The Weight of Him
(HANK)
Log Entry. 2003-07-12 Day 1,309.
The storm broke an hour ago, around 06:00. The rig is quiet. Just the steady hum of the generators. The normal sounds. Second entry to follow once the shift starts and we assess the damage. Will get the Roustabout to assist.
But nothing is normal about this. My eyes are open. But I don’t dare move. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to disturb him.
I reach behind my head carefully and pull out my journal where I tucked it under my pillow last night before I went to find Noah. My pen still in the spot I last wrote.
Quietly, I position the book against the wall and my one leg that is bent as I stare at the top of the head lying against my other side.
July 12th, 2003
He’s here.
Noah is here. In my bunk. Asleep.
I’m writing this with one hand, carefully, while he sleeps on me. My left hand is trapped underneath him. I don’t mind. I don’t think I could move if the rig was on fire.
He’s lying half on top of me. This bunk’s too small for a man my size, let alone two. But I don’t care. The weight of him… God.
My eyes dart down to the silky hair on the top of his head. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest and a smile spreads across my face. He feels so right on me. I take in a slow deep breath and keep writing.
The weight of him is everything. His head is on my chest, his breath warm against my skin. One of his legs is thrown over mine, bent at an angle. His arm is draped across my stomach. It’s like he’s posing for me. My own beautiful model, asleep on me. He looks like he belongs there. Across me. On me. He seems to fit into every curve of my own body as if he was made for me.
We’re both naked. I can feel every line of him and where it meets my own flesh. The hard muscle of his thigh. The smooth skin of his back under my palm. The steady, slow beat of his heart against my ribs.
I pause for a moment as he takes a deep breath in his sleep and I feel the twitch of his fingers on my chest. Another smile seems to be permanently etched into my face this morning. Last night was beyond incredible. The way he moved when I slid all the way inside him. The sounds he made when our hips joined. The warmth of his insides against my own bare skin.
He was so tight. So warm. He drove me wild the moment he engulfed me. I’d never felt such a connection so fast, not even with Jim. Never felt the heat of someone surround me like that, without a condom. I resisted as much as I could. But those eyes pulled me in. His fingers on my flesh sent shockwaves through me. His insides gripped me so close I couldn’t resist erupting within him so quickly. I’ve missed this. This connection with another man.
He’s so beautiful it’s a physical pain in my chest. In the dim light from the porthole, I can see the sweep of his lashes against his cheek. The perfect line of his shoulder. The way his mouth is shaped. His lips appear soft, and slightly parted in the cutest way. His face seems…untroubled.
This is what peace feels like. I found it again.
I’m afraid to breathe too deep. Afraid to shift my hips. Afraid the rustle of this page will wake him. I’m a prisoner here, but I don’t want to escape. Never again. I’ve never felt more free.
His skin smells like me now. My soap. My bunk. My arms. My cum.
Is this real?
It has to be a dream. A cruel, beautiful dream my lonely mind cooked up. Any second now I’ll wake up alone in this metal room with the fantasy of him on my skin. The memory of his mouth. The warmth of our joining. The sound of my name in his voice when he came apart. The ghost of him drifting away.
Or worse. Worse is that it is real, and I’ve ruined him. That I’ve pulled something bright and good into my dark, confined world and I’ll smother it. That when he wakes up, he’ll see the reality of me in the cold light of day—an old, scarred, rough man—and the fear and regret will come into his eyes.
I can’t bear that. I would rather live in this one night forever than see him look at me with regret. So I won’t move. I’ll stay right here. I’ll be his pillow. His anchor. For as long as he’ll let me. Until the day pulls us out from this undertow I am trapped in with him.
I’ll memorize the feel of him. The way his body fits against mine like the last piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was missing. If this is all I ever get, it will have been enough.
But that’s a lie. I do want more. But will he?
He just sighed in his sleep. A soft, contented sound. And he nuzzled closer, his fingers curling against my side. Like a puppy curling against his owner. I can see the upturn of his mouth. He is smiling.
Maybe… maybe it’s not a dream.
Maybe it’s a beginning. “I found him Jim. You sent him to me and I found him. Thank you.”
Either way I don’t want to wake up and face the day, or the reality of the Northern Pioneeer.
End Log.
