"People, those you care about, see how you interact with them. I want to know what's important to you and I want to be a part of it, so from now on I want to get to know you, understand you, here, this you, right now."
John was undoubtedly a good negotiator.
"Tell me it's not just about sex." He heard John whisper as John kissed his earlobe.
"Partner." He replied, his voice deep and solemn, his hand slowly moving up the line of John's back: "Sex is only part of it."
"This…is that why I feel this way?"
He tilted his head to look at John's face, for a moment secretly worried about the expression he would see. But he didn't need to be; John's face had a gentle smile, with a certain acceptance, without a trace of annoyance or accusation.
"A lifetime." He replied: "There's a gene in our bodies that makes our partners unable to leave us, whether physically, psychologically, sexually, or otherwise."
"So that's why I always feel it's not enough."
"Yes," he said smugly, his nose touching the other's chest, "A problem?"
"No." "Fingers twirled through his curly hair: 'Just a thought. I'm not a teenager anymore, there has to be a reason for this mood.'"
John's penis gently rubbed against his, their lips met again, warm, moist, and incredibly delicious.
He had been awake almost all night, getting up and fidgeting restlessly in the cage after John fell asleep, until those warm arms pulled him back to bed.
Intense pleasure accompanied the lust, and he couldn't help but arch his back and growl as John's nails dug into his back and sides.
"Yes." He heard John's voice slip from between their biting lips, so he pressed harder, sealing his mouth deeper. "Yes, give it to me. More, God… yes, more." After the climax,
they were both drowsy, and John wrapped his arms around him, not letting him leave. There were still several hours until dawn, and he felt the waning crescent moon slowly descending. He hugged John, curled up beside him, and let himself drift into sleep.
He noticed the door open immediately. These creatures possessed a highly sensitive sensory system, easily discerning the presence of anyone nearby, even a stranger. And this was no stranger. No, far more than a stranger.
His brain's alarm bells rang instantly; he froze for a moment, then slowly regulated his breathing. He hadn't intended to pay much attention to it, but he had waited for this moment. Moment: They found him.
He couldn't hear their conversation, but if he focused, he could sense it in the trembling air and the werewolf-like resonance. They were talking about him; it was obvious. The scientist was rubbing his hands together, speaking with a morbid enthusiasm. Then they walked to the computer control panel.
With his eyes closed, he concentrated and waited. He heard the overhead camera mechanically turn towards him, and then… ah, it was him, a clear yet cautious tapping sound all around. He pressed his lips together, suppressing the smile that threatened to spread across his face.
He opened his eyes, staring directly at the camera, resolute, unyielding, unwavering—he had received a signal.
John shifted uncomfortably at the sudden change in his body. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and held his partner tightly, as if making a promise to himself: I won't leave alone.
Calming down, he continued to use resonance to listen to their conversation. They talked about days, the lab… and tea? Were they really talking about tea? He couldn't help but purse his lips, thinking, clever, of course. That at least explained why it took them so long to find him. But soon, very soon, they would be free again. He could almost smell it.
"What is that?" John's eyes were closed, his nose brushing against John's chest.
His clever, wonderful partner could always glean his thoughts from his unintentional actions.
His hand slid back, slipping between their pressed bodies, his fingers tracing John's skin, drawing a small house where the camera couldn't see. John paused for a moment, but quickly recovered, giving him a barely perceptible nod, and secretly drawing a question mark on his skin. While considering how to answer, he leaned in and planted a light kiss on John's lips, then a second, a third, a fourth. He stroked John's face, his fingers subtly tracing a crescent moon on his cheek—it looked like the most ordinary caress, but John immediately understood its meaning.
Four days. They only had to endure four more days, or more precisely, four nights, and then they could go home. They could finally go home.
"No!" He shoved John
behind him, spreading his body into a defensive, attacking stance, a warning growl escaping his throat. How dare they threaten him to take John away! How dare they intimidate him into doing what they say! John was him! He didn't care how many men or how many guns they had; he would fight to the death. Even facing death, he didn't want to go back to his solitary life.
He wasn't worried at all about the guards who were brandishing guns and yelling at them; his only concern was John. He would protect him, ensure his safety, and for that, he was willing to tear apart anyone who stood in his way. He would, he would do it. "Wait." He felt a moment of freeze; a hand gripped his shoulder and turned him around. Facing John—his John—he couldn't suppress the roar that had already formed in his chest. "Hey, it's nothing.
" " How can this be nothing? This is a huge problem! They've already taken so much from him, and they want more, they'll never be satisfied." John cupped his face, gently stroking him to soothe his agitated emotions. "It's nothing serious, they just want to do a few experiments, and besides, I need to shower and shave." No, no, no, no, no, they want to take him away. "I'll be back when I'm done. Right?" The last question was clearly directed at the scientist behind him, each word clear and forceful. Although the scientist had agreed, he couldn't trust them. How could he trust them after experiencing such inhumane treatment? "Two hours at most." John gently persuaded him, "You won't even feel like I've left." " No, he'll remember every minute, every second. " He glanced around, his gaze settling on the tranquilizer guns. They had many tranquilizer guns; a direct confrontation was hopeless, but he was still willing to try. "You swear," he said hoarsely, pulling John close, forehead to forehead, "I can't… I can't…" John raised a hand to touch his lips, interrupting him, "They can't separate us. Not now." He pressed his fingertips against his dry lips, as if making a vow. Then, John pulled away from his embrace, walking calmly and resolutely toward the glass door. His heart was frozen, struggling to suppress the urge to pull John back or blow those men's heads off. They opened the door, John walked through it, head tilted back, arms swinging slightly at his sides—it all seemed like a slow-motion scene to him. Then the door closed and locked again. "I'm fine." John gave him a smile. "I'll be back soon, I promise." He watched his partner being shoved out of the room, feeling as if he had fallen into ice.
He paced back and forth, he roared. He threw himself onto the bed, pressing his nose to the sheets to inhale John's scent. He threw a ball at the wall, writing John's name on it again and again, breaking three paintbrushes in the process.
He paced restlessly.
He sniffed the clothes John had worn, examining the cuts on them. John's scent both comforted and irritated him. He could smell John, but it was far from enough. He needed more, a physical presence, right before his eyes.
He counted down the seconds, etching every passing minute onto the wall.
He paced anxiously.
He glanced outside every now and then, hoping John would appear at the door. One part of his body warned him to stop this damned irrationality immediately, that even if he did, John wouldn't come back, that he couldn't do anything right now, while another part, the dominant one, clamored to snatch John back immediately.
His nails scratched the glass, and he let out a continuous howl.
Another hour passed, and John was still nowhere to be found.
He paced back and forth, four steps and a turn, four steps and a turn, four steps and a turn. He swung the ticket at the wall.
Time ticked by.
He did push-ups while counting down; the simple mechanical movement made him feel a little better, but it wasn't enough, far from enough. He needed more, much more!
Another ten minutes passed.
John had said he would only be gone for two hours. So if he could get through two hours, he could last two hours. He could.
He curled up in bed, trying to distract himself. He recited the periodic table of elements, their properties and groups. He counted the prime numbers up to 1000. He listed all the counties and provinces of England alphabetically.
Another ten minutes passed, and he continued pacing. He
redrawn the outline of Mr. Smiling Face, glancing at King Lear's lines beside him. He roared angrily and frantically scribbled over them.