The Quiet Man

A Minor Matter of Geography

God, I need a piss. It’s bright: it’s morning. It’s late. My leg’s numb, I’m suffocating, what’s this on my chest, did I–

Is that–

Am I buried? Did the roof cave in in the night? Moran, did he– Am I–

Oh.

Oh, right. Yeah.

Sherlock.

That’s you. You’re here. With me; you’re here. Half-naked and still asleep. That’s your knee digging into my leg. That’s not concrete and plaster from the roof, no. That’s just you.

You’re sleeping. On me: you’re asleep draped over me, like a lover. Are we lovers now? I guess we are. Yeah. I kissed you. We kissed. That was great, we kissed, I had my hand on your–

Right. And then you–

Yeah. That–

Wow. That was–

Yeah. God. I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about that all day, you know. Damn. The insides of your lips, your tongue: yeah, that’s knowledge that’s going to be difficult to ignore.

I think we might be lovers now.

Unless you change your mind, of course. I’m not going to. And you seem awfully comfortable. I think you tried to wrap your entire body around me in the night, that’s what it seems like. You’re halfway there. And you’re asleep. It’s late. We slept late, we were up in the night. We were kissing in the night, we were having sex. We were–

Yeah. We were. Jesus. Well, I didn’t see that coming. Not at all, I just–

No, I didn’t think it would happen. Not now, at least. Not like this. It was so easy, I didn’t think it would happen this way. I left you downstairs, you were working. You were frustrated, you weren’t even looking at me. Not the way I was looking at you. I was prepared to have my heart broken; I would have kept it a secret, you know. You were in your own world, as you always are. I’m part of your plan, I know that, but I’m only tangential. This is between you and Moran, it’s about the greater good, and I’m just something the shrapnel could find its way into. Easy prey, an easy target. I’m your friend, your former flatmate. But I must have been wrong. Because this was your choice. You came up here, you got into my bed half-naked. That was you.

So I leaned over, I kissed you. There was no argument, or confusion, or questions, just...well, this. Your steady breath on my skin, that’s where we’ve ended up. A bright morning under a quilt together, shared breaths, your fingers resting against my ribs. I didn’t expect to wake up this way. I don’t know what I expected. Nothing, I don’t know. Not this. You’re a little unpredictable, aren’t you.

I’m not complaining, of course, I’m not going to complain. Not at all. It’s great. It’s better than great. I’m just a bit surprised.

I thought it would be strange, sleeping with you. If it was going to happen at all. You being a man, for one. And you being...well. All angles. Skin and bone, teeth and a general distaste for anything sexual or smacking of sentiment. Experiments and facts, that’s more your thing. Observations, deductions, a lack of any understanding about emotion and how it operates. You’re...well. You’re you, aren’t you. But it wasn’t strange. Not at all. It was...

Yeah. It was great.

You’re like your music, as it turns out; full to brimming in ways no one imagines you are. But you must be. Yeah. Because that’s what it was like; like your music. I was your violin in the night, I was your composition. Or I suppose we both were. Pull us taut and we run our bodies against each other, we produce something that can’t be captured in everyday words. It wasn’t strange. It was fantastic.