For slashthedrabble prompt #240 Jump
Nights alone are never the same. It's either being grateful to spread out in a bed alone, no one talking or clinging or sharing way too much information or he's twitching. Lonely. Cold. Wanting to touch what isn't there. Wishing for things that can never, will never be.
Things that are only, ever - moments in time. Quickly over. Nothing to be embraced or controlled or savored.
A rough hand on his chest. Sharp teeth on his lips. Smell of sweat that is nothing like a pick up game at the rink and so very much the same. A solid shoulder in his gut, a hard cock rubbing. Smooth, silken hair in his fingers and the scrub of stubble on the skin of his thigh.
A strong body against his. Nothing breakable here. Nothing that hadn't already been broken. Skin with scars and cuts, a hidden tattoo. Permanent ink under flesh that felt almost softer than the rest and he should have been there, that time.
Every time that mattered.
“Come on, Kane. Doesn't happen very often.”
“Doesn't mean I'm gonna jump every time you call.”