| Title: Even Angels Fall: To Crash, To Burn Author: Jo Rating: NC17 Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Viggo Mortensen Summary: When fame is overwhelming, even angels fall. Warnings: this one isn't going to be pretty...there's going to be language, violence, drug/alcohol abuse, and angst up the wazoo. If that ain't your thing, hit the delete button now Author's Notes: Inspired by "Let Her Cry" by Hootie & The Blowfish, lyrics have been tweaked here. MAJOR thanks to Wendy for emotional support, beta work, and research on this thing. Takes place roughly 1-2 years in the future. For Wendy for her 'inspiration' in matters of dialogue and nosebleeds and for Carnaline for the vision of angelic demons Disclaimers: They're not mine, I don't own them, this didn't happen...well, it could have, but they didn't tell me about it...any resemblance to real life events is strictly coincidental and no implications should be drawn because this is a work of FICTION
The handcuffs clinked softly as they landed in my lap. I looked up, startled, to find Orlando watching me from across the room. Those dark eyes, more familiar to me than my own, were hooded and a tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. "What --" "I want you to use those tonight," he said quietly. The soft Canterbury accent washed over me and, for the first time, I noticed that he had shed most of his clothes. All that remained were a pair of loose cargo pants, riding low on his slim hips. One eyebrow arched, I watched as he strolled towards me. Bare feet made no sound on the plush carpet; their slow, measured steps bringing him closer until he stood over me, gazing down with half-lidded eyes. A pink tongue flicked out to sweep over gracefully curved lips, leaving them shining faintly in its wake. Ever so slowly, he leaned forward and braced one hand on the chair arm. His other hand rested on my denim clad knee for a brief moment before sliding up my thigh. Air hissed softly between my teeth and I held myself perfectly still, my eyes never leaving the rich chocolate ones above me. He continued to smile lazily as his hand stopped at the juncture of hip and thigh. Long fingers burned through heavy denim, touching the cool metal that nestled against my groin. "I want you to use those," he murmured, fingers gently pushing the cuffs into the growing bulge, "On me tonight." "Orlando --" My words were cut off by the tip of a tongue touching the very center of my bottom lip. "Please," he whispered, his words a soft puff of air against my mouth. "For me, Viggo. Unless...." He paused, a spark of something flaring in his eyes and leaving me vaguely unsettled. "Unless you're afraid you can't keep up with me, old man." And just like that he was gone, a spicy scent lingering in the air. I blinked and only then realized I was holding my breath. My eyes dropped to my lap. A faint frown marred my brow as I lifted the metallic jumble. Graceful silver bracelets linked by a finely wrought chain dangled from my finger as I studied them. The lower cuff flashed in the light and I slowly raised troubled eyes to gaze at the doorway. The candles flickered and the movement of the flames cast weird shadows on the walls. I settled back on my heels, smiling faintly as I studied the younger man lying on the bed. Muffled clinking drifted to my ears when Orlando shifted restlessly, his olive skin gleaming in the dim light. "Something wrong, angel?" I asked softly, allowing my fingers to touch an inviting expanse of bare skin. Eyelashes fluttered momentarily and then those dark, expressive eyes opened and looked at me dazedly. Sweat dampened curls clung to his temples and the pink tongue touched his lips once more as he mumbled something too low for me to hear. Bending down to let my own tongue follow the path of my lover's, I said, "What was that?" "Mm...you're teasing," he breathed faintly, his eyes drifting closed as he shifted once more. I smiled and sat up, my eyes blatantly perusing his naked body as it lay wantonly before me. My hand trailed down his chest and paused on his stomach, fingers splayed against the smooth skin there. "Am I," I said, more statement than question. I chuckled softly when he nodded, eyes still closed. Deliberately leaving my hand where it lay, I brought the other one up to feather across his jaw, laughing softly again when he turned his head blindly into the caress, allowing my fingertips to brush across his mouth for a second before withdrawing my hand. Dark eyes flashed as his eyelids snapped open. "Bastard," he hissed, tugging on the cuffs encircling his wrists. "You're doing this deliberately." "Of course I am," I drawled in an amused tone as I planted my hands on either side of the pillow and leaned over him. I laughed very quietly when he lifted his head, pulling back just enough to avoid the seeking lips. He growled and received a wicked grin in response. I leaned down again and my lips brushed his ear. "You did ask me to handcuff you to the bed, angel." "You know what I wanted," he said, growling again and straining against the cuffs. I looked at him with a