A/N: So, I came up with this yesterday, and thought that I would share it. While writing this I thoroughly abused Snow Patrol's 'Make This Go On Forever'. I think I might hate that song now. Oh yeah, the characters here do not belong to me, but to Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha.

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Sometimes I don't know how it is, exactly, that I found myself in this position.

I find myself here more and more often. Next to me, his chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. His body is warm, and he holds its nakedness against me. His hair is splayed against the bedding, and intermingles with my own. A layer of sweat and other bodily fluids exists between us. His eyes are closed, and his face is at peace. Not mine. I lay on my back and stare, wide-eyed and unblinking, at his moonlit ceiling.

I know this ceiling, now, almost as well as I know him. It is what I stare at when I contemplate my rationale behind returning, time and time again, to this familiar embrace. I know every crevice, every nook ... though only with eyes. I only know his ceiling with my eyes. That's the distinction. I know him with my eyes, yes, but also with my hands, fingers, tongue, and even my breath. It's brushed places that I'm not even sure he knew about.

As though his dreaming mind mirrors my thoughts, his grip on my thin waist tightens and a blissful sigh teases the abused skin of my neck. I shiver, and swallow hard. No one has ever affected me like this, before. I've never let them. Barely aware of my actions, I begin to run long, skilled, and calloused fingers through the chestnut hair that tickles my face. It's so soft, and I cannot help myself as I move just enough to inhale a lungful of his scent. It's sweet, and ever so full of lust - the mark of my taint. There used to be innocence there, but I was the one that ensured its permanent departure. He will never smell innocent again, because he will always smell distinctly of me.

That thought causes small upturns at the corners of my mouth. It's not a happy smile, but a smile nonetheless. My petting becomes more insistent, and his reaction more obvious. As he shifts himself against me, his temple is exposed, and I take the opportunity. My lips ghost over his dampened skin, and even though it is slight, it is met with another sigh originating from deep within his throat. This causes my own expression of bliss to expand, and to an onlooker, I would appear to be calm.

You would not think that my insides rage with turmoil.

It all began with a question - a simple question that, by no means, should have led me here. The fact that it did causes me to question everything that I once thought I knew about myself. My confusion causes guilt, and my guilt inevitably leads to self-loathing. I am not yet ready to call him mine outside of ourselves. He knows he is mine, and I resent myself whenever I make him doubt that. He knows that old habits die hard, but I sense that he is beginning to lose his patience with me.

I am doing better with it - much better. The others are beginning to notice that something is different, but they haven't said anything yet. Their questioning stares say enough, as it is. I don't know what they conspire as my affliction, but something tells me that they don't expect this.

He knows that I had a woman today. He wouldn't have found out, had I not told him. I couldn't keep it from him - he deserved to know where I had been before allowing my entrance into his bed. He was so hurt by it, and his shrunken disposition made that fact more than apparent. His small voice devastated me as he asked for a reason, and my own was laden with regret and self-disappointment as I told him that I couldn't provide one.

I was so certain that he would cast me away. After my confession, I turned to leave, so as to save us both a small amount of face. I was halted, though, by his hand clutching mine. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me go. I didn't want to stay, knowing that I'd only hurt him once again with my inability to admit the truth to myself. I told him to allow my exit, but he wouldn't hear of it.

With only one spoken word, I was stilled. With one word, he vanquished all fear, and made me his again. With one word, I melted back into him.

"Stay ..."

A trace of color returns to my cheeks as I remember the desperation behind our ensuing act. Though he fogged my mind, I knew what he was doing. He was serving to remind me, and his insistence was remarkable. He succeeded. I forgot everything as I was overwhelmed and he crawled up inside me in more ways than one. I felt destroyed, and too separated for my own good. I thought that I would go crazy, if all I could do was press myself against him and cling tightly enough to his unrelenting figure to leave marks. I wasn't close enough. We weren't close enough.

There came an instant where my pleas for propinquity were interrupted. A moment where my sharp intake of breath, as inspired by the pair of teeth breaking my neck's skin, nearly caused my heart to stop beating within my chest. His grasp became feral and possessive, and a harsh exhalation in my ear sent a shiver cascading down my spine. When he spoke, it was with a growl that I had never heard before.

"I ams growing so tired of havings to shares you."

