Bedtime [Drabble]

           The red numbers on the alarm clock changed from 1:36 to 1:37, and Duncan rolled onto his back and looked to the ceiling. He had been awake since just after one a.m. and he was having a difficult time getting himself back to sleep. He cast a glance at his partner asleep beside him, on his stomach in his usual leopard-lounging-in-a-tree position, and he sighed with some annoyance.

            Why was Beau always able to sleep at night? Duncan came home exhausted from work most days, body aching from heavy lifting and climbing scaffolding and working with heavy machinery – he should be able to fall asleep instantaneously! Meanwhile Beau, who worked in a skyscraper in an office day-in, day-out, was able to fall asleep when his head hit the pillow.

            He tried his best to lie still, willing himself to relax. But when he glanced at the clock and it had only hit 1:39, he let his exasperation get the better of him and he cautiously slid out of bed on his side. He barely had his feet on the carpet before he felt Beau’s hand on his elbow, drawing him back down.

            “Where do you think you’re going, Duncan?” he asked, sleep making him sound hoarse. Duncan resettled where he was drawn, under Beau’s heavy arm. He felt his Top’s hand caress from his shoulders to his butt where he gave him a warning swat.

            “It is bedtime, my boy. You know the rules,” he said, and Duncan chewed his lip momentarily before he recited: “stay in bed all night unless it’s to go to the bathroom. If you can’t sleep, try breathing exercises or some other silly thing your silly Top devises.”

            That earned him another swat, this time to his hip, though it wasn’t meant to hurt. “And if nothing helps?” he prompted, and Duncan finished in a rush “then wake you up and talk it over. I know, Beau, but it just seems senseless. You have to work in the morning and I don’t want to keep you awake because I can’t sleep!” he protested.

He saw Beau start to sit up in bed beside him. “And who gets to make the decisions regarding my sleep around here, Dun?” he asked the brat.

Duncan ducked his head, peering at him through long lashes. “You? But Beau, I really don’t think that’s fair to you that I’m going to keep you awake. I mean, I know you think it’s okay, but it’s really not good for you to be kept up like this? Your REM sleep has been interup- Ah!” he yelped as Beau pulled him over and swatted his behind three times, hard.

“Who makes the decisions regarding my sleep, Duncan?” he repeated.

Duncan shrugged. “You.”

“And who makes the decisions regarding your sleep, Duncan?” Beau asked, his voice low.

Duncan let out a sigh, beginning to realize that he was not going to get his way this time. “You do, Beau,” he mumbled. He felt Beau’s heavy hand come down on his behind again before he was easily dumped back into the sheets, adjusted so he was pinned under Beau’s arm and the quilts drawn over him.

“Lie still and count to five,” Beau instructed. “Five things you can see; four you can hear; three you can feel; two you can smell; one you can taste.” The arm around him was somewhat comforting Duncan had to admit. His familiar weight kept him pinned to his side and he did as Beau had asked.

Without closing his eyes, he found five things at hand to think about: the rumpled sheets pulled up around Beau’s head, the way the light from the window cast shadows on Beau’s bare chest, the dark brows slightly furrowed as his lover started to fall asleep once more, his own hand lying palm-flat on the sheets beneath him, the tan of his own skin from hours spent working outside in the sun.

This kind of activity always calmed him down, forcing him to focus on something other than the thoughts that usually ran rampant in his head on sleepless nights. He listened carefully and caught four sounds easily: Beau’s light breathing, the sound of an owl from a distance, the rustle of his feet on the bedding as he turned under Beau’s arm, the wind whistling through the open window.

He could feel Beau’s heartbeat when he touched his palm to the man’s chest, which always calmed him down, knowing he was real and there beside him; the cool wind coming from the window to touch his hand that was touching the bedsheets.

Smelling was always the hardest for him. Two things he could smell, when there were no baked goods or coffee brewing or anything else to taunt his nostrils? But as he burrowed closer to Beau, he found he could smell the lingering remains of his aftershave and his cologne, and when he kissed his bare shoulder he could taste the salt of his sweat.

It was enough. Feeling sleepier now, he pressed himself closer to Beau’s warm chest and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the comforting sound of his Top’s light breathing to put him out.