faintly puzzled expression. "I thought I was giving you what you wanted," I said, my earlier sense of uneasiness returning. "I bloody well didn't want you to tease me!" he snapped as he looked directly at me. "Then what did you want, Orlando?" I watched him closely, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to know the answer to my question. I was positive I didn't when he lowered his lashes and a slow smile spread across his face. "Hurt me." I froze, only the fractional widening of my eyes betraying my shock. I stared at him, unable to put my thoughts into words, knowing that the younger man was laughing. His expression never changed, but he was laughing all the same. "Hurt you," I finally said, amazed at how calm I sounded. I swallowed hard when he nodded, dark eyes gleaming through his lashes. "Hurt me," he repeated, his eyes feverish and a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. He tugged at the cuffs and writhed on the sheets, arching his body towards me. "Fuck me through the mattress, Viggo. Hurt me...mark me...make me yours, m--" "Orlando, stop it," I said softly. "Please, Viggo," he begged, his teeth closing over his bottom lip. "I want your hands on me, want to feel them bruise me...leave marks on me, make me bleed. Hurt me...please." "Orlando, I can't," I said, sitting up fully, faint warning bells sounding in my head as I watched his near frantic behavior. "You can," he said, his breathing ragged as he stared up at me. "You can!" I shook my head. "No, Orlando," I said firmly. "I can't." He growled and glared at me before the expression melted into one that sent the warning bells in my head into a screaming frenzy. Eyes partially closed, a too innocent smile gracing his lips, he looked up at me and tilted his head as he slowly licked his lips. "You can," he whispered. "You know you want to, Viggo. Imagine how it would feel to make me yours like that. How it would feel to leave your marks on me, to fuck me so hard I scream. Imag--" I watched in horror as my hand leapt out and connected with his cheek in a slap that echoed through the eerily silent room. To my eyes, it was as if it all happened in slow motion, as if my hand belonged to someone else. I felt sick as I watched the angry red imprint of my hand spring up on his flawless skin, covering his face from cheekbone to jaw. "Orlando, I--" I swallowed the rest of my words in disbelief as the sound coming from his mouth registered. He was laughing. Softly, mockingly, Orlando was laughing, the low sound raising the hair on the back of my neck. It was as much like his normal laugh as night is like day. "Mmm...just like that. Felt good, didn't it, love," he said in a low, throaty voice as he watched me. His dark eyes glittered. "Do it again. Harder this time." I stared at him and shook my head slowly. "No." "Hurt me, Viggo," he ordered softly, raising his head slightly to look directly at me. "You want to, I can see it in your eyes. You enjoyed slapping me." "No, I didn't," I said quietly. "You did," he whispered, starting to shift on the bed again. "I want you to do it, Viggo. Want you to hurt me until I beg you to stop, want you to --" "Orlando, stop it," I said more harshly than I intended. He studied me for a moment and then his eyes narrowed. "If you don't have the stomach for it, why don't you call Sean? He'd enjoy hurting me," he said in a near snarl. "Go ahead, Viggo. Call him. He's always been jealous of me and he'd love to get me like this." "Stop it!" I bent over him again until our noses were practically touching. My temper flared up at the images his words were painting and I was vaguely aware of my hands clutching his biceps hard. "Make me," he whispered tauntingly. He arched his back and laughed as my control over my temper snapped. He was still laughing when I roughly flipped him to his stomach, the cuffs pinching his wrists cruelly. His laughter was cut off by a pained cry as I entered him swiftly without preparation. Then he was laughing again, pushing up to his elbows as I drove into him, his words deliberately chosen to taunt me as my long fingers gripped his hips and waist hard enough to leave bruises that would last for days. He was still laughing when the world shimmered and exploded around us in a haze of pain, barely controlled violence, sex, and candlelight. Several hours later, I sat downstairs in the chair once more. The den was in near total darkness, the fireplace providing the only light in the silent house. I stared at the leaping flames but I didn't see them. Instead, my gaze was turned inward. In place of the orange-red flicker in front of me, I saw his body as it was when I had slipped from the bed. Curled on his side, his back snug against my chest, one arm flung out to the side as the other curled under his head, Orlando, in his sleep, had resembled nothing else so much as an angel. If not for the black and blue marks marring his normally unblemished skin, I would have believed the illusion. Brooding, fingers steepled in front of my face, I continued to stare into the fire. No matter what I did, my thoughts continued to