Sanctuary

He was offering the ceiling undivided attention at three a.m. and thought perhaps this made him an insomniac. Then again it might merely make him a thoughtful person plagued by insecurities. Either way he was forced to lie in the shifting semi-darkness of a hotel room lulled into a state of contemplative anonymity by the steady breath of his companion. It was curiously domestic, almost pleasant, and he wondered if many husbands lay awake tonight beside their blissfully unaware wives. If he were to be a spouse and roll over to draw his bedmate into an embrace of devout protection would he be met with resistance?

Derek was just another indiscernible individual in a city diseased by a million of his kind thinking at absurd hours about subjects which really oughtn't matter. Why did humans, the foolish species who had developed refined emotions, agonize over feelings? He wished to question life itself yet found that when he did all he gleaned from the answers was misery. It really was a beautifully chaotic thing, life. There was five things to live for to every reason for death and depending on his mood he either thought it to be a glorious existence or a dismal purgatory.

It always came back to them when the beckoning of the world's sharp edges was deafening. Ultimately he found that there was nothing at all that could compare to the tier of people that he would have gladly shielded from gunfire. His family teetered between Rung 2 and 3 just above Rung 4 (which contained people such as Jude Law, Reanna, Beckett, and Ozzie), while Rung 2 held his Self-Chosen family. Jason, Martin, and God were the sole occupants of Rung 2 although Derek would never have shared such information with anyone aside from his better half. Then there was Rung 1 (which he disguised as an ornament and not the pedestal of his affections). There was only one person on that level and he confessed his sins each night before sleeping with many an apology to God for bunting the Lord down the ladder. Rung 1 was reserved for Justice, who Derek considered to be all the good in himself plus everything he wished that he was. The younger man had been a childhood dream come to life, the embodiment of Derek's youthful romanticism.

Derek Peridot worried. Good God, did he worry. He was not one to forget nor forgive and kept each and every demon alphabetized and correctly shelved. Then, like a studious librarian, each night he extracted one to pore over and examine with utmost care. It was hardly a way to live but truthfully it made him genuinely Derek. He was certain that if he were entirely happy he would cease to be Derek and be someone else entirely. As a counter-balance Justice was no emotional masochist. He never tormented himself as Derek did, and thus was rainfall to soften parched soil when the sorrow overcame his best friend. Perhaps if the elder man stopped hurting then Justice would disappear, Derek had often fretted. The very thought choked him blue and cold placing a chill winter frost over his slowing heart. Justice had appeared just when Derek had been crippled and ready to lie in the grave... and it seemed fitting that he should dwindle like smoke if Derek were to stand unaided. Derek could not fathom what would become of him if Justice was taken from him. He would probably become empty.

“You haven't slept yet.” A deep voice murmured near his ear.

Knowing that feigning sleep was futile Derek turned onto his side to face his dearest friend whose mild elfin face was cast in deep shadow to the point of vanishing. Yet even in the black light of earliest morning he could find the curve of Justice's jaw and the shimmer of chocolate hair in the haggard glow of the city.

“No. I'm thinking.”

Justice did not respond for a moment as his mental fingers were judiciously picking out the appropriate words.

“Your health will suffer if you don't sleep. You have the option. But you chose to stay awake.” It was not an accusation, precisely, but akin to one.

“I need the time.” Derek grunted, burrowing his cheek against the over-stuffed pillow that might be carrying a number of illnesses left by previous occupants.

“Derek... I can't sleep if you don't.”

The words were hushed and delivered gently to avoid guilt-executed injury. Still Derek felt stung, charged for all to see atop the stand. Yet Justice's fingers were touching his arm in one of those ever-so-discreet motions of affection. A silent reassurance to halt his mounting self-deprecation like a kiss to asphyxiate poison words. Justice never blamed him for anything. Those shy caresses were far more precious than the satisfying release of blood beneath a razor or pills clattering between suicidal fingers.

“Justice?” Derek asked in an unsure, wistful tone.

“Mmm?” Was the patient response, fully awake and attentive.