I gasped as his tongue traced the red ribbon streaming from my wound. He slowed in his lovemaking, and I gasped at the loss of intensity. My grip on him tightened, accompanied by renewed pleas to be utterly broken. He hissed as my short nails penetrated the skin of his back, and bit me again in punishment, this time on the shoulder. I cried out, and my fingers immediately caught his hair, roughly pulling it in attempt to regain a small amount of the control that I had lost.

My reply to his statement was delayed, but welcomed all the same. I bared my teeth, and forced him to look at me long enough to speak, "Then don't."

This is what scares me the most, as I lie in his bed and allow my fingers to gently explore him in his slumber. In that second, with that declaration, I opened myself in brutal honesty, something of which I usually try to avoid. It scares me to think that I still reflect those two words, when our bodies and minds are spent, and the lust between us has been temporarily abated. I don't want to be shared, anymore. I don't want to hurt him like this ever again. It scares me to think that I could either leave him or stay in order for that to happen, and even more so that, right now, the rational part of my mind is screaming at me to execute the former before I get in too deep. With a sigh, I realize that there isn't really much deeper that I could go.

He thinks that this will be the inevitable outcome. He thinks that someday I will fully realize what it means to stay with him, and that I will not want it. Soon, we will go back to the way we used to be, before I asked that one, stupid question. I will eventually realize everything that has changed between us cannot last.

That remains only in his mind. I do not experience this doubt, and haven't for a total of ... well, about forty-five minutes. I cannot be certain of time, because in the fervency of our intimacy, the alarm clock next to his bed was sent across the room.

I don't want to leave his warmth, but I know that I have to. I am more than likely late for my scheduled recording session, and I am more than certain that my absence will not go unnoticed. They will come looking for me soon, and I do not want to be found here. That would leave the truth as unavoidable, and I know that, if I were confronted on it, I would not lie. I am tired of lying.

I gently remove his arm from around my waist, which elicits a small, sleepy groan and an unintended frown. To appease my slumbering partner, I leave a trail of soft kisses along his jaw line, and end lingeringly on his still-swollen lips. This works, and I remove myself from beneath his covers. I use what amount of moonlight there is to help me find my clothes. They didn't have a chance to go far, and I quietly take to redressing my naked form.

I think I am doing well in being silent, but I am wrong. With my back turned, I am unaware that a pair of pale blue eyes has fluttered open. I did not think that my affection would wake him, but perhaps he had anticipated my imminent escape. After all, it is one of my worst habits - one of which he hates the most.

As I creep towards the door, I glance back to make sure that I am leaving him in good taste. I cringe when I see that he is awake. It does not stop me, but it makes it harder to go. I am halted with my hand on the doorknob as his sweet voice wafts through the air.

"Why does you has to leave?"

"I just has to, Toki," is my robotic response. There is a note of apology and regret in my voice as I continue. "Nat'ans and Pickle ams waitings for me."

He is silent then, as am I. Discontent fills the room, and I know what he is thinking. What we did tonight meant nothing. Like usual, the passion led to false promises, of which I never intended to keep. I want to tell him otherwise, but it seems pointless. He's already made up his mind as to what he's going to believe. I know what will prove myself to him, but I can't do it. I can't-

"Stay," he whispers, repeating himself from earlier, and sitting up in his bed. "Please, Skwisgaar?"

My shoulders tense up as I think about it. I'm actually thinking about it. There is nothing more that I want to do, right now. Does he seriously think that I want to go; to leave him?

A quick self-reminder tells me that yes, he does think I want to go.

He adds, just to make my self-argument that much more difficult, "Only fors a little bits longers?"

The despondency in his voice makes my hand fall away from the knob. I turn, and begin to chew my bottom lip. This is hard. Too hard. It shouldn't have to be like this.

Finally, I sigh. I take the first step back towards his bed, and my insides cannot help but leap when I see a genuine smile cross those exquisite lips. "Fors a little bits, den."

He positively beams at my words, and when I return to the edge of his bed, he moves closer to me. Suddenly shy, I cannot meet his gaze. When he has made himself comfortable, he realizes my abrupt coldness, and raises my chin with an index finger. He rests his forehead against mine, and now that my eyes have found his, I cannot look away. He searches me, leaving me feeling more naked than I was mere moments ago. My fingers hesitantly find his face, and I readjust myself so that I am able to lavish more attention upon him. I can feel electricity as my digits ghost dolefully over his chest, arms, shoulders, and neck, and then begin to play with the hair at its nape. His sigh graces my cheek, and my eyes close in response.