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(NOAH)
The first thing I was aware of was a profound, bone-deep heat. A warmth so encompassing that it made me stretch out suddenly like a cat resting against a granite floor. I felt safe for some reason. So complete I thought I was I still dreaming. There was only silence now. The frantic, screaming terror of the storm was gone. The scared, rabbit-paced pounding of my heart as Sully gripped my arms was a distant memory, replaced by a deep, steady rhythm under my ear. Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
A heartbeat. Matching my own.
My eyes fluttered open. I was surrounded by naked flesh, the soft fur, and the scent of clean skin, salt, and something uniquely, essentially…Hank. I now know that smell of him. The dim light from the porthole illuminated the solid, muscled plane of a chest my face was resting on like a pillow. My leg was thrown over a thick, powerful thigh. My arm was draped across a firm belly.
Reality crashed into me, sweet and terrifying, as I felt the nakedness of not only my body, but my very soul.
The storm. Sully. Hank appearing in the doorway. The dark hallway. The desperate, hungry kiss. His hands on me, my name on his lips. The frantic, beautiful undressing. The feeling of his big, rough hands mapping my skin as if he were memorizing it. The way he looked at me in the dark, like I was everything.
A hot flush of embarrassment crawled up my neck. Had that really been me? So bold, so needy? I’d practically thrown myself at him.
I started to pull away, to curl into myself, an apology already forming on my lips.
The arm that was draped around my back—the one I hadn't even registered—tightened its hold. Just a fraction. A silent command to stay.
I froze, my breath catching. I dared to look up as I seemed to cling to his giant nude body on his bed.
He was already awake. His head was tilted back on the pillow, his eyes were open, watching me. He held his journal in his free hand, resting on his big leg. In the soft, grey dawn light, his face was stripped bare of its usual gruff mask. There were no walls this morning.
We stared at each other for a moment, as if we were both surprised to see each other. There was only quiet, deep calm about the room. Then Hank smiled a bit, crinkling his eyes as he stared down at me and I felt that hand on my lower back move ever so gently, with a tenderness that made my heart stutter.
“Morning,” he rumbled, his voice sleep-rough and softer than I’d ever heard it, as I felt the warmth of his naked body under me.
The single word, spoken without a trace of regret or awkwardness, dissolved my embarrassment like sugar in hot coffee. I settled back against him, my head finding its spot on his chest as if it belonged there.
“Morning,” I whispered into his skin.
“You okay?” He asked, a sudden concern colouring his deep voice.
And just like that I glanced back up at him and smiled, calming him instantly. “More than okay.” I whispered again, letting my hand glide over his warm skin, feeling the bumps of his muscles as he shifted slightly and I heard him release the breath he must have been holding. “What time is it?”
He cleared his throat and his voice came out a bit more normal. “It’s only after 7. No need to rush. Just rest.”
We lay there in a silence that was anything but empty. It was full of the memory of the night, full of the new, terrifying, wonderful truth of us. His hand began to move farther, his fingers tracing slow, absent-minded circles on my bare back. It was the gentlest touch I had ever known. Coming from this mountain of a man, it seemed to be more of a revelation.
I knew, with a certainty that was both thrilling and frightening, that the moment we got out of this bed, everything would change. I wondered if he was thinking it too, hence the laziness of the moment. We’d have to put on our coveralls, our hard hats, our roles. We’d have to walk out that door and figure out what this meant in the harsh, fluorescent light of the rig, under the eyes of the crew. Especially around Dex and Sully. Even Jonesy.
But for now… for this one, stolen moment, we didn't have to be the Driller and the Roustabout. We were just Hank and Noah. Two men in a small bed, holding onto something fragile and new as the world outside turned from black to grey.
And it was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.
“You’re sure you’re okay? Want a blanket? Or something?” His voice was quiet, as if he was hesitant to ask me these questions.
“No. I’m okay.” I said back, letting my own hand move tentatively around his hard pectoral muscle that was my pillow. “I’m definitely more than okay.” I whispered again and I felt Hank’s hand stop for a moment, before it resumed its uncharted path on my body. I heard his breath again, not quite a sigh, more of another release of something he had been holding in.
“Me too.” He said as he brought his other arm over me and I closed my eyes in the grip of his warmth.
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