return to Orlando and the bruises that my hands had left. With a muttered oath, I pushed out of the chair and started to pace. Long fingers raked through my hair as my mind replayed over and over what had happened in the bedroom. Stopping in the middle of the floor, I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and gritted my teeth, the echo of his crys and whimpers ringing in my ears. "Damn it," I muttered, staring into the darkness of the hallway. "What the hell was I thinking?" I shook my head and resumed pacing. I stopped again. "And what the hell was he thinking? He's not going to be able to walk in the morning and those bruises...." I trailed off in self-disgust. Those bruises were compliments of my rare temper. My own fingers had left the ones covering his hips and thighs. The one that was sure to grace his cheek would be impossible to hide. And if he could sit properly for the next few days, I would be surprised. All because of the way I had so brutally taken him after giving in to the anger that he had evoked with his talk of Sean Bean. "Christ," I sighed. I threw myself into the chair and let the fire draw me in once more, the shifting flames soothing and calming as I tried to puzzle out the changes that had come over my lover in the past few months. Without fail, my thoughts returned repeatedly to the bruised and battered body sleeping in the bed upstairs and the way he had begged to be hurt. I could see nothing but those large, dark eyes, almost glassy, seeming to stare right through me while those soft lips parted in a wordless cry as he came, his orgasms torn from him by the near brutality of our coupling. Early October, 1999 "Are you going to come out and join me or are you going to skulk in the trees all night?" I smiled at the sound of a sharply indrawn breath. Without turning around, I gestured to the spare sleeping bag spread out on the ground to my left. Soft footsteps moved across the grass behind me and then a lanky body settled itself beside me. I didn't have to look to know who had joined me. The faint spicy fragrance of his cologne had announced his arrival long minutes before his restless shifting had cracked a twig beneath his foot. "I wasn't skulking," he said and I laughed softly. "No, of course you weren't, Orlando." He frowned. "I wasn't," he insisted with a faint sniff. "I just...I wasn't sure if I should bother you." "You came an awful long way out here if you weren't sure about bothering me." I looked at him then, his body a contrast of silver and gold from the moon's glow above him and the firelight in front of him. He stared intently into the flames, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. I was grateful that my face was shadowed because I knew I was staring at him, but I couldn't help myself. He was truly a beautiful creature. Exquisite in fact. In all my forty years of life, I had never encountered another person as striking as Orlando Bloom and something told me that I never would again. A free spirit, he was one of those rare beings that comes along once in a lifetime and the people who are graced by his presence never forget him and the ones he loves -- be it platonically or romantically -- thank whatever gods they believe in that they were fortunate enough to be a part of his universe. I was one of those lucky few. The actors who made up the Fellowship had all bonded quickly, forming friendships that would last the rest of our lives. We were all close and, behind Elijah, Orlando was the one we all adored without reservation. Like everyone else, I competed for the attention of this tall, awkwardly graceful young man just a few years out of his teens. Unlike everyone else, I had fallen hopelessly and completely in love with him. I was such a good actor he had no inkling of how I felt. He was young enough to be my son. "I know, I...I didn't realize I might be bothering you until I got here," he said softly, still staring into the flames. His words snapped me out of my silent musing and I studied his profile. "You're not bothering me," I said finally, shifting slightly to throw another stick on the fire. "How'd you find me?" "Sean told me where to look," he said, glancing at me quickly. I smiled slightly. Less than a year apart in age, I had bonded faster with Sean Bean than with anyone else. Except, possibly, Orlando. Of course Sean would know where to find me. He was the only other person I'd taken with me on one of my camping trips. And it didn't surprise me that he told Orlando. I was pretty sure that he knew, or at least suspected, how I felt about our young co-star. In fact, I was pretty sure I told him one night after we'd consumed one too many pints of ale at a local pub. I vaguely remembered becoming all maudlin that night and crying in my beer, but Sean would just smile mysteriously whenever I mentioned it and tell me that my secrets were safe with him. "So," I said as I leaned back on one elbow, stretching my legs out beside the fire. