Possession < Spider-Man • Book 1 >

- 23 -

chapter twenty-three:

Caelum's suspicions were correct. He didn't sleep much that night ― but not because Peter liked to talk at the wee hours of the morning. He couldn't sleep because of the proximity of the boy, he couldn't sleep because of the hot air he blew on his neck so subtly, so quietly, that it made his heart pound loud enough for the entire city to hear. He couldn't sleep because at one point, Peter moved in his easy sleep, draping an arm over Caelum and tugging him close.

He couldn't sleep because immediately after that happened, his. . . lower areas became wide awake.

He couldn't sleep because he could smell Peter's fragrance ― shea butter lotion, he was never going to use that lotion again. He couldn't sleep because he could hear Peter murmur a small, nearly insignificant “Cael. . .” under his breath.

He couldn't sleep because his eyes went wide and his lower regions suddenly got hot and loud.  

Caelum couldn't sleep because he forced himself to ease out of the boy's warm, strong grip ― he could spend years being held like that with this boy. He instead slept on the floor.

Or, tried to sleep on the floor.

He couldn't sleep because the floor was so hard and cold and Peter was soft and warm. He imagined Peter, his image, his being, in his head. He imagined Peter holding him tight ― deliberately ― and never letting go.

He imagined Peter loving him just as much as Caelum loved Peter. He imagined kissing Peter.

It was a long night. Caelum didn't sleep at all. And when the sun rose, so did he. He went to the bathroom, washing his face. Then, he decided to take a hasty shower. He rubbed his curly, dark hair dry and grabbed some clothes. When he came out of the bathroom, Peter was still asleep. It was nearly six AM, the only people up at this time was Sarah and Dorri, and they were just barely there.

Caelum stepped down the steps softly, speaking a mild good morning to the two women as a few early customers came in and soon out of the shops, brandishing coffees and morning pastries. “I'm going to take a walk,” he announced and the two women nodded. He left the Café.

The sun wasn't very high, but it was bright. A few clouds lingered and so did the moon, quite stubbornly. The cars on the street were beginning to start their early morning wake up call ― one that Caelum was accustomed to and found a bit comforting. A chilly breeze blew past, but that was just New York for you, it would get warmer later on in the day, he thought.

He walked, hands in his pockets, eyes surveying the early birds of the city. The people were a bit scarce, some of them were joggers, others sitting on benches reading newspapers. A few homeless people shuffled about, eyes downcast and arms folded.

Traffic was moving at an average pace, cars getting by a bit faster than usual due to the earliness of the morning. A few taxis made their way down the street, some of them had their light on, others didn't, a few small cars also turned around the corners or came out of garages, ready to reluctantly start morning. There was a large black van that drove a bit slower than the others.

Caelum ignored the sound of the cars and turned the corner, there was a park nearby and he didn't mind walking around there. He was tired and needed some fresh air and some time to think.

His father said that someone was coming with his mother's inheritance. He also threatened to kill Caelum if he didn't bail him out. Caelum hadn't pressed charges against him when he was arrested, but he was still in jail for child abuse ― the evidence was stacked too high. He would be about in about four to five years, but he wanted to be out now.