around other people. His sweat is still my body, his bite marks are on my breast and my thigh. Oh, he didn't draw blood like he used to, but he still likes to mark me. And you know, I like to let him. And this time there's barely enough time for us to dressed and get our bags down to the taxi for our flights out. We go quiet in the car, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Or maybe he is. I'm busy feeling his hand holding mine, and feeling the press of his body, his hips, his arm. It will only be two weeks that we'll be apart, but oh I love sleeping and having his body beside me, I love looking across the table and seeing his smile! Sometimes I argue with myself that I should tell him how much I will miss him, how much I want to go with him as he jets off in another direction across the continent. Sometimes its hard to let him go. And I haven't actually changed my plans or cancelled my ticket to go with him - but I've come close. Today is one of those times, today I want to say 'screw it' and cancel my flight just to book a ticket on his. I want to, but...
But I won't. Not yet.
And in my heart, never spoken out loud is the wish that this time, maybe this time he'd change his plans and book a flight with me.
I kiss him goodbye as he's about to board the plane, my breath smelling like the coffee that I just set aside to hold him close. Sometimes it's his turn to watch me fly away, this time its my turn to watch him. I know which seat on the plane he's sitting and when I close my eyes I can see it, that exact seat and I can see him sitting back in it. First class, nothing but the best for my Deacon. I've done this enough, it's almost routine now but still I linger and wait to see his plane take off into the sky. Now that he's gone I can allow myself to show how much I'm going to miss him. I take another sip of coffee and raise my hand to wave as the jet is beginning to pull away. It rolls down the runway and waits at the end, waiting it's turn to soar up into the clouds.
I look down at my half-empty coffee cup and suddenly there is a bright flash of light and sound, the ground rumbles and I fall to the floor spilling my drink all down my shirt. What the hell? And I'm looking around and people are screaming and pointing at something outside, something out on the tarmac. I look and there is nothing but a rolling ball of thick black smoke and flames, and I can't make up my mind at first - I just can't tell what it is. Too much smoke, too much confusion. but it's at the end of the runway where Deacon was... where Deacon was...
Screaming. Someone is screaming and banging on the glass of the observation deck. Someone is shrieking, it's so loud why don't they shut up? Deacon, where is Deacon and why won't that person... that woman... someone shut her up? I can't see, there are too many people in front of me, and there are emergency cars and fire trucks out on the runway and I wonder what happened. Something horrible, I know. Someone... someone's plane... Oh god, oh god please shut that woman up she can't - won't stop, she won't stop screaming! Shut up lady shut up someone shut her the fuck up she's pounding on the glass, trying to break the glass she's going to hurt herself, she's hurting herself and there's blood on the glass, blood on the glass and a plane is on fire and someone shut her up shUT UP SHUT UP SOMEONE SHUT HER UP JUST FUCKING PLEASE SHUT THAT BITCH SHUT HER SHUTHERUPFUCKINGSHUTHERUPSHUTMEUP!
