Title: Sometimes
Author: JR
Archive: yes
Category: Point of View, Hurt/Comfort, PWP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Henry considers some things about Chandler
late at night.
Feedback: yes, offlist

Chan don't know what he looks like when he's asleep.
His lashes are all long 'n thick 'n black against his
cheeks. Sometimes I fall asleep tryin' to count them.
His fine brown hair is as silky and elegant as his
lashes and sometimes I stroke it till my hand cramps.
My hair breaks too easily, but I can comb his as long
as I want to.

Sometimes he falls asleep on his back. I like that
cause I can see his face better. His face is so
peaceful and child-like when he's sleepin'. I've never
seen pictures of him when he was little, but I don't
have to. It's still there in his face. If my grandma
had seen him she woulda told both him and me to eat
more. Then, alone with me, she woulda told me to take
care a' little man.

But, grandma, you know we always listened to you when
we were young'uns.

I got my man.

Sometimes his face tilts to the side. Just falls
against the pillow without a sound. I'm hard pressed
not to kiss him and wake him up. The curve of his jaw
makes his baby apple cheeks all the more yummy. His
neck is nothing but a warm nest. Lotta times I just
bury my nose in there and smell my baby. He smells
good too. They could make a cologne outta him.

His lips part when he sleeps. They look so needy 'n
pouty that sometimes I can't control myself and I do
kiss him. Most of the time he don't react cause he
ain't a light sleeper. But sometimes he'll smile or
make these little happy noises. His lips can do some
freaky things. I love 'em on my dick 'n I like 'em all
over me. I like 'em on my mouth so I can suck 'em.
Yeah, baby boy's got lovelips.

He's also one helluva blackmailer. His voice can
blackmail me anytime it wants to and he knows it. I
love the sound of it whether he's whispering or
yelling or whining. And speaking of whining, man...
Whines regularly cause he thinks I don't pay him
enough attention. Or he's whining about some situation
we're in. But I like it that way. He's real cute when
he whines. His fat pink lips are hangin' out there
like candy and his scratchy voice is goin' on 'n on
and his blue eyes are lookin' up at me like I'm the
most important thing in the world. I just melt 'n get
all gooey inside. Mm... I'm his daddy alright. And
he's my love baby.

Sometimes he has nightmares. He'll mumble stuff like,
"No... Don't go," and I'll wonder if he's talking to
me or his dead wife or his mom. Poor baby. Sometimes
he gets really upset. Sometimes he even screams. His
face will be so hurt lookin' and it'll be floppin'
back and forth on the pillow. I sing to him and that
usually does the trick. But sometimes it doesn't and
that's when I gather him up in my arms. Mosta the time
he doesn't wake up from the really bad ones. He has
this way of gasping when he's having a nightmare that
really worries me. It sounds like he's choking. I tell
him to hush, that everything's okay even when I have
no idea what his nightmare is about. It could be any
number of the things from his past some of which he's
told me about. Most of them unpleasant. He oughta just
ignore 'em all like I do, but he can't and I ain't
sure why. Guess that's just the way he is and I don't
judge him for that. I'm not real sure what settles him
down in the end. He responds well to my voice. Old
girlfriend once told me I could charm anyone with my
singing. Pied Piper, she said, and damned if she
wasn't right. Usually I sing him stuff I've made up,
but sometimes I sing him good ol' lullabies just like
my mom used to sing to us when we were little.

Some nights his nightmares scare him real bad and he
won't let me go. His little body'll be pressed against
me so tightly and he's fussing in this awful delirium
that his nightmares put him in. I love my fussy baby
extra gentle when he goes through that. I love to love
him. Cause for me, he's easy like that. He's so open
and honest like that and that makes me love him. He
sees the silver through the tarnish, but then again he
is gold.

He hates gettin' sick but when he does he's always
extra fussy. He don't wanna rest. Even when he's
burning up with fever. Took him extra long to get well
after that Martha Berry bitch tried to kill his son.
He was so upset when he called me. Afterwards, I
cussed him for gettin' obsessed with that woman and
puttin' his son and myself in danger. That upset him
and he screamed at me for givin' him that stupid
telescope, how I was the one that started it all. I
was so angry I left him. Didn't come back until I'd
postponed my trip to heaven. But I could never really
leave him. I felt guilty for leavin' him alone just
for that small amount a' time after we fought.

I stayed with him that night. His fever had gone up
and he kept struggling against the confines of his leg
cast and his neck brace. I pressed a cold cloth to his
forehead and tried to shoosh him.

"You left me," he accused deliriously over and over
again.

That cut me deep.

"I'm sorry, Chan. I'm here now. Shh..." I kept sayin'
it till he went to sleep. He was still mad the next
day, but he was too worn down and fussy so we didn't
talk about it. Finally, I gave in and apologized
again. Funny thing was, he was still afraid I was gone
leave him. Guess that heaven thing scared him more
than he let on. I promised I wasn't gone leave him
though. I'm tryin' to prove to him that I'm different
than everyone else in his life.

Everyone's left him in one way or another. I almost
did, but fortunately my clouded brain cleared up a
little bit.

I've never had a wife or a son so I don't know what
he's gone through, what he has to keep goin' through.
I try to make up my lack of experience by doing what
he wants and not askin' any questions.

The first time I didn't know what was wrong. It was
really late, like 2:45am or something. A soft
continuous knocking woke me up. When I opened the
door, he had his head pressed against the door frame.

"What's wrong, Chan?" I'd asked so very softly.

He was so miserable looking when he looked up at me.

"Can I come in?" His voice was rough and strained.

"Sure, man, anything you want."

He'd walked in and after I'd closed the door we'd just
stared at each other. His hair was rumpled and his
eyes were blood shot like he'd been crying.

I stood so close to him our chests were touching and I
put my hands on his shoulders. He closed his eyes and
moved his mouth but no sound came out. When he opened
his eyes again, he was crying. My tenderness for him
overflowed and I held him against me. He sobbed once
and then trembled with the little jerks of silent
weeping. I never did ask him what was wrong.

When he hugged me, I didn't let go of him. His eyes
were painfully-weary when he looked up at me, but they
were also soothed eyes. I didn't want him to leave. I
wanted to hold him for an eternity, my need to comfort
him overwhelmed me.

He smiled tremulously at me and the love and
compassion I held for him flowed out in a kiss. As I
loved his quivering lips, he closed his eyes and tears
ran down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. Sorry I'd made him cry, sorry
because he was hurting and I didn't know why and I
didn't want to ask him for fear of hurting him more.

"No, Hen, it's okay," he rasped and his pain-dulled
eyes were full.

He made to leave, but I couldn't let go of him. The
feel of him in my arms and his smell intoxicated me.

"Don't go, Chan, don't go," I begged.

"Okay," he whispered.

That night we held each other as we slept. He wept
some more and his tears soaked through my t-shirt into
my skin. My heart ached for him. I swear his tears
leaked into my heart and broke it for him.

Tonight he's calm, but my heart aches for him and even
now I still feel his tears.

The End