One Clear Voice by Owlet

It's dark. We're on the beach. We're going to get eaten alive out here--I can hear the mosquitoes a mile away, homing in on the feel of warm fresh meat. Charming image, that. Better not share that particular tidbit with Blair.

He's started talking, rambling, really, and his voice carries me. Funny how I never noticed it before, but I can almost feel it, strong and supportive beneath me, and itself supported by the steady, never-faltering beat of his heart.

I love to listen to his heart. Part of it's the wonder that I *can* do this--you know, a "Look, Ma, I can hear his heartbeat!" kind of thing--but part of it is pure fundamental pleasure that the solid rhythm of it gives me. It must be what it was like to hear my mother's heartbeat when I was in the womb. Solid. Warm. Comforting. And always, always *there.*

Huh. I wonder if I could really hear that? I can't help but laugh. Better not mention *that* to Sandburg, either--he'd have me doing regression-hypnosis to being a fetus.

Ah, who am I kidding? If he wanted me to try and pull up repressed memories from when I was the Duke of Persia in another life, I'd bitch and moan and in maybe ten minutes--fifteen if it's an off day--guess who's going to be staring at the candles and listening to that voice earnestly telling me, "Relax, concentrate, try to remember"?

Yep. Me. I am such a sucker when it comes to this guy.

And speaking of suckers...

Jesus. I think I'm surprised by that whole kiss-thing a few minutes ago, but I'm too damn shocked to tell, or maybe too elated. It feels like I've just suddenly discovered a need to breathe, and the air's been there the whole time already.

Hah. Now I'm getting deep. And eloquent. Well, no time to change like the present. It's Sandburg's influence, of course--I couldn't even tell Carolyn what I wanted for my birthday, and now he's got me actually downright talkative. Well, comparitively, anyway.

Well, at least *less silent,* anyway.

He stops talking finally. I guess he ran out of things to say. But he doesn't look upset by that, just...content. That's it. He looks so damn content, like he could sit here with me forever and be completely happy.

He's starting to kiss me now, but not my mouth. We can't reach that way--I've got him sitting against me and my arm wrapped around his chest--so all he's got in range is my arm, and he's just licking it, mouthing it absently, this completely unconscious form of affection towards me that makes me tingle.

Actually, to say "tingle" is probably the understatement of the year--dizzy, fevered, and horny beyond belief would be more accurate, but I don't think I'm ready to tell him that. It feels to good just sitting here, feeling his warmth in front of me, smelling his scent like I've smelled it a million times before, but so much closer, so much stronger. It makes my head swim and my dick throb, and to tell the truth, I don't want to lose it yet, even if it's to move things up to the next level. I'm kind of enjoying the feeling of being too hard to see straight. It puts a wonderful kind of glow around everything, makes *him* glow.

I think I'm getting the hang of this whole "male lover" thing.

If I wasn't, I get the feeling Blair would take care of that pretty quick--damn, that feels good. He's all twisted around, moving up my shoulder and down my arm. It feels so good--and not just physically. It feels comforting. Soothing.

I'm glad I kissed him.

I mean, it wasn't exactly a difficult decision to make. Blair is my best friend. He's my partner, my roommate, my most trusted confidant. I've seen him laugh, cry, in fear, in pain, in sorrow, in joy. I love him. I'd do anything for him.

Kind of makes you wonder after a while, whether or not sleeping with someone like that is really such a big deal.

And hell, if the rest of it feels as good, as right, as what we just did, then I am *completely* in favor of moving the relationship to another level. Not the *next* level--this sure as hell isn't inevitable. But it's possible. It's feasable. It's very, very desirable. And...it feels right. Like coming home. Like he is home.

Ohhhhhh, do that again. Yeah, just...like...that...

That does it. I'm a dead man. This man is going to kill me.

I can't wait.

Come on, Chief--let's take this party inside. I don't think I can keep my hands off you for much longer, but I don't feel like sharing you with every mosquito in western Oregan.

The End