Before I Ran || Perrentes

Chapter 21: By the Pricking of My Thumbs

Tony woke up warm and safe.

The sweat had dried on his skin and it had taken a while for his heart rate to come down from the high, but his head was still up in the clouds as his sleepy, drowsy mind ventured back to the feel of Mike's lips on his body and of hot skin against skin, and the images of Mike's eyes locking with him beneath hooded eyelids and fluttering eyelashes and of that thin, shining layer of sweat across his tattoos, and the memory of the sound of his moans and the breathless way he spoke and that small, loving smile...

It made Tony smile just to think of it as he turned over in the dark, shuffling closer beneath the sheets to Mike's sleeping form. Who the hell said being gay was a sin? How could something be so wrong when between Tony and Mike it was all so right? How on earth could that ever be incorrect or immoral? Tony thought about his parents, about the silver cross his mother wore about her neck. They'd be angry as wasps right now if they knew their son - however much of a disappointment - had just lost his virginity to another guy. And that just made him smile more.

"What are you smiling at, you fucker?" Mike mumbled, and Tony realised he wasn't actually asleep and was squinting at him through half closed eyes. Tony smiled even wider as Mike's fingers threaded through his.

"Rebellion," he whispered back, and Mike laughed silently, shifting closer to him. Half of his back poked above the top of the blanket and the glow of the moon was bold enough to kiss the skin, to highlight the rolling muscles and the tails of tattoos. One of Mike's fingers reached traced the outline of Tony's face and he sighed happily.

"So," Mike started, shifting even closer and kissing him softly. "Half a day?"

"Half a day."

"That's a whole lot of time we don't have."

Tony's smile faded and he breathed out slowly. He took in every angle of Mike's face, every quirk of his features, every little point of notable worth as well of every point of insignificance. "I suppose."

Mike closed his eyes briefly and then kissed Tony's cheek. "Okay. We have some cramming to do."

Tony raised an eyebrow, baffled, and Mike laughed at his expression. "Get your head out of the gutter babe, I don't mean anything fucking kinky. I mean we have a lot to learn about each other and no time to learn it."

"I think I know a lot about you already though," Tony said softly. Outside, an owl hooted, and as if in an unconscious response Mike's finger touched the owl necklace around Tony's neck as he frowned.

"You do?"

Tony nodded and tucked a wry strand of hair behind Mike's ear. He looked somehow smaller without the snapback. "Your middle name is Christopher," he started. "Your forte is gymnastics. You used to have a cat called Pilchards. You're one of two kids. You're Christina Rossetti's biggest fan, and have read her selection of poems cover to cover God knows how many times...you got a three point three in high school. You're Mexican. You barely eat a meal without hot sauce. You're a surprisingly good driver for a nineteen year old. When you shave you're always rushing, so you have stubble all round here -" Tony tapped the side of Mike's face to demonstrate, "...you lost your virginity at seventeen. You drink even though you're underage. You have a huge capacity for loving, and you never show it because you're scared to trust people in case they hurt you like your ex-boyfriend did. Oh, and you're gay as fuck, that's another thing I know about you. And you're a slut. You play drums...when you're driving and you've got all this pent up energy, you start tapping on the wheel. It makes me really want to hear you play a real set of drums. Your favourite tattoo is either your anchor or your drumsticks. And...your eyes aren't just plain old brown. They're hazel."