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?" He made a face and looked down, studying his fingers as they toyed with the seam of his jeans. Before he ever said a word, I knew he had withdrawn into himself. "My company isn't much pleasure," he murmured almost too softly to be heard. "I'm not Legolas." "I never said you were," I answered just as softly, my eyes intent on his face. "Legolas is back there in front of the cameras. You, Orlando, are right here talking to me. And, unless my ability to read people has suddenly went on vacation, you're in need of a shoulder to cry on." His head snapped up and he looked at me with such open anguish in those dark eyes that I nearly forgot how to breath. Moving slowly so as not to startle him, I sat up and reached out, letting my hand rest lightly on his shoulder. "Figuratively speaking, of course," I said, resisting the urge to let my fingers glide over the smooth shaven sides of his scalp. "If you need to talk, I'm a pretty good listener. Or so I've been told." He looked at me for several long minutes before a tiny sigh escaped him. He shrugged. "It's nothing," he said as he looked down again. "I shouldn't have come out here." "Orlando, please." I caught his wrist before he could stand fully. He crouched there, not attempting to get away, looking at the ground beneath his feet. "Don't leave." "You don't have to be polite," he said, still not looking at me. "If I'm intruding, just tell me." I bit my tongue to keep from saying something nasty and tugged gently on his wrist. Unbalanced, he had little choice but to sit back down. "I'm not being polite and you're not intruding," I said as gently as I could. "If I didn't want you here, you'd know it." He was silent for a long time, just sitting there looking at nothing. My hand still held his wrist and neither of us made an effort to change that. Finally he looked at me. "Thank you." "Don't mention it," I said as I slowly released his arm. "But you're welcome." "I know you think I'm just a silly child, but --" "I think you're a lot of things, Orlando, but a silly child isn't one of them," I said. "Really?" I nodded and he flashed that brilliant smile at me. My mouth went dry and I felt like I'd swallowed a whole flock of butterflies. I could spend an eternity looking at that smile and losing myself in those dimples. "...afraid I'd be annoying you if I came out here," he said and I realized that I had indeed lost myself in his dimples for several minutes. "You're not annoying me." He looked at me skeptically for a moment and then sighed again. Turning his face away, he leaned back and looked up at the sky. He had more to say but I refused to press him. He would tell me, or not, in his own time. "It's beautiful out here," he said after a long silence. I tossed a few more sticks on the fire and watched the sparks flare up as I nodded. "Yes, it is." "Peaceful." He paused, clearly considering his next words. I just leaned back on my elbows and looked at the stars wheeling over us. "I can see why you like coming out here." "Helps clear my head," I said, watching him from the corner of my eye, wanting desperately to reach out and touch him as he slowly started to unwind. "Must be nice to be able to do that," he mumbled, keeping his face averted so that all I could see was his profile. "I wish I could." "It's a pretty simple thing to do out here," I said. "Just relax and let yourself go." He laughed softly, the sound short and bitter. "You make it sound so easy, Viggo." "It is." I shrugged. "Maybe. It's hard sometimes." I had the feeling that there was more to why he had joined me than he was revealing, so I remained silent, watching him and waiting patiently for him to speak again. It wasn't long before my patience was rewarded by his softly accented voice. "I don't think Sean likes me very much." "Sean...Bean?" I blinked and couldn't think of anything to say when he nodded. "Sometimes he just...I don't know. I don't think he likes that you hang out with me sometimes." "Why do you say that?" "I don't know," he said, sounding thoroughly miserable. "Sometimes when I'm around you, I catch him watching me like he's waiting for me to do or say something really stupid and childish." "Sean likes you just fine," I said. "Maybe. I'm probably just being overly sensitive." There was a tiny catch in his voice and he turned his head away, but not before I saw the glimmer of starlight reflected in one lone tear. Time stood still as I realized that, even though I was irrevocably in love with Orlando, he had fallen in love with Sean. "Sean likes you, Orlando," I said, struggling to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Some of it must have leaked through because he turned to look at me, angling his head so that his face remained hidden in the shadows. "Do you really think so?" The hopeful note in his voice broke my heart and I closed my eyes and swallowed before I answered. "Yeah, I do." He smiled again and seemed to relax a little. But only a little. He was still wound tighter than a clock and I was afraid that the wrong word would send him scurrying for cover. "Good," he said softly, leaning back to look at the stars again. "I don't know what I'd do if he didn't like me. It's hard enough working on these movies and being so far from home and all, it would be impossible to do it if he didn't, since he's y--" He stopped speaking suddenly and I looked at him. It was hard to tell with just the moonlight touching his face, but I thought he was blushing faintly. