no_sin_but | (no subject)

(no subject)

It is 2am, and Marlowe is asleep. Not by much, and it's a restless, edgy sleep, but he is asleep. Not quite dreaming, at least nothing he'd really remember.

He's asleep, and it's too easy to remember how hard it is to sleep when you can't hear someone else's breathing.

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It's also hard to sleep when someone trying to get into bed with you accidentally elbows you in the jaw.

Sorry, Kit. Darren's just no good without his glasses.

And, sorry, Darren, but you currently have a knife at your jaw. Marlowe had been aiming for the throat, but sometimes these things are hard to do in the dark.

"Kit!"

Darren has no survival instincts at all. So all that happens is he falls backwards, and knocks a pile of books off the dresser.

"Ow."

And Marlowe pulls his hand back very, very quickly.

He's still holding the knife.

"Spy, Darren!"

"Right, right, sorry."

One hand searches blindly across the bed for him. It finds his arm, the one without the knife, and rests on it.

Darren sounds very tired. And sort of nonchalant about the fact that he's bleeding, which he's proud of.

"Do you want me to put a light on?"

Darren leans in and kisses him. Awkward, not braced properly, bumped noses type kissing suitable for two in the morning.

Awkward? Very. That doesn't mean that Marlowe can't kiss back, at least at little.

"Darren?"

"Yes."

He pulls back, and wipes at his cheek and that is definitely blood.

"Can we put the knife somewhere not near the bed please?"

"Not in the bed, I can do. Near the bed is a given." It is placed on the bedside table, which requies some moving and bumping and,

"...did I cut you?"

"Not badly."

Darren's fingers are on Marlowe's skin, arms and shoulders, throat, jaw, feeling him the dark like braille because he missed him.

"Good. I...habit."

He lies back down, slowly, and pulls Darren with him.

"You all right?"

"Yes," he says with conviction, and kisses Marlowe's shoulder.

There is a smile, but it's in the dark.

"Was worried."

"It's fine."

He hasn't shaved. Marlowe can probably tell. Also, blood.

And just, in general.

"I just needed a deep breath."

"I'll stop talking, then."

"Don't have to."

Darren could shut up instead.

"Oh?"

"What happened?"

Why were they suddenly kissing and having sex, he means.

Blankly,

"You've lost me."

"You were gone, then you were back, then you had your tongue in my mouth and then we were naked," prompts Darren.

"Ah, right."

"Please."

He feels owed a straightforwards answer on this one.

He can't decide if this is easier in the dark, or harder.

"I like you," he says at last. "I get pushy when I like someone, and I am impulsive." His tone is matter of fact. "And I very sincerely did not mean for you to...be that confused."

"I'm an adult. I'm perfectly capable of shoving you off if I ever seriously think it's a bad idea."

So he's not to worry about that.

"I think I just need for this not to go badly."

"I'll try."

"I know."

He came back, didn't he?

And Marlowe really doesn't know quite what to say. He was asleep about ten minutes ago.

"You'll start writing again," Darren assures him. He's going to be asleep very soon too.

"Mm-hmm," goes Marlowe.

Are you going to argue, Marlowe, with the man who's affectionately got his tongue tracing patterns on your shoulder, nearly at the throat?

Ah...

No, not really.

Hah. Darren wins.

Or maybe they both do, if you look at it slant-wise.

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