(no subject)

[thewordofweb]

There are just some things in the world that shouldn't be what they are.

For instance, I am sure that when I went to bed with my arms around Joe's waist, I hadn't worn red silk boxers, I hadn't strewn the bed with rose petals, and Joe wasn't wearing those...well, those. The bed, even, is dressed in different sheets and I rub at my eyes and sit up, trying desperately to ignore the fact that there are candles burning in the dim light of dawn and soft classical music playing.

"Fuck," I whine softly and yank at the covers (which have inexplicably turned to red silk), burying myself under them with a groan and de-settling too many rose petals to explain, ignoring the orchids and roses in vases around the room. I press my face against Joe's bare back and let out a muffled sound, trying to ignore the fact that I'm fairly sure I saw baby oil sitting on the dresser under a stack of love poetry.

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[soldier-singled.livejournal.com]

Joe sits on the edge of the bed for a minute, catching his breath and then he gets up, wandering through into his own room.

"Hell, I'll do my best," he says, reaching for his scissors.