This story may be archived by the Cascade Library. But it probably won't be.
Rated PG. Or maybe S for silly.
Not So Sandy Anymore
by Helen W.
A resolution to our favorite WIP
Hours later, Jim was the first to awaken. His left hand, pinned beneath Blair's torso, had fallen asleep, and was letting him know that it was not very happy about this. Pins and needles, the sensation was called. An odd name for something which hurt so much.
But not, he realized, unbearably.
"Hey, sleepy head, roll over a bit, will you?" he said.
Blair groaned, but did as he was bid, rolling so that they faced each other. Together - but apart. And it was okay. Really okay.
"Jim?" Blair asked, his voice no louder than a breath. "You're...?"
"Good," said Jim.
Blair raked a hand across his face, pushing still-damp curls back, sending a few grains of sand onto the threadbare sheets. "Think you can handle heading back home?"
"As long as you drive," said Jim. "One thing, though."
"Anything," said Blair, meaning it as he'd never meant anything before in his life.
"I really wish we'd passed on 'The Passion of the Christ.'"
At this, Blair looked, maybe just maybe, a little crestfallen, and Jim, with a start, was reminded that his had not been the only torture. His of the body, Blair's of the spirit.
After a dozen heartbeats, Blair asked, "why?"
"Weird dreams."
"Oh," said Blair. His brow furrowed. "Well, it wasn't MY fault 'Scooby Doo 2' was sold out!"
*** The End ***
All feedback welcomed, negative particularly! helenw@murphnet.org.