Emboldened by the darkness and their solitude Derek's hand reached forth to brush hair back from Justice's forehead, allowing those fine strands to slide over his skin like the velvety petals of a daisy. Derek had never been afraid to love Justice and found that touching him intimately came as natural as smiling when he was happy. Warm wet breath pooled on the inside of his arm to infuse the veins that welled beneath Derek's skin with moist heat.

“If either you or I was a girl, would you marry me?” Derek wondered aloud, much as a child would voice an innocent curiosity to a parent.

Though Derek could not see clearly in the dim midnight void he knew the familiar features to be tight with concentration. Justice would be frowning slightly, full lips pursed as if the pressure would speed his thoughts.

“I'd marry you as is, Derek. You know that.”

“Will you, then? Marry me, I mean?”

This time there was no hesitance.

“Yes.”

Derek smiled, his fingers sliding to trace down the curve of round face and the fragile skin of an even paler throat. He knew that they would wake tomorrow and sleep the next night without that finite promise of forever made true and palpable, of course. He had asked this same question many times before on other nights; each time hoping that Justice would tell him why. That perhaps one night the beautiful human being beside him would vanquish the distance between them and gift Derek with a kiss which he knew from rare past occasions to be cozy-sweet like flannel pajamas and cuddling. But Justice never did and Derek was still waiting.

“Do you need me?” Justice murmured, his palm surrendering the gentle barely-touch on Derek's bicep in favor of lying flat against Derek's ribcage.

The elder nodded, his bond to his companion adding an unspoken explanation. They could talk in half-sentences for hours and never miscommunicate. Justice shifted; the blankets rustled in that dry stiff hotel-room manner and the springs creaked slightly. Derek found his thin arms now filled by pliant warmth, a tiny stocky body flush against his own. He sighed in a deep, nasal way that belayed his relief. Justice's sleek head tucked itself beneath Derek's chin and his arms curled between their chests. Both were a little afraid to hold too tightly, aware of their precarious balance of friendship and what might transpire if Justice were to be completely unguarded. After Justice's eighteenth birthday and the singular night of complete abandonment to skin and heat and desire there would be no more physical intrusions. Carefully Derek's arms found their favored places: one around Justice's broad shoulders and the hand of the other spread leaf-like in the shallow dip in the small of Justice's back.

“Stay with me.” Derek said in a low, imploring tone.

He did not say 'I love you' because those words had been spoken as a lie to someone else. Such dirtied phrases deserved no place in regard to the purity of his feelings for Justice. For that pristine beautiful world of soft-focus devotion was yet unmarred and would crumble if it were sullied. Justice's hands turned between them, the palms now pressed flat over the pulse of Derek's heart.

“Always.” The younger man answered his companion's plea, and it sounded as if he meant it.

And Derek wished in reckless, suicidal way to kiss Justice until they were no longer two but rather a single person. Yet he knew that this was to be kept as was; unchanged for fear of loss. Even if dreams of skin and breath and beads of love's essence sliding onto the sheets in a subtle downpour of fulfilled purpose tantalized his mind they were to be kept where they belonged: as dreams inside Derek's mind. He would never wish to bruise that soft white flesh and steal the innocence of something he had not been offered. He could never again wander from the haven he had been given for in fruitless search of the better he would forsake the precious median. Three years prior Justice had asked to know another's flesh but now that he had been shown he could not return to that proximity with Derek. They would lose one another in a way that could not be specifically named.

So Derek settled on the softest of touches. A caress light enough to not be bold but lingering enough to mean everything that words could not say. He stole a bit of Justice's warm breath as he tilted the other's chin upward to rest one mouth against another. The confiscated carbon-dioxide did not smell entirely pleasant but was so significantly Justice that Derek could imagine it to be just the smallest bit of the younger man's soul. He was ultimately selfish, Derek decided, and hoped that maybe if he had a bit of Justice's soul then it would mean that he kept (for 'owned' was far too domineering) a piece of his friend that no one else could take. His.

As they parted without the awkwardness that Derek had anticipated he wondered if perhaps he should be quite happy indeed. After all, even if they were not lovers and Justice was not his there was one consolation: 'Just friends' or no, Justice would never leave him.