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't --" "Don't apologize. Sean's a great guy and so are you." I deliberately ignored the confused look he gave me as I rolled to my knees and crawled into the tent. I returned a few minutes later with a small box and settled down by the fire, my legs crossed beneath me. "Viggo --" "It's all a little much, isn't it?" I didn't let him finish. I couldn't bear to hear him say Sean's name again. So I busied myself rolling a joint and let my mouth run away with me. "I know how it is. First big role is scary enough, but on a project this size...it's overwhelming even for the veterans. We're all a little stressed out and it's not going to end any time soon. But," I said as I held up the finished joint, "I have the perfect cure for stress." "Is that what I think it is?" He asked, tilting his head slightly. "Just a little something to help you unwind." I lit the joint and inhaled deeply before holding it out to him. He looked at me for a few seconds and then hesitantly took it from me, the touch of his fingers against mine sending shockwaves up my arm. "I've never done this before," he said, seemingly embarrassed by his confession. "It's easy," I said, exhaling and laughing softly. "It's just like a cigarette, only you hold the smoke in longer before you exhale. Trust me." He kept his eyes locked with mine as he lifted his fingers to his lips and took a long drag from the joint. His eyes widened slightly as he handed it back. We lapsed into a companionable silence as we passed it back and forth, pausing only long enough for me to roll a few more. I usually only resorted to pot when I was really stressed out, but he seemed to need the extra help that night. So we smoked. It wasn't long before I felt the familiar buzzing in my head. Keeping an eye on Orlando as he finished off the third joint, I fell back on the grass and looked up at the pinpoints of light glittering far above us. Seconds later, Orlando joined me, propped up on his elbows and his head falling back. "Jesus," he murmured, a silly smile plastered across his beautiful face. "This is...." I laughed. "Feel better now?" "Oh yeah," he breathed and then laughed, rolling to his side and curling up in a ball. I watched in amusement as he howled with laughter. I had no concept of how much time passed before he quieted down, falling over onto his back and wiping the tears away, his breath coming in funny little gasps. "You needed that," I said rather sagely. He looked at me and lost his composure again, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, his feet drumming on the ground as he curled up, the mirth spilling out of him. "Ow," he said when he was quiet once more, stray giggles escaping every few seconds. "I think I've hurt something." "How can you tell?" I asked, looking at him and laughing at the picture he presented with bits of grass stuck in that ridiculous mohawk that somehow suited him. He looked at me, blinking owlishly, and then he shrugged. "I have no clue." That set us both off and it was a long time before we could speak without laughing. Finally we lay there, gasping for breath and watching the stars. I levered myself up to one elbow and lifted my other hand, pointing at a small cluster of stars directly overhead. "That's the Southern Cross," I said, the words of the Crosby, Stills, and Nash song running through my head. "Sailors used to use it for guidance." Orlando sat up and leaned towards me, resting his cheek against my forearm and following the line of my wrist so he could see the constellation. I nearly moaned aloud at his closeness, only just managing to bite my tongue hard enough to keep the sound from escaping. To distract myself, I softly sang a snippet of the song as his eyes searched the stars for the small cluster. "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time you understand now why you came this way. Cause the truth you might be running from is so small, but it's as big as the promise --*" "I see it," he said softly. Then he turned to look at me. I couldn't see his face but I could feel his eyes on me. Too mellow to move, I watched him bend towards me, his face slowly coming into focus as he drew near. And then his lips touched mine. It was nothing at all like I had imagined. It was...awkward. Just a quick pressing of his lips against mine, almost as if he'd never kissed anyone before in his life. Before I could react, he had pulled back and slid away, his legs against his chest and his arms wrapped around them once more. I sat up and looked at him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, dropping his head so I couldn't see his eyes. "Sorry for what?" I crawled towards him, kneeling just in front of his feet. I wanted to touch him so badly, my hands started to lift on their own accord before I clenched them into