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A Particular Path of Touch
by shalott

Inspired by the piece A Particular Path of Touch by X.

He woke up in the dark, legs and back cramping, the computer on standby. Bruce was silently turning off the lights around his desk, dropping the cover on the bulletin board. Johnny didn't argue, just picked up his cane and climbed up out of the basement slowly, still half-asleep. The last lights went off behind him.

The stairs to his bedroom took a long time. Four in the morning by the alarm clock. He heeled off his shoes and crawled onto the bed, pressing his hot eyelids into the cool cotton of the pillow. He didn't get under the sheets; they would only get twisted and soaked with sweat when he had the nightmare again.

There was a quiet clink. He reached out blindly for the glass of water Bruce had put on the bedside table and drank half of it. "Thanks, man."

"S'ok. Come on, roll over."

Without opening his eyes, he lifted his arms and let the shirt come up over his head, muscles already easing under the hands that would be on his shoulders five seconds in the future. So strong, digging into the tension knots, pulling his sweatpants down, kneading his leg muscles. And then slide ahead five minutes more and fingers cupping his face, deep hot kisses in his mouth, and he was half-hard before Bruce even slid his hands under the waistband.

He thought maybe he should say something, stop this, but he honestly couldn't think of one damn reason, and Bruce's hands really were on him now. Knuckles running down his chest, a thumb stroking hard against his inner thigh, his muscles unknotting in relief. The braids were sleek under his hand; he wasn't sure for a moment if he had touched them or was going to.

Bruce didn't stop, kept working him over even when he had to have guessed, even when Johnny was shuddering under what his mouth was going to be doing. He wanted to beg for what he hadn't gotten yet, Bruce's hands on his body in present tense, inside him in future, and he wasn't going to be having the nightmare tonight after all.

Bruce grinned at him across two timelines. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

Johnny laughed a little, helplessly. "You do that. Jesus," he gasped, and arched, because how the hell was he supposed to hold still when Bruce was sliding in, slow and easy, and he could feel every--

"Stick with me here, Johnny," and yeah, they hadn't gotten that far yet, that was coming, and right now was too good to miss, slick hand wrapped around his cock and Bruce's mouth covering his.

He let the future slide away.

= End

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