This should be read before: Dean - Waiting

Sam - Watching

You clean your guns

And I watch

You sharpen your knives

And I watch

Your skin still damp from a shower, you dress

And from behind my bangs – I watch

You flirt

And thought it hurts, breaks my heart even – I watch

You sleep

And this is the time, at night, when I am free to watch, devour - by sight – to take in as much of you as I want, as much as I need, freely – without reprimand or consequence.

My watching through the day has to be limited – if you were to know how I felt about you - for you - you'd be repulsed. This thing that I feel - that I want – is far from normal. But for us, what is normal? This is the question that brings me light on the darkest days – that maybe we could be possible, the two of us. But the light doesn't burn strong for long and I have to appease myself with watching, glimpsing.

The glimpses I snatch and the few 'innocent' touches I make – the brushing of my fingers against yours as I hand you something, the hand on your shoulder asking if you're okay, the brushing of shoulders as we pass - are the fuel to the ever growing fire that consumes me, bringing me temporary relief when I shower – jacking off, you're name falling almost silently from my lips as I come.

You're laid on your side now, facing me – your mouth slackened slightly in sleep, your face free from expression – peaceful, serene – not the tired, haunted look that consumes you in the light of day.

I love you more, if that's at all possible, when you're like this.

You've taken to sleeping in just your shorts because of the heat – a thin cotton sheet pulled up to your hips. One hand rests palm up beside your face, the other hangs loosely over your stomach – your arm resting on your side.

From where I lay in my own bed – barely a few feet away, my gaze traces every line, every curve of you.

Not for the first time - nor the last – I wonder how your skin would taste as I lick every inch, how your pulse would feel beneath my tongue as I lick at your neck or wrist. I wonder at how, your hard body stretched out beneath me, your skin warm and slick with sweat against mine - would feel, and I realise my breathing has become heavy. This is what you do to me and you don't even know it.

A cars passing headlights sweep across the room, bathing you momentarily in their light and a low moan escapes you as you shift from your side onto your back, your forearm across your eyes - and I palm my hard cock through my shorts as the sheet slips lower, revealing more of you to me.

My eyes sear a path from the thin band of your shorts - visible now the sheet has shifted - along your flat, toned stomach and chest, to fall on your face, partly obscured by your arm. Looking at your lips I unconsciously lick my own and I have an overwhelming urge to touch them. Just one touch, but I blink that thought away – until it comes back with white-hot need as soon as I lay eyes on those soft lips again.

Before I can over analyse, I'm out of my bed and kneeling beside yours. My breathing is erratic and sounds loud to my ears as I struggle to control my need. This is the farthest I've ever ventured – to kneel beside you and be about to touch you is a whole new level for me.

Reaching out my hand, slowly – not surprised at the slight tremor I see there – my finger tips barely graze your lips as you sigh and your head falls to face me. Snatching my hand away and squeezing my eyes shut, my head fills with the sound of my own racing heart as I wait for your inevitable question of, 'What the hell are you doing?".

But after a few seconds, when it doesn't come, I open my eyes to see you're still asleep. Releasing the pent up breath I wasn't even aware I'd been holding, I squeeze my eyes shut – my mind screaming at me to stop what I'm about to do, my body screaming at me to continue. My body wins out and opening my eyes, I slowly lean forward and feeling your soft, warm breath – I softly sweep my lips across your own and fuck if that doesn't get me harder.

Backing away, heart still racing, I quietly go back to my own bed, and slipping under the sheet I rest on my back. Gazing at the ceiling, I'm still on a high from that small taste of your lips and I trace the tip of my tongue across my own, catching just a hint of you.

But soon, I know, a hint of you will not be enough to sustain me, to quell the ache I feel each time I look at you.

I need you.

And eventually – like tonight's new level – my body will stop listening to my screaming mind – and I will have you.