Part 2: Almost

The prompt: 600 words or less, someone has to tell a joke, someone has to cry.

---

"Hey there, handsome." She smiled prettily and sat by him, laying her head comfortably against his chest. "How you doin'?"

Closing his eyes, he stroked her hair familiarly. "Better now."

He could hear the curious note in her voice. "Something wrong?"

He laughed a little, "Isn't there always?" God she's soft. He didn't stop stroking her hair. "How about you?"

She snuggled closer, grinning. "Well, today I saw this guy moping on a couch for no good reason..."

He raised an eyebrow, letting her continue.

She shifted lower against him, her tone casual. "He looked really blue, so I blew him."

His eyes popped open with shock.

"Just like... this!" With a flourish she lifted shirt and blew a wet raspberry on his stomach. He burst out laughing, playfully trying to push her away as she tortured him. The loud, wet presses of her lips against his skin made him writhe a little in their playful grappling, her hands on his shoulders to keep him against the couch. One of his hands locked in her hair, pulling her back for a second, but she simply scooted closer and kept up the raspberry assault, her laugher joining his.

He tried to steel his laughter as they struggled, pushing and without real success. If he could just catch a brea-AH!

That was her tongue! And- AH!-that's my bellybutton!

Steeled he was not. He laughed harder as her tongue flicked arythmically alongside her lip's barrage, trying to get off the couch before he acted on impu- 

CRACK

And then he flashed away.

In a way, it was the same. Her lips pressed to his, sounds of pleasure filling the room. Their arms were tight around each other, fighting for control with labored breath and a struggling tongue.

In all others, it wasn't. Their arms pulled one closer to the other, long pent-up intensity breaking through in the kiss. Their tongues met eagerly, her nails raking over his back through his shirt. Heat filled him, and he pinned her to the wall, biting her bottom lip hungrily. A low rumble in his throat, he spoke one word. "Mine..."

"-r? Answer me, what's wrong? Say something!" He saw her dark face as it was rather than what it could be, turning from flushed to pale. Dark, lidded eyes became wide with concern. Kiss-swollen lips grew less full. She was kneeling over him; a hand on his cheek, thumbing it softly.

He raised a hand quietly to halt her questions, head screaming bloody murder. She grabbed it tightly, fingers entwined with his. Her voice was soft. "Are you okay? You hit the wall and weren't answering and..." Her eyes flicked to his face, and he realized the unfamiliar heat was his own tears burning his face.

He swallowed, his tight throat protesting. He felt like he had to force the words out. "I'm okay. I was... I was just... dreaming."

She squeezed his hand. "I've never seen you cry. What kind of dream would…" Hold her. 

He sat up slowly, slouched against the wall. A part of him noticed that she didn't let go of his hand. "I had... I had a really good dream. It was so vivid..." Kiss her.

She said nothing, just tilting her head curiosly.

Their eyes met...

Take her.

And he smiled.

"It's time I showed you."

"Part 1: Id

"Id" is the first in a series of interconnected short stories. They're good exercise, even if no one will ever read them.

---

"Buck twelve."

He handed over the money to the cashier, who smiled at him. He liked knowing the people who worked at the places he shopped, even if it was casually. It helped him feel comfortable.

This is not to say he was very comfortable now, but it helped and that was the important thing.

He left the store with a wave, rolling his shoulders to get the tension out. He'd gotten the chocolate bar in a bag to keep it from melting his hands, knowing full well that nervous hands tended to warm and squeeze. He imagined that this unconscious response was unlikely to change simply because it was chocolate.

Her bright eyes were dull today, her smiling, attractive lips turned down. He felt so guilty looking at her from the corner of his eye most days, but he did rather than ignore the loudly nagging impulse. It was hard not to, actually, despite how flush he felt when he did. They had spoken some and he was impressed by her, her sweetness first, then her intellect. They had more in common than he believed likely, and he felt himself filled with the butterfly hormones and thoughts that he was sure had been left behind.

How irritating.

"Hey..." He waved casually, though he felt awkward, as he always did, with her especially. She was perched on the edge of a table, the rest of the class departed.

"Hey." She smiled briefly, faintly, and he could see the bags under her eyes. "What's up?"

"Not much, just wanted to see if you'd gotten some sleep." The both of them had the worst sleep patterns. It could be twenty solid hours before a four hour nap, then off to the races to wear themselves ragged.

She looked at him and slowly shook her head. He wished he could see what her eyes were conveying the way other people did. A neurological impairment made the interpretation of body language harder than anything had a right to be. But today he could see something... her eyes were shining with sadness, pretty and horrible at once.

He frowned.

"No, actually... me and my boyfriend of eight years broke up last night."

The id thought, "She's available."

The rest of him crushed that thought like a bug. What a horrible thing to think... how ugly and disgusting. He could hardly believe that it had come from him, because the rest of him felt for her. Frankly, he couldn't imagine anyone breaking up with her, and she looked so sad.

"Oh... wow, I'm so sorry... do you mind if I ask what happened?"

She said they were growing apart, and now that she was in college she was becoming more the person she was always going to be, and that they were simply too different to stay together.

She'd been sleeping on a couch. Were he in a position to do so, he would have blurtedly offered a place for her to crash.

After his initial, honest condolences, he weakly joked that the worst that could happen was that she would be the she-whore to some friends of her ex... he had no idea how to make her feel better. He was kicking himself all throughout this.

He wanted to offer her a hug. He didn't know if he could. He offered her instead to be there if she needed anything, though they didn't know each other so well. She nodded, and said she'd still be available as peer tutor, though he gently asked her to take it easy.

He felt awful that he had to go. He tried to offer his ear again, weakly joking that he'd felt the same thing: There was a she-whore in his life recently, after all. She laughed a strange, awkward laugh he couldn't interpret, and he waved quietly to her when they said goodbye.

He looked down at the bag. He wanted to make it up to her. He wanted her to feel better. But a part of him wanted to see if she'd notice him for it.

And as weak and as lonely as it was, he couldn't quite crush that impulse. But he was sure... he was so sure it wasn't born from that.

Right?