Sylph

By The Queen of Blueberry Toast


He had been there all night.  The sirocco mussed his hair more than a lover's
 hands.  At last, in desperation, he tore one of the tiny stones from the 
cobbled street up and hurled it at the white glow of the moon where it 
wavered on the window up above him.  The glass rang like a bell but did not 
break, and a light of earthy origin spilled through the alley.

As soon as the shutters banged open, he started to shout above the wailing 
of the wind.

"I remember the first time I made love to you.  It was windy.  I couldn't 
sleep.  God, I tried and I tried and I tried and nothing worked.  It had 
been like this for days.  I thought I was going crazy and you know, it wasn't 
just the noise, it was the way that old dorm felt; like everything was going 
to tear itself open any minute.  And you slept through it every night.  I 
hated you! God, I hated you for it.  You were younger than me, you should 
have been afraid, but you weren't.  

"I was sitting on the edge of my bed.  I was almost in tears and the tree 
outside the window just kept moaning and scratching.  I didn't hear you open 
my door, I didn't see you, not until you made me turn around.  You had on that 
little white nightshirt that was really one of mine and your hair was still 
wet from your shower.  And you just... starred at me for the longest time.  Like 
you weren't real, like you expected I couldn't see you.

"You don't know... no, I guess you do.  You'd have to.  You knew what you were 
doing to me, you knew I couldn't care that you were just thirteen.  You BET that 
WHOLE NIGHT on me not caring, and you know what now?  You're right.  You're 
still fucking right and you were right then.  

"When I told you to leave, you didn't leave, and when I got up to push you out, 
you didn't move a muscle.  You didn't do anything till I came over and slammed 
my hand on the door just over your head.  And then... then you started it! You 
kissed ME first.  You let everyone think it was the other way around, but it 
was YOU.  You know I... I can still taste you, sometimes- that peach toothpaste 
they don't make anymore and you weren't salty back then- you really weren't.  
Hell, don't ask me why but... how could I not, huh? How could I not kiss 
you back?

"And hey, it was you led me back to the bed, you pushed me down in the shadows 
of that fucking oak tree.  I remember running my hands through your hair until 
you purred like a kitten, I remember just trying to hold you, but your mouth 
kept ending up against mine and then I'd try to kiss you, just a little, just 
like... innocent or something.  I don't know anymore, I don't think I did then.

"But you let me undress you- I remember that.  And I let you sit on my stomach 
for awhile so I could look at you- you were so light, and so warm and with you 
curled up against me, just like that I  put my hands on you- those tiny, brown 
nipples of yours first and then your cock.  You were still completely bare, 
and god, so soft.  You're still that soft, still that ethereal, and you still 
move your lips when you come even if you don't make any noise.  I used to think 
it was strange, you know? I used to think... I should be ashamed.

"'Cause the next thing I knew I had you on your back, and I put my mouth on 
your rosebud and I sucked you there until you were stiff again.  I rubbed you 
the whole time after that, and you let me- you let me fuck you.  You let me 
put all there was of me inside you and I could hardly remember your name that 
whole time.  I had to ASK you in the morning what it was, but it was YOU wanted 
to know if I was alright.

"And how could I not be, Schuldich? How could I not be?  I was never more 
alright in my life than when I was with you, but all the fuck you care about's 
messing with me.  Well, I still haven't had enough.  You hear me?  I want my 
little boy who tried to calm me down one windy night back!"

Crawford's voice had left him by then, and the wetness in his eyes been whisked 
away by the sirocco's ministrations.  His throat ached, and though the air still 
wheeled around him, he was more wont of it than he had ever been; so winded, he 
flopped down on the sidewalk, and sat there in the uneasy, gusting silence of the 
racing air, spitting and dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

Above him, the moon vanished- not because it had spun behind the clouds, but 
because his once-upon-a-time lover had finally pushed the pane between them away.  
As he leaned out of the window, the threads of his henna-red floss danced over 
his naked chest.  

Crawford half expected them to flow through his body- one vapor on another.  He 
was still that fair, still that lithe, still as inimitable as the phantom gusts 
that tore through the Mediterranean. 

"Well," Schuldich called, "Alright."