PG, m/m, angst
Crazy Eddie's Private Journals: Lost Souls
By Tiriel
So I'm slipping. I need some time off. I need some time away. I need to get laid. Last week there were reports of some big Gua meeting, and I couldn't track it down. Then this week I slipped up and those damn government agents, who came on like some cut-rate Mulder and Scully, found info that I missed. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The credentials I got Cade held up to even the g-men's scrutiny, and that's not an easy task. So that's one thing I did right. And I was right about Francesca being an alien. And I found the architect. Maybe I didn't do too badly after all.
So what if I didn't know about Cade's gadget, and so what if I missed the customs connection? I still got three out of five. So I'm a little off my game. Who wouldn't be? I've been working with Cade Foster for well over a year, and a man can only lust unrequitedly for so long.
But my biggest screwup happened after it was all done and we were back in my trailer. I'm afraid he's on to me. We sat and talked over the whole thing--call it a case or an investigation or whatever--we sat and discussed it over a cup of joe, like we often do. I tried to encourage him, help him feel better about the way things went, played cheerleader, like I often do. Then I went about bandaging him up--something that, thankfully, doesn't happen often.
I put down my coffee cup. "Some of those scratches look pretty bad, Foster. Jumping through plate glass is a serious health hazard, you know."
"Really? I had no idea. Maybe they oughta put one of those Surgeon General warning labels on windows. You got a point?"
"I was about to offer my first aid services, that's all."
"You gonna kiss it and make it better, Eddie?"
"Only if you want me to." The words were out before my brain caught up with my mouth. Thank the powers that be that he took it as a joke. The second before he spoke was the longest of my life.
"I'll pass. But a band-aid or two would probably be a good idea."
So I grabbed the disinfectant and the bandages and went to work. Problem One--this required close proximity, which led to a hard-on that could break a plate glass window. He didn't seem to notice that, thankfully. He doesn't spend a lot of time looking at my crotch. Problem Two--touching him. He had scratches on his arms, which are number four on my list of "favorite parts of Cade Foster's body to fantasize about." I had to touch his bare arms without shaking too hard or otherwise turning into a blithering idiot, rather than my usual genius self. Problem Three--his forehead. I was leaning in close and bandaging the cuts on his forehead, and I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. There was this long moment of eye contact. An optimist might describe it as a moment of sexual tension, but I know better. So in that moment I was sure that he could see every corner of my warped mind, all the fantasies I have about him.
After what felt like an eternity, he dropped his eyes and cleared his throat. "About done, Eddie?"
"Um, yeah. That should about cover it," I said, and moved away. About as far away as I could get and still be in the trailer.
I hope I didn't give myself away. If I didn't, it's through no fault of my own. But I am slipping. I need some time off. I need to get away. I need to get laid. I need him. And the odds of any of those things happening any time soon are pretty slim.
-More later, Eddie