In Which Searle Is Struck with a Familiar Ache

August 30, 1171

Draped in nothing but Sparron's bedsheets and a post-coital haze, Searle flopped back against the mattress and sighed in content. When it had occured to him to start wondering, he'd figured that Sparron would be a rather awkward lover, shy and hesitant and even a little panicky, but to his great relief, he'd been proven wrong. For all Sparron seemed reluctant about their relationship as a whole, he came to life when the clothes came off--confident, passionate, maybe even wild. The last time, it hadn't been until several hours later that Searle had ceased hobbling around with a limp.

Had it been worth it? Doubtlessly. "Damn, you know how to wear me out."

He reached across the mattress and rested his hand upon Sparron's arm, only to watch as the other boy jolted upward. He should have known; this was always the hard part. "God, what were we thinking?"

"Who cares?" Searle's euphoria took its usual blow as Sparron kicked back the covers and sprang from the bed as though the mattress had become molten. "Aw, don't go! Can't we just lie here for a while?"

"No." The sounds of frantic rustling filled the room as Sparron hurried to dress himself. Searle rolled his eyes; why couldn't they ever just savor the aftermath? Sparron would have enjoyed it if he let himself, he was sure of it. "You should leave."

"But this bed is comfy!"

"I don't care." Sparron smoothed the front of his shirt, then strode around the bed-frame to Sparron's side. "Up."

Groaning, Searle pushed the sheets to the side and eased his naked form out of bed. "It doesn't have to be like this, you know."

Sparron sighed. "We shouldn't even be doing this at all. Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?"

"Because you want it as much as I do?" Searle's teasing was shot down with a glare. A familiar ache throbbed within him; never before had he felt so strongly for anyone, and never before had he felt so rebuffed. And it wasn't even as if Sparron didn't return his feelings--indeed, he got the sense that he did. It was this paranoid obsessing over not getting caught that stood between them, a risk that Sparron had blown out of proportion to the point where he now lived in fear of the day it would happen. Not that Searle cared to get caught either, but... what were the odds? It wasn't as if they were leaving doors unlocked or shouting each other's names. It wasn't as if anyone had any reason to suspect anything.

Sparron winced, then bent down and picked up Searle's slacks off the floor, tossing them to him. "Just get dressed, will you?"

There was no point arguing with him; watching what remained of his interrupted bliss get away, Searle pulled on the slacks and reached for his tunic. "Sparron, I--"

He was cut off by a knock at the door. "Sparron?"

His eyes shut and his lips a troubled line of anxiety, Sparron mouthed an expletive, then turned away from Searle and stepped cautiously toward the door. "What do you want, Florian?"

"Your father wants a word with you--something about clearing some of your things out of your room to make space for Camaline's." Searle could only watch as Sparron's posture eased with relief; his mind must have jumped to the worst, as it always did these days.

"Uh, well... can you tell him to wait a few minutes? I've got, err--I've got a girl in here."

In the corridor, Florian laughed. "A girl? You mean the kind with five fingers that's attached to your wrist?"

"What?" Both alarmed and embarrassed, Sparron shot Searle a quick look of frenzied disbelief. "Florian, I'm not doing--don't go thinking I'm--don't tell my father that--"

"What, that you're masturbating? Sparron, you're fifteen--it's not like your father doesn't expect you to have urges. Come on, you're a smart kid, you must have known that." Sparron looked as if he wanted to drop dead on the spot--and as Florian always did, he failed to stop talking. "Unless... my God! Sparron! You're picturing your stepmother, aren't you?"

Horrified, Sparron's jaw dropped; in any other situation, Searle figured this might have been funny. "My stepmother?"

"Oh come on now, don't sound so ashamed!" A faint chuckling could be heard from the other side of the door. "Just between you and me... I sometimes picture your stepmother too."

"All right, if you don't leave right now, I'm telling her you said that!"

Silence. Then--

"See you around, Sparron."

Florian's footsteps echoed from the hallway, one hasty thud! after another. Neither boy dared speak while they still rang--it was Florian, after all, and it was hard to predict what he might do next.

Finally, the sounds faded away. His face collapsing into an amused smile, Searle let out a snicker. "Well, that was close! But at least we can laugh about it now, right?"

Sparron, however, didn't look to have any intention of laughing any time soon. Stupid ass was too high-strung for his own good, really--and if he had to admit it, Searle found that kind of cute. "I love you--you know that, right?"

Sparron sighed. "Just go home, Searle."

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