tight fists and forced them back down into my lap. "I shouldn't have kissed you," he whispered and dropped his head to his knees. "Because of Sean," I said bleakly. I started to turn away and his next words froze me in my tracks. "Me vi en tus ojos y en tus brazos; una vida entera en tu boca vivi la tarde del dia que te conoci*," he whispered and I stared at him in shock. My mind, hazed by marijuana, took several seconds to comprehend what he had said. "That's...." He lifted his head and his face was a shade of pink that I was positive had never been found outside a box of Crayolas. His dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears and he lifted his chin almost defiantly. "Trague," he said, finishing my sentence. "I've read all your published works." Again, all I could do was stare at him. I had met my fair share of fans before, but to imagine this painfully beautiful creature in front me reading the words I had written.... The thought humbled me. "Why recite that one?" I finally managed to ask, realizing how inane it sounded the second it left my mouth. He shrugged. "It seemed appropriate." Then something clicked in my brain. If I hadn't been sitting down already, I would have collapsed. Orlando wasn't in love with Sean. He was upset at the idea of Sean not liking him because Sean had become my best friend. As impossible as I imagined it to be, he was in love with me. "I see." Painfully inadequate for the occasion, but it's all I could think of to say. He looked at me silently and then turned away. "Maybe I should go back," he said as he climbed to his feet. He took two steps before I was in front of him, unsure of how I had managed to get there so quickly. "Please don't," I said. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to me that he not leave. I had the insane idea that if I let him walk away, I would lose the only thing that really mattered in my long and sometimes fucked up life. He kept his head down but stood there quietly. I slid my fingers under his chin, gently tilting his face up and forcing him to meet my eyes. My heart skipped a beat when a single tear slipped free to glide down his cheek. "Don't," I whispered, using my thumb to capture the errant drop and wipe it away. He just looked at me without speaking. "Don't cry, angel. Don't leave. Stay with me tonight. Please?" He stiffened slightly when I slid my free arm around his waist and pulled him close. Then with a barely audible sob, he melted against me, his arms winding around my waist and his face pressing against my neck. We stood like that for a long time, neither of us willing to move or speak. To do so would have destroyed the fragile, unspoken agreement we had reached. Then he pulled back just enough for me to see his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Don't be," I said. He stood perfectly still as I kissed him. My mouth moved over his lightly at first and then a little more aggressively as his hand crept up to clutch my shoulder. My tongue traced the seam of his lips, requesting and being granted entrance to the dark depths within and when his tongue hesitantly touched mine I almost wept with joy. I don't know how long we kissed, I only know that it was slow and sweet and indescribably beautiful. He tasted of smoke and peppermint and I couldn't get enough. When I led him over to the sleeping bags, he went willingly. Silently, he watched me arrange the bags and the few blankets so that they made one large pallet that we could share. Still not speaking, he let himself be pulled down, lying back and catching my arm when I would have moved away. He drew me towards him, one hand tangling in my hair as his mouth sought mine out again. I didn't know if it was the drug still in our blood or the feelings we had yet to voice, but that night was magical. As I undressed him, revealing every inch of his body to my gaze, I looked in awe at his near perfection. He was nervous when he removed my clothes, shyly smiling when he met my eyes. His whispered confession that he had never been with a man before caused a wealth of emotions to surge up in me and I had to close my eyes for a minute to compose myself. I knew what he expected to happen but sex had been the last thing on my mind when I had packed for the trip. I was woefully unprepared to make love to someone experienced, let alone someone who had never been touched that way. Instead we explored each other with hands and mouths, taking our time. Drawn out kisses mingled with gentle touches, evoking soft sighs and moans as the fire died down and the stars continued their ceaseless march above us. When he came, twitching in my hand, my eyes were locked on his face, memorizing the way his lashes lay against his cheekbones and the way his lips parted in a tiny gasp, admiring the curve of his throat as he tilted his head back, his hands clutching the blankets beneath him. We slept curled up together, his long legs intertwined with mine, his head resting on my chest as one arm lay across my waist. It was the first peaceful sleep I had gotten in months. * "Southern Cross" by Crosby, Stills, & Nash |