Title: Wonder
Author: Bernie
Rating R for 'cest.
Pairing Dany and Mark
Heartley.
Thanks Camille for the read
through.
Dedication: Robyn, not that
she particularly wants it, but she wrote a fic about the Hossa's that was
implied something and that sparked this wee fic.
; ,
* ** ***
* ** ***
Nothing can fill your
mouth' quite like peanut butter. It's creamy; sure, that's part of it. And it
has a full flavour, so that causes the effect as well. But, but, it seems to
swell up in your mouth, so you spend the whole day swallowing. You continually
run your tongue in the grooves in the back of your teeth, sure there are stray
peanuts there. It coats your tongue and sticks to your teeth.
You need something to cut
the taste. Bread. Gotta be white bread. And it's got to be fresh. Really soft
and the crusts a slightly rough edge. You don't care how bad it is for you, and
you specially left earlier to get fresh bread. Even though it was warm where
you were, and comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable. ,
It has been a long time since you woke up with another
person curled around you. Lying on your shoulder. Their hair tickling your nose
and making you smile.
And all parts of him were worm and soft, pliant under
your stroking hands. You watched him sleep, like you haven't for the longest
time.
But, back to the bread. It can't be from bakeries
either, there has to be that chemical tang of mass-produced food. Otherwise it
is just not correct, not how you remember.
And there must be jam. He has always liked fancy-smanchy
ones, plum and cran-apple and black-gooseberry. He would beg in the supermarket
until your mother brought grape jelly. You loathe grape jelly. The worst thing
was that he would have it twice and then not want any more and your mother
would insist she would not buy anything else until the entire jar was gone.
Eventually you would have to petition your father and
he would buy proper jam on his way home from work.
You like strawberry. If you can't get that, well, you
will settle for raspberry.
You have in the past experimented. The only other
acceptable peanut butter companion is honey. But you only like that on toast.
Briefly, when much younger and perhaps a little foolish, you ate peanut butter
and maple syrup. Especially on pancakes. Sometimes you can't believe what a
barbarian you were as a child.
You manage not to lick the knife clean between layers.
If no one is around you lick the knife and stick it in the next jar, but he is
sitting at the kitchen table, so this time you wipe them carefully. This time
you spread the spread everything right to the edges, you don't just plonk some
down then kind of move the bread around to spread it like you would if you were
by yourself.
You can feel him staring. At you. He is sitting at the
kitchen table like this is any other morning.
And it is. The newspaper is in front of him, and it is
opened to the sports section.
They are lying, that is normal as well.
He looks the same as yesterday, but not. Last night,
he had groves of sleeplessness under his eyes. Today he is flushed and filled
out. All this healthy smiling and rested face before he has even had his
sandwich.
The kitchen smells like coffee. This is his place and
feels homier than yours. Maybe it is being in this part of Atlanta. It's an old
house and you like to think that there have been many such sandwiches made
right where you are standing.
Maybe it is because he isn't stuck in a fucking dorm.
Anyway, you like being near him.
You cut the completed sandwiches into a diagonal.
Arrange them on a plate and slide the tower of white bread onto the table.
"Yummy." He says. "What do I owe you
for this?" He is standing up and there is a shiver running from your hand
to his. The whole world shakes a little, tilts slightly on it's axis, and
settles down.
And you do realize that nothing is ever going to be
the same again.
You taste of coffee, he tastes of orange juice. You
taste of the teeny bit of peanut butter you licked off the side of your finger;
he tastes of toothpaste.
His hair is soft under your fingers. His skin is
slightly grating because he needs to shave. He shivers when you lick across his
lips. His perfect lips, with their slightly exotic pink sweetness.
Cran-apple-grape-berry.
You compliment each other, you belong together.
