Title: The Same Demons
Summary: Short story from Gibb's point of view. Tony has been coming to him for comfort.
Feedback is always welcome.
The soft knocking had turned to a demanding rapping. I almost hate that I installed that lock. As my eyes focused in the dark I make out the digital clock on the night stand. It flashed 2:30 am. I sighed and dragged myself from the bed through the hallway and down the steps to the front door. Without even looking out the doors small window I pulled it open. I already knew who would be there. He was the only one who would dare show up at this hour. His hazel eyes, laced with caffeine induced energy met my blue sleep deprived.
I wanted to tell him to go, to leave me the fuck alone and let me return to the dreamless sleep I had been trying to enjoy. The thought lasted only a second. Instead of speaking my outstretched hand found his and in one seamless motion I pulled him inside and into my arms. Not willing to let him go I kicked the door shut against the brisk night air. He sank heavily against me, his arms and face buried against my chest as his slightly spiked hair brushed against my neck. I felt the tears before I heard them. The warm water seeping through my t-shirt and onto my neck and chest minutes before his whispered sobs reached my ears. I held him as I always did. My hand gently stroking up and down his back believing without knowing that the action somehow helped. We stood there for minutes, hours I wasn't sure and I didn't care. It wasn't until his tears subsided and I felt his body stop shaking that I moved.
Mechanically I lead him up the stairs, never letting his hand leave mine until we reached the bedroom. When my hand left his he slumped on the side of the bed. His fingers clenched the bedspread. Was it for physical or emotional support? I wasn't sure. His eyes were down cast and I leaned over and removed his boots then his socks. As I stood up I broke all contact between us. I saw him shiver and clasp the bedspread tighter as if in pain. I wondered if he had the same pain I felt every time he left my embrace.
I made my way towards the dresser. As soon as my back was turned I heard the familiar sound of the zipper on his jeans as he pulled them off and tossed them aside. I didn't react with hope anymore, not like the first time. I took a t-shirt from the drawer, turned and laid it in his out stretched hand. I made my way to the other side of the bed. He pulled off his sweater and they joined the jeans on the floor. I looked on silently, watching the way the muscles of his shoulders and back contorted and contracted as he pulled the shirt over his head. He slid under the covers drawing them up tightly against himself. Hesitatingly I slipped into bed next to him never allowing myself to touch him. When he wanted me to touch him I would know. Laying there on my back arms above my head I waited. For several minutes he tossed and turned trying to find some sense of comfort. Until finally he crawled next to me his head resting gently on my chest, his arm draped across my waist. Following his lead I let my hand caress down his back tenderly pulling his body closer to mine. He melted into me as if he were made to fit into my arms. I felt his breath against my chest at first labored and hurried then slow and even. After a few moments his arm went limp and I felt the weight of him grow heavy against me as sleep overtook him.
I let out a deep breath I didn't realize I had been holding and my lungs gratefully took in a slow deep breath my chest rising against his. He stirred next to me somehow feeling the movement in his sleepy senses. His arm tighten around me momentarily as if afraid I would try to leave. I instinctively pulled him tighter to me telling him I was here that I would not leave. His arm relaxed and he sighed. Even in sleep he commanded me and I obeyed.
I closed my eyes and silently cursed myself. I cursed myself for letting him in again, for holding him so tightly and most of all for wanting him here. This was our ritual, some macabre rite that I allowed to happen whenever he needed me. As much as I hated him for needing me like this, I hated myself more. I could turn him away, I could say no, I could make it stop with one word. But then what? Turning him away would be like ripping out a piece of my heart, a piece of my soul. I was as selfish as him. I wanted him to need me in this way. Because if he needed me, even like this, I knew my place in his life. I was his protector, his comforter, the one who kept the demons away. So here I lay holding him, fighting off the demons that haunt him. I would fight them to the death to protect him, but their struggle for him is half hearted because they know it is easier to torment me. He and I share the same demons just for different reasons. For him they are of pain, emptiness, and love lost. For me they are of regret, betrayal and unspoken emotion. My personal defenses are abandoned to protect him and they delight in my misery. Loving him is my fault even if it is uncontrollable, but for our demons it gives them a control over me that is unfathomable. No soul is easier to torment that that of someone desperately in love.
Tonight as every night he is with me, I fight, for as long as I can. I have been waging this war for almost 7 years it is nothing new to me. Over the years the battles have changed, just as our relationship has changed, but the outcome is always the same. The demons cry out in victory and I give them what they want. The emotions are raw, the memories vivid and the reality heart breaking. Only when I am completely broken and battered do they tire and retreat leaving me alone with my prize.
He is still asleep unaware of the struggle that I undertook to be here with him. I am thankful for his silent oblivion. It's easier this way. Me fighting the battles him safe in my arms. I will fall asleep soon and the dreams will come as they always do after the battle. They are always pleasurable, always of him, and always incomplete.