britin1729 (britin1729) wrote in qaf_drabbles, @ 2011-04-08 22:40:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | author: britin1729, challenge #195: heat |
Challenge #195: Heat
Title: Nightmares on Tremont Street
Author: britin1729
And the condom goes to: 3 to cocksucking
"I think I just lost blood circulation in my arm."
He loosens his grip, looking sheepish. "Sorry."
Usually when he's squeezing my arm way too tight, huddled into my side, it's because we're walking down crowded streets and he's trying not to lose it. Tonight, I'm glad it's for a different reason.
"I still don't get why this movie always gets to you."
"Her fucking head spins around, Brian!"
I jokingly mutter something about him being a pussy, then regret it; the subsequent heat of his glare is enough to scare me more than the possessed girl on the TV.
~
It starts as a whimper, as always. I force myself to open my eyes and roll over to wake him from whatever nightmare has seized him tonight.
What I see is a nightmare in itself.
Justin is thrashing around next to me, but it's nothing— fucking nothing— like I've ever seen before. He flies off the bed and slams back down, his body twisting and writhing, out of control. He screams obscenities, bloody wounds mark his skin, and as I watch in powerless horror, his head begins to twist around and around on his neck....
The bed beneath me quakes.
~
"Brian!"
The bed's still shaking and Justin's screaming my name, only he's not thrashing around next to me anymore... his face appears above mine, concerned but unscathed. I focus on him and the bed stops moving.
"Shit— were you having a nightmare or something?"
"Or something." My mouth is dry, my back sticky with sweat, my breathing ragged.
He grins. "Was it about The Exorcist?"
I glare at him. He takes this as confirmation, chuckles, and curls up next to me. The heat of his body is almost too much right now, but I don't want him to move away.
~
"Told you it's a fucking creepy movie," he mumbles into my chest. He's pressed right up against me, probably assuming I need his comfort or some shit. I don't say anything, though; right now, I'm just glad his fucking head is conforming to the laws of nature.
"If you're still freaked out, I'll take your mind off it."
He hesitates. "I'm not freaked out. Are you?"
I snort. "No."
We sit in mutual silence for a moment.
"Wanna do it anyway?"
"Yeah, definitely."
And as I succumb to the tight heat of his body, 70s horror films cease to matter.