Artemisia

After release, after deprogramming, first time alone together. 

The minute the door closed behind them, Stephen and Jon fell into each other’s arms.  There seemed not to be mouths enough, arms and hands enough, sighs enough to fill the moments that followed.  They ended up on the couch, pulling at each other’s clothes, and it would have proceeded without words had not Stephen seen for the first time the extent of the damage Vlad had done to Jon’s body.  They talked, feverishly saying things that an unscarred man and an untraumatized prisoner would not have said.  Then they went to the bedroom.  Even after lovemaking they slept little, both tossing on sheets drenched with sweat in a room dense with the smells of Artemisia, santorum, and wine, dozing and waking and reaching for each other with urgent limbs.  When the dawn arrived Stephen’s head was at the foot of the bed and his legs were across his lover’s back; Jon, for his part, was prone, with both arms dangling, listening to the snores and trying not to move.  His heart could not contain his joy; it filled the room, increasing with the growing light, deafening him with the music of its ardor.

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Published in: on November 1, 2011 at 1:31 pm  Leave a Comment  
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