On My Knees I Think Clearer

200 words :: Joe Flanigan/Jason Momoa :: 1/7/10
Joe knows he’s not graceful. He’s not like those boys who slink cat-like across the room as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.


Joe knows he’s not graceful. He’s not like those boys who slink cat-like across the room as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe he would have been if he’d been able to ask for this back when his joints didn’t creak, when the only thing stiff was his dick. But he’s forty-three now, for fuck’s sake. His knees crackle just getting down on the floor.

It seems to take forever to crawl across the living room. He could walk it in a few steps, could be sitting next to Jason on the couch by now. They could be just whatever. Boyfriends. Instead of this… Instead of this.

It wouldn’t be so bad. He managed all that time before. He can live without it. He can–

And then he’s finally reached the couch, and Jason’s hand is on the back of his neck, heavy and warm. Jason rubs one finger along the edge of the collar, still new and unfamiliar, but the pressure is soothing, drives away the voice that keeps telling Joe how ridiculous he looks.

He presses his face to Jason’s leg and when Jason says good boy, it’s so right he can hardly breathe.