RL sucks and so I missed your birthday, ARGH! Hope it was happy, and your year is wonderful.
~~~
It's way past morning when Sean finally cranks his eyes open. At least, it's probably still morning. It's full daylight outside, pouring in through open curtains in an attempt to fucking blind him, blinking hard until his eyes adjust and he can focus on the LCD display of the alarm clock. Yeah, still morning. Pretty much.
Morning, and quiet. Too quiet.
Rolling over, he shades his eyes with one hand, squinting across the bed to confirm what he already knows. After all, there's no warmth there, no dip to the mattress, no sound of anyone else, and yeah. No one else in the room. Jen's gone.
But that's okay, right? Maybe Jen's just in the bathroom, or through in the kitchen. Sean's pretty sure that Jen wouldn't just take off without saying goodbye. Not after last night. Because, shit, messy's come to visit and doesn't look like leaving any time soon, judging by the hollow ache that grows colder and heavier in his chest as he checks. Not in the bathroom, and there's no trace of him left in the bedroom. Jen's clothes are gone, and there's no sign of a note.
Fuck.
Dropping back onto the bed, Sean drapes an arm over his eyes, trying not to think. His body's still aching with the reminders of last night, and he's pretty sure that when he finds a mirror, he'll see visible reminders, too. Still, it was just one night, that's all. One night of sex. Fucking incredible sex, intense and joyous and better than anything he can remember that's not probably tinged with nostalgia, but still, just sex.
Sex and Jen's smile and Jen's laugh and the taste of sunshine and that hint of vulnerability and a man who plays pool like a pro and teases his friends and fuck, he's so screwed.
Just sex. It becomes a mantra he repeats to himself in the shower, soaping the traces of Jen's scent off of his skin. Just sex. It washes through his hair, rinsing out with the shampoo. Just sex. It towels off when he dries himself, swirls down the sink when he shaves, soaks into his skin with a brisk application of balm. Just sex.
He's still barefoot when he emerges, wandering through to the kitchen in search of coffee and breakfast. Jeans and a sweater, hair tousled from a careful arrangement of gel. Just in case.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-05 10:43 pm (UTC)~~~
It's way past morning when Sean finally cranks his eyes open. At least, it's probably still morning. It's full daylight outside, pouring in through open curtains in an attempt to fucking blind him, blinking hard until his eyes adjust and he can focus on the LCD display of the alarm clock. Yeah, still morning. Pretty much.
Morning, and quiet. Too quiet.
Rolling over, he shades his eyes with one hand, squinting across the bed to confirm what he already knows. After all, there's no warmth there, no dip to the mattress, no sound of anyone else, and yeah. No one else in the room. Jen's gone.
But that's okay, right? Maybe Jen's just in the bathroom, or through in the kitchen. Sean's pretty sure that Jen wouldn't just take off without saying goodbye. Not after last night. Because, shit, messy's come to visit and doesn't look like leaving any time soon, judging by the hollow ache that grows colder and heavier in his chest as he checks. Not in the bathroom, and there's no trace of him left in the bedroom. Jen's clothes are gone, and there's no sign of a note.
Fuck.
Dropping back onto the bed, Sean drapes an arm over his eyes, trying not to think. His body's still aching with the reminders of last night, and he's pretty sure that when he finds a mirror, he'll see visible reminders, too. Still, it was just one night, that's all. One night of sex. Fucking incredible sex, intense and joyous and better than anything he can remember that's not probably tinged with nostalgia, but still, just sex.
Sex and Jen's smile and Jen's laugh and the taste of sunshine and that hint of vulnerability and a man who plays pool like a pro and teases his friends and fuck, he's so screwed.
Just sex. It becomes a mantra he repeats to himself in the shower, soaping the traces of Jen's scent off of his skin. Just sex. It washes through his hair, rinsing out with the shampoo. Just sex. It towels off when he dries himself, swirls down the sink when he shaves, soaks into his skin with a brisk application of balm. Just sex.
He's still barefoot when he emerges, wandering through to the kitchen in search of coffee and breakfast. Jeans and a sweater, hair tousled from a careful arrangement of gel. Just in case.
Just sex.