The static continues to build, and when he can finally take no more of my teasing, he leans in to brush his lips against mine. We are grounded, but only temporarily. He withdraws far too soon, and I grieve the loss. My eyes flutter open, and are met by his intense stare. His own stubby fingers come up to caress my cheek in encouragement. It is a familiar action, which has become quite uncertain over time. I know what he wants me to do, and for the first time ever, I am not about to deny it.

He thinks he needs to further build his argument, and so begins to speak again in the low, husky tone that only I have ever heard. "Dids you feels it?"

For a second, I think he is alluding to the magnetic pull between us that always seem to precede our kisses. Then, as I ponder it further, I realize that he is speaking about that moment - after I told him not to share me anymore. The moment that engulfed us both; devastated our independence in spirit, and violently forged us. It was a turning point, and both of us know it. The vehemence was perennial; we could not escape it as we carried on. Though our pace became more leisurely, each of our individual senses were heightened to near-breaking point. I no longer felt as though I would go insane. I was inside of him, and he was inside of me. There was nothing else beyond us.

I know better than to deny it. In fact, to do that never even crosses my mind. Instead of merely nodding in confirmation, I cup his cheek and bring his lips crashing into mine once again. I can feel his tentativeness, and I aim to dissolve it. I can tell that he still thinks this is only leading to some sort of an apology, or declination. When we break apart, I whisper only loud enough for him to barely catch, "I's was am serious, wit's whats I said."

He is briefly confused, and then his eyes widen in a nearly comical manner. "Abouts ..?"

In his excitement, he cannot even bring himself to say it. So, I finish it for him. "About nots being shares anymores."

He didn't expect it; that is to be sure. His breath hitches in his throat, and his arms tighten around me. His eyes search mine for any sort of falsity, but I am done with that. I turn to tend to something, and I feel his chin bump my cheek. A sad trill alerts me of his attempted action, and I smile at him reassuringly before going back to what I meant to do. He watches me as I pull off my boots, and he willingly helps me with my shirt when he realizes what I am doing. His fingers trail down my pale chest, towards my belt, but I move out of his reach. I want him to know that my return to him isn't based on sexual motives, but on an emotional necessity. My body has taken enough abuse for the time being and, besides, I want to save my energy for what is to happen when either Nathan or Pickles find me here, naked, in his undersized bed.

Although he got the hint, it does not stop him from studying me with obvious, wandering eyes. Abashed by his stare, I slowly remove my last article of clothing and bring myself back towards the edge of his bed, where I wait for an invitation. When he recognizes my hesitance as an attempt at humility, he reaches out for my hand, and guides me back into his embrace. I sigh as I mold myself against him, and place my lips lingeringly against his collarbone. It is my turn to hold on - to be the one who seeks comfort. I swallow with difficulty as I fully realize the decision I have just made, and it seems that he does, too.

"Does you needs anyt'ing?" he asks me in sly parody of the very first question that brought us together.

I smile into him, and mumble the only words that I can think of - what had been his response when I playfully asked him that so long ago. "Onlies you."

He chuckles briefly, but it is cut short as something is heard in the corridor: a deep, growling voice that impatiently calls my name. I freeze, and then, to my slight embarrassment, begin to involuntarily shake as the magnitude of what's about to happen fully hits me. I strain to release a small whimper, but the arms holding me are determined that I remain stout.

He forces me to look at him again, and his face is laden with concern. "Ams you okays?"

I nod slowly, briefly averting my gaze. "Just a bits scareds."

He presses his lips to my forehead in hopes that he will pass on some of his courage. "We's be fine. Deys will gets used tos it."

Nathan bellows my name again. He's getting closer. Fearfully, I cling to the body next to me and clench my eyes shut against his shoulder as I wait. I somehow manage to quickly mumble the very words that I need to hear more than anything in this moment. "I loves you."

There is a brief pause before he replies. Though he has told me that on numerous occasions, this is the first time that I've ever said it to him. He nuzzles against me and strokes my long, aureate hair in unnecessary reminder that he is there. "I loves you, too. Be's strong."

He grows tense as well, while we both commence to wait. We can hear Nathan's footsteps echoing throughout the hallway, and he calls for me yet again. He comes to a stop outside the bedroom, and I brace myself in a fit of apprehension as he opens the door and exposes himself to the now revealed lovers of Mordhaus.