The discrepancies start small, as they typically do. It begins as glass pieces embedded in flesh, grinding with each motion, each pressure tearing into his mind like static. Like white noise. There's pain in another barely moving inside him, enough to cause Neil to adjust, to shirk slightly away. He breathes, eyes blinking rapidly, and wonders for a beat.
But as stated, between everything else--between a rising fever, a previously open head, and missing grey matter--it's hardly worth anything. Something to note in the present moment, to pass along in the next.
Except that finger moves away.
Now, Neil would be the first to admit: sex is something new to him. He's had no lovers, no flings, no moments where he sought out gratification. His methods now typically consist of just taking it, and he couldn't really ever tell you the steps and the patterns. Removing a hand from a place can mean much and many; he honestly shouldn't care.
Neil, however, knows Alex. At least understands some of Alex's patterns, behaviors, rhymes, and reasons. Neil knows enough to say that things have always progressed (except that one outright rejection). Things have never stopped, never stagnated, never backpedaled into something else.
This, right now, is an abnormality. Is something entirely new, and despite the haze of illness and sex, the increasing pressure at the base of his torso, the ministrations along his collar and chest, Neil fully opens his eyes. He quiets, leaving only shallow breaths.
no subject
But as stated, between everything else--between a rising fever, a previously open head, and missing grey matter--it's hardly worth anything. Something to note in the present moment, to pass along in the next.
Except that finger moves away.
Now, Neil would be the first to admit: sex is something new to him. He's had no lovers, no flings, no moments where he sought out gratification. His methods now typically consist of just taking it, and he couldn't really ever tell you the steps and the patterns. Removing a hand from a place can mean much and many; he honestly shouldn't care.
Neil, however, knows Alex. At least understands some of Alex's patterns, behaviors, rhymes, and reasons. Neil knows enough to say that things have always progressed (except that one outright rejection). Things have never stopped, never stagnated, never backpedaled into something else.
This, right now, is an abnormality. Is something entirely new, and despite the haze of illness and sex, the increasing pressure at the base of his torso, the ministrations along his collar and chest, Neil fully opens his eyes. He quiets, leaving only shallow breaths.
"Al...ex?"