Dropped The Soap
by Merith
Three days since the last time. Two days he'd spent pacing the floor. Unable to sleep, he prowled from room to room, unseeing. There was an itch, a wiggling, burning fire just under the skin his nails couldn't reach. He made himself stop when the patch he scratched became red, raw to almost bleeding.
It had been long enough.
Flipping open his phone, he punched in digits seemingly at random, held the phone to his ear and waited expectantly. Upon the second ring, he began to pace. "C'mon c'mon c'mon," he whispered tersely after the third ring. A growl that shook his body nearly muffled the fourth ring, and the middle of the fifth switched him to voice mail.
"Heero! Where the hell are you?" he shouted. "I need my fix dude, and I refuse to check out other dealers." He slammed the cell closed and tossed it on the couch. Bastard's never where I want him. And he had to smile at his petulance.
He began to pace again, wrapping his arms around his body to comfort. Like I'm some strung-out junkie... and he laughed.
"Fuck this shit."
As he headed down the hallway, he peeled his shirt off, leaving it where it landed. Socks were toed off three and four steps from the bathroom door. Pants were shed partly in and partly out of the bathroom. And boxers dropped just before he climbed into the shower.
Water, cold in pulsing torrents hit him full in the face and chest. It slowly warmed, and until it did, he stood, head back with eyes closed and mouth opened. Breath was drawn in shallow gasps to keep from crying out in the shock. Warmth bled into his pores, skin turned pink and breathing relaxed.
At first, he just stood, letting the water scald the need from him, letting the steam clear his mind. The restlessness that had consumed him hadn't left, but unwind in the caressing beat and flow of the shower. Washing hadn't been his objective, but by habit, the soap was in his hand and sudsing up his chest, his arms, his neck. Gliding it over his abdomen in lathering slickness, it slipped from his grip and thunk to the porcelain below.
He stared at the bar for several moments, smiling slightly at the irony, and bent to retrieve it.
Hands, firm but chilled, cupped his ass. Hands that knew his body well. Hands that slid up along the sides of him, circled his shoulders as a body known equally as well pressed itself over his.
"You know what they say about soap and showers..." a most wanted voice murmured into his hair. "What's this about another dealer?"
Rising slowly, keeping the contact steady, he left the soap where it had landed. His eyes closed, he lend back in the arms much needed. His fix was about to be given.
|