Sleepless
Dumbfounded. That was the word Camus would use to describe himself at that particular moment. He’d been standing in the threshold of Milo’s bedroom. He could not take a step forward. Doing it would mean doom for him; for he knew, he would never leave that bed again.
A time of peace—that was what they were living. A blink in an eternity of struggle just to keep and maintain that very peace he was enjoying—and all he could think about was the perfection of Milo’s face while sleeping. Or how firm and manly his body was, even now, covered by the linen sheets. He frowned, his infatuation with Milo had grown to the extent in which he believed in nothing more than the fact that his body could touch Milo’s.
He was in love with the Scorpio Saint. A man who had fallen for another. Unthinkable in this time. The new centuries had brought shame and dishonour to something he believed was honest and valid. He could never feel ashamed of the moments he’d spent at Milo’s side. The endless nights giving one to the other. The words, the games, the hidden caresses or the stolen kisses they’d shared for years.
He was still wearing his training clothes. Having just returned from Siberia, his bag rested on the floor, next to him. Still, he wasn’t able to take that step he so desired to take. Camus closed his eyes. He let the scent of the other fill his nostrils, and then his senses. Milo was half-looking at him when he opened his eyes and looked back at the bed.
It was now Milo’s turn to stare at him. He’d also returned the night before from Milos Island, and had gone to bed right away; exhausted from the trip. Still sleepy and lying on his belly, he’d sensed the other and was looking at him. He smiled back, noticing how alluring Camus was standing some feet from him.
“Time?”
“Late. Past midnight, actually.”
Milo groaned, turning to his side. He half sat, leaning on his right side, while his arm supported his weight. Camus followed his movements, noticing how the sheets seemed to slither down his body.
“Are you going to stay there all night, Iceman? Or are you finally coming to bed?” He asked yawning.
Camus smiled back in resignation. How could he refuse such a tempting invitation?
“Naked?” he asked while removing his clothes from his body; leaving them scattered all over the room.
“Always.” Milo responded mischievously. Lifting the sheets so Camus would find an empty spot for him to lay by his side.
Aquarius walked to the bed. It felt good to be back home.
Ariadne, November, 2005