Disclaimer: I don't own Metalocalypse
Towers In Sleep
He presses against me, his body interlocking with my own, meshing with me like soft white snow falling upon the dewy earth. His breath is steady in my ear as he fastens an arm around my lower back, pulling me closer to his own body. We haven't been doing this for long, but in the time that we have, it's as if he's already learned the ins and outs of my body—knowing where to touch, knead, massage.
It's funny, because he says I'm the first man he's ever been with.
He steadily picking up speed and he's a bit rough at times, but I've learned to endure it. It's a certain closeness I've come to accept, anticipate, yearn for even. It hurts at times, but it's the meaning behind it all that keeps me, holds me here. In the aftermath, we both come down slow, our bodies shadowed in nothing but the still presence of the moonlight, covered in a thick sheen of sweat and other fluids.
He doesn't like to talk after things are through, but he has his own silent way of letting me understand how he feels. Usually we'll both curl up into each other, him playing long, thought out solos along my backside. In response, I usually let the soft rhythms he plays into my skin; lull me to sleep—my own personal lullaby.
It's this small ritual, when we're together, that usually allows me to sleep easily. They're no nightmares, no fading memories of what was, but rather, of what is. I don't wake up in the middle of the night fearing that my reality is nothing but a dream, nothing more of a fading wish that fades in the passing night. It's more than that. What I have, is real.
I tend to wake up before he does. By that time his hand has usually fallen slack against the curve of my back, and yet he's still hugging me close. Our bodies are tangled within each other, a mess of limbs joined with one another, unable to separate, as if they couldn't fathom the thought.
And in this one instance, when the sun is hanging just below the horizon, bathing all in its aureate glow, we can be normal. At least …I feel a bit of normality, whatever that is. There's just the two of us. The walls and masks we wear for the public are diminished and in this single moment, we can have something. Something, I consider, I suppose, worth fighting for.
I turn to look at him just as his azure eyes are opening, hazy, thick and unsuspecting, and they find their way to me and I can't help but crack a lazy and yet tired smile at him.
God morgen.