with our eyes

I

"Your eyes looking brighter, somehow in the dark," Joseph whispered, gaze locked on Clarence's. One thumb rubbed his cheek, down into the sharp crevices of his face, gently. Clarence giggled, his legs pretzeled inbetween Joseph's.

"I think that's kinda dumb," Clarence began in a teasing tone, "there ain't no light in here."

"But, when you look hard enough..."

"Your eyes fall outta your head," Clarence interrupted with a soft chuckle, and rubbed his cheek up against Joseph's hand.

They couldn't see each other in the dark of the barracks, really. But within said dark their eyes adjusted, and with much effort they could make out the small features of each other's faces. Every forehead touch and nose kiss, every time Clarence's eyelashes brushed against Joseph's face, the warm and comforting feeling of one's skin against the other. In such a public place such as this, they have forgotten to care.

Many of the seamen in the fleet were used to sharing homoerotic, or romantic affections with one another. As an excuse, they blame the lack of women in the navy; it certainly, and how dare you assume so, was not out of genuine love or care.

It would be safe to assume, however, that such affections carried meaning to Clarence and Joseph, as they laid tangled in each other's limbs, absorbing as much of the other as they could, in nothing but their long johns, on one single, small bed.

Clarence's eyes fluttered shut, Joseph watching as his baby fell asleep, the blue eyes he said glowed, its luminosity hiding itself away. He recalled, perhaps reminisced, as he watched Clarence fall asleep, something he had sang to him one night.

in this fond memory, they were sitting side by side, shoulders touching on a bench in Hollywood, California. People walked past the two boys, two preoccupied in their own world with their own responsibilities to pay any mind to them. The distant, faint stream of jazz played from a lounge across the street, high heels clicked upon the pavement of the sidewalk. Clarence's own shoe began to mirror the noise. Out of boredom, Joseph observed as he watched him carefully, he began to croon. Oh what sweet voice his baby had, a voice that made his heart fly out of his chest, away from his body and into the sky.

"Brooklyn I am to you, but once you were Joseph to me. Now your eyes are shutting slowly, bound to fall asleep; Brooklyn I am to you, Brooklyn at night, you are to me. Let the city finally rest, for it has been lit up for eternity."

Words Clarence wasn't aware he was saying, his eyes distant and lost in thought. Eyes Joseph could stare into for ages and ages, and never grow less fonder of.

Joseph scooted closer up to Clarence, so that not only their shoulders touched, but their hips and thighs as well, knees connected at the end. He murmured at first, but joined him, voice shaky and cracked with wonder, nurtured into smoothness by Clarence's own influence.

"When we wake up again,"

"...When we wake up again," Joseph responded.

"We could light up the sky," Clarence continued, "with the love we have stored..."

"with the love we have stored," Joseph echoed. He could feel his cheeks prickle with heat, head leaned in closer and closer with every note sang.

"Within our eyes," Clarence finished, eyes shutting as the improvised song escaped his lungs and out into the air around them, his head then tilted, leaned up against Joseph's own.

And at the moment, he realized, he was going to love him forever. Love him more than any dame or broad that he came across. Love him more than Rockefeller and his money, love him more than the stars and their attachment to the night sky.

Joseph smiled softly to himself, his thumb that caressed the side of Clarence's sleepy face stopped, and his own eyes began to close.