Club - a Breddy Fanfic.

17) Sleep (one paragraph NSFW)

Brett tries to sleep. It's hard to fall asleep when the only thing he's doing is rewinding the conversation between Eddy and him over and over again. What is it that is so damn attractive about Eddy? He's had so many lovers, so why is this man special? Although he's not your average kind of pretty, he for sure is to Brett. His movement elegant, his voice has a nice intonation and he's funny. The sex they had can only be described as amazing. And with that basically impossible. It has been scaring the living daylights out of him. And yet there he was this evening, talking to him like Brett hadn't run away, leaving him with only questions, even asking him to be together. Giving him a chance. Just amazing. 
But I'm totally unable to handle amazing, aren't I. Brett can't help but think. Adequate, yes. Good, on occasion. But I don't know what to do with amazing, and I certainly don't deserve it. So he keeps himself awake, tossing and turning.

There is some ruckus in the living room. Vincent has just arrived home, and for the love of God, that man can not be quiet. Even if his life depended on it he would be waking all the neighbors by tripping over a speck of dust. Apparently he had a good time,  judging by his humming. Brett snickers. He gets out of bed to get a cup of tea or something. To see if Vincent can provide some distraction for his troubled mind.

When Brett arrives in the kitchen he sees that Vincent is trying to get a sandwich together with unsteady hands. At least, it looks like he's going for that.

"Hey Vin. Let me, you're way too drunk to hold a knife. And you're maken a mess. Mason will kill you if you leave the place like this."

"Ah, right. Thanks man!" Vincent leans against the sink. "I'm just tipsy and love drunk, you know. God, can you believe that I got to go with her. She's so pretty." Vincent woos, blush on his cheeks, obviously his head in the clouds. His buttered knife swings around dangerously. 

Brett takes the knife and puts the sandwich together. "I presume you made out then?"

"Yeah...." Vincent's gaze becomes soft instantly. "Kissed her. And I got to feel under her blouse. She was so soft!" He takes a bite out of the sandwich Brett is now holding in front of him.

"Nice man. You deserved a nice evening." Brett means it.

"Thanks man. Sorry about blowing your possibility of getting laid. I'm the worst wingman ever." Vincent looks at him with a bit of guild as he chews his bread vehemently .

"It's ok. I don't know if I would have gone with him tonight anyway."

"Huh? Why not?" Vincent considers him for a moment. "You don't fool me Brett! I see the way you look at each other!" he winks at him. "And you look nice together. I can see it happen so easily. I don't know what it is between you. It's different. You should go for it."

Brett nods. So now Vincent too? Everyone seems to think they should be together? That's scary.

"Hey Brett... I'm hitting the sack! Sooo tired. Thanks for the sandwich, mate." Vincent gets up shakily and staggers away to the bathroom and to bed.

After cleaning all bread crumbs off the work surface  Brett walks to the window in the now dark room. He looks outside, but doesn't see anything. The only image he sees before him is that of a tall, svelte man with black hair. Eddy. He can almost hears his voice, with its nice timbre, his catchy laugh, breathing words in his ear. He imagines Eddy's hands on him, stroking his back and sides. Brett feels himself grow in his pants by just thinking about it. His hand goes down towards the bulge. Suddenly he shakes his head, getting himself out of his daydream and walks to his room. No need for the neighborhood to see what he's going to do next. 

In his room he lets himself fall on his bed and ponders for a moment. Is he really going to do this? Will he dare? When was the last time he masturbated and thought about a real life person? And a man to boot. Since like... never? But when he looks down at the large buldge stressing against his jeans he knows he's past the point of no return.
He rucks up his shirt and pinches one of his nipples. Oh. That's nice. Didn't Eddy say he had been way to ticklish for him to do that? He must try it again to see if he's always like that. Brett on the other hand, loves to be touched there. Not that he'll ever let someone touch him like that of course. Although... maybe he'll let Eddy?
His other hand goes down again, into his pants and envelops his now hard straining hardness. He moves his hand up and down over the hard shaft, changing the pressure now and then, just the way he likes it. He closes his eyes and his breathing becomes more elaborate. His belly twitches. It's easy to let the imagines flow in his mind: Eddy's weight on him, kissing, stroking, pinching him. His movements so very, very sexy while loving him everywhere.
But suddenly the weight shifts.
The image does too.
The black straight hair becomes golden curls.
As if stung Brett's eyes fly open and he sits up immediately. He shakes his head violently to get rid of the image with the curls. 
No, please, not now. I don't want to go there. Please, let me have this fantasy for once.
He blinks against the darkness, desperately trying to get the image of Eddy back. He leans against the wall and partly succeeds, but the passion he felt just a minute ago, is gone. He pulls himself on auto-pilot quickly and soon the orgasm overtakes him. It's definitely not as good as he'd hoped for, but it gives him some relief.
"Shit." he murmurs and sighs. He's annoyed with himself. After all this time, she still butts in on the worst times possible. He grumbly cleans his hand and abdomen. This is exactly the reason why he doesn't like to touch himself. He turns and gets under the blanket. It takes a while before he falls asleep, but when it's finally there, it's not restful. It's filled with images from the past, now just ghosts and nightmares, but none the less scary still. He wakes up every few hours, drenched in sweat, glad he didn't scream and wake up the entire household as used to happen not that long ago.

The following nights the nightmares persist. It's like he's been thrown back two years. Back then, he would have them every night, jerking him awake, leaving him sleep deprived and morose during the day. It's the same now as then, and Brett can't get out of the negative spiral that seems to overtake him.
After a few days when the four of the friends are sitting at the table having breakfast before going to the con, Mason addresses it.

"Brett... Just to point out what everybody has seen already, but you look like shit, mate. Your eyebags have eyebags. What's wrong?" Of course it's Mason who noticed, and who so delicately states the obvious.

"Yeah, I know. Not sleeping enough." Brett explains quickly, not feeling like elaborating on the reason.

"Thinking about a certain someone now, are we?" Vincent smirks, guessing only half right.

Peter, who's standing beside the sink, the coffee pot in one hand, a mug in the other, twirls his hips in a way no straight man has any right to, and teases "Oeeee. Brett's in luuuve."

The other three men blink at the performance and decide to ignore it altogether.

"No. I just didn't get enough sleep. And yes, I like him, but I'm not in 'luuuve', you dickhead." Brett snaps back. "I'll see him this weekend. Let's see what happens then, alright? Now leave me alone, you nosy lot."

"Oi, touchy much now, are we?" Peter laughs.

"Touchy lots, you little shit." But without helping himself, Brett smiles anyway that his friends seem to be able to lighten his mood.
But what will he do Saturday?