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STONE

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Two evenings ago - March 24th

Deep into the night, Stone had felt his agitation rise.

He had quietly slipped out of their cosy double bed - after checking that the doctor was sound asleep. His warm arms had been wrapped round his waist lovingly, holding him close; since the doctor had nodded off though, Robotnik had gradually shifted positions, comfortable that he wasn't alone. He had switched to nibbling his thumb tip self-soothingly, a sight which Stone had always found unbearably cute, and which had made him grin as he kissed the doctor lightly on his ear, pulling the duvet back up over his shoulders to keep him warm.

Right at that very moment, every instinct and fibre in his body had begged him not to leave him; his gorgeous, ridiculously handsome boyfriend had seemed so peaceful, so cosy, so content to believe that he was still right by his side. Dare he believe, if just for one tiny moment, that he may have even smiled in his sleep? Murmured his name? Curled up like a cat?

But the mental scream for fresh air and a walk to stay his anxiety and sex-driven mind had become unbearable. He didn't trust himself.

For weeks now he had felt very burnt out, overworked and overstressed; though he had been so good at hiding it, he told himself, that nobody had noticed. He had needed an escape, something with an isolated or peaceful atmosphere, and his secret adventures at night had given him just that.

Whenever he hadn't been able to sleep, he had gone for a wander. Sitting out under the stars silently, watching the ocean waves calmly shine, lap and ripple like magic. A secret car-ride, more often a walk, with his favourite love music playing softly in his ears, as he strode or walked energetically. Observing all the night creatures suddenly coming into existence, as though from the twilight zone, would set his skin tingling.

Listening to the bats and owls hooting, badgers grunting and deer stepping quietly. Watching the shooting stars, low flying satellites and occasional flicker of a very far off aeroplane. Pretending to himself that there was another world out there, a perfect one, so private and so romantic, just for them - feeling like anything was possible.

.-.-.

On many occasions it had rained and thundered heavily. The drenching of water and mud as he had laid on the grass or the sandy beach - as though just having lost everything precious to him - had revitalised him so much. The wild self-soothing feel of edgy vulnerability leaking out from under his own skin, had surrounded him in a thrilling blanket of restless energy he could bathe in. The loss, the shedding of self, the feeling of rebirth and relaxation...

Getting away, escaping, nobody knowing his name, or where he was... or even knowing that he existed... a beautiful moment of self pity and self love, self exploration. Hiding in the beach caves in the early mornings just chilling, or in the one broken down beach hut that had been abandoned for decades. Still with a bit of furniture in, enough to make a nice mancave out of to drink in, or Wendy house for whatever rare wandering females may break in drunkenly with their mates during high season.

He knew it wasn't good this, getting chilled to the bone, starving himself and staying out until morning, and craving the (slightly) harsh elements to make himself feel something. But it had worked relevantly well, and the few hours sleep he had gotten each time he had finally returned, had been just enough to cover him for the upcoming day. Then he would just sleep heavily the next evening, and hope that nobody would notice. Which they hadn't seemed to so far, least of all the doctor.

Not that they would care if he ran himself into the ground, he was his own person and was easily replaceable. They would just be disappointed with him, dock his wageslip and put a strike on his record. Then if he claimed sickness, which he wouldn't because.. well, he would just never do that in such a high-flying career, he would be too embarrassed to take time off work... I mean why would he, he'd rather just hurt himself in various other ways...

.-.-.

Last night it hadn't rained, but had been a clear cool night with minimal clouds and a bit of a chill. He had sat and cried for a little bit, listening to every lovey dovey song his itty bitty heart felt like breaking down to. He couldn't stand it any longer. They were so close, always so close, touching and yet never having touched. Not the way that he wanted them to, and it broke his heart, because what he desperately longed for was love making not just rare playful teasing, banter, silly flirting or near-sex.

He wanted to be driven wild. He wanted to receive love, real love, real affection, from that soft bastard. He wanted to be held all the time, cooed at, nuzzled, tickled and enchanted beyond his wildest imagination. He wanted his fantasies to become real, he wanted the man to swing one leg over and hold him down, and mercilessly touch him the way he couldn't bear. Blowing his brains out and..

But he was also sickenly shy, and his terror at the thought that the doctor would be disgusted, laugh and reject him, and throw his feelings in the nearest trash had always stopped him from asking. Or expecting. Or even trying... So he had started drinking, then started taking brisk exercise late at night, then he had hurt himself a few times. His anxiety had made him vomit more than once, although that could have been the alcohol, and he had head-butted the rock walls calling himself stupid over and over again until he had felt dizzy and tired.

Then with whatever strength he had had left, had curled up somewhere and stared into the abyss feeling sick, and wondering what the point of anything was anymore.