Just a Floor Away

Prologue

oOo

It was nineteen-past-two in the morning when the realization that he was finally finished struck him. It might have taken him months to complete, but it was a worthwhile process and one he never thought he would accomplish if it hadn't been for the one person who believed in him the most.

Dave breathed out an exhausted, if not elated, sigh. The kind of sigh that someone breathes after having learned that a loved one's surgery goes successfully; the kind of sigh preceded by a whoop and holler upon witnessing the final, winning touchdown, free throw, or the epic slide into home plate by the team one may have placed a particularly large bet on. It held all the relief—all of the happiness and triumph—attributed to a feat once believed to be unachievable. After months of struggle of staring at a blank, white, wordless page… He finally did it.

Dave leaned forward in his desk chair, propping his chin up on his knuckles as he held the "up" key on the keyboard in front of him with his other hand. He watched as thousands upon thousands of lines consisting of black text blurred together as it flew across the screen. Once he reached the top of the very first page, he stared at the title. Or at least… Where the title should be.

This story—their story—as long a tale to tell as it was did not give him nearly as much grief as the title. A few, simple words were all that was necessary. But the title needed to be eye-catching… Interesting. It needed to sum up the story concisely, but still prompt the reader to question its meaning until they were able to make a generous dent into its contents.

Dave clicked the end of the very first line as he watched the cursor blink tauntingly at him and then the door creaked behind him.

He didn't turn around. The small office was completely black, save for the ethereal glow from the laptop, but the ominous sound of the door hinge gave him no reason to be fearful, though it did result in him making a mental note to pick up some WD-40 the next time he went to the store.

Dave slipped off his reading glasses, laying them gently on the desk, as he heard the soft, weary shuffle of footsteps, as well as a sleepy yawn.

"Do you plan on coming to bed before the sun comes up, or do you plan on jerking off some more?"

Dave snorted, rubbing his eyes, which burned with exhaustion, as he leaned back in the swivel chair.

"Shut up. That was a long time ago. And you were sick for a week." He groaned in mortification upon remembering the embarrassing incident all too well.

"I'm not sick now," the voice purred. Hands slid down his chest as arms wrapped around his neck. Lips that seemed to have no place of origin found themselves attached to his neck. Dave groaned as teeth gently nipped at his skin, traveling up until the warm breath tickled his face and he could practically hear the bristling of the lips upon the scruff on his cheek in the stillness of the night.

"I'll have you know that I was very productive tonight," Dave feigned offense as he lifted a hand to clasp those wrapped securely around his neck, but had to stifle a gasp as one of the cold hands slipped out from under his grasp and slid past the hem of his collared shirt, the first three buttons having already been popped open from their shenanigans from earlier that same evening.

"Really now?" The voice whispered in his ear.

Dave couldn't help the smile that stretched across his face, unseen by the man behind him.

"Kurt... I finished it."